Author: Momo Chan

I meant to ask my brother for money but texted my boss by mistake. 【Heyyy, big bro~】 Boss: 【?】 Me: 【Can you spare some cash for your sis?】 Boss: 【?】 I panicked and lied: 【My phone’s broken, can’t come to work.】 He sent $500. Me: 【A bit stingy… Going broke?】 Boss: 【?】 Then he sent $5,000. My tone changed: 【Love you! xoxo】 I kept asking him for money occasionally. A month later, I posted online thanking my brother. Then my real brother DM’d me: 【?】 【Channel, am I not your brother anymore?】 【Who’s this imposter?】 【Don’t I give you enough? Or are you leaving?】 I checked my contacts and saw two identical profile pics. Finally, I understood how the monk felt meeting the real and fake Monkey Kings… 1 Fresh out of college, I was quickly initiated into the world of paying to work. Rent, utilities, food, clothes, makeup—every single expense was a major blow to my wallet. After a month of this, I was on the verge of being too broke to even afford my job. Then, I remembered: I have a brother. My brother, Leo, isn’t exactly a looker, but he’s incredibly generous. He’s three years older than me and started his own business while he was still in college. So, by the time I was a student, he was already the owner of a small, successful company. Every month, after getting my three-thousand-dollar allowance from my dad, I’d turn right around and cry poverty to my brother. He’d always send me five thousand, no questions asked. He was more reliable than my dad, whose finances were tightly controlled by my mom. But my brother was single, so who else was he going to spoil but me? With that thought, I confidently hit him up for money again. His profile picture was a solid black square, easy to find. I located it in a second. I had accidentally factory-reset my phone a while back, wiping all my contacts and chat histories. Thankfully, I remembered that my personal ATM had a black profile picture. All our previous transaction records were gone, but no matter. It was time for a new one. 【Heyyy, big bro~】 Black Profile Pic: 【?】 【Something wrong? It’s late.】 It’s been a while since I last asked for money, he’s acting all formal. Looks like I’ll have to ask him for money more often to maintain our sibling bond. Me: 【My dearest big bro~ Spare some change for your little sis.】 Black Profile Pic: 【?】 What’s with all the question marks? He’s usually so quick with the transfers. Is he cutting me off now that I’ve graduated and started working? Not on my watch! I quickly came up with an excuse: 【Bro, my phone broke, I can’t come to work.】 Subtext: I can’t earn money anymore, you have to support me. Then, he sent me five hundred dollars. Me: 【A little stingy, don’t you think? …Are you going broke or something?】 Five hundred? Is he serious? Black Profile Pic: 【?】 The next second, another five thousand dollars came through. My tune changed instantly: 【I knew it! You were just busy and missed a zero~】 【Love you! xoxo】 I want, I get. With the money secured, I went to sleep, content. Completely oblivious to the fact that on the other side of the screen, the man with the black profile picture sat in silence for a long time before finally searching online: 【What does it mean when a new employee asks their boss for money?】 【What does it mean when an employee calls their boss “big bro”?】 【How to maintain a professional subordinate-superior relationship?】 2 Monday morning, company meeting. Our boss, Mr. Sterling, was presenting a PowerPoint, but his eyes kept darting in my direction. The other new hires and I were practically holding our breath. I scribbled in my notebook, pretending to take notes. 【Who do you think Mr. Sterling is looking at?】 New Colleague: 【No idea.】 【But it’s so creepy. His gaze is so intense.】 【None of us have done anything to tick him off, right?】 Me: 【Nope. I’m the newest one here, I haven’t even had the chance to.】 My colleagues exchanged nervous glances, all equally clueless. I thought for a moment: 【Well, bosses are usually a bit weird. It’s probably nothing.】 You have to be a little crazy to be a boss. I’ve heard my brother’s employees complain about him all the time. They call him a ruthless tyrant. For the final part of the meeting, Mr. Sterling added a whole new section to his presentation: “How to Properly Manage Superior-Subordinate Relationships.” “Since we have a batch of new employees who have recently joined us, I’d like to take this opportunity to clarify how to correctly handle the relationship between superiors and subordinates…” Because of this last-minute addition, a two-hour meeting stretched into a four-hour marathon. A colleague whispered, 【Monday meetings are the absolute worst.】 【I thought a young boss wouldn’t be this long-winded…】 Me: 【What is he even talking about? He might as well just give me twenty grand.】 The meeting finally ended with Mr. Sterling’s parting words: “Do not disturb your superiors outside of work hours.” As the painfully long meeting concluded, I stood up to leave. Then, I heard the boss say, “Who’s Channel? Stay behind.” My colleagues shot me a “good luck” look and scurried away. Soon, it was just me and the boss in the empty conference room, staring at each other. Mr. Sterling looked at me for a long time. “So, you’re Channel? I’ll remember that.” I stammered, “Mr. Sterling, is there something you needed?” He cleared his throat. “Did you take in everything I said during the meeting?” Oh, crap, I thought. Is he going to quiz me? I hadn’t heard a single word. But I remained calm, putting on a brave face. “Yes, of course. I took it all in.” I was already planning my escape route: feign dizziness or a sudden muscle spasm. But he didn’t ask me anything. He let out a breath. “Good. As long as you understood.” I seized the opportunity. “Well, if there’s nothing else, sir, I’ll get back to work.” “Mm,” he grunted. I bolted out of there. As he watched me disappear, a muscle in his cheek twitched. Runs fast now, but she wasn’t so shy when she was asking for money last night. She’d better have understood. She’d better keep her distance. I thought being singled out after the meeting was just bad luck, like starting the day off on the wrong foot. I never expected to run into him again at lunch. My luck was just abysmal today. I was in the company cafeteria, happily devouring my lunch. The seat across from me had been a revolving door of colleagues, until finally, Mr. Sterling sat down. “Your phone… looks pretty new,” he commented. I nearly choked on my food. I looked up, and the sight of my boss instantly made my lunch lose its appeal. “Mr…. Mr. Sterling. Hello.” He continued to eye my phone. “Not thinking of getting a new one?” What was that supposed to mean? It’s new, why would I replace it? What was he trying to get at with this small talk? I decided to play along. “Are you offering to buy me one, sir?” Mr. Sterling: “…” He was just trying to make a point, he thought, and now he’s trapped himself. She just keeps taking and taking. But as her boss, he couldn’t exactly say no. Otherwise, she’d start spreading rumors that the company was going under, that he was a cheapskate. After a brief internal struggle, he conceded. “…Alright.” Me: “?” Did I just hear him right? This was too bizarre! Out of all the empty seats, my boss chooses to sit opposite me and then offers to buy me a phone! During my lunch break, I frantically messaged my worldly-wise best friend. Bestie: 【So, he lectures you about professional boundaries in the morning, then asks you to lunch and offers to buy you a phone in the afternoon?】 【He’s speaking in code. His intentions are clear. The man is not giving up!】 Her words sparked a realization. 【You’re saying… he wants to… you know… with me?】 【So that whole speech about professional boundaries was just a load of hypocritical crap!】 【And I thought he was different from other bosses, being so young, handsome, and rich.】 【I can’t believe it…】 Bestie: 【Has he added you on social media? Sent you any creepy messages?】 Me: 【I don’t think he has.】 Even without him adding me, I could already picture his profile picture: some smug guy in a suit. They’re both bosses, why can’t he be more like my brother, with a discreet and mysterious black profile picture? My brother is still the best. I clicked on the black profile picture’s chat again, the transfer records warming my heart. 【Big bro, you’re my savior~】 【I’ll follow you forever!】 Black Profile Pic: 【?】 His replies may be cold. But my brother will always be my rock. 3 I hit up my rock for money every few days. My rock never said a word, just kept sending the money. A month later, my conscience finally kicked in. I posted on my timeline, thanking my brother. I even attached screenshots of all the transfers from the past month. The next second, my actual brother slid into my DMs: 【?】 【Channel, am I not your brother anymore?】 Me: 【?】 Wait a minute… 【Bro, did you change your username?】 My brother: 【I’ve always had this username. Stop changing the subject.】 【Who is this imposter brother you’ve adopted?】 【Do I not give you enough money? Or have you finally decided to fly the coop?】 【You’re asking other people for money?】 Me: 【…】 Other… people?! I frantically searched my chat history, but the chat with the black profile picture was empty. Where did all the transfer records go? Did my phone reset itself again? I exited the chat and saw them. Two identical black profile pictures, side by side in my contact list. It was in that moment that I finally understood the helplessness the monk must have felt when he encountered the real and fake Monkey Kings. I… wait… what… My hand trembling, I clicked on the second black profile picture. All the transfer records from the past month were from him. If you’re my brother, then who is this? The first black profile picture popped up with a new message. 【Channel, answer me.】 I bit my lip. 【How do I know you’re really my brother?】 My brother was so mad he could have laughed. 【…】 【My name is Leo, I’m six-foot-one, and I have a money-guzzling younger sister named Channel.】 【When you were seven, I caught you stealing money from my piggy bank. You denied it and ate the coins.】 【When you were nine, you found out I had a girlfriend and blackmailed me for two thousand dollars.】 【When you were fifteen, you sold me out to your best friend for five hundred bucks.】 Him: 【Need I go on?】 【Or should we just get a DNA test?】 Even through the screen, I could feel my brother Leo’s exasperation. This was definitely my brother. So, the other black profile picture was… Just as I was wondering, the first person to like my post, a colleague, messaged me. 【You’ve been holding out on us…】 【Is it too late to start sucking up to the future boss’s wife?】 I was completely lost. 【Boss’s… wife?】 Colleague: 【Did you forget to block me from your post?】 【I saw all those transfers from Mr. Sterling.】 【Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I just want to be on your good side! If you don’t let me, I’ll… please! Just let me be on your good side!】 I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping this was all a bad dream. I hadn’t blocked anyone from that post. I just wanted to show off my rich, generous brother. But she was saying… the black profile picture was Mr. Sterling? Speak of the devil. Mr. Sterling had also seen the post. He messaged me: 【Delete the post. I’ll give you money.】 He could have fired me, but instead, he offered me money. I quickly deleted the post, thankful that not many people had seen it. Then, a transfer from the black-profile-pictured Mr. Sterling came through. Me: “…” I didn’t delete the post for money! This was a mess I couldn’t get out of. No wonder I’d been feeling like Mr. Sterling was dropping financial hints lately. I thought he was trying to proposition me, but it turns out I was the one shamelessly hitting him up for cash. By day, I avoided him like the plague. By night, I was creatively begging him for money. Turns out, I was the real hypocrite. Now that I understood the mistaken-brother fiasco, I spent the whole night composing and deleting messages, trying to figure out how to explain this to Mr. Sterling. It had been a month. Who mistakes their own brother for a whole month? No one would believe me. And the way I’d been asking for money… he probably thought I was trying to seduce him by calling him “big bro.” He had even asked me a few times if I was “tired of trying.” And I remembered my replies were always along the lines of, 【Yes~ Please take care of me, big bro~】 Who wouldn’t misunderstand that… Forget it. What’s done is done. Might as well just go to sleep. When in doubt, sleep on it. 4 The next morning at the office, my colleague pulled me aside, whispering, “Ms. Woods, you’ll have to look out for me from now on.” She was the only one who had seen my post last night. She even handed me a cup of bubble tea. My heart sank. “If I told you it was all a misunderstanding, a big mix-up, would you believe me?” She beamed. “Of course, of course I believe you!” I’m going to cling to you like my life depends on it. Me: “…” Even an outsider who didn’t know the whole story was convinced. How was I supposed to explain to Mr. Sterling that I really, truly wasn’t trying to sleep my way to the top? I spent the next few days in a daze, consumed by this problem. But before I could come up with a solution, Mr. Sterling came to me. It had been three days, and our chat history was still stuck on the last exchange: him sending me money for deleting the post, which I hadn’t accepted. Mr. Sterling: 【Are you there?】 【Why didn’t you accept the money I sent you?】 【Was it not enough?】 I pretended to be offline. A few minutes later, another five thousand dollars came through. The bright orange of the transfer notification was testing my resolve. I quickly rejected it. Mr. Sterling: 【?】 My Bluetooth speaker was coincidentally playing a sad, romantic ballad. An idea struck me. 【Mr. Sterling, can we just pretend that none of this ever happened?】 A funeral for our love, burying all the memories of you. Burying the memory of the stupid mistakes I made last month. Me: 【I’ll pay you back all the money. From now on, you’ll be my boss, and I’ll be just another insignificant employee.】 I calculated the total amount he’d sent me over the past month. I’d already spent most of it. I quickly borrowed over thirty thousand from my actual brother. Then, I transferred it to Mr. Sterling. Mr. Sterling: 【?】 I let out a breath. That should settle things, right? If I couldn’t explain the past, I could at least clear the debt. Me: 【Don’t worry, sir. I won’t bother you for money anymore.】 【I don’t know what came over me before. Please forgive me.】 Mr. Sterling didn’t reply. I thought that was the end of it. Little did I know, after I fell asleep, my phone was flooded with messages. When I woke up the next morning and saw 99+ notifications from Mr. Sterling, I nearly fainted.

