Author: Momo Chan

I had a child with Liam North, the most powerful man in Capital City. Everyone assumed I would use the baby to blackmail him into marrying me. But ten days after giving birth, I left the city, alone. Liam chased me to the train station, clutching our child, his eyes red-rimmed and desperate. “Julia Rivers, you don’t want me. Fine. But now you’re abandoning your own child, too?” A single tear escaped my eye, but I didn’t turn back. I stared at the vast, empty freedom of the sky and said calmly, “That’s right. I’m done with you. And I’m done with our child.” 1 After I said those words, Liam, holding our wailing, swaddled infant, turned and walked away. A man of his stature, his pride. For him to chase me to a public train station was already a stunning concession. But this wasn’t the first time we had separated. We broke up once before, three years ago. The day before that breakup, we were in his opulent penthouse office. On the sprawling mahogany desk that was worth more than my childhood home. He undressed me, his movements slow and deliberate, piece by piece. I lay back on the cool wood, my eyes squeezed shut in a wave of shame and anticipation. Liam leaned over me, his lips brushing against mine. “Do you know, Julia,” he murmured. “Every time you walk in here to give me a report… I only have one thought.” “To take you, right here, on this desk.” 2 That afternoon, the lock on his office door was bolted. His private secretary and personal assistant stood guard outside. For three solid hours. When he finally lifted me from the desk, my body was spent. He carried me to the immense floor-to-ceiling windows. We were in a skyscraper at the very heart of Capital City’s glittering, exorbitant CBD. From this height, the world below was a scattering of ants. “Julia.” Liam held me from behind, his hot kisses trailing along my ear. “Your birthday’s coming up. What do you want?” My fingers left damp streaks on the cool glass. My reflection stared back—a face flushed with passion, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The reflection trembled, vibrated with the relentless, quickening rhythm of his body against mine. Finally, the dam broke, and the tears spilled, rolling down my cheeks. I reached back, my hand finding his, our fingers lacing together in a desperate grip. “Liam, all I want is to be with you.” I thought I heard a low chuckle. He turned me in his arms, pulling me tight against his chest. “Silly girl. Aren’t we already together?” 3 I was a silly girl. It wasn’t until his engagement was about to be announced that I learned he’d been seeing his fiancée for a year. During that year, he flew to Paris constantly. They weren’t business trips. He was visiting his future wife. The day I handed in my resignation, the sky was a heavy, oppressive gray. I stood before that same mahogany desk, my eyes fixed on the tips of my shoes. Liam’s expression was dark. He refused to sign the papers. I didn’t rush him. Instead, I started talking about the past. “Do you remember that accident two years ago?” “The Calloway family went bankrupt, and their youngest son hired thugs to get revenge on you.” “I took a knife for you.” I managed a smile, looking up at him through my swollen eyes. “You said you’d grant me one wish, that you’d never go back on your word.” “I never knew what to ask for.” “But I know now, Liam.” “Let’s end this. Let’s break up for good.” His gaze was intense, unreadable. The expensive fountain pen in his long fingers bled a dark pool of ink onto the crisp white paper. Finally, he spoke. “Julia Rivers.” He said my name, and nothing else. Then he looked down and signed. He pushed the resignation letter across the desk toward me. I picked it up, glanced at his signature, and gave a small, formal bow. “Thank you, Mr. North.” 4 Resignation. Breakup. Packing my bags and moving back to my hometown. Once the dust had settled, I started working again. I went on dates. I thought I would never see Liam North again. But two years later, our paths crossed. It was summer again in Capital City. The heat was suffocating. I’d just indulged in a second ice cream cone to cool down. I turned around, and there he was, striding toward me, surrounded by an entourage. After a brief, dizzying moment of shock, I composed myself, lowered my head, and tried to melt into the crowd. The conference hall was massive, packed with people. I was just a junior employee. No one would notice me. But he walked straight toward me. His bodyguards and assistant intercepted the sycophants trying to get his attention. In the center of that vast hall, the man in the bespoke black suit stood, an aloof and unapproachable god. The room fell silent. I kept my head down. I didn’t speak. I didn’t look at him. After what felt like an eternity, Liam took a step forward. He reached out and took the half-melted ice cream cone I was hiding behind my back. “Aren’t you afraid of cramps anymore?” 5 A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, then silence fell again. Liam wiped his hands clean. His gaze was steady. “Go wait for me in my car.” If it weren’t for the engagement ring on my left hand, if I hadn’t just ended a video call with my fiancé twenty minutes earlier, I might have believed that the last two years had never happened. That Liam and I had never been apart. That I was still in this city, young and reckless, consumed by a love that demanded everything. But the illusion lasted only a second. I looked up, my smile polite and professional. “I’m sorry, Mr. North, but I have to get back to work.” He didn’t get angry, but his voice dropped several degrees. “Julia.” “Don’t push me.” I took a deep breath. “I apologize, Mr. North. I have work to do.” The silence was so absolute you could hear a pin drop. Even his secretary of ten years shot me a look of disbelief. My face was a calm mask, but my back was drenched in sweat. Having been by his side for so long, I knew the depths of his power. The scandal that had nearly destroyed my family years ago… he had made it disappear with a single phone call. To defy him so publicly was practically a death wish. But then, a low laugh escaped his lips. “Julia Rivers. I never knew you could hold such a grudge.” After that, he didn’t press me further. But it seemed I had soured his mood. He turned and left the conference hall, his entourage trailing behind him. 6 I spent the next three days in a state of anxiety. Nothing happened. I allowed myself to relax, just a little. But on the day I was scheduled to leave the city, I got a call from my fiancé, Leo. “Julia, who in God’s name did you piss off?” “Why are they doing this to me?” “My friends, my family… they invested everything they had in my company. Their life savings, Julia! It’s all gone…” “I’m begging you, go to him, whoever he is. Ask him to let me go. Please.” “If he won’t… Julia, I don’t see any other way out. I’ll have to jump…” Leo’s voice was a hysterical, broken thing, a mix of sobs and laughter. I clutched the phone, a deathly chill spreading through my veins. It took me a long moment to find my voice. “Leo,” I whispered, “who is this man?” “All I know is his last name is Saxon. He’s some kind of executive secretary.” A hot tear splashed onto my phone screen. Mr. Saxon. Liam North’s right-hand man. His shadow for the past decade. 7 It was a sweltering summer night in Capital City. The ten o’clock breeze was still warm. The black sedan was understated but screamed luxury. It moved silently through the decadent, glittering night. I felt like I was back in another time, years ago. It had been Mr. Saxon who picked me up then, too. I was only twenty-one. I walked into the suite and saw Liam wearing nothing but a towel. I was so scared I nearly burst into tears. He had found it amusing, and had even tried to comfort me. Now I was twenty-six. I had an engagement ring on my finger. I had a fiancé. I was about to start a new life. But I knew that after tonight, all of it would turn to ash. Liam was on the terrace, smoking, dressed in a navy silk robe. I walked into the suite without a word and went straight to the bathroom. When I emerged, I was wearing nothing at all. Liam extinguished his cigarette and leaned against the railing, his eyes traveling over me. He studied me for a long moment. Then he shook his head with a soft sigh. “You’ve lost weight.” I looked at him, my expression numb. “Liam, just do what you want.” “And when you’re done, please, just let my fiancé go.” “Julia, begging me for another man’s sake will only make me angrier.” His eyes were cold as they dropped to my hand. “Get rid of that thing.” I immediately pulled the ring off my finger and tossed it into the trash without a second glance. Liam’s expression softened slightly. “Come here.” I walked to him. He reached out, his hand tracing the line of my cheek before trailing slowly, deliberately, downwards. The moonlight spilled over the silver curves of my body, a soft, ethereal white. But that white was soon bruised and broken. I turned my face away, staring into the gentle night. Tears fell in silent streams. It wasn’t until he bit down, his teeth breaking the skin, that I cried out, a soft whimper of pain. Only then did he gather me into his arms, a flicker of something like tenderness in his eyes. “Don’t be so stubborn.” “If you’d just ask me nicely, like you used to, is there anything I wouldn’t give you?” He whispered this as he pressed me against the cold glass of the window. “I’ve wanted to do this since the moment I saw you at the conference.” His grip on my hips was merciless. I struggled instinctively, but he held me fast, his voice a cold command. “If you don’t want him to die, you’ll behave.” I went still. A moment later, he seemed displeased again. He slapped me, not hard, but enough to sting. “You know how I like you.” 8 By the time Liam carried me back to the bed, I was boneless, completely drained. But he was far from finished, his body pressing down on mine, ready for more. I closed my eyes, my voice a raw whisper. “I’m so tired, Liam…” In the dim light, he loomed over me. He pinched my chin. “Alright. I’ll let you off for tonight.” He stood and started toward the bathroom. I forced myself to sit up. Liam lit a cigarette, watching as I struggled out of bed and retrieved my clothes from the sofa. The warmth in his eyes slowly turned to ice. “What are you doing?” “I’m leaving.” I kept my eyes down, pulling on my clothes piece by piece. “Leaving to where?” “Home.” A cold laugh. “Still so naive.” My hand trembled, but I didn’t stop. I zipped up my dress and bent to put on my shoes. Liam crushed the half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray, the red ember disintegrating into dust. “Julia Rivers.” I turned and walked toward the door, pretending not to hear him. He didn’t say another word. He didn’t try to stop me. Downstairs, a maid and a driver were waiting. They were perfectly polite. “Miss Rivers. Mr. North instructed us to drive you.” I numbly nodded. Liam’s driver took me to the airport and left. Even as I boarded the plane, I felt like I was in a dream. He had let me go. Just like that. I didn’t realize then, even after all our time together, just how little I understood the true depths of Liam North’s cruelty. 9 I thought that after that night, my engagement to Leo would be broken, and Liam would leave him alone. I never imagined it was only the beginning. Leo’s small company was plagued by one disaster after another. Liam’s people played with him like a cat with a mouse. Just when Leo was on the brink of collapse, they would offer a sliver of hope, pulling him back from the edge. Then, just as he was catching his breath, they would strike again, harder than before. After several rounds of this, Leo finally broke. He tried to end his life. He was lucky. Someone found him in time. He survived. I went to the hospital, but I didn’t go into his room. I just gave the fruit and gifts I’d brought to his parents. As I was leaving, I got a call from Mr. Saxon. “Miss Rivers. Mr. North asked me to inquire when you will be returning to Capital City.” I stood under the scorching summer sun, my clothes stuck to my skin with sweat, yet I felt as if I’d been plunged into an icy abyss. But even then, in my foolish pride, I refused to bow. “I’m not coming back.” Mr. Saxon said nothing and hung up. Maybe Liam realized that using Leo was no longer an effective way to control me. Or maybe he decided that tormenting a woman this way was beneath him. After that call, things were quiet for months, all the way through the fall. My parents were still sad about Leo, but with time, they started trying to set me up on dates again. That winter, Liam North got married. His bride was the French heiress. The day I heard the news, the weather was grim, just like the day I had broken up with him. Their wedding was a quiet affair, for reasons I didn’t know. Not a single photo was leaked to the press. On my way home from work, I bought a cup of hot soup from a street vendor and sat on a bench, eating it bite by bite. Toward the end, it started to taste unusually salty. I looked down and saw tiny ripples forming in the last of the broth. I touched my cheek, surprised to find it wet. I hadn’t even realized I was crying. 10 That night, I was sitting on the sofa with my parents after my shower when my phone buzzed with a call from an unknown number. I ignored it. A moment later, a text came through. [Julia. Are you coming down, or am I coming up?] A cold sweat broke out on my back. The phone buzzed again. I silenced it, excused myself to my room, and answered. It was Liam’s voice. “Liam, what the hell do you want?” I whispered, unable to keep the rage from my voice. “I missed you, Julia.” I was stunned. I started to hang up. “If you don’t come, I’ll have to pay your parents a visit.” I glanced toward the living room. I could hear the TV, the sound of my parents laughing. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by those sounds, a tight, aching pain. “I’ll be down.” “Good. I’ll wait.” I threw on a coat, made an excuse to my parents, and slipped out. Liam’s car was parked in the shadows of the trees down the street. I pulled my coat tight, glanced around like a thief, and hurried to it. The back window was lowered a few inches. Liam was lounging inside. His eyes found my face as I approached, and a slow smile spread across his lips. “Get in.” “If you have something to say, you can say it from here.” He didn’t argue. “Fine. Then I’ll come out.” The door opened. The next thing I knew, he had me pinned against the car, his hand cupping my jaw. His kiss was a torrent, hot and smelling of alcohol. I struggled, trying not to make a sound. In the chaos, my hand flew up and slapped him across the face. My nails, which I’d just started to grow out, left three thin, red scratches on his jaw. He released me abruptly, his expression hardening. I was terrified. I stumbled back. He touched the scratches on his face, his eyes narrowing. Just as I braced myself for him to hit me back, a slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. “Julia, you can either get in this car with me, or we can do this right here, right now.” “The choice is yours. And you know I’m a man of my word.”

