Author: Momo Chan

The world was a smear of sound and pain. The screech of tires on asphalt, the sickening grind of metal against bone, and then a darkness that smelled of gasoline and hot rubber. I was being lifted, the world tilting crazily. A voice cut through the fog. “This one’s critical. Prep him for surgery now. Get ahold of his family to sign consent.” A wave of something—adrenaline, maybe just pure terror—cleared my head for a second. I tried to lift a hand that felt like it belonged to someone else. “My wife… Claire… she’s busy. I can sign.” Before the words fully left my mouth, another voice sliced through the chaos. A voice I knew better than my own. “Help him first!” My wife, Claire, wasn’t in court. She wasn’t arguing a case. She was here, in the ER, clinging to the arm of the man who had just run me down. Her voice was sharp with a panic I hadn’t heard in years. She pushed past me, a blur of motion, and confronted the doctor. “He just had heart surgery. His condition is far more delicate!” She didn’t even glance at my gurney. At the blood that was turning my shirt from blue to a dark, sticky crimson. “I’m the patient’s wife,” she declared, her voice ringing with the authority she used in a courtroom. “I can vouch for the other driver. I’m a lawyer. I understand the liability, and I accept it.” “But ma’am, your husband’s injuries appear more severe…” the doctor stammered, clearly thrown. Claire’s gaze was fixed on the other man. “He’ll be fine. He’s tougher than he looks. Just take care of the driver. If anything happens, it’s on me.” Claire! The name screamed in my head. Who is your husband? And as if to answer, while I was still bleeding in a hallway, my life hanging by a thread, she helped the man who hit me file a lawsuit against me. 1 The impact hadn’t just thrown me; it had dragged me. I remembered the scrape of my back against the pavement, a sound that felt like it was happening inside my own skull. They had me prepped for the OR, a green-lit room of salvation at the end of the hall. But it was snatched away. My wife, Claire, steered the man who hit me—the man she was supposed to be suing—into that room instead. Because she was a top-tier lawyer, because she was willing to sign a waiver absolving the hospital of any malpractice, I was left behind. She finally looked at me then, at the blood soaking through the sheets. Her brow furrowed, but not in concern. It was annoyance. She turned away and began comforting the driver, her voice a low, soothing murmur I hadn’t heard directed at me since our honeymoon. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered to him. “I’ll handle this whole accident. You won’t have to worry about a thing. You won’t bear any responsibility. Just focus on getting better.” Accident? Was that what you called it when a man inexplicably swerved across two lanes to hit you? When he dragged you for twenty feet without braking? You’re my wife, Claire. How could you abandon me to defend the man who did this? The pain sharpened my focus, clearing the fog. I stared at her, my mind a storm of disbelief and heartbreak. She didn’t notice. Her entire world was focused on the man she’d just saved. Only when they wheeled him into the operating room did she turn away. I thought, naively, that she would come to me, offer some twisted explanation. Instead, she walked right past my gurney without a second glance and approached the police officer who was taking notes. After a brief, hushed conversation, the officer asked about her relationship to the incident. She didn’t hesitate. “I’m the driver’s defense attorney. I’m also the wife of the man he hit.” The cop’s eyebrows shot up. He glanced from her to me, then back again. “Ma’am, with all due respect, this seems pretty clear-cut,” he said, tapping his notepad. “The driver ran a red light and failed to yield to a pedestrian. It’s all on the dashcam. Even for a lawyer like you, that’s an open-and-shut case.” Claire was unfazed. “The driver experienced a sudden cardiac event while operating the vehicle. His doctors can confirm this. He had no malicious intent. According to state law, this should be treated as a medical incident, not a traffic violation.” She cited statutes and precedents with a chilling calm. After a quick call to the hospital, the officer begrudgingly conceded her point. And just like that, I was no longer a victim. I was an inconvenience. I lay there in the hallway, a piece of hospital furniture, watching the staff hurry past. Claire, her legal duties done, bought a bouquet of flowers from the gift shop and stood vigil outside the operating room. Not my operating room. His. I reached out, my fingers brushing the fabric of her coat. “Claire,” I rasped. “It hurts so much.” She flinched away as if I’d burned her. “Stop acting.” She pulled a tissue from her purse and meticulously wiped the spot my bloody fingers had touched. Her face was a mask of cold fury. “I didn’t ask you to get hit by a car, Leo. Don’t be so dramatic.” The world went light. A strange floating sensation took over. The sheet beneath me turned from damp to saturated. A young intern rushed over, glanced at my pupils, and then pressed gently on my abdomen. He screamed. “Doctor! Get Dr. Matthews in here, now! This patient has a lacerated liver! He’s bleeding out!” Claire was right there. She must have heard. But she didn’t turn. Her eyes were glued to the OR doors, which were just swinging open. As a team of medics descended on me, Claire rushed toward the man being wheeled out. “Doctor, is he okay?” she asked, her voice trembling. “His heart condition is so complex. Will there be any permanent damage?” The surgeon shook his head. “He’s fine. It was just a transient ischemic attack brought on by shock. We ran a full workup. He’s perfectly healthy.” Just then, they pushed my gurney past them. The surgeon’s head snapped around, his eyes widening at the river of red I was lying in, a foul, metallic smell now rising from the sheets. He grabbed his pager. “Code Blue! Code Blue, Trauma One!” The hospital’s PA system exploded to life with a repeating, urgent chime. “Rapid Response Team to the ER. Rapid Response Team to the ER.” I was rushed toward surgery, but the nurse was frantic. “We need a signature on the consent forms! Where did his wife go?” “The lawyer for the other driver?” a young resident asked. “Yes! She was just here!” “She’s gone,” the resident said, sounding disgusted. “She arranged a transfer for her client to a private cardiac center upstate. I saw her getting into the ambulance with him. I called out to her, but she just looked at me and the doors closed.” “What do we do?” the nurse cried. “His spleen just ruptured. We can’t wait!” “There’s no choice. We operate now and deal with the paperwork later.” I was plunged back into the green-lit room. The world faded, but then, halfway through the procedure, it came rushing back. My body has a bizarrely high tolerance for anesthesia. I was awake, paralyzed, a spectator to my own dissection. I saw the sweat beading on my surgeon’s forehead, the grim, focused faces of the nurses. The nurse reading my vitals choked back a sob. “BP is dropping. He’s not responding.” “We’re out of O-negative! Call the other blood banks, now!” “I can’t reach his wife. The calls go straight to voicemail.” “What the hell is wrong with this woman?” another voice muttered. “She won’t answer our calls, but she just sent a text to the patient’s phone. Looks like… a notice of intent to sue?” Sue? Sue me for what? Through the haze, I heard the surgeon say, his voice dripping with disbelief, “Her husband is dying on my table, and she’s helping the guy who hit him sue him for… intentional damage to property and negligence.” Me? She was suing me. On behalf of the man who tried to kill me. Who was this guy? As the alarms on the machines began to scream in a single, deafening chorus, the world finally, mercifully, went black. 2 I thought that was it. The end. But I woke up. The first thing I saw was the acoustic tile of a hospital ceiling. I had never been so happy to see something so boring. A doctor came in, checked my chart. “You’re a very lucky man,” he said. “We’ll need to keep you in observation for a while. Let us know if you feel any discomfort.” I nodded weakly. As he left, the door opened again. It was Claire. She wasn’t alone. She was holding hands with him. The driver. “Still alive?” Claire said, her voice devoid of any warmth. “I have to admit, seeing the amount of blood you lost, I didn’t think you’d make it. Since you did, I guess we can proceed with the lawsuit.” She dropped a thick legal folder onto my lap. The papers slid onto the thin hospital blanket. And there, on the top page, was his name: Asher Vance. Asher. The Asher. The ghost from her college photo albums, the name she’d let slip once after too much wine. Her “one that got away.” “After reviewing traffic camera footage and the dashcam from Mr. Vance’s car,” Claire said, her voice formal, rehearsed, “we’ve concluded that you intentionally stepped in front of his vehicle. Mr. Vance is therefore suing you for damages and personal injury.” Intentionally? I stared at her, the woman I had loved for eight years. The world swam, a fog of tears blurring her sharp, cold face. I had almost died on a cold steel table, and she felt nothing. Worse than nothing. She felt… opportunistic. “If the surgery has muddled your memory, allow me to refresh it,” she continued. “The crosswalk signal was green. All other pedestrians were moving. You alone stopped in the middle of the street and stood there until the light changed and Asher’s car was already proceeding through the intersection. Your behavior suggests intent.” A laugh, raw and broken, escaped my lips. It sounded like tearing fabric. She didn’t know why I stopped? She really didn’t know? That car—a midnight blue Audi A5—was the birthday present I’d bought for her. The custom license plate holder with the twin hearts, the one I’d picked out myself, was still on the back. My birthday gift to my wife. Driven by another man. Was I not allowed to take a second look? “You’re right,” I said, my voice hoarse. “It was intentional.” Claire’s professional mask faltered. A flicker of surprise crossed her face. “I just wanted a better look,” I whispered. “I wanted to see which man was driving my wife around in the car I bought her. Which man was so important that she’d miss my birthday dinner to be with him.” Asher stepped forward, a pained, fragile expression on his face. “Leo, man, it wasn’t like that. My health… it’s not good. I needed her to drive me to a specialist. I paid her for her time, I swear. It was purely a professional relationship. Don’t read too much into it.” Claire looked at him with an expression of profound tenderness that twisted the knife in my gut. “You don’t have to explain anything to him, Asher,” she said softly, then turned back to me, her face hardening again. “As long as you admit it was intentional, that’s all we need. Get well soon. You’ll be served with a court summons once you’re discharged. All damages and associated costs from this accident will be your sole responsibility.” She tossed the summons onto the bed and turned to leave. Just then, the door swung open and three men in sharp suits walked in. I recognized them vaguely as colleagues from her firm, the kind she never brought home. Their eyes landed on Asher immediately. “Hey, we heard what happened and came as soon as we could,” one of them said, clapping Asher on the shoulder. “We went to that other hospital, but they said you were transferred back here to deal with some paperwork. Are you feeling okay?” “Don’t you worry about a thing, man,” another one chimed in, his gaze flicking toward me with contempt. “We’ve handled a dozen of these insurance scammers. We’ll make this guy pay until he’s bankrupt.” “So, what’s the deal?” the first one asked. “Is the scumbag cooperating, or are we going to have to play hardball?” Asher shot me a look of pure triumph. “It’s fine,” he said, his voice laced with false magnanimity. “As long as he’s willing to apologize, I don’t think we need to be too harsh.” The lawyers’ eyes all swiveled to me. It clicked for them. I was the scumbag. I was the scammer. One of them noticed my chart hanging at the foot of the bed. He read the words ‘ruptured spleen, lacerated liver’ and pointed a finger at me. “Well, look at that. Serves you right. Talk about karma. Tried to cash in on a payday and almost cashed out for good. Pathetic.” “The universe has a way of dealing with trash like you,” another added. They stood there, tearing me apart with their words, while Claire stood by Asher’s side, whispering in his ear, completely oblivious. A nurse bustled in then, holding a clipboard. Her eyes found Claire. “There you are! We’ve been paging you for days! Your husband is in critical condition and you’re only showing up now? Go to the admissions desk and pay the bill. It’s long overdue.” The lawyers froze, their mouths half-open. They stared from me to Claire, the cogs turning in their heads. “He’s your husband?” one of them whispered. Claire just gave a curt “Mm-hmm,” and, taking Asher by the arm, led him out of the room. Her colleagues exchanged awkward glances, muttered apologies, and then followed her out, taking the gift basket they’d brought for Asher with them. Claire never paid the bill. I paid for my own near-death experience. As I swiped my credit card, the chip reader beeping forlornly, an alert pinged on my phone. A charge notification from my emergency-use-only credit card. The one I’d given her for the down payment on our first home—the money my parents had left me. The Grand Sterling Hotel. Presidential Suite. ‘Couples’ Romance Package.’ Ten thousand dollars. I tried to call her, but it went straight to a “this number has been disconnected” message. She’d blocked me. A nurse helped me shuffle back to my room. On the way, I dialed 911. “Hello,” I said, my voice shaking with a cold, clear rage. “I’d like to report credit card fraud. And… an illegal transaction of services taking place at the Grand Sterling Hotel.” For eight years of marriage, Claire had insisted we keep our finances separate. A pre-nup. Her idea. Everything was split 50/50, down to the groceries. I even had to pay for my own health insurance. And now, while I was fighting for my life, while I was draining my savings to pay for the damage her lover had done, she was using my inheritance—my dead parents’ money—to pay for a romantic getaway with him. She hadn’t even asked if I was going to live or die. The thought was so monstrous it made me sick. Just then, my surgeon, Dr. Matthews, approached me in the hallway. “Leo, you have a sister, why didn’t you tell us? You’ve been going through this all alone. I took the liberty of looking up your emergency contacts.” A sister? I was an only child. When I pushed open my door, I saw her. A woman in a tailored suit with sharp, gold-rimmed glasses, perched on the edge of my bed. She turned, and a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes spread across her face. “Your sister heard you were in trouble,” Dr. Matthews said cheerfully. “Flew in all the way from London to see you.” He exchanged a few words with this “sister” of mine, promising to have dinner soon, then left us alone. She surveyed the room, a multi-patient ward with thin curtains for privacy. “A ruptured liver, and this is where you’re recovering? All alone?” Her voice was quiet, but it vibrated with a tightly controlled anger. “This is the woman you moved mountains for, Leo.” She looked at me, her composure finally cracking. “And you couldn’t call me? You couldn’t let me know you were here, alone, fighting for your life?” “You’re busy,” I mumbled, looking at the floor. “In London…” After my parents died, Hannah Jiang, the daughter of my father’s business partner and my childhood friend, had become my de facto family. She was only a month older than me, but she had always been my protector. She had been vehemently against my marriage to Claire. When I’d ignored her warnings and eloped, she’d accepted a position at her firm’s London office and left. We’d exchanged holiday calls, but that was it. I was too ashamed to tell her how right she’d been. “Busy?” Her voice rose, shaking with emotion. “When have I ever been too busy for you? When have I not dropped everything when you needed me?” She grabbed my hand, her eyes glistening. “Do you have any idea what would have happened to me if you had died? Your father trusted me to look out for you. He put you in my care. How could I face him if I let you die alone in a place like this?” That broke me. The dam I’d built inside myself crumbled. I collapsed into her arms and sobbed, all the pain and fear and betrayal pouring out of me. If my dad were still alive, Claire would never have dared. She would never have cheated on me while I lay dying, never have sued me for the privilege. The door flew open with a bang. It was Claire. She saw me in Hannah’s arms and her face contorted with rage. “No wonder you called the cops on me!” she shrieked, her voice echoing down the hall. “You just got out of surgery and you’re already cheating! You have a wife, and you’re in here holding another woman!” Hannah released me. On pure instinct, I spun around and slapped Claire across the face. “You know damn well why I called the cops!” I yelled. “You used my inheritance to book a presidential suite for you and your boyfriend! You deserved to get caught!” Claire laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. “Oh, I see. You got caught, and now you’re lashing out.” Hannah stepped forward and, with a move so swift I barely saw it, kicked Claire’s legs out from under her. “He was almost killed because of you,” Hannah snarled, standing over her. “And you have the audacity to come in here and play the victim?” Claire scrambled backward on the floor until she recognized Hannah’s face. The fight instantly drained out of her. “Hannah,” she stammered. “You don’t understand. He set us up. He reported Asher for prostitution. He transferred five thousand dollars to Asher from my account to make it look transactional. Asher is still being held at the station because of him! We can’t explain it!” The five thousand dollars. That was my doing. A little trick I’d picked up from eight years of living with a lawyer. I knew Asher had been unemployed since returning to the States. I knew he had no assets to his name. I knew exactly how it would look to the police. Hannah just smiled. A cold, terrifying smile. “Five thousand dollars doesn’t get you held overnight, Claire. You’re a lawyer. You know the procedure better than anyone.” Her voice dropped. “It’s the pattern, isn’t it? The police must have found multiple transactions. Payments made after… services were rendered. Repeatedly.”

