Author: Momo Chan

1 After our ninth miserable attempt at playing It Takes Two ended in another screaming match, I went online to vent. I only wanted to ask a simple question. Why did everyone say this game was the ultimate relationship builder, when for us, it was just a fast track to a bitter argument? Within seconds, a top comment was upvoted to the peak of the thread. “Stop clout-chasing. That account belongs to a gaming legend. He cleared the final level with his girlfriend six months ago.” I froze. Just as I was about to type out a reply to explain that the account was indeed ours, the commenter dropped another link, this time containing a digital wedding invitation. “They are getting married tomorrow. They didn’t even bother to change the game theme.” I tapped the image. My entire body went numb. On the screen, the groom was the man I had loved for ten years, the man who promised he would marry me the moment our long-distance stretch ended. And the bride was Sienna, my childhood best friend. A year ago, she had been the one to comfort me. She had said, “If you want to know if a man is ready to walk down the aisle with you, play this game with him first. It shows you who they really are.” But the woman who had actually finished the game with my boyfriend was her. I pinched the screen, zooming in on the image, desperately searching for any sign of photoshop. There was none. The photo was real, and the bright smile on Lucas’s face was real too. He had been abandoned by his parents as a child, leaving him with a naturally guarded, distant personality. He rarely smiled, even when he was with me. Yet in this photo, he was holding Sienna’s hand, looking down at her with a warmth so tender it made my throat tight. A wave of dizzying absurdity washed over me. With trembling fingers, I dialed Lucas’s number. Once, twice, three times. No answer. I called Sienna. It went straight to a busy tone. My heart sank into a cold, dark place. I grabbed my coat and rushed to the train station. On the three-hour journey back to Portland, their phones remained completely unreachable. Left with no other choice, I used a burner account to search for Lucas’s public gaming profile. He was a prominent gaming influencer, handsome and talented, with a massive following of female fans who constantly confessed their love to him. When we first started dating, I had asked him to make our relationship public to avoid the unwanted attention. He had refused, claiming that a professional channel should never mix with private life. But now, his feed was a glowing tribute to his life with Sienna. There were videos of him winning plushies for her at arcade cranes, taking her to midnight movie premieres, and staying up until dawn to help her clear It Takes Two. The night they finally beat the game, I had been curled on my bathroom floor in Seattle, paralyzed by a sudden, agonizing gallstone attack. That night, I had called him nineteen times. Every single call had gone unanswered. The next morning, he text me a brief message, claiming he had been buried under a mountain of work. It turned out this was his work. The train speakers crackled to life, announcing my arrival. I stepped onto the platform, moving like a ghost among the bustling crowd. Just as I stepped out of the station, my phone buzzed. It was Lucas. “Hey, babe. Sorry, I was tied up. Is everything okay?” His voice was as gentle as always, perfectly calm, as if the world hadn’t just shattered beneath my feet. I dug my nails into my palms, fighting back the tears that threatened to choke me. “Where are you?” There was a brief pause on the other end, followed by a forced laugh. “Checking up on me?” “I’m at the studio, pulling an all-nighter. You’re coming back next week, so I need to grind and save up enough to marry you.” Save up to marry me. That was his favorite line during our year of long-distance. Whenever I got upset because he went radio silent, or whenever I begged him to catch a flight to see me, he would use those exact words to soothe me. Back then, those words filled me with a quiet warmth. Now, they tasted like ash. “How are you going to marry me when you are marrying Sienna tomorrow?” Before the words could fully leave my mouth, Sienna’s voice drifted through the receiver. “Lucas, the coordinator needs us on stage for the rehearsal.” The phone was muffled suddenly, emitting a low rustling sound. “Brooke, I’ve got some urgent work to handle. I’ll call you tonight.” He hung up before I could speak. The night air hit my face, freezing the tears on my cheeks. I wiped my face with the back of my hand and hailed a cab to the hotel listed on the wedding invitation. Inside the grand ballroom, the decorations were heavily inspired by It Takes Two. It looked whimsical, dreamlike, and incredibly romantic. I stopped in my tracks. Lucas and I were both obsessed with that game. He had once promised me that he would design a wedding just like this for us. The wedding was here. But the bride had changed. The rehearsal was still underway. The officiant’s voice boomed through the speakers, filled with rehearsed enthusiasm. “And now, groom, you may embrace and kiss your beautiful bride.” I looked up just in time to see Lucas cup Sienna’s face, leaning down to press his lips against hers. It was the final straw. Whatever remaining thread of my sanity existed snapped completely. I sprinted up the stairs of the stage, grabbing both of them and tearing them apart. When they saw my face, the smiles on their lips froze instantly. Sienna recovered first. Her wide, innocent eyes immediately filled with tears. She reached out, trying to grab my sleeve with a fragile, trembling hand. “Brooke, please, just let me explain. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” She didn’t mean for this to happen. Six months ago, she had messaged me out of the blue, boasting that she had finally found someone who could help her beat It Takes Two. At the time, I had been genuinely happy for her. Even when she subtly mocked how Lucas, a professional gamer, couldn’t seem to clear a simple co-op game with me, I had brushed it off. I never could have imagined that the man staying up all night with her was my own boyfriend. Two decades of friendship crumbled into dust right there on the stage. I slapped her hand away, my voice dripping with venom. “Sienna, you really are your mother’s daughter. Shameless to the core.” “That is enough!” Lucas stepped in front of Sienna, shielding her trembling body in his arms. He looked at me with a complicated mixture of guilt and frustration. “This is on me. It has nothing to do with Sienna. Don’t cause a scene here, it’s not good for her health.” I stared at him. The fury that had been boiling inside me suddenly drained away, leaving a hollow, freezing ache. Since discovering the truth, I had played out a hundred different scenarios of what he might say to me. I had prepared myself for lies, excuses, or even anger. But I never expected this. It’s not good for her. Just those few words made it entirely clear where his loyalty now lay. A bitter, desperate sense of injustice reared its head. “Not good for her? What about me?” “Lucas, does any of this feel fair to you?” I had loved him for ten years. I had stayed up late with him to edit his videos. I had stood under the scorching sun to pitch his channel to skeptical sponsors. When his studio was in its infancy, I had pawned my grandmother’s antique jade bracelet just to keep his business afloat. On the day his studio officially launched, he had held me tightly, his eyes red. He had sworn, “Brooke, I promise you a beautiful life. If I ever betray you, I deserve to lose everything.” The vows felt like they were spoken yesterday, but the promise itself had already become a useless scrap of paper. Perhaps reminded of the past, Lucas’s eyes softened slightly. He opened his mouth to speak, but the whispers from the wedding staff and guests below the stage had already begun. “What’s going on? Is that an ex?” “Who crashes a wedding the day before? Talk about a desperate side chick.” “She looks decent, but she’s actually trying to steal someone else’s man? How pathetic.” The vicious murmurs drifted up, piercing my ears like needles. “I am not a side chick!” I screamed, but no one was listening. With tears blurring my vision, I looked at Lucas, waiting for him to say one word of defense for me. Just one. He pressed his lips together and took a step forward. But before a spark of hope could ignite in my chest, his next words extinguished it completely. “Security, please escort her out.” I stared at him, unable to believe my ears. He walked over, leaning down to whisper in my ear, “Go home first, Brooke. I will come over and explain everything tonight.” As the guard pushed me off the stage, I heard Lucas turning back to the wedding coordinator, his voice clear and attentive. “Make sure there are no orange juices on the menu. Sienna is severely allergic.” “Have some stomach medication ready at every table, just in case her gastritis flares up.” “And adjust the air conditioning vents. The cold air shouldn’t blow directly on her.” He was meticulous, handling every minor detail with care. He had never been this attentive when he was with me. Standing there, I realized how utterly pathetic my ten years of devotion had been. “I can walk myself,” I said, shaking off the guard’s hand. I walked out of the hotel, my head held high despite the tears streaming down my face. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was my director in Seattle. “Brooke, a talent like yours is wasted in Portland. Are you absolutely sure you want to transfer back?” Over the past year, he had asked me that question dozens of times. My answer had always been a firm yes. But now, everything had changed. “No,” I whispered into the receiver. “I’m staying in Seattle.” I walked back to our shared apartment, packed my remaining belongings into a single suitcase, and sat on the couch to wait for him. Ten years of history deserved a clean, explicit ending. Lucas returned sooner than I expected. Seeing me on the couch, he walked over, naturally resting his head against my shoulder with a heavy sigh. “Brooke, I’m so exhausted. Just let me hold you for a second.” In the early days of his startup, he used to come home late and do this very thing. He used to say that holding me was the only thing that kept him sane. But now, his exhaustion was from planning a wedding for another woman. I let out a cold laugh and shoved him away. “When did it start?” He was silent for a few seconds. “A year ago.” A bitter memory flashed in my mind. A year ago, my mother was diagnosed with gastric cancer, and my company offered me a major promotion in Seattle. I hadn’t wanted to go, but Lucas had insisted. “Brooke, don’t let life clip your wings. Go to Seattle. I will take care of your mother here.” I had been so incredibly moved, viewing him as my rock. But my rock had been crumbling from the very start. I struggled to find my voice. “Why?” He loosened his tie, his expression growing irritable. “It was an accident at first. She was drinking heavily at a bar because of some personal issues, and I happened to be there. The alcohol got the better of us.” “I tried to break it off, but she was so vulnerable, so entirely alone in the world. I couldn’t just abandon her.” “So I promised her we would only have this one year. I wanted to give her her dream wedding, to give her some closure, and then end it before you came back. Brooke, you have to believe me, you are the one I love.” He reached out, trying to take my hand. “We can go register our marriage tomorrow, right after the ceremony. I promise.” I had waited ten years for him to propose a marriage license. Yet here it was, offered as a cheap consolation prize for his betrayal. I pulled my hand back, a cold sneer forming on my lips. “What makes you think I would ever want to be with you now?” “Lucas, we are done. It’s over.” His face paled, but the panic was quickly replaced by a smug, ugly certainty. “Brooke, stop throwing a tantrum. You were abused by your stepfather when you were ten. You are almost thirty now, with a mother who has terminal cancer. If you leave me, what other man is ever going to want you?” I stared at him. The words felt like a red-hot coal pressed against my bare chest. Twenty years ago, when my mother and I fled that abusive household, that trauma had been my deepest, most agonizing scar. Back then, Lucas had held me close, kissing away my tears. He had said, “It wasn’t your fault. To me, you are the most precious, pure soul in the world.” And now, he was using that very scar to tell me I was damaged goods. My chest heaved as I fought to keep from crying. Right then, his phone rang, breaking the heavy silence. Lucas looked at the screen, and his tense expression instantly softened. “She’s here with me. Okay, I’ll tell her.” He hung up, sighed, and reached out to gently wipe the tears from the corner of my eye. “Don’t cry. Sienna just said that if you agree to be her bridesmaid tomorrow, she will step out of our lives forever. What more do you want?” I looked at him, feeling as though I was listening to some sick, twisted joke. My boyfriend and my best friend had betrayed me, and now they wanted me, the victim, to stand beside them and witness their happiness? I clenched my fists so hard my palms bled. “What makes you think I would ever agree to be her bridesmaid?” Lucas stepped back, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Brooke, don’t be difficult. You are her best friend, it’s only right that you stand by her. I’m sure your mother would want you to make the sensible choice too.” The veiled threat hung heavily in the air. I stared at him in utter disbelief. But he simply smiled, patting my head as if he hadn’t just threatened my mother’s peace of mind. “I need to go back and keep Sienna company. She’s nervous about tomorrow. I’ll see you at the hotel in the morning. Don’t be late.” The door clicked shut behind him. It felt like a physical slap to my face. I stared at the empty room, and suddenly, I started to laugh. A bridesmaid? Fine. I would be there. The next morning, I arrived at the hotel early. Sienna was draped in a gorgeous, custom-made lace wedding gown. When she saw me walk in, a triumphant smile spread across her face. “Brooke, you lost.” There was nothing but smug satisfaction in her eyes. Looking at her, I couldn’t help but remember when we were teenagers. Her mother had been a mistress, and I had no father. I used to throw stones at the kids who bullied her, and she would sneak food from her kitchen when I was starving. During those dark, miserable years, we had been each other’s survival. When had she become this monster? My voice sounded hollow, even to my own ears. “Why?” She paused for a fraction of a second, then her smile returned. “I did this for your own good. You were with him for ten years and he never married you. Doesn’t that prove he never really loved you?” “He and I are soulmates.” She said it with such righteous conviction, as if she wasn’t the same girl who had once sworn to protect my happiness forever. I smiled faintly. “Soulmates? Then why does he refuse to let me go?” Her face darkened instantly. “After today, you two are finished anyway.” She turned and gestured to a group of men in suits standing nearby. “Our bridesmaid is all yours. Make sure you show her a good time.” My brows furrowed. I tried to step back, but the groomsmen quickly closed in, blocking my path. “What are you doing? Let me go!” They ignored my protests, their hands reaching out to grab my arms and waist. My face went pale. Seeing Lucas walking down the hallway, I screamed out to him. “Lucas! Help me!” “What’s going on here?” Lucas frowned, taking a step toward us. But Sienna quickly caught his arm, pulling him back. “Oh, they’re just playing the traditional wedding games with the bridesmaid. It looks like Brooke is still being a bit of a party pooper.” Hearing her words, Lucas’s feet glued to the floor. He looked at me with a mild, dismissive sigh. “Come on, Brooke. It’s just a wedding game. Stop making a scene and just put up with it for a bit.” With that, he wrapped his arm around Sienna’s waist and walked toward the main hall. “Lucas!” I screamed his name until my throat burned, but he didn’t even turn his head. Once they were out of sight, the groomsmen grinned, their eyes flashing with malice. “We heard you’ve been his free plaything for ten years. Why act like a virgin now?” “Exactly. If the bride hadn’t given us the green light, we wouldn’t even bother with you.” “Your dress looks a bit tight. Let us help you loosen it.” In the chaotic struggle, the zipper of my dress was violently pulled down, and the fabric began to slide off my shoulders. I clutched my chest, desperately trying to dial Lucas’s number with my free hand. No one answered. Through the one-way glass of the bridal suite, I could see the main stage. I saw Lucas kneeling before Sienna, sliding a diamond ring onto her finger. I saw him frown, pull out his phone, and switch it off. In utter despair, my hand brushed against a silver fruit knife on the vanity table. I grabbed it and pressed the blade against my neck. “Get back!” “Whoa, chill out. We were just playing around. Don’t do anything stupid.” Seeing the thin line of blood bead on my neck, the groomsmen panicked, pushing each other out of the room as they fled. My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the cold tile floor, completely drained. I don’t know how much time passed before the announcer’s voice echoed through the speakers. “And now, let us welcome our beautiful bridesmaid to offer her heartfelt blessings to the newlyweds.” Using the vanity table for support, I forced myself to stand. I adjusted my torn dress as best as I could and walked slowly onto the stage. Seeing my disheveled, pale appearance, Lucas’s eyes flashed with concern. He stepped forward to support me. “Brooke, what happened to you?” I flinched away from his touch, taking the microphone from the host’s hand. I looked at the crowd, my voice steady and clear. “I have prepared a special video tribute for the bride and groom. Please look at the big screen.”