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Barry Roosevelt and I both lived in a world of silence. His, the result of a car accident that shattered his world and drove him to the edge of suicide. We met on the hospital rooftop. We fell in love there. And together, we weathered five years of a world filled with malice. He signed to me once, his hands firm and deliberate: Barry Roosevelt will always be true to Rowan. Then came the second accident. By some miracle, the crash restored what the first one had taken. He could hear, he could speak. He became a rising star in the city’s elite circle. And still, he told me his promise was forever. But at his birthday party, thinking I was still locked in my silent world, he finally spoke his heart to a friend. “She saw me at my absolute worst. And she’s deaf… frankly, it’s embarrassing to take her out.” “I’d rather she just disappeared. That way, I could remember her fondly forever.” But he didn’t know the truth— To give him the will to live, I had been pretending to be deaf for five long years. 1 The night of his birthday party, Barry introduced me to all his old friends. Knowing I couldn’t hear, he took the time to teach them a few basic signs, just so they could look me in the eye and gesture, “Good to meet you.” I felt a blush creep up my neck, clutching my glass of juice and sitting obediently by his side. But my mind was racing, trying to find the perfect moment to finally tell him my secret. It would be my thirtieth birthday gift to him. Barry was in his element, throwing back drink after drink, a grin plastered on his face that he couldn’t have wiped off if he tried. He moved through the crowd, laughing with friends, getting dragged into a rowdy karaoke song. The party was alive, and I was genuinely happy for him. He was born to be a golden boy, a man without flaws. Now that he was whole again, a coveted new player in the city’s high society, the old looks of pity and scorn had transformed into awe and envy. My Barry was finally reborn. I watched him, timing the rhythm of the party. When he finally collapsed onto the sofa next to me, flushed and breathless from the celebration, I gently tugged on his sleeve. He turned, his smile soft and indulgent, and began to sign. “Rowan, are you tired?” I shook my head, signing back, “I have something to tell you. It’s important!” Barry nodded, about to take my hand and lead me out of the private room, but one of his friends threw an arm over his shoulder. “Hey, where do you think you’re going? The night’s still young!” The guy wasn’t letting go. Barry pointed to me, and then, remembering I supposedly couldn’t hear, he spoke and signed simultaneously. “Rowan has something to tell me. I’m just stepping out with her for a minute.” I glanced from him to the rest of the room. Everyone was still riding the high of the party. I thought for a moment, then shook my head at Barry. “It can wait. You’re all finally together. You should enjoy it.” Seeing my signs, a slow smile spread across Barry’s face. He reached out and ruffled my hair, murmuring aloud, “My Rowan is the sweetest.” He didn’t sign it. But it was a simple enough phrase that I could easily read his lips. His effortless compliments, his public displays of affection—they always made me blush, forcing me to duck my head to hide the heat in my cheeks. And whenever I did, his smile only grew wider. “Rowan is cutest when she’s shy,” he’d tease. He loved to do that. He knew his words turned my face crimson, yet he delighted in it, insisting it was when I was most adorable. His friend next to him seemed intrigued. “Man, are you really going all in on this pure love thing? Are you seriously planning to marry her?” Barry leaned back slightly at the question, turning his head so I could only see his profile. I couldn’t make out the shape of his lips anymore. For someone who can’t hear, if you can’t see their lips, the world goes completely silent. His movement was deliberate. He didn’t want me to understand this conversation. What was he about to say? More sweet nothings that would make me blush? My mind raced with possibilities. Barry paused, considering the question, then answered his friend in earnest. “Rowan’s a good person. Over the past five years, I fell apart more times than I can count, and she was always there. I’m grateful to her. I love her.” “But she was born deaf and mute. The kind that can’t be fixed.” “She also witnessed the absolute lowest point of my life. Every time I see her, every time I have to use sign language, it drags me right back to that hell. To be honest, it’s suffocating.” “But that’s not even the worst part. The thing is, I’m back on my feet now. The Roosevelt family is making a name for itself again. If word gets out that I married a deaf woman… can you imagine the whispers? The old sharks in the business world would laugh me out of the room.” “If I’m being honest, I wish she had just vanished after I recovered. If she had, I think I could have cherished her memory forever. The kind you never forget.” His friend looked stunned, as if he never expected those words to come out of Barry’s mouth. “So… you don’t want to marry her?” Barry shook his head. “I’ll marry her. She gave me five years of her life, after all.” As he said it, he reached over and squeezed my hand, his eyes still brimming with that familiar, all-consuming love. A love so convincing, it was impossible to tell if any of it was real. My face remained a calm mask, but my heart was hammering against my ribs. A sharp, indescribable pain bloomed in my chest. Because I had heard every single word. 2 I’ve been keeping a secret from Barry for five years. I was never deaf or mute. I first met him the day my parents went hiking and never came back. A freak accident. I spent a day and a night outside the operating room, then another half a month camped outside the ICU. But they never woke up. In the span of 24 hours, the only two people on earth who shared my blood were gone. The blow was catastrophic. I cried until I passed out, again and again. After one of those fainting spells, I woke up and found I couldn’t speak. The doctor told me it was a conversion disorder. My body, trying to protect itself from overwhelming trauma, had shut down my ability to speak. He said it was temporary. It would probably come back in a few months. Crushed by the dual tragedies, I was lost in a fog of grief. Needing to breathe, I made my way to the hospital rooftop. And that’s where I found Barry, standing on the ledge, ready to jump. I lunged, grabbing him and pulling him back from the brink. We both tumbled to the rough concrete. My arm scraped against the ground, a raw, bloody patch that stung so badly it made me gasp. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t scream at him, so I just pointed at him, then at myself. As he stared back, bewildered, I scrambled to my feet and drew a huge, angry ‘X’ in the air, gesturing toward the edge of the roof. He understood. Don’t do it. A bitter smile twisted his lips, his eyes utterly devoid of light. But he had lost his nerve. He slumped to the ground, the courage for a second attempt gone. He picked up a small piece of gravel and began to scratch words onto the rooftop floor. [You shouldn’t have saved me. It took everything I had to build up the courage to jump, and now it’s all gone.] I read his words, then smacked him lightly on the back of the head and snatched the stone from his hand. [The world is full of pain. You can’t just run from it. Unless you truly have nothing and no one left to live for, then go ahead, jump again.] I knew he couldn’t. I could see it in his eyes. He was trapped in his own private hell, flirting with the idea of escape through death, but a part of him was screaming for someone to pull him out of the abyss. I wanted to be that person. Saving a life felt like something I could do for my parents, a small offering in their memory. And so, we met. I learned that Barry had been a golden boy, a prince in his own world, until a car accident had stolen his hearing and his voice. The doctors said the chances of recovery were slim. The fall from grace was more than he could bear. And because I couldn’t speak, he saw me as one of his own. He pushed everyone else away, but he let me in, finding solace in a shared misery. To keep him alive, I told him a kind lie. I wrote it down for him: “I was born this way. I’ve never heard a sound or spoken a word. You have it better than me. So you have to live. You have to wait for your miracle.” A white lie can make a flower bloom in the desert. Back then, Barry desperately needed someone to share his pain, someone to walk beside him in the darkness. And there I was. We met on that rooftop. I saved him. We became friends. Day by day, our friendship deepened into something more. And on that same rooftop, he confessed his feelings for me. He signed, his hands trembling slightly, “I thought the world was a terrible place, but then I met you. Rowan, even if I stay like this forever, as long as I have you by my side, life won’t be so hard. Because I have you.” He also promised: Barry Roosevelt will always be true to Rowan. The sunset that day was breathtaking, its warm glow wrapping around him like a halo. He stood in the light, held out his hand, and promised me a lifetime. My heart surrendered. I fell completely and hopelessly in love with the boy in front of me. But our life together wasn’t easy. We were a deaf couple in a hearing world, and we endured more than our share of condescending stares and cruel jokes. The same people who had envied him before now took pleasure in mocking and tormenting him. Through five years of malice, we never let go of each other’s hand. I truly believed he was my destiny. We could face any hardship, even a lifetime of it, as long as we were together. Until the second car accident. He was no longer trapped in silence. His voice was beautiful, a rich, warm sound that made my heart flutter every time he spoke. I was ready to tell him everything, to finally share my secret. But I never imagined that the five years I spent by his side had become the heaviest burden he carried. It wasn’t disappointment I felt, or sadness. It was a profound sense of sorrow. I remembered an old saying—that many people can endure hardship together, but few can share success. It was the ugly, simple truth of human nature. And in that moment, for Barry and me, it became devastatingly real. A wave of nausea washed over me. When he reached out to pull me into an embrace, I shoved him away, hard. Without a second glance, I turned and fled from the room. If his love wasn’t pure, then I didn’t want it at all. 3 My silent departure was a public humiliation for him, and Barry was furious. He sent me a text: [Those were my best friends at the party tonight. You just running off like that, without a word… it made me look like an idiot. Forget it. Just take some time to cool off. I won’t be coming home for a few days.] I stared at the words, a bitter irony twisting in my gut. The old Barry, if he’d seen me leave like that, would have been consumed with worry. He would have been terrified that something was wrong, that I was in trouble. He would have stayed by my side until he saw me smile again. But now, his first instinct wasn’t concern. It was shame. My chest felt tight, constricted, like a massive stone was crushing my lungs, making it hard to breathe. I was drowning in my own sorrow. But the phone in my hand buzzed again, a notification. Barry and I both used social media to post snippets of our lives, a silent way of sharing our days, even if no one was watching. He had just posted an update. I couldn’t stop myself. Like a form of self-torture, I tapped the notification. The photos showed him and a group of friends at the beach. Everyone was beaming, their joy uninhibited. In one shot, Barry had his arm slung around the neck of a girl I didn’t recognize, a beer bottle in his other hand. He looked completely free, without a single worry in the world. Certainly no worry for me. He was happy. In that moment, our worlds were polar opposites. 4 Barry was desperate for release. For five long years, he had endured countless whispers and sneers. Now that he was whole again, he wanted to shout it from the rooftops, to make sure the entire world knew he was no longer broken. For the next two weeks, he was a whirlwind of social events. His feed was a constant stream of updates. Beach parties, exclusive clubs, lavish galas and charity balls—he was everywhere. I found myself in a masochistic routine: open the app, zoom in on the pictures, study every detail, then close it. I was trying to wear down the love still clinging to my heart, to collect enough disappointment to finally walk away for good. After five years together, I knew his circle of friends inside and out. Even the ones I’d never met felt familiar from the stories we’d shared. I could have picked them out of a crowd. So when I saw the same unfamiliar girl in picture after picture, always by his side, a girl he had never once mentioned to me, I knew. We were drifting apart, faster and further than I had realized. As I sat numbly on the sofa, a video call from my friend Chloe popped up on my screen. “Rowan! There’s this gala the day after tomorrow, and my dad is forcing me to go. I don’t want to find a date. Please, please come with me?” Chloe was my rock. She came from a wealthy family but had none of the arrogance. Her laugh was loud and infectious, a burst of sunshine that could light up any room. We had also met at the hospital. During that time when I couldn’t speak, even simple things were a struggle. Trying to get a nurse’s attention in a busy ward was impossible. I would just stand there, helpless and frustrated. Chloe had been passing by and saw my distress. She helped me, and we became fast, true friends. She even learned sign language for me. Watching her form the clumsy, hesitant signs on the screen now brought a warmth to my chest. I really didn’t want to go out, but the pleading in her eyes was too much to resist. I finally nodded. I never expected to see Barry at the gala. He was dressed in a sharp tuxedo, a stunningly beautiful woman in a designer gown holding his arm. The moment she saw me, her eyes narrowed with an undisguised hostility. It was her. The girl from all the photos. Barry’s face tightened. “Rowan, what are you doing here?” He had started to raise his hands to sign, but in the crowded, opulent ballroom, he seemed to think better of it. He dropped his hands, a forced, unnatural smile on his face as he spoke the words aloud. “Well, well, Mr. Roosevelt,” a voice boomed from nearby. It was the CEO of a rival company, a man who loved to get under Barry’s skin. “As I recall, your fiancée is… a mute, isn’t she? Oh, that’s right, deaf and mute, just like you were. If you don’t sign to her, how on earth will she know what you’re saying?” We had been through this before. But back then, while the taunts stung, we ignored them, treating them as the pathetic ramblings of a bitter man. Not this time. A dark flush of shame crept up Barry’s neck. He grabbed my arm, yanking me into a secluded corner, his hands flying in a series of sharp, angry signs. He signed, “You threw a tantrum the other week, and I gave you space to cool off. I thought you would be good, like you always are. I can’t believe you’d show up here without telling me. Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is for me?” Embarrassing for him? I struggled to process the word. I was just… here. I hadn’t come with him. I was dressed appropriately. I hadn’t caused a scene. And yet, my mere presence was enough to make him feel ashamed. The shock must have been written all over my face. Barry let out a long sigh, a flicker of regret in his eyes. He looked like he was about to say more, to soften the blow, but before he could raise his hands again, the woman in the red dress glided over. She beamed, waving a perfectly manicured hand at me. “Hello, Rowan! I’m Isabelle. I’m a friend of Barry’s. I’ve heard so much about you.” She then clapped a hand over her mouth in mock horror, looking at Barry with wide, concerned eyes. “Oh, I don’t know any sign language. Rowan probably didn’t understand a word of that, did she? It’s all my fault. I should have asked you to teach me a few things beforehand. It’s our first time meeting, I wanted to make a good impression.” Barry gave her a small, reassuring smile. “It’s fine. It doesn’t matter if she understood or not. You don’t need to worry about it.” They exchanged a look, a silent understanding passing between them. Then Isabelle gestured toward the dance floor. “The music is starting. You promised me the first dance, you know. Don’t you dare break your promise.” Her tone was playful, but her eyes held a warning. Barry’s gaze flickered back to me, a flicker of indecision crossing his face. Isabelle’s smile tightened. “When I came over just now,” she added casually, “I overheard quite a few people gossiping about Rowan.” That did it. The hesitation vanished from Barry’s eyes. He turned to me, his decision made, and signed curtly, “I have to go dance. I know you don’t like crowded places, so just wait here and don’t wander off.” With that, he and Isabelle turned and walked toward the center of the ballroom. I stood frozen, watching his back recede into the crowd. The initial anger and pain had faded, replaced by a cold, hollow numbness. I opened my mouth, wanting to scream. I wanted to tell him that I loved crowded places, that it was loneliness I couldn’t stand. I wanted to tell him that he was the one who hated crowds, because he couldn’t bear the pitying stares and whispers. He hated being laughed at, so he hated the noise. And now, maybe he was starting to hate me, too. Isabelle glanced back over her shoulder, and in the triumphant glint in her eyes, I understood everything.

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1 It was Labor Day weekend. My boyfriend Harry and I were supposed to be on a romantic road trip—but of course his whole clique tagged along. That night, around a bonfire playing Truth or Dare, the bottle pointed at me. Jessica, Harry’s “best girl friend,” grinned slyly and asked, “So Clara, how many guys have you slept with?” I looked desperately at Harry, but he just shrugged as the others hooted. “Two,” I mumbled. The second time, Jessica asked, “When was your first time with Harry? A hotel or a car?” My patience was thinning. Again, Harry did nothing. Pressured by the crowd, I forced out, “Last summer. A hotel.” The third time she asked what position we used. I snapped. I shoved the folding table, sending beer cans flying. Three times in a row—this wasn’t a game, it was an interrogation. Walking away, I deliberately slowed, waiting. But Harry didn’t follow. Instead, I heard him comforting her: “Don’t worry, Jess. She’s just being weird tonight. It’s not about you.” I sighed. Harry, we were done. … “It’s getting chilly out here. You’ll catch a cold.” I don’t know how much time had passed, but I felt a sudden weight on my shoulders. Harry was draping his jacket over me, carefully tucking the collar around my neck. He was always like this—so attentive, noticing every little detail. In the five years we’d been together, he was the one who’d spot my untied shoelace and kneel to fix it, the one who remembered my cycle and would bring me hot tea and a heating pad without being asked. He leaned against the wooden railing beside me and lit a cigarette. “Clara, that’s just Jessica. She’s always been… a lot. We grew up together. You’re my girlfriend, so she sees you as one of us. She doesn’t have a filter.” He took a drag. “You’re usually so easygoing. What’s with the temper tantrum tonight?” The anger I’d managed to quell came roaring back, his words like a stone shattering the calm surface of a lake. I took a deep breath, fighting to keep my voice even. “Harry, do you honestly think those questions were a joke?” I asked. “And another thing, why does she know every single detail about our lives? Do we have any privacy at all?” He sensed the shift in my mood and backed off, switching to his usual charming self. He squeezed my shoulder, a playful grin on his face. “My bad, my bad. I swear, I’ll be more careful about what I say from now on.” “Come on, babe,” he coaxed. “Don’t forget the real reason we came on this trip. Let’s go back and get some rest. No more fighting, okay?” I glared at him but, considering our plans for the next day, I relented and walked back toward the campsite with him. As we approached, I could hear his friends talking. “She’s only been with Harry for five years and she acts like she owns him.” “Seriously. She needs to get over herself. We’ve known him our whole lives. If Jessica wasn’t such a good person, content with just being his best friend, do you think this girl would even have a chance?” “Poor Jessica. Harry’s so whipped. When he gets back, he better apologize to her.” “I say we use this trip as a test. See if she’s really good enough for Harry…” I stood frozen outside their tent, a hot, unfamiliar rage building inside me. I’d never been humiliated like this in my life. I was about to charge in there and give them a piece of my mind when Harry grabbed my arm, pressing a finger to his lips. “Shh.” “Clara, I’ll handle it. You go back to our tent and get some sleep.” Inside our tent, my eyes fell on the wine-red floral dress folded neatly on my sleeping bag. A lump formed in my throat. It had been my mother’s. I’m terrible at keeping things tidy, and since my mom passed away from a sudden illness six months ago, my life had been a chaotic mess. Harry had stepped up, moving in to help, taking care of the laundry, the cooking, the cleaning—everything. He’d held me through countless nights of sobbing, promising he would always be my rock. I stroked the soft fabric of the dress. Mom, I thought, am I just overreacting? The night was dark and heavy. I fell into a restless sleep, clutching the dress. In my dreams, I told my mother that I was going to the mountain chapel in two days to light a candle for her, to fulfill her last wish. She stroked my hair, her touch as gentle and peaceful as it had been in life. I was startled awake by the sound of splashing water and male and female voices. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the pale light of dawn. Harry’s sleeping bag was still perfectly made, untouched. Confused, I walked down to the small mountain spring where everyone was washing up. Harry and his friends were already there. I noticed, oddly, that he was wearing a high-collared shirt. Before I could ask, Jessica sidled up next to me, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Morning, Clara. Sleep well?” I met her defiant gaze, not wanting to start my day with a fight. I gave her a noncommittal grunt. “Guess you slept great,” she continued, leaning closer. “Didn’t even notice someone was missing from your tent all night?” A thick, cloying mint smell wafted from her. I shot her a look of pure disgust and, as I did, I saw it: a dark, angry-red hickey, nestled deep in the curve of her neck. Jessica’s lips curved into a triumphant smirk. She tossed her long, wavy hair over her shoulder. “Who do you think you are? You think a few years with Harry gives you some kind of claim on him? I’ve known him since we were kids, and I’ve never seen him let a woman boss him around like this. He actually turned down drinks with us, multiple times, for you.” “This trip was to show you something,” she hissed, her face now inches from mine. “For Harry, girlfriends can come and go. But I am the most important person in his life. Period.” Her face was so close I could see the thick foundation caked in the lines of her distorted expression. This was pathetic. I took a step back, trying to create some distance. But she lunged, grabbing my arm. She pulled down the collar of her own shirt, her eyes wild with a crazed glee. “Take a good look. Harry gave me this last night. We slept very, very soundly.” “You’re insane!” I yelled, ripping my arm away. Her long, sharp nails scraped down my skin, leaving four raw, bleeding scratches. She raised an eyebrow, then deliberately stumbled backward, falling into the shallow spring with a loud splash. The sound drew everyone’s attention, including Harry’s. He was at her side in an instant, instinctively helping her up. “What is it now?” he asked, his voice edged with annoyance as he shot a frustrated look at me. Jessica, her clothes soaked, huddled in his arms, her eyes welling with tears. “Harry, don’t be mad,” she sobbed. “I was just talking to Clara. I wanted to apologize for last night, but I guess I just made her angry again. You know me, I never think before I speak…” Harry sighed heavily. When I remained silent, his expression softened. He walked towards me, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. “Clara, we’re all here to have a good time. I know you’ve been struggling since your mom… and I hoped this trip would help you relax. Can we please not fight over every little thing?” He looked at me, his eyes pleading. “These are my oldest friends, Clara. I really want the person I love to get along with the people I care about. I told you last night, Jessica has always been like this, but she has a good heart. Once you get to know her, you’ll see.” The ever-observant man who noticed a loose shoelace from across a room somehow failed to see the bright red gashes on my arm. All I could feel from him was a desperate need to smooth things over, to make the problem go away. A wave of revulsion washed over me. I pulled away from his touch, and as I did, my eyes caught a flash of pinkish-red peeking out from under the collar of his shirt. A mark that matched Jessica’s. The retort on the tip of my tongue died. All I felt was a cold, stunning sense of relief. My mother’s last wish… maybe it wasn’t just about lighting a candle. Maybe it was about this. About finally seeing Harry for who he really was. I was done fighting. “A-achoo!” Jessica sneezed twice, theatrically. Harry’s attention snapped back to her. “Are you cold?” he asked gently. “It’s nothing, Harry. As long as you and Clara make up, I’ll be fine. You know how tough I am. A little water won’t hurt me. Cough, cough.” I had to look away. Another second of her performance and I would have thrown up. Harry, meanwhile, was the picture of concern, pulling out a tissue and dabbing her face. “You’re coughing. Of course it’s not nothing.” He turned to me. “Clara, you’re the one who pushed her in. Their tents are already packed up. Let Jessica use our tent to change into some dry clothes.” Before I could even respond, he was holding the tent flap open for her. A moment later, Jessica’s voice floated out. “Wow, Harry, this dress of Clara’s looks so old-fashioned, but it’s actually kind of pretty on.” A cold dread washed over me. I burst into the tent. She was wearing my mother’s dress. She feigned surprise, then smiled. “Oh, hi, Clara. We’re about the same size, aren’t we? It fits me perfectly.” “Take it off,” I said, my voice dangerously low. Jessica just rolled her eyes and started fumbling with the zipper on the back. “Make me. What are you gonna do about it?” My head was pounding. “Jessica, I don’t care what you and Harry have going on. Take. That. Dress. Off. Now. Or I swear, you’ll regret it.” She ignored me, calling out, “Harry, sweetie, can you come help me with this zipper? I can’t reach.” I didn’t say another word. I slapped her. Twice. Hard. “Take it off! This is your last chance!” My hand was trembling from the force. Suddenly, I was shoved violently from behind. I stumbled and fell to the ground as the rest of the group crowded around the tent opening. Harry didn’t help me up. He just looked down at me, the same disgusted expression on his face as the others. “Harry, you need to control your girlfriend! We’ve been putting up with her all weekend, and now she’s physically attacking people!” “Yeah, look at Jessica’s face! It’s all red!” “Harry, we get it, you’re whipped, but there’s a limit! Jessica’s your best friend! How could you let this happen?” As if to prove a point, Harry hauled me roughly to my feet. “Clara, what the hell is wrong with you?” he shouted. “Ever since your mother died, I have bent over backwards for you. I’ve ignored my friends, I’ve let them be insulted, all to cater to your moods. I thought this trip would help, that you’d all finally connect, but I guess I was wrong.” Tears streamed down my face. “Harry, look what she’s wearing!” He sighed, exasperated. “So she’s wearing your mother’s dress! That doesn’t give you the right to hit her! She didn’t know. You could have just asked her to take it off. Why do you have to make such a big deal out of everything?” I was speechless. Before I could respond, Jessica shrieked. “What? This is a dead person’s dress? Oh my god, that’s so gross! Clara, are you a psycho? Who brings a dead person’s clothes on a camping trip?” She turned to Harry. “Harry, get this zipper undone! I thought it was something special, but who would want to wear this thing?” I lunged forward to stop her from ripping it. RRRRIP. The sound of tearing fabric echoed in the small tent. The back of the dress was shredded, exposing Jessica’s bare back. “Wow, what a piece of junk,” she sneered. “Barely touched it and it fell apart. Harry, don’t look! This is so embarrassing.” A white-hot rage, purer than anything I had ever felt, consumed me. The veins in my neck stood out. “Jessica! I am going to kill you!” Harry grabbed me, pinning my arms to my sides. He shot a look at Jessica, signaling for her to leave. She pouted. “Harry, can’t you even handle your own woman?” In the struggle, a sharp slap landed across my face. Harry looked at me, his eyes full of exhaustion. “Clara, just stop. Please. It’s just a dress. I’ll have Jessica pay for it, okay? Why do you have to be so aggressive?” “Maybe I’ve been too lenient with you,” he said, his voice weary. “People’s patience has limits, Clara. I’m just… I’m tired.” “You need to cool off. By yourself.” He took off the jacket he’d put on me the night before and wrapped it around Jessica’s shoulders. He put a protective arm around her and led her away. The noisy tent fell silent. The only thing I could feel was the burning sting on my cheek, a fiery reminder that this was real. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. Harry, I was so blind. We are so over. Outside, Harry lit another cigarette. “There you go, Harry. Don’t look so down. This is a good chance to teach her a lesson. Otherwise, she’ll be completely out of control,” one of his friends said. Jessica plucked the cigarette from Harry’s lips and put it in her own. “Exactly. Look at what she’s done to our boy.” “Come on, I’ll help you find something else to wear, and then let’s go hit the sights.” Harry glanced back at my tent and sighed. Fine. Leaving me alone for a day wouldn’t kill me. We were in the middle of nowhere; it wasn’t like I could go far. Besides, we still had to go to the chapel tomorrow to fulfill my mom’s wish. He’d talk to me then, smooth things over. As for the dress, a good tailor could fix it. Reassured, he agreed, his mood lifting slightly. He turned to Jessica. “You okay? That must have been scary. Clara was really close to her mom. She hasn’t been the same since she died. That’s why she reacted so badly.” Jessica blew a smoke ring, draping her arm over his shoulder. “It’s whatever. I was just worried about you. Women are so emotional. I don’t know how you put up with it.” Harry poked her nose playfully. “You’re a woman, too.” “Yeah,” she said with a grin. “But I’m also your best bro.” That evening, Harry returned to the tent carrying a takeout container. “Clara? You must be starving. I brought you some food.” Silence. He raised his voice. “Are you still mad? Jessica’s not even mad at you anymore. Don’t be so petty.” Still no answer. A knot of unease tightened in his stomach. He ripped open the tent flap. It was empty. Jessica wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. “Relax. It’s stuffy in there. She probably just went for a walk. She’ll be back.” Harry checked his phone. No messages from me. A jolt of real panic shot through him. I always told him where I was going. Always. Today, his phone was silent. Jessica saw his expression and teased, “See? It’s always the girlfriend. You’re the worst when it comes to choosing chicks over your friends.” “Come on, Harry,” another friend chimed in. “Since she’s gone, the four of us can play some poker.” Harry reluctantly agreed, but his mind wasn’t on the game. Where had I gone? After two hands, he couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed his jacket and headed out. Jessica grabbed his arm, pouting. “Harry, if you leave us now, I’m never speaking to you again.” He shook her off and walked out into the moonlight. He dialed my number. A cold, automated voice answered. A wave of pure terror washed over him. He was afraid, guilty, filled with a sickening regret for leaving me alone out here. The more it went to voicemail, the more frantic he became, dialing the number he knew by heart over and over again. “Clara, where are you?”

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In the garden, trimming roses in the humid air, I saw my husband Paul order his men to release ten thousand hornets into our daughter’s playroom. He had the staff lock the door and seal the windows. Panic seized me—I dropped my shears and ran to him, voice trembling. “She’s in there! Open the door!” His face was cold, eyes cruel. “So it’s true. You only care when it’s your own child. When Joy was stung yesterday, you showed no concern.” “If you can’t love her as your own,” he growled, “I’ll teach you empathy.” I understood: this was revenge for his old flame’s daughter. Three days ago, Vivian—the woman he’d loved and lost—reappeared after seven years with six-year-old twins. She’d slapped a paternity test on the table and said, “I just want my children to know their father.” Yesterday, while I gardened, Joy was stung by a hornet. I hadn’t known until evening. Now Vivian stood beside Paul, smirking smugly. I said nothing more. After all, it wasn’t my daughter in that room. Let them vent their anger. 1 “I’ve arranged a press conference,” Paul commanded, his face grim and unyielding. “You will issue a formal, public apology to Joy. The draft must be no less than ten thousand words. Bring it to me for approval when you’re done.” In our six years of marriage, he had never once looked at me with such contempt. Before Vivian’s return, he had always been gentle, his voice a soft murmur, never raised in anger. Just three days ago, he had sworn to me, “I only want to fulfill my duties as a father, to give them the love they deserve. It means nothing else.” How quickly that promise had shattered. On the third day, for the sake of Vivian’s child, he was ready to torture our own daughter to death. Vivian feigned a conciliatory tone. “Paul, let it go. You can’t expect a stepmother to love a child like her own mother would.” She sighed dramatically, adding, “Your parents already dislike me. It’s fine if the children and I have to endure a little hardship.” As she spoke, she squeezed out a few crocodile tears, dabbing at her eyes with a delicate hand. Her poison worked. Paul’s expression softened into guilt and adoration as he comforted her. “I’m sorry, Vivian. You and the girls have suffered the moment you returned. Don’t worry. From now on, I am your rock. No one will ever hurt you again.” As he spoke, a desperate, heart-wrenching cry echoed from the playroom, barely audible over the hellish drone of the hornets. “Help me… please, let me out… help!” The buzz of a single hornet is small, but the sound of ten thousand was a deafening, terrifying roar. It distorted the child’s voice, making it sound strained and unfamiliar. A wave of dread washed over me, but I forced myself to speak. “I’ll write the speech. Just let the child out. That’s Felicity in there. Don’t let this go too far.” In my heart, I had already decided. That speech would not be an apology. It would be my declaration of divorce. “Felicity is watching TV with Joy inside the main house, Nina. I know you’re desperate to protect your daughter, but you don’t have to lie,” Vivian said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Besides, they’re just hornets. They can’t kill anyone. Joy was stung yesterday, and she was fine.” Her words snuffed out the flicker of doubt in Paul’s eyes. His face hardened, his anger flaring anew. “Nina! You still show no remorse. And now you’re lying to my face! No wonder Joy and Felicity said Elara doesn’t like them. It’s all your influence! She needs to be taught a lesson today, or she’ll never learn to respect her older sisters!” He spun around and barked at a staff member, “Throw a pen and notebook in there. She is to write a five-thousand-word apology. She’s not coming out until it’s finished!” The butler, looking horrified, dared to protest. “Sir, the young miss is only five. She’s just learning her letters… I don’t think she can…” Vivian shot the butler a look so venomous it could have killed, then turned back to Paul, her expression melting back into one of sweet reason. “She can sound it out, letter by letter. It’s actually good for her. Think of it as practice.” Her words were all the justification Paul needed. He repeated his command without hesitation. “Tell her she can sound it out, but she will produce five thousand words.” The butler, covering his ears against the horrifying sound from within, tossed the supplies through a small window slot and shouted through a megaphone, “Young Miss, Mr. Ashford says you are to write a five-thousand-word apology by sounding out the words. You cannot come out until you are done.” The door rattled violently as the child inside threw her small body against it. Her voice was raw, shredded with terror. “Let me out… I’m going to die in here… Please, let me out… HELP!” From our vantage point in the glass-walled tea pavilion, the sound was muffled but clear—the desperate cries of a little girl swallowed by the monstrous hum of insects. Even Vivian, the child’s own mother, didn’t recognize the voice of her daughter in that chorus of terror. Seeing me standing there silently, Vivian nudged Paul. “Since Elara is writing the apology, perhaps Nina doesn’t have to? I just hope she’ll stop taking her anger out on my daughters in the future.” She then launched into a piteous monologue. “I’ve been such an inadequate mother, letting my children suffer with me all these years. When they misbehaved, I used to make them write apology letters under the hot sun. That’s how they became so well-behaved. I’m just so grateful they can finally be part of the Ashford family.” Paul was clearly inspired. The more his heart ached for Vivian, the more his fury was directed at me. He turned, his voice like ice. “You. Go stand in the sun and write your ten-thousand-word confession.” The pavilion was a pleasant 75 degrees. Outside, the summer sun beat down with a punishing heat of 108 degrees. It was the hottest part of the day. A cold, bitter laugh escaped my lips. I felt something inside me shatter. My reaction clearly infuriated Vivian. “Nina, you know better than anyone why I had to leave all those years ago, why I let Paul misunderstand me for so long,” she spat, her voice rising. “I’ve been patient, but if you have a problem, direct it at me. The children are innocent. I’m begging you, please, don’t hurt my children!” I stared at her, utterly bewildered. Seven years ago, when the Ashford family business had collapsed, she was the one who fled overnight for greener pastures abroad. Paul himself had told me. What in God’s name was she talking about? Paul wrapped a protective arm around her, glaring at me. “For a woman like you, writing a confession in the sun is getting off easy! If Vivian hadn’t pleaded for you, I wouldn’t be letting this go so lightly!” My heart turned to stone. I met his gaze. “A woman like me?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. “Fine. If that’s how you feel, let’s get a divorce. Isn’t that what you’ve been pushing for this whole time?” Vivian jumped in. “Nina, neither of us wants that. You know Paul’s parents would never agree. You’re the one who made a mistake, so why do you always use his parents to pressure us?” My eyes narrowed. She had a real talent for twisting the narrative. “He’s not the one ending this. I am,” I said, my voice sharp and clear. “I want the divorce. And if his parents ask, I’ll tell them it was my decision.” Paul’s brow furrowed. “You’d rather get a divorce than write a simple apology?” “Yes.” His frown deepened, a look of disbelief on his face. Then, a slow, cruel smile spread across his lips, as if a great weight had been lifted. “You said it, not me! Don’t you dare blame me for this.” He nodded curtly. “I agree. But if you want me to sign the papers now, you’ll still write that ten-thousand-word apology. You owe that to Vivian and her daughters.” I ground my teeth, unable to believe this was the same man who once swore he’d love me until his dying breath. He was already calling his lawyer, ordering him to draw up the papers, while a staff member brought me a pen and a clipboard. I snatched them and hurled them straight at his face. “Paul, you’re the one who owes me! I don’t owe anyone a damn thing. Don’t push me, or you’ll be the one to regret it!” He flinched, his eyes squeezed shut as the clipboard struck his nose, leaving an angry red mark. His eyes snapped open, blazing with rage. Vivian gasped and pushed me. “How could you hit him!” she cried, then immediately turned to coo over Paul, gently blowing on his nose. “Does it hurt? Let me make it better. You always loved it when I did this.” Just then, the butler rushed over, his face pale with anxiety. “Mr. Ashford, something’s wrong with the young miss. She’s saying she’s been stung badly, that she’s dying. Should we… should we open the door?” Fearing Paul might soften, Vivian interjected immediately. “Oh, children that age love to play make-believe. One minute they’re playing house, the next they’re pretending to be dead. It’s just a phase.” She paused, then asked pointedly, “Does Elara lie often? I’ve read that some children pretend to be hurt to avoid punishment when they’ve done something wrong.” Paul frowned in thought. “Elara never used to lie. But since Joy and Felicity arrived, she’s lied several times.” “Then she’s definitely faking it,” Vivian declared with certainty. “You have to be strict with children from a young age, or they’ll be impossible to manage when they’re older!” Paul bought it completely. His resolve hardened. “Ignore her,” he told the butler. “Don’t let her out until she’s written five thousand words.” The butler gathered his courage. “Sir, the voice inside… it doesn’t sound like Miss Elara. I believe she had her tutoring session this afternoon. She isn’t home from it yet.” Vivian sneered at him. “My, what a loyal servant. Always ready with an excuse for his little mistress.” “Miss Vivian, I’m only speaking the truth,” the butler said, his voice pleading. “The truth?” she scoffed. She pulled out her phone, dialed a number, and put it on speaker. A moment later, a child’s voice answered. “Mommy?” “Joy, sweetie, where’s your sister?” “Felicity is sleeping. She just fell asleep.” “Okay, honey. You two be good. Daddy and I will be home soon.” Vivian hung up and shot a triumphant look at the butler, then at me. “So much for your excuses.” Paul turned his glare on me. “Elara learned this from you! This constant lying!” I just laughed. You can’t reason with the willingly blind. My laughter seemed to enrage Vivian even more. She turned to Paul, goading him. “Nina, your daughter is being tormented by hornets, and you’re laughing? Are you even a mother? You don’t even care about your own child, so how could you ever care for mine? I never knew you were so heartless.” Paul looked at me with profound disappointment. “Nina, you don’t deserve to be my daughter’s mother. You’ve let me down completely.” “Then divorce me!” I shot back. “That way, you won’t have to worry about me being cruel to Vivian’s precious daughters anymore!” The lawyer arrived. “Mr. Ashford,” he asked respectfully, “what are the terms of the settlement?” Paul didn’t even look at me. “Give her five hundred thousand. I get full custody. No visitation rights.” Five hundred thousand dollars? From the Ashford fortune? The earrings I was wearing were worth more than that. He was tossing me out like trash. “I don’t agree,” I said, my voice cold. “I get our daughter. As for the assets, you have no right to divide them.” When the Ashford empire had crumbled years ago, it was my family’s money and my work alongside him that had rebuilt it. He let out a bitter laugh. “You, a mother? Don’t you forget, my father is still the head of this family. He controls the assets, not you.” “If you want my signature, Elara comes with me!” Vivian, eager to take my place, whispered to him, “Just sign it, Paul. If Elara stays, I’m afraid her bad influence will corrupt Joy and Felicity. And don’t give her a cent. For years, she’s lived off you, worn your clothes, stayed in your house. She’s taken enough. Just have your men hold her down and force her to sign.” At this point, her word was his law. “Hold her,” he ordered two of his bodyguards. “Make her sign.” Two colossal men grabbed my arms, their grip like iron vices. I was a puppet, my hand forced to scrawl my name on the divorce papers. But I felt no panic. Only a cold, burning resolve. I had helped him rise from the ashes once. I could just as easily turn him back into dust. Vivian gave me a victorious smirk. She then turned to the staff, feigning concern. “Hasn’t Miss Elara finished her five thousand words yet?” “No, ma’am,” the butler replied grimly. “She hasn’t written anything. She’s lying on the floor. I think… I think she’s been stung quite badly.” “That child is so spoiled,” Vivian tut-tutted. “She’s probably just enjoying the air conditioning and playing games with the hornets.” Paul, led by the nose, commanded, “Turn off the air conditioning in that room!” “Sir.” In 108-degree heat, with no air conditioning, trapped with ten thousand hornets… that child wouldn’t last long. But Vivian wasn’t done. “Like mother, like daughter,” she muttered. “The mother refuses to write an apology, and so does the daughter. It’s uncanny.” That was the last straw for Paul. He strode towards me, his voice a low, vicious threat. “I’m giving you one last chance. Write the apology, or I will destroy your family. I’ll have your parents thrown in jail and your brother’s company bankrupted. You know I can do it.” I just snorted. “Go ahead. Do your worst, you ungrateful bastard.” His eyes narrowed. He pulled out his phone, his voice filled with venom as he spoke to someone on the other end. “Crush the Sterling family. I want them ruined.” I looked at him with pity. Did he really think he was so powerful? That he could touch my family? A few good years had clearly made him forget who he really was. Two hours later, right on schedule, I finally heard the sound I had been waiting for. From the long driveway, a sweet, cheerful voice called out, “Mommy! Daddy! I’m home from my lessons!”