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I am the real heiress nobody wanted, framed and forced to marry Caleb Sterling, the crown prince of New York’s elite. When I was five months pregnant, his first love—the imposter who had stolen my life—divorced her husband and came back for him. I ran into them at my doctor’s office, my swollen belly a testament to a marriage he despised. He gave me one cold look and confirmed my worst fear. “Yes,” he said. “It’s exactly what you think.” He threw a glittering party for her at our home. I was locked in the attic. Later, when the agony in my stomach became unbearable, a housekeeper secretly unlocked the door. I called 911 and stumbled downstairs, only to be met by the sight of him smashing a glass at my feet. “Who the hell,” he roared, “gave you permission to come down here?” The shock and the terror of that night cost me my child. With the few things I owned, I vanished into the storm. When he finally found me, he grabbed my arm, his voice a raw mix of fury and disbelief. “And me?” he demanded. “You don’t want me anymore?” “No.” My biological parents tried to drag me back, warning me that a girl from nothing would never get a better chance than Caleb Sterling. I looked at their faces, feeling nothing. “And you,” I told them. “I don’t want you, either.” 1 I never expected to see Caleb Sterling and Chloe Pierce in the sterile, beige hallway of an Upper East Side obstetrics clinic. Everyone in our world knew their story. They were the golden couple, childhood sweethearts, a love story written in the stars and whispered about at galas. He had adored her, put her on a pedestal so high no one else could touch her. And then, at the peak of their romance, she’d shattered it all, leaving him for a life in Europe without a backward glance. The rumor that followed was potent: Caleb Sterling, broken by the girl he loved, had developed a particular brand of misogyny. An ice-cold wall went up. Any woman who tried to get close was met with a swift, brutal rejection. I was the exception. Not because he loved me. Not even close. I was the exception because I’d been set up. Because on one rain-slicked New York night, we’d ended up in the same bed. And because, against all odds, I got pregnant. My family, the Pierces, had all but gift-wrapped me and forced me on him. He despised me for it. A living symbol of his entrapment. But the baby, his heir, meant he had to marry me. Our eyes met across the waiting room. My first instinct, primal and immediate, was to flee. But it was too late. He was already moving toward me, his long strides eating up the space between us. I took an involuntary step back, my body already turning to leave. “Tracking me?” His voice was low, devoid of warmth. “Thea. Is this the new playbook they taught you?” His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around my neck. Not enough to choke, but enough to hold me in place, a gesture of pure ownership and contempt. His eyes were flinty, hard. “Tell me. What are you trying to squeeze out of me this time?” Panic flared in my chest, a breathless, suffocating wave. The baby fluttered inside me, a frantic pulse against my ribs. I struggled against his grip, hot tears welling in my eyes against my will. “I… I wasn’t.” He didn’t believe me, of course. He never did. In his mind, I was the master manipulator who had drugged him and crawled into his bed. A narrative I had tried to correct a thousand times, to no avail. Heads were starting to turn. Chloe drifted to his side, her perfectly manicured hand resting on his arm. “Caleb, darling. People are watching.” Her voice, as always, was the magic word. His grip loosened, and he let me go. As my gaze flickered to Chloe, he slid his arm around her waist, pulling her possessively against him. A deliberate, cruel performance for my benefit. “Yes,” he said, his eyes locking onto mine, cold and triumphant. “It’s exactly what you think.” He paused, letting the poison sink in. “Chloe’s pregnant.” “After this baby is born,” he finished, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me, “you’re gone.” 2 The doctor said the baby’s heartbeat was weak. Unsteady. He told me to keep my stress levels down, to focus on pleasant thoughts. I nodded, a hollow space opening up inside my chest. That evening, the moment I walked through the door of the penthouse, two of Caleb’s security guards flanked me. They took my arms firmly, half-dragging me toward the spiral staircase that led to the top floor. “Don’t take it personally, Ms. Hayes,” one of them said, his tone professionally detached. “Mr. Sterling is hosting a party tonight. He doesn’t want your presence to… disrupt the mood.” They opened the door to a sparse, cold guest room, ushered me inside, and locked it from the outside. I was left alone, curled on a bed in a dark, silent room. This wasn’t the first time he’d locked me away. But it had become more frequent in the last month, ever since Chloe had divorced her European husband and returned to New York. It was as if he needed to prove to her, over and over, that his heart had never strayed, that I was nothing more than a villain, an unfortunate consequence. He had locked me up. He had let me go hungry. He had flayed me with words designed to strip me of any dignity. I’d tried to run once, but he’d dragged me back. I remembered that night, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress, his face a mask of cold fury. “Scared now?” he’d sneered, his breath hot against my ear. “Isn’t this what you wanted? A baby you schemed to have? You can die, for all I care, but not until you give me my child.” He’d leaned in closer, his voice a venomous whisper. “And think about your old director at the children’s home. Mrs. Gable. I hear she’s getting on in years, her health isn’t what it used to be. It would be a shame if something… unexpected were to happen. Accidents are so common for the elderly, aren’t they?” The threat was clear. He held all the cards. My only ties to this world were a kind old woman and a group of kids in a struggling orphanage. I was utterly, completely alone. I hugged myself tightly in the darkness. I don’t know how long I was in there before the pain started. A deep, twisting agony in my stomach, like a blender tearing me apart from the inside. I stumbled to the door, pounding on it until my knuckles were raw, my voice cracking as I screamed for help. No one came. I collapsed against the door, time dissolving into a haze of pain. Then, a soft click. The door creaked open a few inches. Maria, the housekeeper, was there, her face etched with pity. “Miss Thea, quickly. You must get out.” I fumbled for my phone, my hands shaking so badly I could barely dial 911. A cold dread washed over me. I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that I was losing this baby. Stumbling down the stairs, I was met with a wall of sound. The main hall was filled with laughter and the clinking of champagne glasses. My sudden appearance silenced the room. A hundred pairs of eyes turned to me, a sea of disgust, pity, scorn, and ridicule. Each glance was a fresh blade. Caleb’s smile froze on his face. He was sitting with Chloe, of course. The usurper, the fake heiress, tucked so closely beside him they looked like one person. Without a word, he rose to his feet. He snatched a champagne flute from a passing tray and smashed it on the marble floor at my feet. The sound was deafening, a gunshot in the silent room. “Who the hell,” he seethed, his voice trembling with rage, “told you you could come down here?” The explosion of glass left a ringing in my ears. A violent, searing cramp seized my abdomen. For a moment, the pain was so absolute, it felt like nothing at all. He started toward me, his face a blur. The world began to tilt. Then, a woman’s horrified gasp from the crowd. “Oh my god… she’s bleeding.” I looked down. A dark, crimson stain was spreading down the pale fabric of my dress, rivulets of red trickling down my legs. And strangely, inexplicably, I felt a sense of relief. My head spun. Just before the darkness took me, strong arms caught me. Caleb? Why did he look so terrified? This was what he wanted. Shouldn’t he be the happiest man in the room?

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Three years a zombie, and I still can’t bring myself to eat people. Most days, I just blend in. I shuffle along with the horde, moaning and groaning for show, before slipping off into some abandoned supermarket to steal a pack of stale cupcakes. That’s what I was doing today, crouched behind a collapsed aisle of canned goods, meticulously peeling the plastic off a Twinkie. Suddenly, the cold, hard press of a gun barrel met the back of my head. A low voice, laced with amusement, drifted over me. “Miss Zombie, I do believe you were about to take a bite out of my ass.” My movements froze. I lifted my head, slowly, and my gaze met a pair of devastatingly familiar dark eyes. Oh, hell. Of all the asses in this apocalyptic hellscape, I had to find his. Caleb Hayes—the boy I’d silently crushed on all through college—was looking down at me with a half-smile playing on his lips. 1. This had to be a hallucination, a side effect of the virus rotting what was left of my brain. Caleb Hayes? He was alive. He was here. How could he possibly be here? And… did he recognize me? My nearly-dead heart gave a frantic, painful lurch. It was a sensation so achingly familiar, so fundamentally human, that for a second I forgot all about the gun pressed against my skull. I raised my hands over my head, a dumb, frozen statue in the dust-filled aisle. Caleb nudged the barrel of the gun forward, a gentle reminder. He leaned down, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “So, Miss Zombie. A review, if you will. How’s the texture?” Okay. My eyes dropped. The brief, insane flicker of hope died. He had no idea who I was. It’s for the best, I told myself, a familiar, bitter comfort. I must look so different now. Unrecognizable. Better that he doesn’t connect this… thing… to the girl he once knew. Better not to tarnish his memory of her. The thought was a strange cocktail of relief and a deep, hollowing sadness. 2. I replayed the last few moments in my head, trying to follow his logic. I’d been crouched low, unwrapping a package of expired peanut butter crackers. As my hand reached for another, my fingers brushed against something soft. What the hell? It felt… human. Unsure, I did what any zombie would do. I leaned in for a test bite. The target was firm, springy even, but covered in a thick layer of denim that my teeth couldn’t get through. I gave up immediately. Who knew it was Caleb Hayes’s left butt cheek? Fearing he might pull the trigger out of sheer annoyance, I answered him with total honesty. “It’s… nice. Firm.” The words were out before I remembered: the low-level infected, the ones shuffling around outside, they don’t think. They don’t speak. A high-functioning, articulate zombie like me was, to put it mildly, a freak of nature. A slow smile spread across Caleb’s face. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners made my head spin, just like it always had. “Interesting,” he mused, tilting his head. “First talking zombie I’ve ever met.” He paused, considering. “I should take you back to the base. I’ve never dissected your particular strain of infected.” Oh, god, no. My face fell. I held out the rest of the peanut butter crackers, a pathetic offering. “This is my favorite kind,” I said, my voice small and pleading. “You can have them all. Just… don’t kill me. Please?” 3. Maybe it was the desperation in my voice. Maybe it was the crackers. Caleb lowered the gun, his eyes scanning me with a new kind of intensity. “You… you don’t eat people?” I nodded frantically, like a bobblehead. There was a sudden click at my throat. I reached up in alarm. A collar. Cold, metallic, and securely locked. “What did you put on me?” Caleb dangled a small key from his finger. A terrible feeling washed over me. Sure enough, a cruel, merciless curve touched his lips. “A bomb.” My stomach plummeted. “A remote-detonated collar,” he clarified. “No matter how far you run, I press a button, and you go up in a thousand little pieces.” I felt a surge of indignation. Caleb Hayes was a petty, petty man. So I accidentally tried to bite his ass. It wasn’t on purpose. Did he have to be so dramatic? “But don’t worry,” he said, his tone shifting. “As long as you meet me here every night with a fresh supply of food and water, I won’t have any reason to press it.” Ah. There it was. His real motive. “It shouldn’t be too hard for a creature like you. Besides,” he added, a glint in his eye, “you took a bite out of me. It’s only fair you pay me back somehow. Right, Miss Zombie?” He was smiling again. It was still a devastatingly handsome smile, but now it just seemed cruel. “Fine,” I mumbled, my head hung in defeat. “I’ll do it.” Then, I found a tiny scrap of courage. “And my name isn’t Miss Zombie. It’s Nora.” Caleb let out a low chuckle. I couldn’t tell if he’d even heard me. As he turned to leave, he snatched the half-eaten bag of crackers from my hand. He’s eating something a zombie touched, I thought, a fresh wave of outrage washing over me. Doesn’t he know he could get infected? I scowled at his retreating back, silently cursing him. 4. “Wait, what?! You ran into your old college crush, and he’s alive? Nora, that’s practically a post-apocalyptic fairy tale!” Sadie was so shocked she had to pop her glass eye back into its socket. She was the only friend I’d made since turning. We were both high-functioning—we’d kept our minds—and had bonded over our shared predicament. Unlike me, the first thing Sadie did after turning was eat her abusive ex-boyfriend. The experience had… rewired her tastes. The smell of human food made her sick now. When she got hungry, she’d chew on tree bark or grass. If things got really bad, she’d scavenge the leftovers from other infected. “It doesn’t matter, Sadie. He doesn’t remember me at all.” I pointed to the blinking red light on the collar around my neck. “And he wants to blow me up.” Sadie was a hopeless romantic. “If he wanted to kill you, he would have shot you on the spot. Why would he ask you to meet him every day?” “Because he needs supplies, and who makes a safer delivery girl than another zombie?” This time, she got it. The dreamy look on her face vanished. “Men are trash,” she muttered. “You should just eat him. I hear the smart ones have the sweetest brains. My ex was a dumbass, but even he tasted pretty good.” I shook my head, horrified. “I can’t do that. I have standards. I don’t eat people.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her the real truth: I was a bit of a hopeless romantic, too. Even after he’d held a gun to my head, strapped a bomb to my neck, and spoken to me with such casual cruelty, a pathetic, traitorous part of me was still completely, stupidly in love with Caleb Hayes. 5. Despite the threat of imminent explosion, I was excited to see him again. Sadie helped me curl my hair into a new style. I changed into my best dress—a faded sundress I’d salvaged—spritzed myself with perfume from a shattered department store counter, and even put on a little makeup. I was at the Evergreen Market long before our agreed-upon time. When Caleb appeared, he stopped short, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. Did I overdo it? Is it too obvious? Panic seized me. When humans get awkward, they pretend to be busy. I coughed and started wiping down a dusty shelf with my sleeve. “What… what are you staring at?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached for me. I flinched back instinctively, my foot catching on a piece of debris on the floor. I cried out, stumbling backward, windmilling my arms. The cigarette fell from Caleb’s lips. In a flash, his arm shot out, his fingers locking around my wrist. He yanked me forward, hard. I slammed into his chest, my nose colliding with solid muscle. The familiar scent of him—woodsmoke and something clean, like antiseptic—filled my senses. Through the thin fabric of his shirt, I could feel the steady, powerful thrum of his heart against my ear. The embrace was so sudden, so unexpected, it felt like a dream. I stood there, paralyzed, not daring to move. His grip on my wrist didn’t loosen. “What happened here?” he asked, his voice low and rough. My face flushed, hot and prickly. My own heart was hammering against my ribs like a drum solo. I couldn’t look at him, my head sinking lower and lower. 6. “I was… looking for things in a pharmacy this afternoon. I cut myself.” “I don’t remember asking you to find medicine.” Caleb’s voice was cold, laced with an irritation that stung. He hadn’t. But I remembered he used to have stomach problems in college. In a world of scavenged, unbalanced meals, it was bound to act up. When I passed a pharmacy, I’d gone in, hoping to find some antacids for him. The shelves had collapsed, and in the mess of it all, I’d sliced my wrist on a piece of broken glass. His voice grew even sharper, as if he were drawing a line in the sand. “Nora, I was very clear yesterday. I need food and water. I’m not going to remove this collar just because you bring me extra supplies.” He gestured vaguely at me. “There are other high-functioning infected out there. If I blow you up, I’ll just find another one to do the job. If you get yourself hurt again, I might just press the button myself.” He leaned in, his voice a low threat. “Do you understand me?” I didn’t know what he meant by “hurt like this,” but I didn’t want to be blown to bits. He was worried about me, I realized, but only because an injured delivery girl might disrupt his supply chain. The thought didn’t make me happy. “I understand,” I mumbled. Heartless bastard, I thought. I hope your stomach hurts forever. “Don’t move.” A sudden warmth spread across my wrist. I looked down, surprised, as Caleb pulled a small Band-Aid from a tactical pouch on his belt. A zombie’s wounds don’t heal. I wanted to tell him not to waste it. But as I watched his strong, calloused fingers peel back the wrapper and gently press the worn-out teddy bear Band-Aid over my cut, my cold, dead heart did a ridiculous, traitorous little flutter. It felt like floating. I couldn’t bring myself to say no. He finished, his thumb lingering for a moment on my skin. He looked up, his dark eyes searching mine. “Nora, why are you so afraid of dying?” “That’s a secret.” He started to ask again, but I cut him off. I tilted my chin up, mimicking the arrogant tone he’d used with me just moments before. “And Caleb,” I said, a flicker of defiance in my voice, “I’m not going to tell you my secrets just because you put a teddy bear Band-Aid on me.” 7. Sadie shrieked when she saw the Band-Aid. “And you say he doesn’t like you?! Nora, a human putting a Band-Aid on a zombie? Do you have any idea what that means? Tell me!” A warmth spread through my chest, but I stubbornly refused to acknowledge it. “You’re reading too much into it, Sadie. He was just patching up his delivery drone.” “Then what about this?” She gestured to the pile of snacks he’d given me in exchange for the supplies. “He knows you eat human food, and he brought you all your favorites. Don’t tell me that’s not a little bit… flirty.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. My ears burned. I mumbled an excuse and scurried away. The next few nights, I met Caleb as promised. I used to hate the nights. The darkness was always filled with the gurgling, horrifying moans of the infected, a nightmare I could never wake from. But now, because of Caleb, I started to look forward to the sunset. Tonight, though, something was different about the Evergreen Market. A makeshift barbed-wire fence had been erected around the entrance, and the usual low-level infected that milled about were gone, their bodies piled nearby. As soon as I stepped inside, I heard a soft, feminine voice. “Caleb, I’m fine, really. Cough, cough… That medicine you got me worked wonders. My stomach feels so much better. You don’t have to worry about me.” I saw Caleb’s profile. His eyes were lowered, his handsome face etched with a deep, tender concern. The girl, who was leaning against a wall, reached up and gently smoothed the worry lines from between his eyebrows. The smile on my face froze and shattered.