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1 When Ruby saw the weather forecast warning of a massive storm tomorrow, she suddenly burst into tears, begging me not to make her go to preschool. I was just about to comfort her when Marcus rose from the sofa, looking down at us with a cold, critical gaze. “Gwen, is this how you raise our daughter? Flinching at a little rain? How is she ever going to handle real life if she is this soft?” The bitterness in my chest flared. “Then why don’t you drive her tomorrow?” Ever since his first love, Brooke, returned with her child a year ago, Cascadia had been drowned in a relentless, hundred-day deluge. And every single rainy day, while Ruby and I struggled to survive the downpours on my cheap electric scooter, Marcus was more than willing to duck out of work early. He would gladly drive two hours across the city in his luxury SUV just to chauffeur Brooke and her daughter home. Marcus hesitated, but his phone buzzed. He glanced at me, answered, and retreated to the bedroom. “Brooke? Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll make sure she gets there tomorrow.” I watched his retreating back, a self-deprecating smile tugging at my lips. I gently brushed the tears from Ruby’s eyelashes and whispered, “How about Mommy takes you somewhere it never rains? Would you like that?” Ruby stopped crying, but her bottom lip trembled as she stared at the scrape on my elbow. “Okay. That way, Mommy won’t have to get hurt anymore.” The scrape was still raw, a souvenir from when my scooter had slipped in the mud last week. I hadn’t bothered to cover it. Back then, my heart was still aching over seeing Marcus and Brooke sharing a cozy lunch together. I had actually thought about swallowing my pride, showing him my pain, and asking for a little warmth, just to see if he would feel a shred of guilt. But I never got the chance. He saw the scrape, but he never asked. Now, there was no need to tell him. After putting Ruby to bed, I finally returned to our room. Marcus was already asleep, his sharp brow furrowed even in his dreams. I climbed into bed quietly, keeping a wide, hollow distance between us. In the dead of night, a violent crack of thunder threatened to shatter the windows, followed by a deafening torrent of rain. I bolted upright, my maternal instinct screaming to check on Ruby. Marcus woke up at the same time, staring out at the sheet of water cascading down the glass. “Brooke’s apartment is on the ground floor. I need to go check on her,” he said, scrambling out of bed. I wanted to ask him why. Her parents and her brother lived in the very same complex. Why did a married man need to rush to her rescue in the middle of the night? But his face was a mask of panic as he dialed her number. Usually immaculate, he didn’t even notice he was buttoning his shirt wrong. Swallowing my words, I pulled a waterproof jacket from the closet. “Wear this.” Marcus paused, surprised, and took the jacket from my hands. As he was heading out, habit took over, and I picked up Ruby to see him off. Just then, a massive bolt of lightning split the sky. The lights flickered once and died. We were plunged into darkness. Ruby clung to my neck, her small body trembling violently. But she didn’t look at Marcus, and she didn’t say a word. Marcus’s hand froze on the doorknob. For once, he actually turned back, softening his voice. “Watch Ruby. Light some candles and lock the door. I’ll be back soon.” So, he did know she was terrified of the dark. During the last storm, no matter how much I tried to comfort her, Ruby had cried for her father. Desperate, I had called Marcus. But when he answered, my daughter’s excitement was instantly crushed by his harsh reprimand. “How old are you? Can’t you be a little stronger? Gwen, if she is making a fuss, why are you letting her? I told you I’m working late. I don’t have time for this nonsense.” He thought he had hung up the phone, but he hadn’t. For the next hour, Ruby and I sat in the dark, listening to him read bedtime stories to Brooke’s daughter, Daisy. Our house was stacked with fairy tale books Marcus had never bothered to touch. Ruby didn’t understand. She thought her dad was reading to her, and she had drifted off to sleep with a tearful smile. I, however, lay awake until dawn. Brooke was Marcus’s childhood sweetheart and his first love. They had been on the verge of marriage when she suddenly ran away, pregnant with another man’s child. Now, divorced and struggling, she had crawled back. And Marcus was right there, waiting in the exact same spot. Except now, there was me, the redundant wife. The dampness of the past year had eroded every last bit of my affection for him, leaving nothing but a profound, exhausting weariness. “It’s fine,” I said quietly. “Brooke is struggling alone. You should look after her. You have work tomorrow anyway, so you might as well sleep there.” Marcus looked up, a flash of surprise crossing his eyes. But before he could speak, his phone rang again. He turned and vanished into the stormy night. The rain grew heavier. Ruby woke up crying several times, only falling into a deep sleep near dawn. I opened my laptop and, despite the late hour, reached out to Jasper, a close friend from high school who was now a family lawyer. Fortunately, he was still awake. With his guidance, I began drafting the terms of our divorce agreement, clause by clause. At dawn, as I went to the kitchen for a glass of water, I heard the front door click. I froze, grabbing a heavy wrench from the utility closet. The door pushed open, and Brooke walked in. She was bone-dry, wearing the waterproof jacket I had handed Marcus hours ago. She looked slightly embarrassed when she saw me standing there with a wrench. “Hey. Sorry to crash like this. There was a situation at my place… I said we should just find a hotel, but Marcus wouldn’t hear of it.” Marcus entered right behind her, carrying Daisy on his back. His steps were steady, but a thick trail of blood was running down his forehead. “I couldn’t just leave her,” Marcus said, his voice tense. “Her ex-husband showed up, trying to break in. If I hadn’t gotten there, he would have taken Daisy. He was lurking around all night.” I set the wrench down without a word and fetched the first-aid kit. Brooke took a cotton swab, leaning in to tend to his forehead. Marcus flinched slightly and pulled back. “It’s fine. Go wash up. Let Gwen do it.” Brooke’s hand froze, her expression hardening with awkwardness. “Sorry… old habits. I forgot you’re married now.” I acted as if I hadn’t heard a thing, turning on my heel and returning to my bedroom. Half an hour later, Marcus crawled into bed behind me. He brought with him the faint scent of copper and the cloyingly sweet aroma of orange blossom, Brooke’s signature perfume. I kept my eyes shut, pretending to be asleep, but Marcus spoke anyway, his voice raspy. “Her ex broke her lock. If I hadn’t made it in time, the kid would be gone. I can’t leave them like this. I told them they can stay here for a few days.” He paused. “I know your friend Jasper is a top lawyer. Could you ask him to look into Brooke’s custody case?” The exhaustion of the night finally crushed me. I cut him off. “I’m tired. I have work tomorrow. We’ll talk about this later.” Marcus’s voice instantly turned cold. “Gwen, how can you be so heartless? I treat her like a sister. She respects you, she looks up to you like family. Is it really so hard to show some compassion?” Like family? I turned around to face him, my eyes filled with quiet mockery. But before I could speak, another crack of thunder shook the house. I shuddered involuntarily, and Marcus reached out to pull me close. Just then, cries echoed from both the guest room and Ruby’s bedroom. Marcus threw off the covers and stood up. “Marcus,” I called out, my eyes burning. “Go to our daughter. I’ll check on Brooke’s room.” Marcus paused. His voice was heavy, but there was no hesitation in his choice. “Ruby is closer to you. You are better suited to comfort her. Brooke and Daisy were terrified tonight; they need someone they trust. Next time, okay? I’ll take Ruby to the amusement park next weekend.” He strode out of the room. I ran to Ruby’s room and pulled my shaking daughter into my arms. She was too sensible to ask for her father. Instead, she just wept softly against my shoulder. “Mommy, I’m scared. When can we go to that place where it doesn’t rain? I hate the rain.” My phone buzzed in my pocket. A notification popped up: Flight booked successfully. I brushed the damp hair from her forehead and whispered, “Next week. Next week, we leave.” The rain poured until morning. After preparing breakfast, I knocked on the guest room door. Brooke opened it, wearing one of my silk pajamas, casually pulling the collar tighter. Behind her, Marcus was fast asleep on the bed. Noticing my gaze, Brooke offered a sweet, apologetic smile. “Gwen, don’t get the wrong idea. Marcus slept on the couch all night. I just couldn’t bear to see him so uncomfortable, so I dragged him to the bed early this morning.” She hurried back into the room, gently shaking his arm. “Marcus, wake up. Explain things to Gwen so she doesn’t misunderstand.” Marcus groaned, opening his eyes. “What time is it, Brooke?” The noise woke Daisy, who scrambled over to Marcus’s side, tugging his arm. “Daddy, you’re awake! You promised to take me to McDonald’s today. I was so good last night, I didn’t wake Mommy up once!” Brooke turned back to me with a sheepish look. “Gwen, she is just playing. She calls him her honorary dad. Please don’t mind.” Marcus finally noticed me standing at the door. His brow furrowed. “What are you doing in here?” Indeed. What was I doing here? I let out a soft, humorless laugh, turned, and walked away. While Ruby and I were eating, Marcus led Brooke and Daisy to the front door, fully dressed. “I’m taking Daisy to school,” Marcus said. “We’ll grab breakfast on the way.” Brooke smiled warmly. “I’m tags along to make sure Marcus doesn’t feed her junk food. See you later, Gwen.” Ruby kept her head down, silently eating her food. The heavy front door clicked shut. Ruby looked at her neatly packed backpack resting on the table. “Mom, are we still going to preschool today?” My eyes welled with tears, and I had to look away. “No. We’re going to pack our things today.” I stood up, picked up the plates of untouched food I had spent all morning preparing, and scraped them directly into the trash. It turned out that letting my daughter have one last meal with her father was too much to ask. For the next few days, Ruby and I packed our lives into suitcases, systematically erasing every trace of our seven years in that apartment. I thought I would feel more pain, but my heart was strangely numb, right up until I found the little crocheted sun charm Ruby had made for her window. My eyes stung then. Once the packing was finished, I rolled my suitcase to the door. I left the signed divorce papers on the entryway console, right where Marcus would see them the second he walked in. But as I opened the front door, my phone vibrated. It was Brooke, her voice frantic and laced with tears. “Gwen! You have to come to the hospital! Marcus has been hurt!” I hesitated for a fraction of a second, then reached down, snatched the divorce papers from the table, and shoved them into my handbag. When I reached the ward and saw Marcus, my heart skipped a beat despite myself. His arm was wrapped in a thick layer of gauze, his shirt was stained with dried blood, and his face was deathly pale. “What happened? How did you get hurt like this?” Brooke wiped her tears and, under a sharp look from Marcus, quietly slipped out of the room. Marcus looked at me, a flicker of internal struggle crossing his face. “Brooke’s ex-husband showed up at the school with a bunch of thugs. They tried to take Daisy. I managed to stop them, but the ex threatened to take her to court for sole custody. Brooke doesn’t have a job or a stable household. She will lose the kid.” I felt the last ounce of my sympathy evaporate. “And?” Marcus avoided my eyes, his voice low and tight. “We need to get a divorce. We can do a fast-track mediation and get the certificate immediately. Then, I’ll marry Brooke temporarily so she can secure custody. Once the court settles the ruling, we can get remarried.” I gripped the strap of my bag, where the divorce papers lay. “A custody battle can take years.” Marcus’s voice was as taut as a bowstring. “It won’t take that long. I’ll hire the best lawyers. This is the only way to save the kid, Gwen. I’ve already made up my mind. I know this is unfair to you, but I will make it up to you and Ruby later.” “And what if her ex keeps harassing her?” I asked quietly. “Are you going to guard her for the rest of your life?” Marcus had no answer. I smiled, mocking my own foolishness for expecting even a shred of consideration from him. But before I could pull the papers from my bag, Brooke burst back into the room, grabbing my hands in a desperate grip. “Gwen, please! I can’t lose Daisy! I have no other choice, please, just give us a chance to survive!” Slowly, deliberately, I pried my fingers from her grasp. “I agree,” I said. “And you don’t have to call me ‘sister’ anymore.” We didn’t need my drafted agreement. The court mediation was finalized quickly. Perhaps to ease his own conscience, Marcus left me the apartment and half of his assets. I didn’t know what lie he had told his parents, but Brooke and Daisy moved into the family manor almost immediately. The day we signed the final papers, the sky was brilliant and clear. In all our years together, I had never once gotten to sit in the passenger seat of his car on a rainy day. A few days later, I went to Ruby’s preschool to finalize her withdrawal. To my surprise, I ran into Marcus, Brooke, and Daisy in the main lobby. They looked like a picture-perfect family. This preschool had top-tier security; Marcus had gone through three grueling rounds of interviews just to get Ruby accepted. It made sense that he would pull strings to get Daisy enrolled here now. Brooke looked incredibly awkward, unsure of how to address me. The principal, noticing the tension, tried to break the ice. “Oh, do you all know each other?” I looked at Marcus’s stiff, tense shoulders. “No.” The principal smiled warmly. “What a coincidence then. Both of your husbands share the last name, Marcus. Small world, isn’t it?” I offered a polite smile. “Funny how that works.” As I walked out of the school gates, my phone buzzed with a text from Brooke. Gwen, I don’t care what Marcus told you, but I want you to stay away from him forever. I don’t care how this marriage started—I will never divorce him. Even if I have to slit my wrists, I will keep him. You know he’s always loved me. It was exactly the kind of desperate threat I expected. I didn’t reply. I didn’t send her a bitter blessing, nor did I tell her I was leaving. Let her live in the same constant, trembling anxiety that had consumed me for years. Just as I reached the street corner, Marcus caught up to me, his face dark with anger. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Did you do this on purpose? Just to humiliate Brooke?” I didn’t bother to defend myself. I simply looked up at the dark clouds gathering overhead. “It’s about to rain.” Marcus sneered. “Don’t change the subject. I’ll let it slide this time, but stop triggering Brooke. She is extremely fragile right now. I’ve already got my lawyers fast-tracking Daisy’s custody case. It’ll be over soon. Just go home and take care of Ruby, and stop overthinking.” The first raindrops began to fall. Brooke finally lost her patience and hurried over, wrapping her arm triumphantly around Marcus’s elbow. “It’s starting to pour, Gwen,” she said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Did you bring an umbrella? How are you getting back?” Marcus instinctively replied, “I have the car. I’ll drive her.” Brooke gave him a playful, scolding look. “Oh, did you forget? The backseat is completely packed with Daisy’s new gear. Gwen, let us call an Uber for you.” I shook my head. “No need. Someone is picking me up.” Marcus let out a dry, mocking laugh. “At least make your lies believable. Who could possibly be coming to pick you up in this weather?” I didn’t argue. I just kept my eyes on the intersection. Daisy tugged at Marcus’s sleeve. “Daddy, I’m hungry. When are we going to eat?” “In a minute, sweetie.” Marcus refused to move, and Brooke had no choice but to stand beside him, turning the sidewalk into a silent, tense battleground. Two minutes later, a sleek black Mercedes cut through the curtain of rain and pulled up smoothly at the curb. The window rolled down. My daughter excitedly poked her head out from the back seat, waving her little hand at me. “Mommy! Daddy and I came to pick you up!”

