Author: Momo Chan

The moment I won her over—the moment I finally conquered the heart of that dark, damaged girl—I chose to leave the world for good. I didn’t hesitate for a second, not even when she begged me, her voice small and broken, to stay. Life back in the real world was… not good. I was drowning. So when the System found me again, offering five million dollars to go back into the book and win her over one more time, I was ready to say yes. But just as the word formed on my lips, a shimmering text feed flickered across my vision, like a phantom television crawl. > OMG, the Ex is back. > LMAO, does she seriously think the heroine is still in love with her? > The second Strategist not only got the heroine’s darkness rating down to negative one hundred, he voluntarily stayed. Gave her a real home. > The happy couple is about to get married. Can the Ex please have some shame and not bother them? 1 It took me a long moment to process it. The Ex they were talking about… was me. Beside me, the System was still buzzing, giving me the hard sell. “All you have to do is make Aria Sterling fall in love with you one more time, and you get five million dollars. Even if you fail, you get fifty thousand for your trouble. How about it? It’s a great deal.” It was a great deal. And right now, I desperately needed the money. But the words from the feed echoed in my head. I was silent for a moment, then told the System I needed to think about it. So, it sent me back into the book first. To be precise, it sent me back to the home Aria and I once shared. The small, sub-one-thousand-square-foot apartment was old but cozy, exactly as it had been three years ago. Aria hadn’t moved a single one of my things. Even the silk blouse I’d accidentally stained just before I left… it was hanging in the closet, perfectly clean. I remembered that blouse. It was from Theory, a brand that was everywhere at the time. When Aria had secretly bought it for me, I’d gotten angry about the price, insisting we return it. She never argued. She would just lower her gaze, those long lashes of hers casting shadows on her cheeks, and wait for my anger to cool. Then, in a soft voice, she’d coax me into trying it on. I ran the smooth fabric between my fingers. Took a deep breath. If Aria had truly forgotten me… Then why was this apartment still here, preserved like a museum? I looked up again, my eyes scanning the small space. They snagged on a white piece of paper taped to the inside of the window. Through the glass, I could make out a few large, hastily scrawled words. FOR SALE. PRICE NEGOTIABLE. URGENT. The strokes were sharp, decisive. It was Aria’s handwriting. 2 The text feed materialized in front of me again, a cascade of tiny, mocking words. > Hahaha, the Ex is stunned. The heroine wasn’t holding on to their past; she just hadn’t gotten around to selling the place yet. > The Ex really thought the heroine still loved her like before. Plot twist: with her new golden retriever boyfriend, the heroine won’t even give her a second glance. > The only reason the System brought her back is to create some drama for the main couple. The Ex is just here to humiliate herself. I pressed my lips together. So that was it. The System was offering five million because it was certain I would fail. My real purpose wasn’t to win Aria back; it was to be the villain, the obstacle thrown in the path of the main characters’ love story. It was buying my labor—my humiliation—for a measly fifty thousand. Fifty grand. A bitter laugh escaped me. To play the fool for fifty thousand dollars… it wasn’t nothing. It was one week of ICU bills for— I called out to the System and briskly accepted the deal. The System, practically beaming, deposited a large sum of money into my account for expenses—usable only within the book, of course. Since Aria was so eager to sell this place, I might as well be the one to buy it. I held my phone, my fingers dialing a number that was still etched into my memory. It rang for a full thirty seconds before someone picked up. A bright, boyish voice came through the line. “Hello?” I froze for a second. Glancing down, I confirmed it was Aria’s number. “Hi, I was passing by and saw the for-sale sign in the window…” “You want to buy the apartment?” the voice on the other end exclaimed with surprise. “That’s great! It’s about time someone took it.” I asked, cautiously, “Are you the owner?” “I’m the owner’s boyfriend. You can call me Leo.” So this was him. The second Strategist. As I hesitated, a brief muffle of noise came from the other end, like two people whispering. A long moment passed. Then, someone else took the phone. Aria’s cool, detached voice came through the line, crystal clear. “Hello. Is it convenient to meet and discuss this in person?” 3 I waited in the coffee shop, a low thrum of unease vibrating through me. Finally, a sleek, understated luxury car—an Audi—purred to the curb. The doors opened, and a striking couple emerged. Three years. I hadn’t seen her in three years, and Aria Sterling was still as breathtaking as ever. The last traces of youthful uncertainty in her features had been replaced by the quiet confidence that only power and wealth can bestow. She leaned languidly against the car door. Leo said something, and a smile touched her lips as she reached out to ruffle his hair. From across the distance, her gaze drifted in my direction. It rested on me for only a fraction of a second before moving on, as undisturbed as the surface of a still, deep well. I was still lost in a daze when Leo sat down across from me. He gave me an apologetic smile. “My girlfriend had a meeting, so she could only drop me off. I’ll be handling the sale.” “I can see you two are very happy together,” I said, and I meant it. Leo’s smile widened. “My girlfriend runs a tech company. Her net profits are in the hundreds of millions a year. We don’t need the money from this apartment; we mainly just don’t want to hold onto it anymore.” His tone carried a faint, sweet note of superiority. I nodded and, following the usual procedure, asked if I could see the apartment. Leo paused, a flicker of awkwardness in his eyes. “The keys… I don’t have them. If you want to see it, my girlfriend would have to take you herself.” I frowned slightly, confused. “She didn’t give you the keys before you came?” Logically, any real estate transaction involves a viewing. Aria would know that. Leo sighed, a wry smile on his face. “I asked, but she wouldn’t give them to me. She’s never taken me there, either.” He lowered his voice. “To be honest with you, it’s the place she lived with her ex when she was starting from nothing. It gives me the creeps. That’s why I wanted to sell it quickly.” “Ah,” I said. “In that case, I don’t need to see it. Let’s just sign the contract.” Leo looked ecstatic. Fearing I might change my mind, he immediately pulled out the sales agreement. He didn’t have the property deed, however, so we couldn’t transfer the title just yet. We would still have to wait for Aria. As we sat there, an awkward silence stretched between us. Looking at this man, another Strategist just like me, I couldn’t help my curiosity. “How did you and she get together?” What I really wanted to know was how he had succeeded with her. The System had told me that after I left, Aria had a brief, secondary spiral into darkness. She’d tried to kill herself, her darkness rating soaring to a level that threatened the stability of the entire world. Leo arrived at her side during that time. He not only brought her darkness rating down but completely replaced me in her heart. Aria was not an easy person to win over. He must have gone through hell. But Leo just beamed. “She had just been abandoned by her ex and was completely heartbroken. I was there for her, comforting her. It didn’t take long for us to make things official.” It was that simple? I could hardly believe it. The mocking text feed flooded my vision again. > LMAO, the Ex is shook. The heroine just has no resistance to sweet, puppy-dog types like our boy. > Remember, it took the Ex ten whole years to win her over. She threw herself at the heroine countless times before she reluctantly agreed to be with her. > The puppy just said a few words to her, and all the Ex’s years of work went down the drain. That’s the power of true love, baby. … I stared blankly at the cynical comments. They weren’t wrong. The process of winning Aria over had been agonizingly difficult. So difficult that I never wanted to go through it again. 4 Aria’s parents didn’t love her. At a young age, they had her committed to a psychiatric hospital, leaving her to the mercy of abusive orderlies. The place was a prison, filled with violent and unstable patients, heavily guarded. Even with the System’s help, I nearly died getting her out. I took Aria to a new city. I put her through school, got her on the right path. I even arranged for expensive weekly therapy sessions. I did all of this to earn her complete trust. But Aria was too intelligent. She effortlessly saw through the façade of this world, including my identity and my mission. After her final exams, Aria became the top scorer in the state. I threw a party to celebrate. But she just calmly took my arm, her expression cold, tinged with a self-mockery I could barely detect. “You’re doing all this for me because you’re trying to win me over, right?” After the initial shock, I let out a shaky sigh and said, my voice thick with emotion, “I love you. That’s my purpose.” She scoffed, clearly not believing me. My heart pounded, but I pulled her into a hug, deliberately acting playful. “Aria, don’t get hung up on the details. These last few years have been exhausting. You’d better hurry up and make my life easier.” I buried my face in her shoulder. “I really, really love you. Please don’t question me like this again. It really hurts.” … After college, Aria started her own company. We moved into that tiny, rundown apartment. There was no heating in the winter. Sometimes, when I washed the dishes, my hands would go numb and ache from the cold. Aria would always take my hands and rub them, her eyes red with unspoken sympathy. By then, we were married. Her life’s goal had shifted from building a tech empire to destroy the world to the mundane task of making enough money to buy her wife a house. We hustled during the day and held each other in that small bed at night. I remembered the time I was trying to secure funding and the investor harassed me. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her, so I just walked the streets alone, crying. I remembered the time a competitor tried to sabotage us, and I instinctively shielded her, taking the blow myself and ending up in the ER. I don’t know how many times I went through things like that. All of it, just to slowly, painstakingly, make Aria Sterling fall in love with me. And compared to my decade-long effort, Leo had done it in just three short weeks. He’d brought her darkness rating down to negative one hundred and raised her affection level to one hundred percent. 5 Leo was still rambling on about the sweet details of his relationship with Aria. He said it was love at first sight for her. I pushed down the faint ache in my chest and took a sip of my milkshake. “Has she… ever mentioned her ex-wife to you?” Leo thought for a moment, then smiled smugly. “Never. I think she’s completely over her.” I nodded. It was better that way. I didn’t actually want to ruin their relationship. When Aria arrived, I’d just put on a show of remorse, act pathetically desperate. Given her personality, she would probably be disgusted and want nothing to do with me. Once she rejected me, I’d take my fifty thousand and leave this world for good. As I was mapping out my plan, Leo’s phone rang. His face lit up. “My girlfriend’s meeting is over. She’s coming to pick me up now. We have a date, so let’s handle the apartment stuff tomorrow.” I froze for a second, then forced a smile and nodded. “Okay, then I’ll just go…” Leo clapped me on the shoulder. “Where do you live? I can have my girlfriend give you a ride.” The smile froze on my face. Leo was so insistent that before I knew it, the car door had closed behind me. A cool, clean scent of pine drifted through the air. Beside me, I could hear Leo’s cheerful voice as he showed Aria his new haircut. Aria was sitting right in front of me. From my angle, I could see her hands on the steering wheel, her fingers pale and slender. She kept her eyes focused on the road, but she responded to every word he said. Looking at the reflection of her perfect profile in the rearview mirror, I felt a wave of disorientation. Aria had never been this patient with me. When we were together, she was always insecure, always on edge. She knew about my mission and was terrified I would leave at any moment. She’d often wake up in the middle of the night, startled, her hand flying to my side of the bed in a panic. And I would have to soothe her, time and time again, exhausted. “I’m not going to leave you alone. I love you, and it has nothing to do with the mission.” I kept repeating that lie right up until the moment I left. Aria had cried, her hand gripping mine, begging me not to go, begging me to stay a little longer, just a few more years. I had sighed and refused every