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In my third year in New York, I became Mrs. Connor Harrison, an object of envy. Inside the private room at Per Se, Connor was holding court, laughing with his friends while gesturing for me to refill their glasses. He didn’t know that under the table, the one man in this city everyone deferred to, Caleb Winter, was pressing his thigh against mine, a searing heat bleeding through the fabric of my dress. A friend clapped Connor on the back, slurring his admiration. “You really hit the jackpot with Ava. A real class act.” Connor took a drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling from his lips as he answered in that old-money Manhattan drawl he affected. “She was born to serve.” Caleb Winter, who normally loathed these kinds of dinners, suddenly spoke, his voice a low, deliberate murmur that cut through the noise. “If you don’t know how to appreciate what you have, Harrison… some of us would kill for the chance.” 1 The party was a constellation of clinking champagne flutes and forced laughter. I wore a designer gown but moved like a ghost among the staff, for one reason and one reason only: Connor was hosting. Everyone was here to toast his latest acquisition, another jewel in his burgeoning empire. “To Connor Harrison, the boy wonder of Wall Street!” Connor offered a dismissive smile, tipping his glass in acknowledgement. His eyes, however, kept flicking to the door, waiting for someone. He must have caught me watching him. He crooked a finger, summoning me to his side. “Go down to the cellar,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. “Bring up the ’99 Romanée-Conti.” One of his friends grinned. “You trained her well, Harrison. She’s beautiful, she’s loyal, she keeps that new Tribeca place perfect.” Connor laughed, a hollow sound. “She’s no Chloe Summers, though. Did you hear Chloe just got into the architecture program at Cambridge?” My jaw tightened. I said nothing, just moved to pour him more wine. The next words I heard were, “Beauty and obedience only get you so far. Some people are just born to be of service.” My hand trembled. A drop of red wine splashed onto the cuff of his pristine white shirt. He shot me a look of pure disgust and hissed for me to get a napkin. I waved over a waiter to handle it and slipped away to the balcony for a breath of air. My crimson-painted lips closed around a slim cigarette, but my lighter refused to spark. A wave of frustration washed over me. “Mrs. Harrison?” I turned. It was Caleb Winter, the CEO of the Morpheus Group. In this world of sharks and titans, he was the apex predator. His presence here tonight was a king granting an audience to a prince. “Mr. Winter,” I said, my voice respectful. His gaze dropped to the unlit cigarette between my fingers. He pulled a heavy, silver Zippo from his pocket and stepped closer. The metallic click echoed in the quiet. It felt too intimate, a breach of etiquette. I started to pull back, but his posture was resolute. He was already leaning in, shielding the flame with his hand. I had no choice but to lean forward to meet it. The New York night air was sharp and cold. For a moment, the flame wavered, casting our profiles in a flickering glow, creating the illusion of a kiss. The tip of my cigarette finally glowed red. I straightened up. “Thank you, Mr. Winter.” He smiled, a warm, genuine thing that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Call me Caleb.” I took a long drag, the mint capsule popping in my mouth, the sharp flavor a welcome shock to my system. A maid appeared at the doorway, calling my name. I nodded my farewell to him. “Mr. Winter. It was a pleasure.” 2 “What is it?” I asked the flustered maid. She wrung her hands. “Mrs. Harrison… Ms. Summers is here.” My heart gave a painful lurch. She’s back. I heard her before I saw her, her bright, tinkling laugh injecting a false energy into the stuffy room. Chloe Summers stood there in a butter-yellow dress, her cheeks flushed as if she’d been holding court for hours. She was joking with Connor’s friends, telling them how she just couldn’t get used to life abroad, how she missed the soul of New York. Every gesture was pure Upper East Side princess. And Connor—my husband—watched her with an undisguised hunger, his arm draped possessively over the back of her chair. The chair that was supposed to be mine. My eyes scanned the table and landed on the one empty seat, right next to Caleb Winter. I walked over and sat down, turning to him. “Mr. Winter. We meet again.” He was toying with his black lighter, a faint smile playing on his lips as if he’d been expecting me. “It seems fate has a plan for us, Mrs. Harrison.” A ripple of laughter went through the table. The notoriously stoic Caleb Winter rarely engaged in banter. It was a moment. Connor’s eyes narrowed. He pushed a glass of scotch toward me. “Caleb, it’s an honor to have you. My wife, Ava, would like to propose a toast.” A lump formed in my throat. The familiar sting of humiliation. My hand reached for the glass. But a different hand, long-fingered and steady, got there first. Caleb picked up the bottle and poured a measure for himself. He inclined his head toward me. “Mrs. Harrison has been working hard all night. It’s I who should be toasting her.” He downed the scotch in one smooth motion, his expression unchanged. The mood at the table shifted instantly. Everyone knew Caleb Winter didn’t toast anyone. And tonight, he had just toasted another man’s wife. Speculative glances darted between us. Connor’s face was a mask of thunder. “I should go check on dessert,” I said, rising to escape. “Sit down,” Connor snapped. “The staff will handle it.” He was angry, though at what, I couldn’t be sure. Defeated, I sank back into the chair beside Caleb. Unlike the other men, who reeked of cigars and cologne, Caleb carried a subtle, clean scent of sandalwood. It suited him. The extra chair meant we were pressed close. Every time one of us reached for a dish or a glass, our arms brushed. Beneath the table, the heat from his leg was a constant, undeniable presence. I was wearing a dress with a high slit, and my bare skin kept grazing the fine wool of his trousers. I didn’t know if it was intentional, but he seemed to be leaning closer, the solid muscle of his thigh a warm, firm line against mine. My mouth went dry. I took several sips of water, trying to quell the rising heat inside me. From the corner of my eye, I saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. Intentional or not, it was happening. Connor’s party was a small affair, and no one had expected the CEO of Morpheus to show. Now, their curious gazes were burning holes in me. I distractedly picked up a slice of apple. Before it reached my lips, it was intercepted. Caleb took it from my fingers and placed it on my plate, his voice a low murmur. “Aren’t you allergic to apples?” I shot him a warning look, but he seemed unfazed. Under the table, the toe of his leather shoe nudged the hem of my dress. I forced a laugh. “Thank you for the reminder, Mr. Winter.” Connor scoffed, switching to a rapid-fire business jargon I only half-understood, clearly meant to exclude me. “Can’t even eat an apple. So high-maintenance.” Caleb, who had been silent for most of the meal, spoke again, his words dropping into the conversation like stones into a still pond. “If you don’t know how to appreciate what you have, Harrison… some of us would.” The entire room fell silent. The unspoken questions hung in the air between us. I pretended I hadn’t heard, deliberately knocking over my water glass. “Oh, clumsy me. I’ll go get this cleaned up.” As I left, I saw Caleb pick up the slice of apple he’d taken from me. He brought it to his lips and took a deliberate bite, his eyes never leaving mine. The juice glistened on his lips, an impossibly seductive sight. His gaze was a mixture of challenge and amusement, a silent reminder of something I had tried for years to forget. Coming out of the restroom, I ran right into Connor and Chloe’s private rendezvous in the hallway. “Connor, darling,” Chloe was whining. “When is your sham of a marriage finally going to be over? I want to be with you for real.” “Soon, Chloe. Soon…” I heard a low groan from Connor and stumbled backward, colliding with a chest as hard as marble. A deep, husky voice vibrated against my ear. “I didn’t take you for a voyeur, Mrs. Harrison.” “Who’s there?” Connor called out. In a panic, I grabbed Caleb’s arm and pulled him into an empty storage closet. The door clicked shut behind us. I looked up and realized a strand of my hair was caught on one of his shirt buttons. The small space was immediately charged with heat, thick with unspoken things. We were too close. I tried to step back, but a large hand clamped onto my waist, pulling me back against him. “Don’t move,” he rasped, his voice thick. “Caleb.” “I’m sorry.” He was so near, his striking eyes just inches from mine. He lowered his head, his focus entirely on the tangled strand of hair. His warm breath ghosted over the exposed skin of my chest, and every second felt like an eternity. “Is it… is it free yet?” I stammered. He suddenly looked up. Our noses brushed. Startled, I jerked my head back, a sharp pain shooting through my scalp as the hair pulled tighter. Caleb moved with me, his hand still firm on my lower back, effectively pinning me against the wall. His powerful arms wrapped around my waist. In the struggle, several buttons on his shirt had come undone, revealing a glimpse of the hard, sculpted muscle beneath. From the hallway, we could hear Chloe’s soft, breathless moans. I swallowed hard, my fingers tracing the line of his throat, feeling the pulse thrumming there. “Caleb,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “You started this.” I rose onto my toes, and our lips met. The clean, sweet taste of apple filled my mouth, a ghost of a memory. The last time we’d kissed, it had tasted of apples, too. But that time, I was the one who had eaten the apple. In an instant, he took control, his mouth claiming mine, kissing me again and again until I was breathless and dizzy. We were lost in a haze of passion and memory. When we finally emerged, I felt transformed. I had reapplied my lipstick, a defiant, blood-red shade, and changed into a wine-colored gown I’d kept in my car for emergencies. Caleb looked slightly more disheveled; his hair was mussed and his shirt was still undone, though he wore a mask of calm. “You should probably fix yourself up in here, Mr. Winter,” I said coolly. “I’ll see you back at the table.” An arm snaked around my waist, pulling me back. Caleb cupped my neck and kissed me again, a hard, possessive kiss that smeared my fresh lipstick. “Go on,” he said, finally satisfied. He released me and began calmly straightening his tie, as if nothing had happened. I ran my tongue over my lips. Three years. His technique had definitely improved. Back in the dining room, Connor and Chloe were practically fused together, whispering intimately. Chloe’s lipstick was smudged, a deliberate signal meant for me. As I walked past, she grabbed my hand. “Oh, Ava, honey,” she cooed, her eyes wide and innocent. “I forgot my lipstick. Could I borrow yours?” “No.” “Ava, don’t be so stingy. It’s just lipstick,” Connor chided, siding with her instantly. I smiled, a sharp, cold thing. “This shade is a little too much for a little girl.” Chloe’s face fell, but she recovered quickly, turning to wrap her arms around Connor. “Connor, baby, will you take me shopping for a new one tomorrow?” “Of course,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “Anything you want.” Tomorrow was our third wedding anniversary. She had a real talent for timing. After the party, Connor drove Chloe home. He didn’t even bother to hide it anymore. I stood at the entrance of the restaurant, the cold wind whipping at my silk dress. The red-soled heels were beautiful but cruel; my feet were rubbed raw. The chill of the New York night was a welcome distraction, a way to numb the chaos in my mind. I lit a cigarette, the white smoke curling into the darkness. I took one drag, then another, feeling the knot in my chest loosen slightly. A heavy weight settled on my shoulders. A familiar scent of sandalwood enveloped me. I looked up slowly. Caleb was standing in front of me, his suit jacket now draped over me. “Care for a ride, Ava?” he asked, his voice low. He called me Ava. Not Mrs. Harrison. I met his gaze, my eyes narrowing. “I’d love one.” His black Rolls-Royce Cullinan was a shadow in the night. He opened the passenger door for me. When I was seated, he knelt down and, to my astonishment, produced a pair of soft hotel slippers. His long fingers gently lifted my foot, sliding off the painful heel and replacing it with the slipper. The heat from his touch seared my skin. I flinched, and he simply tightened his grip on my ankle, holding me steady. The sight of his strong, veined hand wrapped around my ankle was strangely, intensely erotic. “A man of your stature, Mr. Winter,” I teased, trying to regain my composure as he got into the driver’s seat. “No chauffeur tonight?” “I gave him the night off.” The drive was silent. We were heading toward his place, an address I hadn’t realized I still remembered. The silence was heavy, so I turned on the classical station. The mournful notes of a violin filled the car as we drove through the sleeping city. When we arrived, I glanced over. Caleb’s eyes were closed, his breathing even. He was either asleep or pretending to be. I watched him for a moment. He hadn’t changed. Still the same impossibly handsome man in a perfectly tailored suit. “Mr. Winter.” No response. I tried a few more times before my voice turned to ice. “Caleb.” His eyes snapped open. Those intoxicating, dangerous eyes focused on me. His Adam’s apple moved. “Thank you for the ride home, Ava,” he said, his voice thick with sleep. He got out of the car and disappeared into the shadows of his townhouse. “Caleb, your keys!” I called, jumping out of the car. The moment my fingers touched his wrist, he spun around, pressing me back against the car door. His voice was a raw whisper, charged with a desire he was no longer hiding. He cupped the back of my head with one hand, the other resting on the small of my back, his body flush against mine. “Ava,” he breathed, his forehead resting against mine. “How long are you going to keep this up?” I pushed against his chest, my voice colder than I felt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “My name,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my temple. “You always hated calling me Mr. Winter.” He kissed my cheek, his lips tracing a path to my ear. My body betrayed me, melting against him. My hands found their way to his shoulders, clinging to him for support. “Caleb… I’m married,” I whispered, the words tasting like a lie. His eyes were dark, unreadable. He traced the outline of my lips with his thumb. “Has he kissed you here?” Before I could answer, his mouth was on mine, as fierce and possessive as it had always been, stealing my breath and my will. His hands began to roam, setting my skin on fire everywhere they touched. The sharp honk of a car horn broke the spell. My Uber had arrived. I grabbed his wrist, stopping his descent. “Caleb. Stop.” He looked down at me, his arms still holding me close. I reached up and wiped a smudge of lipstick from his lips. “It was over between us three years ago, Caleb.” Three years ago, he was a brilliant but broke founder, fighting for his dream. Now, he was the CEO of the Morpheus Group. A king in this city. A man I couldn’t afford to touch. I pulled away and got into the waiting car. In the rearview mirror, I saw him leaning against his Rolls-Royce, a cigarette glowing between his fingers, a single point of red in the vast darkness. His jacket was still around my shoulders, its sandalwood scent a haunting reminder of the kiss, of the man, of everything I had lost.