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My childhood friend, Terry, was a man of insatiable appetites. Every time we were together, it was an inferno, a storm of passion that left me breathless. He looked at me like he wanted to devour me whole. I once posted on an anonymous forum, asking, “Is this kind of intensity normal?” The comments flooded in. “Normal? Girl, you hit the jackpot!” and “Damn, talk about eating good!” Then my mother started breathing down my neck about marriage. So, one day, lying in the afterglow of our lovemaking, I casually suggested bringing him home to meet my parents. A slow, careless smile spread across Terry’s face. “Sylvie,” he said, his voice husky with satisfaction, “I have a girlfriend.” “She comes from a very old-money, traditional family. Her grandfather passed away, and their family has this… archaic three-year mourning period. I’m not allowed to touch her. That’s where you came in.” 1 It felt like I’d been plunged into an icy abyss. For a moment, I was sure I’d misheard him. But Terry wasn’t finished. His voice was a lazy, contented drawl. “So, why the sudden urge to meet the parents? You always said you’d never get married. That’s why I picked you to fill the gap. We’re childhood friends. We know everything about each other. It was a perfect arrangement for three years.” He sounded cheerful, almost relieved. “The good news is, her mourning period officially ends tomorrow. It’s like I’ve finally seen the sun after a long storm. I won’t be needing you to keep me company anymore.” Not a shred of guilt. Not a hint of remorse. A sharp, searing pain shot through my heart. My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging so deep into my palms that the skin turned white. I couldn’t feel a thing. I felt like a ghost, my voice hollow as I looked at him. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me you had a girlfriend?” “Because it wasn’t necessary,” he said with a shrug. “We were just convenient lovers, a three-year fling. Nothing more.” He reached out to ruffle my hair, his tone softening into something he probably thought was kind. “Don’t worry, Sylvie. I know how much you despise the ‘other woman.’ I would never, ever put you in that position.” He was right. The one thing I despise most in this world is the ‘other woman.’ A home-wrecker had destroyed my family. When I was ten, my father’s affair came to light, and our home was never peaceful again. My parents screamed at each other daily, hurling the most venomous insults they could conjure, treating each other like mortal enemies they wished they could tear to shreds. Every time, as I huddled in a corner, trembling and crying, it was Terry who came to my rescue. He knew my deepest wounds better than anyone. “I told my girlfriend about you from the day we first slept together,” he continued, as if that made everything okay. “I wouldn’t just sleep with a random woman without her permission, would I? I’m a loyal guy. She knows you exist.” He cupped my face in his hands, his dark, intoxicating eyes locking onto mine, reflecting only me. Everyone always said that a man with eyes like his could look at a stray dog with a soulful passion. And for three years, I had been completely mesmerized by them, foolishly believing he loved me. Now that the truth was out, our entire relationship felt like a sick, ugly joke. “So you see, Sylvie,” he whispered, trying to soothe me, “you’re really not the other woman.” His gaze began to smolder again. His fingers slid from my cheek down to my bare shoulder, tracing a dangerously familiar path. “How about one more time? For old times’ sake, Sylvie.” Something inside me snapped. I shoved him away with all my might. I scrambled off the bed, stumbling and falling, my forehead cracking against the sharp corner of the nightstand with a loud, sickening thud. “Sylvie! Are you okay?” Terry shot up, reaching for me. A throbbing pain exploded from my forehead, but the agony in my heart was a thousand times worse. Clutching my head, my voice choked with tears. “Don’t you dare come near me!” To my surprise, he stopped. He stood there, his lean, powerful torso bare, a look of confusion and irritation clouding his handsome features. I pulled myself up from the floor, threw on my clothes in a blind panic, and fled his apartment. 2 I arrived home in a daze. When I opened the door, my mother was sitting on the sofa like a perfect wax figure, her beautiful face a mask of indifference. Her eyes, when they landed on me, held no warmth at all. “Weren’t you supposed to be bringing a boyfriend home for me to meet? Where is he?” I said nothing. Lately, she’d been relentless about me getting married. For years, she and my father had been locked in a bitter war of attrition, a toxic dance of mutual destruction. The only thing that kept her going was her iron-willed determination that the company would never fall into the hands of his mistress and illegitimate children. Even though I had already proven myself and secured a strong position within the company, she wasn’t satisfied. She wanted the security of a strategic marriage alliance. I used to think I was so lucky that the man I loved was Terry. The Sterling and Blackwood families were social equals; our marriage would have been a perfect match, celebrated by all. That morning, backed into a corner by her incessant pressure, I had finally told her I had a boyfriend and would bring him home tonight. She had only given a cold, curt nod. And now, here I was, alone. The answer was obvious. “He’s not my boyfriend anymore,” I said, my voice unnervingly calm. She didn’t seem surprised, nor did she ask for details. Instead, she handed me a stack of glossy portfolios. “These are the most eligible bachelors in our circle. Family, character, looks—they have it all. Pick one you can stand to look at.” The day’s events had drained every last ounce of my strength. I had no energy to argue with her. I pulled a file at random from the stack and handed it back. “This one.” My mother glanced down at it. “Fine. I’ll make the arrangements.” My body felt like it was filled with lead as I dragged myself upstairs. A few minutes later, Mrs. Gable, our housekeeper, knocked on my door with a jar of ointment. “Miss Sylvie, your mother asked me to help you with your forehead.” Her voice was gentle. “She also told me to tell you… that there’s no pain that time can’t heal. Cry if you need to, laugh when you can, but don’t torture yourself. In this world, only money and power are real. Love is just smoke.” I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My face was pale and drawn. A grotesque, swollen red lump pulsed on my forehead. I looked like a pathetic clown. The tears I had been holding back all night finally broke free, streaming down my face in hot, silent rivers. Cry, I told myself. This is the last time you’ll cry over him. Let everything that happened yesterday die with yesterday. Today is a new beginning. 3 In the weeks that followed, I blocked Terry on everything and threw myself into my work. It was surprisingly effective; I almost managed to forget he existed. Until I received a message from his girlfriend. She wanted to meet. My first instinct was to refuse. But a sliver of guilt, sharp and unwelcome, pricked at my conscience. You really shouldn’t do things that weigh on you. Even though I was the victim in this twisted drama, even though I had unknowingly been involved with her and Terry for three years, I still felt a sense of shame toward this woman I had never met. We met at The Serene Garden, a restaurant built into an exquisite, traditional estate. I pushed open the door to the private room and saw her. She wore a simple, elegant silk dress in a muted color, her long, straight black hair pinned up with a single jade pin. Her face was a little pale, but it couldn’t hide her delicate beauty. She was like a figure from an ancient painting, serene and timeless. She offered me a small smile. “Miss Sterling. I’m Clarissa. Please, have a seat.” I sat opposite her in silence. Growing up, I’d seen my mother confront my father’s mistresses countless times. Some encounters were simmering with restrained fury, others exploded into hysterical screaming matches. But none were ever like this. It was unnervingly calm. Clarissa rose and poured me a cup of tea, pushing it gently across the table. Her smile was warm. “This tea is exceptional. It leaves a wonderful fragrance. You should try it, Miss Sterling.” I drank it like an automaton, then set the cup down. “Miss Crawford, I’m sorry,” I said, my voice flat. “I never intended to come between you and Terry. When we were together, I believed he was single. I had no idea he had a girlfriend.” A faint smile touched her lips. “It’s alright. Terry told me everything from the start. I don’t mind.” So, Terry had been telling the truth. Their relationship had her blessing. The whole situation was so grotesque, so utterly absurd, it made my stomach turn. I felt like a monkey in a cage, toyed with by the two of them for their own amusement. “You may not mind, but I do!” I snapped, my composure finally cracking. “If you had just given me a heads-up three years ago, I would have kicked him to the curb instantly! I never would have wasted three years on him! What kind of sick mindset do you have, letting your boyfriend sleep with another woman? Do you have some kind of cuckold fetish?” Clarissa looked at me, her expression as placid as ever, her posture exuding the untouchable grace of a highborn lady from a forgotten era. “My family, the Crawfords, have been prominent since the Gilded Age. It was once common for a bride to bring her handmaidens into a marriage. You’ve simply been fulfilling a similar, modern-day role. Why should that be of any concern?” Her words struck me dumb. “Terry has… strong physical needs,” she continued, “and with my grandfather’s passing, I had to observe a period of abstinence. I couldn’t bear to see him suffer. You were there to help him. Wasn’t that mutually beneficial?” I stared at her, utterly shocked. I couldn’t believe that in the twenty-first century, someone with such a twisted, archaic worldview still existed. Clarissa lowered her eyes and took a sip of her tea, her voice a soft, unhurried murmur. “Sylvie, Terry has told me a lot about you. You grew up together. Your home was broken, but his was warm and happy, so you were always there. His parents adore you. You’ve been in love with him since you were a child, dreaming of marrying into the Blackwood family and finally belonging somewhere—” “Get to the point,” I cut in, my hands clenching under the table. “What do you want?” She smiled, dabbing her lips with a delicate handkerchief before letting out a soft cough. “Miss Sterling, let’s make a deal. I have a heart condition, and my health isn’t the best. I would like you to continue your physical relationship with Terry, to help him with his… needs. In exchange, the Crawford family will intervene on your behalf. We’ll help you sideline your father, deal with his illegitimate children, and place the entirety of Sterling Industries firmly in your hands. What do you say?” I shot to my feet, my chair scraping harshly against the floor. “You’re insane!” I turned and stormed out. But I didn’t get more than two steps before my knees buckled. A searing heat, a maddening itch, began to uncoil deep inside me, and my whole body felt like it was on fire. I whipped my head around to face her, my voice a venomous hiss. “You drugged the tea?”