plea. Her face had gone ashen, her eyes swirling with pain and a terrifying madness. “Why? Don’t you love me? How can you bear to leave me? You said you would never leave me alone!” I gave her a bitter smile. “I have my own love in the real world.” … Sensing my gaze, Aria frowned and lifted her eyes to the rearview mirror. Our eyes met. The car lurched forward with a sudden, violent stop. Unprepared, I slammed my forehead against the window. A bruise was already forming. “Sorry,” Aria’s voice was raspy. She turned her head slightly. “This is your stop.” It took me a second to realize what she meant. When Leo had asked for my address earlier, I’d just blurted out the name of a random apartment complex. “Oh,” I said, managing a “thank you.” I arranged to meet Leo the next day and got out of the car. Aria kept her eyes down, never once turning to look at me. She didn’t linger for a moment; the car’s taillights vanished around the corner in an instant. At the busy entrance to the complex, surrounded by strangers, I wrapped my arms around myself and slowly sank into a crouch. I don’t know how much time passed. Then, a familiar luxury car pulled up in front of me, silent and imposing. The window rolled down, revealing the sharp, clean lines of her profile. Aria was looking straight at me, her expression unreadable. “Get in.” 6 I had expected Aria to find an opportunity to see me. I just hadn’t expected it to be so soon. So soon that I hadn’t had time to prepare myself to face her. In the standoff, Aria raised a hand and lit a cigarette. I frowned instinctively. I hated it when she smoked. In the past, I would have snatched it from her and stubbed it out without a second thought. And back then, Aria would have listened. When I told her to quit, she never touched another one. She would never have been like this, a thin veil of white smoke separating us as she sized me up with an unapologetic gaze. I bit my tongue, about to speak, when the text feed exploded again. > What’s the Ex being so reserved for? Does she actually think the heroine has some ulterior motive for meeting her? > The heroine knew she was back the whole time. She just didn’t want to upset the puppy, so she didn’t say anything in the car. > She’s only meeting her alone to warn her not to run her mouth in front of the puppy. That’s it. I remained silent, standing where I was. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. The impulsive flicker of hope from a moment ago was extinguished completely. Right now, I had no right to tell her what to do. The pale, slender hand resting on the car window lowered. Aria’s expression was unreadable as she looked away. After a moment, as if in concession to some private, ironic thought, she crushed the cigarette out. “Weren’t you buying the apartment?” she said. “Get in. I’ll take you to see it.” 7 The drive was silent. Aria clearly had no intention of speaking. The text feed, however, was a cacophony. > Smart move by the Ex. She knows the passenger seat is reserved for the boyfriend, so she got in the back. > I thought the heroine was going to warn her? Why is she taking her back to their old place? > Don’t worry, guys. The heroine doesn’t know the Ex’s real game plan yet. Once she reveals her true colors, the heroine will be even more disgusted. … When we arrived, I couldn’t help but speak. “Is there nothing you want to… ask me?” The hand holding the key paused. Aria glanced down at me, her eyebrow raised, waiting for me to continue. I gathered my courage. “Like why I came back, how long I’m staying, or… what my purpose is in buying this apartment.” “Not interested,” Aria said, her tone flat as she looked away. “I don’t care who buys this place. I’m erasing everything that has to do with you. As for why you’re back…” She stuffed her hands in her pockets, a faint, humorless laugh escaping her lips. “Don’t tell me you’re here to win me over again.” I was silent for a beat. “What if I am?” 8 “Then by all means, try.” Aria pushed the door open. It creaked. The apartment revealed itself to me again, every detail sharp and clear. A single shaft of light cut through the room, illuminating dancing dust motes. Aria stood just behind me and to my left, the edge of her jacket brushing against my sleeve. She said nothing. I said nothing. In the silence, it felt like we had stepped back in time to a normal afternoon during our marriage. We’d just come home from the farmers’ market. Her fingers would be looped with plastic bags, all filled with my favorite vegetables and snacks. We’d be laughing and teasing each other all the way home. The moment the door closed, she would leap onto me, her arms wrapped around my neck, giggling as she searched for my lips. I’d lean back, feigning reluctance, until my back was pressed against the door, my hands holding her waist as I returned her kiss. … A hand suddenly clamped around my wrist. My body went rigid. Aria released me just as quickly, her expression once again neutral. “Have a look around. Selling it to you saves me the trouble of cleaning the place out.” I nodded, took a cursory walk around the apartment, and came back. “It’s fine. I already arranged with Leo to transfer the title tomorrow. Just give him the deed. You don’t need to be there.” “Fine.” Aria’s agreement was swift. After a slight pause, her voice dripped with a slow, deliberate sarcasm. “You don’t have to be so guarded. If I had my way, I’d hope to never see you again in this lifetime.” She raised an eyebrow at me. “The only reason I met you alone was because I was worried you’d say something in front of Leo. I don’t want to make him unhappy. Do you understand?” I took a quiet, deep breath. “I won’t mention our past relationship to Leo.” “Good.” Silence again. After that, I knew I should have the decency to leave. But for that fifty thousand dollars… My voice trembled slightly as I spoke. “Aria, I was wrong back then. I never should have left you.” A flicker of something disturbed the dark surface of her eyes. She narrowed her gaze, studying me, as if considering something. “Go on.” “I came back to make it up to you. And I realized… I still love you. Could you…” I looked at her, my heart pounding. “Could you give me another chance?” 9 The room plunged into a dead silence. After I said the words, my vision was almost completely obscured by the deluge of mocking text. I closed my eyes, humiliated. My face burned with shame. After a long time, a low chuckle echoed in the room. “What’s this? Your comatose wife in the real world finally died, so you remembered your ever-reliable backup plan?” My head snapped up, a muscle in my jaw twitching. My lips trembled with a rage I couldn’t voice. It was all reflected in Aria’s beautiful eyes. She raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, didn’t you notice? I have my own love now, too.” Her tone was light, casual. But her dark eyes were locked on mine. My own eyes felt dry. I blinked hard. “I know.” Aria seemed to smile, but it held no emotion. The only thing she left me with was the image of her back as she walked out the door. > YES! God, I have waited so long for this moment. > Hahahaha, the boomerang came back and hit the Ex right in the face. > The Ex should just quit the System already. Even if she saves the heroine a hundred more times, the heroine will never love her again. > But the heroine still went soft on her. She left the key to the apartment so she wouldn’t be homeless… wait, what’s under the key? I blinked, my gaze shifting to the clear plastic cover on the small table. Aria had indeed left the apartment key behind. And under the tarnished brass key was a small red booklet. > HOLY S**T! Am I seeing this right? That’s the property deed! > Why would the heroine leave the deed for the Ex?! Shouldn’t she give something that important to the puppy? My hand trembled as I opened the booklet. The text feed suddenly went quiet. On the deed, there was only one name written. Mine.

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My brother’s fiancée was a snake. The very first day she set foot in our house, she cooed at me, her voice all honey and silk. “Ethan, your sister is just adorable.” A second later, she “tripped,” sending a full cup of coffee splashing across the limited-edition designer bag my brother had just given me. Her eyes instantly welled with tears. “Oh, Mia, I am so, so sorry. Let me pay for it…” As she said it, her gaze darted to my brother, a silent, pleading prayer for him to swoop in and save her. But before he could say a word, I smiled. A sharp, bright, unforgiving smile. “Pay for it? Sophia, why don’t you just cut the act?” “What, are you jealous that my brother buys me nice things? If you’re that jealous, just say it.” “Pulling this kind of pathetic, underhanded stunt…” I shoved the ruined bag right in front of her face. “Don’t you feel disgusting?” Sophia recoiled, a perfect picture of wounded innocence, her eyes flicking around the living room, searching for an ally. Tough luck. My brother worships the ground I walk on, my parents would move mountains for me, and my grandparents? They think the sun rises and sets with me. The support she was hoping for never came. Instead, she got my grandmother’s furious gasp, my grandfather’s hand slamming on the table, and my father’s icy glare. And from my brother, a sharp, disbelieving question that cut through the air. “Sophia! What the hell is wrong with you?” The color drained from the snake’s face, leaving it a chalky, brittle white. 1 Today was the first time I was officially meeting my future sister-in-law. She arrived with beautifully wrapped gift boxes in hand, her smile a carefully crafted mix of warmth and grace. “Mr. and Mrs. Hayes, it’s so wonderful to meet you. And you must be Mia’s grandparents.” She gave a slight, deferential bow, her posture screaming humility. “Oh, darling, you shouldn’t have,” my mother said, her own smile genuine as she welcomed her in. “Come in, come in, make yourself at home.” My father gave a quiet nod of approval. Sophia stepped inside, and her eyes landed on me. Her smile deepened. “And you must be Mia. You’re even prettier in person. Ethan was right, you’re absolutely adorable.” “Hi, nice to meet you,” I replied, offering a sweet smile of my own. Ethan wrapped an arm around her shoulders, his voice filled with a dopey sort of pride. “This is my little sister, Mia. Mia, this is your future sister-in-law, Sophia.” “Hi, Sophia,” I chirped. “Mia, look what I got for you,” Ethan said, holding out a box. “That bag you were talking about last week? I managed to track one down.” My eyes went wide. I shot up from the couch. “No way! I thought the waitlist was months long!” “Your big brother has his connections, doesn’t he?” He grinned, ruffling my hair with that familiar, loving gesture. Sophia walked over to me, her eyes glinting as she took in the box. “That’s a beautiful bag, Mia. Ethan is just so good to you.” My fingers had just brushed the strap, my own “thank you” forming on my lips, when I caught a glimpse of her expression as she turned away. It wasn’t envy. It wasn’t admiration. It was pure, unadulterated jealousy. A cold knot formed in my stomach. This woman didn’t like me. She was putting on a show. She seamlessly pivoted back to my parents, her voice a soft, melodic murmur, every word perfectly chosen. Ethan, meanwhile, was completely oblivious, beaming like an idiot. “Mom, Dad, isn’t Sophia great? She’s so sweet and thoughtful, and she’s already so good to Mia.” Good to me? Right. I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw my brain. My parents just smiled and nodded, and for a moment, the living room was a picture of perfect harmony. 2 And just like that, Sophia moved in. Ostensibly, it was to “get to know the family better” before the wedding. After dinner one evening, I was curled up in my attic loft, reading a graphic novel. I heard footsteps on the stairs, followed by Sophia’s voice, deliberately softened to a breathy whisper. “Ethan, look at Mia’s loft! It’s so romantic. With that huge skylight, you must be able to see all the stars at night.” I didn’t even lift my head. Ethan’s voice was laced with a smile. “Yeah, Mia’s loved this space since she was a kid.” “It’s amazing,” Sophia breathed, her tone full of longing. “Ethan, what do you think about us turning this into our own little private space after we’re married? We could make it a cozy reading nook or a home theater. It would be so romantic!” Ethan paused. “But… this is Mia’s room.” Sophia ignored him. The footsteps continued up the stairs. Her face appeared in the doorway, plastered with that impeccably considerate smile. “Mia, honey. Reading?” She walked in, her gaze sweeping greedily across the photos and books lining my walls, finally settling on the glass skylight above. She turned back to me, her voice practically dripping honey. “Mia, sweetie, I was just thinking. It must be so inconvenient for you, living all the way up here in the attic, having to go up and down these stairs all the time.” “The guest room downstairs is so much bigger and more accessible. Why don’t you let me… look after the loft for you? I promise I’ll keep it spotless. You can move into the guest room, and your parents won’t have to worry about you getting tired from the stairs.” If you want to steal my room, just say so. Why wrap it in a pretty little bow? I finally looked up from my book. “No, thanks, Sophia.” The smile on her face froze for a fraction of a second. I blinked innocently. “This is my room. I’ve lived up here for over a decade. I don’t find it inconvenient at all.” Then, as if a brilliant idea had just struck me, I raised my voice just enough to carry down the stairs. “Sophia, is there something wrong with the guest room? Is the mattress too hard? Is the Wi-Fi signal bad?” I paused, then offered my most helpful suggestion. “You can just tell Maria, you know. She can get you a new mattress, or we can get a signal booster. Oh, I know!” I swiveled toward the top of the stairs, yelling down to my dad, who was reading the paper in the living room. “Dad! I think Sophia hates the guest room and wants my loft! Maybe you can build her a new little cottage in the garden? Make sure it has a skylight!” 