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1 On our eighth anniversary, Lauren claimed she was working late. An hour later, I saw her live-streaming a wedding. Radiant in red, she exchanged vows with my mother’s illegitimate son on a lavish altar. “Wesley is my forever,” she told the camera. I stormed the venue, but she met me with cold indifference. “He has depression. It’s just a therapeutic ceremony,” she sighed. I choked out that his father had driven mine to suicide. She sneered, calling me selfish and accusing me of weaponizing grief. Shattered, I climbed to the roof’s edge. Just as I teetered, my phone rang with a video call from my eighteen-year-old self. Bright-eyed, he grinned. “Future me! How many kids do you and Lauren have?” I numbly turned the camera toward the courtyard, where Lauren kissed Wesley deeply. His face blanched. “Past me,” I whispered, voice breaking, “whatever you do… don’t marry her.” … “My Lauren… why…” His lips trembled violently, unable to process the sight. I had no comfort to offer. My own heart was being slowly shredded to pieces. “This is the reality,” I said, my voice dry and hollow. “Right before you called, I was about to jump.” On the screen, my younger self stared at me with wide, horrified eyes. “How can that be? We are strong. We survived so much.” I let out a bitter, exhausted laugh. “Maybe the people we love the deepest are the ones who can cut us the sharpest. Gary, I’m begging you. Don’t marry her.” He looked entirely lost, his hands hovering over his camera. “But she isn’t even with me right now. She went to find a way to get the money to pay off my debts.” A wave of memory washed over me. Back then, my father had been driven to ruin and death by my mother and her lover’s joint scheme. They had run off with a massive life insurance payout, leaving me with a mountain of predatory debt. Their son, Wesley, had come with loan sharks, smashing up my tiny apartment and breaking my right hand, laughing as I screamed in agony. Just as he was about to slice my face open with a blade, Lauren had thrown herself over my body. “I’ll pay his debt in three days,” she had screamed at them. “Now get the hell out! If anyone touches him, I’ll kill you!” Her fragile shoulders had shielded me from the entire world. Later, I discovered she had raised the cash by selling her blood and plasma at shady, unregulated underground clinics. I had held her close, weeping with guilt and gratitude. But she had simply smiled, proudly showing me her needle-scarred arms. “This is the proof that I protect you,” she had whispered. “It’s my badge of honor for life.” But today, her protection belonged to someone else. “Do you see the groom on the stage?” I asked, my smile cold and self-deprecating. “That’s Wesley.” The younger Gary grew paler, tears spilling down his cheeks. “So… she ended up with the monster who broke my hand?” Before I could answer, Lauren’s voice drifted over. I quickly slipped the phone into my pocket. She noticed my sudden movement and frowned, though she didn’t care enough to investigate. “How long are you going to keep throwing this tantrum?” she asked, her tone heavy with irritation. “Stop acting like a bitter housewife, obsessing over every little thing.” When I didn’t respond, her voice turned even colder. “Wesley was young back then. He was just messing around and took things too far. He knows he was wrong, and his guilt literally drove him into depression. What more do you want? He is practically your brother. Do you really have to drive him to suicide to be satisfied?” She looked at me, a woman I had loved for eight years, yet she felt entirely like a stranger. “Wesley is happy today,” she continued, grabbing my arm. “As his older brother, you should go over and toast him.” Ignoring my silent resistance, she dragged me toward the banquet hall. Through my hidden earpiece, the younger Gary was sobbing hysterically. “That’s not Lauren… that’s not her…” I walked like a hollow puppet, my body moving on instinct. I wanted to scream, to cry, but my tears had run dry years ago. The banquet hall was packed with Wesley’s friends. The moment I entered, a wave of whispers, snickers, and mocking glances swept through the room. I stood there like a circus clown, pinned in place by Lauren’s tight grip, enduring their quiet amusement. “Bro, thank you for coming to my wedding.” Wesley walked over, looking smug in his white groom’s suit. He suddenly paused, covering his mouth as if he had said something wrong, his eyes glistening with crocodile tears. “Oh, I’m so sorry, bro. Please don’t misunderstand Lauren and me. She’s just helping with my therapy, holding a fake wedding to cheer me up.” Looking at the triumphant gleam in his eyes, a wave of nausea hit me. I turned to leave, but Wesley’s smile twisted into something sinister. “How can you leave without having a drink?” He snatched a bottle of champagne and popped the cork directly in my face. A torrent of sticky, foaming alcohol sprayed over my face and head, soaking through my collar. The room erupted into roaring laughter. “Look at him, like a drowned rat!” “So pathetic. It’s disgusting.” The stinging liquid got into my eyes and throat, making me cough violently. I instinctively looked at Lauren for support, but someone kicked my foot from behind. I lost my balance, crashing hard onto the concrete step. My hand slammed against the sharp edge of the riser, and blood immediately began to pool on the floor. Lauren’s face tightened. She took a step toward me, but Wesley immediately let out a loud, pathetic sob. “It’s all my fault. I’m so clumsy. I shouldn’t even be alive.” Hearing his whimpers, Lauren froze. She retracted her foot, turning back to pat Wesley’s shoulder gently. “Don’t blame yourself, sweetie. He did it on purpose just to ruin your day. It has nothing to do with you.” Then, she turned a freezing gaze back onto me. “Gary, are you doing this on purpose? Creating this disgusting scene just to make Wesley feel guilty? How can you be so malicious? Apologize to him right now!” I looked at her, my vision blurred by blood and champagne, and smiled softly. “Yes, I am malicious. I won’t ruin your special day anymore.” I got up, turned, and walked away. Lauren looked panicked for a split second. She wanted to call out to me, but her friends quickly pulled her back into the center of the crowd. I patched up my cut in the restroom. When I came out, I saw Lauren and Wesley playing a wedding game, attempting to bite a suspended apple together. The apple slipped, and their lips met in a deep, lingering kiss. The crowd erupted in cheers and wolf whistles. I stood in the shadows, looking like a thief peering into someone else’s joy. As if sensing my presence, Lauren suddenly pulled back. Her lips were still wet, and a flicker of guilt crossed her face before she quickly masked it with a light chuckle. “Don’t get the wrong idea. It’s just a game. Don’t be so petty.” She walked over and tried to take my hand. “It’s late. Let’s go home together.” But Wesley clung to her arm, his voice small and needy. “Lauren, my head is spinning. I feel dizzy.” Lauren immediately turned to support him, looking at me with an apologetic shrug. “I’ll help Wesley sober up first. You go on…” I didn’t even look at her. I simply walked past them and out of the venue. “I’ll be right behind you,” she called out. “Wait for me at the entrance.” The venue was in the secluded suburbs, and finding a ride was impossible. I walked for four hours in the pitch black, arriving home just as dawn was breaking. Unsurprisingly, she never caught up. In my pocket, the quiet crying from my younger self hadn’t stopped. “My Lauren would never let me walk alone in the dark,” he whispered, his voice broken. “She would walk with me through any storm.” I looked around the dark, empty living room. “Now, she has someone more important to accompany.” The phone remained silent for a long time, so long that I thought the connection had failed. Then, a cracked, resolute voice came through. “There are still two days before she returns. I will use this time to end things with her forever.” Back in the guest room, I pulled out my suitcase and began packing. My younger self asked quietly, “Are you sleeping in separate rooms? For how long?” I paused, swallowing the lump in my throat. “A year and a half.” The distance began when she hired Wesley as her personal assistant. When I objected to my tormentor being near my wife, we had our first major screaming match. “I just respect his professional talent!” she had yelled. “Can you stop bringing your personal drama into my work like a lunatic?” I had asked for a divorce that night. She had fallen to her knees, weeping and begging me to stay, swearing they were nothing but colleagues. I had softened, believing her promise that she would let him go and never make me sad again. But Wesley stayed. And she began coming home later and later, eventually missing our wedding anniversaries entirely while taking two-week trips with him under the guise of business. She forgot my birthday but kept a detailed schedule of his stomach medications. Finally, one night, Wesley had video-called her, weeping that knowing she lived in the same bed with me made his clinical depression worse. The next day, Lauren threw all my clothes into the guest room, leaving me with a cold command: “Show some compassion for a sick person. You can move back when his depression improves.” The phone went quiet again. Then, my younger self murmured, “Don’t be sad. It will be over soon.” A tear slipped down my cheek. Before I could finish packing, the door was kicked open. Lauren stood there, her eyes wild with fury. She stormed over, pinning me violently against the wall. “Gary, I didn’t think you could be this pathetic! You hired people to threaten Wesley? He is your brother! Where is your goddamn humanity?!” The grip on my throat made me choke, but I stared back at her. “Lauren, are you blind? I don’t know a single soul at that venue. Who would I hire?” She hesitated, her grip loosening slightly. But then, Wesley stepped out from behind her, a fresh, red slap mark prominent on his cheek. He fell to his knees, sobbing. “Gary, you can hit me or curse me, but please don’t be mad at Lauren. She just wanted to help me. I know you hate me. I’ll just go die so I’m not in your way anymore.” I looked at his pathetic, rehearsed drama, wondering how anyone could believe it. Yet Lauren turned a look of deep disgust on me. “You are completely irrational now. Full of lies, bullying the weak. How did you turn into such a monster?” She believed him instantly. I stopped trying to argue. You can’t wake someone who is pretending to be asleep. “Lauren,” I asked quietly, “am I really the only one who changed?” We locked eyes in a silent, stubborn standoff. Finally, she shoved me away. “Gary, if I knew you’d turn into this, I would have regretted ever meeting you!” She turned and ran after Wesley. Suddenly, a flurry of footsteps and a tired but joyful voice echoed from my phone. “Gav, I’m back! I got the money!” “From now on, I will protect you through fire and water.” My body trembled, and tears streamed down my face. It had been so long since I had heard her call me “Gav” with such pure, unadulterated tenderness. “She’s back,” the younger Gary sobbed on the other end. “I can see the needle marks on her arms… it hurts so bad… we loved each other so much, why did it end up like this?” Neither of us spoke for the rest of the night. On his end, the younger Gary greeted Lauren’s triumphant smile with a cold, hollow stare. “Thanks. I’ll pay you back double.” Lauren looked hurt. “Gav, why are you talking about paying me back? I’d give you my life.” When he didn’t soften, her voice began to crack. “Don’t be like this. I’m scared.” I sat in the dark guest room all night, deleting every single photo of her from my phone. At dawn, my younger self spoke again, his voice weary but firm. “The debts are cleared. Wesley wanted to break my other hand, but Lauren chased him off with a kitchen knife. She’s looking for a doctor to fix my hand now. I also saw the ring she bought to propose to me.” “I’m not going to get my hand fixed, and I won’t accept the ring.” Hearing his decision, the heavy weight in my chest suddenly lifted. “Thank you.” I knew how agonizing that choice was for him. But it was the only way out. I rolled my suitcase out into the living room, only to find Wesley already sitting on the sofa, feeding Lauren snacks in an intimate display. He looked up at me, raising an eyebrow in silent triumph. I ignored him entirely, but Lauren grabbed my suitcase. “Where do you think you’re going?” “Now that you’ve brought him into our home,” I said coldly, “I’m clearing out to give you some space. Unless you want me to stay and ruin your fun?” Lauren’s brow furrowed with annoyance. “What fun? I never said…” “It doesn’t matter.” I pulled my hand away and kept walking. “Enough!” Lauren slammed her hand on the table, standing up. “Gary, cut it out! There is a limit to throwing tantrums! You are the one who started this mess, and now you’re running away?” She looked at me with a patronizing sigh of pity. “Do you know that threatening Wesley yesterday could get you detained? It’s only because of his generosity that you aren’t in a cell right now.” I let out a dry sneer. “Well, thank you both so very much.” Lauren kicked the trash can over, her temper flaring. “Enough! I have tolerated you for too long! Gary! Is this how you speak to your wife?!” She glared at me, her voice turning icy. “Apologize to Wesley. Now. Don’t force me to sue you for assault. Even if you’re my husband, I won’t show you favoritism.” In my ear, the sweet voice of the past Lauren drifted in. “Gav, your hand will heal soon,” she whispered softly. “Don’t be afraid. Whatever happens, I’ll be by your side. If it doesn’t heal, I’ll take care of you forever. I’ll be your right hand. Even if you want the moon, I’ll pluck it from the sky for you.” Those sweet promises from the past cut deeper than the cold fury of the woman standing before me now. My eyes grew wet. Lauren, thinking I was finally backing down, softened her tone. “Forget the kneeling. Just say sorry and we can move past this.” “In your dreams.” I grabbed my suitcase and headed for the door. Lauren flipped the coffee table in a rage. “Fine! Walk out that door, and don’t you dare think about coming back!” she screamed. Seeing that my pace didn’t falter, a sudden wave of panic flashed across her face, followed by an even deeper rage. She grabbed Wesley by the shoulder. “We already had our wedding, and we haven’t spent the night together yet! If you have any dignity left, don’t come back to disturb us!” She stared at me, tense, waiting for me to break. But I didn’t stop. “Good for you,” I said without looking back. “I hope you two are very happy together.” Her face twisted in fury. She dragged Wesley into the bedroom, slamming the door shut. Soon, loud, exaggerated sounds of passion began to echo through the apartment. I walked out, taking a cab straight to the airport. Through the phone, my younger self wept softly. “I didn’t get the surgery. I ran away. I blocked her number.” As he sobbed, the memories in my mind began to blur, rewrite, and fade. Suddenly, the world spun violently out of control.

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1 For three years, Ryan loved bragging to his friends about how I was his ultimate partner-in-crime. Gym sessions, backpacking trips, city exploration, if he wanted to do it, I made it happen. His friends always said, “Ryan hit the jackpot. Dating Nora is like having a premium black-card membership.” Until his childhood best friend, Kayla, came back to the country. She wanted to try the trendy glamping style. Without a second thought, Ryan forwarded her the detailed itinerary I had spent an entire week planning. She wanted to see my favorite band. Ryan swiped the pit tickets I had spent three grueling hours trying to get. “You can just buy tickets for the next tour,” he reasoned. “Kayla barely gets to visit.” Then came the engagement party prep. I spent two weeks running errands with his mother, even paying fifteen thousand dollars out of my own pocket to cover the budget gap. But when the digital invitations went out in our group chat, the bride’s name was left completely blank. Instead, Kayla posted a selfie in the chat wearing the exact white dress I had chosen. Ryan’s mom said I look like the bride-to-be in this. This is so awkward, she wrote. Ryan replied with a laughing emoji. Then he sent me a private message: Don’t overthink it. They’re just teasing. I know you’re mature enough not to make a big deal out of it. The day before the engagement party, Ryan asked me to share my Google Calendar access with Kayla. “She’s going to be helping out with a lot of stuff from now on. It’ll make coordination easier.” I unlocked my phone, opened the app, and revoked his access entirely. Within seconds, my phone lit up with his call. “Nora, what is this?” I let out a soft laugh. “Your premium membership has expired, Ryan. I’m not renewing.” “What are you throwing a tantrum about now?” his voice flared with irritation. “It’s just calendar access. Why do you have to blow everything out of proportion and threaten to break up?” In the background, I heard Kayla’s voice, hushed but perfectly audible. “Ryan, is Nora mad at me? Oh god, this is my fault. I shouldn’t have asked to see your schedule. I just thought it would be easier for us to plan hangouts. Go talk to her, please. Don’t let me get between you two.” Ryan’s tone softened immediately. “Don’t worry, it’s not your fault. She’s just had too much free time lately and is overthinking things.” Having comforted her, he turned back to me, his voice hardening. “Did you hear that, Nora? Kayla is so considerate, always thinking of you. You’re usually such an open-minded person. Why do you get so incredibly petty the second she is involved?” Clutching the phone, I looked around the living room, taking in the warm lighting and cozy furniture I had spent months choosing. Suddenly, a wave of profound exhaustion washed over me. It all felt so utterly pointless. “Since she’s so considerate,” I said quietly, “she can have the spot. I’m stepping down as your fiancée.” Ryan’s breath hitched. “Nora, do you have any idea how exhausting you are? Kayla just got back. She has no one else here. What’s wrong with me looking out for her as a friend? If there was ever anything romantic between us, wouldn’t it have happened years ago? Do you really have to be this dramatic?” I walked over to the hallway closet and pulled out my largest suitcase. “If I wasn’t dramatic, I wouldn’t do justice to your pure, innocent friendship. The party is off, Ryan. Don’t call me again.” I hung up before he could reply and began packing my clothes. Mid-fold, the doorbell rang. I opened it to find Kyle, one of Ryan’s closest friends. He stared at the suitcase in my hand, catching his breath. “Nora? What’s going on here?” “Moving out,” I replied flatly. Kyle frowned, stepping forward. “Are you serious right now? Ryan posted in the group chat saying you were throwing a fit and threatening to walk out, but I thought he was joking. Come on, don’t do this. Give him a way out. Kayla just got back, and we all grew up together. It’s natural for him to look after her. Why are you picking a fight over his childhood friend?” I looked at his self-righteous expression. “If she’s everyone’s sister, why don’t you go take care of her?” Kyle stammered, caught off guard. “That’s different, Nora. Kayla and Ryan have always been the closest. Besides, you’re about to marry the guy. Can’t you show a little grace? If you actually walk out of this apartment with a suitcase, where does that leave Ryan’s pride?” I pushed him out the door. “His pride is none of my business.” A short while later, the door was knocked on again. This time, it was Ryan. He held out a beautifully packaged cedarwood candle, a brand I had eyed for months. “I got this for you. I know how much you love the cedarwood scent.” I didn’t reach for it. Kayla stepped up behind him, offering a sweet smile to defuse the tension. “Ryan really loves you, Nora. You shouldn’t make mountains out of molehills.” Ryan’s brow furrowed. “Just take it.” Three years ago, he gave me my first cedarwood candle, telling me he wanted my room to smell like his favorite scent. Now, that same aroma made me sick to my stomach. I stepped back, leaving the door open. “Come in.” Kayla followed him inside, her eyes scanning the living room. On the coffee table lay a printed copy of the venue contract, alongside a thick planner. The cover of the planner was worn white at the edges. Tucked inside were the floor plans for the engagement hall, catering quotes, tasting notes, and a handwritten seating chart I had revised countless times. On the very first page, there was a custom sticker I had bought: Nora & Ryan, Day 1096. She reached out and picked it up. “Oh, this notebook is adorable. Mind if I look?” Before I could say a word, Ryan waved a hand. “Go ahead. It’s just the schedule details anyway.” Kayla flipped through the pages, her finger lingering on the sticker on the first page. She let out a soft gasp. “Wow, I didn’t realize you guys were so sentimental.” She kept flipping. “Actually, this floor plan is perfect. I want to film a vlog tomorrow showing the setup to the entrance. Nora, you color-coded this so beautifully.” She whipped out her phone and lined up a shot. I placed my hand firmly over the page. “Don’t photograph it.” Kayla blinked, quickly pulling her phone back. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it was private.” Ryan’s frown deepened. “Nora, it’s just a planning book. Letting her take a picture would make things run smoother tomorrow.” “It’s my book.” “And your book was made for our engagement,” he countered. He paused, perhaps realizing his voice was too sharp, and gentled his tone. “Nora, I know you’ve worked hard. Once tomorrow is over, I’ll take you to that high-end sushi place you’ve been wanting to try.” I looked him dead in the eye. “Do you honestly think this is about sushi?” A flicker of impatience crossed his face. “Then what do you want? For me to publicly cut ties with Kayla? Our families have been close for decades, and she just got back. I’m not going to treat her like a stranger.” Kayla chimed in instantly. “Ryan, please don’t fight because of me. Nora, if it bothers you that much, I don’t have to show up tomorrow.” Her eyes pooled with unshed tears. Naturally, Ryan shot me an accusatory look. “See? She’s already backing down.” “What exactly has she backed down from?” I asked. “Nora,” he said, using my full name. It was always his final warning before losing his temper. “You can’t let your insecurities run wild and expect the entire world to revolve around your mood.” A sudden weight settled in my chest, draining every ounce of energy I had left. I reached for the copies of the contracts on the table and slid them into an envelope. “The final venue deposit for tomorrow is still outstanding. Your mother asked me to cover it temporarily. I didn’t pay it.” Ryan’s face paled slightly. “Why not?” “Because it’s your family’s engagement party.” “Since when do we keep score like this?” I met his gaze. “Since now.” Kayla bit her lower lip, keeping her head low. “Is this because of me?” she whispered. Ryan’s expression turned stone cold. “Nora, making Kayla walk on eggshells and apologize to you like this, does that make you feel good?” “I didn’t ask her to apologize.” “But you’re backing her into a corner anyway.” Watching him leap to her defense, I realized the absolute futility of trying to explain myself. He placed the candle on the coffee table. “I’m not going to argue with you tonight. I’ll be downstairs at nine tomorrow morning. Get your head straight. Don’t bring this attitude to the venue.” Kayla placed the planner gently back on the table. “See you tomorrow, Nora. I won’t wear the white dress, so please don’t be upset.” At the doorway, she turned back with a faint smile. “Though, Ryan’s mom was right, white really is the prettiest color for an engagement.” The next morning, Ryan arrived downstairs. He called three times before I finally answered. “How much longer am I supposed to wait?” “I told you, I’m not coming.” He kept his voice low, suppressing his rage. “Nora, today is not the day for games. My mother is already asking where you are.” Sure enough, a call from Ryan’s mother beeped through. “Nora, sweetie, a little bickering is normal, but this is a major family event. Don’t humiliate Ryan today.” “Mrs. Harrington, I won’t be attending.” “What do you mean you won’t be attending? You booked the venue, you finalized the tasting menu. If you aren’t here, what are the guests going to think?” “My name isn’t even on the invitation.” She let out a tight, dry laugh. “That was just a printing oversight, dear. You and Ryan have been together for years. Do you really care that much about a typo?” I answered quietly, “Yes. I do.” Her tone turned cold. “Nora, girls who keep score like this don’t make good wives.” Hearing those words, a strange sense of peace washed over me. “Then don’t like me.” Ten minutes later, the lock clicked. Ryan used his spare key to burst into the apartment. “Nora, are you finished yet?” “Yes, I am. That’s why I’m leaving.” He stared at me, his eyes wide. “Over a name on a card and a dress, you’re going to throw away three years of our life?” Kayla stood just outside the open door. Pinned to her chest was a delicate white corsage, the exact custom-made piece I had ordered for myself to wear when greeting guests. She self-consciously touched the petals. “Your mom gave me this, Nora. She said it would look good on camera for the vlog. I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was yours.” Ryan turned to her. “Kayla, go wait downstairs.” She didn’t budge. “But Ryan, your mom is panicking at the venue.” The reminder snapped him back to his anger. He turned on me. “Do you hear that? Everyone is waiting on you.” Right. Everyone was waiting. Waiting for me to save a party that didn’t even have my name on the program. Waiting for me to be the sensible, accommodating girl who never made a scene. I picked up the planner from the table and handed it to him. “Everything you need is in here. Take it.” He refused to touch it. “Keep it, and get in the car.” “I’m not going.” He slammed his hand down on my suitcase. “If you walk out that door today, Nora, there’s no turning back. It’s going to get ugly.” “You think it isn’t ugly right now?” His face darkened. Kayla chimed in from the doorway. “Nora, is this about the concert tickets? I can Venmo you the money. Ryan was in a tough spot that day. I was having a hard time adjusting to being back, and he was worried about my mental state.” I stared at her. “If your mental state was so fragile, why did you need my tickets to fix it?” Her lip quivered. “Because I thought we were close enough not to keep track of things. Ryan always said you were the most understanding person he knew.” Ryan jumped in. “Nora, I’ve always cherished how different you are from other girls.” He had said those exact words before, but that time, he had tucked my cold hands into his coat pocket, telling me I never had to play nice or please anyone. “So ‘different’ just means I’m the one who’s supposed to yield?” “It’s not about yielding, it’s about boundaries,” Ryan argued, his voice dropping an octave. “Kayla had a brutal few years abroad. Her father was incredibly sick, and she had to handle it all alone. She reached out to me because she trusts me.” “And what about me?” He looked at me as if the question itself was absurd. “You’re my girlfriend. Of course you’re different.” “How?” He had no answer. From the door, Kayla checked her phone. “Ryan, the videographer just arrived.” Ryan sighed, rubbing his temples. “Nora, please don’t force me to manage your insecurities right now.” I shoved the planning book into his chest. “You don’t have to.” His fingers closed around the cover, his hand instantly wrapping around my wrist. His grip was fiercely tight. “I’ll come back tonight, and we’ll talk this through properly.” I yanked my arm free. “No need.” Clutching the planner, he finally turned and left with Kayla. The front door clicked shut. I sat on the hardwood floor, staring at the empty space. I unlocked my phone and dialed a contact I hadn’t messaged in a long time. Hi, David. I need to consult you on recovering shared premarital expenses and cash advances. His reply was swift. Send over the documentation. Also, that out-of-state transfer opportunity you mentioned last time? The confirmation window closes this afternoon. I stared at the text. My thumbs flew over the screen. I’m in. Confirm my transfer. When I arrived at the hotel, the rehearsal was already underway. The event coordinator had contacted me, warning me that since my signature was on the secondary vendor sheets, any breach of contract or delay fees would fall squarely on my shoulders. I walked into the ballroom to find Kayla holding my planner, directing the videographer. “We’ll shoot a quick clip of me adjusting the floral arrangements here. Then, when Ryan walks in from the side, I’ll hand him the bouquet.” I walked up to them. Kayla froze mid-sentence. “Nora, you made it.” Ryan’s shoulders visibly dropped with relief when he spotted me. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down.” His mother hurried over, taking my hand in hers. “Thank goodness. A little pre-wedding jitter is fine, but we have a schedule to keep.” I pulled my hand out of her grip. “I’m only here to clarify liability. The primary contract for this venue is under Ryan’s name, not mine.” Mrs. Harrington’s face soured. “Nora, do you have to be so difficult today?” A few relatives nearby began to whisper, turning their heads. Kayla quickly stepped in, her voice trembling. “Mrs. Harrington, Nora is probably still upset with me. Maybe I should leave so I don’t ruin this for everyone.” Yet, her hands remained tightly wrapped around the bridal bouquet. “Kayla, stay, you’ve been such a help today,” an aunt chimed in. “Nora, you really need to be more gracious. Ryan has spoiled you. Throwing a fit on your own engagement day is just childish.” Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Nora, let’s talk in the dressing room.” “We can say it right here.” Kayla suddenly thrust the bouquet toward me. “Nora, here. You should hold this. Your mom only had me stand in for the rehearsal because we were worried the delay would ruin the schedule.” I looked down at the flowers. Wrapped around the stems was a faded mint-green ribbon. It had been salvaged from the bookmark of my old journal. Three years ago, on a freezing winter night when Ryan’s first business went under and we couldn’t even afford rent, he had tied that very ribbon around my ring finger. With tear-filled eyes, he had whispered, Nora, on the day of our engagement, I will replace this with the biggest diamond I can find. I reached out, untied the mint ribbon, and slipped it into my pocket. “Keep the flowers.” Kayla stood frozen. His mother finally snapped. “Nora, what is wrong with you? This party is a reflection of our family’s social standing. If you have grievances, air them behind closed doors. Stop publicly humiliating my son.” I looked directly at Ryan. “Is that what you think too?” Ryan avoided my eyes, looking down. “Nora, let’s just get through the ceremony first. I’ll explain the name thing on stage. I have a plan.” Kayla tugged gently at his sleeve. “Ryan, maybe we should skip it. That segment was supposed to be a surprise, but with Nora in this state, she might not appreciate the humor.” A surprise. The word clicked in my head. I walked straight past them to the AV control booth and booted up the presentation slides on the laptop. I clicked to the third slide: Special Thanks: Nora, for three years of companionship, witnessing the beautiful bond of friendship and love. Next slide: Fiancée Candidate Game: Kayla. I clicked through the deck. It was a mock game show. Ryan was supposed to pull cards to choose between Kayla and me, building up fake suspense before dramatically declaring, “Of course, the real bride-to-be is Nora.” A small note at the bottom read: Create initial tension for maximum dramatic effect. Nora must play along. I looked back at Ryan. The color had completely drained from his face. “The emcee suggested that bit. I hadn’t officially signed off on it yet.” “Nora, please don’t be mad,” Kayla blurted out. “I told them it was a bad idea, but everyone kept saying how easygoing you are. We thought you’d find it funny.” Ryan lunged forward to shut down the laptop screen. “Nora, close it.” I stepped back, out of his reach. “Did you know about this?” Silence. Kayla lowered her head, her voice shaking. “Ryan didn’t know the specifics. I coordinated it with the emcee. If you want to blame someone, blame me.” Ryan finally spoke, his voice strained. “I figured the big reveal at the end would make the final toast even more special. The game was just to get the crowd warmed up.” I nodded slowly. “So you decided to make me a laughingstock first.” “It’s not like that,” he said, stepping closer, desperate. “Nora, I wanted to give you a day you’d never forget.” I reached into my bag, pulled out a printed ledger, and slammed it onto the control desk. “This is the itemized list of every expense I’ve covered for you over the last three years. It totals forty-two thousand dollars. My lawyer has already received the copy.” He stared at the papers, completely dumbfounded. “Three years together, and you’re turning it into a business transaction?” I didn’t bother replying. I turned on my heel and walked toward the exit. He chased after me, grabbing my wrist with a crushing grip. “Nora, don’t you dare walk out of here!” “I’ve been playing along for three years,” I said, peeling his fingers off my wrist, one by one. “The schedule is yours, the bill is yours, and the spot next to you is hers.” As I walked away without looking back, Ryan stared at my retreating figure, a cold wave of panic finally settling deep in his chest.

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1 Ten years after I walked away from James, I became the target of a rain-slicked serial killer. As the lead detective on the case, he saved my life, but afterward, he treated me with the cold, sterile professionalism of a stranger. Until I ran into him in my apartment building’s elevator. He smirked, utterly convinced I had stalked him there. “Jennifer, you don’t have to do this,” he said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Following me all the way here? If you wanted to explain yourself, just say it.” The elevator chimed, stopping at the twelfth floor. I stared at him, completely speechless, before calmly stepping out. I pointed to the door right behind me. “I’m home, Lieutenant.” … The rain started in the evening. It began as a soft, rhythmic patter against the bookstore’s glass windows, slowly swelling into a heavy, continuous wall of white noise. It was the perfect backdrop, letting me lose myself completely in the pages of a psychological thriller. A sudden flash of lightning shattered my focus. I blinked, pulling myself back to reality, only to realize how late it had gotten. As I packed up to close the shop, I glanced at the wall clock. It was 10:42 PM. The torrential downpour had cleared the streets, leaving the asphalt dark and empty. My apartment wasn’t far. Opening my umbrella, I stepped into the chill of the damp night air. Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my pocket, the vibration making me jump. It was a local news alert. A serial killer targeting lone women had struck again, and the active search area was right here in Southside, my neighborhood. A cold shiver snaked down my spine. I instinctively quickened my pace. Of course, that was when I heard it, the heavy, wet thud of boots splashing in the puddles behind me. Peeking past the edge of my umbrella, I stole a glance over my shoulder. I barely had time to register a dark silhouette before a heavy arm swung upward. “Ah!” A blinding pain exploded at the back of my skull. My vision swam, and the world began to tilt. As the darkness rushed in to swallow me, I caught a fleeting glimpse of a tall, familiar figure sprinting toward me through the rain. Was I hallucinating? The sharp, medicinal sting of disinfectant was the first thing that hit my senses. My eyelids felt like they were weighted with lead. I struggled to focus on the man sitting in the chair beside my hospital bed. He wore a crisp police uniform, his broad shoulders slumped with exhaustion. He sat with his elbows resting on his knees, eyes closed, his brow furrowed in a deep, tight frown. My head throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache. Everything in the room seemed to have a hazy, glowing edge. I rubbed my eyes, squinting to make out his features. He was alert. The slightest rustle of my sheets was enough to make his eyes snap open. “You’re awake,” he said. As he sat up, the fluorescent lights caught his face. The sharp lines of his jaw, the familiar depth of his voice, it all came rushing back. I couldn’t believe it. “James?” “Yeah.” He stood up, turning to call the doctor. James and I had been high school sweethearts. We shared a desk, shared our secrets, and fell in love with the easy intensity of youth. We had promised each other we would go to the same university. If it hadn’t been for the car crash right before graduation, we probably would have been married by now. The doctor walked in behind him, conducting a brief, routine check. “Nothing to worry about. Just a mild concussion. Get some rest, and you can be discharged tomorrow morning.” “Thank you, Doctor,” James said, politely escorting him to the door. “What time is it?” I asked, my voice sounding thin and raspy. “Twelve-thirty.” He walked back to the bedside but didn’t sit down. He stood there, tall and imposing, looking down at me. “So, what were you doing out so late?” He gestured to the gold lieutenant’s insignia on his shoulders, making sure I saw it. “Is it that hard to figure out? I’m the lead detective on this case. In the last seven days, two young women have been targeted in that exact block. Both on rainy nights. Both about five-foot-five, just like you.” He delivered the facts with a flat, clinical detachment, but the reality of it made my stomach drop. The danger had been right on my heels. “Did you… did you catch him?” My voice trembled. “We were patrolling nearby when we heard the struggle. I ran to get to you, and he used the distraction to slip away.” His tone remained utterly level, devoid of any warmth. “But at least you’re alive.” “I’m sorry…” “Jennifer,” he interrupted, using my full name. I looked up, meeting his dark, intense gaze. He was broader now than he had been ten years ago, his handsome face weathered by time and the harsh realities of his job, giving him a rugged, mature edge. But his eyes were exactly the same. “What exactly are you apologizing for?” He paused, his voice dropping a fraction colder. The question hung in the air, wrapping around my throat. I couldn’t find the words, and the silence stretched between us like an ocean. A flicker of disappointment crossed his features. “Never mind. Don’t worry about it. Saving you was just me doing my job.” I knew I should say something. I knew exactly what he wanted to hear, but there were too many ghosts, too many unspoken misunderstandings piled between us. Seeing me remain silent, he picked up his jacket from the chair. “Since you don’t have anything to say, I’ll head out. I’ve got an officer stationed outside your door. Get some rest.” “James.” He reached the doorway, and the name slipped past my lips before I could stop it. He paused, looking back at me over his shoulder. “Thank you for tonight.” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Just ‘thank you’?” 2 By the next morning, my vitals had stabilized, and the doctor cleared the police to take my official statement. The door pushed open, and James walked in, followed by a younger officer. James had dark circles bruising the skin under his eyes, and a rough shadow of stubble dusted his jaw. “Miss Jennifer, Lieutenant James gave us the overview, but we need you to walk us through the timeline of last night in your own words,” the young officer said, his tone gentle and encouraging. I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat as I tried to piece the memories together. “I was locking up the bookstore. I stepped outside at exactly 10:42 PM. The rain was coming down hard.” “Did you notice anything unusual when you first started walking?” “No, not at first. I turned the corner onto the main street, walked maybe one or two hundred yards, and then I heard footsteps behind me. I went to look back, and that’s when I saw him, a man in a black raincoat with the hood pulled low.” A wave of cold dread washed over me as the memory replayed. My voice faltered. The young officer pressed gently. “Did you notice any physical characteristics? Height? Build?” “He was a bit taller than me, maybe five-foot-nine. Very thin. I couldn’t see his face,” I said, straining to remember any detail that might help. “Wait, his left hand. He had a large, textured scar on his wrist, running up his forearm. It looked like an old, severe burn.” James, who had been listening silently, stopped scribbling in his notepad. The look on his face, the intense, hyper-focused scowl, was identical to the way he used to look in high school when he was trying to crack a difficult math problem. For a split second, the man in front of me overlapped perfectly with the boy from my past, and a sharp ache bloomed in my chest. “The scar,” James said, his voice husky from a night of no sleep. “Can you be more specific about the size and shape?” “It was on the outside of his left forearm, right near the wrist. It was jagged, irregular, about the size of a palm.” James nodded, his pen scratching against the paper. “Understood. This suspect is highly likely to target you again, so you need to be extremely careful. You’re our primary lead and our main concern, so we will be keeping a very close eye on you.” He paused, reaching into his tactical vest to pull out his personal phone. He unlocked it and held it out to me in one smooth, practiced motion. “Put your number in. Call me immediately if you see anything off. And try not to go out alone unless it’s absolutely necessary.” I quickly tapped my digits into the screen. “My social media is linked to that number too…” The words slipped out before my brain could stop them. James looked up, a faint glint of surprise softening his eyes. I quickly lowered my head, my cheeks burning. A thick, awkward silence settled over the room. The young officer suddenly cleared his throat, looking between us with a knowing grin before backing out of the room. James’s thumb swiped across his screen a few times. A second later, my own phone buzzed on the bedside table with a new friend request. The doctor walked in, breaking the tension. “Miss Jennifer, your discharge papers are signed. Just make sure to get plenty of rest, avoid any strenuous activity, and follow up if you feel dizzy.” “Thank you, Doctor.” I gathered my things, ready to leave. “I’ll drive you,” James said, his eyes fixed on the rain sliding down the window pane. “Excuse me?” He turned around, his expression flat. “Do you see anyone else in this room?” “There’s no need to trouble yourself, Lieutenant,” I said quickly, trying to re-establish the boundary between us. “I can just call a cab. It’s a short ride.” After the cold way he had spoken to me the night before, I didn’t think I had the stomach to sit in a cramped car alone with him. His jaw tightened, as if he wanted to argue, but he ultimately just pressed his lips into a thin line and opened the door for me. “Officer Cole, escort Miss Jennifer downstairs and make sure she gets into a cab safely.” 3 The taxi pulled up to the curb outside my apartment complex. The air outside smelled of wet earth and fresh rain. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves as I walked toward my building. I scanned my key fob at the entrance, hurried through the lobby, and headed toward the elevators. One of the cabs was sitting open on the ground floor, the doors just starting to slide shut. I jogged forward to catch it, but before I could reach out, a large, calloused hand slipped between the sliding metal doors, forcing them back open. My eyes met James’s. For a second, we both just stood there, frozen in mutual shock. What on earth was he doing here? The doors closed, sealing us inside the small metal box. The faint, comforting scent of tobacco and clean spice radiated off him. He was tall, his broad frame taking up a significant portion of the space as he stood just half a step behind me. I kept my eyes down, quietly reaching out to press the button for the twelfth floor. “Jennifer,” he started, his tone light and self-assured. “If you wanted to explain things, or if you just wanted to talk, we exchanged numbers. You could have called. Or asked to grab a coffee.” He paused, a smug little smile playing at the corner of his lips. “You didn’t have to follow me all the way here. Seriously.” I didn’t say a word. I just turned my head and stared at him with a look that I hoped conveyed my deep concern for his mental sanity. Ten years apart had apparently turned him into an incredibly delusional man. James met my gaze, the smugness in his eyes giving way to a tiny, hopeful expectation. “Now that you’ve followed me to my building, what is it you want to say? Go ahead, I’m listening…” Ding. The elevator announced our arrival at the twelfth floor. Without waiting for him to finish his sentence, I stepped briskly out of the elevator. I turned back to face him, pointing to the apartment door directly opposite the hallway. “Lieutenant James, this is my apartment. I live here.” The elevator doors began to slide shut. Through the narrowing gap, I saw him spin around, his back to me, suddenly incredibly busy. He yanked out his phone, rubbed his nose, and frantically started pressing buttons on the control panel. It turns out, even tough detectives look incredibly stupid when they’re dying of embarrassment. Back inside my apartment, I couldn’t help but wonder. Did he live here too? I had been here for six months and had never run into him once. But then again, given his erratic hours and demanding job, it made sense. My phone vibrated. A text from James. Which unit? I replied with a question mark. A long pause, then: Protocol. We’re setting up a perimeter around your residence and frequent locations. Since I live in the building, I’m taking this sector. Apt 1203. Thanks, Lieutenant. For the next two days, my life fell into a quiet, repetitive routine. On the surface, everything seemed normal, but the unmarked car parked near my bookstore and the unfamiliar faces lingering in my building’s courtyard were constant reminders that the threat was still out there. Since adding James on social media, my phone would buzz like clockwork twice a day, once at 7:30 AM and again at 10:30 PM. Morning. Night. Never a second late. Never an extra punctuation mark. It was clear he was just keeping tabs on his high-priority target, making sure I was still breathing. On the third day, the storm returned. What started as a light drizzle in the afternoon turned into a roaring deluge by nightfall. Heavy sheets of rain whipped against my living room windows, the wind howling through the concrete corridors of the building. Anxiety settled deep in my chest. I curled up in the corner of my sofa, trying to lose myself in a book to block out the storm. Suddenly, a sound cut through the noise. Knock. Knock, knock. It was soft, but in the quiet of my apartment, it sounded like a gunshot. Who could it be? I had no family in this city, and my few friends never dropped by unannounced, especially not in a storm like this. My heart hammered against my ribs. I quietly picked up a heavy metal dumbbell from the floor and crept toward the door on tip-toe. Knock, knock, knock… The sound came again, faster this time. Panic, cold and sharp, flooded my veins. The Southside Slayer. Rainy nights. Lone women. The words flashed in my mind like a neon sign. I held my breath, leaning in to look through the peephole. But the hallway was pitch black. The motion-activated lights outside hadn’t turned on. I couldn’t see a thing. Had they left? Or were they standing right out there, waiting for me to open the door? Cold sweat broke out across my forehead. I couldn’t just stand here. I dialed James’s number. It rang once. Twice. “Jennifer?” James’s voice came through, tense and alert, accompanied by the faint, muffled sound of rain in the background. “James…” My voice cracked, tears hot against my eyelids. “Someone is knocking on my door. I can’t see who it is. The hallway is completely dark.” “Are you at home? Apt 1203?” “Yes.” “Stay on the line. Lock the door, don’t make a sound. I’m on my way.” His words came in a rapid-fire clip. I retreated to the corner behind the sofa, clutching the phone to my ear as I heard him bark orders into his radio: “All units, we have an active suspect at Apt 1203! Perimeter team, seal the lobby immediately! I’m moving in.” Seconds stretched into agonizing eternities. Suddenly, heavy, hurried footsteps echoed in the hallway outside, rushing straight toward my door. Knock, knock, knock. The wood rattled against the frame.