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The rejection text from my crush landed just before spring break. When I asked him why, Liam’s reply was simple. Liam: I like girls who are brave and smart. I immediately typed back. Me: Did you forget who pulled you out of the lake when your boat sank last week? Two seconds of bouncing dots, then… Liam: Okay, so you’re brave. But what about smart? Another two-second pause from me. Me: Guess why your boat was the only one that was leaking. Liam: ? 1 The moment I sent it, my phone started ringing. Liam. I declined the call. He was relentless. By the time I was boarding my flight, he’d called a grand total of eighteen times. I ignored every single one. A final text buzzed through: [You’re in the next state over, right? Just you wait.] I powered my phone off, a satisfied smile spreading across my face as I settled into my airplane seat. Finally, it was Liam’s turn to chase me for a change. As for why his boat was taking on water? How should I know? I don’t build boats. 2 Two hours later, we touched down. I switched my phone back on to a gratifying stream of messages from Liam. Liam: Booked a flight. Liam: At the airport. Liam: Landing at seven. Liam: Chloe. You just wait. I let out a long breath. Ah, so this is what it feels like to have someone checking in with you. Utterly terrifying. Over the next two hours, I executed a flawless sequence of operations: baggage claim, dinner, and booking a room at the airport hotel. Once checked into my room, less than five hundred yards from the terminal, I finally felt secure. There was no way he’d think to look for me right under his nose. The old “hiding in plain sight” trick. At seven-thirty, my phone rang. Liam. I answered with all the unearned confidence I could muster. “To what do I owe the honor?” His voice was cold. “What floor?” I froze. “What?” “The airport hotel. What floor are you on? What room number?” I shot up in bed, genuinely stunned. “Holy shit, how did you know?” A dry, humorless laugh came through the phone. “Your phone’s step count has been under a thousand since you landed, Chloe. Do the math.” 3 Damn it. I have a thing for smart guys. Of course, Liam might just be a little too smart. Down in the hotel lobby, I shuffled guiltily toward him. Liam’s brow furrowed the second he saw me. “Why are you wearing slippers down here? The floor is freezing.” I offered a sheepish grin. “I was just in a hurry to see you.” His handsome face darkened again as he tugged on the hood of my sweatshirt. “Alright, talk. The boat.” I threw my hands up in surrender. “I don’t know anything!” “Still playing dumb?” “I really don’t!” My voice was a pathetic whine. It was a total lie, and now I was regretting it. The automatic doors slid open, letting in another guest and a blast of cold air. I hopped from foot to foot, muttering, “I just wanted to sound smart.” Liam looked at me, and a flicker of something—maybe exasperated amusement—crossed his face. He nudged his large suitcase in front of me. “Sit.” I blinked. “Huh?” “You’re practically tap-dancing to stay warm,” he sighed. “Sit on the suitcase. Get your feet off the floor.” “Oh,” I said, hoisting myself up. As I settled, he draped his jacket over my legs. I couldn’t help myself. “Liam, you know, it was a lot of trouble for you to fly all the way out here… maybe instead…” “Instead, you just give in and be mine.” “Instead, you let me throw you in the lake this time.” My mouth dropped open. 4 Seriously? How can a mouth that looks that good say something so cold? We both seemed to freeze for a second. Then, reality hit. I scrambled off the suitcase and bolted. “You jerk! Next time I’ll flip your whole damn boat over!” “I knew it was you!” he yelled after me, his voice a mix of anger and frustration. Honestly, it wasn’t me. But “flipping his boat” felt like the right level of pissed-off. Back in my room, my phone buzzed again. Liam: Come out. I ignored it, turning my attention back to a TikTok of a cute guy with great abs. Liam: I ordered food. I swallowed hard, my eyes still glued to the screen. Liam: …Whatever. It’s outside your door. My flight back is at nine. I’m leaving. I stared at the message. He’s leaving? Already? After a moment’s hesitation, I slipped off the bed, planning to just crack the door and peek down the hall. The second I opened it, my face collided with something warm and soft. Oh. It was a chest. A very solid chest wrapped in a black sweater. “Why do you lead with your head when you open a door?!” Liam’s face was flushed as he grabbed my shoulders to steady me. I was about to come up with a witty retort, but my body had other plans. A sudden warmth trickled from my nose. I was having a nosebleed. 5 For the record, the nosebleed was because the hotel air was ridiculously dry. It had absolutely nothing to do with Liam’s 42-inch chest being squeezed into a tight, black turtleneck sweater. Nothing at all. Liam pressed a cool washcloth to my forehead, his expression a complicated mix of concern and disbelief. “Chloe, I’m not kidding, I’ve never seen a girl get a nosebleed for… this reason.” With my eyes closed, I replied sagely, “That’s just because their rooms weren’t dry enough.” He let out another one of those exasperated laughs. “Hey, what about your nine o’clock flight?” I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “It’s 9:10. You’re super late, Liam.” “I am super late,” he agreed, holding up his phone. “Already rescheduled for tomorrow.” My eyes popped open. “You were actually going to leave?” Liam gave me a look. “What else would I be doing?” “I don’t know, I thought you were bluffing to get me to open the door.” “Why would I need to lie about something like that?” he scoffed. I blinked. “Then what is worth lying about?” He paused, not answering. Instead, he took the washcloth, went to heat up the food he’d brought, and then held a forkful of pasta to my lips. “Eat.” Well, now. Room service and he feeds me? This nosebleed was totally worth it. I chewed, swallowed, and opened my mouth for the next bite. “You have hands for a reason,” came Liam’s deadpan voice, dashing my hopes. “Also, don’t open your mouth that wide. You look like a baby bird.” 6 Honestly, I sometimes worry Liam is so sharp-tongued he might accidentally poison himself just by licking his lips. It’s a serious concern. If we ever kissed, would I get poisoned too? After we finished eating, Liam started gathering the trash to take back to his room. “What’s in that little box?” I asked, pointing to a small, elegant container left on the table. He glanced over. “Chocolates. They were an add-on to meet the delivery minimum.” I opened it up. The aroma was unique, rich and dark. There were six of them. I carefully set aside the prettiest one for Liam and, with a heavy heart, forced myself to eat the five ugly ones. When Liam came back from dropping the trash outside, he saw the single, perfect chocolate sitting alone on the table. He just stood there for a second and said, “Wow. Just… wow.” See? I knew he was picky. He only likes the pretty things. By that logic, he should be obsessed with me. Liam froze. “What?” I blinked, then repeated the thought in my head, louder this time: Liam is a huge idiot if he doesn’t like me. A vein pulsed in his temple. “Are you insulting me?” My eyes widened in mock surprise. “Whoa, are you a mind reader now?” He strode over, picked up the remaining chocolate, broke it open, and sniffed. He let out a long, slow breath. “Chloe, for the love of God, can you please pay attention? These are high-proof liqueur chocolates.” 7 Liqueur what now? All I heard was “more snacks.” I propped my chin on my hands and watched him pace around, a goofy smile on my face. He was so handsome. I wanted to kiss him. Liam’s face was looking a little flushed as he came over and helped me to my feet. “Okay, time for bed. No drunk antics.” “I’m not drunk,” I insisted, pouting. “I’m perfectly lucid.” “Right, right, you’re the queen of lucid,” he said, humoring me. “Now get in bed.” I slapped his hand away and, with surprisingly accurate aim, planted both of my palms flat on his chest. I stared at his face, which was now turning a brilliant shade of red, and asked seriously, “Could a drunk person find their target this perfectly?” The vein in his forehead was practically throbbing. “Chloe… you just wait until tomorrow. I am going to get you back for this.” He sighed, resigned, and guided me toward the bed. “Alright, you’ve had your feel. Can you go to sleep now?” I shook my head. “Not enough.” His face was the color of a ripe tomato. His voice was a strained whisper. “What else could you possibly want?” My eyes drifted down to his chest, and I gave him a shy smile. “Can I… take a sip?” 8 You know what they say: a guy who takes care of you is a guy worth keeping. My hands were still resting on the solid warmth of his chest. He was just standing there, blushing, not saying no. My smile grew bolder. I started to lean in— THUD. I stared in shock as Liam, in a desperate attempt to evade me, stumbled backward and fell right off the side of the bed, landing in a heap on the floor. Really? If you didn’t want me to, you could have just said no. You didn’t have to throw yourself to the ground. “Chloe…” He pushed himself up, his face an unreadable shade of crimson. He stared at me for a few long, silent seconds, then turned on his heel and walked out of the room. Just… left. Didn’t say another word. Made a right turn and was gone. I lay on the bed, stunned, for a moment. I looked down at my palms, where the warm, soft feeling of his sweater still lingered. After a minute, I reached over to the nightstand, pulled out a tissue, and silently stuffed it up my nose. 9 Liam didn’t just leave my room. He left the city. The next morning, I checked his location and saw a travel route that spanned a hundred miles overnight, his step count nearing twenty thousand. I was overcome with a deep sense of guilt. I was sorry. But I’d totally do it again. I woke up for real around nine, figuring he’d had enough time to cool off. I tentatively sent him a “Peeking Cat” sticker. No reply. Okay, still mad. I opened a food delivery app and ordered his favorite coffee and some pastries to be sent to his dorm, adding a note for the little card: [Remember! You are my precious prince! If you are hurt or sad, everyone else must perish!] Satisfied, I placed the order. Half an hour later, the app notified me that the delivery was complete. Humming a little tune, I texted Liam again. Me: Did you like the royal treats, your highness? The reply came almost instantly. A single, cold syllable. Liam: Hah. I sat bolt upright. What? Still angry? That can’t be right. Just then, a message popped up from the bakery. [Hi, so sorry, our system glitched and the note only printed the first and last words (crying emoji)]. A terrible feeling began to creep over me. My fingers trembled as I typed back. Me: So… what did the recipient see? It took them a full thirty seconds to reply. Five words that hit me like a ton of bricks. [Remember! You must perish!] 10 Fine, fine, I’ll perish! Is that what you want?! Ignoring the bakery’s frantic apologies, I scrambled to text Liam. [That’s not what I meant! Your Highness, let me explain!!] The Prince was not in a listening mood. No reply. After a few seconds of panic, I was a whirlwind of motion—packing my suitcase, booking a flight back to campus. An apology requires sincerity. Chasing a guy requires effort. I liked Liam, so what was one more trip back to school? Ping. A text from my roommate. [Chloe, you didn’t actually go home, did you?? You have a Business Law final in three days, remember??] My packing came to a screeching halt. I scrambled to open the class group chat, scrolling frantically until I found the exam schedule I’d completely overlooked. Perfect. Now I had an even better reason to go back. Dragging my suitcase downstairs, I hit the voice memo button, my tone serious and solemn, but with a smile I couldn’t hide. “Liam. Wait for me.” 11 The flight was two hours. I took a cab straight to campus. On the way, I rehearsed my defense, a full three-minute speech explaining the note and my behavior the other night. I got to campus around two in the afternoon, which was prime study time for Liam. He’d almost certainly be at the library. I sprinted to my dorm, dropped my bags, threw on a fresh, barely-there makeup look, and grabbed the new box of pastries I’d bought as a peace offering. The second-floor study area was buzzing with people. I scanned the tables from the doorway but didn’t see him. Just as I was wondering where he could be, I heard a voice from the end of the hall, near the water fountains. “Dude, was that Isabelle just now?” I froze, turning my head. It was Liam and his roommate. And in Liam’s hand was a beautifully packaged bag of pastries. I glanced down at the identical bag in my own hand. My stomach dropped. “Nice one, man,” his roommate said, nudging him playfully. “Isabelle is the ice queen of our department. I can’t believe you actually won her over.” I was too far away to see their expressions clearly, but their words carried down the quiet hall. I waited for Liam to say something. To correct him. But he didn’t. He didn’t say a single word. His roommate was still talking. “I mean, Chloe’s hot and all, but… what’s the term? A ditz? You’re too smart for a beautiful ditz.” “A brainy goddess is way more your speed, man. You two are a perfect match.” I just stood there and listened. From beginning to end, Liam never once objected. It wasn’t until they started walking toward the study room entrance that I finally saw his face. He was smiling. And as his eyes met mine, that smile dissolved into shock. I held his gaze for a few seconds, my own face a placid mask. “Fancy seeing you here,” I said, my voice perfectly calm.