3 My words detonated the quiet atmosphere in the living room below. I heard my grandmother let out a bark of laughter. “Our Mia is right! Why should she give up her room? Sophia, if you’re not comfortable here, Ethan can get you a suite at the Four Seasons. You’ll be much more comfortable there.” My dad lowered his newspaper and shot a look at Sophia. “The loft is Mia’s sanctuary. Nobody touches it.” My mother’s voice, though still gentle, had an edge of steel. “Sophia, if there’s anything you need for the guest room, anything at all that’s not to your liking, you just tell me. Don’t hesitate. I’ll have it taken care of immediately. But Mia loves her loft, and that’s where she’ll stay.” It was only then that Ethan seemed to catch on. He scratched his head, turning to Sophia. “I mean… I can ask Maria to swap out the mattress for a softer one? The loft is pretty old anyway. If Mia likes it, she should just stay here.” Before he could finish, the door to the study creaked open. My grandfather emerged, leaning on his cane, his face a thundercloud. “Ethan! Are you deaf? What belongs to Mia is hers, and not even the President of the United States can take it away from her!” “One more word out of you, and you can both go check into that hotel right now!” Though his words were aimed at Ethan, every single one was a bullet aimed directly at Sophia. The blood drained from her face, leaving it pale and waxy. After a few seconds that stretched into an eternity, she managed to produce a smile that looked more painful than a grimace. “Grandpa… please don’t be angry. I—I was just joking.” “The loft is Mia’s, of course it is. I’m perfectly fine in the guest room, really…” I watched her pathetic, backpedaling display and scoffed internally. Joking? Who’s joking with you? Trying to steal my things, in my own house. You’ve got to get through my grandparents, my parents, and my brother first. Good luck with that. 4 The weekend family dinner had just wrapped up, and the mood was relaxed. Ethan slid a small, elegant jewelry box across the table toward me. “That bracelet you sent me a picture of a while back. I had someone pull some strings.” “Wow! More presents from my favorite brother!” I said, my voice bright with excitement as I opened it. “Is this the new design?” “Yep. Try it on,” Ethan said, his chin lifted with pride. “Wow, Mia, that’s gorgeous!” Sophia, hearing the commotion, came over and sat down next to Ethan. She wore her usual gentle smile, but her eyes kept flicking sideways toward him. “You’re so lucky, Mia. Ethan really spoils you. I heard that piece costs a small fortune.” She paused, making her voice even softer, laced with a playful pout. “Ethan never spoils me with gifts that expensive. I guess it’s true what they say… a sister’s love comes first.” The easygoing atmosphere in the room suddenly crackled with tension. Ethan, completely oblivious, was tapping out a work email on his phone. He didn’t notice the daggers flying through the air. “Hmm? Yeah, well, Mia wanted it,” he mumbled without looking up. I fastened the bracelet and tilted my wrist, then looked directly at Sophia. “Oh, this old thing?” I said breezily. “Didn’t Ethan just buy you that bottle of limited-edition perfume for your birthday last week?” I pretended to think for a moment. “I’m pretty sure that cost even more than this bracelet.” Ethan looked up, scratching his head. “Did it? I don’t really look at the price.” I turned to him, my expression one of deep, earnest concern. “Ethan, is Sophia unhappy with your gift? Do you think you should go out right now and buy her something more expensive?” My dad, hidden behind his magazine, let out a choked snort of laughter. Sophia’s face went pale, her hands clenching tightly around her water glass. “That’s… that’s not what I meant…” “It’s only natural for Ethan to dote on his sister,” my mother said, re-entering the room. She swept a cool, appraising gaze over Sophia. “And I believe we’ve been more than generous with the gifts for our future daughter-in-law, haven’t we?” My grandmother scooted closer to me, taking my hand to admire the bracelet. “Of course, our Mia gets the best of everything. Some people should learn not to be so greedy, getting jealous over every little thing they see.” Sophia forced a brittle smile. “I was just teasing. Mia, please don’t take it the wrong way.” “Oh, teasing. I see,” I said, giving my wrist a little shake. “For a second there, I thought you were calling my brother cheap. Scared me for a minute. I guess I’m just too sincere; I always take people at their word!” Sophia looked like she’d just swallowed a rock. She sat there, rigid and silent, unable to form a comeback. Ethan, bless his heart, was still trying to solve the problem. “Sophia, if you like the bracelet, I can get one for you, too.” My grandmother and I couldn’t help it. We both burst out laughing. 5 I was about to head out to meet a friend. The new bag Ethan had bought me was sitting on the console table in the entryway, ready for me to grab and show off. Sophia walked out of the dining room, a mug of coffee in her hand. She had that familiar, placid smile on her face as her eyes scanned the entryway. The coffee mug seemed to wobble in her grip as she made a slight detour, heading toward the console table. Alarm bells went off in my head, but before I could even move, it happened. “Oh!” Sophia cried out, lurching forward as if she’d tripped over thin air. The entire mug of dark brown liquid arched through the air and saturated my new bag. A roaring sound filled my ears. I lunged forward and snatched the bag up. A huge, dark coffee stain was already blooming across the cream-colored leather. It was completely ruined. I stared at the stain, pure rage shooting up my spine. It was a limited edition! One of only ten in the world! A gift from my brother! Destroyed! “Sophia!” My voice shook with fury. “What did you do?” Her eyes immediately filled with tears as she fumbled for a napkin. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to! I just tripped…” “Tripped?” I stared at her. “I saw you walk right toward it! You did this on purpose!” The more I looked at her, the angrier I got. I shoved the bag toward her. “If you have a problem with me, say it to my face! What did my bag ever do to you?” “I didn’t…” The tears started to fall, her voice catching in a sob. “Mia… how could you think that of me? I really, truly didn’t do it on purpose!” “Sob… I know the bag is expensive, I’ll pay for it, okay? Please, just don’t be angry. Don’t let Ethan and your parents misunderstand me…” “Pay for it?” I laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. “Open your eyes. This is a limited edition. You can’t buy it, even if you have the money! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” I locked my eyes on hers. “Are you jealous that my brother buys me nice things? Is that it? If you’re jealous, just say it! Pulling this kind of pathetic, underhanded stunt… Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” My shouting brought the rest of the family running. Ethan appeared, looking stunned, his gaze flickering to the sobbing Sophia. “What’s going on?” 6 “Look what she did, Ethan!” I held up the stained bag. “She poured coffee all over it and now she’s claiming it was an accident!” Sophia’s crying intensified. “Ethan, I swear, it was an accident…” Ethan’s eyes darted between me and her, finally landing on her face, his brow furrowed in a deep V. “Sophia, what happened?” My mom and grandma came out then, my mom frowning. “Isn’t that the bag Ethan just gave Mia? Sophia, you say it was an accident, but Mia says she saw you walk toward the table intentionally. How do you explain that?” “I…” Sophia bit her lip, tears streaming down her face. “I honestly didn’t see it there…” “Didn’t see it?” My grandma marched over and stood beside me, a pillar of indignation. “In all her life, has Mia ever once falsely accused anyone of anything?” “If she says she saw you, then she saw you! You think you can pull the wool over our eyes? Not a chance!” My grandpa emerged from his study, leaning on his cane. He slammed the end of it down on the floor. “Unbelievable! Absolutely unbelievable! To pull a stunt like this right under our noses? To damage Mia’s things in our own home? Do you think we’re all dead?” Sophia flinched, her voice a choked whisper. “Grandpa, I really didn’t…” My grandma cut her off, taking a step forward. “Fine. Then you’ll pay for it. The full original price, not a penny less.” “And you will apologize to Mia right now. A sincere apology. Or nobody is leaving this room today!” The living room fell silent. The combined weight of my family’s stares was a physical force, pinning Sophia in place. Ethan’s expression was a complicated storm of doubt and disappointment. My parents’ faces were grim, set like stone. My grandparents were practically radiating fury. The air was so thick with tension it felt like it could shatter. Sophia was crouched on the floor, wiping her tears, her hand reaching for Ethan’s arm. He sidestepped her touch. He ignored her completely, turning to me first. “Mia, are you okay? Don’t worry about the bag… I’ll figure out a way to get you another one. Don’t be upset.” I was still too furious to speak. Seeing my silence, Sophia started crying even harder. “Ethan, I really didn’t mean it…” Only then did he turn back to her, his gaze like ice. “Crying isn’t going to solve this. Apologize to Mia.” Sophia froze, clearly not expecting such a cold response from him. She mumbled, “Mia… I’m sorry…” “I can’t hear you,” Ethan cut in flatly. “Be sincere.” She bit her lip, and this time her voice trembled. “I’m sorry.” My grandpa snorted. “Ethan’s right, tears are useless. If you didn’t at least look a little bit remorseful, I’d have you thrown out today.” Ethan added one more thing, his eyes boring into Sophia. “And remember this: from now on, you stay away from Mia’s things. If I ever see you upset her again, you won’t have to wait for my grandparents to say something. I will personally show you the door.” Sophia’s face was as white as a sheet. She nodded, finally stifling her sobs. Only then did Ethan turn back to me, ruffling my hair, his voice softening. “Don’t be angry anymore, okay? I’ll take you out for hot pot tonight, your favorite place.” 7 I thought that after that public shaming, Sophia might finally back off. She was quiet for a few days, and then she started again. One afternoon, she was curled up on the corner of the sofa, her eyes still puffy and red. She kept stealing glances at Ethan, her expression a careful blend of contrition and hope. Ethan acted like she was invisible, his attention glued to his phone, a good three feet of space between them. Suddenly, she gasped, scrambling to her feet. “Ethan, have you seen my bracelet? The one my grandmother left me?” Her voice was trembling, already on the verge of tears. Ethan gave her a cool, dismissive glance and shook his head. “I was wearing it yesterday. I took it off to clean it, and now I can’t find it anywhere.” Her voice grew more frantic. “It’s the only thing I have left from my grandmother…” She started frantically digging through the sofa cushions, tossing them onto the floor. “Calm down and think carefully,” my dad said, frowning at her from across the room. Sophia tore through several rooms in the house, her search growing more and more theatrical. “I’ve looked everywhere! It’s gone!” she cried. “What if… what if it fell off somewhere else?” Her eyes flickered around the room before finally landing on me, a hesitant, pleading look on her face. “Mia, could I… could I just look in your room? Please? That bracelet means everything to me.” Her gaze was heavy with manufactured desperation. I stared back, my face a blank mask. Seriously? She’s trying to frame me again? Ethan glanced at me, said nothing, and then stood up and walked toward the stairs. The message was clear: Go ahead. Look. The whole procession followed Sophia upstairs. She made a beeline for my desk and yanked open the top drawer. Her fingers scrabbled around inside for a moment, then froze. She let out a short, sharp gasp and carefully lifted out a broken silver bracelet. “I found it…” Her voice trembled as she held the broken chain out to Ethan, tears streaming down her face. “Ethan, why is it broken? And what was it doing in Mia’s drawer…?”