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1 My best friend Manon volunteered to get the campus heartthrob’s number for me. She had a massive crush on his best friend, Nate, so she figured she could kill two birds with one stone. Thanks to her help, Chase and I ended up in a late-night, sweet-talking online relationship that lasted for three months. By the time we decided to meet up in person, Manon had also managed to win over Nate. We planned a double date to finally take things offline. But when the guys arrived at the restaurant, they both walked straight past me and grabbed Manon’s hands. Nate immediately threw a playful punch at Chase’s shoulder. “Your girl is right there, man. What the hell are you doing holding mine?” Chase froze. His gaze slowly drifted to my pale, bloodless face, his jaw tightening as he looked back at Manon. “This isn’t fair,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, strained whisper. “When I gave out my number, I thought she was the one asking for it.” He looked at Nate, his eyes flashing with stubborn defiance. “I’m going to compete with you, Nate. Fair and square.” “As for Hazel…” Chase turned back to me, his expression suddenly washing clean of any emotion. “Let’s just end this. Let’s pretend none of it ever happened.” The moment the words left Chase’s mouth, Nate lost his temper. “What kind of garbage are you talking?” Nate growled, pulling Manon closer to his side as if he was terrified she might vanish. “Manon and I actually love each other. I’m not competing with you over anything.” But Chase didn’t back down an inch. “May the best man win. Otherwise, I’m not letting this go. I’m certainly not going to stand by and bless your relationship.” Manon stood trapped in the middle of their glaring match, looking completely stressed and helpless. I kept my head down, staring at the polished wooden table. I didn’t say a single word. From start to finish, not a single person in that huddle looked at me. Except for Chase, when he casually tossed out that cold, clean breakup. He had been so incredibly quick to declare his loyalty to Manon. Yet, just twenty minutes before we walked into the restaurant, his text was sitting in my inbox: Can’t wait to see you, baby. I adore you. As the two boys continued to argue, their voices rising, the other diners in the restaurant began to turn and stare at our table. “Shut up, both of you. Stop making a scene,” Manon snapped, her eyes flashing with anger. “Go home. My head is a complete mess right now. I need some time to think.” She grabbed my wrist, her grip firm and reassuring. “Hazel, let’s go.” I didn’t say a word, letting her pull me along like a ghost. But Chase stepped into our path, blocking the exit like a solid brick wall. “I’ll drive you guys back.” “If anyone is driving them, it’s me,” Nate shot back, pushing his way forward. Manon shoved past them both. “I said I need space! Neither of you follow us!” She dragged me out of the restaurant and hailed a cab, leaving both of them standing on the sidewalk. As we sat in the backseat of the taxi, Manon turned to me, her eyes brimming with guilt. “Hazel, I’m so incredibly sorry. I had no idea Chase had confused us. I swear to you, I’ll never say yes to him. I know how much you care about him. I’ll make sure he understands.” She looked closer at me, her voice dropping into a gentle, worried whisper. “Hazel, are you okay?” I forced myself to look out the window, blinking rapidly against the hot tears stinging my eyes. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” “I’m just really tired. I think I’m going to close my eyes for a bit.” I pulled my face mask up over my nose, nearly to my eyes. Underneath the fabric, the tears finally overflowed, tracking silently down my cheeks. We didn’t speak for the rest of the ride. When we got back to the dorm, my roommates immediately crowded around me, their faces bright with excitement. They had spent hours that afternoon helping me curl my hair, doing my makeup, and picking out the perfect outfit. They had teased me, saying I was going to make Chase’s head spin. But when they saw my swollen eyes and the ruined tracks in my makeup, their smiles vanished. “What happened, Hazel?” “Why are you crying? Did he do something to you?” I swallowed the heavy sob rising in my throat, my voice trembling. “We… we broke up. It turns out I wasn’t the girl he wanted.” The moment the words left my lips, I lost all control, burying my face in my hands and sobbing until my chest ached. Three months of sweet messages, of late-night calls, of believing I was finally loved, gone in a single second. I had truly believed the universe was finally being kind to a quiet girl like me. But it was all just a cruel, humiliating joke. 2 That night, I lay in bed, staring at the blue light of my phone screen. I scrolled through the endless log of our chat history from the last three months. Chase had been incredibly clingy, constantly blowing up my phone with sweet, trivial updates throughout his day. Good morning, baby. I grabbed some breakfast for you. Get up, get up! Class is so boring today. I need a kiss to get through this. I miss you. Why aren’t you replying to me? Your boyfriend’s daily subscription has expired. Please pay ninety-nine kisses to renew. Select electronic transfer or manual delivery. Every single word, once a source of secret joy, now felt like a jagged piece of glass twisting in my chest. My thumb hovered over his profile picture, eventually tapping it open to reveal a photo he had sent me during his summer trip to Paris. He was standing beneath the Eiffel Tower, looking effortlessly handsome, his dark hair slightly windswept, a bright, confident smile on his lips. Next time, I’m going to kiss you right under the Eiffel Tower. My tears wet my pillow, drying only to be replaced by fresh ones. I kept my finger pressed against the delete button. I knew that letting him go was the only way to heal, and that I had already been humiliated enough. But my heart was a stubborn, foolish thing. It still fluttered at the sight of his face. Ultimately, I couldn’t bring myself to delete him. The next day, I sat through my lectures like a hollow shell, my mind completely blank. On my way back to the dorm, I saw Chase standing near the entrance of my building. I immediately lowered my head, trying to slip past him, but he stepped directly into my path. “Excuse me,” I whispered, my fingers tightening around the edge of my textbook. “Hazel.” His voice was just as beautiful as I remembered, but the warmth was gone, replaced by a polite, clinical distance. It was hard to believe this was the same boy who had gently cooed me to sleep just two nights ago. “Do you need something?” I kept my eyes fixed on his shoes, terrified he would see how swollen my eyelids still were. “Can you send me Manon’s contact card?” I froze, my breath catching in my throat. “Nate won’t give it to me, and Manon has blocked my number,” he continued, completely oblivious to the pain radiating off me. “Since you’re her best friend, I figured you’d have a way to reach her.” He was so incredibly cruel. He was standing right in front of me, asking me to help him pursue my best friend, as if the last three months had been absolutely nothing to him. I shook my head slowly. “No. If she wanted you to have her contact info, she would have given it to you herself.” “I have to go.” I made a move to step around him. “Are you keeping it from me out of petty jealousy?” Chase asked, his voice sharp. I stopped dead in my tracks. Chase took a step closer, looking down at me with a hard, defensive expression. “Hazel, you’re only refusing to give me her number because you don’t want me to chase her, aren’t you?” “Come on. We only talked for three months. It’s not like we had some deep, life-altering romance. And I only put effort into those chats because I believed I was talking to Manon.” “In this entire mess, I’m the one who got screwed over. Why didn’t you just ask for my number yourself instead of sending your gorgeous friend to do it? You were too cowardly, too afraid of rejection to stand in front of me.” “Now the girl I actually wanted is dating my best friend, and I’m left with nothing. How are you going to make this up to me?” His words felt like physical blows, bruising my chest. In his eyes, I wasn’t the sweet girl he had fallen for online; I was a manipulative, deceitful coward who had tricked him. My fingernails bit deep into my palms. I forced my spine to go perfectly straight. I kept my head down, keeping my voice as level as possible. “I’m sorry, Chase.” “I can’t make it up to you. If I could go back to that day, I would never have let anyone ask for your number on my behalf. It’s my fault there was a misunderstanding, and you can think whatever you want of me.” “But Manon is my best friend. If she doesn’t want to talk to you, I will never make that choice for her. You can pursue her, you can get her number from anyone else on this campus, but it will never be from me.” “I don’t betray my friends.” As the last word slipped out, a heavy tear slipped from my eye, splashing onto the pavement between us. I quickly wiped my cheek and lifted my chin, forcing myself to meet his eyes. Seeing my raw, tear-streaked face, Chase froze, a sudden flicker of panic crossing his features. “If we’re done here, I’m leaving,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. Chase ran a hand through his hair, looking suddenly frustrated and deeply annoyed with himself. “Fuck… I didn’t mean… look, I wasn’t trying to…” He trailed off, letting out a sharp breath. “Whatever. Just go.” I turned and walked away, keeping my back perfectly straight even though my vision was a blurry mess. It was truly over. The end of a three-month mistake, and the death of a five-year secret. I never got to tell him the truth. I never got to say: Chase, I’ve loved you for five years. 3 I had been in love with Chase for five years. He had probably forgotten, but our very first meeting had been during our freshman year of high school. I had just moved to the big city prep school from a tiny, rural middle school, feeling completely out of place. During the opening ceremony, Chase had stood on the stage as the student representative. Even in the plain school uniform, he looked incredibly handsome and bright. I had been standing at the very back of the crowd, but his clear, confident voice had cut through the chatter of the students and the rustling wind, settling deep into my heart. Perhaps the weather and the light had just been too perfect that day, but love had found me in an instant. Of course, I knew we belonged to different worlds. Chase was the golden boy, beloved by everyone. I was just a quiet, plain girl from the countryside. I kept my crush tucked away, using it as a sweet secret to bring a little color to my ordinary life. Our only actual interaction in high school had happened on a rainy evening during junior year. Most of the students had parents picking them up. My parents were working in another province, and my elderly grandmother had bad knees and couldn’t walk in the rain, so I was left waiting alone in the lobby. Watching the torrential downpour, I braced myself, wrapping my backpack over my head, preparing to dash into the storm. Suddenly, a hand caught my shoulder, and a heavy umbrella was shoved into my grip. When the umbrella shifted, Chase was standing there. He gave me a bright, easy grin and winked. “Girls shouldn’t walk in the rain.” With that, he dashed out into the storm, letting the water soak through his jacket. I shouted a thank you after him, but he didn’t turn back, simply waving a hand over his shoulder as he disappeared into the grey sheet of water. That rainy day, and the frantic drumming of my heart, had stayed with me all the way to college. But now, the storm had finally cleared. I had never harbored any grand illusions about us, until I crossed paths with Manon again in university. Manon had been my best friend in elementary school before her parents divorced and she moved to the city. Reuniting on campus felt like a miracle. She was a dance major, gorgeous and graceful, while I studied literature. Despite the years apart, our friendship was as strong as ever, and she remained just as beautiful as she had been as a child. She spent a lot of time with me, and she was the one who noticed how I looked at Chase when he played basketball. She told me I was terrible at hiding my feelings. I insisted that watching him from afar was enough, but Manon pushed me to be brave. “Life is short, Hazel. You have to go after what you want.” She eventually volunteered to get his number for me, pointing out that she was planning to ask Nate for his number anyway, so she might as well ask for both. I should have said no. But greed got the better of me, and I agreed. When Manon walked onto the basketball court, every eye in the stands followed her. She was a natural head-turner. I should have realized then that anyone would look at her first. I had been so nervous my chest felt tight, terrified Chase would reject her. From my seat in the stands, I saw Manon point in my direction. I quickly looked away, my cheeks burning, but managed to peek back just in time to see Chase smile and nod, handing over his phone. I felt like I had won the lottery. The days that followed had been so sweet, so effortless, as we quickly fell into an online relationship. But eventually, the clock struck midnight, and Cinderella was sent back to her reality. On our double date, I had watched Chase stand up with a massive bouquet of blue bells, my favorite flowers. He had smiled, walking straight past me, and taken Manon’s hand. I missed you, baby. That was the moment I realized the last three months had been a stolen dream. The basketball court had been too loud that day, and Chase had assumed the gorgeous girl asking for his number wanted it for herself. If only I had been a little braver. If only I had stood in front of him myself, even if it meant being rejected. It would have been better than this humiliating mess. 4 The next day, I blocked Chase’s number and deleted his contact, determined to return to my quiet, orderly life. I threw myself into my studies, spending my days in the library and my nights in the dorm, pretending the last three months had never happened. Meanwhile, Chase began to pursue Manon with an aggressive, public intensity, as if trying to make up for lost time. Nate, of course, fought back just as fiercely. The campus forums were filled with threads analyzing the love triangle, with students placing bets on who the star of the dance department would choose. When someone in the comments pointed out that Chase had recently been dating someone else, Chase had replied to the thread himself: We broke up. I had the wrong girl. It was a simple, brutal summary of our relationship. My roommates quickly learned not to mention his name around me, keeping a careful watch on my expression whenever we passed the athletic fields. I always offered them a small, reassuring smile, letting them know I was fine. A month passed, and I hadn’t reached out to Manon. I knew she hadn’t done anything wrong, but my heart was still too tender, and I needed time to heal. She understood, giving me the space I needed. Until one afternoon, she showed up outside my lecture hall, holding a small box from my favorite bakery. “Hazel, I’ve missed you so much,” she said, her eyes shining with a soft, pleading look. “I bought your favorite chocolate hazelnut cake. Can we grab dinner tonight?” Looking at her nervous, sweet face, my heart softened. It really wasn’t her fault. I nodded, offering her a genuine smile. On the way to the restaurant, Manon chattered happily, catching me up on everything I had missed over the last month. I listened quietly, nodding along, until she casually mentioned a necklace Nate had bought her. She froze mid-sentence, her face instantly falling. “I’m so sorry, Hazel. I shouldn’t have brought that up.” Looking at her panicked expression, I couldn’t help but laugh softly. “It’s fine, Manon. Really. I’ve moved on.” But my words only made her eyes well up with tears. She knew how deeply I had cared for Chase, and she knew about the five years of quiet longing that had preceded it. She threw her arms around me, burying her face in my shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Hazel. I should have been clearer when I asked him for his number. It’s all my fault. I owe you a million apologies.” “Chase is an absolute idiot. How could he not see how amazing you are?” “I promise you, I will never date him. I don’t care how hard he tries.” I patted her back gently, comforting her. “It’s okay, Manon. Even if you do date him, I won’t mind. I only care about you.” My words only made her sob harder, and we ended up canceling our dinner plans, heading straight to a quiet campus pub instead. She ordered a row of shots, claiming she was going to help me release all my pent-up sadness. But after a few rounds, she was the one who ended up completely wasted, crying into her glass. As I struggled to figure out how to get her back to her apartment, her phone rang. It was Nate. Hearing that Manon was drunk, he insisted on coming to help, promising he’d be there in ten minutes. He arrived quickly, but my heart sank when I saw the tall figure walking in right behind him. “He’s like a bad shadow,” Nate muttered, looking annoyed. “He overheard me on the phone and insisted on tagging along.” I looked up, my eyes meeting Chase’s dark, unreadable gaze.