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The game of Truth or Dare ended with me kissing the guy I’ve been secretly in love with for a year. And somehow, it gave me the ability to read his mind. After I did it, he retreated to a corner of the couch, his expression as cool and unreadable as ever. He didn’t say a word. But a voice, his voice, echoed clearly in my head. Her lips are so soft. I need to figure out a way to make her kiss me again. 1 It was a stupid party dare. The kind of thing you do in college when the music is too loud and the air is thick with cheap beer and bad decisions. I lost a round of cards, and the penalty was a dare. I squeezed my eyes shut and pulled a card from the deck fanned out on the coffee table. The moment I drew it, the crowded living room erupted. My best friend, Mia, who was squeezed next to me on the couch, let out a shriek of laughter so loud it vibrated through my skull. My hand holding the card started to tremble. If she was laughing that hard, I must have drawn something mortifying. “Oh my god, Chloe! Open your eyes, you have to see this!” Mia slapped my shoulder, urging me on. Bracing myself, I opened my eyes. The words on the card made my trembling worse. 【Kiss the person next to you. Passionately.】 There were only two people next to me. On one side was Mia. On the other was Noah Evans. He wasn’t even supposed to be sitting there. Earlier, he’d claimed the cigarette smoke from across the room was getting to him and asked to swap seats with some guy. He’d ended up right next to me. The catcalls and whoops from our friends intensified. Mia put her hands on her hips, her grin wicked. “Just so we’re clear, you are not kissing me,” she declared. “Girl-on-girl is a no-go for this dare!” With that, every eye in the room landed on Noah. The noise level spiked again. My whole body went rigid. I turned to look at him, my palms slick with sweat. He sat there calmly, the dim party lights casting his face in shadow, making him impossible to read. We’d been in the same friend group for a year, but I don’t think we’d ever exchanged more than a dozen words. Kissing him felt less plausible than flying to the moon. “Chloe, this is your shot! Don’t blow it!” Mia hissed in my ear. I wanted to. God, I wanted to. But how could I? As if finally sensing the weight of two dozen stares, Noah slowly looked up. His gaze drifted from me to the card in my hand. His expression remained a perfect blank. My nerve broke. “Maybe we should just skip it…” I mumbled. “I’m fine with it.” My voice died in my throat. Noah cut me off, his eyes lifting to meet mine. His face was still passive, but his voice was steady. “I don’t have a problem with it.” 2 The room exploded. Mia’s laughter reached a pitch I can only describe as demonic. Propelled by the roar of the crowd, I leaned toward Noah, my heart hammering against my ribs with every inch I closed the distance. The second my lips brushed against his, I saw his throat move as he swallowed hard. His lips were warm. And incredibly soft. I remembered seeing an anonymous post on the campus confession page once, debating who had the most kissable lips. Noah’s name had come up more than once. The verdict was that they looked like they’d be perfect to kiss. They were. The rumors were true. Maybe it was just the adrenaline, but for a split second, I thought I felt the corner of his mouth twitch into the faintest hint of a smile. Is he… smiling? My heart went into overdrive. The dizzying rush of it all was so intoxicating that it wasn’t until Mia practically fell off the couch laughing that I snapped back to reality. I couldn’t bring myself to deliver the “passionate” part of the dare. A simple, soft press was all I could manage before I pulled back so fast I bumped into Mia. “That’s it?!” she screeched, snatching the card from my hand. “Where’s the passion?” “That’s enough, that’s enough,” I mumbled, my face burning. I couldn’t look at anyone. Mia sighed with the dramatic frustration of someone whose favorite TV show just got canceled. 3 After a few minutes, when my pulse had returned to something resembling normal, I realized the spot beside me was empty. Noah had moved. He was now sitting at the far end of the sectional, alone. I watched him, a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. Why did he move so far away? He looks… annoyed. What’s he thinking? He regrets it! I ruined his night! He hates me! My mind spiraled. I was debating whether I should go over and apologize when a familiar voice echoed in my ear. She kissed me. What? That was Noah’s voice. I scanned the room, but he was still in the corner, perfectly still. He hadn’t moved his lips. Did I imagine that? I stared at him, my brow furrowed in confusion. A second later, the voice came again, clearer this time. Her lips are so soft. Noah blinked, a slow, deliberate motion. I need to figure out a way to make her kiss me again. What. The. Hell? 4 I sat frozen, trying to process what had just happened, until Mia, fresh from another round of the game, nudged me. “What’s up? Cat got your tongue, or are you just blissed out?” “Did you…” I started, choosing my words carefully. “Did you hear Noah say anything just now?” “Noah?” Mia frowned, glancing over to the corner. “He hasn’t said a word since… you know.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Chloe, are you drunk?” She patted my head like I was a child. “Just chill here for a bit, okay honey?” And with that, she was dragged back into the game, leaving me to drown in my own confusion. Was I really just hearing things? It felt so real. My thoughts were interrupted by a new wave of cheering. “Alright, make way, make way! Evans is getting in on the action!” I watched as one of the guys scooted over, creating a space on the couch. Right next to me. Noah got up from his corner seat and, with that same infuriatingly calm expression, sat down in the empty spot. My heart skipped. His last thought, the one I’d supposedly imagined, came rushing back. I need to figure out a way to make her kiss me again. 5 Once the game started again, Noah was on an incredible losing streak. He had to chug his drink three times in a row. Even his friend, Ryan, looked baffled. “Dude, when did you get so bad at this game?” Noah just shrugged, his expression cool. “Bad luck, I guess. Deal me in.” Predictably, he lost the next round too. This time, though, he didn’t reach for his drink. He eyed the deck of dare cards on the table. Ryan caught his drift and, with a theatrical flourish, swept the cards into a messy pile. “Let’s see what fate has in store for my man Noah! C’mon, something good, like a lap dance for a stranger!” Noah’s face was a mask of indifference. He stared down at the cards, as if weighing a decision of immense gravity. Then, I heard it again. That voice. His voice. I have to pick the one with the crease. My eyes shot to the pile of cards on the table. A crease? Which one had a crease? He was taking his time. Ryan nudged him. “C’mon, man, pick one.” Noah’s gaze swept over the cards one last time before locking onto a single one near the edge. A flicker of something—relief?—crossed his features before being instantly erased. He reached out and tapped it with his finger. “This one,” he said, his tone casual. Ryan snatched it up, his eyes widening as he read it. A huge, knowing grin spread across his face. “Oh, man. Oh, you guys are not gonna believe this.” He held the card to his chest, milking the suspense. Mia, never one for patience, was about to lose it. “What is it? Spit it out!” “This card… this card is just…” Mia balled her fists. “Ryan, I swear to god, I will punch you!” After a few playful jabs from her, he finally gave in. His eyes darted between me and Noah, that stupid grin still plastered on his face as he revealed the grand prize. He flipped the card over. I leaned in to see. And then I froze. It was my card. The exact same one. The words 【Kiss the person next to you. Passionately.】 stared back at me. As I looked closer, I saw it—a tiny, almost imperceptible crease in the bottom right corner. My heart rate skyrocketed. Ryan nudged Noah, his voice dripping with insinuation. “What a coincidence, huh, man?” “Yeah,” Noah said, his expression completely flat as he glanced at the card and gave a small nod. “A real coincidence.” He said it, and then his eyes lifted and met mine. My breath caught. His eyes were dark, intense. He held my gaze for a few seconds in the dim light before asking, his voice quiet and even. “Is that okay with you?” 6 My brain went completely blank. Okay with… what? Was this really happening? Mia muffled a squeal, her eyes bouncing between the two of us. After a moment, she exploded with laughter and, leaning over, pushed my head forward in a nod. “Yes! Yes, it’s okay! We are all law-abiding citizens who respect the rules of the game!” Noah shot her a quick glance before his eyes returned to me, waiting. As if sensing my hesitation, he added quietly, “I was fine with it before.” The implication hung in the air. I played along for you. It’s only fair that you do the same for me. “I… I mean…” Before I could finish, a hand shoved my shoulder, and I stumbled forward, right into Noah. I gasped, but a pair of strong hands caught me, steadying me. The next thing I knew, my lips met his. Warm. Soft. I looked up and found him already looking down at me. His eyelashes were so long. From this angle, I could see them flutter as he blinked slowly. And then, the corners of his eyes crinkled. He was smiling. 7 This was going to kill me. Kissing my crush twice in one night had my heart doing gymnastics. I was suddenly wide awake, my body temperature rising like a furnace. If I stayed there one second longer, I was going to spontaneously combust. I scrambled off him and mumbled something about the bathroom, practically fleeing the room. The shock of cold water on my hands did little to cool the fire on my face. The feeling of his lips lingered, a phantom warmth I couldn’t wash away. His lips. His smile. And his thoughts. Stop it, Chloe. Just stop. I think I stayed in that bathroom for a century. When I finally returned to the living room, I overheard Ryan talking to Noah. “I don’t know, man,” Ryan said, squinting at him suspiciously. “I feel like you’ve been smiling this whole time.” Noah looked up. “Have I?” “Yeah,” Ryan insisted, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Ever since you ‘lost’ that last round.” He grinned, waiting for a denial. “Hm,” Noah said, not even looking up. “Guess I have been.” Ryan just stared, his mouth hanging open. The heat rushed back to my cheeks. I took a few deep breaths and found an empty corner to sit in, hoping to become invisible. The party was winding down, and people were scattered around, chatting quietly. That’s when I heard it again. How do I get closer to her? She’s sitting so far away. My eyes darted toward Noah. He was sitting on the couch, lost in thought. After a moment, his gaze landed on Ryan, who was still trying to process their earlier conversation. Noah tapped him. “Why aren’t you smoking?” Ryan blinked. “Huh? Why would I be smoking?” Noah paused for a beat. “You look cool when you smoke.” “I do, don’t I?” Ryan preened, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. But just as he lit it, Noah let out a single, sharp cough. It was just loud enough for everyone to hear. Then he stood up and started walking away. Ryan stared, the cigarette frozen between his fingers. “What the hell, man?” Noah’s voice was flat. “Can’t stand the smell of smoke. Got to get away from you.” Ryan was left looking utterly baffled. My whole body tensed. I watched, paralyzed, as Noah calmly walked across the room and sat down in the armchair directly across from me. 8 That night, I couldn’t sleep. I crawled into Mia’s bed. “Hey,” I whispered. “Can being drunk make you hallucinate?” “Like, hearing things?” Mia was more wasted than I was. She grunted from beneath her comforter. “Yeah, Chloe. What’d you hear?” I clutched my phone and leaned closer. “I heard… Noah’s voice.” “Huh?” Mia cracked open one bloodshot eye. “I heard him thinking… that he needed to find a way to kiss me.” The eye that had struggled to open slammed shut. She rolled over, her back to me, and was instantly asleep. “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t believe me.” A muffled voice came from the blankets. “No… just… go to sleep. We’ll deal with it in the morning.” “Deal with what?” “Your daydreaming.” I kicked her under the covers. 9 To prove I wasn’t crazy, Mia’s plan the next morning was to drag me past Noah’s usual haunts. But we’d barely left my dorm when we heard Ryan’s booming voice. “Seriously, dude? Do we have to eat at this dining hall? It’s a million miles from our dorm.” Ryan was rubbing his eyes, looking like death warmed over. “It’s fine,” Noah’s calm voice replied. His gaze flickered toward our dorm building. “The food is better here.” Is it, though? I thought. Mia and I froze. We turned and saw the two of them heading toward the dining hall. “Well, speak of the devil,” Mia grinned, pulling me along. “Hey! Ryan! Morning!” Ryan and Mia were two of a kind. He waved back with equal energy. “Yo! Fancy seeing you here.” As Mia dragged me over, she whispered, “Okay, at breakfast, try to see if you can hear him again.” Before I could ask how we were all supposed to eat together, Mia was already asking. “Hey, since we’re all here, want to grab a table together?” Ryan was about to agree when he remembered his company. “Ah, probably not. Noah’s not really a fan of eating with… you know, other people.” “Next time,” Ryan said, patting Mia’s arm. “We’ll do it next time.” Just then, I saw Noah’s eyes flick almost imperceptibly in my direction. “I don’t mind,” he said. Ryan stared at him. Noah continued, his tone perfectly even. “I enjoy eating breakfast with people.” Ryan’s jaw dropped. 10 Ryan looked like a zombie all the way into the dining hall. He grabbed Noah’s shoulder, his voice a numb whisper. “When did you start enjoying eating with people?” Especially girls? was the unspoken question. Noah’s expression was serene. “Just now.” 11 Inside, Ryan and Mia immediately split off toward their favorite food stations. I stood behind Noah, silently deciding to just get whatever he was getting. But he wasn’t moving either, apparently still deciding. I worked up the courage to speak. “What are you getting?” He looked over his shoulder. “Haven’t decided.” Okay. After a moment of awkward silence, I gave up and headed for the pancake line. The second I moved, so did he. He followed right behind me, stopping at the same station. He ordered the exact same thing I did. And he sat down at the same table. He never said a word, but his thoughts were a constant stream flooding my mind. I want to eat the same thing she is. She looks so sweet when she’s focused. I need to figure out an excuse to eat with her again. I kept my head down, focusing on my pancakes, feeling my ears grow hotter by the second. After they left, Mia leaned in close. “So? Did you hear anything?” “…Yeah.” “For real?!” Her eyes were wide. “You can hear his thoughts? What was he thinking?” I paused, the heat rising in my face again. “He said I look sweet.” Mia stared at me. “And that he needs to find an excuse to eat with me again.” Mia looked at me like I’d just announced I was moving to Mars. “Chloe, are you listening to yourself?” 12 Mia insisted it was absurd. She was convinced my crush had metastasized into full-blown delusion and suggested a trip to the campus health center. Did Noah, with his perpetually cool and distant expression, seem like the kind of guy who would think things like that? Honestly, she had a point. If I hadn’t heard it myself, I wouldn’t have believed it either. But why was he trying so hard to get closer to me? My phone buzzed, shaking me from my thoughts. It was Mia, texting to say the results from the piano competition last month were in. I got first place. Not a huge surprise, but nice to hear. As I was about to put my phone away, it buzzed again. A friend request. With a profile picture I recognized instantly from the campus confession page. The name read: Noah Evans – Computer Science.