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My dad never did housework, but he treated his car like a temple. Every day after work, he’d wipe it down until it was spotless. Today, Mom asked me to grab a shopping bag she’d left inside. I was in the passenger seat when I saw it—a single, long, curled hair on the floor mat. I picked it up. “Mom,” I asked, holding it out as she reached for the bag. “When did you get your hair curled just like Ms. Hayes?” 1 Her hand froze mid-air. Her eyes fixed on the strand of hair between my fingers, and the smile on her face didn’t just fade, it collapsed. “What is it, Mom?” She didn’t say anything. She just took the hair from me, her fingers rolling it, holding it up to the light. After a long moment, she tossed it into the small trash bin by the door. Her voice trembled just a little. “It’s nothing, sweetie. I haven’t curled my hair. Just some dirt that blew into the car.” She pulled me up the stairs to our apartment, her pace suddenly urgent. Back inside, she didn’t play with me or turn on the TV like she usually did. She just stood by the front door, waiting. The dim light of the entryway stretched her shadow long and thin across the floor. When Dad got home, he was humming, a cheerful, carefree tune. “Honey, I’m home.” He opened his arms for a hug, but Mom took a sharp step back, her eyes locked on the collar of his shirt. His arms hung awkwardly in the air. “What’s wrong?” She didn’t answer. She just leaned in, helping him off with his jacket, and pressed her nose to the fabric for a moment. “Cole,” she said, her voice flat. “You smell like perfume.” He blinked, then laughed, a little too loud. “Oh, that. I was at a dinner with a new client, a woman. Must have gotten too close when we were talking. You know how it is.” He started to pull up his sleeve to show her. Mom didn’t look. Instead, she opened her hand. Lying on her palm was the long, curled strand of hair. “Is that so?” she said, her voice dangerously quiet. “And did this client also happen to leave her hair in your passenger seat?” The blood drained from my father’s face. He stared at the hair, his mouth opening and closing, but no words came out. After a few seconds, he snatched the hair from her hand and threw it on the floor, his voice turning cold. “What are you trying to say? You’re going to interrogate me over a stray hair and a little scent? The kid is right here!” He pulled me behind him, crouching down to squeeze my cheeks. “Lily, sweetie, don’t you worry. Daddy only has room in his heart for you and Mommy.” With that, he walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. The sound of rushing water filled the apartment. Mom stood frozen in the same spot. I walked over and tugged on her sleeve. “Mommy? Is what Daddy said true?” She looked down, her face a mask, and kissed my forehead. “Of course it is.” But all I could see were her eyes. The light in them had gone out. 2 The next day at school, as soon as I walked into the classroom, I smelled it. A familiar scent. It was the exact same perfume from Dad’s shirt. My head snapped up. I stared at Ms. Hayes. She was wearing a beautiful dress today, her long, curled hair falling over her shoulders. When she smiled, her eyes crinkled at the corners. She was so pretty. “Ms. Hayes, you smell so good.” She paused, a strange glint in her eye, then she smiled and patted my head. “It’s a new perfume someone special gave me. Do you like it?” I nodded enthusiastically. When I got home, I told my mom all about it. “Mommy, Ms. Hayes’s perfume… it’s the exact same one that was on Daddy’s shirt yesterday!” Mom was slicing an apple. The knife clattered against the cutting board. She looked at me, her lips parted, but she said nothing. After that, I knew Mom was sad. When she read me bedtime stories, her mind was somewhere else. But when she hugged me, she held on tighter than ever before. One night, I woke up to use the bathroom and heard Dad on the balcony, on the phone. He was keeping his voice low, but I could still hear him. “Of course I miss you… stop it, you.” A pause. “Lily’s schoolwork… yeah, I owe you big time for helping her out. I told her, Ms. Hayes is the best teacher she’s ever had.” I tiptoed to the door and peered through the crack. Dad was leaning back in his chair, holding his phone, a gentle smile on his face I’d never seen before. It wasn’t his Daddy-smile. It was different. Just then, a floorboard creaked in Mom’s bedroom. He immediately ended the call, the smile vanishing from his face as if it had never been there. He opened the balcony door and jumped when he saw me standing there. “Lily? What are you doing up?” I looked up at him. “Daddy, was that Ms. Hayes?” His face went stiff. “No, honey. Just a colleague from work. We were talking business.” He carried me back to my room and tucked me into bed. “Go to sleep now. Little girls shouldn’t worry about grown-up things.” But I couldn’t sleep. Daddy was lying. That voice, the way he was talking, I knew it was her. The next evening, Mom was reading to me and her mind drifted off again. I looked at her tired face and decided to tell her my big discovery, hoping it would make her happy. “Ms. Hayes has a new Instagram account. The picture isn’t the same one she uses for the parent group chat.” I leaned in conspiratorially. “That’s who Daddy was talking to last night. I saw it.” Mom’s body went rigid. She took a long drink of water, then asked, trying to sound casual, “Lily, do you… do you remember the username?” I nodded proudly. “Of course! The account Daddy was looking at had a painting for its picture. A sunflower she painted herself!” I continued, reciting it from memory. “The name was her last name, Hayes, then the numbers 1-1-1-1, and at the end, the letters CG.” Mom’s face went completely white. I could hear her breathing, getting faster and faster. After a long time, she whispered his name through clenched teeth. “Cole… Green…”

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They called me the “Destiny Thief” in the comment sections that haunted my vision, all because I’d accepted an opportunity the golden girl had thrown away. Now, in this second life, she was back to reclaim everything. And her anonymous audience was cheering her on. “This time, our baby girl won’t let anyone steal what’s hers.” The irony was, she’d been given a second chance at life and hadn’t learned a single thing. 1 The moment consciousness returned, I knew. I was twenty-two again. A fresh college graduate, standing in a hallway of the Rhodes Corporation, waiting for a job interview. I stared at my reflection in the polished marble wall—the face was mine, but a decade younger, free of the lines of stress and grief I’d earned. A dizzying wave of shock and elation washed over me. That’s when the words appeared, materializing in the empty air before me. “Ugh, the last timeline was so gross. It made me sick.” “I know, right? How did that side character manage to steal all the heroine’s good luck?” “Thank GOD for the do-over! This time our baby girl gets to keep everything she deserves!” I blinked, bewildered, staring at the ghostly captions floating in my vision. What the hell was this? Heroine? Side character? Was this some kind of sick joke? It took me a moment to decipher their meaning. The so-called “Destiny Thief,” the “side character,” was me. And “our baby girl,” the heroine… was Claire Covington. My gaze snapped to the other side of the waiting area. There she was. Claire, sitting perfectly poised, though a flicker of confusion in her eyes suggested she, too, was taking in her surroundings with a sense of dislocation. And in that instant, I understood. She was back, too. She’d also been reborn. “Why is that thief staring at the heroine?” “She probably noticed Claire’s acting weird after respawning.” “Oh god, don’t tell me she’s going to start scheming already. I can’t watch that again!” Just for looking at her, a torrent of vitriol flooded my vision. The words were vile, accusations laced with a bizarre, personal hatred. A hot surge of anger burned in my chest. What the hell? When did I ever steal anything from her? As if summoned by my fury, Claire rose and walked toward me. I watched her approach, my posture tensing with alarm. In our last life, we’d crossed paths a few times, but we were hardly acquaintances. Now, however, her eyes held a chilling, predatory glint that made the hair on my arms stand up. “Audrey,” she said, her voice dripping with a condescending sweetness. “We meet again. This time, I won’t let you take what belongs to me. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave now and stop wasting everyone’s time.” She paused, then sighed with theatrical pity. “Oh, but I suppose there’s no point in telling you that now. You wouldn’t understand.” With that, she turned on her heel and swept into the interview room, leaving me alone in the hallway, reeling. I was completely lost. What had I supposedly stolen from her in our past life? A few fragmented memories surfaced, sharp and clear. But if I remembered correctly… weren’t all those so-called “opportunities” things she herself had thrown away? In our past life, we had both been here, interviewing for this same position at the Rhodes Corporation. I had failed the interview and was on my way out, dejected. But then the Director of HR had rushed after me, calling my name. My heart had soared as I followed her back, but my excitement was tempered by her non-stop muttering under her breath. It turned out that Claire and I had been neck-and-neck in our interview scores. But because Claire’s family was local and well-connected, the company had given her the edge. The offer was hers. To their shock, upon hearing the news, Claire had demanded a ridiculously inflated salary. She insisted she was a “generational talent” and knew her worth. The HR Director had tried everything—reason, flattery, laying out the company’s generous bonus structure and industry salary standards—patiently explaining that no company on earth would offer that kind of money to a fresh graduate with zero experience. 2 Claire hadn’t budged. She’d given them an ultimatum: meet her price, or she’d take her “generational talent” elsewhere. The HR Director was practically vibrating with rage. She’d finally agreed on the surface, just to get Claire out of her office, before promptly rescinding the offer. And just like that, the job at the Rhodes Corporation had fallen into my lap. So, that was me stealing her destiny? It was the direct result of her own spectacular arrogance! For the first time, I understood the sheer, teeth-grinding frustration that poor HR Director must have felt. It was infuriating. The comments in the air continued their relentless scroll. “Look at the thief’s face. She looks so pissed. I’m living for this.” “Serves the talentless hack right! The more miserable she is, the better I feel!” “Get lost, you leech! I hate characters that steal opportunities from others!” Hah. The fans were just as delusional as their idol. I almost laughed, a bitter, humorless sound. The anger was so intense it cycled back around to sheer absurdity. Just as the nausea from the floating comments reached its peak, the interview room door opened and Claire emerged. The look of smug satisfaction on her face soured my mood even further. To be fair, she wasn’t incompetent. Even the HR Director in our last life had admitted our interview performances were comparable. If she hadn’t acted like a spoiled princess, the job would have been hers, fair and square. Now, with a decade of high-level experience under my belt, I was no longer the naive rookie I once was. My desire for this specific entry-level job wasn’t what it used to be. But seeing her smugness, and the fawning praise of her invisible cheerleaders, lit a fire in me. The comment section was, of course, having a field day at my expense. “YES! Our girl nailed it!” “She’s so amazing. Her answers were almost identical to the last timeline! Flawless!” “The thief doesn’t stand a chance this time! LOL.” That last one gave me pause. Flawless execution? Identical to the last timeline? Wait a minute. You get a do-over, a second chance at life… and you don’t improve at all? You’re just recycling the same old answers from ten years ago? “Audrey Vance? We’re ready for you.” The voice from the HR department pulled me from my thoughts. “Coming,” I replied, standing up and smoothing my skirt. In that moment, all thoughts of Claire Covington vanished. In my previous life, I had poured my soul into the Rhodes Corporation, working my way up to Vice President. I knew every department, every process, every hidden strength and festering weakness of this company. My greatest regret was that I hadn’t been able to push it to its ultimate potential before I died. I had thought, for a moment, that Claire’s return would cost me this chance. But if she was just going to repeat the past… then the responsibility of fixing my life’s biggest regret fell squarely on my shoulders. As I stepped into the conference room, I saw Claire shoot me a triumphant, mocking smile from the hallway. She wouldn’t be smiling for long. My interview was more than smooth. It was, to put it mildly, a revelation. The HR Director’s eyes widened, then lit up. More than once, she told me I was exactly the kind of forward-thinking talent Rhodes Corp desperately needed. I was satisfied with my own performance. Compared to my answers a decade ago, my analysis now was sharper, deeper, and devastatingly accurate. But the moment I stepped out of the room, my good mood evaporated. Claire was waiting, watching me with an expression of pity that was almost comical in its arrogance. She spoke slowly, as if to a child. “You really did your best, Audrey. It’s a shame, really. This position was always meant for me.” 3 I honestly wanted to ask her where she got that kind of bulletproof confidence. But the ghostly comments floating in the air answered for her. “Last time, the thief stole the heroine’s job, and it ruined her life.” “It’s about time the thief gets a taste of her own medicine.” “I can’t wait to see the look on her stupid face when she gets rejected. LMAO.” That did it. The last of my composure snapped. What was wrong with these people? Wasn’t Claire the one who had arrogantly proclaimed that if Rhodes Corp didn’t hire her, other companies would be lining up to beg for her? She torpedoed her own career and somehow, that was my fault? What did I even do? Oh, that’s right. My greatest crime was doing nothing at all, and yet I was branded a thief. If I had actually schemed or plotted against her, these unhinged commenters would have probably called for my public execution. Realizing this, a strange sense of calm washed over me. I ignored Claire completely and walked back to my seat. As furious as I was, this was a professional environment. Making a scene would accomplish nothing. Besides, the most satisfying humiliation for Claire would be the final announcement. I couldn’t wait to see the look on her face then. As I sat there, a storm of emotions churning inside me, the interview process continued. A steady stream of bright, ambitious young candidates flowed in and out of the room. The reason for the high turnout was an open secret. The heir to the corporation was about to officially take the reins. A new leader meant a big shake-up. And to make big moves, you needed a loyal, capable team. Rhodes Corp was ripe for a revolution, a cleansing of the old guard. Everyone here was hungry for a piece of that new world. And, as fate would have it, the heir to the Rhodes Corporation was my husband from my past life. The thought had barely crossed my mind when the conference room door opened again, interrupting my reverie. But it wasn’t the HR Director. It was a man, tall and broad-shouldered, in a suit so exquisitely tailored it looked like a second skin. His eyes were sharp, his jawline severe. As his gaze swept across the waiting area, an involuntary hush fell over the room. It was him. The heir to the Rhodes Corporation. Grant Rhodes. “Wait, why is the male lead here???” “OMG! It must be because our baby girl did so well!” “Of course! This time the Destiny Thief won’t get her hands on the male lead either!” More captions flew past my eyes. I frowned. What did they mean? Grant had some kind of history with Claire, too? My gaze shifted to Grant, and my expression instantly soured with contempt. So, he was tainted goods. Off the table. For some reason, my stare caught his. His eyes met mine, and for a split second, they widened in what looked like… confusion? As if he couldn’t decipher the disdain in my look. I coolly broke eye contact. Whatever. Let’s just see how this plays out. “Ahem.” Grant cleared his throat, his voice commanding silence. “Good afternoon. I assume you all know who I am, so I’ll skip the introduction. I have two announcements to make. First, we have decided on one finalist from today’s interviews. And that person is…” 4 Grant’s voice was a low baritone, but it made every heart in the room pound against their ribs. I found myself staring at his lips, trying to read the name before he spoke it. But the name that left them was: “…Claire Covington.” The comments exploded. “HAHAHA! OF COURSE IT’S OUR GIRL!” “I’m so happy I could cry! Take that, thief!” “The look on the side character’s face is PRICELESS. Love it, love to see it!” Claire stood up, a model of graceful modesty, before shooting me a sidelong glance. The meaning in that look was unmistakable. Pure, unadulterated gloating. But I didn’t feel the sting of defeat. All I felt was a wave of profound disappointment in Grant. My interview answers had targeted the company’s deepest flaws, many of which were conclusions he and I had come to together, over years of late nights at the office in our past life. And still, he chose her. I stood up immediately and turned to leave. If the Rhodes Corporation didn’t want me, there was no reason to stay. Just as I took a step, Grant’s voice cut through the air behind me. “Ms. Vance, you can’t leave yet. I’d like to discuss your answers from the interview in greater detail. Would you be willing to join me in my office?” I turned back. What I saw was Grant’s earnest, expectant expression, and Claire’s face, which had twisted into a mask of pure shock and venomous rage.