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1 My four-month-old niece was choking, milk flooding her lungs. She was rushed to the ER. The first person my mother called… was me. Her voice was laced with guilt, each word careful, as if to avoid wounding me. “Honey… Rosie… she’s not going to make it. Do you want to come say goodbye?” It was three in the morning. Darkness draped the world, wind rattling the trees—a sound that chilled me. I didn’t understand my mother’s tone, but the urgency shook me awake. My husband Mark and I threw on clothes and raced to the hospital. Outside the ICU, the scene felt surreal. My sister-in-law Jenna touched up her lipstick casually, like she’d been out clubbing. My brother Kevin held a critical condition report with his daughter’s name, yet shrugged and decided to stop treatment. “She’s a burden,” he said. “Keeping her alive is wasting money. Let it go. I don’t want to save her.” Mark shot me a confused look. “Four months ago, she was everything to them. Now she’s a ‘burden’?” I sighed, bitterness washing over me. “It’s simple, Mark. They think that baby is ours.” Jenna finished applying a fresh coat of crimson to her lips and shot me a look of pure contempt. A smug smile played on her face, a silent declaration of some secret victory. When she spoke of Rosie, her voice dripped with a sick sort of pleasure. “Just a girl,” she sneered. “If she dies now, at least she’ll save the family some money. It’s not easy making a living these days, you know?” She added, “Born unlucky. What can you do?” My mother shot her a sharp, warning glare, then turned to Mark and me, her expression cautious. “You two… do you want to go in and see her? This might be the last time.” Mark’s hand tightened on my sleeve, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead. “Mom, if anyone should see her, it should be her own parents, right? Why are you asking Pathy and me first?” In my last life, my mother had asked the exact same question. Back then, I was so overwhelmed by the sudden tragedy, so consumed with worry for the baby in the ICU, that I didn’t notice the strangeness in her words. Instead, I pleaded with my brother, Kevin, to keep fighting for her. “If it’s about the money, I can pay for it! Rosie was perfectly healthy yesterday, how could this have happened?” I’d cried. “Please, just try everything! There might still be a chance. This is a life we’re talking about!” A look of profound sadness crossed my mother’s face then. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she slapped herself, hard. “I’m so sorry, Pathy,” she sobbed. “It’s all my fault. I didn’t burp her properly after her feeding… she must have choked. I was so tired, I just fell asleep for a second, and when I woke up, her face was blue. I wish it were me in there! I’d trade my life for hers in a heartbeat!” In my past life, I couldn’t understand why she was apologizing to me. The baby in that room was Jenna’s daughter. Jenna and Kevin sat on a long, blue bench down the hall, completely unfazed by my mother’s dramatic display. They were scrolling through TikTok, the tinny music from a dance video loud enough to drown out her sobs. The atmosphere was bizarre, surreal. The sharp scent of antiseptic burned my nostrils. Nurses and doctors rushed back and forth, their faces grim. Through the glass window of the ICU, I could see Rosie’s tiny body, a fragile doll entangled in a web of tubes. My heart clenched. I couldn’t let them give up. I pulled my bank card from my wallet and handed it to Mark. “Go, deposit fifty thousand dollars into her hospital account. Now.” But the moment my mother saw the card, her expression changed. She threw up a hand to stop us. “No! That money is for your little Peanut! You save that for her future.” I was baffled. Just a moment ago, she was saying she’d die for Rosie. Now, her tears were gone, her face a mask. She wouldn’t even let us spend money to save the baby’s life. Was fifty thousand dollars really more valuable than Rosie’s life? At a moment of life and death, her sudden clarity about whose money was whose felt deeply, horribly wrong. But I couldn’t bring myself to question her in front of my brother. Our daughter, Peanut, and their daughter, Rosie, were born just minutes apart in the same hospital. After that, my mother was constantly at our house, always cooing over the babies. As a mother myself, I knew the gut-wrenching pain of seeing a child suffer. I had hoped that the sight of the money would convince Kevin and Jenna to change their minds. But their response was eerily identical to my mother’s. Kevin clicked his tongue. “That little brat isn’t worth my sister’s money. That cash is for Peanut.” Jenna’s face, when she saw my bank card, turned even paler than it had been when she first heard Rosie was dying. “Such a waste,” she murmured, her eyes fixed on the card. “All that money on her… what a complete waste.” I didn’t know it then, but the baby lying in that room, the one they were so willing to discard, was my own daughter. The daughter I had fought for through a grueling labor and an emergency C-section, a battle that had taken me to the edge of death and back. That child, dismissed and abandoned on the brink of death, was the one who should have been my precious Peanut. From the moment she was admitted to the moment she took her last breath and left this cruel world, Mark and I never got to hold her. We never got to call her our darling, never got to press her tiny forehead against our cheeks and feel the warmth of her skin. Her helpless little body was just a canvas for tubes and wires, lying silently on a sterile pediatric bed. That image replayed in my mind a million times. Until I was reborn, I could never let it go. In my past life, my mother, brother, and sister-in-law had planned it all from the beginning. They would swap their baby with mine and have me raise her. It was my mother’s idea. “Your sister married well, and she’s successful herself,” she’d told them. “If you give her your child to raise, the baby will have the best of everything—the best education, the best opportunities. And she’ll inherit everything. Think about it. Your retirement will be completely secure.” Jenna had grinned from ear to ear, her mind filled with images of my closet full of Louis Vuitton bags. She agreed instantly. Kevin, smug at the thought of someone else raising his child, didn’t even bother to learn the first thing about caring for a newborn. “I’m the only son,” he’d declared, picking up his phone to start a game. “It’s my sister’s duty to help raise my kid.” With everyone on board, my mother had kicked back, grabbing a handful of snacks from the table and turning on the TV. “Besides,” she’d said casually, “your sister will have nannies for her baby. Our little one… we’ll just have to make do.” It was that reckless indifference that led to my daughter choking on milk in their care. Not long after they gave up on the rescue effort that day, the baby died. A doctor, his face full of pity, wrapped her in a white receiving blanket and brought her out to the family. But my mother recoiled, calling a dead baby “bad luck.” She stood frozen, refusing to take her. Kevin and Jenna had already called a cab and left. Just like that, my daughter was abandoned, alone in that cold, empty hospital. Their heartlessness disgusted me, but I felt powerless. What could I do? They were their own family. In my past life, I told myself that even though I wasn’t her mother, we shared blood, a connection. So, with Mark’s encouragement, I stepped forward and took the poor, tiny bundle from the doctor’s arms. I didn’t know that it would be the first and the last time I would ever hold my own child. From the cremation to the burial, my brother’s family never showed up. They never contributed a dime. Mark, though confused, tried to comfort me. “It’s okay, we’ll handle it. Maybe… maybe they’re just so heartbroken they’re pretending it never happened.” He sighed. “I can’t stop thinking about her. Taking care of this myself… it gives me some peace.” I convinced myself he was right and arranged everything perfectly. But every time I saw that tiny, black casket, I felt a piece of me had been carved out, leaving a hollow, aching void. I didn’t know what it was, but something had been stolen from my very soul. I couldn’t bear to look. The thought of that poor baby brought on endless fits of weeping. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. I grew thinner and thinner, a ghost haunting my own life. Mark worried I had postpartum depression and took me to a therapist, which helped, but the wound never truly healed. What I never expected was how doting Kevin and Jenna were to our daughter, Peanut. Over the years, they showered her with affection, spoiling her even more than I did. They bought her anything she wanted, things they would never dream of buying for themselves. And as Peanut grew, she started to look more and more like Jenna. Especially her eyes. Mark and I both have double eyelids, but Jenna has monolids. So did Peanut. And they had the exact same upward tilt. The ugly thought circled in my mind, a vulture I couldn’t shoo away. “Mark,” I asked one day, “don’t you think… Peanut and Jenna look a little too much alike?” He froze. As he replayed the years in his mind, a chill ran down his spine. “Why have they never had another child?” he murmured. “And they’re always so… intense with Peanut. And their behavior at Rosie’s funeral… it was so cold. Thinking back, none of it makes sense.” He paled. “Just the other day, your brother asked me to sign the deed to the Lakeside Villa over to Peanut. They’re obsessed with making sure she inherits our wealth.” Before we could investigate, it was all over. The day Peanut returned from studying abroad, my brother and sister-in-law held a press conference. On camera, my mother cried hysterically while Jenna dabbed at her eyes. “It’s all my fault,” my mother wailed. “I was changing their diapers when they were babies, and I must have mixed them up! Our Peanut… she’s my son’s biological daughter!” She produced a DNA test—prepared long in advance—and ambushed us with it. Peanut, the daughter we had raised with all our love, clearly knew about it already. She went live on social media, tearfully reuniting with her “real” parents and changing her last name without missing a beat. The story went viral. The headlines praised her as a good girl who hadn’t been corrupted by her adoptive parents’ wealth, a paragon of filial piety. She gained millions of followers overnight. Mark and I were left to weep at a small, lonely grave in a forgotten corner of the cemetery. The truth was, the babies were never even in the same room for my mother to “mix up.” Unless she had done it on purpose. But years had passed. The evidence was gone, buried with the truth. Overnight, Mark’s hair turned gray. I aged a decade, the life force drained out of me. We had raised Peanut for years; we loved her. After the truth came out, we cut off all contact with my family, but we knew the girl herself was innocent in the swap. We didn’t blame her, but she was no longer our daughter. The closeness was gone. But then, at her birth parents’ urging, she came to us, feigning a desire to “reconnect.” She invited us to go hiking. And on a scenic overlook, she shoved us off a cliff with a vicious grin. After our deaths, Peanut inherited our entire fortune and lived happily ever after with her doting, “real” family. A wave of pure hatred jolted me back to the present. I linked my arm through my husband’s, giving him a reassuring squeeze. A soft smile touched my lips as I echoed his earlier question. “You’re right, Mom,” I said sweetly. “If Rosie doesn’t make it, shouldn’t Kevin and Jenna be the ones to say goodbye? They are her parents, after all.” I paused, letting the words hang in the air. “Anyone who didn’t know better might think we were her parents.” I turned to my brother and his wife. “And are you two really sure you don’t want to keep trying to save her?” Jenna’s lip curled in a sneer. “That cursed thing was lucky to live in our house for a few months. No good fortune at all. Choking on milk, of all things.” She laughed, a short, ugly sound. “She either had it coming or was paying for sins from a past life.” Kevin didn’t even look up from his phone. “Yeah, sis, mind your own business. Peanut is safe and sound at home. Just focus on your own kid.” I looked toward the ICU, at the tiny form hooked up to all those machines, and a cold smile spread across my face. It was time to give them a little hint. A slow cut is always the most painful. Why should they get to wait eighteen years for the truth when I could give it to them now? “You know,” I said conversationally, “Rosie is only four months old, but she already looks so much like Jenna. Those monolids are identical. Not like our Peanut. She has double eyelids, just like her dad.” Kevin’s expression froze. A flicker of confusion crossed his face. “That’s not right,” he muttered to himself. “Weren’t both kids already…”

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1 The first time Damian cheated, he brought his mistress to me, eyes red, and said her fate was in my hands. Blindly in love, I forgave his “mistake.” The second time, I had the woman sent abroad with orders never to return. On our engagement night, Damian gripped my throat, a dagger pressed to my stomach. His eyes were wild. “Where’s Lily? She’s pregnant.” “It’s my fault,” he rasped. “I lost control. Punish me, but Lily’s innocent. Let the baby be born safely. I swear I’ll leave her after that.” He whispered desperately, “You’ve always feared childbirth. What if we just have this one baby? Lily’s child. It will know only you as its mother. I vow.” The blade broke my skin, blood soaking my dress. I smiled and told him where to find Lily. The door slammed. Trembling, I dialed a familiar number. “You were right,” I said, shaking. “Help me one more time.” … On the other end of the line, the man cursed under his breath, his tone laced with exasperation. “You couldn’t have called earlier? I’m already on a flight out of the country. What am I supposed to do for you from here?” “Vivian, seriously,” he went on, “you’re one of the smartest women I know. How could you fall for the same man’s act twice? Did you trade all your emotional intelligence for your business sense?” Pressing a hand against the stinging wound on my abdomen, I felt a wave of bitterness wash over me. “I’m sorry. I owe you for this one. Thirty percent off our next joint venture. Is that enough?” There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end, followed by a sudden jolt of interest. “Send me the time and location. I’ll be there.” A beat of silence, then, “And remember me next time you have a business proposition like this. My rates are very reasonable.” I sent the complete wedding plans over to Cole. A single “OK” emoji was his immediate reply. The penthouse we had prepared for our life together had been completely trashed by Damian, a perfect mirror of my own shattered heart. After tending to my wound alone, I stumbled out of the building. I had just checked into a hotel when Damian’s call came through. The roar of a jet engine was loud in the background, but I could still hear the fury simmering beneath his words. “Vivian, I’m on a plane now. I can’t be with you tonight. Get some rest. I’m sorry… I was emotional earlier. I never meant to hurt you.” He paused. “Is it bad? I can have my private doctor come see you—” “Don’t bother,” I cut him off, my voice like ice. His tone hardened instantly. “Vivian, I told you, what happened with Lily was an accident. I was drugged, I thought she was you. It’s done now, and I have to find her. Am I supposed to let a Blackwood heir be born in some foreign country?” “You forgave me once before,” he pressed on. “Why are you making such a scene this time? The wedding is in a week. You need to calm down.” Staring at my chat history with Cole, I spoke with chilling finality. “There’s no need. I’m not marrying you.” “Damian, I told you before. I don’t tolerate filth in my life.” I was about to hang up when he exploded. “Not marrying me? Is this a joke? The engagement party is over! The whole world knows the Sterlings and the Blackwoods are merging. You’re telling me this now? Are you using our families’ alliance to threaten me?” “Vivian, we grew up together! You know me better than anyone. I would never have betrayed you if I hadn’t been set up!” His voice was pleading now. “They say ‘third time’s the charm,’ not the second. I’ve only made two mistakes. I swear, after the baby is born, you will never see Lily again. Is that still not enough for you?” A tear traced a path down my cheek, but my smile was bitter. “And what then? You want me to look at the child you had with another woman every single day? A living, breathing reminder of your betrayal?” “I can’t do it, Damian. I’m sorry.” A roar of pure rage answered me. “Fine! Remember what you said. And don’t you dare come crawling back to me!” he snarled. “What man in our circle doesn’t have a mistress? I gave Lily to you, let you decide her fate. I’ve done everything I can. If you can accept it, we get married. If you can’t, then get the hell out of my life. I don’t care anymore.” The line went dead. My reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window was a pathetic, broken figure. Suite 13520. It used to be his favorite place for our dates. He said it was filled with the memories of our love. Valentine’s Day, birthdays, anniversaries… this room had been ours. Now, I was the only one who remembered. Damian must have called my parents, because my phone rang again almost immediately. “Vivian, what’s going on?” my mother’s anxious voice filled the line. “Damian just told us you’re calling off the wedding!” “This isn’t a game, honey,” my father added. “You can’t be serious.” I burrowed deeper into the hotel bed, my voice thick with unshed tears. “His mistress is pregnant.” “Every man makes mistakes,” my father started, “just get rid of it—” “I’m not calling it off,” I interrupted. “I’m just marrying someone else. You know him. Cole Vance.” My father’s advice died in his throat. My mother gasped. “Cole? But you two are mortal enemies! Have you forgotten he nearly set your hair on fire when you were kids?” I managed a small laugh, trying to sound carefree. “That’s why I want to marry him. So I can torture him for the rest of his life.” I tossed and turned all night, the pain in my abdomen a constant, throbbing reminder. The next morning, I contacted a realtor to sell the penthouse. When I went back to pack my things, I saw Damian’s private jet still parked on the sprawling lawn. I pushed open the door, and my breath caught in my throat. The main wall was covered in dozens of framed photos, a shrine to a happy couple. But the woman in the pictures wasn’t me. It was Lily. The glaciers of Iceland, the Eiffel Tower in Paris, the scorched remains of Notre Dame. All the places he and I had been, he had taken her, too. He always claimed he hated having his picture taken. A man in his position, he’d said, could never be too careful. No matter how much I begged, we never had a single photo together. But for Lily, he had made an exception. The two of them were standing in front of the photo wall now. Lily was stroking her still-flat stomach, a coquettish smile on her face. “Damian, when the baby is born, can we bring him to all these places? He’ll love them, I just know it. Feel, he’s kicking me already!” The sound of the door opening made them turn. When Lily saw me, she immediately dropped to her knees, clutching at my waist. “Vivian, I’m so sorry! It was my fault for not staying away like I promised. Please, don’t be angry with me!” she sobbed. “I just love Damian so much… I swear, I’ll disappear the moment the baby is born. I won’t be a problem…” Before I could speak, Damian let out a cold laugh. “You don’t need to apologize to her. You were a victim in this, too. If anyone owes you, it’s me.” He looked up, his eyes meeting mine. “Vivian, I’ve already found out who was behind the setup. Their company will be bankrupt within the month. Lily is innocent. You shouldn’t be blaming her. I’m willing to overlook what you did this time. Just apologize, and we can put this behind us.” I stared back at him, my gaze devoid of any warmth. It was laughable. “I should apologize? Damian, have you lost your mind?” The hands at my waist suddenly tightened, fingers digging directly into my fresh wound. A sharp, searing pain shot through me, and I broke out in a cold sweat. I shoved her away. I hadn’t used much force, but Lily went flying, crashing into a nearby cabinet. “What the hell are you doing?” Damian roared. He lunged at me, shoving me so hard my forehead slammed against the doorframe. Blood bloomed instantly. “I think you’re the one who’s lost her mind!” he bellowed. “Lily has humbled herself before you, I’ve explained everything. What more do you want? Apologize, or you’ll see what happens!” I bit back the wave of humiliation and grief, my voice a low, deliberate snarl. “Never.” “Apologize to your mistress? Damian, you must be dreaming.” “You stubborn fool!” His eyes were blazing. He scooped Lily up and carried her into the master bedroom. When he came out, he summoned the entire household staff. “Where are the chains?” he commanded. “Bring them.” “The madam has lost her mind,” he announced, his voice ringing with cold authority. “Have her kneel on the grounds until she comes to her senses. No one is to let her up without my direct order.” My vision went red. “Damian, you’re insane!” I shrieked. “She’s nothing but a home-wrecker! How dare you do this to me? This is my house!” “But I am the man of it,” he replied, his voice chillingly calm. He didn’t spare me another glance. The staff dragged me outside, a long, dark smear of blood trailing behind me on the pristine marble floor. The moment the heavy doors shut, a crack of thunder split the clear sky. A torrential downpour began, drenching me in seconds. I knelt in the mud, the wounds on my forehead and stomach beginning to burn with fever. My consciousness started to fade. I looked at the staff member assigned to watch me, my voice barely a whisper. “Let me go… Please, go get Damian… I’m begging you…” He glanced at me from under the shelter of the eaves, a smirk on his face. “Save it. I’ve seen your little ‘damsel in distress’ act a thousand times. Mr. Blackwood just called his private doctor. He’s a bit busy tending to Miss Lily right now.” I forced my eyes open, looking up at the second-floor balcony. I could just make out two figures in the dim light. Then, the world went black. As I slipped into unconsciousness, I heard a frantic shout. “Sir! Miss Sterling has collapsed! There’s blood everywhere, we need the doctor!” Familiar footsteps approached. An umbrella appeared over my head. Damian’s voice was as cold as the rain. “Are you done with your performance? Anyone would think you were the one who’s pregnant.” He sighed, a sound of pure frustration. “Vivian, that temper of yours needs to be broken. I’m doing this for your own good.” The footsteps retreated. I could see him now, holding Lily in his arms under the awning. Lily buried her face in his chest, her voice trembling. “Damian, I don’t think she’s faking. Are we being too cruel? She is your fiancée, after all. What if the Sterlings find out…?” Damian’s face hardened. “After everything I’ve built, you think I’m afraid of the Sterlings? She started this with her unreasonable behavior. You have eight months until you’re due. I can’t have her bullying you the entire time. Her attitude needs to change.” A flicker of triumph flashed in Lily’s eyes before she quickly masked it with a look of innocent concern. “I’ve heard there’s no love in arranged marriages between powerful families. Is it… is it like that with you and Vivian?” The rain lashed down, washing over my pale face again and again. For a moment, I thought my heart had stopped. Then, Damian’s voice, devoid of all emotion, drifted through the storm. “Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Being born a Blackwood, this alliance was my duty. I didn’t have a choice. Vivian is beautiful, she’s uncomplicated. Compared to the other arrogant heiresses, she was the best option.” Tears I didn’t know I had left to cry slipped from the corners of my eyes and were lost in the mud. Damian’s gaze softened as he looked down at Lily, and for the first time, I saw real emotion in his eyes. “I thought that was all my life would ever be. But then you appeared. You were a gift from fate.” “Thank you, Lily.” His words were daggers, each one piercing my heart. I couldn’t tell what hurt more, my body or my soul. The memories of our childhood together, the years I thought were filled with innocent love and deep connection, were all a lie. How pathetic. For twenty years, my only dream was to be his wife. To stand by his side as he built his empire. The boy who had once woven me a crown of willow branches under a summer sky was gone, lost forever in a haze of poisoned memories. Something inside me snapped. A fresh wave of blood gushed from the wound in my abdomen. Damian finally seemed to notice something was wrong. He barked at the staff, “What are you waiting for? Go check on her! If anything happens to her, you’re all fired!” Through the fog of unconsciousness, I felt someone shaking me. Then, I was lifted into a warm embrace. The familiar scent of pinewood and leather almost made me believe we were back in a time when it was just the two of us. But when I opened my eyes, I was in a guest room. Damian was sitting by the bed, his face a mask of cold fury. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” he demanded. “Are you that stubborn, Vivian? When are you going to change?” I ignored him, my eyes scanning the room. It was small, cluttered, and shabbier than the servants’ quarters. It was painfully obvious who was now occupying my master suite. A cold smile touched my lips. I didn’t look at him. “My temper is none of your business. The person you should be worried about right now is Lily.” I pushed myself up and tore away the gauze dressing on my stomach. “And let me remind you of something. I bought this penthouse. I suggest you have your mistress move out. Immediately.” My indifference finally broke him. He shot to his feet, his voice shaking with rage. “Enough! Why can’t you be more tolerant? I moved Lily in so you two could support each other, not so you could throw these childish tantrums!” He took a deep breath, trying to regain control. “Fine. You have eight months until the baby is born. Use that time to calm down. I won’t have the mother of my child be a lunatic.” With that, he stormed out. I threw back the covers. The cuts on my knees had been treated by a doctor. I couldn’t help but laugh. He was the cause of all my pain, and now he was playing the part of the concerned caregiver? The sound of laughter drifted up from downstairs. I took out my phone and lowered the asking price for the penthouse again. I couldn’t stand to be in this place for another second. That evening, the staff prepared a lavish dinner. Almost every dish was seafood, something Damian was severely allergic to. I stood on the second-floor landing, watching, and remembered all the times he had refused to compromise for me in restaurants. The difference between love and tolerance was so painfully clear. I went back to what was once my bedroom. My belongings had been thrown out, which saved me the trouble of packing. I called a car, and was about to leave when Lily appeared in the doorway, holding a tray of food. She smiled sweetly. “Vivian? Here to see your old room? I’m so sorry, Damian said the pregnant lady gets top priority. This is my room now.” She looked around. “If you’re looking for any of your old junk, you might want to check the dumpster. There’s none of it in here.” The “junk” she was referring to were gifts from Damian. A cold smile twisted my lips. “Lily, the things you treasure might not be treasures to me. You can have the penthouse. You can have the man. But remember this: the way you get something is the way you’ll lose it. You’re not his first, and you certainly won’t be his last.” Her face hardened. She smashed the plate on the floor. “Don’t you dare act so high and mighty! You’re just used goods. All you have left is your sharp tongue.” She sneered. “You don’t have to ‘let’ me have him. Damian would choose me anyway. You’ll see.” Suddenly, she let out a blood-curdling scream, tearing at her own hair. She ran to the balcony and threw herself over the railing. She clung on with one hand, the cold night wind whipping around her as she sobbed hysterically. “Vivian, why are you doing this to me?!” Before I could even process what was happening, Damian kicked the door in. He rushed to the balcony, pulled her to safety, and held her tight. He turned to face me, his eyes burning with a furious hatred, and slapped me hard across the face. “When will you stop, Vivian?” Lily buried her face in his chest, her hands clutching her stomach. “Vivian,” she whispered weakly, “I already apologized. Why can’t you just let me go? The baby is innocent. I’m willing to die to make it up to you after he’s born, just please, spare the Blackwood heir…” I frowned, about to speak, but Damian cut me off. “Vivian, kneel.” I stared at him in disbelief. “You think I did this?” He settled Lily on the bed and advanced on me, his eyes full of menace. “Shouldn’t I? First, you tried to get rid of her. Then you pushed her. This is the third time! Vivian, what reason have you given me to trust you?” In that moment, whatever love I had left for him vanished. He didn’t give me a chance to explain. He scooped Lily up and hurried out of the penthouse. I took down the photos from the wall, one by one, and burned them to ash. At midnight, I got a text from the realtor. “Miss Sterling, we have a buyer willing to pay your original asking price. No discount needed. When are you free to sign the papers?” “Tomorrow,” I replied. I fired the entire staff. A full week passed, and I didn’t hear a word from Damian. The tabloids were full of paparazzi shots of him at the hospital—in line at the OB-GYN clinic, picking up prescriptions for Lily. On the morning of our wedding day, Damian pulled up to the penthouse in the wedding car to pick me up. He opened the door and came face-to-face with a complete stranger. He frowned. “Where’s Vivian? Who are you?” His assistant rushed up behind him, out of breath. “Mr. Blackwood, sir, there’s been a mistake! Miss Sterling sold the penthouse! She’s marrying into the Vance family today!”

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1 Ten years of marriage, and my husband Tedd never let me enter the Vance family estate. Each time I asked to meet his parents, he’d gently squeeze my shoulders and soothe, “Just a little longer, Ava. You’re not established enough. I don’t want them to be hard on you.” Today felt different. I’d just closed a billion-dollar deal for our company. Finally confident, I stood before his iron gates. But a nine-year-old boy opened the door. He scanned me with disdain. “Who are you? Dressed like trash—what do you want with my dad?” My throat closed. Before I could speak, a maid warmly guided me inside. There, on the living room table, stood a framed marriage certificate—with Tedd and his assistant Evelyn. The maid beamed. “See? Our young master and mistress have been married ten years! Their son is already big. The mistress just landed that huge deal. The old master’s so thrilled, he’s throwing her a celebration tonight!” I watched the boy—Tedd’s perfect copy—leap into his father’s arms. Evelyn leaned against them lovingly. My mind went blank. All that talk of me not being “established” was a lie. Ten years of marriage, my hard-won victories—they were just stepping stones for him and another woman. … In a corner of the living room, Tedd’s arm was wrapped possessively around Evelyn’s waist. He gave her a playful squeeze, his voice a low, teasing murmur. “You spoil him rotten. He’s nine years old and still clinging to his father like a toddler. It’s not a good look.” He leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that still carried across the room to where I stood, frozen. “Besides, your arms… they’re meant for me to crawl into at night.” A deep blush crept up Evelyn’s neck. She gave him a soft, theatrical shove. “Ten years, and you still haven’t had enough of me?” Lust thickened Tedd’s gaze as his thumb traced lazy circles on her hip. “A vision like you? How could any man ever have enough?” My fists clenched, my nails digging so deep into my palms that they should have drawn blood, but I felt nothing. They flirted as if I wasn’t even there, a ghost in their perfect home. The irony was suffocating; I was a ghost. After a decade of marriage, I didn’t even have the right to enter this house, while they had built their nest here, complete with a child. Tedd, not yet satisfied, purred, “Send the boy off with the nanny. Let’s head upstairs for some… business.” It was then that his eyes finally drifted across the room and landed on me. The color drained from his face, leaving behind a pasty, white mask. He froze, his lips trembling as he stammered, “Ava… wh-what are you doing here?” The air crackled and died. Evelyn followed his gaze, her brow furrowing. “Who is this?” Tedd scrambled to untangle himself from her, clearing his throat and composing himself with a pathetic flicker of his former confidence. “Honey, this is Ava Sterling, one of the sales reps from the office. You probably don’t recognize her; she’s always on the road for work.” A bitter, hollow laugh escaped my lips. Ten years. Ten years of building an empire with him from nothing, and I was just a sales rep. Evelyn ignored him, her gaze sweeping over me with cold appraisal. Her eyes finally snagged on the delicate silver bracelet on my wrist, and her expression curdled into pure contempt. “A lowly sales rep can afford a piece like that? And why does it look so much like the one I threw in the trash last month?” A wave of humiliation so powerful it stole the air from my lungs washed over me. Tedd rushed to explain. “Darling, you know how some people are. When they can’t afford nice things, they’ll happily pick up other people’s scraps. You tossed it in the office bin; she must have seen it and fished it out.” With a single sentence, he absolved himself, painting me as a pathetic scavenger. He was now shooting me frantic, desperate glances, silently begging me to play along. But this bracelet… this was the gift he’d given me after I’d closed a major deal. He’d fastened it around my wrist himself, right there in his office, his eyes full of what I had mistaken for love. He’d told me it was part of a matching set, that he had the other, and that I should never take it off. I’d sworn to myself that day that I would land the billion-dollar deal, that I would finally earn his parents’ approval and bring our marriage into the light. It never even occurred to me that I had never, not once, seen him wear the matching piece. Only now did I understand. The treasure I had cherished was someone else’s garbage. The real reason I’d never met his family was because he already had one. I took a deep breath, fighting down the storm of rage and betrayal churning inside me. I managed a cold smile. “You’re right. I wasn’t aware of the situation when I… found it. Allow me to return it to its rightful owner.” I unclasped the bracelet and threw it hard onto the marble floor. The sharp crack of splintering silver echoed through the silent room. Tedd lunged, his face contorted in fury. The crack of his hand across my cheek was even louder. “How dare you break my wife’s things! Ava, you’ve gone too far!” Five angry red fingerprints bloomed on my skin. I touched my stinging cheek, staring at the man I had once loved with everything I had. He was a stranger. “My apologies,” I whispered, turning to leave. “Wait.” Evelyn’s voice cut through the air, laced with the smug charity of a queen addressing a peasant. “Don’t be in such a hurry. Since you’re already here, why don’t you stay?” She smirked, her eyes glinting with malice. “My father-in-law is throwing this party to celebrate my success with the billion-dollar deal. You’re a company employee, after all. You should join the festivities, shouldn’t you?” She dragged out the words “billion-dollar deal,” a clear, deliberate jab. Tedd’s face paled, but a sharp look from Evelyn silenced him. She gestured expansively. “My husband had this entire estate renovated just for me, you know. Every last detail chosen to my taste. Pick any room you like. Don’t be shy. Make yourself at home.” “I don’t want her here!” the little boy shrieked, running to tug on Evelyn’s designer dress. “Mommy! I don’t want the beggar staying in our house! She’s dirty! She’ll make everything stink!” He pointed a chubby finger at me. “Look how dark her skin is, and her clothes are all raggedy! She must have crawled out of a garbage can! Make her leave!” A triumphant smile played on Evelyn’s lips. I looked at her, so pampered and pristine, then down at my own hands, calloused and rough from years of fieldwork, my skin tanned from endless business trips. For Tedd, for those damn deals, I had run myself into the ground. I’d worked so hard I’d given myself an ulcer. And this humiliating spectacle was my reward. 2 I laughed, a dry, self-mocking sound. A quick check on my phone confirmed it: all the trains back to the city were sold out. I was trapped here for the night. I had barely set my luggage down in the guest room when my phone rang. It was Tedd. “I told you not to come to the estate, Ava. Did you show up unannounced just to embarrass me? Let me make one thing clear: this disgusting stunt of yours has made me furious. And there will be consequences. Don’t expect my forgiveness anytime soon.” Listening to him, my fingers tightened around the phone. For ten years, every argument had been the same. He would be the one in the wrong, yet he would always adopt that condescending, superior tone, waiting for me to come crawling back, begging for his forgiveness. And like a pathetic fool, I always did, swallowing my pride just to make him happy. This time, I finally worked up the courage to ask the question that burned in my throat. “How could you be legally married to two women at the same time?” But before the words could leave my mouth, the line went dead. I tried calling back. Blocked. It seemed in his eyes, I didn’t even have the right to question him. My heart felt like a hollow cavity in my chest, too numb even for pain. As I stood staring blankly out the window, the door was violently kicked open. Evelyn strode in, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered on her face. Slap! A stack of glossy photographs hit my face, their sharp edges slicing a thin cut across my cheek. “So, you’re the little homewrecker. Did you really think I didn’t know you existed?” I balled my fists, my voice a raw whisper. “Tedd and I are legally married! We have a certificate!” “A certificate?” Evelyn burst out laughing, a shrill, ugly sound. She pulled a document from her purse. “Your marriage certificate with Tedd is a forgery. The entire thing was a scam, from start to finish.” She smoothed her skirt, her voice dripping with condescending pity. “He only let you stick around for so long because you were useful. Obedient. A loyal little dog who worked for peanuts, right? He even told me himself, he only played along because you were so pathetically cheap. You barely took a salary and even spent your own money buying him gifts.” She paused for effect. “Oh, and by the way? Every proposal you stayed up all night to write, every contract you signed while destroying your own health… it was all credited to my name.” She then fanned the photos out in front of my face. “You’re quite the exhibitionist, aren’t you? Tedd showed these to me himself. Tsk, tsk. When a woman has nothing else to offer, I suppose this is the only way to keep a man’s interest. How pathetic.” There I was. On my knees, wearing cat ears he’d cajoled me into putting on. And there were others, far more humiliating. He had called it foreplay, a fun little game between lovers. I had debased myself to please him, and he had turned my humiliation into a spectacle for his real wife. Evelyn drove her heel into my chest, sending me staggering backward. “These photos have been making the rounds on the company’s internal forums for ages,” she sneered. “Do you know what everyone calls you behind your back? The ugly toad trying to play kitten. Hahahahaha!” I collapsed to the floor, the searing pain in my chest nothing compared to the suffocating rage and shame that consumed me. I had known Tedd first. She was the one who came later. But somehow, in their twisted reality, I was the one branded the homewrecker, the one deserving of this torment. I couldn’t stay in this hellhole a second longer. “From this day forward,” I choked out, “you will never see me again.” 3 I dragged my suitcase out of the room, but as I rounded the corner in the hallway, Tedd’s hand clamped down on my wrist. “Where do you think you’re going at this hour?” His handsome face was a mask of displeasure. “You think you can just come and go as you please? What do you take the Vance estate for, a hotel?” The sheer, unadulterated audacity of it was breathtaking. I had just closed a deal that would change his company’s fortunes forever, and I had rushed here, hoping for a crumb of acceptance from his family, only to find his perfect, secret life. “Mr. Vance,” I said, yanking my arm free with a cold laugh. “Isn’t it a little late to pretend you care?” His brow furrowed. “Ava, what is this attitude? Who gave you the nerve to speak to me like that?” Before I could leave, the sound of frantic footsteps echoed down the hall. Tedd’s son, wielding a baseball bat, charged at me and swung it with all his might against my shin. “Ah!” A blinding flash of pain shot up my leg, and I lost my balance, stumbling forward. But to my utter shock, the boy immediately threw himself backward, landing on his bottom and letting out a theatrical wail. “Waaaah! The beggar hit me! The beggar is hitting me!” My eyes widened in disbelief. Before I could process the blatant lie, Evelyn was there, scooping the child into her arms and rounding on me with a roar. “You homewrecking bitch! It’s bad enough you invade my home, but now you dare to lay a hand on my son? Take a good look at yourself in a mirror! If there is so much as a scratch on him, I will make you pay, you worthless piece of trash!” Servants flocked around us, their whispers like a swarm of angry bees. “Shameless. A homewrecker with this much nerve.” “The mistress is too kind. If it were me, I’d have stripped her naked and thrown her in a dumpster.” “Exactly! A low-life like her, daring to cause trouble at the Vance estate. Does she not know what Vance Industries is worth now? Without our mistress, this company would be nothing!” I clutched the wall, trying to stand as agony pulsed from my leg. But what hurt more was Tedd’s reaction. He didn’t even glance at me. He knelt, fussing over his son, checking him for imaginary injuries. Once satisfied the boy was unharmed, Tedd shot up, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and yanked my head back. His voice was laced with a venom I had never heard before. “Apologize to my son. Now.” The pain was searing, as if my scalp was being torn from my skull, but I gritted my teeth. “I didn’t touch him. Why should I apologize?” My vision blurred with tears of rage. “Tedd,” I pleaded, my voice cracking, “we’ve known each other for fifteen years. We were together for ten. Even if you wanted to marry your assistant and have a child, why couldn’t you just tell me? Did you think I would cling to you? I may not have much, Ava Sterling, but I have my pride! I would never stand in the way of your happiness. But why did you have to humiliate me like this? A fake marriage certificate? Turning me into a laughingstock for the entire company?” A flicker of something—guilt? uncertainty?—crossed his eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a cold, hard mask. He released my hair, and I slumped against the wall. He looked down at me, his voice dripping with condescension. “Ava, I thought you were a smart woman. It seems I overestimated you.” He motioned to the maids, who seized my shoulders and forced me to my knees. “This is your punishment for showing up here uninvited. You will accept it.” He then turned to his wife. “Darling, go on. Hit her until you feel better. Hit her until our son is happy again.” The boy’s face lit up. He scrambled to the coffee table, grabbed a heavy crystal ashtray, and hurled it at my head. The sharp edge of the crystal sliced open my forehead. Warm blood instantly began to stream down my face. Evelyn, suddenly, adopted a look of feigned horror, a stark contrast to the vicious woman who had kicked me just moments before. “Tedd, darling, maybe this is too much. Let’s just stop.” Tedd sneered and grabbed her wrist. “What are you afraid of? I said hit her, so you hit her!” He guided her hand, forcing her to slap me, again and again. At first, Evelyn pretended to resist, but soon she was adding her own strength to the blows, her rings scratching my face, leaving behind bloody trails. When they were finally done, I was a heap on the floor, my vision swimming in and out of focus. Evelyn, a smug, triumphant smirk on her face, said sweetly, “Honey, we should lock her in the cellar for now. The heiress from Sterling Enterprises is supposed to be at the party soon. It wouldn’t do for her to see… this.” Tedd glanced at my bloody form and grunted in disgust. “I told you this morning to reflect on your actions, but you wouldn’t listen. You brought this on yourself. Ava, you’re going to the cellar to cool off. When you’ve learned how to be obedient and behave, then you can come out.”