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1 After eight years of marriage, my husband Garrett decided to keep a young mistress on the side. When I finally caught him, he shrugged it off with a casual explanation. “It’s just a bit of fun, Vivian. Every man makes mistakes. You need to be understanding.” I stayed silent. What he didn’t know was that I had a beautiful young lover of my own. … This was the third time I had caught Garrett cheating. He seemed to have a bizarre affection for underground parking garages. Every single time I discovered his affairs, it was always in the cramped backseat of his car, tucked away in the shadows of some concrete basement. Seeing them tangled together, practically devouring each other, I simply averted my gaze and kept walking. Garrett saw me. He quickly shoved the girl to the side, muttered a few words to her, and sent her driving away. When I got home, all I wanted was to wash the grime of the day off my skin and sleep. My young lover had been incredibly passionate the night before, leaving a few telltale bruises on my collarbone. Before I could lock the bathroom door, Garrett pushed his way in. “Vivian, don’t worry,” he said, his voice entirely dismissive. “It was just a fling. I’m only playing around.” I didn’t say a word. Garrett’s patience began to wear thin. “It’s a mistake any man would make, Vivian. Just get over it.” He probably thought I was silently weeping in heartbreak. In reality, I was just doing everything I could to keep my hair draped over my neck, hiding the fresh love bites. “Here,” he said, pulling a sleek black credit card from his wallet and sliding it into my palm. “Stop moping. Take this. Buy whatever you want, there’s no limit.” When I had caught him the first time, he had actually apologized, begging for my forgiveness. When that didn’t work, he resorted to the classic excuse about male nature. I had screamed, cried, and slapped his face when he tried to hand me a credit card back then. In response, he had taken his mistress to France for two full weeks, a petty move designed to punish me for my defiance. Looking at the card in my hand now, I calmly pocketed it, turned around, and walked upstairs. Garrett watched me go, his brows knitting together in slight irritation. He seemed disappointed that I wasn’t screaming. 2 My phone vibrated on the vanity. It was Asher. I stepped out onto the balcony, sliding the glass door shut before pressing answer. His sweet, velvety voice immediately filled my ear. “Did you miss me, beautiful? Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Can I see you tomorrow?” “Didn’t we just spend the night together?” I teased, a soft smile tugging at my lips. “Not tomorrow, darling. I have to work. Let’s aim for next week, and I’ll bring you a little present.” Listening to his soft, adoring murmurs over the line, the heavy weight in my chest evaporated. Garrett was right about one thing: youth was a powerful drug. Spending time with Asher made me feel alive, stripping away the bitter exhaustion of my failing marriage. The moment I hung up and turned around, I gasped. Garrett was standing right behind me in the darkness of the bedroom, his eyes searching my face. “Who was that?” he asked, his voice low and tight. “A client,” I replied, my tone deliberately flat. Garrett’s jaw tightened, his gaze hardening with suspicion. “What kind of client calls this late at night?” His interrogative tone rubbed me the wrong way. “What is your problem? I told you, it’s a client. Stop being paranoid. Do you think everyone behaves the way you do?” His face flushed with silent anger. I brushed past him and locked myself in the bathroom. Standing before the mirror, I pulled my hair back, inspecting the faint purple marks on my throat. They were faint enough to be hidden under a few strategic strands. When I stepped back into the bedroom, Garrett was still waiting. He stepped toward me, reaching out to catch my hand. “Vivian, it’s been a really long time since we…” I pulled my hand back before he could finish. “Not tonight. I’m exhausted from work.” That was his breaking point. He let out a harsh breath, grabbed his jacket, and slammed the door as he stormed out of the house. He had been trying to initiate a truce, but we hadn’t had a real conversation in years. Once, we had been madly in love. During our university days, I had gone on a mountain hiking trip that ended in disaster when a landslide hit, trapping us in the wilderness. As I sat shivering in the dark, terrified and alone, Garrett had appeared with the rescue team. His clothes were torn, his face smeared with dirt, and his arms were covered in deep scratches from searching through the brush. The moment I saw him, my panic vanished. One of the rescue officers later told me that Garrett had refused to stop searching for two straight days. In that moment, I promised myself I would spend the rest of my life loving him. But eight years into our marriage, he was cheating on me without a second thought. Love, it turned out, had a incredibly short shelf life. 3 On Saturday, Asher sent me a text. I booked a private room at Mirabelle, beautiful. I ordered all your favorite dishes. Come keep me company? I replied with a quick thumbs-up. I had met Asher at a lounge. I had been feeling miserable after discovering another one of Garrett’s betrayals, and my best friend had dragged me out to get my mind off things. The loud, crowded space wasn’t my scene, so I had stepped out into the alley for some air. That was where I saw Asher, standing up to a couple of rowdy drunks who were harassing a young girl. I had stepped in, threatening to call the police, and the drunks had cursed before slinking away. “Hi, I’m Asher,” he had said, turning to me with a brilliant, dazzling smile. “I’m Vivian.” “I know,” he replied, his eyes crinkling. “We’ve met before.” I had stared at him, unable to recall where I could have possibly seen him. “I’m a student at State University,” he explained. “I was the host when you came back to speak at the alumni event two years ago.” After that, we had exchanged numbers. A few dinners turned into late-night drinks, and one evening, we ended up in bed together. He was young, breathtakingly handsome, and incredibly attentive. I parked my car outside Mirabelle and made my way toward the private rooms. Just as I was about to open the door to my booth, I heard a familiar voice coming from the adjacent room. It was Garrett, laughing with his best friend, Gabe. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with your little girl lately,” Gabe was saying. Garrett remained silent. Gabe let out a whistle. “Wait, are you actually falling for her? I thought she was just a distraction.” Garrett sighed. “Who said she was just a distraction?” “What about Vivian?” A long pause followed before Garrett spoke, his voice entirely devoid of warmth. “Vivian is thirty-one now. She’s like a piece of dry wood in bed. No excitement, no fun.” Gabe chuckled. “So, are you going to divorce her?” “No. I’m never divorcing her. She’ll always be my wife.” Gabe laughed, raising his glass. “Man, you really have it all figured out.” 4 Standing in the quiet corridor, a cold dread settled over my chest. This was how the man I shared a bed with truly saw me. If he found me so boring, why was he refusing to let me go? Did he simply think I was too weak, too dependent to ever walk away? My feet felt like they were glued to the floor. Part of me wanted to fling his door open and make a scene, just like I used to. But I knew how that story ended. “Vivian, you’re here! I’ve been waiting for you,” Asher’s voice cut through my thoughts, his warm hand wrapping around my wrist as he gently guided me into our private room. As we sat down, Asher noticed my pale face. “What’s wrong, beautiful? Don’t look so sad. I’ll always be here for you, okay?” Looking at the young boy with his bright, hopeful eyes, a sudden realization struck me. The booth next to Garrett wasn’t a coincidence. I took a deep breath, looking straight into his eyes. “You set this up, didn’t you? And stop calling me by that nickname.” Asher didn’t look away, nor did he deny it. He simply gave me a playful wink, pouring me a cup of warm tea. “Don’t be mad,” he murmured softly. “I just wanted you to see that jerk for who he really is. I’m sorry if it hurt you.” Did it hurt? Of course. But the pain had been dulling with every betrayal. Still, my appetite was completely gone. “Let’s do this another time. I need to go home.” The next afternoon, my phone buzzed with an unknown number. It was a text containing several photos of a man’s bare back, his fingers locked intimately with another person’s hand. The faces weren’t visible, but I recognized the small mole on the man’s shoulder immediately. It was Garrett. The sender was his young mistress. I let out a cold laugh. She was getting impatient, trying to mark her territory and force me out of the picture. I tapped out a quick reply: I’ve saved these photos. Garrett and I are still legally married, which means any money he spent on you is marital property. If you keep bothering me, I’ll hire a lawyer and make sure you return every single cent he gave you. Within seconds, the photos were frantically recalled. I had hesitated to file for divorce because our finances and business assets were deeply intertwined. But looking at the empty bedroom, I realized that no amount of money was worth this slow, agonizing death. 5 I hadn’t seen Asher since that night at the restaurant. Feeling completely drained, I approved my accumulated leave from work, packed a small bag, and caught a late-night flight to my mother’s house in the countryside. When my mother opened the door, she was speechless. Years ago, when I had insisted on marrying Garrett, she had been vehemently opposed to the union. The financial gap between our families was massive, and she had warned me of the consequences. “He loves you now, but what about the future? His mother already looks down on you. If his feelings change, you’ll have no one to protect you.” I had been too blinded by love to listen, marrying him despite her warnings. She had refused to speak to me ever since. Garrett had promised he would prove his worth to her, promising to be my rock forever. Now, her words had come back to haunt me. Seeing my exhausted, pale face, my mother didn’t need an explanation. “Look at you, looking like a ghost. I told you that family would eat you alive. Did his mother lock you out?” A lump rose in my throat, and the tears I had held back for months finally spilled over. “Mom…” I whispered. My mother’s hard expression softened instantly. She pulled me into a tight, warm hug. “Alright, that’s enough. You’re home now. It’s not like I can’t afford to feed you. Come inside, I’ll make some food.” Sitting at her small kitchen table, eating her homemade chicken dumplings, I felt a spark of warmth return to my soul. I stayed with her for two weeks. One evening, my phone rang. It was Garrett. “Vivian, where the hell are you? Do you even care about this family anymore? You’ve been gone for days. Do you even remember you’re a married woman?” Before he could launch into another lecture, I hung up. The phone rang again instantly, buzzing continuously. I swiped answer, my voice cold. “Learn to speak to me with respect. I don’t owe you any explanations about where I go.” “You’re my wife,” he snapped, his voice tight with anger. “Of course I have a right to know.” “Sure,” I said, and hung up on him again. The next evening, a loud, heavy knocking rattled my mother’s front door. I pulled it open to find Garrett standing on the porch. His suit was wrinkled, his hair messy, looking entirely out of breath. He stared at me, a flicker of panic softening his tense features. “You… you’re really here?” We both knew why he was surprised. My mother had forbidden me from returning, and yet here I was, living peacefully in her home. As my mother walked into the hallway, Garrett’s eyes shifted nervously. He tried to step inside, but my younger brother stepped into the doorway, pushing him back. “My mother said strangers aren’t allowed inside,” my brother said coldly. Garrett’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t dare raise his voice in front of my family. In the past, despite his mother’s arrogance, he had always tried to maintain a polite front around my mother. “I’ll handle this,” I whispered to my mother and brother, stepping out onto the porch and closing the door behind me. Garrett and I stood in the cool night air, the silence stretching between us. Finally, I spoke the words that had been weighing on me for weeks. “Garrett, let’s get a divorce.” Garrett’s brow furrowed, his eyes flashing with irritation. “On what grounds?” I let out a dry laugh. “You’re seriously asking me that?” He pulled out a cigarette, preparing to light it, but stopped himself when he remembered I hated the smell, pocketing it instead. “Is this still about the affair? I told you, it was a mistake. You’ll always be my wife, Vivian. I still love you.” Looking at the handsome, arrogant man in front of me, my mind drifted back to the twenty-year-old boy who had loved me with his entire soul. The boy who had learned to cook spicy dishes just to make me smile when I was stressed. But that boy was dead. The man standing in front of me was a stranger. “Garrett, we’re toxic for each other now. I don’t want a cheating husband, and you wouldn’t tolerate a cheating wife. Let’s just set each other free.” He froze, his expression turning defensive. “Are you threatening me? Vivian, I know you. You’d never cheat on me.” “I’m not divorcing you. I’ll break things off with the girl, alright?” “My lawyer will send you the papers,” I said, turning back toward the door. “If you don’t sign, I’ll file for a contested divorce.” Losing his temper, Garrett kicked the large potted jasmine plant sitting near the steps, shattering the clay pot. It was the very same jasmine plant he had bought for me years ago when I mentioned I loved the scent. I had left it at my mother’s house when we got married. It had survived for years, only to be crushed under his boot today. “I’m telling you, I won’t sign!” he roared before turning and storming back to his car. I stared at the broken white blossoms scattered across the dirt. My vacation was over, and it was time to return to the city to settle my affairs. During my trip, Asher had sent me dozens of messages, none of which I had replied to. I knew our little arrangement had to end. Just as I was thinking about him, my phone rang. “Vivian,” his voice came through, sounding incredibly small and hurt. “I’m sorry. Please don’t ignore me.” I didn’t know how he had tracked Garrett’s movements, but I couldn’t afford any more complications. “Asher, we’re done. Let’s not see each other again. If you need any financial compensation, let me know, and I’ll arrange it.” The line went silent for a moment, his voice turning cold when he spoke again. “Why? Do you still love him that much?” Then, his tone softened, returning to that familiar, pleading murmur. “Alright. I won’t push you. But can we please see each other one last time? Just to say goodbye. Please?” “Okay,” I whispered. For our final meeting, he was incredibly passionate, holding me with a desperate, heavy intensity that left me completely exhausted. As he walked me back to my apartment lobby, he pulled me against the wall near the elevators, kissing me with a frantic, unyielding hunger, whispering that he couldn’t bear to let me go. My heart softened, and I let him hold me. Suddenly, a furious roar shattered the quiet lobby. “What the hell are you doing?” Asher pulled back slowly, a smug, victorious smile spreading across his face as he looked at Garrett. He leaned close to my ear, his breath warm against my skin. “Look at that, beautiful. We got caught.”

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At eighteen, I walked in on Ned fastening a scholarship girl’s bra strap. The young man looked incredibly solemn, his clumsy fingers fumbling with the clasp in a hesitant, awkward rhythm. At twenty-six, following family arrangements, I married Ned. But everyone in our elite circle knew he kept a portrait of that scholarship girl locked away in his study. In our third year of marriage, I asked for a divorce. He was silent for a long time before signing the agreement. “If you ever need help in the future, just ask.” Later, I walked into a gala on the arm of my new law firm partner. My childhood friend teased us, noting that during the college debate tournament we were at each other’s throats, yet now we were walking hand in hand. Late that night, Ned’s number lit up my screen for the first time in months, his message reading: “Did you insist on taking that waterfront penthouse back then because you could see his law firm from the window?” 1 Outside, a bitter winter wind rattled the glass, but the penthouse remained cozy and warm. Across the room, Ned sat on the sofa, his tailored suit immaculate, his lean frame casting a long shadow under the dim lights. His face was just as sharply defined as it had been when we were eighteen, but the fresh cut near his temple ruined the symmetry. Only an hour ago, I had received a call from the local police precinct. Ned had gotten into a fight. When I arrived at the station, a woman was cupping his face, gently dabbing ointment onto his wound. I recognized her instantly. It was Penny, our old high school classmate. Seeing me enter, she flinched like a startled bird, pulling her hand back in panic. Ned immediately stepped in front of her, shielding her from my view. His eyes flashed with cold irritation as he looked at me. “She is easily frightened,” he said, his voice clipped. “Don’t scare her.” I said nothing. Turning on my heel, I followed the officer to sign the release papers. By the time the paperwork was finalized and I walked back, Penny was already gone. On the drive home, Ned did not say a single word to me. His entire focus was on his phone. He spent the journey whispering sweet, reassuring words to the woman on the other end of the line. I had never seen him like this. His eyes were soft, protective, and entirely devoted. Every ounce of his patience was being poured out for Penny. It was in that quiet car, listening to him comfort another woman, that the thought of divorce first crossed my mind. 2 If people considered Ned and me to be childhood sweethearts, then Penny was the one who got away, the tragic muse he could never truly possess. We had all met in high school. Unlike the rest of our privileged circle, Penny was a scholarship student. She was beautiful, brilliant, and possessed an infectious, hardworking optimism. The moment she transferred into our class, she caught Ned’s attention. At first, I thought his interest was just a passing phase, a wealthy boy amused by a novel plaything. That was until the day Penny was falsely accused of stealing the class funds. A group of girls had dragged her into the restrooms to corner her. By the time I heard the rumors and rushed over, the bullies had already left. The empty restroom was dead silent, save for Penny, who was shivering in the corner, her shirt torn open. I pulled off my coat, intending to go in and help her, but before I could take a step, Ned walked out from one of the stalls. He was holding Penny’s jacket. Penny kept her back turned to him, her voice thick with tears. “Just leave. If anyone sees you here, we will never be able to explain it.” “Then we won’t explain it,” Ned replied softly. “Just put your jacket on first.” After a tense silence, she relented. But for some reason, she struggled to fasten her bra strap with her trembling hands. Without a second thought, Ned stepped in. “Let me.” His expression was incredibly solemn, his fingers clumsy and hesitant as he fumbled with the clasp. When he finally got it secure, I saw the tips of his ears turn a deep, burning crimson. When he turned around, his eyes met mine. A flash of panic crossed his features, but he quickly composed himself and walked toward me. “You’re just in time,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “Go help her.” He walked out, but paused at the door to look back at me. “Keep this between us. Please.” I promised him I would. Yet, by that very afternoon, photos of Ned helping Penny dress had circulated through the entire school. Ned was convinced I was the one who leaked them. That day, he lost his temper with me for the first time. “Andrea, don’t think just because my parents back you, I won’t do anything to you,” he snarled. “You are their choice for a wife, not mine. No one dictates who I marry.” I pressed my lips together, refusing to let my voice shake. “Whether you believe me or not, I had nothing to do with this.” He let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “You were the only one there. If it wasn’t you, who else could it be?” “It wasn’t me!” I shouted back, my stubborn pride refusing to back down. “Why would I even make up such a rumor?” “Because you’re jealous that she’s with me.” My mind went entirely blank. I stared at him, unable to process his words. “Since… since when?” I whispered. He looked at me with cold amusement. “I saw her intimate side. Naturally, I have to take responsibility for her.” “But what about us?” He cut me off, his impatience cutting through me like a knife. “Andrea, you didn’t actually think that just because I looked out for you over the years, I loved you, did you?” I felt as though I had been plunged into a frozen lake, my limbs too numb to move. That night, Ned’s family found out about his relationship with Penny. His father dragged him to our house to force an apology. But Ned stood tall, his jaw set in defiance as he muttered words that nearly drove his father mad: “If you love Andrea so much, why don’t you marry her yourself?” That earned him a brutal beating from both families. Back then, Ned was too young to understand how the world worked. He didn’t realize that I had been groomed to be his wife since childhood. As the sole heir of his family’s empire, he never had the luxury of choice. And so, in the end, he still married me. Shortly after the photo scandal, Penny transferred to another school. Once graduation