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I ended up with the boy who destroyed my life. Three years ago, I begged Ethan Cross to leave me alone. He crushed my hand under his boot and called me trash. Three years later, he was on his knees, sobbing, begging me not to leave him. And I threw those same words right back in his face. 1 I was pinned against the wall. The alley smelled of stale beer and desperation. My fingers, trembling, typed one last message to the only person who understood me, the boy I’d fallen for online. Then, the monster’s phone chimed. Ethan Cross pulled out his phone, and the cold cruelty in his eyes vanished, replaced by a softness that made my stomach twist. He sent the message, and a second later, my own phone buzzed silently in my pocket. It was the custom notification I’d set for him. For my Ryan. My head snapped up. There he was, under the sickly yellow glow of a streetlight, the sharp, perfect line of his jaw and the delicate features I knew so well. He was the spitting image of my Ryan. But the cigarette dangling from his lips, the dark violence simmering in his gaze… that was a stranger. This was not the sweet, bookish boy from the photos. For a dizzying moment, I couldn’t separate them. Was this my sweet Ryan, my online confidant? Or was this Tiffany Reed’s notorious boyfriend, the walking nightmare known as Ethan Cross? “Ethan, that’s the bitch who slashed my new purse!” Tiffany shrieked, her voice a weapon. She pointed a perfectly manicured finger at me, her eyes glinting with triumph. “She’s just jealous because she’s poor. White trash with sticky fingers.” “I didn’t…” I didn’t ruin her purse. She’d slapped me out of nowhere a few days ago. When she went to do it again, I ducked. She lost her balance, stumbled, and scraped her brand new, twenty-thousand-dollar bag against the brick wall. She’d screamed that I would pay for it. When I told her I couldn’t, she promised her boyfriend, Ethan Cross, would make me. I knew who Ethan was. Everyone did. He was from one of those old-money families with a business empire downtown. The rumors were dark—connections to unsavory people, a reputation for brutal, cold-blooded fights. They called him a demon, someone who wasn’t afraid of anything. I just never imagined that the demon and my sweet, gentle Ryan could be the same person. Ethan pushed himself off the wall and walked toward me. The warm lamplight did nothing to soften the icy chill in his eyes. His tall frame cast a long, suffocating shadow over me. My fists clenched. I heard his voice, devoid of all emotion. “Two choices. Pay for the bag, or get on your knees and apologize.” The cold, dismissive tone was a world away from the tender, loving words he’d sent me just minutes before. My mind short-circuited. A reckless, desperate hope flared inside me. I looked straight at him. “Do you believe me when I say I didn’t do it?” He stared at me for a long moment, then let out a short, contemptuous laugh. “Don’t be stupid.” He turned away, his voice thick with annoyance. “Teach her a lesson.” The blood froze in my veins. The world went silent. His friends forced me to my knees. The slaps came fast and hard, ringing in my ears. They tore at my clothes, kicked me in the stomach. The pain was so sharp I couldn’t even scream. Through it all, Ethan leaned against the far wall, indifferent. He was smiling softly at his phone screen, as if waiting for a message. I curled into a ball, absorbing the blows, hot tears finally breaking free. The consequences of being beaten by grown men meant I couldn’t get up for a long time. They’d knocked out two of my teeth, and the blood I spit up stained the collar of my shirt a deep, rusty red. I lay there on the filthy asphalt for three hours, a discarded object, before I could find the strength to crawl home. I didn’t dare tell my parents. They were good, honest people from a small town who worked themselves to the bone just to scrape by in this city. Thinking back, that was where it all started. I was bullied because I was from the country. The constant taunts—hick, trailer trash, you couldn’t afford to breathe the same air as us—had chipped away at my soul. I learned a hard lesson then: when you’re poor, dignity is a luxury you can’t afford. You’re just mud for other people to stomp in. “Hiss—” I dabbed at my cuts with antiseptic, alone in my room. God, it hurt. My phone kept buzzing with that special tone. Message after message from my sweet Ryan. The same affectionate, gentle words. But now, they made my skin crawl. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard. I typed and deleted, over and over. Finally, I just sent one thing. He paused for a second. Then, the reply came. 2 As if to prove it, he sent a picture of himself in the library. In the photo, a boy in a crisp white shirt smiled, his eyes full of sunshine. He stood by a bookshelf, the picture of a gentle, handsome scholar. It was all a beautiful lie. I was flooded with a strange, chilling sense of relief that I’d never sent him a picture of myself. Relief that he hadn’t recognized me. It was the only thing that gave me a chance to see who he really was. I couldn’t afford to miss class, couldn’t risk my grades slipping. After first period, Tiffany and her friends dragged me into the girls’ bathroom. They cornered me by the sinks. “Ava,” Tiffany drawled, inspecting her nails. “Still showing your face at school? Tsk, tsk. I guess last night wasn’t rough enough.” “Haha, she’s probably too stupid to feel it. She’s so ugly and gross, she’d have to have thick skin to not kill herself already!” “Her name’s Ava, but she’s more like a pig. A dirty, thick-skinned pig!” They laughed as one of them scooped murky, foul-smelling water from a toilet bowl and dumped it over my head. The cold, stinking liquid soaked my hair and ran down my neck, making me want to vomit. “See, Ava? Now you look on the outside how you are on the inside. Filthy and disgusting,” Tiffany sneered. She grabbed a fistful of my hair and slapped me twice, hard, before wiping her hand on a paper towel as if she’d touched something unclean. Then they left. I slid down the cold tile wall until I was sitting on the grimy floor. I buried my face in my knees, fighting to hold back the sobs. Tiffany locked me in there. I was stuck for the rest of the morning, until someone finally let me out during the lunch rush. I thought, hoped, that would be the end of it. But Tiffany was just getting started. In the days that followed, my desk was constantly vandalized, my homework would mysteriously disappear. After a few times, my teachers stopped believing my excuses. Tiffany was a ghost haunting my every step, her only pleasure turning my life into a public humiliation. One evening, I stayed late studying in the library, hoping to avoid her. It didn’t work. She and her crew were waiting for me at the entrance. She knocked my travel mug from my hand. It hit the concrete with a sharp crack, and the coffee I’d made to keep myself awake splashed all over my legs. The dark liquid instantly stained my new white jeans. Rage flared in my chest. I opened my mouth to speak, but a warning glance from Ethan froze the words in my throat. He was standing right next to her, a cigarette dangling from his lips, his expression dripping with disdain. “What’s the matter, Ava? Got a problem?” Tiffany taunted, shoving me hard. I stumbled backward and fell, landing right in the puddle of spilled coffee and dirt. The earthy, bitter smell made my stomach churn. Her followers erupted in laughter, jeering that I looked like a pig rooting in slop. They started trying to force my face down into the muddy coffee on the ground. When my cheek was just inches from the pavement, the librarian came out to lock the doors. “What’s going on here!” Tiffany and her friends immediately let go, plastering innocent smiles on their faces. “We’re just playing Truth or Dare with Ava!” one of them chirped. “Yeah, Ava lost! Her dare was to drink the coffee off the ground!” “That’s not true,” I pleaded, looking desperately at the librarian. “Ma’am, they were forcing me.” The librarian’s brow furrowed. Before she could speak, Tiffany cut in, all smiles. “Oh, don’t listen to her, ma’am. She’s just a sore loser trying to get out of the dare!” “Yeah, Ava, don’t be like that. It’s just a game,” another girl added. It was their word against mine. They were many; I was one. Their story was united. Predictably, the librarian believed them. Her face hardened as she looked at me, then back at Tiffany. “Alright, that’s enough. This is a school, not a playground. Get home, all of you.” The librarian left, clearly wanting nothing more to do with it. Tiffany looked down at me, her smile dripping with poison. “You see that, Ava? They’re all on my side. No one will ever believe you.” “You can tattle to the teachers all you want. I have a hundred ways to get out of trouble. You, on the other hand… you’re not so lucky.” 3 My heart felt like a block of ice. I didn’t even hear the rest of what they said. I sat there on the cold ground for a long time, so long that the campus lights started shutting off, one by one. It wasn’t until a security guard found me and called my name that I realized I’d been staring into space for hours, sitting in a puddle of cold, sticky coffee. I walked home in a daze. My mother was in the kitchen, clattering dishes in the sink. “You’re a grown girl, can’t you keep your clothes clean? We don’t have money for new pants, you know.” “Instead of focusing on your studies, you had to go with this crazy art idea. It costs twice as much to support you! You’re just making our lives harder. Why can’t you be more like your cousin back home? She’s so diligent and thoughtful.” I was used to my mother’s complaints. I’d grown numb to them. But tonight… tonight, I felt the sting of tears. I ignored her and locked myself in my room. My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. It was Ethan. My Ryan. It hurts his feelings? Yes. It would hurt his feelings. Even though our relationship was only online, I knew how much he depended on me. He needed to talk to me 24/7. He was starved for affection, crippled by insecurity. His family life was a mess, casting a long shadow over his childhood. After his mother died, he’d spiraled into a dark place. I happened to come into his life right then. I was the one who sat with him, virtually, through those agonizing months. After that, he was like a puppy showing its belly, offering me his entire heart. He’d once told me: I thought about his words, then pictured him standing by as Tiffany tormented me. My fingertips trembled. I asked him. No need. Ethan Cross, I have my own way of making my bully’s life a living hell. 4 During art class, Tiffany “accidentally” knocked over my paint tray as she walked by, then tore the canvas I was working on. “Ava, do people as poor and pathetic as you even deserve to study art? It’s so expensive. Can your family even afford it?” She strutted away, admiring her nails. I silently cleaned up the mess. Half my paints were gone, and my other supplies were stained. I sealed the remaining tubes of paint and took my soiled brushes to the sink, carefully washing the pigment from the bristles. I felt a pair of eyes on me. I looked over my shoulder. It was Ethan. He was leaning against the wall, a cigarette between his lips, watching me with an expression of pure mockery and contempt, like I was a clown in a circus. My grip on the brush tightened. He made no move to leave. When I tried to exit the restroom, he blocked my path, cornering me. “Apologize to Tiffany tomorrow.” His tone was absolute, his eyes a clear threat. “But I did nothing wrong. I didn’t damage her purse.” I found the courage to meet his gaze. The next second, the burning tip of his cigarette was pressed against my arm. “Cut the crap.” “It’s a twenty-thousand-dollar bag. All she wants is an apology. Don’t be an idiot.” “I’m not a patient guy. You know what happens if you don’t.” Ethan walked away. I clutched my burned arm, fat tears rolling silently down my cheeks. That night at home, my mother started in again, pleading with me to give up art. She said a family like ours couldn’t afford my dreams. My father finally told her to stop. Before bed, he came to my room. He told me to just focus on my studies, that the family would find a way to support my art. I looked at my dad, at the premature gray in his hair and the dull glint of his glass eye, and my heart ached. My dad lost an eye when he was a kid, beaten by some bullies in his village. On rainy days, or when he was overtired, the socket would ache terribly. But he never complained. He just shouldered the burden of our family. “Dad, I’ll get a part-time job. I promise, I can earn my own money soon.” My dad smiled, a sad, proud smile, and shook his head. He didn’t want me to worry. Then his expression grew serious. “You haven’t been yourself the last few days. Did something happen at school?” I shook my head. “If anyone is bullying you,” he said, his voice firm, “you have to tell us.” I nodded and told him not to worry. They were already working so hard. They didn’t need another burden. I’d learned to grow up tough and on my own. I always found a way. Tiffany thought I was some pushover she could crush for sport. But does being poor mean I have to swallow every injustice? The moment Tiffany demanded I pay for her bag, I’d already secured the security camera footage from the hallway showing her falling on her own. I’m poor. I know how to protect myself from being scammed. I documented the injuries from the alley and the bathroom. I got a copy of the library’s security tape. I had barely responded to Ethan’s messages these past few days. The bombardment was relentless. I had 99+ unread messages. I opened them, reading one by one. Reading that last one, I knew he was panicking. So, Ethan Cross, you can feel pain after all. Don’t worry. The real pain is just beginning. 