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My brother died in a fire saving my three best friends. After that, they started taking care of me, rotating the duty of being my boyfriend. But it didn’t take long for them to grow sick of it. Robby was the first to crack. “I can’t stand her goddamn attitude anymore,” he’d snapped. “Can we just ship her off to a psychiatric hospital?” Sean, ever the diplomat, sighed. “Just hang in there a little longer. Once we graduate, we’ll find some guy to marry her off to, and then we’ll finally be free.” And Ian, my current boyfriend, said coldly, “My time is up. Help me figure out a way to make her break up with me.” So much for childhood friendship. So much for the life debt they owed my brother. In the end, I was nothing but a burden. Fine, I thought. I’ll give you exactly what you want. 1 My birthday party was just like every year before. Ian and the others had planned the whole thing. This time, they promised me a surprise. I was actually looking forward to it. But when the day arrived, the mansion’s grand hall was filled with a raucous, screaming crowd of strangers. I sat on the sofa by the French windows, watching them from a distance, my face a mask of cold disgust. Robby sauntered over, a glass of milk in one hand, the other stuffed casually in his pocket. His hair was slicked back with wax, revealing a sharp, handsome brow and piercing eyes. A few artfully messy strands fell forward, and his smile was anything but innocent. His suit jacket was unbuttoned, his shirt open just enough to reveal the chiseled lines of his chest with every slight movement. He was pure playboy, oozing a casual charm that I’d always despised. It was the kind of sloppiness I couldn’t stand. But we’d broken up a long time ago. It wasn’t my place to control him. And now, I no longer wanted to. I took the warm milk he offered, listening to him drone on about how I shouldn’t be such a recluse, how I needed to make more friends—all the usual bullshit. For the first time, I didn’t argue. I didn’t get angry. A flicker of surprise crossed Robby’s face. He leaned in, his voice hesitant. “…What’s wrong? Who pissed off our little princess this time?” I cradled the glass, my gaze drifting across the room. It landed on our young housekeeper, who was blushing furiously as she spoke to my boyfriend, Ian. Still, I remained calm. I said nothing. “Nothing,” I told Robby, my voice flat. “You’re right.” His expression turned strange. He couldn’t tell if I was being genuine or if this was the dangerous calm before a hurricane. Suddenly, I pointed. “Who’s that?” Robby followed my gaze and immediately spotted the man who stood out from the crowd. He was tall and slender, dressed in casual clothes, yet he carried himself with an effortless grace that spoke of old money and quiet confidence. He didn’t look like one of the university classmates Robby and the others would have invited. “Oh, him?” Robby said. “He’s a new lecturer in our department. Pretty young. I think he’s also the school’s new guidance counselor.” Robby stroked his chin, a sneer playing on his lips. He mentioned that the man’s classes were wildly popular with the female students, and his counseling sessions were always fully booked. He muttered something about not knowing if the guy was there to teach or to flirt. In short, a player. The more he tried to put the man down, the more interested I became. I cut him off. “What’s his name?” Robby froze. He looked from the man back to me, his brow slowly furrowing. He tried for a casual smile, avoiding a direct answer. “Why do you ask?” I ignored him. Just then, the music in the grand hall shifted to a slow, elegant melody, and couples began to drift onto the dance floor. And Ian, my cold, distant boyfriend, who had just caught the clumsy, fake stumble of the young housekeeper, still had his hand firmly on her. He looked down, she looked up, and for a moment, they were a still, intimate portrait in the swirling crowd. The space between them was charged, an almost visible thread of intimacy. Robby and the others knew I couldn’t tolerate that. In the past, if any of them so much as spoke to another girl, I’d become a paranoid, quivering mess of suspicion and rage, my words turning into sharp needles that wounded them as much as they wounded me. It was exhausting for everyone. So, they learned to be careful, to keep their distance from other women. Even a flirt like Robby had toed that line for me. What I didn’t know was that this had become their favorite tool to get rid of me. My mind drifted back. The last time I broke up with Sean. The time before that, with Robby. It was always the same. I would explode in a fit of jealous, possessive rage. And they would deftly sidestep, calling it a “misunderstanding.” They’d even manage to seize the moral high ground, accusing me of not trusting them, of being unreasonable. I would be consumed by guilt, my self-worth crumbling. I’d cry myself to sleep for nights on end. And finally, like tearing a piece of my own heart out, I would be the one to initiate the breakup, setting them free. On the surface, they’d act regretful, disappointed. But behind my back, I can only imagine their sighs of relief. And now, Ian was pulling the same trick. I watched him and our housekeeper, their bodies so close. The taste in my mouth was bitter, but the fire in my chest was gone. I was just a burden to them. If getting rid of me without an ounce of guilt was their collective wish, then I was willing to grant it. I stared at Ian for a long, long time. So long that he finally felt my gaze and was about to turn and meet my eyes. That’s when I stood up and walked in the opposite direction. 2 I knew my reputation at school was terrible. So terrible that it must have taken a monumental effort for popular guys like Robby and the others to convince this many people to come to my birthday party. From the moment they stepped into my home, they all collectively ignored me, treating the event like any other college mixer. Not a single person had wished me a happy birthday. Not one gift had been offered. But I didn’t really care. I walked right up to the handsome new lecturer and held out my hand, my tone more of a command than a request. “Tell me your name. Then, ask me to dance.” The man looked surprised. His eyes widened slightly, and the small, crimson mole near the corner of his eye peeked out from behind the silver frame of his glasses. It gave him an unexpectedly playful look. All around us, conversations faltered as people started to watch. I thought, with a strange sense of detachment, that if he refused, it would be the perfect excuse to have a meltdown and throw every single person out of my house. I never considered the possibility that he would accept. Tonight was Ian’s grand performance, designed to push me over the edge. They had ignored me, isolated me. Why would they arrange for anyone to be kind to me? But I was wrong. This man was the one exception to their cruel script. He suddenly smiled, and his eyes were incredibly gentle. He took my hand, which had been left hanging awkwardly in the air. “My name is Kian Archer.” His voice was warm. “Happy birthday, Nina.” It was like being pricked by a needle. I snatched my hand back. But when I opened my palm, it wasn’t some practical joke. It was a small, exquisitely wrapped gift box. His words, free of any malice, finally registered. Stunned, I looked up at him, my heart suddenly racing, my throat tight. I was utterly lost. Kian didn’t seem bothered by my hostile reaction. He simply extended his hand again, his voice even softer. “If you’d like, may I have this dance?” I was the one who had tried to force him, yet he was acting as if it were his pleasure. His hand was elegant, his gesture perfectly chivalrous. Behind the thin lenses of his glasses, his light-colored eyes were filled with a soft, patient amusement, as if it wouldn’t matter at all if I played another game or rejected him again. I met his gaze for a long moment. Or maybe it was just a second. Finally, I raised my hand. Just as his fingers were about to close around mine, a loud crash echoed from across the room. Someone gasped. I instinctively turned to look. Ian, who had somehow ended up standing very close to me, was once again holding the housekeeper by the waist to steady her from yet another “fall.” After seeing her act this out multiple times, I finally dredged up her name. Rosie. Her mother was my live-in housekeeper. She’d been hired to take care of me when my brother was still alive. A few years ago, without my permission, she’d brought her daughter to live with us. When I found out, she begged me to let Rosie stay and help out. For her mother’s sake, I’d agreed. Until tonight, Rosie had always kept her head down. I’d barely even noticed her. But this relentless campaign for attention was making her impossible to ignore. “I’m so sorry! Everyone, I’m so sorry! I’ll clean this up right away…” Rosie’s face was crimson with shame as she bowed apologetically. She then knelt down and began to pick up the shards of broken glass. Ian quickly grabbed her hand. “Don’t use your hands,” he said softly. “You’ll cut yourself.” Rosie looked up at him, her eyes shining, and nodded obediently. I watched the scene unfold, my face impassive. And then I noticed something. My eyes narrowed, fixing on Rosie. “Why are you wearing my dress?” 3 Dozens of pairs of eyes instantly fell on Rosie’s attire. She was wearing a stunning, strapless gown that clung to her curves. No one would have ever guessed she was just the help. I’d hardly ever worn the dress, which is why I hadn’t recognized it at first glance. But now, looking closer, a memory slammed into me. My brother had bought it for me. My gaze sharpened, threatening to bore a hole right through her. Rosie’s face went pale, but her eyes immediately filled with tears. She clutched the fabric, her voice a small, innocent whisper. “I thought… I thought you weren’t going to wear this one either.” She sniffled. “It looked brand new, and I couldn’t bear to see it thrown away, so I…” I had no patience for her lies. It was true that I had a lot of clothes and that I regularly had my housekeeper clear out the ones I no longer wore. But every single item my brother had ever given me was kept in a separate wardrobe at the very back of my closet. I had made it explicitly clear to her mother that those were never to be touched. This wasn’t discarded. It was stolen. I fought back the furious rage boiling in my chest. “Take it off,” I said, my voice dangerously low. Rosie froze. The tears in her eyes welled up and spilled over, a single, perfect drop of humiliation. I took a deep breath, my fists clenched so tight my body trembled. Ignoring the dead silence that had fallen over the room, I repeated, my voice now a raw shout, “I said take it off! Didn’t you hear me?!” Rosie covered her face and began to sob, as if she had suffered the world’s greatest injustice. Ian finally stepped in. He moved to stand in front of her, shielding her from my view. He looked at me with open disapproval. “Nina, that’s enough.” My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat a sharp, painful throb that sent waves of dizziness through my head. The resentment and hurt I had suppressed all night finally erupted. I lunged, grabbing a handful of broken glass from the floor and hurling it at Ian. Robby moved to intercept me, but I swung my arm back and slapped him hard across the face. The room filled with gasps and whispers. The prying, judgmental eyes hidden in the shadows only fueled my fury. “Get out! All of you, get out!” I screamed. “Get out of my house!” I was beyond reason. I started grabbing anything I could reach, throwing and smashing things indiscriminately. The guests, terrified, scrambled for the exits. Soon, only Robby, Ian, and Sean were left. Ian had angry red scratches on his face and neck from the glass. He was seething, watching me with cold fury. Robby touched the red mark on his cheek, his own expression dark. Sean, who was usually the calmest and best at handling me, wasn’t there. So Robby had to be the one to step in, swallowing his anger. “Nina, calm down. Just calm down…” His words were meaningless. My eyes were locked on Rosie, who was hiding behind Ian, a triumphant smirk on her face. A fresh wave of rage washed over me, and I lunged at her, intent on tearing that dress off her body. But Ian—my boyfriend—held her protectively. He grabbed my wrists, his voice frigid. “Haven’t you had enough? No one can put up with you when you’re like this!” My head was spinning. Before the pain of his words could even register, Robby grabbed me from behind, his arms locking around my waist. He spoke over my shoulder, his voice laced with impatience. “It’s just a dress. Can’t you be generous for once? I’ll buy you a new one, okay? Is that enough?” My eyes were raw and bloodshot. My throat felt like it was clogged with sand. But I refused to cry. I would not show weakness in front of these people, my tormentors. That was the last gift my brother ever gave me. I couldn’t be generous. I would rather burn it to ashes than let her have it. I struggled violently in Robby’s arms. Suddenly, I ducked my head and bit down hard on his wrist. He swore in pain. Enraged, I twisted around and clawed at him, my nails accidentally scratching the corner of his eye. That was the last straw. Robby’s anger exploded. In a purely reflexive act of rage, he swung his hand and slapped me across the face. The force of the blow sent me staggering. I lost my footing and collapsed to the floor. A roar of static filled my ears. And then, the world went silent. 4 I raised a hand, gingerly touching my swollen, throbbing cheek. Then I just sat there on the floor, dazed. I glanced down and saw the deep, red lines crisscrossing my palm where I had grabbed the broken glass. It was only then that I felt the sting. The pain, physical and emotional, finally washed over me. Above me, I heard a sharp, panicked intake of breath. Robby stepped forward, reaching down to help me up. But before his fingers could touch me, I flinched away. I scrambled to my feet on my own. Head down, I started toward my room. Ian suddenly blocked my path. He looked at me, his expression a complicated mess of emotions, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. My brain felt slow, sluggish. It took me a moment to process what he wanted. Then it clicked. I looked him in the eye and said, with perfect clarity, “Let’s break up. I’m ending it. It’s not your fault.” I added, “I hope you and your new girlfriend will be very happy together.” Ian stared at me, completely stunned. There was no relief on his face, only shock. I didn’t understand what I’d said wrong. I had given him exactly what he wanted, so why did he look so unhappy? It was too much to think about. I sidestepped him and fled up the stairs to my room. I locked the door but didn’t turn on the lights. Moving by muscle memory, I went to my bedside table and picked up the photo frame that always sat there. The thorns that surrounded my heart retracted. The storm of rage inside me finally subsided. I sat on the floor, leaning against the bed, holding the frame. By the faint moonlight filtering through the window, I tried to make out the picture inside. But I had forgotten about the cuts on my hand. A drop of blood fell onto the glass. I frantically tried to wipe it away, but it only smeared, blurring the faces into a crimson haze. I stared at it, a wave of despair washing over me. It’s been five years. My parents died when I was young, leaving me with only my older brother. But five years ago, he left me too. He had promised. He promised he would not only watch me grow up, but he would take care of me when I was old. We were going to be family forever, the best in the entire world. He broke his promise. I hugged the frame to my chest and curled into a ball on the cold floor. “You’re not here,” I whispered into the darkness. “And now they’re all bullying me…” The exhaustion was absolute. I closed my eyes, seeking escape. I expected another sleepless night, but this time, sleep came quickly. I had a dream. It wasn’t of my brother. It was of Sean. Flames licked the sky, thick black smoke churning in the air. In the distance, an explosion roared. The heat was suffocating, stealing the oxygen from my lungs. The acrid smell of smoke filled my nose and mouth. I stared at the world twisting and melting in the inferno, unable to tell if it was real or a nightmare. But it was just as I had imagined it a thousand times before. I was curled in a corner, with no desire to escape. The temperature climbed higher and higher. My skin felt dry and hot, as if it were about to cook. In the midst of the unbearable agony, a single, lucid thought cut through the haze. So this is how much it hurt. This is what my brother felt when he died. “…Nina?! NINA!!!” The bedroom door was kicked open with a violent crash, and a desperate, frantic shout ripped through the haze. Sean rushed in, smothering the flames that had begun to catch on my clothes with a damp blanket. He swept me up into his arms and carried me out of the inferno. But when we reached the safety of a tree outside, his arms went limp. He let me drop to the ground. I let out a muffled groan of pain. Sean was gasping for breath, soaked through with what was either sweat or water. His eyes were bloodshot as he knelt down and screamed at me, his voice raw with rage. “Why didn’t you run? Didn’t you see the fire? Are you trying to get yourself killed?!” I slowly pushed myself up, leaning against the tree trunk. My gaze drifted past him to the firefighters battling the blaze, my mind a million miles away. His words didn’t register. Sean’s face, normally so gentle and composed, was twisted into a terrifying mask of grief and hatred. There were tears in his eyes. His voice dropped to a choked whisper. “Sometimes, Nina… I really wish I could just strangle you.”