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My patron took me to a gala, and I got into a fistfight with the woman everyone thought he’d marry. He dragged me out of the chaos. I glared at him, my hair a tangled mess. “You’re taking her side?” He said nothing, his jaw tight. I ripped the ring from my finger and threw it in his face. “Fine. Then I’m dumping you.” 1 I’d been Julian Archer’s canary for three years. He was handsome, wealthy, and incredible in bed. He was generous, too. His only rule? No on-screen kissing. It cost me a few roles, and plenty of people online called me a “fake prude.” I didn’t care. I’ve always been the type to keep my head down and stay out of trouble. I never caused problems for him. I just never imagined that the first time I did, it would be this spectacular. I’d just assaulted the woman who’d been his childhood sweetheart, fresh off her return from overseas. 2 It started when Julian asked me to be his date for a gala. I never fit in with his high-society crowd and wanted to say no. But I’d been on location shooting for three months, and the truth was, I desperately missed him. So, I went. And, just as I’d feared, I saw people I’d rather avoid. I tried to keep my distance, but they always seemed to find me. I slipped out to the terrace for a breath of fresh air, only for Claire and Jenna to follow me out. Claire was Julian’s childhood friend; her family had moved their business abroad years ago, and she’d only recently returned. Jenna, on the other hand, was my personal nemesis, the one who constantly fed negative stories about me to the tabloids. I hadn’t realized they knew each other. I sat on a stone bench, hoping they’d ignore me. Jenna, picking at her nails, started talking loudly, aiming her words right at me. “Isn’t this the Dalton’s engagement party? How did they let just anyone in?” Claire glanced at me, her tone flat. “You dragged me out here to say something, Jenna. Was this it?” Jenna shot her a sycophantic smile. “Don’t be like that, Claire. It was so stuffy inside. I just thought we could get some air, chat while we walk.” Claire didn’t respond, just leaned gracefully against the fountain. “So, Claire,” Jenna pressed on, “is it true you and Julian are finally getting engaged? A merger of the families?” “Yes, it’s more or less settled.” “That’s wonderful! A perfect match. A true power couple. Some people should really learn to take a hint and exit gracefully.” Claire remained silent. Jenna kept prattling on, and I’d had enough. I stood to leave, but her next words froze me in place. “Some people aren’t just trash themselves; their whole family is a train wreck. That construction project that went south… cost so many people their livelihoods. If you ask me, the man in charge getting his leg crippled was just karma.” My vision went red. I spun around, marched up to her, and slapped her twice, hard. Jenna clutched her face, her eyes wide with shock. “Elara, are you insane?” “Talking trash behind my back is one thing,” I seethed, “but saying it to my face? Did you really think I wouldn’t touch you?” Claire frowned, stepping forward. “Miss Christian, this is the Dalton’s home. Have you considered the consequences of making a scene like this?” My eyes, sharp as daggers, locked onto hers. “Miss Sterling, if someone spoke about your parents that way, I truly hope you’d have the presence of mind to consider the consequences first.” Claire was speechless, but Jenna lunged, grabbing a fistful of my hair. We tumbled into a heap of flailing limbs and torn silk. I don’t know how Claire got pulled into it, but by the time Julian and the others arrived, the three of us were a chaotic tangle on the flagstones. Julian’s face was a thundercloud as he yanked me out of the fray. I was a wreck. Across from me, Claire looked mostly unharmed. I glared at Julian. “You’re taking her side?” His brow was furrowed, but he remained silent. That silence was all the answer I needed. I ripped the diamond ring he’d given me from my finger and hurled it at his chest. “I’m dumping you!” Holding back a sob, I bolted from the party and threw myself into the first taxi I saw. The moment the door shut, the dam broke. A wave of gut-wrenching betrayal washed over me, and I wept. I’d wrapped my latest film just yesterday and had come to him, heart full of longing. We’d barely exchanged a few words, and now this? Humiliated by others, and he defends them? My phone buzzed relentlessly. It was Julian. I answered, my voice dripping with ice. “The penthouse at The Sterling is in my name. I want you out in a week.” I hung up and blocked his number, his social media, everything. That bastard. We were finished. 3 I didn’t go back to The Sterling. I found a random hotel and checked in. After a long, hot shower, as the steam cleared, so did my head. A sliver of doubt crept in. I had to be the first canary in history to kick her patron out of his own gilded cage. My boldness with Julian had grown over the years. When we first met, I was the one who was timid and meek. I met him at an industry party my agent had forced me to attend, a meat market where I was supposed to charm directors and investors. My family had been well-off once. But then my father’s construction business went under. An accident on site not only cost him a leg but also wiped out our savings to compensate the injured workers. We were drowning in debt. My parents were sick with worry. Desperate to help, I was scouted and tricked into signing a predatory contract. I got no roles, just orders to attend these parties and be decorative arm candy. I didn’t have the money to break the contract, so I dodged a few events by faking illnesses. But that night, there was no escaping it. When I entered the private room, it was filled with leering, middle-aged men. But there, in the center of it all, was Julian Archer. He was like a cool, sharp slash of marble in a room of melting wax. He was leaving just as I arrived. In a moment of sheer panic, I followed him out. “Mr. Archer,” I asked, my voice trembling, “can I… come with you?” He was a full head taller than me, and he looked down, a wry smile playing on his lips. “And why is that? Do I look like the easiest target?” He looked like the most dangerous man in the room, but I couldn’t say that. I shook my head, my voice earnest. “You’re the most handsome.” He let out a short, dismissive laugh. “I’m aware.” Sensing his impatience, I blurted out, “And you… you seem like a good person.” His smile turned sharp, tinged with irony. “Then your judgment is seriously flawed.” And with that, he left. My agent dragged me back inside. They plied me with alcohol until a fat-fingered director’s hand slithered onto my thigh. I fought, knocking over a wine glass in my struggle. He slapped me, snarling that I didn’t know what was good for me, his other hand fumbling with the zipper of my dress. In blind panic, I grabbed a shard of the broken glass and plunged it into his leg. My first thought was: I’m going to jail. Then, the door to the room swung open. Julian stood there, framed in the doorway. He scanned the scene, his gaze cold. The director, who had been screaming like a pig at slaughter, fell silent. “Weren’t you coming with me?” Julian’s voice cut through the tension. “Get over here.” I dropped the glass shard and scrambled into his arms, shaking so violently I could barely stand. He held me, then swept me up and carried me out of that nightmare. 4 Julian took me back to his penthouse at The Sterling. Hours later, I’d showered but was too terrified to leave the bathroom. I could hear him on the phone in the living room, his voice calm and authoritative as he cleaned up my mess. When the call ended, I wrapped a towel around myself and stepped out. He was lounging on the sofa, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the sharp line of his collarbone. I walked over to him, took a deep breath, and let the towel drop to the floor. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. He stood up, picked up the towel, and wrapped it back around me, his voice laced with amusement. “You’re young, but you’ve certainly got a flair for the dramatic.” My face burned. “I… I’ve never done this before,” I stammered. “I don’t know the… protocol.” “Look at me.” Clutching the towel, I forced myself to meet his eyes. They were calm, a playful glint dancing in their depths. He was captivating and dangerous all at once. “You trust me that easily?” he murmured. “Not afraid I’m worse than them?” A jolt of fear shot through me. I scrambled for an answer. “No. Beautiful people are always kind.” He laughed, a genuine, rich sound. He pulled me close, his body warm against mine, and then his lips were on mine. It was my first real kiss, and my head spun. His thumb traced the outline of my lips as he pulled back, his voice a low, hypnotic whisper. “Go to bed. Can you sleep alone?” I nodded, dazed. “Hmm? Is that how you show your gratitude?” The playful warning in his tone sent a shiver down my spine. I threw my arms around his neck. “No. I’m scared. I need you to hold me.” He seemed satisfied with that. He tucked me into his bed, then went back outside to make another call. Half an hour later, he returned, sliding in beside me and pulling me into the safety of his arms. For days, I scoured the news, but there was nothing. No mention of an actress assaulting a director. A week later, my predatory contract was terminated. Julian set me up with a new agency, a new agent, and the director who’d tried to assault me vanished from the industry. For the next three years, Julian hand-picked my roles, always finding projects that were perfect for me. I went from a nobody to a rising star. I paid off my family’s debts. My parents opened a small shop back home. On the surface, everything was getting better. But I knew the truth. Deep down, things were getting worse. Because I was falling hopelessly in love with Julian Archer. He was my patron, but in the quiet moments, in the safety of his arms, I let myself believe he was my love. When did it start? I can’t pinpoint the exact moment. Falling for Julian was just too damn easy. 5 The next morning, I woke up to hundreds of missed calls, most of them from Carla, my agent. Confused, I called her back. Her booming voice blasted away the last dregs of my sleep. “My God, Elara, you finally answered! Do you have any idea what’s happening? All hell has broken loose!” “What did you do last night? What is going on?” I was still reeling as I pulled up the trending topics on my phone. #ElaraChristianAttacksJenna #CancelElaraChristian #ElaraChristianIsOverParty Someone had filmed our fight. The video was cleverly edited, starting right as I lunged at Jenna, conveniently cutting out everything that led up to it. I closed my eyes and explained everything to Carla, including the part where I’d ended things with Julian. After all, I no longer had a powerful patron in my corner. Carla was silent for a long moment. “Alright,” she sighed. “Just lay low for a few days. Stay off social media. I’ll see what I can do.” After we hung up, I watched the video again. It was shot from a hidden angle, clearly premeditated. Claire had been completely cropped out, leaving only me and Jenna. The comments were a tidal wave of hate. [Look at her face. You can just tell she’s a vicious bitch. How dare she hit someone? Someone needs to put her in her place.] [I heard she has a rich sugar daddy. Explains how she got so many roles with her terrible acting.] [Insider info: she was just a stand-in for his real girlfriend. Now that the real one is back, she’s been kicked to the curb.] The “stand-in” comments had Jenna’s fingerprints all over them. But I felt strangely numb. Let them say what they want. It comes with the territory. As long as they left my family out of it, I could take it. As for being a stand-in… that was pure fiction. Early in our relationship, Julian had been so good to me it was unnerving. One night, after he picked me from a dinner, I got up the liquid courage to ask him if I looked like someone he used to know. He’d pulled me into his lap and flicked my forehead. “Are you method acting? A stand-in? I don’t do knockoffs, Elara.” Pushing my luck, I asked if there was anyone else. He scoffed. “Do I look like I have the time?” His answer had made me ridiculously happy for weeks. Maybe Julian didn’t truly love me. Maybe it was just novelty, or maybe he was just too lazy to find someone new. It didn’t matter. At least for the time we were together, there was no one else. I could live without being loved. I could even live without being his final choice. But I couldn’t live without my last shred of dignity. 6 With the storm of negative press, a variety show appearance I had scheduled was canceled. I was now holed up in my hotel room, genuinely afraid to go out. The vitriol online was terrifying. Two years ago, I played a brilliant but unhinged villain. The character was beautiful and psychotic, and I portrayed her so convincingly that people online joked I wasn’t even acting. I never imagined someone would take it so seriously. While my leg was in a cast from a minor set injury, a so-called “fan” ambushed me and threw a hornet’s nest at me, trying to disfigure me. Julian got to me just in time. He tore off his own thousand-dollar bespoke suit jacket, set it on fire, and used the smoke to drive the hornets away. I shook my head, trying to force the memory away. Why did I keep thinking about him? I checked my phone. Missed calls, texts. All of them were from friends, offering support and encouragement. Not a single one was from Julian. Then it hit me. I’d blocked him. Every possible way he could reach me. I tossed my phone aside, angry at myself. He’s Julian Archer. If he really wanted to find me, he could. He just didn’t care enough. Sitting by the window, I felt like a mess of contradictions. I knew it was impossible, but a part of me still clung to hope. I always felt like… he had to like me, at least a little. After all, he was the one who, on a night when the world was celebrating with family, had shown up on my doorstep, covered in snow, just to be with me. It was our first Christmas together. My schedule was packed, so I couldn’t go home. I was alone in the penthouse. On Christmas Eve, I was drifting off to sleep when I heard the front door open. I shot up in bed, grabbed a heavy table lamp, and crept into the hallway. Julian stood in the foyer, snowflakes still melting on his shoulders. He saw the lamp in my hand and raised an eyebrow. “Is this your idea of a warm holiday welcome?” I dropped the lamp and launched myself into his arms. I wanted to ask why he was here, but I knew he wouldn’t want to hear the question. So I changed my words. “How is it that you always appear right when I’m thinking of you?” He scooped me up and carried me toward the bedroom, his voice a low tease in my ear. “Show me exactly where you were thinking of me.” Outside, the winter wind howled. Inside, the air grew thick and warm. Later, when he came out of the shower, I was already half-asleep. Through the haze of drowsiness, I felt him slip a thick envelope under my pillow, and then his lips pressed against my forehead. “Merry Christmas, Elara.” It was the first Christmas I’d spent away from my parents, but I hadn’t been lonely at all. 7 I stayed in the hotel for three days. I was about to venture out for some supplies when another text from Carla sent me scurrying back into hiding. The news about me hitting Jenna was still raging, and now, a new story had been thrown on the fire. Mr. Finch, the director I’d stabbed, had come forward. He claimed I’d tried to seduce him for a role, but then dumped him when I’d landed a bigger fish. He didn’t dare name my new patron, but he painted a detailed picture of how his career had been systematically destroyed for years, backing it up with a mix of truths and half-lies. Carla was at her wit’s end. This was a fire she couldn’t put out on her own. “Elara, please,” she begged over the phone. “Can’t you just call Mr. Archer? Swallow your pride? This is nothing for him. He could make this disappear with a snap of his fingers.” I fell silent, a lump forming in my throat. This kind of baseless slander had surfaced before, but it was always snuffed out before it could gain traction. This time, it was an inferno. “He won’t help me anymore,” I said, my voice low. “He’s getting married. Me breaking things off is exactly what he wanted.” Carla sighed. “If we can’t get this under control, you might not work again for a very long time.” “It’s okay, Carla. I’ll post a statement in a bit. People can believe it or not. I’m done trying to prove myself.” “Thank you for everything these past few years. I’m sorry I dragged you into this.” She tried to comfort me, but I knew the situation was dire. I scrolled through the comments. They were brutal. [How has this trashy actress not been blacklisted yet? It’s disgusting.] [I knew she was sleeping her way to the top. There’s no way she got where she is with that joke of an acting ability.] [Looks like her sugar daddy got tired of her. Where is he now?] [I’m so curious who her patron is. He must be blind to have picked her.] [Didn’t they say he had an old flame he never got over? She was probably just the other woman.] [I heard her dad is some crooked contractor. Like father, like daughter.] A few lone voices tried to defend me, but they were quickly drowned in the tsunami of hate. I opened my social media app and started typing. Hello everyone, this is Elara Christian. I apologize for taking up public attention with my personal issues, but as this situation has escalated, I hope you can take a moment to understand the truth. First, regarding Director Finch, there was no seduction. There was no relationship. When I was new to this industry, I was tricked into a predatory contract. My agent at the time forced me to attend parties, and Mr. Finch attempted to assault me. I defended myself with a piece of broken glass and escaped. He didn’t give up on preying on young women; he just moved on to others. I know of at least two other girls I personally helped get away from him. I’m not saying this for praise, only so you know what kind of man he is. To the women I helped: you don’t need to speak up for me. No one should have to relive that kind of trauma. Second, please direct any and all malice toward me. Do not involve my family. They have done nothing to any of you. If you continue to spread lies, I sincerely hope every ugly word you type comes back to you. Finally, I was never a mistress. I was never a stand-in. And we are no longer together. Thank you for reading. I posted the carefully worded statement and then turned off my phone. Leaning against the cool glass of the bay window, I felt a profound exhaustion settle over me, even though I had done nothing at all.

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Seven years. Seven years since they found me and brought me “home.” And in that time, I did everything they asked. I married a man I despised. I gave birth to a daughter, Lily, now three years old. Meanwhile, Olivia, the girl who took my place, a year my senior, was still the baby of the family, coddled and adored. The war between the real and fake heiress was long over. A distant memory. My family was supposed to be at peace. So, as my husband was beating me to the brink of death, I called them. “I’m dying,” I whispered into the phone. “Can you please, just like you brought me home all those years ago, come bring Lily home?” 1 I knew this was it. The end. That’s why I didn’t call 911. I called my family. My mother answered. She was in the middle of a manicure; her voice was clipped with annoyance. “What is it now?” I pressed a hand to my neck, trying to stem the flow of blood that seeped through my fingers. “I think… I think I’m dying. Can you come get Lily?” Lily was only three. She was upstairs, asleep, oblivious to the carnage downstairs. The floor around me was a glittering mosaic of shattered wine bottle glass. My husband, Marcus, having spent his rage, was passed out on the sofa, snoring. My blood wouldn’t stop. “Emma, for God’s sake, are you ever going to stop with this drama?” My brother, Ethan, had snatched the phone. His voice was a whip crack of fury. “You’ve been married four years! Every time you call it’s either ‘I want a divorce’ or ‘He’s going to kill me.’ Are things really that bad?” I said nothing. Maybe it was the pain, or the blood loss, but a profound weariness settled over me. Looking back, I’d been tired for a very, very long time. At five, I was stolen, forced to work like an animal in a desolate rural town, under a sky that never seemed to clear. My back ached with a fatigue no child should ever know. At fifteen, I was returned to a home that wasn’t mine, walking on eggshells around the perfect daughter they already loved. I spent countless nights crying myself to sleep, exhausted from the effort of trying to exist in the spaces she left behind. At eighteen, I was married off to a second-generation monster with a heavy hand. To avoid the beatings, I played the part of the perfect, subservient wife, my every waking moment dedicated to soothing his temper. My skin crawled with exhaustion. At twenty, depression became a suffocating blanket. Only Lily’s smile kept me from stepping off the ledge I stared over every day. The exhaustion was a constant ringing in my ears, a stabbing pain in my heart. And now, at twenty-two, a shard of glass had sliced open my carotid artery. Suddenly, I wasn’t tired anymore. Because finally, I was allowed to die. “This isn’t an act,” I told Ethan, my voice a gurgle. “I’m really dying. Please, just come quickly. I don’t want Lily to be scared.” The truth was, I hadn’t cried wolf that many times. I’d only mentioned divorce three times. Their annoyance was so palpable I never dared bring it up again. I’d only shown them my injuries four times. They didn’t believe me, so I stopped showing them. Seven years since they brought me home. Seven calls for help. Was that really so many? “Then just die,” Ethan spat. “If you’re dead, we’ll come get Lily.” 2 He hung up. I knew he wouldn’t come. Seven years. My eighth cry for help. Another failure. A sad, hollow smile touched my lips. I slumped against the wall, one side of my body burning hot. The steam was rising from my own blood. I glanced upstairs. It was quiet. Lily was still asleep. Or maybe she was awake, huddled under her covers, trembling. She always did that. The thought sent a sharp, agonizing pain through my chest. I tried to pull myself up, to crawl to her, but my strength was gone. What was I going to do? My tiny daughter, shaking in her bed, and I couldn’t do a single thing to help her. When I was gone, if no one came for her, she would be left alone with that monster. How could she possibly survive? My phone buzzed. A text message. With trembling hands, I brought it to my face, struggling to focus. It was from Olivia. [Emma, it’s my 23rd birthday. The whole family’s here celebrating with me. Nobody has time for your drama.] [I don’t get it. You’ve already lost. Why can’t you just give up?] My lips moved, the taste of iron filling my mouth. I have given up. I just can’t let go of Lily. A final, desperate surge of strength flowed through me. I held down the button to record a voice message, pleading with the one person I hated most in the world. “Olivia… I’m sorry… I was wrong… I shouldn’t have been hostile… or tried to compete with you… I’ll get on my knees, I’ll… I’ll bang my head on the floor for you. Please, just come get my daughter…” The words came out in broken gasps, punctuated by my tears and the steady drip of my blood. In that moment, every shred of pride I had clung to for years shattered, ground into the dust by my own hand. I had never, ever bowed my head to Olivia. I was the true daughter of the Ashworth family; she was just an imposter, a cuckoo in my nest. But now, I was bowing. I had lost. “What?” Olivia’s voice came back, laced with disbelief, followed by a peal of laughter. “Are you serious? You’re… this is hilarious. You’re begging me? On your knees? For real? Go on then, do it! I want to hear it!” 3 So I did. I held down the voice record button, lowered my body, and slammed my forehead against the hard floor. Thud. Thud. Thud. I sent the message. The world spun. I collapsed, panting like a dying dog on the cold tile. Olivia’s laughter echoed again. “Oh my god, you actually did it? Haha! I have to say, that feels pretty good. It took you seven years, but I finally broke you!” Yes. She had broken me. “Bring… Lily… home…” I managed to whisper into the phone, one last time. Her tone shifted instantly, turning sharp and cold. “What did you say? Emma, are you messing with me? A second ago it was ‘bring your daughter home.’ Now it’s ‘bring Emma home’? Deep down, you still want to come back, don’t you!” I blinked, my mind a thick fog. Did I say my own name? No, I meant Lily. Bring Lily home! I didn’t have a home to go back to. But Lily did! But I couldn’t form another word. I had nothing left. “Emma? Cat got your tongue? Busted.” Olivia’s voice was laced with triumph. In the background, I could hear the deep, authoritative voice of my father. “Emma, that’s enough drama,” he said, his voice carrying clearly through the phone. “I’ll be visiting the Ryan estate in a couple of weeks. I’ll see you then.” A couple of weeks. A family member was finally coming to see me. But I wouldn’t be here. I was already gone. Lily, I’m so sorry. Mommy couldn’t get you out of this hell after all. I just hope ghosts are real. So I can watch over you a little while longer. 4 When I opened my eyes again, I was floating. Floating above my own body. So, ghosts were real. Dawn was breaking, but the house was silent. Marcus had fired all the staff years ago, forcing me into the role of maid. It made it easier for him to abuse me without witnesses. Even in broad daylight, no one would come. I realized Marcus was waking up; his snores had stopped. I didn’t care about him. I drifted upstairs, through the wall, and into Lily’s bedroom. Just as I’d feared, she was curled into a tight ball under the covers, her eyes squeezed shut. The pillow was soaked with her tears. The sheets beneath her were wet, too. She’d wet the bed in her terror and hadn’t dared to move. My heart, or whatever passed for it now, ached with a phantom pain. I reached out to stroke her cheek, but my hand passed right through her. Downstairs, a strangled cry. Marcus must have found my body. As I expected, he soon began the gruesome task of taking me apart. Even as a ghost, a chill I couldn’t explain settled deep within me. The depths of human evil were on full display in Marcus Ryan. And this was the man my family had chosen for me. Originally, Olivia was supposed to marry him. The two families had already agreed to the union. The Ryan Corporation was the biggest player in the city, and Marcus himself was handsome, charismatic, with a brilliant future. Olivia had been thrilled, even going on a few dates with him. But then the scandal broke. Marcus had been implicated in the death of a girl at a club—abuse that had gone too far. The story was ugly. My parents and Ethan grew worried. They feared he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a violent sociopath. They decided Olivia shouldn’t get any closer to him. But they couldn’t afford to offend the Ryan family, so they offered a substitute. Me. “Emma is our biological daughter, after all. She and Mr. Ryan are a much better match.” “Our Emma is gentle and obedient, not like Olivia, who runs around all day and doesn’t act like a lady at all!” “Besides, Olivia doesn’t want children yet. She’s still a child herself. It’s better she doesn’t marry just yet; we wouldn’t want her to embarrass us!” That’s what they’d said. Every word was a criticism of Olivia, a justification to the Ryan family for the switch. Thinking back on it now, every one of those criticisms was drenched in love. I let out a bitter, silent laugh and drifted into the bathroom to watch Marcus at his work. 5 Marcus’s face was sheet-white. He muttered and cursed as he worked. To steel himself, he kept insulting me, his words a venomous litany. He called me a whore, said I’d been passed around by hundreds of men, that I was filth and didn’t deserve him. That I got what I deserved. I didn’t understand. Where did this come from? His own frantic whispers provided the answer. “Don’t you blame me, you slut. Olivia told me everything. She told me all about you. About how you were passed around that hick town like a party favor. That you’d even had an abortion. What right did you have to marry me? You deserved every beating I gave you! Your death is on you!” And there it was. It had been Olivia all along. No wonder. When we were first married, Marcus had been kind, respectful even. Then, one day, he just snapped. The change was sudden, absolute. The abuse began, escalating until it finally killed me. Olivia. You are truly ruthless. I had already lost everything, and still, you wouldn’t let me live. By sunset, Marcus was finished. He packed my remains into bags and stuffed them into two large freezers. Then he scrubbed the living room until it gleamed, leaving no trace of what had happened. At some point, Lily had crept out of her room. She was crouched by the second-floor railing, peering timidly at the scene below. Marcus looked up, his eyes catching hers. His voice was the growl of a demon. “Lily. What did you see?” She was too terrified to speak. “I said, tell me!” he roared. The sound shocked a response out of her. She shook her head frantically. “Nothing… I don’t know…” I was torn between rage and a heart-wrenching pity, wishing I could sink my teeth into his throat. But I couldn’t touch him. Marcus snorted and grabbed a few bags of chips and bread from the pantry, tossing them up the stairs. “You stay up there. If you come down, I’ll break your legs.” Lily nodded in terror and scrambled back into her room. Without another glance, Marcus grabbed one of the bags from the freezer and slipped out of the house under the cover of darkness. A few moments later, Lily crept out again. She watched the front door for a long time before tiptoeing down the stairs. My ethereal heart pounded. What was she doing? She walked to the freezer, the one in the corner, and with all her might, pried open the bottom door. My head was nestled among bags of frozen meat. “Mommy…” she whispered. Tears I could no longer shed streamed down my face. She had seen everything. 6 The days that followed were a blur of Marcus disposing of my body. He’d take a piece with him each day, but sometimes he’d bring it back, defeated. Getting rid of a body in a bustling metropolis wasn’t as easy as he thought. My head, at least, remained in the freezer. Lily was obedient. She only snuck downstairs to look at me when Marcus was out, her silent tears a constant companion before she’d flee back to her room. She lived entirely on the second floor, her only food the stale bread and snacks he’d thrown at her. It was a suffocating, hopeless existence even for an adult. My heart ached for her in a way I couldn’t express. Finally, I drifted out of the house, desperate to find a solution. Without thinking, I found myself floating towards my parents’ home. The villa, so familiar yet so alien, glowed with a warm, inviting light. On impulse, I passed through the walls. Olivia was on the sofa, throwing a tantrum. “But you promised we’d go on vacation tomorrow! I already planned everything!” Though a year older than me, Olivia had always acted like a spoiled child at home. My father chuckled, indulging her. “I know, honey, Daddy messed up the dates. I have to go to Ryan Corporation tomorrow to sign the new contract. I’ll stop by and see your sister while I’m there. We can go on our trip the day after.” “He’s right, sweetie,” my mother chimed in, a fond smile on her face. “The contract is important. Don’t be difficult.” Ethan, flipping through some documents nearby, looked up. “I can handle the signing. You two should go on the trip with Olivia. It’s more important.” “Yes, yes! I want to go on vacation!” Olivia stomped her foot, the picture of petulance. Honestly, I envied her. In the ten years I was gone, I had never learned how to throw a tantrum. After I came back, I never dared. Only in the foggiest of memories, from before I was five, could I recall ever being so carefree. “Well…” my father hesitated. “I really should check on Emma. It’s been years since I’ve been to her house.” At the mention of my name, Olivia’s face darkened. She crossed her arms. “Fine. Go. She is your real daughter, after all.” My father immediately backpedaled, cooing as if to a small child. “That’s not what I meant. I just feel that if we don’t visit for too long, the Ryans will think we don’t take the partnership seriously.” My mother nodded in agreement. “He’s right. The families are connected. We need to show we care. How about this: tomorrow, I’ll go with you on the trip, and your father will go sign the contract.” Olivia was finally satisfied, beaming as she popped a pastry into her mouth. The picture of a happy, harmonious family was complete. I hung silently in the air, motionless. Suddenly, my mother glanced in my direction, though of course, she saw nothing. She rubbed her chest. “That’s strange,” she murmured. “I just felt a sudden pang in my heart.” “Are you okay, Mom?” Ethan asked. My father and Olivia both looked at her. She waved a hand dismissively. “I’m fine. I can’t explain it. Just a little… uneasy. Must be getting old.” They all laughed. Olivia quickly showered her with compliments about how young and beautiful she still looked, making my mother preen. But she kept rubbing her chest. 7 Late that night, my mother couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned, waking my father. “Honey, what’s wrong?” he grumbled. “I have to be up early tomorrow.” “I don’t know. My heart is just racing. I feel so anxious.” My father considered it. “Are you worried about the contract tomorrow? We’ve been working with the Ryans for years. It’ll be fine.” “It’s not the contract,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “I can’t put my finger on it.” He frowned. “Then what is it? Emma? Did her phone call a while back get to you?” My mother froze, her hand flying to her chest again. My father laughed softly. “What’s with that look? Suddenly you’re so concerned about Emma? She’s fine. She’s living the high life married to Marcus Ryan.” My mother was quiet for a long moment before sighing heavily. “I don’t think she’s fine at all. The last time she visited, her wrists were covered in bruises.” My father fell silent. She continued, her voice low. “She kept asking for a divorce, begging us to help her. I think Marcus treats her terribly.” Silence from my father. I hovered over their bed, my dead heart giving a faint, useless flutter. You knew, Mom? You knew? Then why… why didn’t you help me? My mother provided the answer. “But what could we do? We couldn’t let Olivia marry him. Olivia’s never known a day of hardship in her life. She couldn’t have handled Marcus’s temper. Emma… she suffered for ten years. She’s much tougher. A few beatings here and there won’t break her. It’s not like it will kill her.” My father nodded in the darkness. They turned off the lights and settled into sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms. My heart returned to its silent, dead stillness. I turned and drifted away.

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The day I confessed my feelings to my stepbrother, he blocked me on everything. It wasn’t until I died in a car crash that Finn, the musical prodigy, stood on stage at his sold-out concert and cried his eyes out. He announced his retirement on the spot, then sat up all night, clutching the tattered old teddy bear I’d given him. My ghost-self, ever the smartass, floated over and tilted its head. “No way. Are you actually crying?” The next second, my entire body landed solidly in his lap. Well, this is… awkward. 01 It was New Year’s Eve, and the face of the musical prodigy, Finn, was plastered on giant posters all over the city. The cab driver, who’d been stuck in the same gridlock as me for three hours, had lost his will to be angry. He followed my gaze. On the massive screen of the city’s tallest skyscraper, highlight reels from Finn’s concert played on a loop. He held the mic in one hand, brow furrowed in concentration. The stage lights around him suddenly dimmed, and the pinpricks of light from the audience’s phones began to swirl like a constellation. It was as if Finn was standing at the very center of the galaxy. I stared, lost in the moment. It was the last song from his tour last year, at the Port Blossom arena. I was on a business trip in the southwest at the time. A thunderstorm rolled in, my flight was delayed, and I missed it. When I finally landed in the middle of the night, I curled up in bed with my tablet and watched the two-and-a-half-hour recording over and over again. In the comments, fans who couldn’t get tickets lamented their bad luck. Someone tried to console them. [What’s there to be sad about? He’ll have plenty more concerts.] Finn was at the peak of his fame. I believed that was true, yet a part of me felt hollow. I had promised him when he first started out that I would never miss a single one of his shows. …And yet, I’d broken my promise. The driver, unimpressed, rested an arm on the half-open window and blew a lazy smoke ring into the evening air. “Can’t even hear a thing. What’s the point of spending all that money on this crap?” Because of the concert and the approaching holiday, Olympia City was gridlocked from one end to the other. As dusk settled, the crisscrossing streetlights cast a hazy yellow glow that stretched all the way to the deepening colors of the sunset. The driver finally gave up and killed the engine, making idle chit-chat with me. If my dad were still alive, he’d be nearing retirement age now. Maybe he would’ve driven a cab in his spare time, spinning tales about anything and everything to his passengers. When I was a kid, during the peak of summer, our neighbors would pull up little stools and sit in front of our house, fanning themselves in the heat. Dad would pull a watermelon, still cool from the well water, and slice it clean in half. But life is unpredictable. No one ever thought my dad would be diagnosed with stomach cancer in the prime of his life. The day my mom came back from the hospital, her face was a cold mask. She packed a bag and took me away without a word. The next time I saw that little rundown courtyard, the weeds were already past my knees. I listened to the driver, occasionally nodding or offering a small smile. “You heading to the concert too, miss?” He glanced over at me, his voice hesitant. I was wearing a simple white shirt and light-wash jeans, a heavy laptop bag resting on my knees. Dangling from the zipper was a small teddy bear, washed so many times its fur had gone pale. I didn’t exactly look like a young fan with time to spare for chasing celebrities. I felt the ticket in my pocket—one I’d paid a scalper a fortune for—and shook my head. Tonight was the fifth anniversary of Finn’s debut. Of the hundred thousand fans in that arena, the very last person he’d want to see… was me. 02 Finn was my stepbrother, a product of my mother’s second, short-lived marriage. When that one imploded, my mom took the family dog. Finn took me. He was only four years older than me, but he acted like a miniature adult, taking care of me for years. When I was wrongly accused of having a boyfriend in high school, he stormed into the principal’s office, face like thunder, and unleashed a verbal tirade on my supposed “secret love.” Mark, the class president, who had never seen anything like it, burst into tears on the spot. For a long time after, he refused to walk home from school with me. “Ava,” he’d said, “is that your ‘angelic’ brother? More like the damn grim reaper.” Of course, I didn’t get off easy either. Finn gave me the silent treatment for five days straight. If we passed each other, he’d look right through me. I was completely innocent, but I was stubborn too, so I dug my heels in and ignored him right back. At night, I’d be huddled on my side of our tiny room doing homework, and he wouldn’t come over to check it like he used to. He’d just sit at his own desk, head down, scribbling notes on a music sheet. The rented basement apartment was barely big enough for the two of us. We’d sit with our backs to each other, a silence stretching between us like an ocean. I stared at the same three lines of my textbook for the entire evening. That cold war lasted until the night he became an overnight sensation. He was the one who finally called. The other end of the line was a cacophony of noise, but Finn’s voice cut through it all, as clear as a drop of water in a silent cave, landing right in my ear. “Ava, we’re going to have money now.” I fiddled with the tassel on my bed curtains, the ache that had been sitting in my chest for days finally smoothing out. I tried to sound casual, but my voice still trembled when I spoke. “Yeah? So… does that mean I can get into your concerts for free from now on?” When you’ve been poor for so long, you dream of all the extravagant things you’ll do with money, but my imagination never stretched much further than that. Finn sighed on the other end, his tone softening. For a moment, it felt like my kind, considerate brother was back. “Yeah,” he said. “From now on, for every show, I’ll save you the best seat in the front row.” In the end, he broke that promise, too. See? Neither of us was very good at keeping our word. 03 The city lights outside the window flickered. The blare of car horns around me suddenly grew frantic, and everything outside seemed to rush backward. I snapped out of my memories, taking a deep breath and looking out the window in confusion. My hand tightened around the little bear. Then, my world went black. Everything seemed to lurch into slow motion. I felt the driver’s lit cigarette fall onto my forearm, pressed searingly into my skin by the inflating airbag. A deafening roar filled my ears, and my body felt like it was being pulled down into an endless abyss. The roar stretched on and on, until finally, there was nothing. In the darkness, I saw my father, sitting on our porch steps in the summer heat, holding half a watermelon and smiling at me. I saw Shadow, the little dog my mother had beaten to death the day she left, wagging his tail and baring his tiny, sharp teeth in a playful grin. And then, suddenly, I heard Finn’s voice. He was singing. … The arena was packed, and Finn stood in the center of a brilliant spotlight. The first time I ever heard him sing was the night we left home. The dark alley seemed to stretch on forever. I clutched the sleeve of his shirt, my eyes red, wanting to cry but not daring to. In the few years I had lived in their house, he had always worn a cold expression. I thought he didn’t like me. But when he chose to take me with him, without a moment’s hesitation, he seemed to glow with a golden light. A black cat shot out from the shadows, its paws scattering a rolling plastic bottle as it leaped onto a wall and let out a piercing shriek. My fingers trembled, and I shrank back, burying my face against his side. Finn squatted down, sighing in exasperation. “A cat scares you this much? You want me to sing you a song to make you brave?” After my mom married his dad, Finn had never looked at me directly, let alone spoken with such gentleness. Maybe seeing my mother abandon me so coldly had stirred his pity. Maybe my fear had softened him. “You want to hear it or not?” Finn asked, kicking at a loose pebble as he stood up. It was the first time I’d ever seen him be so patient. “Yes,” I mumbled, wiping my nose. The moon rose overhead, casting a pale light into the dark alley. My mother never really liked dogs. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have beaten Shadow to death when he clung to my pant leg, refusing to let me go. My mother just didn’t like me anymore. She had finally realized what a burden I was. She would rather take a dog she didn’t even like than take me. But Finn had taken me without a second thought. “They can’t afford to raise you. I can.” “You are not a burden, Ava. You never were…” In that instant, my world felt bright again. I gathered my courage and took his hand. “What do you want to hear?” “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” “Lame.” “It’s the only song I know. My mom never sang to me.” Even that one, I’d only learned by eavesdropping on the neighbors. Finn froze for a second, his eyes softening. Then, his clear, cool voice drifted down from above me. “Twinkle, twinkle, little star,” “How I wonder what you are.” “Up above the world so high,” “Like a diamond in the sky.” … 04 I drifted lightly to the front row. The seat that should have been mine was empty, untouched. Finn stood less than a hundred yards away, the familiar nursery rhyme still echoing through the stadium. He always opened his shows with this song. I guess this way, I wasn’t technically missing it. Next to me, a couple of girls were whispering to each other. “It’s such a sweet tradition. I can’t even imagine how lucky his sister must be.” I glanced down at the faint burn scar on my forearm and smiled sadly. Maybe I would have been, if I hadn’t gotten drunk and confessed my feelings to him on the night of my high school graduation. In my pocket, the screen of my cracked phone was still open to my chat history with Finn. It was, in reality, a monologue. A long stream of green message bubbles from me, ending in a sea of red exclamation points. Finn had blocked me long ago. Except for the living expenses that were wired to my bank account every month like clockwork, Finn had slowly vanished from my life. He’d said I was too young, that I couldn’t tell the difference between love and dependency. He chose the best university for me in a city far away—Port Blossom, on the opposite side of the country. The moment I stepped onto that train, dragging my suitcase behind me, I knew. I had no reason to ever go back to Olympia City again. Even Finn didn’t want me anymore. I was homeless again. It rained constantly in Port Blossom, and the local accent was completely different. I tried calling Finn many times, but he never picked up. The song ended. Finn slowly opened his eyes, the dazzling lights making him squint. His gaze swept across the crowd, as if searching for something. When I first heard he’d made this song his opening number, I had shamelessly called his manager, Kai. The explanation I got was blunt: it was all part of the act, a way to maintain his “devoted older brother” persona for the fans. I pulled my ghostly coat tighter around me and settled into my empty seat. The powerful speakers cranked the energy in the arena to a fever pitch. The beat of the drums hammered against my eardrums, and the crowd was on its feet, screaming. Finn was born for the stage. And I was born for Finn. Although… he didn’t feel the same way. He performed five songs in a row. As the platform he was on began to lower, I floated after him to the backstage area. Back when we were crammed into that tiny basement, he used to promise he’d show me what it was like backstage at a concert. But later, I couldn’t even get a chance to see him, let alone go backstage. Those empty promises had long since faded into nothing. The backstage area was a chaotic swarm of people, everyone rushing around, a whirlwind of activity with Finn at its center. It was only then that I truly understood. He really had become a star, shining and untouchable. I found an empty corner and leaned against the wall, watching him. Finn’s eyes were unfocused, lost in thought. I remembered how, to save money, he had scored 73 points above the requirement for a free teaching scholarship at a local college. When I found out, I felt so wronged on his behalf that I cried and tried to push him out the door. “Go… go change your application! I’ll drop out of school!” He had grabbed my wrist, pulled a stack of handwritten music sheets from under his bed, and soothed me. “Your brother is going to be a big star someday, Ava. It doesn’t matter what I study. This isn’t about the money.” “But you said you wanted to be a designer! Your dream is a dream, but mine isn’t?” That was how Finn always convinced me—a mix of coaxing and gentle bullying, topped with a blatant lie. Now, he’d finally achieved his dream. So why did he look so unhappy? From the crowd, someone muttered under their breath, “The police are on the line. Should we tell him…?” “Are you insane? We can’t tell him about Ava until after the show…” Finn’s distant gaze flickered, landing somewhere in the empty space for a few seconds before snapping up, meeting my eyes with a jolt. If I were still alive, my heart would have skipped a beat. I blinked. He looked straight through me, his focus shifting to the people behind me, and I came back to my senses. It was always like this. A fleeting glance from Finn felt like an eternity to me. His fingers, resting on the buttons of his shirt, trembled slightly. “What happened?” His manager, Kai, clutched his phone, too scared to hand it over. “It’s nothing. The intermission is almost over, you should…” “I asked you what happened,” Finn cut him off. His eyes were turning red, the sequins on his stage costume flashing chaotically. “It’s Ava, isn’t it?” It was the first time he had said my full name in five years. He used to call me Avie. It was amazing how much distance a few years could create. Finn rarely got angry. In his early days, he’d run three gigs in one night, his throat raw and scratchy, but he never lost his temper with Kai. Later, as he became more and more famous, his songs playing on every street corner, he had even less reason to be angry with anyone. Kai tried to hide the phone behind his back. I floated over. A news site was open, displaying the horrific scene of the multi-car pile-up on New Year’s Eve. Most of the photos were censored. But in one corner of a picture, I could still make out the mangled remains of me and the driver. The cheap bobblehead on the cab driver’s dashboard was stained with blood, nodding cheerfully along with the distant chime of the New Year’s bells. A grotesque, bloodthirsty kind of cheer. Not far from the wreckage lay the little teddy bear I always kept on my laptop bag. It was a birthday gift from Finn during my senior year of high school. When I found out he’d bought the expensive, official version with money he earned from three straight months of grueling gigs, I’d impulsively thrown it onto the street. It was spring in Olympia City, and the fluffy cottonwood seeds swirled through the air, clinging to the bear’s fur. I couldn’t bear it. In the middle of the night, I snuck out and picked it up. Finn never knew about that. Years had passed. He probably didn’t even remember the gift. The intermission music faded, replaced by a rhythmic drum beat. The fans in the stadium were cheering, their voices rising in a unified chant of his name, organized by someone in the crowd. A hundred thousand people were calling for him to return to the stage, but backstage, it was eerily, unnaturally silent. “Give it to me… Let me see…” Finn’s voice was shaking, his fingertips trembling along with it. Kai had nowhere to run. Finn snatched the phone from his hand. Finn’s eyes landed on the screen. He only needed one look to see the little bear, soaked in blood…

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1 The new intern, Willow Banks, loved one phrase: “Let’s go fifty-fifty.” On our last trip, I paid $900 for our shared hotel room. She submitted the expense report, got fully reimbursed, and kept it all. “You went back early, Jess—used the room four extra hours a day. You’re taller, so you eat more and take more Uber space. And don’t forget my booking fee,” she said. Later, I made her part of my project team. She only printed files and ordered food, yet demanded half the bonus: “We did this together—$100k each.” Colleagues urged me to be understanding—she came from nothing, they said. Then she altered a design without approval, causing a $50,000 error. Tearfully, she proposed: “You cover the cost since you earn more. I’ll apologize.” I refused. She pushed me off the 18th-floor terrace. Those same colleagues took my bonus, drank champagne in Bali, and laughed: “Jessica had no backbone. She jumped when things got tough.” I wake up back on the day she asked for the receipts. This time, everyone will learn what it really means to go fifty-fifty with Willow. “Jess, let me handle the expense report for the trip.” Willow’s sickly-sweet voice echoed in my ear. My entire body went rigid. I looked up at her, at that familiar, deceitful face, and the reality crashed down on me. I was back. I had been reborn. In my past life, I handed her the invoice for the $900 I’d paid for our hotel. The entire reimbursement went straight into her pocket. When I repeatedly asked for my share, she pulled out a calculator and spun a web of twisted “fifty-fifty” logic that left me with nothing. Later, the director assigned her to my team for a new, high-stakes project. As an intern, she had zero experience. Her daily tasks consisted of printing files and picking up packages. While I was pulling all-nighters perfecting the proposal, she was clocking out at five on the dot to go binge-watch shows in her dorm. The first phase of the project was a stunning success. The client was so impressed they expanded the scope of the work, and with it, the project bonus—to a whopping $200,000. The moment Willow heard the news, her eyes lit up. She marched straight to my desk. “Jess, we did this project together,” she announced, her voice ringing with self-righteousness. “The bonus has to be split fifty-fifty. One hundred thousand dollars each. It’s only fair.” “I contributed my labor, too,” she insisted. “And all labor is equal.” “Printing documents is a technical skill. How could your project have succeeded without the materials I printed?” I was about to shut her down, but the office do-gooders swarmed in to play peacemaker. I remembered her stories about her poor family, about coming from nothing. I told myself the money was like a donation to a charity case. So, I nodded and agreed. The result? On another project—one I had no involvement in—she made an unauthorized change to a design, causing millions in damages and landing herself with a personal liability of $50,000. She came to me, her eyes brimming with tears. “Jess, it’s because you weren’t mentoring me on this one that I made a mistake.” “We should split the responsibility fifty-fifty. Your salary is higher, so you can just cover the fifty thousand.” “I’ll take the hit to my pride and go bow and scrape to the client. Doesn’t that sound fair?” I had never encountered such shamelessness. This was my career, my reputation on the line. I flatly refused. She immediately flew into a rage, physically attacking me. And the colleagues? They sided with her, scolding me for not being generous, for refusing to help a newcomer. In the chaos of the fight, Willow shoved me off the eighteenth-floor terrace. Then, she used my bonus money to bribe them. They all gave false testimony, claiming I had committed suicide because I couldn’t handle the stress of the project error. With their payout secured, they celebrated on a beach in Bali, drinking, singing, and partying for a solid week, all while mocking me for being a stupid, gullible fool who was better off dead. The memory made my jaw clench, my face darkening with rage. Willow’s fifty-fifty system wasn’t just for money and credit. It was for blame. It was even for life and death. “Jessica, what’s wrong?” My deskmate, Tracy, nudged me with her elbow, pulling me back to the present. “Willow’s just trying to be nice and help you with the expenses. Why the long face? Don’t be so high and mighty just because you’re a senior.” Laura chimed in from the other side. “Yeah, she’s just trying to help. You don’t have to look so disgusted.” There they were. The two of them. In my last life, they were the ones constantly whispering in my ear about how Willow was a poor girl from a disadvantaged background, how I needed to take care of her. I was softened by their words, not only letting the travel expenses slide but also buying Willow expensive designer gifts. Now I saw them for what they were: self-proclaimed saints, masters of being generous with other people’s money. All they had to do was move their lips, and they earned a reputation for being kind and magnanimous. I was the idiot footing the bill. A cold smile touched my lips. Too bad for them. This time, there would be no more fifty-fifty with Willow. I couldn’t wait to see if they’d still be smiling when they were forced to participate in Willow’s special brand of fairness. I turned to Willow and shook my head, my expression softening into a polite smile. “That’s okay. You’re new here, and this is a critical time for you to learn and observe. I wouldn’t want a small task like this to get in the way of your progress.” Willow’s sweet smile froze for a fraction of a second before snapping back into place. “It’s no trouble at all, Jess. It’s the least I can do.” “I insist,” I said, my tone firm but kind. “Your future is what’s important. I can handle it.” She looked like she wanted to argue, but I had already turned back to my computer, ending the conversation. Last time, I accepted her “help” and lost $900. This time, I refused, and I would file the report myself. Let’s see how she splits the money when she doesn’t have the invoice. I had a pleasant, leisurely lunch and returned to my desk in high spirits. Willow, on the other hand, was visibly on edge, picking at her food distractedly. Back at the office, I focused on my proposal, but out of the corner of my eye, I could see her fidgeting. She kept glancing my way, looking like she was about to burst. I pretended not to notice. Finally, around three in the afternoon, I calmly printed out the expense form, took out the invoice, and began gluing it to the paper. Willow’s eyes tracked my every move, her anxiety palpable. The moment I stood up to walk to the finance department, she couldn’t hold it in any longer. She shot up and blocked my path. “Jess, um… you should give me that invoice.” I raised an eyebrow. “And why would I do that?” “I’ve been doing the math carefully. Based on our fifty-fifty agreement, the entire reimbursement amount should go to me.” I scoffed internally. All $900. The nerve. I was curious to see what new, twisted logic she’d come up with this time. I feigned surprise. “All of it? But we shared the room. Shouldn’t it be split in half? I’ll take four-fifty.” “But we agreed to go fifty-fifty,” Willow said, her energy instantly returning. I nodded. “Right. Fifty-fifty.” She cleared her throat and launched into her spectacular performance. “During the trip, you went back to the hotel to rest at seven every evening, while I had to stay out working until eleven. You used the room for four more hours a day than I did.” “Calculated by usage time, you should be responsible for two-thirds of the room cost. That’s six hundred dollars.” The classic argument. Word for word from my past life. I played along. “Alright. Minus the six hundred, that leaves three hundred. You can give me that, right?” “Nope,” Willow shook her head immediately. “That won’t work either.” “I paid for all the meals and the Ubers upfront.” “And Jess, you know you’re about four inches taller than me. You take up more space in the car.” “You eat more, too. So you should pay a larger share of those costs.” She ticked off the points on her fingers, clearly enjoying herself. “Meals and rides came to four hundred dollars total. Proportionally, you owe me two-hundred and sixty.” “Plus, we used my ride-sharing app, so you owe me a daily user fee for that.” The same old script. No originality at all. I stared at her coldly, saying nothing. Seeing my lack of reaction, she quickly added, “Normally, I’d charge a service fee for booking the rides. We took twenty rides over ten days. At ten dollars a ride, that’s two hundred dollars.” “But since you were mentoring me on the trip, I’ll give you a thirty percent discount. So, just one-forty.” She finished with a triumphant look, as if she were doing me a massive favor. “So, you don’t need to transfer me anything. The reimbursement from this trip will just about cover what you owe me.” The air was silent for a few seconds. I raised my hands and gave a few slow, deliberate claps. Willow was completely baffled, frozen in place. I let out a soft laugh. “Your math is impressive.” I picked up the expense form, tapping it with my finger. “However, you seem to have a fundamental misunderstanding of company policy, not to mention basic common sense.” “Hotel accommodation, transportation, and meal expenses are all reimbursed on a per-person basis, up to a standard limit.” “The hotel charges by the night, not the hour. You could sleep in there for twenty-four hours straight or not step foot in the room at all. It makes no difference.” “The extra four hours I was in the room wasn’t time I ‘took’ from you. It was you giving up your right to use the room by choosing to be elsewhere.” She opened her mouth to argue, but I cut her off with a wave of my hand. “We took an SUV for every ride. There was plenty of space. We could have fit three more of you in the back. If you wanted to take up more room, you could have laid down. I wouldn’t have cared.” I paused, watching the color drain from her face. “As for the food, you’re a small person with a small appetite who consistently ordered more than you could eat.” “I never touched your portion. You wasted it. You feel like you lost money? Go ask the restaurant if they give refunds on leftovers.” Willow’s face flushed red and then went pale. She clearly hadn’t expected me to dissect her logic so thoroughly. Her eyes darted around, and she immediately switched tactics, her voice turning pitiful. “Well… what about the effort I put in booking the rides? Doesn’t that count for something?” “Jess, you know my situation. I come from a poor family in a small town. I have two younger brothers I need to support through school.” “Your salary is so high. A small service fee isn’t too much to ask, is it?” And there it was. The victim card. Guilt-tripping 101. “This is the first I’ve heard of a mandatory, unsolicited service fee,” I said flatly. “You never mentioned a charge beforehand. Otherwise, I would have just used my own account.” “Besides, the hotel concierge can book a car for you. Your ‘service’ was completely unnecessary.” Her voice grew shrill with desperation. “But you still benefited from my service!” I pretended to think about it seriously. “You’re right. I did. Tell you what, I’ll pay you back in kind. From now on, I’ll book all your Ubers.” “Do you need a ride home today? I can call one for you… right now?” I made a move to grab my phone. Willow’s face went black with fury. Her lips trembled, and her eyes welled up, tears threatening to spill over. Just as expected, the office saints, Tracy and Laura, swooped in. “Jessica, that’s not appropriate,” Tracy said with a frown. “Willow’s family doesn’t have much. Why are you nickel-and-diming her like this?” “Exactly,” Laura added. “You make so much money. Why are you being so cheap? It’s not that much money. Is it really worth all this fuss?” Not that much money? It was $900. Willow’s entire monthly salary as an intern was less than that. Tracy shot me a dirty look and wrapped an arm around Willow, comforting her. “It’s okay, Willow. Next time, you and I can split things. I won’t let you get cheated like this!” I looked at these two walking, talking monuments to performative virtue and almost burst out laughing. My memories of the last life told me that Willow was no pushover. She would never be satisfied with just verbal support. I couldn’t wait to see their spectacular fifty-fifty partnership in action. I hoped their wallets were as tough as their words. Not long after, the director assigned me to lead the Sterling Project. With a decade of experience, I was the company’s undisputed top performer. As soon as the news broke, Willow came scurrying over. “Jess, you’re amazing! The company trusts you with a huge project like Sterling!” “Jess, can I join your team? I really want to learn from you.” In my past life, I thought her desire to learn was genuine. I taught her everything I knew, sharing my experience and strategies without reservation. It turned out to be a complete waste of time. She was incompetent at everything. With deadlines looming, I had no choice but to relegate her to printing and mailing documents. And yet, in the end, she thought that menial work entitled her to half of my bonus. “I have too much on my plate right now,” I replied coldly. “I don’t have time to mentor you.” She immediately put on a pitiful expression. “Jess, please. I really want to learn from you. I know I come from a small town and I’m not as worldly, but I really want to make something of myself based on my own abilities.” I didn’t even look up from my computer screen. “I’m honestly too busy. You can ask someone else.” This time, I wouldn’t give her a single opportunity to leech off me. She wouldn’t even get to touch the printer paper. With that, I ignored her and dove back into my work. As Willow turned to leave, I snuck a glance at her. The wounded expression on her face had twisted into a flicker of venomous resentment. My stomach sank. I knew it. She wasn’t going to give up that easily. I hadn’t even had half a day of peace before the director stormed over to my desk, his face dark. “Jessica, what is your problem? Has life gotten too comfortable for you?” His tone was hostile. The office fell silent, and I could feel several pairs of eyes on my back, watching the show. “An intern wants to learn from you, and you refuse? You were a rookie once, too. Where’s your empathy?” “That girl came from nothing. It’s not easy for someone like her to have ambition. Your coldness is just cruel.” “What are you afraid of? That she’ll surpass you one day? You’re being incredibly petty.” He laid on the passive-aggressive guilt trip, and I mentally rolled my eyes. Plenty of people come from humble beginnings. None of them were as skilled at being a parasite as she was. In my past life, they had successfully divided up my bonus. Besides Tracy and Laura’s false testimony, the director had also played a key role. After my rebirth, I did some digging and discovered the truth: Willow was his son’s college girlfriend. He had pulled strings to get her the internship. The company had a strict anti-nepotism policy, so his son couldn’t work here, but the spot naturally fell to his “future daughter-in-law.” No wonder he was so quick to come and lecture me. I didn’t want to engage, but I maintained a basic level of professionalism. “Director, I am genuinely too busy. I don’t have time to teach Willow properly, and I’d hate to waste her talent.” “Don’t worry about it. She’s a natural. She doesn’t need you to teach her; she can learn just by watching,” the director said, waving his hand dismissively and cutting me off. “This project is highly complex and has a steep learning curve. She should start with something more basic—” “That’s enough,” he boomed, slapping his hand on my desk to finalize the decision. “It’s settled. Willow will join your team and assist you. An extra pair of hands will get the work done faster. That’s an order.” What could I say? He was the boss. I nodded. “Understood, Director.” And just like that, the ghost of Willow was haunting my project team again. She spent her days slacking off. The tasks I assigned were done with a lazy, half-hearted effort. She couldn’t even be bothered to fix basic formatting. Sometimes I’d ask her to organize client data, and she would misspell the client’s name. Out of professional integrity, I continued to handle the Sterling Project with the utmost seriousness. Revenge was one thing, but Sterling hadn’t wronged me. I wouldn’t let my personal issues jeopardize my work. Soon, the first phase of the project was completed, with results that far exceeded expectations. Just like in my previous life, the director announced at the review meeting, his face beaming with pride. “Great news, everyone! Sterling is extremely satisfied with our proposal. They’ve not only approved the first phase but have also decided to increase the budget. The CEO has personally approved a two-hundred-thousand-dollar bonus for the project team!” The conference room filled with applause. Everyone was ecstatic. But for me, alarm bells were ringing. The familiar script was about to play out again. Sure enough, Willow suddenly stood up. “Director, I think we should adopt a more modern approach to the bonus allocation. A fifty-fifty system would be more equitable.” She cleared her throat, looking the very picture of righteous indignation. “Many interns contributed their labor as well and should be included in the bonus distribution. All labor is equal, after all.” The director immediately voiced his loud support. “An excellent point, Willow! We absolutely should consider the contributions of all participants.” Tracy and Laura were quick to chime in. “Exactly! We all saw how hard Willow worked, staying late every night.” “It’s two hundred thousand dollars. What’s the big deal about giving a little to the intern? You’re not going to be that stingy, are you, Jess?” I watched the four of them perform their well-rehearsed act and nearly started clapping. The same script, the same lines, all over again. In my last life, this was the exact tactic she used to walk away with half of my bonus. A full one hundred thousand dollars went into Willow’s pocket. But this time, I was ready. Under the varied gazes of everyone in the room, I didn’t get angry. Instead, I smiled. “Well said. I wholeheartedly support Willow’s proposal.” “In fact, I have a proposal of my own that will perfectly complement hers.” I stood up and connected my laptop to the projector.