5 Before I could finish reading, his calls started coming, one after another. I didn’t answer. Instead, I texted back. He clearly didn’t believe me. His insecurity was a bottomless pit. My finger trembled over the screen. After a moment’s silence, I replied: His tone immediately brightened. We had planned to meet after graduation. Now, he couldn’t wait. Perhaps he sensed it. He was losing me. I could hear the fear and desperation in his words. A strange pang of sourness hit my chest. I had steeled myself to hurt him, but for a split second, I wavered. I asked him: He answered without hesitation. As if the person who bullied and brutalized others didn’t exist. He truly had two faces. I texted. I’m giving you a chance, Ethan Cross. Don’t let me down. … Tiffany’s campaign against me wasn’t over. To force my apology, she took the fight public. She posted about the purse incident on the school’s online forum, instantly casting herself as the victim. She played the part beautifully, claiming all she ever wanted was a simple apology. She moralized from her high horse, accusing me of being a poor girl who coveted luxury goods she couldn’t afford. She said my vanity was a burden on my family, that I was selfish and ungrateful… Her performance of a “kind and righteous” victim won everyone over. The forum exploded with comments tearing me apart. “If you’re broke, don’t cause trouble!” “This is a classic ‘if I can’t have it, I’ll destroy it’ move! That Ava girl is disgusting!” “Yeah, kick the bitch out of our school!” “I heard Tiffany’s boyfriend, Ethan Cross, beat her up a few days ago.” “Good. I’d take a beating to get out of a twenty-thousand-dollar debt!” “Ava MUST apologize!” Under the post with the most furious demands for my head, I uploaded the video. The clip clearly showed Tiffany tripping, scraping her own bag, and then turning to blame me. The comments section went dead silent. I had planned to release the video today anyway. Tiffany’s post just gave me the perfect stage for a dramatic reveal. After posting it, I went to school with my head held high. 6 A number of students came up to me, offering comfort and apologies. “I’m so sorry, Ava. I didn’t know the whole story and I said some awful things about you online. I can’t believe she framed you.” On the forum, the tide had turned completely. The righteous anger was now directed at Tiffany. The good people, it turned out, were in the majority. Tiffany became a pariah, condemned by almost everyone. Her reputation was in tatters. I knew she wouldn’t let it go. The only question was, would Ethan help her this time? He had promised me he would be a good and decent person. He had promised me he wouldn’t do bad things anymore. I wasn’t sure he could keep that promise. When Ethan and his crew cornered me in the alley again, I got my answer. Tiffany stood beside him, pointing and screaming at me. “You’re fucking dead, Ava! You dared to set me up!” “You little bitch, I’m going to kill you today!” I ignored her histrionics and fixed my gaze on Ethan. “Ethan, you saw the video online. You know I’m innocent.” I had to be sure he knew, that he wasn’t just being manipulated by Tiffany. I had even used an anonymous account to make sure the video appeared in his social media feed. He didn’t look at me. He flicked his cigarette to the ground, his voice bored. “So what if I saw it? All I know is you didn’t do what I told you to do.” The cold words were like daggers, sinking deep into my heart. I laughed, a bitter, broken sound that almost turned into a sob. I shouldn’t have had any hope for him. Ethan Cross was never the sun-drenched boy by the bookshelf. He was always this dark, selfish, cold-blooded creature. How could I have forgotten? He had told me he was changing for the better. It was just another beautiful lie. How could I have been so stupid as to believe it? “Are you really going to ask Ethan for help, Ava? You must be dreaming!” Tiffany shrieked. “Ethan, teach this bitch a lesson she’ll never forget!” Someone shoved me from behind, and I fell to the hard pavement. The kicks and punches started again. It hurt, but I was prepared. I had two burner phones in my pockets, both recording audio and video, set to automatically upload. They cursed as they hit me. But this time, I realized with a jolt of terror, they were aiming for my hands. “These are your drawing hands, right? What a shame.” “Even if you got into art school, your family couldn’t afford it. Let us do you a favor and get rid of the problem for you, hahaha!” No! Art was my dream! My only dream! True panic seized me. I started screaming his name, begging. “Ethan, let me go! Please, just let me go!” Ethan turned his head. He looked at me. His eyes were filled with the same disgust you’d reserve for garbage on the street. “Ah!” In a flash of blinding pain, someone stomped on my right hand. The agony was electric, shooting up my arm. I thought I would pass out. “Ethan… Ryan…” My vision swam. My voice was a weak whisper. “You promised me… you were trying to be better… to be the person I wanted you to be…” “You promised… you wouldn’t do…” I didn’t finish. I saw Ethan’s face contort, his expression shattering into pure horror. He let out a strangled, broken roar. “EVERYONE, FUCKING STOP!”

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The day Kian Richmond was welcomed back by his birth family, my mother took a Greyhound overnight to see him. When Mrs. Richmond offered to thank us for raising him, Mom, terrified of the gesture, only took a single crystal glass from a side table. As we were leaving, I overheard Mrs. Richmond speaking to her housekeeper. “It makes my blood boil, thinking of my son going hungry, living in some leaky tenement. “People like that belong in the gutter, picking through trash.” With my eyes burning, I found Kian to return the glass, but he just shrugged, a picture of indifference. “Keep it,” he said, his voice cool. “Even if it’s just one of my mother’s old mouthwash cups, it’s worth more than you’ve ever seen.” I said nothing. When we got home, I packed a bag, and we disappeared. Years later, I heard a story. That the heir to the Richmond fortune spent five years searching for a poor family, holding a single crystal glass like a prayer. 1 It had been three months since Kian had returned to the Richmond family, and he hadn’t contacted us once. Mom, sick with worry, dragged me onto a bus that smelled of stale air and desperation. After a day and a night of rattling highways, we arrived at the Richmond estate. The sunset bled across the sky, setting the sprawling stone manor ablaze with golden light. When a uniformed maid opened the massive oak door, her eyes swept over us, cataloging our worn jeans and my mother’s faded coat in a single, dismissive glance. I clutched the frayed hem of my shirt, my knuckles white, and looked away. Eleanor Richmond, Kian’s mother, swept out to greet us. She was a woman sculpted from grace and money, with a laugh like the tinkling of a crystal wind chime. “We owe you such a debt of gratitude for taking care of Kian all these years,” she said, her smile perfectly polished. “I’ve been meaning to call, but things have just been a whirlwind.” My mother managed a tight smile, her own voice strained as she tried to match the pleasantry. But her eyes kept darting toward the grand staircase, searching. I knew that look. She missed Kian with an ache that thirteen years of love had carved into her soul. It wasn’t something she could just let go of. “You’re busy, Mrs. Richmond, we understand. I just wanted to see him for a minute, just to know he’s…” Eleanor stopped and graced her with another radiant smile. “I had the staff notify him you were here. Dinner is almost ready. You must stay.” Seated at a long, white marble table, I felt a knot of anxiety tighten in my stomach. Mom squeezed my hand under the table and, from her worn, floral-print purse, discreetly passed me a crushed dinner roll she’d saved from the bus station. A passing maid shot us a curious look before hurrying away. I quickly tucked the roll into my pocket, my cheeks burning with shame. It was a long time before Kian came downstairs. The moment he appeared, Mom was on her feet, rushing to him. “You’ve lost weight.” Her hand hovered near his cheek. “Why haven’t you called? Are you warm enough in just that?” Kian finally lifted his eyes from his phone, a flicker of annoyance in them. He gestured vaguely toward the ceiling. “There’s central air, Mom. And I’ve been busy. I’m training at the company.” The word “Mom” sounded foreign, clinical. She flinched, her hand dropping to her side. She nodded silently and returned to her seat. I stared at the boy sitting across from me, a stranger in a designer shirt. A ghost of memory flickered—my mom taking me to visit a distant relative in a town hollowed out by poverty. Kids my age roamed the streets, fighting over scraps of food like feral dogs. We found Kian in an alleyway, his clothes torn, his eyes vacant. He’d been cornered by a group of older boys. Mom chased them off, then gently cleaned his cuts, wrapped him in her own coat, and gave him the apple she’d been saving for me. As we were about to leave, he grabbed the sleeve of her coat. His small arm was a canvas of purple bruises. My mother’s eyes welled with tears. “As long as I’m alive,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, “you’ll have a place to eat.” And just like that, the three of us—me, my mom, and Kian—became a family. 2 The maids filled the table with a dazzling array of dishes—roasted chicken, glistening fish, platters of things I couldn’t even name. Eleanor Richmond took her seat at the head of the table, her smile unwavering. “Please, eat. I hope you find something to your liking. I’m still trying to figure out Kian’s tastes. What did you usually cook for him?” Mom’s face softened with the memory. “Oh, he’s never been picky. Sautéed potatoes, peppers, green beans… he’ll eat anything you put in front of him.” Eleanor paused, her fork hovering over a slice of duck. “And what about his favorite splurges? A good steak, perhaps?” “He… he was never much of a meat-eater, really.” The lie was so thin it was transparent. Mom’s health was fragile, and just keeping two growing kids fed and in school was a constant struggle. Meat was a luxury we couldn’t afford. Eleanor’s smile didn’t falter, but it lost its warmth. “Is it that he doesn’t like it,” she murmured, her voice laced with honeyed poison, “or that he couldn’t have it?” The question hung in the air, thick and suffocating. The silence was deafening. I instinctively looked at Kian, but he was absorbed in his phone, his thumb scrolling endlessly. I tried to break the tension. “He loves scrambled eggs,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Mom makes the best.” Before the words had even settled, Kian let out a short, bitter laugh. “Yeah,” he said, not looking up. “It was the closest we ever got to surf and turf.” A memory stabbed at me. Our neighbor’s hen would occasionally leave an egg on our porch, and Mom would always scramble it with fresh green beans from our tiny garden, dividing it into two small, precious portions. I remembered sitting across from Kian, fighting over the last bite in his bowl. I’d pouted, half-joking. “I’m never going to grow if you keep eating my eggs!” Back then, he had laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners with a tenderness that made my heart ache now to remember. “Okay, okay, you can have mine too,” he’d said, pushing his bowl toward me. “Our Chloe needs to eat up. You’ve got to grow taller than me.” I dropped my gaze to my lap, a cold wave of confusion washing over me. Three months. How could three months turn someone you loved into a complete stranger? I couldn’t tell if his words were a cruel joke or his new, bitter truth. Mom placed her fork down and pushed her chair back, pulling me up with her. “We won’t trouble you any longer, Mrs. Richmond. It’s time we were going.” As we stood, the icy mask on Eleanor’s face suddenly shattered into a performance of warm concern. “Oh, don’t be silly! Kian is just teasing. Please, don’t take him seriously. You’ve done so much for him. I insist you take something as a token of our appreciation. Anything in the house, please, choose whatever you like.” The villa was a museum of wealth. priceless art, jade statues, rare orchids in porcelain vases. Any single object could have sustained us for a lifetime. My mother frantically waved her hands, refusing, but the maids had already moved to flank us, blocking our path to the door. Trapped, Mom’s eyes darted around, panicked. Finally, she let me guide her into a quiet, dark side room. On a small vanity table, next to a silver-backed mirror, sat a simple crystal glass. She picked it up, her hands trembling. “This,” she whispered. “This will be fine.” From the hallway, I heard a maid stifle a laugh. “What is it?” Mom asked, her voice shaking. “Is it too valuable…?” A clap of thunder rattled the windows, and the sky opened up in a sudden downpour. Eleanor glided over, patting my mother’s hand with practiced sympathy. “It’s nothing, dear. The rain is much too heavy for you to travel. You’ll stay the night.” 