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My mother was in the kitchen preparing lunch when the heart attack struck. She collapsed on the spot. My sister, the one she’d spoiled rotten her entire life, called me, her voice trembling. “Charlotte, Mom’s dying! You need to wire some money, now! I need to charter a private medevac. The doctors say it’s her only chance!” As one of the country’s top investment bankers, a few hundred thousand dollars is little more than a flickering number on a screen to me. But I simply glanced toward the kitchen door, then ended the call. “She’s not going to die.” Then, I dialed the number for a high-end luxury boutique and ordered their latest limited-edition handbag. Price tag: five hundred thousand dollars. 1 “Ms. Thornton, congratulations! You’ve been upgraded to our SVIP status. We’ll arrange for immediate home delivery!” The boutique manager’s voice was electric with excitement. At almost the exact same moment, my sister, Chloe, called back, screaming this time. “Charlotte! Are you insane?! You just dropped half a million on a purse without blinking, but Mom’s life isn’t worth anything to you? Is a stupid piece of leather more important than our own mother?!” Her voice was raw, the desperation palpable even through the phone. Our housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, who was helping with lunch, stared at me with wide, horrified eyes. I ignored them both and continued my conversation with the manager. “That particular bag… I believe it also comes in a sapphire blue, doesn’t it? I’ll take that one as well. It’s always nice to have a matching set.” Just like that, I spent another half a million dollars. “Charlotte!” Chloe’s shriek nearly shattered my eardrum. “Are you even her daughter?! Did you not hear a single word I said?” Realizing that screaming was getting her nowhere, her tone abruptly shifted to a tearful plea. “Mom collapsed in the kitchen. It was a massive heart attack. The doctors here say their equipment isn’t good enough; she needs to be transferred to a specialist hospital in the city immediately. We need a medevac… Charlotte, I’ll pay you back, I swear. Just front the money, please! She’s our mother!” She was sobbing hysterically, repeating her promises, but I simply walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and watched the traffic flowing in the streets below. After a full three minutes of her crying, my patience finally wore thin. “What are you making such a fuss about?” I cut in, my voice cold. “She’s still breathing, isn’t she? Call me back when she’s actually dead. I have important things to do.” I ended the call. Mrs. Gable had heard everything. The vegetables in her hands tumbled to the floor. She grabbed my arm, her own hand trembling. “Miss Charlotte, your mother… is she…? You have to do something! Saving her is what’s important!” I yanked my arm away in disgust and calmly sat back down on the sofa, pulling out my phone and scrolling through social media. The bright, flashing colors on the screen were soothing. It wasn’t until Mrs. Gable looked like she was about to burst into tears herself that I finally spoke, my voice a lazy drawl. “What’s the rush? Let me finish this video first.” Mrs. Gable stared at me as if she were seeing a monster for the first time. She shot to her feet, clutching her chest in anguish. “Charlotte, that’s your mother! Her life is on the line, and you’re not only not worried, you’re sitting here watching videos on your phone? Is your heart made of stone?!” In all her years working for our family, Mrs. Gable had always been timid and deferential. This was the first time she had ever dared to raise her voice to me. “That money is nothing to you! Send it to your sister, now!” I acted as if I hadn’t heard a word, my thumb continuing its steady scroll. I even liked a funny cat video. Mrs. Gable was shaking with rage. I finally deigned to look at her, my voice like ice. “Everyone has their own fate. If they need money, they’ll find a way to get it.” “You!” She was so angry her face went white. She pointed a trembling finger at me, but the words wouldn’t come. Finally, she let out a long, shuddering sigh, her eyes welling with tears. “They say business people are heartless. I never believed it. But you… you’ve truly opened my eyes today.” With that, she fumbled for her own old, beat-up phone, a look of grim determination on her face. “I have a few thousand dollars saved for my retirement. I’ll send it to your sister. Every little bit helps!” I lunged forward, snatched the phone from her hand, and smashed it on the marble floor. The screen shattered into a spiderweb of cracks. “Charlotte, you’re mad!” To her accusation, I simply replied, my voice light and airy, “You are my housekeeper. I pay your salary. You are not to give my money to anyone without my permission.” Mrs. Gable froze, utterly stunned. She looked at my cold, implacable face and saw a complete stranger. Just then, a video call from Chloe came through. I was about to reject it, but Mrs. Gable lunged, grabbing the phone and answering frantically. “Chloe, how is your mother? Is she… is she okay?!” Chloe turned the camera to our mother, who was lying on the living room floor. Her face was a terrifying shade of bluish-purple, her lips white, her chest barely moving. A young paramedic was performing CPR, his face beaded with sweat. Through the phone came Chloe’s heart-wrenching sobs. “The doctor said we only have a few minutes! If we don’t get her on that medevac, she’s not going to make it! Charlotte, it’s just the two of us! How can you be so cruel? How can you just watch her die?!” Her wailing had attracted the neighbors, who were now gathered at her open door, pointing and whispering in our direction. Even the paramedic looked up at the camera and yelled, “Ma’am! The patient is in critical condition! What are you waiting for? Is money more important than her life?!” I leaned into the phone and shouted back, “Since when is it your place to judge my decisions?” Then, I pulled out my own phone, opened my banking app, and in full view of everyone, transferred one million dollars to the luxury boutique. 2 Seeing that she couldn’t persuade me, Mrs. Gable clutched her heart, her face ashen. “Charlotte… you… you’re being completely unreasonable!” On the other end of the line, Chloe let out a desperate, animalistic howl. “Charlotte, you’re killing her! You’re killing our mother!” Her voice, raw with anguish, filled the living room. “She was always so good to you! She always put you first! What could you possibly be so unhappy about that you’d rather spend a million dollars on two purses than a few hundred thousand to save her life?!” I nonchalantly cleaned out my ear. “Are you done? It’s my money. I’ll spend it however I want. Rose Thornton is almost seventy years old. Don’t you think she should know the state of her own health? At her age, if she doesn’t take care of herself, and then comes crying to her daughter for money when she collapses… well, I earned my money to enjoy life, not to pay for her medical bills. Adults have to take responsibility for their own choices. Stop bothering me with this nonsense.” Through the phone’s camera, I could see Chloe’s bloodshot eyes boring into me. “Even if… even if you don’t care about her as a mother, what about me? I’m your sister! If Mom dies, our family is gone!” “Oh?” I let out a sudden laugh. “She’s your mother too. You’re the precious daughter she doted on your whole life. Why don’t you figure out a way to save her instead of just screaming at me? I have money, yes. But it’s my money. What does it have to do with you? You figure it out. Don’t make me late for my handbag verification this afternoon.” I ended the call. The room fell silent. The neighbors who had gathered at Chloe’s door, having overheard everything, were now staring at our house with a mixture of shock and disgust. “How can she be so cold-blooded? That’s her own mother!” “A few hundred thousand is nothing to a CEO like her! She just dropped a million on purses, but she won’t pay to save her mother’s life? She’s not human!” “I can’t believe a monster like that lives in our neighborhood!” My actions had ignited a firestorm of righteous indignation. And yet, I sat there calmly, brewing myself a cup of tea as if nothing had happened. Mrs. Gable, trembling, approached me again. “Miss Charlotte, please, stop this foolishness. Send Chloe the money… save your mother!” I made a sound of annoyance. “Shut up. One more word, and you’re out of this house.” She collapsed onto the floor, muttering, “It’s over. It’s all over.” That afternoon, I took my new handbag for a spin, enjoyed a leisurely shopping trip, and returned to my office in high spirits. As I walked into the lobby, a figure rushed forward and threw herself at my feet. It was Chloe. She was sobbing, banging her head on the floor. “Charlotte, I’m begging you! I’ll pay you back! I’ll sell a kidney if I have to, just please, save Mom! She’s the one who raised you! She’s the only mother you have! If she dies, you won’t even have a home to go to for the holidays! If you save her, I’ll be your slave for the rest of my life!” The employees and clients in the lobby stared, stunned, as a crowd began to form. The young woman at the reception desk, her heart going out to Chloe, tried to help her up. “Ma’am, please, get up. You’re hurt, you shouldn’t be kneeling on the floor.” It was then that everyone noticed Chloe’s forehead was red and raw from her prostrations, her face streaked with tears and dirt. She was a pathetic sight. “That CEO is a real piece of work!” “To just stand by and watch her own mother die… she doesn’t deserve to be a daughter!” I ignored the whispers and Chloe’s wails, glancing at the Patek Philippe on my wrist. “I have a charity gala to attend this evening. If you’re done crying, you can leave.” Chloe froze, her eyes filling with a venomous hatred. “Your mother is dying, and you refuse to spend a penny to save her, but you have money to throw away at charity?! Charlotte, how can you be so cruel?!” Her accusation was almost funny. “If you were that desperate, you could have sold your house and your car.” Chloe was silent for a moment, then she slammed her head against the polished marble floor again, letting out a heart-wrenching scream. “I wanted to! But when I got married to Ethan, Mom gave us all her savings! You didn’t contribute a single cent! The house we live in, the car we drive, it was all from her! We don’t have any liquid assets! Three years ago, when Ethan and I got married, you looked down on him because he wasn’t wealthy enough for you. You didn’t come to our wedding, you didn’t give me a dowry, not even a wedding gift! To save me from embarrassment, Mom gave us everything she had! Ever since you became successful, you’ve looked down on all of us! You won’t even come home for Mom’s birthday! The last time you visited, you gave her a twenty-dollar bill as a gift! Charlotte, if you have a problem with me, I can change, okay? But you can’t just let Mom die!” As she sobbed at my feet, I didn’t interrupt her. Because every word she said was true. I hadn’t given her a penny for her wedding. And I knew perfectly well that for years, none of them, including my mother, had any real money to their names. But in the next second, I waved to the security guards. “Get her out of here. I don’t want her dirtying the company’s carpets.” My actions sent a shockwave through the crowd. Someone shouted, “That woman is a cold-hearted monster! It’s just a few hundred thousand! We can all pitch in, we’ll raise it in no time!” A chorus of agreement rose up, and people started pulling out their phones. I surveyed the crowd, my voice cutting through their charitable fervor like a shard of ice. “Anyone who gives them a single cent today is making an enemy of Charlotte Thornton. And you will never see a dime from any of my future projects.” As the city’s largest real estate investor, no one dared to doubt the weight of my words. The would-be saviors reluctantly put their phones away. Chloe let out a piercing shriek and lunged at me. “How can a daughter as evil as you exist in this world?! You don’t deserve to be human!” Suddenly, her phone rang. On the other end, the paramedic’s voice was tired and heavy with regret. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We did everything we could… Your mother’s vital signs ceased five minutes ago.” Chloe froze, a guttural, animalistic cry tearing from her throat. Then, she fainted dead away. Several employees rushed to catch her. Everyone was now staring at me with a mixture of fear and revulsion. “Well, Ms. Thornton, I hope you’re satisfied,” an older, respected employee said, pointing a finger at my nose. “You’ve personally murdered your own mother.” Under the weight of all their judgmental stares, a relaxed smile spread across my face. “I am very satisfied.” After all, now that she was dead, I wouldn’t have to listen to any more of that tiresome crying. I left the unconscious Chloe on the floor and had my driver take me to the charity gala. There, in front of all the media, I publicly pledged three million dollars. Afterward, I had my assistant post a picture of the donation certificate on my social media. It immediately went viral. Someone had filmed the scene in my office lobby and posted it online. The video quickly trended, and my identity was revealed. I was crucified online, branded the most cold-blooded, unfilial daughter in history. Animals, they said, at least have the decency to care for their parents. I was worse than an animal. The public began to boycott all of my company’s real estate developments. Some even started trying to dox me. My assistant anxiously asked what we should do. I just smiled and told her to schedule a press conference for the next day. No need to rush. A good show needs a grand finale. 3 As expected, Chloe showed up at the press conference. She didn’t come alone. She brought my brother-in-law of three years, and a whole flock of wailing, grieving relatives. They were all dressed in black, clutching a framed portrait of my mother. The moment she saw me, Chloe’s eyes, red-rimmed and venomous, locked onto mine. “Charlotte! Because you wouldn’t pay a few hundred thousand dollars, Mom is dead! She died with her eyes open! Is this the ending you wanted?!” I casually twirled a pen in my fingers, not even bothering to look at her for more than a second. “She had a sudden heart attack. That was a result of her own health. What does it have to do with me?” My coldness was like gasoline on a fire. Chloe was shaking with rage, pointing at me, speechless. The reporters in the audience could no longer contain themselves. One after another, they hurled sharp, accusatory questions at me. “Ms. Thornton, our investigation shows that your mother, Rose Thornton, worked tirelessly to raise you and your sister. During the early stages of your career, she sold her family home to support you. But after you became successful, you completely abandoned her. Why?” “You’ve had a strained relationship with your sister, Chloe, since childhood. Your mother constantly tried to mediate. She would start preparing your favorite dishes a month in advance just to get you to come home for the holidays. How could you be so cruel to the woman who gave you life?” “Was it just because she favored your sister a little more?” I glanced at the reporter who had asked the last question. “Every family has its problems. Do I need to report my family dynamics to all of you?” “But your family has consistently sacrificed for you!” a female reporter shot back. She then played a recording of a statement from our housekeeper, Mrs. Gable. “Mrs. Thornton always loved Charlotte the most. She would always say how hard it must be for her, building a business all by herself. Whenever she made something delicious, she would insist on taking a portion to Charlotte’s office. Even if Charlotte didn’t eat it, she would still take it. When Chloe got married, Mrs. Thornton spent all her savings. She was afraid of embarrassing Charlotte, the successful CEO. She always said, when the older sister is successful, the younger sister can’t fall too far behind, otherwise people will laugh at the older sister…” After hearing this, the crowd’s disdain for me intensified. “What a thankless wretch! Her mother was so good to her, and she just let her die!” Chloe chose that moment to let her tears fall, her voice thick with grief. “Mom did all of that willingly. I don’t blame my sister. I just don’t understand why she would do this to her.” The relatives behind her started to wail. “Charlotte, if you don’t give your mother a proper explanation today, we’ll die right here!” “You killed your own mother, and now you want to keep the entire inheritance for yourself! We demand that you give us the share your mother was entitled to!” I met their greedy, hateful gazes and smiled. “I’m sorry, but nothing in this family has anything to do with my mother.” My words were like a splash of cold water on a grease fire. The room erupted. “She’s evil! She’s even trying to steal her own mother’s inheritance! She’s an animal!” “Thornton Industries is worth billions! She wouldn’t pay a few hundred thousand to save her, and now she wants to take what little her mother had left? She’s trying to drive her sister’s family to ruin too!” The enraged relatives and some of the more emotional members of the press started to surge toward the stage, ready to tear me apart. Just then, the doors to the conference room were pushed open, and a group of uniformed police officers marched in. “Nobody move!” the officer in charge commanded.

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