was over, Ned was packed off to study abroad, staying away for eight long years. When he returned to take over the family business, the boyish warmth was entirely gone, replaced by a cold, calculating gravity. He came to me and proposed. “Since we are both still single, we might as well get married,” he said. I knew I couldn’t escape an arranged marriage. Marrying someone I had known my whole life seemed like the safest bet. It was only later that I discovered Ned had gone to find Penny the very day he landed. But Penny had too much pride. She rejected him. His proposal to me was nothing more than a childish act of retaliation against her. 3 “I have to go out. Go to sleep without me.” Ned’s voice pulled me back to the present. He stood up, adjusting his coat as he spoke into his phone, his tone softening instantly. “Don’t be scared. I’m on my way now. They won’t dare touch you. Lock the door and wait for me.” I stood up from the sofa. “It’s late. Do you really have to go?” He paused for a fraction of a second, but did not look back. “Something came up. I will be back very late.” Before he could reach the door, I called out his name again. He stopped, his shoulders tense with annoyance. “What is it now?” “Ned,” I said quietly, “let’s get a divorce.” Anger flared in his eyes. He turned to face me, trying to keep his temper in check. “What kind of game are you playing now?” “Penny had a major scare tonight,” he continued, as if explaining things to a difficult child. “She has no friends or family in this city. She only has me to rely on.” I stared at him, my gaze unwavering. “And relying on you means you have to visit the club where she works every single day to defend her honor?” “The great CEO of the family empire, getting into a fistfight over a waitress and ending up at the police station. Is that what you call helping?” Ned’s lips thinned into a hard, dangerous line. His dark eyes held a silent warning. “I will get to the bottom of what happened tonight.” He paused, adding coldly, “It had better not have anything to do with you.” The accusation felt like a bucket of ice water poured over my head, freezing the blood in my veins. For the past three years of our marriage, Ned had never lost his temper with me. He had been polite and distant, leading me to believe he had finally moved on and wanted to build a life together. Now I realized it was all a delusion. I suddenly remembered the locked drawer in his study. He had hand-painted a portrait of Penny, a fact he never hid from anyone, not even his family. His grandfather had been so furious that he forced Ned to hang our wedding photo in the study instead. But Ned simply locked Penny’s portrait away. At this moment, I finally understood. He had never surrendered. He was just fighting his family in his own silent, stubborn way. The wind howled outside. The balcony door in the dining room was slightly ajar, letting in a sudden draft that made me shiver. Right then, a sharp, terrified scream echoed from Ned’s phone. In an instant, the cold composure on Ned’s face crumbled, replaced by absolute panic. He bolted out the door, his voice laced with desperate fear. “Penny, don’t scream! I’m ten minutes away! Don’t open the door for anyone!” The heavy door slammed shut, cutting off the last of his warmth. He didn’t return that night. I sat on the sofa alone, watching the darkness fade into dawn. As the morning light filled the room, my phone buzzed with two messages. The first was a photograph of Ned and Penny walking side by side into a luxury hotel. The second was a text: “Divorce him. Choose me instead, okay?” I scrolled up to see three previous, unanswered messages from the same sender: Andrea, I’m back. Whenever you need me, I’m here. Do you really love him that much? Why can’t you love me instead? My eyes burned. I blinked back the tears and quickly typed a response: “Okay.” 4 Ned finally returned the following afternoon. He had changed into a brand-new suit, a mid-range label he would normally never glance at. He looked clean and put-together, without even a trace of women’s perfume on his collar. But the vivid red mark on his collarbone was hard to miss. No one would believe he and Penny had spent the entire night and morning in a hotel room doing nothing. Perhaps out of guilt, he had brought me a gift. “I’m sorry,” he said, placing the box on the table. “I lost my temper yesterday. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.” I didn’t look at the box. Instead, I pulled the pre-prepared divorce agreement from the drawer and slid it across the table to him. “Take a look. If everything is in order, sign it.” Ned’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Just because I helped an old classmate? Is this really necessary, Andrea?” He let out a sigh of disbelief. “When did you become so petty?” I ignored his remarks. “Our prenuptial agreement already keeps our individual assets separate. We will split the joint liquid assets down the middle. As for the real estate, I only want the waterfront penthouse.” Ned finally sat up straight, his gaze turning sharp and analytical. After a long silence, he let out a cold laugh. “Is this your new strategy to get my attention?” He didn’t believe me. He thought this was just another dramatic ploy to make him chase me. It made sense. The family name carried immense weight in our social circles, and countless wealthy families dreamed of marrying their daughters into his house. In his mind, I had absolutely no reason to give up my status as his wife. But the truth was, I had wanted to give up a long time ago. It had happened on a very ordinary evening. Ned had returned home dead drunk after a business dinner. When I went to help him to bed, he had pushed me away, his voice dripping with venom. “Andrea, your love makes me sick.” I had frozen in place, a dull, aching pain blooming in my chest. I distinctly remembered a time when he did love me. During our freshman year of high school, we weren’t in the same classroom, but our doors faced each other across the hallway. When a minor earthquake shook our city, the tremors were terrifyingly strong. Ned had been the very first to run out of his classroom, straight into mine. He had thrown his jacket over my head and literally dragged me down the stairs to safety. There was no real damage from the quake, and my only injury was the dark bruise his tight grip had left on my wrist. His friends had teased him for weeks, saying I was his most prized possession, and joking that we should just get married on the spot. I thought Ned would be annoyed, but he had simply looked at them and said, “We will get married.” “Don’t speak too soon, man. We’re years away from the legal age,” his buddy had laughed. But Ned’s eyes had been deadly serious. “If she isn’t the one standing beside me at the altar, don’t any of you bother showing up.” When we did get married, all his childhood friends had attended. But what was the point of those memories now? 5 Believing I was merely playing hard to get, Ned sat back and watched me with cool detachment. In the past, whenever we had a disagreement, I was always the one to back down and apologize. He expected this time to be no different. He had no idea that my mind was completely made up. I pulled the document toward myself, picked up a pen, and under his dismissive gaze, flipped to the final page. I signed my name without a single second of hesitation. I slid the pen over to him. “Your turn.” The realization finally dawned on him. The dismissive look vanished from his eyes, replaced by a heavy, dark gravity. “Are you serious about this?” I glanced at my watch. “If we leave for the courthouse now, we can still make the final appointment of the day.” He remained silent, his dark eyes searching my face for any sign of a bluff. Finding none, his expression hardened. “Fine. Let’s do it.” He snatched the pen and signed his name. Just before he finished, his hand paused. “My grandfather’s eightieth birthday is next month. I don’t want the family knowing about the divorce until after the celebration.” “Agreed,” I said. I stood up and dragged my pre-packed suitcase out from the corner of the room. “Andrea,” he said, his voice losing some of its harshness. “You can continue staying here.” “There’s no need.” If we were parting ways, there was no point in lingering. “If you ever need help with anything in the future, just ask,” he added. I didn’t answer. As I reached the foyer, he quickly caught up to me. “I’ll drive you.” “No need. Someone is already waiting for me.” Downstairs, a tall, commanding figure stood under the warm glow of the streetlight. The moment he saw me, he took long strides toward me and naturally took the handle of my suitcase. Once we were settled in the car, I turned to the driver’s seat to look at the sharp, aristocratic profile of the man beside me. “Nate,” I said softly, “give me one month.” Nate let out a low, gentle laugh. He leaned over, his cologne filling the small space as he buckled my seatbelt for me. “A month is nothing,” he murmured, his eyes locking onto mine. “I can wait.” 6 Nate and I had been classmates in law school. We were both top of our class, constantly competing, constantly pushing each other. We had first truly noticed each other during a major varsity debate tournament. The motion that day was: If you had the superpower to force the person you love to love you back, would you use it? Nate was on the opposing side, and I was on the affirmative. It was a fierce, passionate debate, but in the end, my team took the victory. After the round, he had stopped me in the corridor. “If I had that power, I wouldn’t hesitate to use it.” Young and arrogant as I was back then, my reply had been sharp and biting. “Then you don’t deserve to be loved.” Nate had stared at me for a long time before speaking. “I love her, but I also respect her. As long as I don’t give up, she will eventually see me.” I had smiled mockingly. “So even the brilliant Nate has someone he can’t have?” He hadn’t answered, only keeping his quiet, intense gaze on me. Later, our roles in the student council forced us to work together constantly. Every meeting was a clash of wits, but over those four years, a deep, unspoken bond had formed between us. On the night of our graduation, he had invited me out for drinks, and I had accepted. He asked me about my plans for the future. I had joked, “What else is there for someone like me? I’ll marry some suitable bachelor, have kids, and secure some long-term partnership for my family’s firm.” Nate had looked at me with absolute sincerity. “Can you wait for me? Give me five years. Just five years, okay?” The bar had been too loud, and I had pretended not to hear him. But the moment I drained my glass, Nate had leaned in and kissed me. I had panicked and fled. It wasn’t because of his boldness, but because of the terrifying realization that I had leaned into the kiss and wanted more. The sudden loss of control had frightened me. I had turned off my phone and cut contact for a week. By the time I turned it back on, I found out Nate had already left the country to pursue his master’s degree. He had stayed abroad for four years. By the time he returned, I was already another man’s wife.

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1 Recently engaged, my sister-in-law, Jacqueline, got her fingers slammed in a heavy steel security door. She needed immediate surgery to reattach them. But my mother-in-law, Beatrice, refused to allow it. Even though it was the middle of the night, she stubbornly insisted on transferring Jacqueline to the prestigious metropolitan medical center downtown. The emergency room doctor patiently explained that time was of the essence. Any delay would cause the severed tissue to die, making reattachment impossible. He assured her that even at the metropolitan hospital, only an on-call emergency physician would be available at this hour. They were fully capable of performing the procedure right here. Beatrice would not listen, digging her heels in. Watching Jacqueline writhe in agony as blood soaked through her makeshift bandages, I had pleaded with Beatrice to prioritize her daughter’s hand over her pride. Thanks to my relentless persuasion, Beatrice had finally relented and signed the paperwork. The surgery was completed just within the golden window, and the fingers were successfully reattached. But during her subsequent physical therapy, we realized that although the fingers looked perfect on the outside, they remained stiff and completely paralyzed, unable to bend. Jacqueline blamed me entirely for the outcome. She insisted I had forced her to stay at a second-rate clinic to ruin her life, claiming that if she had transferred to the city center, she would have recovered completely. One afternoon, when I was completely off guard, she cornered me and pushed me down the grand staircase of our home, breaking my neck. When I opened my eyes again, my face was burning from a sharp, stinging pain. “Slap! Slap! Slap!” Beatrice was striking me across the face, screaming at the top of her lungs, her eyes wild with fury. “Fiona, you worthless b****! Who do you think you are? Since when do you make the decisions in this family?” My head spun from the force of her blows. The harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital hallway burned my eyes, making it hard to focus. Before I could fully comprehend what was happening, the emergency room doctor stepped between us, urging, “Have you decided yet? Who is signing the consent form? Stop hesitating! Every minute you waste reduces the chances of saving the tissue. Reattaching the fingers immediately is the only priority.” The scene was eerily familiar. Wasn’t I just pushed down the stairs? Am I dead? The anxious doctor, the stubborn mother-in-law, the copper scent of blood hanging heavy in the air… I was back outside the emergency room. “I refuse!” Beatrice’s screeching voice rang in my ears. “You can forget about it! I am not giving permission for you hacks to operate on my daughter. We are transferring her!” Hearing her demand a transfer, the truth washed over me. I had been reborn. I was back on the exact day Jacqueline severed her fingers. In my past life, when I heard Jacqueline had slammed her fingers in a heavy metal door, I had rushed to the clinic with Beatrice. The doctor had examined her and said she arrived just in time. The severed digits were still viable, and immediate surgery had a very high success rate. But Beatrice had refused, calling the community clinic a second-rate dump. She demanded her daughter be sent to the downtown hospital, where the state’s most famous orthopedic surgeon was based. The emergency doctor had pleaded with her, explaining that tissue dies quickly. In the middle of the night, any hospital would only have on-call staff, and a transfer would only waste precious time. But Beatrice had sneered, claiming severed digits could easily survive for five or six hours. Pitying Jacqueline, who was screaming in the trauma bay, I had begged Beatrice to let them operate, wanting to save the young girl’s hand right before her wedding. Because of my desperate pleas, Beatrice had finally signed. The surgery went well, completed in the golden window, but the recovery was poor. The fingers remained stiff. Jacqueline spent every day cursing me, blaming me for stopping the transfer. She claimed I did it on purpose to ruin her chance at a perfect recovery, calling me a venomous curse. And then, she pushed me to my death. As I lay dying at the foot of the stairs, gasping for breath, I had begged Beatrice to call an ambulance. Instead, she and Jacqueline had stood over me, cold and mocking. “You ruined my daughter’s hand, and now you want us to save you?” Beatrice had spat. “You deserve this, you miserable b****.” I had taken my final, agonizing breath in absolute despair. Now, the heavens had given me a second chance. This time, I would not lift a finger to save her. I would watch these two wretched women destroy themselves. “A transfer is too risky,” the doctor warned again, bringing me back to the present. “The tissue will die. Even if you go downtown, you’ll only find on-call emergency staff at this hour. You’re wasting precious time.” I looked at Beatrice, quickly painting a mask of panic on my face. “Mom, I didn’t mean to overstep,” I said, my voice trembling with faux anxiety. “I’m just so worried about Jacqueline. I’m completely frantic. I don’t know what we should do. What do you think?” Seeing my apparent weakness, Beatrice scoffed, her voice dripping with arrogance. “Look at you, trembling like a leaf. You don’t get a say here anyway. We are transferring my daughter immediately.” I suppressed a cold smile. “Okay, Mom. Whatever you say.” The doctor frowned. “The risk is too high. We strongly advise against a transfer. Please sign the paperwork.” Beatrice scoffed. “I’m not letting you touch her, so why would I sign anything? Don’t I have the right to choose her care?” The doctor’s frustration grew. “This isn’t a joke. Severed fingers need to be reattached as soon as possible. Can you guarantee she won’t deteriorate on the road? Can you guarantee the tissue will survive? Can you guarantee a specialist will even be awake to operate on her downtown?” “Are you trying to force your services on us?” Beatrice snapped back, crossing her arms. “What is this, a scam? Do we have to buy what you’re selling?” “We are a licensed hospital,” the doctor replied, trying to remain professional. “We respect your choices, but we must warn you of the objective risks. Transferring her now is extremely dangerous.” But Beatrice was convinced she knew best. “You’re just trying to keep us here to boost your department’s numbers! My daughter deserves the absolute best, not this pathetic clinic.” “Our only concern is the patient,” the doctor explained patiently. “If we couldn’t handle it, we would recommend a transfer ourselves. But we can do this surgery, and a transfer will only delay her care.” Beatrice refused to listen, raising her voice to draw a crowd. “Stop threatening me! I am moving my daughter, and that is final!” She turned to glare at me. “Fiona! Are you deaf? Go help Jacqueline up! What good are you anyway?” From the treatment room, Jacqueline’s agonizing screams echoed down the hall. “Help me! It hurts so much! Please, someone help me!” Hearing her cries, I felt nothing but cold satisfaction. The longer Beatrice stalled, the better. I leaned in and whispered to Beatrice, “Mom, are we really doing this? Should we call Peter? He is her fiancé, after all.” The doctor caught this. “Yes! Call her fiancé. He should have a say in this.” Beatrice’s eyes widened in fury. She glared at me. “Fiona, why are you always stirring up trouble? What does this have to do with Peter? He’s just her fiancé. She hasn’t married him yet. Even if he were here, he wouldn’t get to make the decisions.” She kicked me hard in the shin. “Go get Jacqueline! Do you want her to sit there suffering forever?” As I walked toward the treatment room, the doctor grabbed my arm. “Please, try to talk some sense into your mother-in-law. Her daughter’s hand is at stake.” Before I could answer, Beatrice shoves the doctor. “What do you think you’re doing? Are you trying to kidnap my daughter?” I had no intention of helping her this time. I wanted Beatrice to throw the biggest tantrum possible. While they argued, I quietly slipped my phone out and sent a text to Peter, telling him to get to the hospital immediately. Moments later, my phone rang. Beatrice was too busy screaming at the staff to notice. “Fiona, what’s going on?” Peter’s anxious voice came through the speaker. “Why is Jacqueline in the hospital?” “Her fingers were severed,” I said quickly. “We’re at the community clinic. Mom wants to transfer her, but the doctors say it’s too dangerous. Can you come help us?” Before I could finish, Beatrice noticed the call. She lunged forward, snatched my phone, and ended the call. Before I could react, she grabbed me by the hair and delivered a stinging slap to my cheek. “You treacherous b****!” she screeches. “Who told you to call Peter? Are you trying to set him against me?” I played the victim, forcing tears to my eyes. “Mom, no! I just thought, since we’re transferring her, we need a car. Peter has a nice car, and he’s her fiancé. It’s only right he helps.” “It had better be just for that, or I’ll beat you senseless.” The doctor chimes in. “The fiancé has every right to know. He should be part of this decision.” “He knows now,” Beatrice snaps. “But he doesn’t make the rules in my family.” The doctor tries one last time. “As her mother, how can you watch her suffer in there? Just sign the papers so we can save her hand.” “Save your breath,” Beatrice sneers. “I am not letting you touch her.” They continued to argue, wasting another hour. While we wait for Peter, I also secretly texted my husband, Garrett. Garrett is fiercely protective of his sister. In my past life, he believed Jacqueline’s lies that I had ruined her hand out of spite, and he subjected me to years of domestic abuse. This time, I wanted to see whose side he took when his mother was the one ruining Jacqueline’s hand. Peter burst through the hospital doors, breathless and pale. The doctor quickly caught him up on the situation. Peter doesn’t hesitate. “If you can do the surgery, do it now. Let’s not waste any more time.” Hearing this, Beatrice screamed, lunging at him. “I don’t agree! Who do you think you are to make decisions for my daughter? We are transferring her!” But Peter was not one to be bullied. He shoved Beatrice back, sending her stumbling to the floor. “I am her fiancé. Of course I have a say!” Beatrice screeches from the ground, “You’re just a fiancé! She hasn’t walked down the aisle yet! You don’t own her!” Ignoring her, Peter demanded the consent form and grabbed a pen. Beatrice scrambled up, trying to snatch the pen from his hand, but Peter was younger and stronger. He shoved her down a second time. With a swift motion, Peter signed his name on the consent line. I watched in silent panic. No, this isn’t how it was supposed to go. If Peter signed, they would operate, and Jacqueline would be saved. I couldn’t let her escape her fate.