3 The long bus ride had left me exhausted, and Mom was already asleep, her face etched with weariness in the dim lamplight. I’d had too much of the fancy bottled water they’d served and slipped out of the guest room to find a bathroom. As I crept down the silent, carpeted hallway, I heard voices from behind a partially closed door. It was Eleanor. “…and right here on my shoulders. God, it’s just disgraceful. Can you imagine the life my son has lived? He never even had a decent meal.” “You were finally able to bring the young master home, ma’am. That’s what matters. It was too generous of you to offer them a gift.” “Oh, I have a soft spot, I suppose. They did look after him for years. But it makes my blood boil, thinking of him going hungry, living in some leaky tenement. People like that,” her voice dripped with contempt, “belong in the gutter, picking through trash in a bathroom.” “Indeed, ma’am. That’s why I made sure to guide them in that direction earlier.” “You always know what to do, Maria. You’re a treasure.” I froze, my blood turning to ice. A different maid rounded the corner and saw me standing there. “Are you looking for something, miss?” It took a few seconds for my voice to work. I forced a smile that felt like cracking glass. “Yes, could you tell me where the restroom is?” She led me down a small hallway, to the very room where Mom had picked out the crystal glass. My heart sank into a black, bottomless pit. It was a guest bathroom. I remembered how the maids had surrounded us, leaving only one narrow path open. A path that led directly here. The humiliation washed over me, hot and suffocating. I stumbled back to our room, tears blurring my vision, and pulled the carefully wrapped glass from Mom’s purse. Through the window, the garden was illuminated by soft landscape lighting. And there, on the wet lawn, was Kian, jogging in place. A sleek Doberman stood at his side, watching him with rapt attention. I ran downstairs. As I reached the patio, Kian pointed to a distant patch of bushes and whistled sharply. “Go get it, Seven!” The dog shot off, disappearing into the dark foliage and returning a moment later with a small object in its mouth. Kian took it, patted the dog’s head, and then, with a flick of his wrist, tossed it again. This time, it landed in the middle of the ornate fountain with a soft splash. And this time, I saw what it was. A small, hand-stitched rag doll. Kian sighed in frustration and turned. His eyes met mine. My entire body started to shake, and the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free. The thing he had just thrown away like garbage was the 18th birthday present I had made for him.

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My sister, Ava, and I are twins. She was born brilliant, the sweet, lovely girl who got into a school like Duke. I was the problem child, the one our parents sent to a behavioral academy to be reformed. Later, when Ava was hospitalized because of her college classmates—the same ones who laughed and said they could cover the damages if they each skipped a meal—I put on her clothes, picked up her backpack, and practiced her innocent face in the mirror. This time, my parents didn’t try to stop me. 1 The academy only let us go home once a month. I had been waiting for this day for a long, long time. When I pushed open Ava’s bedroom door, my palm was sweating around the gift I’d brought her. It was a butterfly specimen I’d made in art therapy. I could already picture her expression—the way her eyes would go wide with surprise before she launched herself into my arms. But the gift never left my hand. I found her unconscious on her bed, not moving. Ava was rushed to the hospital. A doctor took one look at her injuries, and his face went grim. “Get her to an OR. Don’t wait. Now!” The heavy steel doors of the operating room swung shut, and that was all we saw for hours. Every time they opened, it was only to deliver more bad news. Mom was a heap in a plastic chair, sobbing. Dad stood rigid, signing what felt like a hundred forms with a shaking hand. “What has she done to deserve this?” Mom wept. “My beautiful, good girl.” When a team of surgeons finally came out, their faces were etched with defeat. “We did everything we could,” one of them said. “She’s unlikely to ever be able to have children.” The only comfort he could offer was this: “If her recovery goes well, she’ll need to use a colostomy bag for the rest of her life.” He paused, letting the weight of that settle on us. “And if it doesn’t go well…” 2 Mom’s eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted. Dad, his composure finally shattering, grabbed the surgeon’s arm, his voice cracking. “Please, Doctor, you have to save her. She’s just a kid. Her whole life is ahead of her. This can’t be her life.” The surgeon could only shake his head, his expression grim. There was nothing more to say. A vibration from my pocket. It was Ava’s phone. I’d grabbed it from her nightstand in the chaos. Notifications were popping up, one after another, like relentless taps on a coffin lid. I typed in her birthday and the screen unlocked. It was a group chat. Eighteen members, including my sister. A girl named Ashley seemed to be the ringleader. She and a few others were tagging Ava over and over again. “Don’t forget our lab reports are due tomorrow. Bring them done.” “Breakfast tomorrow is bacon, egg, and cheese on a roll. Extra bacon on mine. Don’t forget the hot sauce.” And in that sterile, silent hallway, I realized the truth. I had always thought Ava was the one living in the sun, the golden child who had it all. But she had been living in a darkness deeper than any I had ever known. Unlike Ava, I was never the good one. I was never obedient. When I was eight, my parents took me to my grandparents’ farm for the summer, hoping the “country air” would fix whatever was broken in me. 3 Every time I acted out, Mom would come at me with a leather belt. “Why can’t you just behave?” she’d cry, her own face streaked with tears. “You have to learn to control that anger! If you don’t, you won’t be our daughter anymore!” Ava would always throw herself in front of me, taking the blows meant for me, until Mom would just collapse, hugging us both and sobbing. So I learned. I buried it. At Blackwood Academy, I was a model student. A ghost. But now, standing in that hospital corridor, a thousand angry voices were screaming inside my head. And deep down, in the quietest, darkest part of me, one voice rose above the rest, clear and cold as ice. Hush now. Not a single one of them is getting away. Ava was finally moved from the OR to the ICU. She was alive. That was the only victory we had. Dad spent hours on the phone, getting transferred and disconnected, until he finally reached the principal of her high school. The man offered a perfunctory, “I’m sorry to hear that,” before launching into a well-rehearsed damage control script. “Our security cameras in that wing were unfortunately down for maintenance,” he said smoothly. “But I’ve asked around. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. I assure you.” He cleared his throat. “It was likely just some minor roughhousing between students. Nothing as serious as you’re suggesting. I’m sure an apology will clear this right up.” Dad exploded. “The cameras just happened to be broken? Are the cameras broken, or is your goddamn conscience broken? Not one person from your school has even bothered to show up here, and you have the nerve to call it ‘minor roughhousing’?” To my shock, the principal sounded offended. 4 “Sir, the students at Northwood High are exemplary. We don’t have these kinds of problems. Perhaps you should be asking what your daughter did to provoke this. I was trying to help you, but if you’re going to be abusive, then this conversation is over.” The line went dead. Dad tried calling back, but he’d been blocked. I pulled out my own phone, opened a browser, and searched for a picture of the school’s principal. I memorized his face. If he were the one lying in a hospital bed, facing a lifetime with a colostomy bag, I bet an apology would be more than enough for him, too. Through the glass panel of the ICU door, I watched my sister. Ava, who was always smiling, always laughing, lay perfectly still, tangled in a web of tubes and wires. She looked like a flower that was about to wilt. And on her phone, the messages kept coming. The group chat was furious that she wasn’t responding. “Ignoring us now?” “Guess she didn’t learn her lesson.” Then they started posting videos. Videos of them tormenting my sister, laughing as they did it. I clicked play. In a corner of the athletic fields, a dozen girls had Ava surrounded. Their laughter was sharp and cruel as they filmed her terror. 5 Ashley’s voice was laced with venom. “I hear all the guys on the football team think you’re hot. Tell us, Ava. Just how pretty are you?” My sister was trembling. “I’m not. No one likes me.” In the chaotic footage, I saw it clearly. A security camera mounted on the corner of the building, its lens swiveling, tracking their every move. The camera wasn’t broken. They just weren’t protecting my sister. The humiliation wasn’t over. A glint appeared in Ashley’s eye. “Hey, girls, I have an idea…” A few of them exchanged vicious smiles. A moment later, Ava let out a scream of agony that was cut short. The sound drew the attention of the principal, who had been walking across the field. My sister looked at him, her eyes pleading. He was her salvation. The principal glanced at the scene, took in the circle of girls and my sister on the ground, and simply waved a dismissive hand. “The bell’s about to ring. Everyone get back to class.” And he walked away, leaving her there alone. I still don’t know how she found the strength to make it home. I showed the video to my parents. I had never seen them look so broken. 6 They had worked their entire lives, scraping by, playing by the rules, being good people. Sending Ava to the best public school in the district was supposed to be their crowning achievement. And it had led to this. The detective who came to the hospital was named Miller. Dad latched onto him like a drowning man grabbing a life raft. “This is evidence, right?” Dad asked, his voice raw. “We can sue them? We can press charges?” “I understand your anger, sir,” Detective Miller said gently. “Let me start by contacting the other students’ parents.” It turns out the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Even with a detective calling, most of the parents refused to engage. Their indifference was a wall we couldn’t break through. This was just another Tuesday for them. Settle it with money and make it go away. Dad’s eyes were bloodshot. “We may not have money, but we’re not taking a payoff. I want them to pay for what they did.” He spent the whole morning calling the numbers Miller gave him. He only got through to a few, and each conversation was more insulting than the last. “It was just a joke between kids.” “She’s alive, isn’t she? She’s being dramatic.” One of them, a lawyer, was the worst. “You’re just trying to shake us down for cash, aren’t you? What do you want, a few hundred bucks? You try to ask for more, and I’ll sue you for extortion. See how that works out for you.” 7 With so many of them involved, the blame was diffused. Spread it thin enough, and no one feels the weight of it. That’s why they were so bold. Dad finally gave up. I found him in the hospital stairwell, the air thick with smoke, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. He had spent his life teaching us to be good, to be kind, to turn the other cheek. He believed that being the bigger person was a virtue. Now, that entire worldview had been burned to the ground. He was mourning the death of his own faith. I stood in the shadows and spoke into the darkness. “Dad. Ava has school the day after tomorrow. She can’t be late.” He looked up, his face hollowed out by grief. After a long moment, he nodded slowly. He brought the cigarette to his lips one last time, then crushed it against the concrete floor, extinguishing the final, glowing ember.