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My tooth had been staging a week-long protest, and I’d finally decided to negotiate. Of all the dental chairs in all the city, I had to end up in my ex-boyfriend’s. He wore a poker face, his voice flat. “Open up.” A moment later, the verdict. “It can’t be saved. You need a root canal, then a crown. Thirty-five hundred.” My whole body went rigid. Holy shit. That’s half a month’s salary. How could the same mouth I had once kissed so passionately utter something so clinically cold? My voice trembled. “Is there… any way to make it cheaper?” My ex-boyfriend, Dr. Leo Carter, arched an eyebrow. “Sure,” he said. “It’s free for family.” 1 After a combined assault of ibuprofen and amoxicillin failed to quell the rebellion in my jaw, I finally waved the white flag and booked an appointment. I chose the closest in-network dentist my insurance would cover. When I told my best friend, Jenna, she decided to reward my bravery. She hired me a male model for moral support. “Okay, babe,” she texted, “Kaden will be there tomorrow to hold your hand. If the pain gets too bad, just focus on his abs.” The next day, I managed to coax myself out the door. I had to admit, having company was different. Kaden was ridiculously sweet, a non-stop charm offensive that actually managed to distract me from my impending doom. Until the nurse called my name. “Maya Chen.” My heart hammered against my ribs. I walked stiffly toward the exam room, my steps leaden. The moment I saw the doctor, I spun on my heel and bolted. Who in their right mind wants to run into their ex when they’re at their most vulnerable? I was halfway down the hall before Kaden and the nurse caught up, blocking my escape. “Hey, you were so close,” Kaden said, his voice a smooth balm. “Where are you going?” the nurse asked, grabbing my other arm. I was escorted back like a prisoner, one on each side. Leo Carter sat on a rolling stool, methodically pulling on a pair of latex gloves. A surgical mask hid the lower half of his face, but the cool indifference in his eyes was exactly as I remembered. He frowned at the commotion, then looked up. “What’s going on?” His eyes met mine, and a flicker of surprise crossed his features. He asked again, his voice a low rumble. “What is it?” Kaden patted the back of my hand. “It’s okay, Maya. I’m right here.” Leo’s eyes narrowed. It was his tell. The signal for deep annoyance. His gaze dropped to where Kaden’s hand rested on mine. “Family only in the exam room,” he said, his voice clipped. “You can wait outside.” My brain was a chaotic mess of panic and old memories; I didn’t even register his choice of words. I just trudged over to the chair and lay down like a patient on death row. “It’s the lower left,” I mumbled. “Open.” The cold metal of an instrument grazed my cheek, sending a shiver through me. “Don’t move.” My hand shot out, grabbing the hem of his white coat. “Does this hurt?” he asked, probing. A strangled noise escaped my throat. “You have a cavity,” he stated, withdrawing. “We need to get an X-ray.” As he stood up, my hand fell away, clutching at empty air. The nurse appeared at my side. “Come with me.” A few minutes later, I was back in the chair. Leo stared at the image on the computer screen, his brow furrowed. “It’s a deep one. The decay has reached the pulp, it’s infected. You need a root canal.” My world collapsed. I’d done my research before coming. Everyone said a root canal was torture. I squeezed my eyes shut in despair. Leo continued to explain the procedure, his voice a clinical drone. Only his last sentence snapped me back to reality. “It’s your lower left molar. You’ll want a crown on it afterward. Otherwise, it could fracture when you’re eating. If it cracks, the only option is to pull it and get an implant.” My eyes flew open. I couldn’t afford to wallow in self-pity. “How much is a crown?” I asked, my voice tight. “Does my insurance cover it?” “I’d recommend the thirty-five-hundred-dollar option. It’s the best value. It’s an imported material, so insurance won’t cover it.” My whole body went rigid. Half a month’s salary. Holy shit. How could the same mouth I had once kissed with such searing heat utter something so clinically cold? My voice trembled. “Is there… any way to make it cheaper?” Leo arched an eyebrow. “Sure. It’s free for family.” 2 Leo was a year ahead of me in college. He was the undisputed, untouchable king of the dental school. I saw him for the first time during freshman orientation, standing in the middle of a chaotic crowd. He was holding the department banner, ignoring every single person with an equal, democratic disdain. That intense, brooding energy, the sheer force of his aloofness—it hit me like a lightning strike. I asked around. The consensus was unanimous: don’t even bother. Leo Carter’s photo had already been posted on the university’s unofficial Instagram page eight times in three days during orientation week. The number of people who came to “casually” see him in person was insane. The line of girls who had tried and failed to get his attention was at least a hundred long. But I was stubborn. His name was Leo Carter. It sounded like something out of a romance novel. I shamelessly threw myself at him for a whole year. Finally, at the start of my sophomore year, I caught his eye. I’d been getting nowhere, and in a fit of frustration, I’d scheduled a swim day with Jenna. On autopilot, I sent him a picture of me in my new bikini before my brain caught up. It was too late to unsend. Leo: I saw it. Leo: Please don’t send me things like that again. Leo: … Leo: And it’s probably not a good idea for a girl to go swimming alone with a guy. Leo: I don’t mean anything by it. Just a reminder. It was the most he’d ever written to me. I looked over at Jenna—my 5’10” best friend who’d just buzzed her hair for the summer and lived in oversized, gender-neutral streetwear. I started to laugh. Later, with a little coordinated teamwork from me and Jenna, Leo was finally mine. Once we were official, he was, just as I’d predicted, incredibly passionate. Aside from being a man of few words, he was perfect. But his lack of words was also the source of most of our fights. He was a vault. You couldn’t kick a single word out of him. Most of the time, our arguments ended with him making some silent gesture of apology, usually followed by a silent, smoldering seduction. And I, pathetically, would always give in. The underlying problems were just swept under the rug. 3 Then came my graduation. He was at the dental hospital, studying for his board exams, buried in work. I was at my internship, dealing with a nightmare of a boss. I came home one evening to our empty apartment feeling a bone-deep exhaustion I’d never known before. It wasn’t just physical; my soul was tired. All the issues we’d ignored for so long felt like a lit fuse. I was desperate for a fight, for any kind of emotional release. But Leo wouldn’t engage. He just quietly placed a container of takeout in front of me. “Maya, let’s talk when you’ve calmed down.” Calm down? That’s the last thing I wanted. I hated when he was like this. So eternally calm, so unshakable. Sometimes I wondered if he even liked me, or if he’d only agreed to date me to stop my relentless pursuit. But then I’d remember what he was like in bed, and it was so much more than just tolerance. I was constantly confused, constantly telling myself to just hold on a little longer. But that day, I was done. Leo came out of the shower and started unpacking the takeout for me. I turned my head away. “Leo,” I said, my voice flat. “Let’s break up.” The man’s hands froze. He said, “Okay.” Fuck. I was furious. Why couldn’t he just grab me, pin me against the wall, and kiss me until I couldn’t breathe? Why couldn’t he tell me we would never, ever break up? The unvented emotions turned inward, twisting like a knife in my gut. I pulled it out myself. And just like that, our relationship was over. The apartment we’d found together, he left to me. We’d signed a three-year lease; there were still two and a half years left when we broke up. Traces of him would pop up unexpectedly. His worn-out sweatshirt in the back of the closet, his favorite mug behind mine. He was embedded in every corner of my life. There was no escaping it. Each discovery was a fresh pang in my chest. And now, here he was, saying, “It’s free for family.” Call me crazy, but my mind was already racing. “Dr. Carter,” I began, my voice laced with a hope I couldn’t suppress, “are you implying what I think you’re implying?” “I have no idea what you’re implying,” he said, his tone back to neutral. “Are we ready to start the procedure?” I pouted, but obediently settled back in the chair. 4 “Open up.” “Is the pain severe?” I made a noncommittal sound. Just then, Kaden, who must have been lurking right outside, burst into the room and knelt by my other side. “Don’t be scared, Maya. I’m here for you.” Leo’s face darkened. The instrument in his hand gently—or not so gently—poked my decayed tooth. “Ah!” Tears sprang to my eyes from the sharp jolt of pain. I shot him an accusatory glare. He coolly averted his gaze. “Doesn’t seem that bad. We can skip the anesthetic.” You have got to be kidding me! I’m filing a complaint! I cursed him out in every language I knew inside my head. On the outside, however, I didn’t dare provoke him further. I was terrified he’d actually follow through. “Doctor, I think I’d like the shot,” I managed to say. Leo looked down at me, his expression unreadable, dark bangs shadowing his cold eyes. He signaled to the nurse. “Please escort the non-essential personnel out.” Kaden looked back at me three times as he was led away. Leo let out a quiet, sharp scoff. In the end, I got the anesthetic. Two shots of it. Gradually, half of my face went numb. The buzzing sound of the drill started up inside my mouth. I zoned out, letting my mind drift. Suddenly, Leo spoke. “That boyfriend of yours doesn’t seem like much.” What? He wasn’t my boyfriend. But my tongue was numb too, so I couldn’t say anything. “Don’t move,” he commanded. Right. I got it now. He was deliberately taking advantage of the fact that I couldn’t speak. “If you’d come in two months ago, you wouldn’t have needed a root canal.” “He’s not very attentive to you.” “He calls you by your first name… a younger guy?” “A year post-breakup and your taste has changed that fast, huh?” “How long have you two been together?” I still couldn’t form a single word. As his questions continued, my brain started to go numb, too. 5 After what felt like an eternity, he leaned back, stretching his neck. “Alright. Come back in a week.” “And try not to chew on this side.” “Some mild pain after the anesthetic wears off is normal.” “Try to bear it. If you can’t, let me know.” As he spoke, he pulled out his phone and displayed a QR code. When we broke up, I had blocked and deleted him from everything. I took out my phone and scanned it. It looked like a work account. The profile picture was a cartoon cat in green scrubs and a mask. His feed was just an endless scroll of other people’s teeth. I thought for a moment, then typed out the most important thing first. He’s not my boyfriend. “Who cares,” he said out loud, not even looking at me. Oh, you cared enough to run a full interrogation a minute ago. His mouth might be saying one thing, but I bet he was secretly thrilled. I kept typing on my phone. How much is it for today? “We’ll settle the bill at the end.” Right. We’ll see if I even have to pay in the end. Just then, Kaden, seeing that I was done, rushed back in, his eyes wide with concern. “Maya, are you okay? Does it hurt? Want to touch my abs to feel better?” Leo, who was standing nearby, heard every word. “Seven hundred,” he said flatly. “Pay at the front desk.” I couldn’t help but smile, a lopsided, numb grin. My fingers flew across the screen. I thought we were settling it at the end? “I’ve changed my mind.” Kaden looked confused. “Doctor, what are you talking about?” Leo shot him a withering look and turned on his heel, walking away. Kaden muttered under his breath, “Wow, Maya. That guy is so rude.” On the way home, Kaden drove. I sat in the passenger seat, feeling the numbness slowly recede. I started typing again. Dr. Carter, my tooth hurts. Mild pain is normal. You said to let you know if it hurts. I’m letting you know, and it still hurts. On his end, the three dots kept appearing and disappearing: Typing… Finally, a single sentence came through. If it’s too severe, come back in. I thought for a second, then replied: I heard your clinic offers house calls. Leo: We don’t. If it hurts, come here yourself. Tsk. I pouted. He was playing the exact same hard-to-get game as when I was first chasing him. 6 When we got to my building, Kaden offered to walk me up. He was quite the professional. But as he stepped out of the elevator, a passing kid tripped and spilled a carton of milk all over him. The child’s parent rushed over, apologizing profusely. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Kaden said. “I’ll just go change.” He was soaked, shirt and pants. It looked incredibly uncomfortable. I’d actually grown to like him over the past few hours. So I said, “I have some clothes here you can probably wear. If you don’t mind changing?” The clothes were Jenna’s, left here from a sleepover. She wore ridiculously oversized everything, stuff that would fit most guys. Kaden scratched his head. “Would that be too much trouble?” “Not at all.” He went straight into the bathroom when we got inside. I tossed my phone on the sofa and went to find him some clothes, completely missing the frantic flashing from the little green cat icon. I get off work soon. It’s on my way. I can come by and take a look. A moment later. I’m off. Heading over now. I finally unearthed a set of Jenna’s clothes from the depths of my closet. Kaden took them with a shy smile. It was only then that I saw the messages on my phone. Without a second thought, I replied: The code’s the same. Suddenly, a sharp shriek came from the bathroom. “Ahhh—” It was followed by a loud crash. I ran over. “What happened?” “Oh god, Maya, I slipped! The slipper is stuck on my ankle!” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Just… come out.” A single leg emerged from the bathroom doorway. A pink fluffy slipper was wedged tightly around his ankle. “Maya, can you help me get it off?” I had to fight a powerful urge to laugh, mostly because my face was still stiff. “Come all the way out.” Kaden poked his head out, his face a mixture of shame and helplessness. “I’m so sorry.” “Okay, look. I’ll pull the slipper, you pull your leg. On three. One, two, three.” “Okay.” 7 “One, two, THREE!” I gripped the edges of the slipper and yanked with all my might. Kaden pulled his leg back at the same time. CRASH. He lost his balance completely and went down again. The momentum of the slipper sent me flying forward, landing right on top of him. It was not an elegant position. At that exact moment, my front door was thrown open with force. “Maya! What happened?!” Leo stood in the doorway, his face etched with panic. “I heard a loud noise…” His voice trailed off as he took in the scene. His expression slowly hardened into a thunderous mask. I scrambled to get up, but I put weight on my numb arm, and it gave out. I collapsed right back onto Kaden. Leo’s sharp gaze cut between the two of us. He let out a self-deprecating little laugh and pulled the door shut behind him. I could have cried. Dude, come on! At least give me a chance to explain! Kaden carefully helped me to my feet. The ridiculous pink slipper was still stuck to his ankle. “Maya, I’m so sorry. I’ll buy you a new pair.” I waved him off, my mind elsewhere. “Don’t worry about it, I have plenty. You should just go.” Kaden looked mortified. “Okay, I’m really going. Please remember to give me a five-star review, or my manager will dock my pay.” “I know, I will.” He left, taking my pink slipper with him. I opened my chat with Leo’s green cat avatar. I was just helping him pull off a slipper. The message was met with a bright red exclamation point. Ugh. 8 A week later, I booked another appointment. “Lie back. Open.” I seized my chance. “That day, I was really just trying to help him get his slipper off.” Leo was a machine, devoid of emotion. “I know. Open.” Open, open, that’s all you ever say. It was the same when we were dating. I shot him a wounded look. He ignored it completely. “Is it still hurting?” “No.” The familiar buzzing and whirring started in my mouth. Then a scraping, filing sound. Something was being shaped and cleaned. I let my unfocused gaze drift to his face. Leo’s brow was slightly furrowed in concentration. His hands moved with practiced precision. “Stop staring at me.” “And keep your tongue still.” The nurse assisting him chuckled. “Dr. Carter, you’ve still got it. All the young women love you.” I narrowed my eyes, trying to smile without moving my mouth. After the session, the swelling in my tooth was almost gone. Leo was typing notes into the computer. “Come back in another week,” he instructed. “And keep avoiding this side when you eat.” “Doctor, I was really just trying to help him with the slipper that day.” “We don’t have any kind of relationship. You don’t need to explain it to me.” “You said the same thing when I was chasing you.” “That was then. We’re broken up now. You’re the one who ended it.” “I regret it.” A crack finally appeared in Leo’s calm facade. “One year and twenty-eight days, and now you decide you regret it?” He stood up and walked out of the exam room without another word. I thought for a moment, then went to the front desk and got a sticky note. Doctor, can you please unblock me? My tooth was killing me last time and I couldn’t even reach you. I stuck it squarely on his computer monitor. 9 That evening, I sent a random emoji to his chat, just to see if the red exclamation point was still there. It was. That petty man was still holding a grudge. Come to think of it, I’d noticed when we were dating that Leo was actually incredibly petty. If I talked to another guy at a club meeting for two minutes too long, he’d get jealous and pin me against a wall, kissing me until I begged him to stop. Now, all I got was a red exclamation point. I sighed, spooning some broth into my mouth and carefully tilting my head to the side so it wouldn’t touch the treated tooth. I opened another chat window. It was the personal number of the receptionist at the clinic. After a few days of determined effort, we had become fast friends. Amy! Amy! How’s Dr. Carter today? REPORT! He’s working late, bad mood. I’ve already heard five patients whispering about how cold he is. I grinned at my phone. Is the hospital’s complaint box just full of complaints about him? Most of them are addressed to him, yeah. But they’re mostly love letters. ? What? Who puts love letters in a complaint box? Could he even see them? I imagined the hospital board meeting, someone pulling out a scented pink envelope. What would Leo’s reaction be? Suddenly, a flood of messages came from Amy. LEO’S LEAVING WORK! HE’S WALKING TOWARD A GORGEOUS WOMAN! HE’S GETTING IN HER CAR! I shot up, grabbed my jacket, and headed for the door. I’m on my way! Too late, they’re gone. Nothing but exhaust fumes. Amy also sent a photo. It was blurry, taken in a hurry. But through the partially open car window, I could see Leo’s face. He looked happy. His usually sharp, severe features were softened. If the picture were any clearer, I was sure I’d see the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. I froze, my hand falling from the doorknob. I slid down the door and sat on the floor. I opened Leo’s chat window again. I typed and deleted, typed and deleted. Finally, I sent just two words. You there? Message failed. Ugh. The red exclamation point seemed to mock me, stabbing at my eyes.