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On my 18th PowerPoint revision, my boss stopped me. “Honestly, Leah, having you as a subordinate is… a bit embarrassing.” My hand slipped on the mouse. I forgot how to undo. “You work hard,” he went on, “but my core team needs to be impressive—like Peterson’s. Not just a cog in the machine.” It felt like ice water poured over my head. Seeing my face, he softened. “Don’t be sensitive. Remember that client? You froze when they asked about your college. We lost the deal because of that.” I was speechless. He blamed me for not being “elite” enough. The old me would’ve apologized. But now, I just felt exhausted. It was time to leave. I called the headhunter and accepted a rival offer—for double the pay. As I carried my box out, he was leading new interns to a celebration. They didn’t see me until I said goodbye. “You’re quitting? Over what I said?” I replied softly, “Yeah.” 1 The office buzzed with activity as my colleagues packed up, ready to head out for the celebration. The air was a mix of expensive perfume and the crisp scent of tailored suits. No one stopped to say a word to me, not even a polite farewell. My boss, Adrian Cole, sat back in his leather executive chair, twirling a Montblanc pen between his fingers, his voice light and dismissive. “Leah, Leah. You young people are just too impatient.” “I was only trying to help you, to push you to be better. Why are you throwing a tantrum?” Next to him, Amy, the fresh graduate who had been hired as his “special assistant,” giggled behind her hand. “Oh, Adrian, don’t mind her. Some people are just too sensitive. They’re not cut out for the big leagues. Where is she going to go without us?” Adrian nodded in approval. “Amy’s right. You need to see the bigger picture.” “Have you forgotten? If I hadn’t made an exception for you, a graduate from a no-name state school, you wouldn’t have even made it past the front door of this company.” “And now you’ve got your wings, you think you can just walk out because you don’t like a little criticism?” But was I the one with the small perspective? A week ago, we had the pitch for the project that would determine the company’s entire yearly target. I had been looking forward to it for months. To give our team the best possible chance, I had endured Amy’s eye-rolls and Adrian’s impatience and completely overhauled the proposal three times. Everyone knew I was in charge of the core data. That morning, they’d clapped me on the shoulder and said, “We’re counting on you.” I pulled three all-nighters, memorizing every single data point, every detail, every piece of supporting material that could possibly be questioned. I walked into the meeting hall, excited, clutching a thick binder of documents, only to be stopped by Adrian with a single gesture. “You’re a project assistant? That’s impossible, you’re not on the core presentation team. Who are you? If you don’t leave, we’re calling security.” Through the closed glass doors, I could see Adrian and Amy, dressed in impeccably matching suits, standing confidently in front of the projector screen. The data models displayed on the PowerPoint were the ones I had painstakingly built, line by line. I pushed past the security guard and grabbed Adrian’s arm before he could enter the room. “Why am I not on the final presentation list?” I demanded. “I’m the core data support for this project. I’m the only one who can answer the detailed questions.” I didn’t think there was anything wrong with what I said. But for that, they labeled me as “tactless” and “not a team player.” The door opened, and Amy stepped out, a USB drive in her hand. “Adrian, the clients are here. Let’s go in.” Adrian’s face instantly broke into a smile. He straightened his tie, his eyes full of admiration for her. “With Amy leading the charge, we’re sure to win this.” “Leah,” Amy said, looking down her nose at me. “Adrian has his reasons. You being here is just going to damage the team’s image. Why don’t you… go downstairs and get us some coffee?” Looking at her perfectly made-up face, a dull ache spread through my chest. Ever since I joined this company, I had handled all the thankless, difficult jobs. Just last month, to prepare for this very project, I paid for an advanced data analytics course out of my own pocket. It wasn’t expensive—just $500, not even a fraction of what Amy spends on a single handbag. But when Adrian saw my reimbursement request, he’d sighed and rubbed his temples. “Leah, we’re trying to cut costs right now. Let’s avoid non-essential expenses like this in the future, okay?” So that’s what it was. It wasn’t about cutting costs. It was about my professional development not being a worthy investment. 2 Amy looked surprised, then annoyed, that I was still standing there. “Oh, Leah, you’re here? Adrian said you were out sick today. I only prepared materials for the core team. Maybe you should… just go back to your desk?” Before she could finish, an intern sidled up, looking at Amy with hero-worship in his eyes. “Amy, you’re amazing! This proposal is brilliant. The clients are going to love it!” All I felt was a deep, pathetic sadness. My blood, sweat, and tears, all credited to someone else’s name. “Amy,” I said, my voice steady, “can you explain the data sources for the second section?” “Leah! Watch your tone!” Adrian barked. He walked over, his brow furrowed in displeasure. My fingers trembled. That heart of mine, already frozen solid, felt a flicker of absurd hope. Maybe… maybe Adrian was just trying to maintain a professional front… But his next words plunged me into an icy despair. “Alright, that’s enough. Don’t make a scene in front of the clients.” “Your work is done. This is Amy’s show now. She’s the face of our team. You’re making things awkward for everyone.” “It’s better if you stay out here anyway. In case we need someone to run errands.” Amy scoffed. “Some people just don’t know their place. I told you, team image is crucial. Bringing a dowdy assistant along just lowers our standards.” Another colleague, a team lead, gave me a disdainful look. “You’ve been acting very strange lately. Do you think just because the project is done, you’re some kind of hero? You’re getting a big head. Write up a formal explanation and have it on my desk by the end of the day.” A fire ignited inside me, surging through my limbs, to my brain. The next thing I knew, the scalding hot coffee in my hand was splashing across that team lead’s face. “Write this!” I screamed. I went wild, swinging my binder like a weapon, hitting the colleagues who were watching the show with amusement. I hit Amy’s panicked face. I hit the glass door of the conference room that I polished countless times a day. It didn’t stop until Adrian’s hand cracked across my face. “You’re insane!” he roared. “You’re fired!” “Get the hell out of here, now!” In that moment, I felt a strange, unprecedented sense of relief. I dropped the binder. “Fine,” I said calmly. I looked around at the chaos. A few colleagues were huddled in a corner, protectively shielding a screaming Amy. I smiled, pulled the resignation letter from my bag, and handed it to Adrian. “Sign it.” “Saves me the cost of postage.” 3 But Adrian just held the letter, refusing to sign. He rubbed his eyes, sighed wearily, and looked at me. “Can you please stop this, Leah?” His gaze fell on the red, swelling handprint on my cheek, and for a fleeting second, I saw a flicker of… guilt? “I know you’ve been under a lot of stress lately, that you’re overthinking things. Let’s just forget what happened today, okay?” “Sign it,” I repeated. My unyielding stance seemed to anger him. He made a frustrated sound. “Stop being dramatic. If you actually quit, where would you go? With your degree, what major company is going to hire you? Are you really sure you can find a better job than this?” He had a half-smile on his face, as if mocking my overconfidence. A chill ran down my spine. The scene was sickeningly familiar. When I graduated, my resume was rejected everywhere. It was my mother who, through a distant acquaintance, introduced me to Adrian, who was then just a junior manager. She had humbled herself, treated him to a lavish dinner, and slipped him a thick envelope of cash. “Leah, you’re just too earnest,” she had told me. “You don’t know how to sell yourself. Mr. Cole is a sharp man. Stick with him, and learn.” So I joined the company, and Adrian did “take care” of me. He gave me the toughest, most thankless tasks, calling it “training.” He took the credit for the work I did overnight, then patted my shoulder and told me, “Young people shouldn’t be so concerned with personal gain.” My naive parents thought I had found a great mentor and constantly reminded me to be grateful. If they knew I was leaving Adrian, they would call me ungrateful. They might even drag me back here to beg for my job back. I shuddered. Adrian, thinking he had me trapped, softened his voice. “Alright, that’s enough. You have no connections, no prestigious degree. How are you going to survive without me?” “It was wrong of me not to let you present. But I was just worried you’d get nervous and say the wrong thing, messing up the whole project.” “Once we land this contract, I’ll give you a big bonus, a promotion, a raise, how does that sound? Didn’t you always want to be a team lead?” Amy stepped out from behind him, adding her two cents. “That’s right, Leah, don’t overthink it. Today was a very important meeting, with very important people.” “You’re not used to that kind of pressure. What if you got nervous and embarrassed yourself? The clients would question our professionalism, and Adrian would be in a terrible position.” “He was just trying to protect you. How can you misunderstand his good intentions? You should apologize to him.” She pulled an intern in front of her like a shield. “See? You’ve scared the new staff. Don’t worry, Tom, I’ll have Leah apologize to you.” Other colleagues gathered around, fussing over Amy, checking her face and hands for any injuries. “She’s completely out of control. Adrian, you can’t let her get away with this.” “She needs to make a public apology, at the very least, and forfeit her entire bonus for the month!” Five or six people stood before me, all waiting for me to bow my head and apologize, just like I always did.

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On my way to a tutoring session, I ran into my brother’s fiancée. She was on the arm of a strange man, her smile as bright as a blooming flower. A wicked little thrill went through me as I snapped a picture and immediately sent it to my brother, Liam. “Congrats. Looks like she’s upgrading.” Five minutes later, a few terse words appeared on my screen. “That’s her brother.” “Dumbass.” 1 Staring at the word ‘dumbass’ on the screen, a familiar ache bloomed in my chest. I should have known better. Liam never spared my feelings, especially not when I made a fool of myself like this. Ever since a high fever I had as a kid, my processing speed has been… slow. The doctors said my intelligence was unaffected, but it was like my brain was running on a delay. A sentence someone else understood in a second, I’d have to turn over and over in my mind. In class, by the time an answer finally surfaced from the depths of my thoughts, the teacher had already moved on. After that, Liam barely spoke to me. He found me “clumsy,” “a step behind,” and his attitude was contagious. Soon, my parents started to manage me less and less. They never took me to family gatherings or social events, as if I were a secret to be kept locked away. I stared at the word on my phone, my eyes slowly turning red. Just then, a gentle hand tapped my shoulder. I whipped around to see Keith standing behind me, holding a freshly bought ice cream cone. His smile was as warm as the afternoon sun. “Luna? What are you doing standing here all by yourself? You look a million miles away.” He pressed the cone into my hand, his voice soft enough to melt the hurt inside me. “Did something happen?” Keith and I grew up together. He was a great student with a kind heart, always surrounded by friends. But with me, he had a special kind of patience. No matter how long it took me to find my words, he would always wait. I think I’ve been in love with him for a very long time. It just took me until last year to finally realize it. That tight, heavy feeling in my chest whenever I saw him talking to someone else? That was love. My fingers crumpled the cone’s paper wrapper as I quietly told him what had happened. As the story tumbled out, so did my tears. “Keith… does my brother really look down on me that much?” Keith reached out and gently wiped a tear from my cheek. “Don’t overthink it,” he soothed. “Liam’s bark is worse than his bite. He doesn’t mean to be cruel.” He paused, then offered a small smile. “Come on, let’s take a walk by the river. The fresh air will do you good.” I nodded, following him. The ice cream was starting to melt, dripping cool against the back of my hand. As we walked, Keith filled the silence with lighthearted stories from his college classes, telling me how he almost flubbed a question from a professor and how the corner store near campus had a new, amazing kind of loaded fries. He was trying so hard to be funny, and he kept slowing his pace to make sure I could keep up. Listening to him, the knot of misery in my stomach began to loosen. I snuck a glance at him. The sun caught the sharp line of his jaw, and when he smiled, his eyes curved into crescents. He was beautiful. I thought to myself that if I could just keep walking with him like this forever, everything might be okay. But then, a familiar, sugary voice called out from behind us. “Keith!” We both turned. Emma was hurrying toward us, her ponytail bouncing with every step. Emma was the girl my parents had taken in a year after my fever. She was smart, charming, and quickly won over my parents and Liam. Even Keith spent a lot of time with her. The fragile bubble of peace around me popped. My mood sank again. Emma wedged herself between us, her arrival announced by a cloud of gardenia perfume that instantly overpowered Keith’s clean, subtle scent of soap. I instinctively shuffled to the side, my fingers twisting the hem of my shirt. Keith’s smile for her was just as gentle. “Emma. I saw Luna was having a rough day, so I asked you to come. You two are the same age, you grew up together. I thought maybe you could cheer her up.” I stared at the ground, digging my nails into the denim of my jeans. A bitter taste filled my mouth. Emma and I were never close. As the sponsored student my parents eventually fostered, her intelligence and beauty made her the “perfect child” they always talked about. They praised her for being sharp and sensible, which only made me, the slow one, seem even more like a burden. When there were snacks, they’d ask what Emma wanted. When they bought new clothes, they’d take Emma to the mall to pick out whatever she liked, never once asking me my favorite color. Even Liam was more patient with her, sometimes spending hours helping her with homework while I sat in the same room, invisible. I knew it was petty to feel this way, but seeing the affection they showered on her compared to the neglect I received felt like a physical weight on my chest, making it hard to breathe. Emma turned to me, her smile cloyingly sweet. “Luna, what’s wrong? You looked like you were about to cry. Did something bad happen?” I met her wide, innocent eyes, but the words wouldn’t come. I couldn’t tell her I was upset because my own brother had called me a ‘dumbass.’ That would only make her see me as even more pathetic. I stammered for a moment before finally mumbling, “It’s… it’s nothing. I just had a fight with my brother.” Emma waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, that’s just Liam,” she said casually. “You know how he is. Don’t take it to heart. He acts tough, but deep down, he really cares about you.” Hearing the familiar way she spoke about him made my stomach clench. I was his real sister, yet he’d never shown me an ounce of kindness. Emma, on the other hand, received his patience so effortlessly. I pressed my lips together and said nothing more. An awkward silence fell over us. Keith, ever the peacemaker, jumped in. “Hey Emma, have you eaten yet? It’s getting late. Why don’t we grab a bite? I know a great BBQ joint just around the corner.” Emma’s eyes lit up. “Yes! I’ve been craving BBQ forever!” I hesitated. I needed to get home and start my homework. As a senior, the workload was already crushing, and it took me twice as long as anyone else to finish. If I stayed out, I’d be up all night. But then I thought about how busy Keith was with college. We barely saw each other anymore. I couldn’t bear to pass up this rare chance to be with him. I swallowed the words I was about to say and quietly followed them to the restaurant. The BBQ joint was a small, bustling place on the side of the street. We found a booth by the window, and Keith took the menu, naturally asking Emma and me what we wanted. The food came quickly, filling the air with the rich, smoky scent of grilling meat. Keith picked up the tongs and started cooking a few slices of pork belly for me, my favorite. Across the table, Emma was a whirlwind of motion, chattering about her life at school—the award her club had just won, a funny story about a classmate. She was a big deal at school, always the center of attention, and her face glowed with pride as she spoke. I just sat there, listening silently, unable to find a single opening to join the conversation. In a burst of excitement, Emma threw her hands up to emphasize a point. Her arm knocked against the water glass beside her. With a sharp crack, the glass toppled, hitting the edge of the hot grill. The metal plate lost its balance and tipped, sending a cascade of sizzling meat and scalding grease straight toward me. A searing pain shot up my arm, sharp and dizzying, like a thousand tiny needles. A scream tore from my throat, and tears instantly flooded my eyes. The hot grease sizzled on my skin, a vicious heat that felt like it was boring straight through to the bone. Keith jumped, the tongs clattering from his hand. He shot up from his seat and raced to the counter, returning a moment later with a cup of ice water. He gently took my wrist, his voice laced with panic as he poured the cold water over the burn. “Luna, are you okay? Does it hurt a lot?” Emma, who had initially flinched back in shock, suddenly let out a small laugh. The sound was sharp, dripping with undisguised mockery. “Wow, Luna,” she said, a smirk playing on her lips. “For someone who’s usually so slow, you dodged that pretty fast. Who knows? Maybe a few more shocks like that will finally fix the ‘side effects’ from your childhood fever.” Side effects. The words struck me like a physical blow. My head snapped up, my eyes wide with disbelief. The burn, the shock—it all fueled a furious red haze. The fact that my fever had left me with a slower processing speed was a secret I never, ever talked about. I barely told anyone. How could she possibly know? Sensing my stare, Emma stuck out her tongue in a parody of innocence. “Oops. Did I say too much?” I clenched my good hand into a fist, my nails digging into my palm. I fought to keep my voice from shaking. “How… how did you know about my fever?” Her eyes flickered toward Keith for a fraction of a second before settling back on me. “Oh, you know,” she said with a lazy drawl. “Last month, when I went with Keith and your brother to that new resort your family opened? They brought it up.” She paused, adding a hollow apology. “Sorry, Luna. I just assumed it wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t realize you were so sensitive about it. I won’t mention it again.” My vision swam with angry tears. So that was it. My deepest, most painful secret had been served up as casual conversation fodder between my brother and the boy I loved. Keith saw the look on my face and became flustered. He patted my shoulder, trying to placate me. “Luna, don’t be upset. Liam and I were just talking, it didn’t mean anything. Emma probably didn’t think it was a big deal either. She wasn’t trying to make fun of you. Don’t take it personally.” “Just talking?” I shot back, my voice trembling with rage. “Keith, that’s my life! It’s the one thing I never wanted anyone to know! How could you just… just tell someone like that?” A wave of humiliation and fury washed over me, and the past came rushing back in a vivid, painful flood. I wasn’t always like this. I used to be bright, a good student. My parents used to be proud to show me off. That fever changed everything. I had assumed that no matter how much Liam disliked me, he would never use that against me. After all, what happened that day… it was his fault. The memory of the fever was a nightmare I kept buried deep inside, but now it clawed its way to the surface. It was a Saturday. Liam was going to the river with his friends and didn’t want me tagging along. He pulled a few crumpled bills from his pocket and pressed them into my hand. “Luna, go to the corner store and get me a soda. An ice-cold one. When you get back, I’ll let you play with us.” I was only eight. The promise of being included was all I needed. I clutched the money and ran. But when I returned with the cold bottle, the riverbank was empty. Liam was gone. I searched along the water’s edge until two strange men blocked my path. They said they knew where my brother was. I took a few steps with them before a cold dread washed over me. I turned to run, but they grabbed me. I fought with all my might, twisting and kicking until I lost my footing and tumbled into the river. The July water looked calm, but its chill was shocking, cutting straight to my bones. I swallowed mouthfuls of murky water, flailing desperately until my hands closed around a drifting branch. I managed to pull myself to the bank, shivering and gasping. The men, spooked by my fall, had already vanished. Soaked and freezing, I stumbled home. It was dark by the time I walked through the door. My parents were frantic. As they rushed toward me, demanding to know where I’d been, Liam hid behind them and muttered, “I don’t know. She said she wanted to go play by herself. I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen.” I opened my mouth to tell them the truth, but Liam shot me a look so full of venom and warning that the words died in my throat. That night, the fever hit. I burned for two weeks straight. The doctors told my parents to prepare for the worst. I survived, but a part of me didn’t. When the fever finally broke, I was slow. I was different. I was broken. For all these years, I never blamed Liam. He was just a kid, I told myself. He was scared. But now I knew the truth. He didn’t just feel no guilt; he had turned my deepest wound into a punchline for his friends. And Keith… Keith was the person I trusted most in the world. I thought he, of all people, would understand how much that secret hurt me, how much I needed it kept safe. But he had treated it just as carelessly as my brother. I looked at Keith’s desperate face, then at Emma’s smug one. The weight of it all, the years of hurt and betrayal, crashed down on me, and I couldn’t breathe. I yanked my arm from his grasp, scrambled to my feet, and ran. “Luna!” Keith called after me, but I didn’t look back. I just needed to get away from the suffocating air, from the people who broke my heart without a second thought. I leaned against a lamppost on the street corner, the city lights blurring through my tears. My heart felt raw and hollow. I couldn’t go home—not to Liam’s cold glare and my parents’ blatant favoritism. I just wanted to be alone. I wandered aimlessly through the streets. I don’t know how long I walked, but eventually, I came across a small stall where a boy was sketching portraits. He was bent over his easel, his focus absolute. When he saw me approaching, he waved me over with a friendly smile. I was in no mood. I didn’t even look up. “No, thanks,” I mumbled. “I’m not feeling it.” But he was persistent. “That’s the best time to look at something nice,” he said, his voice bright and cheerful. “Here, look what I just finished. Cute, right?” He turned his easel around. On it was a charming drawing of a little bunny clutching a carrot. The lines were soft, the colors warm. It was unexpectedly soothing. The sound of his voice stirred something in my memory. My head snapped up. When I saw his face, my eyes went wide. “It’s you?” I breathed.