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1 Kyle Norvell was the golden heir of the billionaire elite. But at the absolute height of his youth, tragedy struck. His father and brother were killed in a devastating car crash, leaving the family fortune in the hands of greedy relatives. To make matters worse, a racing accident shortly after cost him his sight, plunging him into darkness. For three years, I disguised myself as his childhood sweetheart, Isabella, serving as his private caregiver and nursing him with utmost devotion. Finally, he was only one surgery away from reclaiming his sight. But on the night before our flight to Switzerland, Kyle threw my suitcase out of the penthouse window, his voice laced with freezing, mocking contempt. “Did you honestly think a cheap impostor like you, a gold-digging parasite, had the right to stand by my side?” I spent the next three years in a state of quiet depression before finally pulling myself together to work at a private clinic. But today, the director informed me that Kyle had just bought the entire hospital. … The first time I met Kyle, I had no idea he was my assigned patient. The massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse were bathed in the golden glow of a late autumn sunset. He stood with his back to me, wearing a perfectly tailored charcoal suit that seemed to catch the dying light. When he turned around, his sharp, aristocratic features and athletic frame bore the unmistakable signs of a man accustomed to luxury and rigorous discipline. He carried himself with an effortless, old-money grace that could easily make any young girl lose her mind. Everything about him was flawless, yet something felt slightly off. My gaze drifted down to his hand, which was casually resting on a black Chrome Hearts cane. It wasn’t a fashion accessory. Kyle was entirely blind. His mother, Victoria, had gone to immense lengths to find me. I was a top-tier nursing graduate who happened to share a ninety-percent match with Isabella in terms of height, voice, and facial bone structure. I was the perfect double. “Have you made up your decision?” Victoria asked. The massive pigeon-blood ruby at her throat glowed brilliantly, though it couldn’t hide the deep exhaustion etched into her face. “I am hiring you to be Kyle’s private nurse, and his fiancée. You will perform every single duty expected of a future wife.” “I understand, Mrs. Norvell,” I replied quietly. “I will do it, as long as the compensation is sufficient.” “Very well. You are a sensible girl. My assistant will wire the advance to your account immediately.” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “There are three rules. If you expose your true identity, you leave immediately. You must do everything in your power to help him recover. And most importantly, you must keep him happy.” “Yes, ma’am.” After leaving the Norvell estate, the final portion of my payment was wired to my account. With both money and time finally on my side, I could finally afford the best medical care for my sick mother. I had been carrying the burden of her illness since high school, and though I thought I was used to the stress, my body began to protest. Insomnia became my nightly companion, and my mind was constantly flooded with memories of Kyle. In an attempt to quiet my thoughts, I took up calligraphy, but my notebook quickly became filled with his name, written over and over again. My mother eventually noticed my distress and practically forced me to see a doctor. The therapist told me my heart was bruised, and that I needed to force myself back into the world. Madelyn, a senior colleague who was two years ahead of me in university, worked as the deputy director at an exclusive, high-end convalescent home. Knowing I was unemployed, she warmly invited me to join her staff. The facility was fully licensed, equipped with state-of-the-art medical technology, and situated in a quiet, wealthy suburb. It was the perfect place to heal. The work demanded absolute professionalism and patience, leaving very little room for worldly distractions. I genuinely believed that in this quiet sanctuary, I could finally put the memory of Kyle behind me. Until one quiet morning, when I opened my phone to find the news dominated by a single headline: Kyle Norvell Takes Over Norvell Group, Announces Engagement to Heiress Isabella. He was back. For three years, I had searched for any scrap of news about him, but he had seemingly vanished from the face of the earth. I had no idea if his surgery in Switzerland had been successful, or how he was coping. He had cut off any possible way for me to reach him. The media outlets were having a field day, describing Kyle and Isabella as a match made in heaven, a devoted couple who had stayed by each other’s side through the darkest of times. I stared at the photographs of them. They truly looked beautiful together, a perfect portrait of high-society royalty. “Did you honestly think a cheap impostor like you, a gold-digging parasite, had the right to stand by my side?” Kyle’s cruel, mocking voice echoed in my mind, making my chest ache. “Director Giselle! Emergency in the VIP suite! The elder Mr. Norvell has collapsed!” The frantic voice of a young nurse over the radio shattered my thoughts. I sprinted toward the VIP wing immediately. The patient was over ninety years old, suffering from advanced dementia and a fragile heart. A collapse at his age was incredibly dangerous. “Start CPR!” I ordered, rushing into the room. “Connect the AED!” We worked feverishly until the heart monitor finally stabilized into a steady, reassuring rhythm. I leaned down, speaking softly near his ear. “Sir, can you hear my voice?” His eyes fluttered open, and he offered a weak, whispered response. Only then did the tension leave my shoulders. We had acted just in time. Once the elderly gentleman drifted into a peaceful sleep, I gave the nursing staff detailed instructions and turned to go back to my office to change my clothes. But as I pulled off my medical coat and turned toward the door, a tall, imposing figure stepped into the room. Kyle. My breath caught in my throat. I forced myself to stay calm, my mind racing. What was he doing here? The elder Mr. Norvell shared his last name, so perhaps he was a relative. Fortunately, Kyle had been blind when we were together. He had no idea what I looked like. As long as I treated him like any other patient’s family member, I would be safe. I took a slow, deliberate step toward the exit, my eyes fixed on the floor to avoid any eye contact that might give me away. But just as our shoulders brushed, his deep, familiar voice echoed through the quiet room. “Thank you, Giselle.” He paused, a subtle, dangerous edge in his tone. “Or should I say, Director Giselle?” “Director Giselle, is there something on my face?” Kyle noticed my stunned silence, a look of mild amusement playing on his lips. “No… nothing at all, Mr. Norvell,” I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. “You just have very beautiful eyes.” I knew that if I stayed a second longer, my tears would betray me. I offered a quick, formal nod and practically fled the room. That night, my long-lost insomnia returned with a vengeance. I remembered the very first time I had held Kyle’s hand. I had felt the thick, jagged scar on his wrist, and his entire body had stiffened under my touch. He hated showing his vulnerability, so from that day on, I avoided his wrist entirely, sliding my hand down to lock our fingers together instead. I was young back then, completely inexperienced in love, but I gave him everything I had. I helped him through his physical therapy, managed his meals, and kept him company during long walks. One evening, as I was tucking him into bed, he suddenly caught my hand. “What is your name?” he had asked softly. The name “Giselle” almost slipped past my lips, but my professional training kicked in just in time. “What are you talking about, Kyle? It’s me, Isabella. Your fiancée.” Kyle’s smile had widened. “Right. But Isabella, what do your friends call you?” “Elle,” I lied. My family always called me Elle, and since it sounded so similar to Isabella’s nickname, Belle, I knew I would easily react to it. “Elle,” Kyle murmured, his eyes searching the darkness. “Don’t worry about the scar on my wrist. It’s not a sign of weakness. It’s my badge of honor from fighting off the wolves.” I had wondered how a blind man could perceive my silent anxiety so accurately. It was only much later that I learned the truth. Before losing his sight, Kyle had survived multiple attempts on his life. That scar was the result of a failed attempt to stage his suicide while he was unconscious. In the days that followed, I treated him normally, but when I tried to support him by his wrist again, he gently pushed my hand down, locking his fingers with mine in a warm, breathless grip. The next morning, Madelyn called me into her office to inform me that the elder Mr. Norvell was being discharged to recover at his private estate, and he had personally requested me as his exclusive caregiver. Madelyn looked incredibly apologetic. “Giselle, I hired you to be our director of nursing, so normally I would have declined this request immediately.” “But you know who Kyle Norvell is, right? He is the CEO of the Norvell Group. His grandfather is our VIP patient, and their conglomerate just became our primary shareholder. We desperately need their funding to survive the winter. I am in a very tight spot here…” Kyle’s name felt like a physical blow. Why was he demanding my presence? “I suppose your exceptional performance during the emergency yesterday caught his attention,” Madelyn sighed. “His family noticed how skilled you are.” “I understand, Madelyn,” I said, offering her a reassuring smile. “I’ll take the job. Don’t worry about it.” Madelyn was the one who had pulled me out of my dark depression, and I couldn’t abandon her now. That very afternoon, a luxury vehicle arrived to pick me up. I had expected a private chauffeur, but when the door of the Rolls-Royce Cullinan opened, Kyle was sitting in the back seat. The spacious interior felt suffocatingly small as we rode in silence. “How long have you been working at the clinic, Director Giselle?” Kyle finally broke the quiet. “About six months, Mr. Norvell. You can just call me Giselle.” “And where did you work before that?” “I was an intern at the general hospital downtown.” “Which department?” “Neurology.” “Ah. I know the head of neurology there, Dr. Reynolds. We met at a medical investment summit. How is he doing? Still busy?” “Yes, very busy,” I lied, keeping my answers as brief as possible. Kyle turned his bright, newly restored eyes toward me, his gaze incredibly focused. “I have a question, Giselle.” “When we first met yesterday, how did you know my last was Norvell?” I froze, my mind scrambling for a plausible excuse. “I… I read the patient’s family file before entering the room.” Before he could press further, his phone rang, saving me from another interrogation. “Belle,” Kyle answered, his voice instantly dropping into a low, affectionate register. “Grandfather is returning home today, so I have to manage the arrangements. Yes, I have a meeting at ten, so don’t wait up for me.” Hearing his gentle tone brought back a flood of memories. He had once spoken to me with that exact same tenderness. But of course, it had all been for the character I was playing. The real Isabella belonged to a powerful family that had been allied with the Norvells for generations. She had been busy with her studies abroad, which was why Victoria had needed an identical substitute to keep Kyle stable during his darkest hours. The car pulled into the private garage of a massive waterfront estate. This was a exclusive luxury villa by the bay, not the old Norvell manor where I had previously worked. Since this was his grandfather’s retirement home, I assumed Kyle wouldn’t visit often. Due to his advanced dementia, the elderly Mr. Norvell rarely spoke, though he occasionally surprised me with sudden bursts of clarity. In his mind, he was still a young, powerful tycoon, and he would frequently order me around as if I were his executive assistant. It took him nearly a month to remember my name, and he eventually settled on treating me like his personal secretary. Kyle visited only a handful of times, always in a rush, leaving quickly to attend various corporate events. Lately, the Norvell Group’s acquisition of a major tech firm had been dominating the financial news, with rumors suggesting Isabella’s family had played a significant role in securing the deal. Kyle was ascending to new heights, his position as CEO more secure than ever. His ambition and dreams were finally becoming reality. He had returned to his place as the darling of the elite, the trauma of his temporary blindness leaving no visible mark on him. If anything, the trial had only made him stronger. One afternoon, I was staring at the news on my phone when I heard footsteps behind me. “What has captured your attention so completely, Giselle?” I quickly locked my screen, turning to find Kyle standing right in front of me. “Nothing, Mr. Norvell. I was just about to retrieve your grandfather’s medication.” He didn’t budge, blocking my path. “I’ve noticed that you always seem to be avoiding me, Giselle.” “You’re mistaken, sir. Managing your grandfather’s care keeps me quite busy.” Kyle didn’t press the matter. He turned to greet a distinguished-looking gentleman who had just entered the villa, and the two of them walked into the grandfather’s study. A few minutes later, the elder Mr. Norvell called out, “Giselle, bring some refreshments for our guests, please.” I sliced some fresh melon and prepared a pot of robust black tea for the grandfather. Knowing Kyle never drank black tea, I automatically prepared a separate cup of delicate silver needle white tea for him. Habit has a dangerous way of exposing the truth. When I brought the tray into the study, I placed the fruit forks down, but out of sheer muscle memory, I picked up one fork and placed it directly into Kyle’s open palm. It was a small, intimate gesture we had repeated thousands of times during his blindness. The three men in the room went dead silent. Kyle stared at the cup of white tea, then looked down at the fork in his hand, his eyes darkening. “Thank you, Giselle. But as you can see, I can feed myself now.” After the guest departed, I finished my shift, grabbed a cold can of beer, and walked out onto the terrace to feel the evening breeze. Alcohol was a wonderful escape. The very first time I had ever tasted alcohol was when Kyle handed me a glass of champagne. It had been his first public appearance at a high-society gala after losing his sight. The crowd had been cruel, eager to watch a fallen king struggle. People who had once begged for his attention were whispering mocking comments just loud enough for him to hear. Ignoring the judgmental glares of the crowd, I had grabbed his hand and led him out of the suffocating ballroom, pulling him onto a quiet, spacious terrace. The moon had been brilliant that night, casting a silver glow over the deep blue sky. The faint sound of violins from the ballroom drifted up to us like a quiet lullaby. I had taken his hands and pulled him into a slow, gentle dance. I knew I was overstepping my boundaries, but in that moment, my only desire was to comfort his aching heart. When the music faded, Kyle had held me close, whispering against my ear, “Tell me what you look like tonight, Elle.” I had looked down at my outfit. Knowing I was representing his fiancée, I had spent a significant portion of my savings on a beautiful dress and styled my hair. “A black velvet dress with a folded bow at the collar,” I murmured. “My hair is in soft curls, and I’m wearing black patent leather heels.” “You must be exceptionally beautiful tonight.” “I am always beautiful, Kyle.” I had buried my face in his chest, laughing softly. “I believe you,” he had whispered, his hand gently tracing my cheek. “Elle, you have no idea how desperately I wish I could see you right now.” A sudden gust of cold wind pulled me back to the present. I took a sip of my beer, whispering to the empty terrace, “But now you can see, Kyle, and yet you still don’t see me.” The clouds above were heavy with rain. As the first drop hit my face, I turned to go inside, only to find Kyle standing right behind me. In most situations, I was quick on my feet. But when it came to Kyle, my only instinct was to run. Before I could take a step, his hand clamped around my wrist. “Do you have a moment to talk, Giselle?” “I’m sorry, Mr. Norvell, but my shift ended ten minutes ago.” “My grandfather’s symptoms have been fluctuating lately,” he said, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. “I am deeply concerned.” I relented, and we sat down together on the terrace lounge. “You were the director of nursing at the clinic,” Kyle began, his tone conversational. “With your credentials, why would you choose to humble yourself as a private caregiver for an old man?” “All nursing care is valuable, regardless of the patient’s status. I simply follow my employer’s assignments.” I had no intention of telling him about Madelyn’s financial struggles. “Is that the only reason?” “Of course not,” I said, forcing a mercenary smile. “Your family offered me three times my usual salary. I really need the money.” Kyle seemed to accept this answer, a cold, mocking smile playing on his lips. “You really do love money, don’t you? Is it truly that important to you?” I thought of my mother, who had been confined to a hospital bed for over a decade, and nodded slowly. “Yes. It is incredibly important.” “Important enough to turn you into a liar?” “What do you mean?” “You claimed you worked under Dr. Reynolds,” Kyle said, his voice dropping an octave. “But when he visited today, he had absolutely no idea who you were.” My heart hammered against my ribs. I had interned at the hospital while Dr. Reynolds was completing his residency abroad, so we had never actually met. “Mr. Norvell, I was assigned to this job by the clinic. If you are unsatisfied with my performance, you can easily request a replacement.” “Still refusing to answer? Still trying to run away?” Kyle’s voice turned dangerously sharp, full of suppressed rage. “Elle… or should I say, Giselle? Money really is magic, isn’t it? It can buy your loyalty, it can make you play with a blind man’s heart, and it can make you disappear without a trace.” “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Stop playing dumb!” Kyle’s fingers dug into my shoulders, locking me in place. “You know my tea preferences, you put the fork in my hand without a single thought, and you handle my habits perfectly. Where have you been these past three years?” “You might have nursed plenty of disabled patients, Giselle, but you clearly don’t understand them.” “When a person loses their sight, their hearing becomes incredibly sensitive. From the very first word you spoke to me at the clinic, I knew exactly who you were.” The revelation shattered my composure. The tears I had been holding back spilled over, hot and uncontrollable. He had known all along. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I cried, my voice cracking. “You were the one who threw my things out and told me to leave! Why are you acting like I abandoned you?” I wanted to ask him so many things, but the words died in my throat. From the very beginning, our relationship had been built on a transaction. We belonged to two completely different worlds. I took a deep, trembling breath, forcing my features into a mask of cold indifference. “What do you want me to say, Kyle? Yes, I left you because the money ran out, and I’m here now because the money is good. It’s exactly what you thought. I am exactly that kind of person.” “Is money truly the only thing that matters to you?” Kyle’s grip loosened, his eyes filled with disbelief and a deep, agonizing pain. “Was everything we did during those three years just a job? Did you ever feel even a single shred of genuine affection for me?” The dim terrace lights cast long shadows over his face as the rain began to fall, catching on his eyelashes. He looked so vulnerable, so broken, that I almost broke my own rules to comfort him. “No,” I lied, using every ounce of my remaining strength to sound cold. “Never.” “I have to go, Mr. Norvell.” The downpour commenced in earnest. Kyle stood alone in the rain, making no move to stop me, and making no move to go inside.

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