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On the set of the dating show, my rival decided to get physical and slapped me. Just then, two options flashed in my mind. A. Slap her back. B. Kiss her. A wicked grin spread across my face. I chose B. The next second, my body moved on its own, and I pressed my lips against hers. Later that night, the guy I was crushing on blushed and stammered, “You know… I wouldn’t mind… uh, cross-dressing… if that’s what you’re into.” 1 I was a Z-list actress, so obscure my agent had literally ghosted me. Out of options and desperate for cash, I sent my application to the hit dating show, Sparks Fly. Less than ten minutes later, a friend request popped up on my phone. It was the producer. He asked if I was willing to play the part of the designated simp for Male Guest Number One. Are you kidding me? For the right price, I’d simp for a telephone pole. The moment I electronically signed the contract, several lines of golden text materialized before my eyes. I blinked hard, but they wouldn’t disappear. Panic set in. I forced myself to focus on the words. 「Please make a choice within ten seconds, or you will lose your eyebrows.」 「A. Demand your character be changed to ‘The Beloved.’」 「B. Demand your character be changed to ‘The Despised.’」 Before I could even process what was happening, the text vanished. In the makeup mirror before me, a browless demon stared back. It was me. What the hell?! 「You failed to make a choice within the allotted time. The audience’s desires were not met. As a warning, the System has automatically removed your eyebrows.」 Audience? What audience? 「The System originates from Planet 233, located 233 light-years away. Every choice you make will be globally broadcasted.」 「If you make choices during Sparks Fly that excite the planetary audience, you will receive handsome rewards. Otherwise, you will be punished.」 A cold, mechanical voice echoed in my ears. I only had one question. “Handsome rewards? How handsome are we talking? I mean, you can’t just invade someone’s body like this…” 「One billion dollars.」 “My alien overlords, my body is yours to command!” 2 Sparks Fly was an eight-episode series, kicking off with four men and four women. Its main gimmick was that the entire season was live-streamed from a deserted island. The cast was supposedly a fifty-fifty split of celebrities and ordinary people. To maximize the drama, no one was given the cast list beforehand. I figured it would be a gathering of fellow nobodies. No real A-lister would ever stoop to a dating show. I was so, so wrong. The moment I set foot on the island, my jaw dropped. Aside from me, the other “celebrity” guests were genuine superstars—the kind of people who could trend worldwide for losing a single strand of hair. The two guys standing right in front of me were enough to shake the entertainment industry to its core. One was Kai, a pop idol whose every breath could trend online. The other was Julian, an award-sweeping actor who had won every major film accolade. If I remembered correctly, this was his first-ever reality show. And Kai… he was the man I’d had a hopeless crush on for eight years. I was about to drag my suitcase over when someone bumped into me from behind. It was Leo from the wardrobe department, his arms piled so high with clothes he couldn’t see a thing. I quickly dropped my luggage to help him. “Thanks, thanks! Holly, I was just looking for you! Quick, pick an outfit. This episode’s theme is a beach party.” Each episode of Sparks Fly had a theme, and the cast had to dress accordingly. “Have Kai and the others already picked?” “The wardrobe selection is only for the non-celebrity guests.” I could have coughed up blood. I’d been in the business for half my life, and I was still considered a “non-celebrity.” As I was about to browse, the golden text floated before my eyes again. 「A. A sexy, floral bikini with flip-flops.」 「B. A loud, garish tracksuit with tacky loafers.」 Logically, any sane person would choose A. But my audience wasn’t sane people. They were aliens. And they were about to witness true fashion. I’m choosing B! The thought had barely formed when my hand shot out, grabbing the tracksuit and loafers as if possessed. Then, under Leo’s stunned gaze, I marched into the changing tent. 3 Sparks Fly was officially live. The production team had set up a ten-meter-long red carpet on the sand, and the guests were making their grand entrances like runway models. The first two female celebrities appeared. Lina, a talented young actress who had just won the prestigious Golden Stallion award. Rumor had it she and Julian were spotted leaving the same apartment complex the day before the show. Were they here to make their relationship official? “Excuse me.” I turned to see Julian himself striding past me. He wore nothing but a pair of designer swim trunks that, on closer inspection, seemed to be a matching set with Lina’s bikini. He found the perfect spot, crouched down without a care for his celebrity image, and started snapping pictures of her like a man possessed, a giddy smile plastered on his face. So this is what new love looked like. Next up was Seraphina, a pop idol who had debuted as the winner of a massive talent competition. She practically walked with her own background music. I heard she’d just landed a global ambassadorship for a top luxury brand. Watching her glitter and gleam, I shed a single, envious tear. Then came the two “regular” female guests. Of course, they weren’t entirely regular. The first one to step onto the beach was Jessica, a beauty influencer with ten million followers. Her fiery red hair whipped around in the sea breeze, and her flawless makeup was mesmerizing. Finally, all eyes turned to me. I had specially requested a theme song from the director and bribed one of the production assistants to read my handwritten entrance speech. “And now, striding toward us, is the woman who has graced the screen for a grand total of 3,500 seconds across a hundred unpaid roles! The woman who single-handedly bankrupted 17 street food carts just by being their brand ambassador! The aspiring, destined superstar of 2023—Holly!” And so, to the thunderous beat of the Radetzky March, I emerged. Wearing tacky loafers and a bright red tracksuit with the word “VICTORY” emblazoned in gold, I shuffled and grooved my way onto the beach. A dead silence fell over the set. Then, I heard a faint clapping from behind me. The source of the applause walked toward me. It was Kai. He took the floral lei from his own neck and placed it around mine, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “You are so cool! Can I get a picture with you?” This was the exact scenario I had replayed in my dreams a million times, and it was actually happening. I was about to answer when the System’s mechanical voice buzzed in my head. 「Congratulations, Miss Holly. Your choice has excited 88.8% of the planetary audience. As a reward for your continued excellence, you are gifted the Eyes of Love at First Sight.」 What did that mean? 「The next person to meet your gaze will fall in love with you at first sight.」 Instinctively, I looked up at Kai. His eyes, suddenly soft and deep, shimmered like a spring lake as he gazed back at me. He leaned closer… and closer… He was going to kiss me! No! Not like this! I wasn’t ready! I shoved him away. He stumbled back, rubbing his eyes for a moment before turning back to the camera, casually slinging an arm over my shoulder. Click! I stared, mesmerized, at the photo in my hand—a picture with the man I’d been crushing on for eight years. I had completely forgotten the director’s instruction to be the obsessive simp for Male Guest Number One. It wasn’t until all the male guests had made their entrances that I remembered my job. Male Guest Number One was a top-tier university student, five years younger than me. He seemed shy in front of the cameras, clutching a pool floatie to his chest. My phone buzzed with instructions from the director. With a sigh, I plastered on a smile and sat down next to him. 4 “So, what’s your major?” I asked, trying to break the ice. He was about to answer when he glanced at me and his face turned beet red. I followed his gaze down and realized that my earlier, enthusiastic shuffling had unzipped my tracksuit. And underneath, I was only wearing a bra. I yanked the zipper up so fast it nearly choked me, but hey, V-I-C-T-O-R-Y is indivisible! “Com… Computer Science,” he stammered, his voice so quiet I had to lean in to hear him. I got a little too close, and my cheek brushed against his collarbone. His skin was impossibly smooth, flawless. I’d never seen anything like it on a man. “Too close,” he whispered. I straightened up. He wore a pair of simple, black-framed glasses and had the awkward air of a socially anxious tech nerd, a stark contrast to the other outgoing guests. 「Please make a choice within 10 seconds.」 「A. Take off his glasses and hold his gaze for ten seconds.」 「B. Grab his pool floatie and touch what he’s hiding.」 A regular guy’s stomach? What’s there to see? I chose A. “Don’t move,” I said softly. He obeyed, freezing in place. I slowly reached out and removed his glasses. I was expecting to see the timid eyes of a frightened deer. Instead, I was met with a pair of sharp, commanding eyes—the kind that could make a general surrender an army with a single glance. We held eye contact for ten seconds. His gaze was so intense, so full of righteous power, I felt like we were about to recite the Pledge of Allegiance together. There wasn’t a flicker of romance, only a strange, overwhelming sense of awe. “Kian, Holly, meet in the yellow tent in half an hour. I’ll be taking this floatie now,” a crew member said, snatching the floatie from Kian’s grasp. My eyes widened at the sight of his perfectly sculpted eight-pack abs. I deeply, deeply regretted my choice. 「Congratulations, Miss Holly! 99.9% of the planetary audience was captivated by those eyes. They bear a striking resemblance to our deceased former Commander.」 Wait, you guys look like humans? 「We exist in a higher dimension. You could consider us an evolved form of human.」 This was getting too complicated. All I wanted to know was my reward. 「You are rewarded with a body that feels no pain for seven Earth days.」 Oh? So I could get hit by a car and not get hurt? 「Please read the terms carefully. You will not feel pain, but the damage will still occur.」 Got it. Still, I was hoping for something a little more… explosive next time. “Holly, let’s go together,” Kian said, standing up. I only just realized how tall he was—nearly a foot taller than me. He looked like he could carry me away with one arm. As I started to stand, a flash of bright red appeared. It was Jessica, holding out a cup of coffee to Kian. “You’ll need this to get through the day,” she said, then turned to me. “You go on ahead to the tent. I need a word with Holly.” Kian gave me a worried look before he left. I couldn’t figure out why. Jessica led me around a corner. It was secluded, but there was still a drone camera hovering nearby. A bad feeling washed over me. My premonition was right. The next second, a sharp, stinging slap echoed in the quiet space. “Stay away from Kian,” she hissed. “He’s mine.” The blow was vicious. My ears rang, and I could feel my cheek swelling instantly. But thanks to my new pain-free body, it felt like nothing more than the brush of a feather. 「Please make a choice.」 「A. Slap her back.」 「B. Kiss her.」 Well, if my audience wants a show, a show is what they’ll get. I’m choosing B! In the next moment, my body lurched forward on its own, and I pressed my lips directly onto her crimson-stained mouth. And standing right behind me, watching it all, were Kai and Kian.