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My sister introduced me to the boy she was hopelessly in love with. She pointed at me, her voice swelling with pride. “See? I told you my sister was drop-dead gorgeous and a total genius. I wasn’t lying, was I?” The boy stared at me, a flicker of pure astonishment in his eyes. I smiled. My sweet, naive little sister hadn’t noticed. The boy she loved had just fallen for me at first sight. 1 I hate Summer. It’s a hatred without reason, without origin. It just is. She’s my half-sister. My parents divorced when I was just over a year old. My father then quickly married the other woman and had Summer. For as long as I can remember, I have been the extra person in my own home. A biased father, a wicked stepmother, and a sister who stuck to me like something foul you couldn’t scrape off your shoe. Anything good in this world, anything Summer wanted, became hers. The piano, the dresses, the dolls, the trips to Disneyland… When I was little, I didn’t understand. I didn’t know I was the child my own mother had abandoned in this house. All I could do was watch, confused and hurt, wondering why the world treated Summer and me so differently. I remember one time, I was very young, just started kindergarten. The teacher had taught us not to touch sharp knives or open flames. That afternoon, desperate for attention, I climbed onto a stool in the kitchen to reach for a fruit knife on the counter. Of course, I knew it was dangerous. I was just starved for a single scrap of concern. Elaine—my stepmother—was standing five feet away. She watched me with cold eyes as I played with the sharp blade, and she said nothing. I deliberately pointed the tip at myself. Just then, Summer, still a toddler, came stumbling into the kitchen. She saw the knife and burst into tears, stammering, “Vivi… Vivi, knife… scary…” She tried to reach me, as if to protect me, to snatch the knife from my hands. Only then did Elaine move. She walked over, scooped Summer into her arms, and cooed, “Shh, sweetie, that’s dangerous. Let’s stay away.” Then she looked down at me, her gaze flat and empty. The smile on her lips was pure malice. “Vivian,” she said, her voice like honeyed poison, “be careful when you play with knives next time, okay?” I stared at her for a long time before finally putting the knife down. She didn’t know it, but the game was over. As I grew older, I became quiet, cold, and distant. I stopped craving fairness or affection. But my sister, Summer, still effortlessly commanded the family’s entire attention. She was innocent and kind, bright and lovely, a true believer in all the goodness the world had to offer. And most of all, she adored me, her older sister. She was always clinging to me. When she was little, my father brought her back a custom-made talking doll from Paris. She must have wondered why she had one and I didn’t, because she offered it to me, a hopeful look in her eyes. “Vivi, do you want it? You can have it.” I had just learned the truth about my family then—that my father had cheated with her mother, that if not for them, I might have had a happy, whole family of my own. I looked at her with disgust. “Who would want something your filthy hands have touched?” Tears welled in Summer’s eyes as she tried to explain. “My hands aren’t dirty, Vivi.” I sneered. “Your mother is a disgusting homewrecker, and you’re her child. It’s in your blood. You were born dirty.” Summer wailed, a storm of tears that brought my father running. That winter, he made me kneel on the sharp cobblestones in the garden, dressed only in my thin pajamas. He whipped my back with a thin cane, asking if I knew what I’d done wrong. I was only eight, but my back was ramrod straight. No matter how much it hurt, I wouldn’t cry. I bit my lip until it bled, staring at the man before me with cold, hard hatred. “Wrong about what?” I sneered. “Was I wrong that Elaine isn’t a homewrecker? Or that the bastard child you two created isn’t a bastard?” He beat me until my skin broke. The punishment only stopped when Summer, unable to sleep, came looking for him to tell her a story. She walked into the garden, clutching her teddy bear, and saw me being whipped. She screamed. The shock sent her into a fever that lasted all night. They all gathered around her bed, their faces etched with worry. In the dead of night, as I lay twisting in pain from the welts on my back, she snuck into my room. Her eyes were still glassy with fever as she whispered, “Vivi, does it hurt?” I just laughed at her, a cold, empty sound. In elementary school, she loved to brag to all her friends that Vivian Reed was her sister. When some of them, skeptical, came to ask me, I would look them dead in the eye and say, “I don’t know her.” And so, throughout her childhood, she was known as “the pathological liar.” She was bullied and isolated. To “protect” her, my father and Elaine made me repeat two years of school so I could be in the same grade as her. Summer stood timidly behind Elaine as she explained it to me. Elaine was a master of public performance; all the neighbors praised her for being such a wonderful stepmother. Only I knew the thousand little cruelties I suffered at her hands. She smiled gently in front of my father. “Vivian, your sister is scared to go to school alone. Would you mind being held back a couple of years to wait for her? Your grades are so good anyway, what’s two years?” I smiled back under the glittering crystal chandelier. By then, I had learned to appear weak, to hide my true feelings, to play the part of the obedient daughter and the loving sister. I was a guest in their house, and I knew this was an order, not a request. Everything in this family revolved around Summer. So I obediently wasted two years of my life to become the only student in the entire school who had ever been held back. 2 Growing up with Summer, I thought about revenge constantly. Why? Why did you get to be happy, to be cared for, to be loved by everyone? Why? Why were you, the daughter of the other woman, allowed to be so naive, so untouched by the darkness of the world? Why? I wanted to see the pure snow stained with mud. I wanted to see her hurt, to see her in pain. I wanted her to stop calling me “Vivi” with that cloying sweetness, as if she were some kind of angel sent to save me. But before I had a plan, I waited. I watched. And then Adrian Pierce entered our world. Adrian—the biggest player in the entire school. He was Summer’s classmate, her deskmate, her best friend, and the boy she secretly, desperately loved. After we started high school, I tested into the advanced honors program, placing first in the entrance exams. Summer was in the general track, so we were finally separated. But every day at lunch, she would fill my ears with his name. “Vivi, I sit next to Adrian, and all the girls already hate me.” “He gets so many love letters every day, and I’m right there. It’s so annoying.” “But they all bring him homemade cakes and cookies, so I get to eat them all, hehe.” Or she’d blush and say, “Oh my god, Vivi, it was so embarrassing today. I got my period in gym class, and Adrian gave me his jacket to tie around my waist.” Or, “Today was the worst. I copied your homework and got all the answers on the wrong lines. Then Adrian copied my homework. The teacher asked if we shared a brain—all the answers were right, just not for the right questions. I could have died.” “Vivi, Adrian said I’m so dumb. He can’t believe I have a sister like you, who’s practically a school legend.” “He asked me if you were one of those nerdy types with bottle-cap glasses and a bowl cut who just studies all day. I was so mad!” “Vivi, Vivi, can we bring Adrian to eat with us after school today? He’s never eaten in the cafeteria. He wants to see the amazing sister I’m always talking about. You don’t mind, right?” I didn’t answer. I was used to Summer using me to show off. “Vivian Reed is my sister”—it was the only interesting thing about her, the one shiny fact she could use to dazzle people. She basked in the gasps of surprise, the envy, the attention. It was as if by being my sister, my accomplishments somehow became hers. But I never refused any of her requests. It was a “good” habit Elaine and my father had drilled into me since childhood. Never say no to your sister. So that day, thanks to Summer, I met Adrian for the first time. I was late to the cafeteria, delayed by a discussion with my math teacher about an olympiad problem. As I reached the second floor, I saw them from a distance—Summer and a boy who looked thoroughly bored. That was Adrian. He was undeniably handsome, lounging in a blue cafeteria chair with the lazy, restless energy of a panther. Summer was chattering away beside him, gesturing wildly. As I watched, his boredom melted into a kind of teasing, half-amused smile. I walked toward them, my expression carefully neutral. When I was about five steps away, I let a small smile touch my lips and called out softly, “Summer—” Adrian, who had been slouching, looked up at the sound of my voice. His casual glance sharpened, and for a split second, he froze. I saw the look—the flicker of shock, of pure, unadulterated captivation. I’d seen that look on boys’ faces before. I knew I was beautiful. Delicate features, a cool demeanor, an aloof air. I was standing against the light, and I knew the sun pouring through the windows behind me was framing me in a way that made me look ethereal, stunning. My gaze swept past him to Summer. “Sorry,” I said with a small, apologetic smile. “I got held up with a math problem.” My “innocent” little sister was completely oblivious to the currents swirling around us. She beamed at me, then nudged Adrian with her elbow. “See, Adrian? I told you. My sister is ridiculously beautiful.” She added, as an afterthought, “And a genius.” Adrian had already masked his surprise, tucking it away behind a smooth facade. Unlike other boys who would look away and then steal glances, he held my gaze directly. It was the look of a predator who had just spotted its prey, a look that said, You’re mine. He smiled, and under my own knowing gaze, he straightened up in his chair, subtly putting a bit of distance between himself and the oblivious girl beside him. “Yeah,” he said to Summer, his eyes still locked on me. “You weren’t lying.” The words were for her, but the message was for me. It was so blatant. Summer looked from me to Adrian, and the motion of her spoon slowed. A confused frown creased her forehead. I just smiled and began to eat my food. Adrian returned to his own meal, casually remarking, “This cafeteria food is actually pretty good.” Summer visibly relaxed, her bright smile returning. “A rich boy like you can actually stand our food?” she teased. “You should come eat with me more often, then.” 3 And so he did. Our daily lunch for two became a lunch for three. The honors classes often ran late, so Adrian would wait with Summer outside my classroom every day. At first, Summer was thrilled. She would walk between us, chattering nonstop. Adrian would chime in occasionally, while I mostly listened in silence. That changed one day when Summer’s shoelace came undone. She bent down to tie it. By the time she caught up, Adrian had smoothly, naturally, moved to walk beside me. The space between us was just enough for two, with no room for a third. She hesitated for a moment, then fell into step on my other side. After that, she never walked between us again. About a week later, on our way to school, she stammered, “Vivi… could you… could you maybe eat by yourself at lunch today?” I raised an eyebrow. She looked down, kicking at a loose stone on the sidewalk, too embarrassed to explain why. But I knew instantly. It was almost funny. “Sure,” I said. Her head shot up, her eyes wide with surprise. “And… and if Adrian asks…” “I’ll tell him I’m busy studying.” She threw her arms around me, nuzzling my shoulder like a happy kitten. “Vivi, you’re the best!” She didn’t see the cold, mocking smile on my face. It was time for Summer’s first lesson. I didn’t go to the cafeteria. But as I sat in the classroom eating a sandwich and reading a history text, Adrian showed up. He and Summer had gotten takeout. He sat across from me and placed a beautifully packaged bento box on my desk. “Summer said you were studying,” he said thoughtfully. “But you still have to eat. This is all I could grab today, but tomorrow I’ll have my family’s cook make you something.” My gaze shifted from the bento box to his face, then to Summer, standing behind him, her face pale with a dawning, horrified realization. I looked at her, my expression impassive, studying every flicker of disappointment and pain she tried to hide. A silent, bitter laugh rose in my chest. Oh, Summer. My sweet, stupid sister. Did you really think he was eating cafeteria food every day for you? Look. The moment I’m not there, you lose your chance to even be alone with him. Are you still so happy now? Of course, I let none of this show. I simply opened the bento box and politely thanked Adrian. After that, his pursuit became public and relentless. Fresh red roses on my desk every morning. Desserts from exclusive bakeries that required hours of waiting in line. Exquisite jewelry, first-edition books I’d been saving up for… he presented them to me without a second thought. He went to the school radio station and sang for me, his voice a low, gentle melody over the guitar. “How much further until I can reach your heart? How much longer until I can be close to you?” He would look at me with raw frustration. “Vivian, what do I have to do to make you like me?” Summer, swallowing her own despair, would force a smile and warn me, “Vivi, Adrian’s a total player. He goes through girlfriends like sneakers. Please don’t fall for him.” I’d watch her with an amused smile. I wanted to ask her: in that moment, was she more afraid of me getting my heart broken by a player, or of him actually being serious about me, meaning she would lose him for good? But I didn’t ask. To be honest, I was a little curious myself. Just how deep did this “love at first sight” run? He was handsome and came from a wealthy family. He was the undisputed king of the school, the alpha wolf. His romantic history was legendary. Purely out of that curiosity, I began to test him. It was a game many men play with the women who adore them. You could call it an obedience test. They push the boundaries, little by little, to see how much she will tolerate, to find her breaking point. With me, Adrian seemed to have no breaking point. This golden boy, so used to being worshipped, became a puppet in my hands. He spent two months building me an intricate black pearl model ship from thousands of tiny pieces. When he handed it to me, I let my hand “slip,” and it shattered on the floor. He didn’t even flinch. He just looked at the scattered fragments and said quietly, “It’s okay. If you like it, I’ll build it again.” He asked me what kind of guy I liked. I tossed out a random answer. “Someone who can cook?” For the next few weeks, he learned from his family’s chef, preparing my favorite dishes. He would watch me with hopeful eyes as I took a single, indifferent bite, and then I would smile and say, “This is terrible.” I agreed to go hiking with him one weekend and then stood him up. A torrential downpour started that day. Worried that I might have shown up and not been able to find him, he waited for me at the trailhead for two hours in the pouring rain. All this time, Summer trailed after him like a shadow, watching the boy she cherished be played and humiliated by me. It was as if his pain was her own, magnified. I found it all very, very interesting. The day she finally burst in to defend him, she was filled with a righteous fury, like the pure, good-hearted heroine of a novel. “Vivian, you’ve gone too far!” she yelled at me. “How can you treat him like that? Do you have any idea he waited two hours in the rain for you? He has a fever of 104 now!” I looked up from my book, a lazy smile playing on my lips. “And? What does that have to do with me?” She stared at me in disbelief. “He likes you, Vivian! Why are you playing with his feelings?” I raised an eyebrow, my voice light. “What does him liking me have to do with me? Summer, you need to understand something. He likes me. Not the other way around. He’s the one who fell, who made the first move. Any pain he suffers is his own to deal with. He can always just… stop liking me.” My smile sharpened. “He had the guts to fall for me, but not the skill to make me fall for him. That’s his failure, not my crime.” Summer stared at me, and for the first time, I saw real anger on her face. “Vivi,” she said, her voice trembling, “I love Adrian. I’m begging you. Stay away from him.” And you know me. I never refuse her requests. So I smiled, casually turning a page in my book. “Alright.” 4 Summer was the first one to break her own rule. Not long after, she came to me, nervously holding an invitation. “Vivi… Adrian’s birthday is next Saturday. Will you come with me?” My gaze lifted from the invitation to her face. I looked at her, a slow, knowing smile spreading across my lips. “Weren’t you the one who told me to stay away from him?” She bit her lip, a mess of hesitation and guilt. She looked down, avoiding my eyes. “But… Adrian would be really happy if you came.” I studied her blankly. You see, that was my dear sister. All her life, she’s loved using me to curry favor. When we were kids, it was: “My sister is first in her class, she can help you with your homework.” Now, it was: “Adrian would be really happy if you came.” She was always trading on my name to make others like her. I looked at the invitation and laughed. For the first time, I refused her. “You know I don’t go to things like that.” A flicker of disappointment crossed her face, but I didn’t miss the wave of relief that followed it. Her feelings were so easy to read. She wanted me to go to make Adrian happy, but she also wanted me to stay away so she might, one day, have a chance with him. I watched her, a thought idly crossing my mind. Taking a break from my studies to amuse myself with this little drama was proving to be more entertaining than I’d expected. On the day of Adrian’s party, Summer looked beautiful. She’d had her hair professionally styled in soft curls and was wearing a frothy designer dress Elaine had brought back from France. She carried an expensive, carefully chosen gift. Before she left, Elaine fussed over her skirt, murmuring, “Adrian is the only son of the Pierce family. Summer, if you can get close to him, I’ll be so proud.” I sat reading by the large living room window. As Summer climbed excitedly into the car, I glanced out, my eyes cold. I arrived when the party was already winding down. A magnificent cake lay in ruins. Champagne bottles littered the floor. Most of the guests were passed out on sofas and carpets. Summer was sitting in a corner, watching Adrian, who was at a grand piano. I followed her gaze. Adrian sat there, his head bowed, looking completely lost in thought despite it being his own birthday. His long fingers rested on the keys, pressing them aimlessly, producing a string of disconnected notes. I stood in the doorway and smiled. “Summer,” I called out. “I’m here to take you home.” The moment the words left my mouth, Adrian’s head snapped up. His impassive expression transformed. A slow, subtle smile spread across his handsome, cold face. He looked right at me. “Vivian,” he said. “You came after all.” My expression didn’t change. My gaze flickered over Summer’s pale, shocked face. You see, the world is just that unfair. She had spent a week preparing for this night. I showed up in a plain white t-shirt and jeans, empty-handed, and did nothing. And still, he was mine for the taking. I did it on purpose. I wanted to strike when she was at her happiest. All her life, she got whatever she wanted, while I could only watch. But now, the one thing she wanted most in the world was something I could have with a snap of my fingers. I gave Adrian a slight nod. “Sorry, I’m just here to pick up Summer. I didn’t bring a gift.” I smiled at him, and as Summer watched with wide, nervous eyes, I walked over to the piano. I pressed a few random keys. “Let me play you a little bit of Für Elise,” I said casually. “Consider it your birthday present.” I hadn’t touched a piano in years. The feel of the smooth keys under my fingers always brought a wave of nausea. So I only played a short, careless fragment. But Adrian smiled, a real, genuine smile. “Vivian,” he said, “that’s the best gift I’ve ever received.” I said nothing, just smiled back. As I led a shell-shocked Summer out of the room, I glanced back. Adrian was standing where I had been, his head bowed, gently tracing the keys my fingers had just touched, as if trying to feel the warmth I’d left behind. A new curiosity sparked within me. Just how far would the infamous player Adrian Pierce go for me? How deep could his devotion run? I glanced at my dear sister. She was still looking at Adrian, the raw hurt on her face impossible to hide. She was in pain, I thought idly. But she needed to be in more pain. Much more.