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In the fifth year of my marriage to Conrad, the girl he was keeping in a hotel was exposed to the world. To protect her from being labeled a “homewrecker,” Conrad came to me with divorce papers. “Kathy’s father was my mentor,” he said. “Before he died, he begged me to take care of her. Now that this has happened, I have to do something.” For years, Kathy had always been Conrad’s priority. In my last life, hearing those words sent me into a spiral. I screamed, I fought, I refused to sign. I spiraled into a deep depression, but when Kathy casually remarked, “Autumn doesn’t really seem sick,” Conrad decided I was faking it—just another manipulative ploy. He framed me for adultery and filed for divorce. Only then did I understand that my years of love could never compete with his debt of gratitude to a dead man. I killed myself. This time, when I opened my eyes, I signed the papers without a moment’s hesitation. 1 “Autumn, once this all blows over, we’ll get remarried, okay?” I was sitting on a stone bench in the villa’s courtyard, lost in thought, when Conrad arrived with Kathy. Just three hours ago, tabloids had published photos of Kathy, branding her as Conrad’s mistress. The internet was tearing her apart, calling her the homewrecker who had destroyed my “perfect” marriage. Conrad’s carefully crafted “devoted husband” image shattered, and his company’s stock began to plummet. In my last life, when he’d brought me those papers, I had ripped out every single rose he’d ever planted for me in that courtyard. I had shrieked at him, demanding to know what was going on with Kathy. He had a million ways to handle the scandal, a million ways to protect his mentor’s daughter. But he chose the one that required sacrificing me. All because he didn’t want to “worsen Kathy’s depression.” What he didn’t know was that while the scandal was raging, I had also been diagnosed with moderate depression. “Autumn.” Conrad’s voice pulled me back to the present. My gaze fell to the divorce agreement on the stone table. He knelt before me, his deep eyes pleading, his warm hand enveloping mine. His voice was a soft, cajoling murmur. “Autumn, please. Just do this for me, can you?” “We’ll announce that our marriage has been over for a while, that we were planning to divorce a year ago but never found the right time.” I remained silent. Behind him, Kathy stood wrapped in his jacket over her white dress, her lips pale, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen. “Autumn, please, will you help me?” she whimpered. “My mother killed herself because of online bullying and depression. I don’t want to end up like her. I’ll get on my knees, I’ll beg you, please…” As she made a show of bending her knees, Conrad shot up, catching her and pulling her into a protective embrace. “What are you doing?” he snapped, his face dark. Kathy choked back a sob, her voice frail. “I… I just wanted to make you feel a little better about this.” Conrad’s patience wore thin. He turned back to me, the earlier tenderness in his eyes completely gone. “Autumn, I didn’t come here to negotiate.” “This is my decision. If you refuse to sign, then don’t blame me when—” I calmly met his gaze, and his threat died on his lips. But I knew what he was going to say. He was going to say: Autumn, you know what I’m capable of. I have a thousand ways to make you sign. If this goes to court, you’ll never win against my lawyers. That’s what he’d said in my last life. Shortly after, I was “found” in a bed with several male models, the evidence of my “infidelity” irrefutable. Overnight, I became a pariah. And he and Kathy became the innocent victims. “I’ll sign,” I said after a long pause. “But you have to promise me one thing.” 2 Conrad glanced at me, then nodded. “Anything.” He handed me the pen. With a steady hand, I signed my name on the divorce papers, my expression unreadable. “Aren’t you going to read the agreement?” he asked, frowning. I offered a small, empty smile. “No need.” He had given me almost everything—the house, the stocks, the assets. A clean break, financially. All for Kathy. All to repay a debt to a ghost. “We’ll go to the city hall tomorrow to finalize it.” “Okay,” I said. Conrad’s hand, holding the signed papers, faltered. A flicker of confusion crossed his face, but in the end, he said nothing more. As they turned to leave, Kathy shot a triumphant, mocking look over her shoulder. Her lips formed two silent words: You lost. And she was right. I had lost. I had lost an entire lifetime. Which is why I had no intention of losing this one. A few minutes later, my phone lit up with a series of texts from Conrad. 【I’m sorry you had to go through this today, Autumn.】 【Once this is over, I’ll throw you the biggest wedding ceremony. We’ll get remarried.】 【I can’t just stand by while Kathy’s depression gets worse. You can understand that, can’t you?】 I read the last message and laughed, a bitter, tearless sound. It was the same as before. In my last life, Conrad had gotten drunk with his friend Evan, trying to figure out how to force me to divorce him. He forgot that his friends were also my friends. Evan had called me, trying to mediate. He told me to be understanding, that Conrad was just a man who valued loyalty and honor. He reminded me how Kathy’s father had taken a chance on a young, ambitious Conrad, investing in him when no one else would. Back then, I had sobbed into the phone. “There are a million other ways to handle this! Why does it have to be divorce?” Evan went silent. He had asked Conrad the same question. Conrad’s answer had been: “Someone has to get hurt. I have to choose her over Autumn. Autumn loves me. She’ll understand.” Because I loved him, I was the one to be sacrificed. What kind of logic was that? Fortunately, this time, I had another chance. 3 When it came to Kathy, Conrad moved with lightning speed. He secured my signature in the afternoon and had a press conference scheduled for that same evening. His assistant called to “invite” me to attend. Before I could even respond, the assistant, clearly sensing my hesitation, relayed Conrad’s message. “Ms. Thorne, Mr. Hamilton believes you should attend. If not for him, then for the sake of your own reputation.” I paused, then let out a short, sharp laugh. He was threatening me again. Using the same old tactics, ready to drag my name through the mud until I bent to his will. I had never understood it. Did Conrad see me as his wife, or his enemy? Fine. He wanted a public clarification of our relationship? I’d be happy to provide one. The press conference was held in the grand ballroom of the city’s most luxurious hotel, packed with the industry’s top journalists. When Kathy, stunning in a silk gown, appeared on Conrad’s arm, the room erupted. Cameras flashed, reporters surged forward. Conrad instinctively shielded Kathy, holding up a hand. “I will answer all of your questions shortly,” he said with a practiced smile. “For now, could you please make way?” His voice was calm and smooth. As he looked up, his eyes met mine. I was surrounded by my own swarm of reporters. For a single, stupid moment, I held my breath, waiting for him to come and rescue me, too. But he didn’t. His gaze slid past me as if I were a stranger. A polite smile still on his face, he took Kathy’s hand and led her onto the stage. A bitter smile touched my own lips. The reporter closest to me, probably an intern, timidly held her microphone out. “Ms. Thorne, is it true? Have you and Mr. Hamilton really divorced?” “Yes,” I said, my smile widening. The intern pushed her glasses up her nose. “But… you’ve known each other since high school. You dated for seven years, married for five. Just last month, he bought you an entire island and named it after you.” My smile didn’t waver, but it no longer reached my eyes. “He owed me.” It was a gift to make up for missing my birthday because he was taking care of a “sick” Kathy. In my last life, I had been so proud of that grand gesture. I later found out the island was Evan’s idea and Conrad’s assistant had picked it out. Conrad didn’t even know where it was. “Do you… do you still love Mr. Hamilton?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. The reporters around me fell silent. On the stage, even Conrad had stopped talking and was looking at me, a slight frown on his face. I met his gaze coolly, then turned back to the young reporter. My lips curved into a bright, genuine smile. “No,” I said. “I don’t.” 4 I didn’t stay for the rest of the conference. After Conrad publicly announced that our marriage had been “over in spirit for a year,” I slipped out. Overnight, I became Conrad Hamilton’s discarded wife. Kathy, on the other hand, was painted as the innocent victim caught in the crossfire. The interview stayed at the top of news feeds for days. Conrad’s carefully chosen words were quoted everywhere: “Autumn and I decided to separate a year ago. We wanted to handle this privately, but now that an innocent person has been dragged into this, we have no choice but to clarify the situation. Ms. Vance is not the reason our marriage ended. She is the only family my late mentor has left, and I feel a duty to look after her. I hope everyone can be rational about this.” His fans rallied, spinning the narrative. I was the one who couldn’t tolerate their “pure, sibling-like bond.” I was the petty, jealous wife who couldn’t appreciate his loyalty and honor. I became the villain of the story. The day we got the final divorce decree, Conrad stopped me outside the city hall. “Don’t pay any attention to what they’re saying online. People will forget about it soon enough.” I let out a soft, humorless laugh. We were both being trashed online, but the public’s judgment was so very different for each of us. “Autumn, the holidays are in a couple of months,” he said. “Next year… can we get remarried?” He started to walk toward me, but I took a deliberate step back. My gaze flickered to the paparazzi hiding behind a nearby car. He noticed them too and stopped. “Conrad,” I said, my voice even. “I’m moving back to Boston.” “You haven’t been back in a long time. That’s a good idea. I’ll come pick you up for the holidays and we can—” “I’m not coming back,” I interrupted calmly. The smile froze on his face. The confusion was back in his eyes. “The day I signed the papers,” I continued, “you said you’d promise me one thing. It’s time to make good on that promise.” He just stared at me, uncomprehending. When I first woke up in this new life, it took me only a few seconds to process the love and hate I felt for him. For a moment, seeing those papers, I had wanted to scream, to rip them up, to fight him one last time. But reason prevailed. I let a small, genuine smile touch my lips. “Conrad, I want you to promise that you will never, ever appear in my life again.”

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The day after I broke up with Jay, he came over while I was at work and packed up all his stuff. Everything except the cat he’d adopted with his ex-girlfriend. Online, they say that calico cats with those splotchy, unfortunate-looking orange patches are the absolute worst. I crouched down in front of the cat and tried to sound menacing. “Your deadbeat dad abandoned you,” I hissed. “I’m your evil stepmother now.” “You don’t listen to me, I’m shipping you off to Siberia.” “Someplace where you’ll have to row a boat for a hundred years just to get back.” That night, I felt something licking my hair. In my drowsy state, I thought I heard a tiny voice in my head. Stepmom, don’t ship cat away. Cat gets seasick. 1 I jolted awake, fumbling for the lamp switch. The cat was sitting on my pillow, and we stared at each other. “Leo, was that you talking?” “…” Silence. My heart rate settled. I looked at Leo’s big, innocent face and thought, what a vivid dream. I gave his head a little scratch and lay back down. A few minutes later, that damp feeling was back, along with a faint, whiny voice. Stepmom, why Daddy no want me? My eyes flew open. In the darkness, I could just make out a furry cat butt parked right in front of my face. “Leo?” The licking stopped. The air was still for a full minute, and then it started again. I was getting annoyed. “Leo, if you lick me one more time, Mommy’s going to get mad.” Cat giving Mommy a bath. “LEO!” 2 I was sure of it now. That was Leo’s voice. We were face-to-face again. Leo just looked sleepy. “Leo, can you talk?” He didn’t make a sound. I looked down, thinking to myself, Have I been so stressed lately that I’ve developed a split personality? The moment the thought crossed my mind, the familiar little voice piped up again. Stepmom, cat sleepy. I’d named him Leo. When Jay first brought him over, he confessed the cat was a relic from his last relationship. I didn’t say anything, just gave the cat a new name. Now, being able to hear his thoughts was a revelation. “Oh my god! Leo, Mommy can hear you!” Leo just blinked at me groggily. Stepmom, cat sleepy. I scooped him up and gave him a big squeeze. “Okay, okay, let’s sleep. I hope I can still hear you in the morning.” “And stop calling me Stepmom. I was just trying to scare you earlier. You’ve been with me since you were three months old. I’m your real mom.” He didn’t answer, just started purring. He was probably already asleep. 3 Leo wasn’t very old. I’d asked Jay about his age, but he’d been evasive. We only got an estimate from the vet when he went in to get neutered. He was about a year old now, but he was already a solid ten pounds, his face as round as a dinner plate. I remembered when I first met him. He was a tiny thing, maybe three months old. Jay had told me his ex never really liked cats. She’d just pretended to for the image, but she never took care of Leo, which is why he took him. Leo had been a scrawny little kitten. Now, the suction-cup bed on the window groaned under his weight. The next day was Saturday. I woke up unusually early and the first thing I did was look for Leo. Sure enough, he was sunbathing in his window perch. Hearing me move, he looked over, then trotted toward me. Stepmom, cat hungry. A huge grin spread across my face. Oh my god, I could actually hear my cat’s thoughts. It was the most amazing, frustrating thing in the world. I desperately wanted to tell everyone, especially that jerk Jay. But first things first. “Leo, didn’t Mommy tell you? I’m your real mom. Stop calling me Stepmom.” Leo tilted his head. Mom? “That’s right! Mommy’s good boy!” I scooped him up and covered him in kisses, then popped open a can of his favorite food. “It’s a beautiful day. You want to go outside and play?” Leo was already devouring his food, but he managed to answer between noisy chomps. Yay! Go outside! 4 Ever since Leo was a kitten, I’d been working on socializing him. We started with late-night walks when no one was around, then moved to daytime strolls when the park was quiet. Slowly, he got braver, and now we regularly went out to sunbathe. They say a well-socialized cat is less stressed at the vet, and it’s true. When Leo went in for his surgery, he acted like he was visiting Disneyland, tail held high, exploring every corner of the clinic as if he owned the place. After he finished his breakfast, I got out his harness. Mom, cat no wanna wear. “Leo, this is to protect you. If something tries to attack you, Mommy can pull you away safely, okay?” Oh… He didn’t seem to fully grasp it, but he dutifully lifted his paws so I could put on the little pink harness with the bow. I usually carried him in the elevator. We lived on the fifth floor, so it was pretty convenient. Ding. The elevator doors opened to reveal a tall guy and a giant Samoyed. Leo, who had been bouncing with excitement, immediately burrowed into my arms. Mom, cat scared. “It’s okay, Mommy’s here,” I soothed him. “We can just take the next one.” I waved a hand to signal for them to go ahead, but the guy, wearing a baseball cap, didn’t seem to see me. He gave me a questioning look, then his eyes fell on the cat in my arms, and he seemed to understand. I thought he was going to hold the elevator, but instead, he took a step forward, blocking my view of the dog. Leo, no longer able to see the source of his fear, stretched his neck out, trying to get a peek. I whispered a thank you and stepped into the elevator. Mom, he say he goin’ downstairs to eat poop. Can cat eat poop? I practically fled the elevator, trying to stifle a laugh. “Leo, poop is not food.” Mom, doggo so sad. “Doggo? Is that the dog’s name? Why is he sad?” He’d looked perfectly happy and well-cared for to me. Clean white fur, bright eyes. The owner, the tall guy in all black, had a “don’t talk to me” vibe, but you could tell he was handsome under that cap. Leo didn’t answer right away. “Why is he sad?” I asked again. Leo’s voice was filled with somber pity. He say his dad no let him eat poop. I nearly died laughing. 5 There was a big park right next to our apartment complex, with trees, a lake, and a huge lawn. On weekends, it was packed with people—old, young, and plenty of pet owners like me. We were being followed by a fluffy brown poodle. Leo was giving it a dirty look. “What’s wrong?” I asked. Mom, dog bad. Dog pee everywhere. “Hahaha! No, Leo, that’s what dogs are supposed to do outside.” A golden retriever a little ways off was staring intently at Leo. “Why is that one staring at you?” Goldie say his owner best chicken-cooker in whole world. I dunno. Bet not as good as Mom! A little further on, we met a German Shepherd that looked incredibly smart. “They say German Shepherds are really smart, Leo.” Mom, cat smart too. “Yes, Leo is very smart.” He say when he was puppy, he help old lady cross street. “He did what?” Leo’s translations were a constant source of surprise. I never knew the animal world was so dramatic. We walked around for a bit and a little girl shyly asked if she could pet my cat. “Can she pet you, Leo?” I asked. I had to respect his opinion now that I could hear it. Leo hesitated. Okay. But only one pet. The little girl was very gentle. As she stroked his fur, Leo started purring, basking in the warm sun. I felt a wave of pure happiness. Soon, a crowd of kids started to gather. I knew it was time to go. There was a shortcut back to our building. As we were walking, I saw a familiar figure up ahead. Mom, it’s Doggo! I looked closer. It was the Samoyed from the elevator. I’d never seen them before that day. They must have just moved in. Leo seemed to really like the dog, so I was about to go over and say hi when a calico cat suddenly darted out from the bushes, blocking our path.

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