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For three years, I was Damon’s girlfriend, and in his circle, I was famous for it. I was the perfect, ride-or-die girlfriend. I never checked his phone. I never cared how many other women he flirted with. I never started a fight, no matter how late he came home. Damon was proud of it. He’d brag to his friends about how much I loved him. Until one day, he stumbled upon the old social media account I shared with my first love. The me in those posts was possessive and jealous, a universe away from the emotionally stable woman I was now. In one video, my ex was laughing, a helpless look on his face. “Why are you always so angry?” he teased. My voice, full of righteous indignation, shot back, “I only get angry because I love you! If I didn’t, I wouldn’t give a damn.” Damon froze. 1 When I ran into Damon at the bar, a beautiful girl in a crop top and shorts was perched on his lap. Her slender arms were wrapped around his neck, her glossy lips parted in a dazzling smile as she leaned in close. A few of his married friends were already getting up to leave, making their apologies. “Sorry, Damon, man. The wife’s got me on lockdown. She’s already called three times. If I’m not home soon, I’m sleeping on the couch.” Damon let the girl on his lap pluck the cigarette from his mouth and place it between her own lips. He scoffed. “You’re all pathetic. Getting whipped by a woman.” His single friends hooted. “That’s our Damon! No matter what time he gets home, Callie never says a word. You gotta teach us your ways, man!” The girl in his arms giggled, pressing herself against him. “Yeah, Damon. Aren’t you afraid your girlfriend will see you with me and get mad?” A flicker of pride crossed his face. “She’s crazy about me. She’d do anything I say. We’ve been together three years, and she’s never once started a fight.” “Damn! That’s our guy!” The men around him laughed, their faces full of envy. “All these years, Damon’s been playing the field, and she’s never dared to say a thing. That’s a real man—” His words died in his throat. He’d spotted me standing a few feet away, my expression blank. Damon saw me too. There was no panic in his eyes, just a casual arrogance. He pushed the girl off his lap and beckoned me over with a lazy flick of his wrist. “What are you doing here?” I hesitated for a beat before walking over. “I’m here with friends.” The girl who’d been pushed away shot me a dirty look, then forced a tight smile. “Callie.” Up close, I recognized her. The new secretary at Damon’s company. Mia, I think her name was. She’d gone to some no-name state school, but Damon had seen her resume photo and hired her on the spot. I guess it didn’t take him long to seal the deal. I ignored her. Damon was clearly drunk. His handsome eyes were watery, devastatingly beautiful under the hazy club lights. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward him. “Didn’t even tell me you were coming out. Give me a kiss.” He leaned in. I flinched away instinctively. I had no idea if he’d already kissed Mia. The thought of it was disgusting. Damon’s expression soured, the smile vanishing from his lips. He was the one sitting, but his gaze was somehow condescending. “Callie, what the hell is that supposed to mean?” I turned my head slightly. “You’re drunk.” “Are you saying you’re too good for me?” My rejection, especially in front of his friends, was a direct blow to his ego. His eyes went cold. He yanked Mia back onto his lap, his hand gripping the back of her head. A triumphant look flashed across her face as she surrendered to his kiss. Right there, in front of me, they shared a deep, messy kiss. When they finally broke apart, Mia was breathless, a thin, silvery thread of saliva connecting their lips for a moment. She shot me a smug, victorious smile. Damon looked at me, his eyes full of challenge. The rest of his friends went silent, their gazes fixed on me. They were all waiting for the explosion. No woman would tolerate her boyfriend doing that. Surely, this was my breaking point. I just met his gaze and said calmly, “You’re drunk. I’m leaving.” As I walked away, I heard one of his friends whisper in awe. “Holy shit, her composure is insane. She’s not even mad!” “That’s Damon for you. He’s got her trained. She’s too scared to piss him off and get dumped.” “She’s just that in love. I heard she chased him for a whole year. Does whatever he says. She’s completely hooked.” Damon let out a short, contemptuous laugh. “She’d never leave me. She doesn’t have the guts to get angry.” The late winter air was sharp as a knife. It had started snowing at some point, fat flakes swirling in the air, turning red in the taillights of cars, then yellow under the streetlamps. I tightened my scarf and leaned against a brick wall, lighting a cigarette. The menthol flavor mixed with the cold air, a sharp sting in my lungs. It was my first love’s favorite brand. I used to beg him for a puff, and he would always scold me. “Callie, are you crazy? If I ever catch you smoking, I’ll kill you!” The day we broke up, I bought my first pack. I smoked it between fits of coughing. After that, there was no one left to stop me. I don’t smoke much anymore. But sometimes, when the feelings bubble up, I can’t help it. Watching Damon kiss someone else didn’t make me angry. Because I didn’t love him at all. 2 I was the one who pursued Damon. I first saw him at the opening of a new bar he’d invested in. The table in front of him was crowded with bottles, and he was surrounded by beautiful women laughing at his jokes. His face captured the attention of every girl in the room. I remember a lot of them asked for his number that night. So did I. Many women wanted Damon, but I was the most persistent. For a year, I was at his beck and call. One word from him, and I would drop everything and appear, no matter how far. Damon’s reputation as a player was well-known. He was never without a woman on his arm. Even if he’d just spent the night with someone else, if he called, I’d go pick him up. I never asked questions. I never said a word. I’d just go home and make him a pot of tea to sober him up. Everyone thought I was desperately in love with him. They said my family was a disgrace—first bankruptcy, and now their only daughter was acting like a doormat for the young master of the Harrison family. We finally got together after a night we both drank too much and ended up in the same bed. I only remember that he was rough, and that I cried a lot, clinging to him the whole time. The next morning, Damon looked at the marks on my body and my swollen eyes, and for a rare moment, he seemed to soften. He lit a cigarette and asked casually, “Do you want to be with me?” “But let’s get one thing straight,” he added, the cigarette dangling from his lips. “Don’t try to control me. I hate that.” I stared at the comforter for a long moment. “Okay,” I said. Damon always thought those were tears of joy. He never knew that day was my first love’s birthday. His profile looked so much like my ex’s. I’d noticed it the first time I saw him, across a crowded room. That night, in the dim light, for just a fleeting second, it felt like he was back with me. … I was with Valet Conn from the time I was seventeen until I was twenty-five. We were together for eight years. He was the only scholarship student at our elite private high school. I heard his family used to be wealthy, but his father was betrayed by a business partner, went bankrupt, and couldn’t handle the blow. He took his own life. Valet’s mother, who was already in poor health, died soon after. Overnight, he went from being a golden boy to an orphan with nothing. But Valet bounced back quickly. He was never arrogant or self-pitying. He held the top rank in a school full of rich kids and was even elected student body president. Who wouldn’t fall for a guy like that? I asked him out many times, and he always turned me down. But I never gave up. Plenty of girls liked him, but they all eventually moved on after being rejected. I was the only one who persisted. Finally, just before graduation, on my sixth attempt, he asked me with a weary sigh, “What is it you even like about me?” My face was flushed, my eyes welling up with tears of frustration. I just knew that I loved him. Sometimes, there’s no reason for it. “I just like you! I like everything about you!” His expression was complicated. After a long pause, he said softly, “But I have nothing. I can’t give you anything. Do you still like me, even like this?” “Yes!” I shouted. “Valet, I have my limits too! If you say no this time, I swear I’ll never ask you again!” He looked at me for a long time, then let out a deep breath, a sound of resignation and surrender. He gently pulled me into a hug. “You’re an idiot.” My eyes went wide. My heart, which had stopped for a beat, began to pound furiously. It was the first time I ever truly understood what it felt like to be ecstatic. It was true—when you’re that happy, it really does feel like fireworks are going off in your chest. We were together after that. He was a brilliant student; I wasn’t. To be with me, he intentionally missed a couple of big questions on his college entrance exams so we could get into the same university. When I found out, I cried my eyes out. He just held me and laughed. “Silly girl, what are you crying for? It doesn’t matter where I go to school. Don’t worry. I won’t let you suffer.” It wasn’t an empty promise. By his sophomore year, he’d started his own company with some friends and made his first real money. The year we graduated, he bought a huge penthouse apartment in the city center and had it decorated exactly to my taste. It was going to be our home. Everything was perfect. Our future plans only included each other. Neither of us ever doubted we would end up together. Until the day I took him home to meet my parents. I saw the color drain from my father’s face. Valet swayed on his feet, his own face turning ghost-white. That was when I learned that my father was the business partner who had betrayed Valet’s father, the man who had destroyed his family. Life can be so cruel. Because my father was always away on business, Valet had never met him. We never could have imagined it. That day, my father told my mother and me to leave the room. He wanted to talk to Valet alone. Not long after, Valet left the country. He didn’t leave a note. He didn’t say a word. The man who would cross half the country just because I said I missed him, the man who promised to love me forever, who got down on one knee with tears in his eyes and asked me to marry him, saying that with me, he finally had a home… he just abandoned me. And I couldn’t even hate him for it. It was my father who had ruined his life. Who wouldn’t feel that hatred? If I were in his shoes, I would have hated me too. Maybe it was karma. Not long after, my father’s investments failed, and he took his own life. My family went bankrupt. Meanwhile, Valet thrived abroad. He had a brilliant eye for investment, and in just a few years, his company went public on the Nasdaq. He became a famous tech mogul. Our situations had completely reversed. We had no reason to ever cross paths again. It was impossible. So when I saw Damon, for the first time in years, my dead heart seemed to flicker back to life. For me, who I was with didn’t matter anymore. Damon looked so much like Valet. That alone felt like a gift from heaven. For the sake of that face, I was at his beck and call for years. Whenever he needed me, I was there. No matter how late he was out, no matter which woman he was with, one call and I would get out of bed to bring him home. My birthday, our anniversaries—he remembered none of them. On my actual birthday, he was out with some new girl he’d met. Damon had always been a playboy. Being with me didn’t change him. A few times, other women even came to confront me directly. I could tell he wanted to break up, that he was trying to provoke a fight. But I never got jealous. I never made a scene. Over time, he got used to me. He and his friends all thought I was pathetically, hopelessly in love with him. The truth was, I just didn’t care. All I wanted was to see that face in the middle of the night, to pretend, just for a moment, that Valet was still with me. That fantasy was the only thing that kept me going. 3 It was one of Damon’s friends’ birthdays. Everyone brought their partners. Damon brought me. I wasn’t surprised to see Mia there. She sat down next to Damon as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Callie,” she said with a saccharine smile. “You don’t mind if I sit here, do you?” Damon glanced at me. I said nothing. The smile on his face faded, replaced by a cold sneer. He wrapped his arm around Mia’s shoulders. She was clearly infatuated with him. Throughout the dinner, she was constantly toasting him, leaning in to whisper in his ear, laughing and draping herself over him. I wasn’t angry. I just ate my food quietly. One of Damon’s friends clicked his tongue in admiration. He turned to his own girlfriend. “Look at her. So classy. Not like you, getting jealous over every little thing. You should learn from her.” His girlfriend, who was a little drunk, scoffed. “I care because I love you! If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t care!” Maybe it was a coincidence, but the table went silent. Damon had obviously heard her. The smile was still plastered on his face, but the veins on the hand holding his glass bulged. His friend paled and immediately started backtracking. “My girlfriend’s had too much to drink. Sorry, Damon. She didn’t mean anything by it.” His girlfriend started apologizing too. Damon didn’t say anything. His eyes were on me. I looked away. “Aren’t you even a little bit angry?” he asked suddenly. “What is there to be angry about?” I said, genuinely confused. “Isn’t this the freedom you always wanted?” I got to see his face. He got his freedom. We were both getting what we wanted. What was the problem? After all, from the very beginning, he had warned me not to control him. He’d never stopped seeing other women. I thought this was how he liked it. But he seemed displeased. He pulled Mia even closer, until she was practically sitting in his lap. They started making out right in front of me, a wet, open-mouthed kiss. It was as if I wasn’t even there. No one else seemed surprised, though a few people shot me sympathetic looks. I scrolled through my phone, waiting for the night to be over. As the evening wore on, Mia got bolder. She was clearly making a play to replace me. She looked me up and down and said loudly, “An iPhone 12? That’s so retro. Are you trying to be ironic?” I ignored her, which only seemed to fuel her. “I’d almost forgotten what they look like. It’s practically an antique. I’m actually curious. Let me see it, Callie.” “No,” I said, my grip tightening on my phone. “Damon, make her show me! It’s just a phone, what’s the big deal?” When I didn’t respond, Damon frowned. “She wants to see it. Just let her.” “No.” “Damon~” Mia whined, tugging on his arm. Annoyed that I had defied him, his face went cold. He held out his hand. “Give me the phone.” I stayed silent. “What’s on there, anyway?” Mia added, fanning the flames. “Something you don’t want people to see?” A dark look entered Damon’s eyes. He lunged for my phone. “What are you doing?!” I gasped. We struggled, and the phone flew out of my hand. I instinctively shoved him away to catch it. He stumbled back, hitting his hip on the corner of the table. He swore under his breath. “What is wrong with you, Callie? It’s just a stupid phone! If it breaks, I’ll buy you a new one—” His words cut off. He was staring at the screen, which had lit up as it fell. The video I had been watching earlier had started playing again. It was from when I was still with Valet. I was on his back, not realizing he was recording, complaining petulantly. “Why did you talk to that girl for so long today?!” Valet’s voice was full of fond exasperation. “She’s the vice president of the student council. We were talking about official business. You’re unbelievable. Are you an industrial-sized vat of jealousy?” That only made me angrier. “I’m only jealous because I love you! If I didn’t love you, you could go drop dead for all I care!” Valet just laughed, hoisting me higher on his back. “Alright, alright, you love me. I get it. I guess I should be happy, then?” I poked him. “From now on, no talking to other girls. No adding other girls on social media. No liking anyone else!” “Okay, okay, whatever you say. Where did you get this temper…?” The video kept playing. I snatched the phone and turned it off. Damon was frozen, his posture unchanged. The table was dead silent. No one had expected this. In the next second, Damon grabbed the phone from my hand and smashed it on the floor. On pure instinct, I slapped him across the face. Then I dropped to my knees, scrambling to pick up the pieces. It was the last thing I had of Valet. The phone was shattered beyond repair, the screen completely black. I clutched it to my chest, then slowly turned to look at Damon. It hadn’t been a hard slap. But he was stunned. He didn’t even touch his face. He just stared at me, a look of utter confusion in his eyes, as if he were seeing me for the first time. Everyone else was in shock. You could have heard a pin drop. A part of me regretted it, but another part felt a strange sense of relief. I hadn’t meant to hit him. It was just a reflex. But now, it was done. I knew this was the end. I stood up, grabbed my purse, and walked out. As I left, I sent him one last text. “We’re done.” 4 I was wandering aimlessly down the street when I saw a familiar back in the crowd. In that instant, the world went silent. The sound of traffic, the city noise—it all disappeared. All I could hear was my own heart, which had stopped for a beat before starting to hammer against my ribs. It looked so much like Valet. I ran, pushing through the crowd, but by the time I got to the corner, he was gone, swallowed by the sea of people. I stood there for a long time, lost, until a car horn blared behind me, and I moved on, my mind a complete blank. It seemed to be snowing a lot that winter. I sat on a park bench, and it was only when I felt the cold tickle of snowflakes on my eyelashes that I realized the world around me had turned white. I curled into myself, not wanting to move. I had nowhere to go. After my father died, my mother quickly remarried and moved abroad. I didn’t have a home anymore. Valet had given me a home once, and then he’d left me alone in it. My life with Damon? That was never a home. I had places to stay, but no home to return to. A tear traced a path down my cold cheek. I wiped it away and was about to stand up when a shadow fell over me. I thought it was Damon, coming to find me. I looked up, and my breath caught in my throat. The face that had haunted my dreams for years was standing right in front of me, blurring the line between fantasy and reality. I couldn’t tell which was which. My hand trembled, but I didn’t dare to reach out. The snow seemed to melt in Valet’s eyes. For a split second, I thought the man who had loved me was back. “I’m back,” he said softly. … I don’t remember how I got to Valet’s apartment. I just remember clinging to him, crying, refusing to let go, until he finally gave up and just held me on the bed, patting my back. “Stop crying,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re going to give yourself a headache.” I couldn’t form a coherent sentence, just choked out, “When… when did you get back?” “A few months ago.” That only made me cry harder. “Then why did it take you so long to find me?!” He looked down, his eyes filled with a complicated emotion I couldn’t read. “I heard you were with someone. I didn’t know if I should interfere.” “Then why are you here now?” “I couldn’t stay away.” He sounded like he was admitting defeat. “I can’t forget you, Callie. I can’t let you go. I missed you so much it was killing me. I give up. I just… can’t.” I stopped crying and sat up. Valet leaned in. In the cold winter night, with snow falling outside, his kiss was searing hot. Neither of us spoke. We had been together for so long, we didn’t need words. There was no awkwardness, no strangeness. We knew each other’s bodies too well. It wasn’t about lust; it was about longing, about possession, about reclaiming what was lost. I clung to him, terrified that this was all a dream. I could feel him holding me just as tightly. In a trembling embrace that bordered on pain, we finally, truly found each other again. When I woke up, it was light out. It was still snowing, the sky a heavy, oppressive gray. The space beside me in the bed was empty. Panic seized me. I scrambled out of bed, my heart pounding, and almost collided with Valet as he came back into the room. The light was dim, casting shadows across his sharp features. His lips were still swollen and red. He was devastatingly handsome. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and grabbed his arm. “I thought…” I thought you were a dream. In the years we’d been apart, I’d had so many dreams about him. The joy of seeing him was always followed by the crushing disappointment of waking up. I buried my face in his chest, and after a long moment, I gathered the courage to ask. “You’re back now… are you going to leave again? Because of my father…” He rested his chin on the top of my head. After a long silence, he finally spoke. “At the time, I just… couldn’t accept it. I didn’t know what to do. I truly hated him, and because of that, I couldn’t help but hate you too. All these years, I’ve been torn between hating you and loving you. I thought I was going crazy. I saw a therapist, but it didn’t help.” “I kept dreaming about you,” he said, his voice soft, his hand finding mine. “I’d dream you were crying, asking me why I left you. It broke my heart. I’d wake up and just… smoke all night. I didn’t know what to do, Callie. What was I supposed to do?” “It took me a long time to figure it out. Your father was your father. You are you. What he did has nothing to do with you. And now… he’s gone. I’m willing to let it go. We can start over.” He pulled me tighter. “I’m not leaving again. Never again. That apartment wasn’t right for us. I bought a new place. We can decorate it together. Okay?” My eyes stung with tears. I hugged him back. “Okay.” The sun broke through the clouds. The snow had stopped. My world was finally bright again.

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Theodore Thorne doesn’t love me. He doesn’t hold our child. He pays no mind to my career. Whenever reporters mention my name in public, his lips press into a thin, hard line. He never responds. During our last fight, I asked him with a hollow laugh, “Theo, don’t I even deserve an introduction to your friends? Am I that embarrassing? Or am I just not good enough for you?” He would always counter with reddened eyes, his voice strained. “Evelyn, please don’t do this. Just… wait a little longer, okay?” I laughed until tears streamed down my face. “Then let’s get a divorce.” 1 The day our daughter was born, Theodore was nowhere to be seen. I glanced at the tiny infant nestled beside me, then shifted my gaze to his aunt, who was pacing by the window. Her brow was furrowed in frustration as she dialed his number again and again, each call going straight to voicemail. “Aunt Carol, please, just stop,” I said, a bitter sense of absurdity washing over me. “He’s not coming back.” Tonight was the opening night of the renowned violinist Seraphina Claudio’s European tour in London. Yesterday evening, after marathon sessions to close a major project, Theodore hadn’t even bothered to come home. He’d booked the first flight to London, all to witness the premiere of his old flame. My phone screen lit up silently, pushing a news alert. Violinist Seraphina Claudio’s Opening Night a Resounding Success. I put on my headphones and played the interview. On camera, Seraphina was the picture of grace in a champagne-colored gown, her makeup flawless, her smile gentle and warm. “Thank you all so much,” she said. “I’m deeply honored to begin my tour here and to receive such a wonderful reception.” A reporter pressed on with a smile. “Ms. Claudio, backstage we saw so many legends of the music world showing their support. Is there anyone in particular you’d like to thank tonight?” Seraphina offered a sweet, knowing smile to the camera. “I’m grateful to every mentor and friend who came.” She paused, as if choosing her words with care. “But tonight, the person I want to thank most is a friend I’ve known for many, many years.” She lifted her head, her gaze boring directly into the lens. “There’s so much I don’t know how to say to him in person, so I hope he’ll let me borrow this special moment.” Her voice trembled, just slightly. She seemed to choke back a wave of emotion. “Even though, all those years ago… we were separated by… circumstances beyond our control, in my heart, he will always, always be my dearest friend.” “I want him to know,” she continued, her voice soft but clear, “that I’ve always known he is a good, truly good man.” My heart stuttered to a stop. A chilling numbness spread through my fingertips. I opened the comments section, and my breath caught in my throat. 【OMG, she’s totally talking about Theodore Thorne! It’s so obvious!】 【100% him. They were the perfect couple back in the day—the tragic high-society romance, the beautiful artist and the brooding heir. It’s a classic story!】 【”Friends?” Who is she kidding? That look in her eyes is pure, undiluted love.】 【I’m crying. The one that got away will always be the one. No one else ever stands a chance!】 【Theo is so devoted. He flew across the ocean just for her opening night. Turns out even titans of industry have someone they can’t let go of.】 【I bet Mrs. Thorne is crying her eyes out in the maternity ward right now. Well, that’s what you get for marrying a man with an epic lost love in his past.】 【Losing to the old flame… how humiliating. But it’s not like Evelyn Reed has any right to be upset. Their marriage was just a business arrangement. You can’t compare that to true love.】 Every word was a barb, a fresh twist of the knife. I switched off my phone, a final, cold resignation settling over me. Theodore is my husband. Seraphina was the great, passionate love of his youth. And I… I am just a joke. 2 Later that night, the door to my room creaked open. I looked up. Theodore stood in the doorway. His suit was immaculate, but his hair was a mess, and dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes. For a fleeting moment, our gazes met before I quickly looked away. The maternity nurse, Mrs. Gable, was gently rocking our daughter in her arms. Seeing Theodore, she smiled warmly. “Congratulations, Mr. Thorne. You have a beautiful baby girl.” Theodore’s eyes flickered to the baby, but his expression remained flat, unreadable. “Is she healthy?” Mrs. Gable, assuming he’d want to hold his child, moved to pass the bundle to him. But Theodore made no move to take her, his arms remaining rigidly at his sides. An awkward silence hung in the air before Mrs. Gable drew back. “All her vitals are perfect,” she said, recovering smoothly. “She was a little early, but her weight is good. No need for the incubator.” Theodore nodded once. “Thank you for your hard work.” He then addressed her directly. “Could you take the baby out for a moment? I need to speak with Evelyn alone.” As she left, he turned to the assistant hovering by the door, his tone all business. “Contact PR. Prepare a press release announcing the birth of the Thorne Industries heiress. And execute the donation plan we discussed—five hundred million, split among the charitable foundations on my list. Also, that new foundation proposal I drafted? Start the paperwork tomorrow.” Theodore was always methodical, always detached. He approached every situation with a clinical precision, devoid of emotion. Even faced with the birth of his own child, there wasn’t a flicker of excitement or joy. Just a calm, orderly execution of a plan. I once thought I was different. I thought, perhaps, that with me, he allowed himself to feel. Just a little. After all, I loved him so much. But in the end, I had vastly overestimated my own importance. The assistant closed the door behind him, leaving us alone. The vast suite was silent, the scent of white roses on the table doing nothing to cut through the suffocating tension. “Evelyn,” Theodore said, stepping closer. His face was a mask of apology. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. I was on the plane all day. I didn’t see the calls or texts until we landed.” “Theodore,” I said, my voice calmer than I could have imagined. “Let’s get a divorce.” “What?” He froze, genuine shock flickering in his eyes. “Evelyn, are you joking?” The hospital lights cast harsh shadows on his face, accentuating his exhaustion. “I know I let you down,” he said, his voice earnest, logical, like a negotiator trying to close a deal. “But I swear it wasn’t intentional. I had the timeline perfectly calculated. I was going to wrap up that project proposal and then clear my schedule completely to be here with you. I never imagined the baby would come early… I never thought you’d… that you almost died on the operating table. I’m sorry. It was my oversight.” If I were anyone else… If I hadn’t spent years waiting for him… If I hadn’t seen that interview… Maybe, just maybe, I would have believed him. But I was done lying to myself. I cut him off, taking a deep breath to steady my voice. “Theodore. That’s not the reason.” It was never just about that. 3 Theodore didn’t press his case. He didn’t leave, either. Instead, he sank into the armchair by the window, pulling his laptop from his briefcase. He started typing, perhaps dealing with work, perhaps scrolling through the gossip columns buzzing with his name. His presence was meant to be a silent, placating apology. A way to manage the situation. But that was never what I needed from him. The room was so quiet I could hear the sound of our breathing. Seraphina had called Theodore a good, truly good man. Perhaps he was. But all of his goodness, all of his warmth, was reserved for someone else. He loved Seraphina when they were young. After our marriage, he never mentioned her name, but a wall of polite distance always stood between us. He was never truly mine. He wouldn’t even hold our child. “Theodore,” I said, my voice raspy. “Please leave. I don’t want to see you.” I took a steadying breath. “And have your lawyer draft the divorce papers as soon as possible.” This time, I was setting him free. And in doing so, I was finally freeing myself. From outside the door, our daughter’s heartbroken cries tore through the silence. Mrs. Gable brought her to me, and I held her close, whispering soothing words as a wave of guilt threatened to drown me. I had dreamed that my daughter would be the happiest child in the world. I would give her everything: a loving home, endless affection, the very best of what life had to offer. I truly believed Theodore and I were healing, that our relationship was finally on solid ground. I thought her father would be as overjoyed by her arrival as I was. Reality had delivered a vicious slap to the face. I was wrong. So terribly, devastatingly wrong. 4 Sometime during the night, the rain had stopped. I took the bottle from Mrs. Gable and gently placed it at my daughter’s lips. Hope. That’s what I named her. Her father might not welcome her into this world, but it didn’t matter. Beyond my connection to Theodore, I came from a family of considerable means. For the rest of my life, as long as I was here, I would ensure my daughter wanted for nothing. I didn’t ask for much. I just wanted her to be happy and safe. The next morning, a knock came at the door. A young woman with a sharp, chic bob and a dimpled smile introduced herself as Lily, an employee from Theodore’s company. She was carrying a bouquet of pink roses so fresh they looked like they were still beaded with morning dew. “Good morning, Mrs. Thorne,” she chirped. “Mr. Thorne had these ordered for you especially. I just picked them up from the florist.” She worked with a cheerful efficiency, finding a vase, filling it with water, and arranging the stems with a practiced hand. Next, she produced a velvet jewelry box from her tote bag and placed it on the table beside me, opening it with a flourish. “And this, Mrs. Thorne. Mr. Thorne acquired it at an auction last month. He said emeralds are your favorite.” Lying on the black velvet was a breathtaking necklace. A massive, brilliant-green emerald served as the centerpiece, surrounded by a halo of dazzling diamonds that caught the light and scattered it in a fiery display. Anyone could see it was a collector’s piece, flawless and incredibly valuable. A year ago, I might have been thrilled. I might have seen it as a sign that Theodore was finally starting to care. But after yesterday, I would never again be so foolish as to flatter myself. That kind of humiliation was something you only needed to experience once. “Mr. Thorne was incredibly busy at the time, but he insisted on going to the Christie’s auction himself,” Lily chattered on. “He said he wanted to prepare the perfect surprise for you with his own hands.” “Thank you,” I said, my voice flat. I didn’t have the heart to refuse. Lily seemed bright and earnest, untouched by the weary cynicism of corporate life. She was probably new. My issues with Theodore were my own; there was no need to make this young woman’s job more difficult. Theodore didn’t have any female assistants. He’d always claimed he was awkward around women. Lily must have been called up from the front desk. If I sent her back with the necklace, she’d have to explain her failure to her boss, and I wouldn’t do that to her. “Mr. Thorne has a series of unavoidable meetings today, which is why he sent me,” she explained, though a flicker of uncertainty crossed her face. “But he said he’ll come see you and the baby as soon as he can tonight…” I simply nodded, indicating I understood. Staring at the priceless piece of jewelry—a treasure that would make any woman swoon—I just felt tired. It wasn’t a gift. It was compensation. Theodore was trying to smooth things over, to patch up the wound he’d inflicted. He always did this. Every conflict between us, every disappointment he caused, was eventually papered over with some extravagant purchase. He seemed to believe that money and material things could mend any emotional rift, fill any void. But if money was what I wanted, why would I have married him when he was at his lowest, when his company was on the brink of collapse? What I wanted, what I had always wanted, was his heart. He had once promised me he could learn to return my affection. I had believed him. And all it had brought me was a landscape of disappointment. Hope stirred in her bassinet, her eyes blinking open. For once, she was quiet, not crying. Lily’s attention was immediately captivated. “Oh, she’s adorable!” she cooed. “How can a newborn be so fair, with such a perfect little nose?” She beamed at me. “You and Mr. Thorne are so lucky. Imagine coming home to a beautiful baby like this every day…” I managed a weak smile. “Thank you.” But behind the flicker of pride was a vast, hollow emptiness. Theodore didn’t like this child. Why would he ever be happy to come home to her? 5 After a while, Mrs. Gable took the baby for a walk down the hall. “Lily,” I said, meeting her gaze directly. I had to say it. “Thank you for coming all this way.” “When you get back to the office, could you pass along a message for me?” Lily’s cheerful demeanor vanished, replaced by a professional focus. “Of course, Mrs. Thorne. What should I tell him?” I held her gaze, my voice steady and clear. “Tell him that what I said last night… I meant every word.” “I want a divorce.” This wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t a cry for attention. When I loved someone, I gave them my entire being. But when I stopped loving them, I would tear myself away with the same ferocious intensity. Every word I spoke was the truth. “Mrs. Thorne?” Lily’s composure shattered, her voice trembling slightly. “Did you say… a divorce?” “Yes,” I confirmed. The word, once spoken aloud, felt like a heavy stone being lifted from my chest. The suffocating weight, the constant ache—it was finally gone. “Please, ask him to have the papers drawn up as soon as possible.” I was done loving Theodore Thorne. This long, arduous journey toward him, a journey I had walked alone, was now, officially, over. Perhaps it should have ended years ago. It should have ended when I walked toward him, my heart wide open, and he never once turned to welcome me in. All those years of waiting felt like a farcical play, and the only way to salvage what was left of myself was to erase his name from my life completely.

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