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I was on the Acela Express, heading north out of the city, when I saw him: the kind of handsome that makes you stop breathing for a second, watching porn on his phone. He wasn’t even using headphones. “Hey,” I whispered, leaning over the armrest. “You might want to turn that down.” He didn’t look up. “It’s my home security feed.” “Oh. My bad.” I sank back into my seat. “Sorry about that… man.” What else do you say to a guy watching his own cheating partner? He finally glanced at me, and his eyes were pure murder. Still, I felt a pang of sympathy for him. That is, until I saw the tattoo in the video. A familiar, intricate design of a succubus, its wings wrapped around the man’s bicep. My blood went cold. No. Fucking. Way. 1 “Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit!” I snatched the phone from his hand, my face so close to the screen I could feel the static. My fingers were trembling. It wasn’t possible. The universe couldn’t be that cruel, that specific. But the lean, muscular man on the screen, naked from the waist up with a stomach I knew better than my own—that was Liam. We grew up together. We’d been together for eight years. I’d know him anywhere. We were supposed to get married next month. The thought hit me like a physical blow. My eyes instantly flooded, and my chest felt like it had been split wide open, a cold wind howling through the new, empty space. He was cheating on me. Liam was cheating on me. “Someone’s excited,” the guy next to me drawled, a smirk playing on his lips. He was watching me now, his chin propped on his hand. “First time seeing the main event?” He was right. It was the first time I’d seen Liam from this angle. Right now, my fiancé was kneeling before a pair of legs in black stockings, a gleaming silver chain fastened around his neck. The raw, explicit image slammed into my brain. The woman’s ecstatic moans filled the air from the phone’s tiny speakers. It was all too much. My stomach lurched, my throat tightened, and a wave of nausea crested over me. I turned and threw up, the contents of my stomach landing squarely in the handsome stranger’s lap. Oh, wow. That’s… vivid. “Agh—!” He let out a strangled cry, clamping a hand over his nose and mouth as he shot up from his seat, scrambling for the restroom. A few minutes later, he returned, a dark, wet patch staining the front of his expensive-looking jeans. The murderous look was back in his eyes, tenfold. But I didn’t give him a chance to tear into me. The train was pulling into the station. My station. I had to find Liam. I had to get an explanation. I needed to slap his face until my hand went numb and then I needed to—well, let’s just say I had plans for his “equipment.” I grabbed my bag and stood over the guy. “Where do you live? Take me there. Now.” He raised an eyebrow, a look of incredulous disgust on his face. “What, you didn’t get enough of the show? You want a front-row seat?” “Don’t you?” I shot back. He studied me, his suspicion warring with a dawning realization. “Look, I obviously do, but what’s it to you? If you’re into this stuff, I can give you some websites, you don’t have to get… weird about it.” Right. I was being weird. It was my own fault. I was trying so hard to hold it together, to be angry and strong, but the tears were streaming down my face now, hot and unstoppable. His expression softened slightly as he took in my red, swollen eyes. Comprehension finally clicked into place. “Oh, fuck. No way. You’re telling me that’s your…?” “He’s my fiancé,” I choked out. “The one I’m supposed to marry next month.” He sucked in a sharp breath. For a moment, all the animosity vanished, replaced by a flicker of something else. He looked at me, dead serious, and said, “My condolences.” “Save it,” I sniffled, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. “We’re in the same goddamn boat. So, are you coming or not? We have a cheating to catch.” A slow, dangerous grin spread across his face. “Catching them? Oh, we’re going to do a hell of a lot more than that.” 2 On the way to his house, I learned his name was Rhys, and the woman in the video was his fiancée. He was supposed to be in Boston for a business trip but had decided to come back a day early to surprise her for her birthday. Looks like the surprise was on him. “So what were you coming here for?” he asked, his tone casual as he navigated the highway. My heart was a lead weight in my stomach. The last thing I wanted was small talk. I just wanted this nightmare to be over. “A psychic told me I had a dark cloud over my head today,” I mumbled. “Came to see if she was right.” The truth, of course, was much more mundane. I was coming to finalize wedding details with Liam. The caterer, the seating charts—all the little things you can’t sort out over text. He’d been on this consulting gig for weeks, too busy to come home, so I’d decided to come to him. I was supposed to be surprising him, too. “Holy shit, they’re still going at it,” Rhys said, his eyes flicking down to the phone mounted on his dashboard. He let out a low whistle. “I’ll give him this, your boyfriend’s got stamina. Is he… always this adventurous?” I forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. I didn’t know what to say. Because the Liam I knew, the man I slept next to, was a completely different person from the one on that screen. It was like I’d never met him at all. “Oh, look at that. He’s brought out the candles and the whip. Check out the arch on your boyfriend’s back… Damn, makes you just want to smack it.” He held the phone out to me. I recoiled. “Stop it. Aren’t you embarrassed?” “Embarrassed? Are you kidding me? This is exhilarating!” He threw his head back and laughed, a wild, unhinged sound. “What a rich and beautiful life experience!” I decided not to engage. The man was clearly unhinged. I stared out the window, watching the green blur of the suburbs fly by. My heart was pounding against my ribs, my palms slick with sweat. Was I really ready for this? What would I even say when I saw Liam? Forget saying anything. I’d just act. The rage was already simmering, a pressure building inside me. To not let it out now would be like holding in a sneeze. Unnatural. Unhealthy. I took a deep breath, steeling myself. The car turned into a private, gated community, the kind with sprawling lawns and houses the size of hotels. So, Rhys was rich. Which meant his fiancée… Stop it, Clara, I scolded myself. Focus. “Don’t be nervous,” Rhys said, his voice strangely calm. “The first time catching a cheater is always the hardest. It gets easier.” He glanced at me. “I’ll go in first when we open the door. I’m worried the shock might make you… projectile vomit again.” “Okay. I’ll follow you.” I was wringing my hands in my lap, a bundle of nerves. “You, uh… you seem to have a lot of experience with this.” “Don’t ask,” he said with a wry grin. “Let’s just say I’m a man with a past.” There was no time to ask for more. We were here. 3 He parked in the driveway but didn’t immediately get out. Instead, he pulled out his phone and dialed. “Hey, babe. I’m home. Can you come down and open the door for me?” The voice on the other end was a flurry of panic. “Rhys? What… why are you back so early? I thought you weren’t coming until next week.” “Change of plans. What, not happy to see me?” “Of course I am! Just… just give me a second.” “What are you doing? You sound out of breath.” “Oh, you know. Just got off the Peloton.” “Alright. Well, I’m waiting. Hurry up.” He hung up and glanced at the security feed on his other phone, a wicked glint in his eye. “You’re being childish,” I said, my voice tight. “Just open the door.” “Where’s the fun in that?” He smirked. “Look at them scramble.” On the screen, two naked bodies were frantically pulling on clothes. I watched, mesmerized in horror, as Liam—my Liam—scrambled out of sight, disappearing under the bed. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I pulled out my own phone and dialed him. After a few rings, he picked up. “Where are you?” I asked, my voice dangerously sweet. “You didn’t answer before.” He whispered, his voice hushed and urgent. “I’m with a client, Clara. I told you this morning, it’s a huge meeting. Please don’t call unless it’s an emergency. I’ll call you when I’m done.” He hung up. Okay, Liam. Let’s see how you finish this meeting. Let’s see if you get out of there in one piece. “Ready?” Rhys asked. I took a shuddering breath. “Ready. Open it.” Click. The smart lock disengaged. A woman in a pink lace robe appeared in the doorway. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair a messy halo around her head. My eyes scanned the room behind her, instantly catching the black stockings peeking out of a half-closed dresser drawer. The ones from the video. The air in the room was thick with a cloying, fishy smell that made my stomach turn. I thought of the frantic images from the security feed, and the nausea returned. Breathe, Clara, breathe. The woman was wiping at her smeared lipstick, forcing a bright, flirtatious smile. “Silly, you could have just let yourself in. Making me come all the way downstairs. Honestly, honey.” Then her eyes landed on me. “And… who is this?” “Her?” Rhys said, stepping inside. “She’s here to catch a cheater.” “Wh-what?” “I said,” Rhys repeated, his voice dropping an octave, “she’s here with me to catch a cheater. Sloane, I think we can drop the act now, don’t you?” The woman, Sloane, was visibly panicking, but she held her ground. “What act? Rhys, what the hell are you talking about? Are you accusing me of cheating on you?” “Am I wrong?” “Where’s your proof?” Rhys let out a cold laugh. He held up his phone, the video playing in a loop. “I installed cameras weeks ago. Did you really think I was that stupid, Sloane? After last time? After everything you promised me?” He didn’t wait for an answer. In one fluid motion, he strode to the bed, grabbed the edge of the mattress, and flipped it into the air with a deafening thump. And there he was. My Liam. Curled up on the floor, still wearing that ridiculous silver chain around his neck, exposed to the world. 4 “Honey, it’s not what it looks like, I can explain!” Sloane grabbed Rhys’s arm, her voice pleading. “The bed was broken, he’s… he’s a handyman! I don’t even know him! I love you, you know I would never—” SLAP. The sound echoed in the silent room. I had yanked her away from Rhys and struck her across the face, my palm stinging. “I am so fucking sick of this!” I screamed, my voice raw. “There are cameras! We just told you there are cameras! Are you that stupid? Do you think we’re idiots?” She stared at me, stunned into silence. Rhys and Liam were frozen, their eyes wide. I had snapped. Something inside me had just completely and utterly broken. I was done talking. Done thinking. Why waste my breath? The words were just getting stuck in my throat anyway, choking me. Eight years of my life, our wedding next month, the man I loved hiding under another woman’s bed… The blood roared in my ears, a hot, violent rush to my head. My eyes met Liam’s, and the fury inside me exploded. I’d unconsciously grabbed a golf club from a bag leaning against the wall. Now, I swung it, the heavy iron connecting with his cheek with a sickening crack. “Weren’t you with a client?” I shrieked, swinging again. “So this is your client? All this time, and I never knew you moonlighted as a fucking gigolo? You make me sick, Liam! You’re disgusting! You don’t deserve to live!” I hit him again and again, screaming and crying, lost in a red haze of pure rage. Sloane, snapped out of her stupor, tried to pull me away. I shoved her back with my free hand and, in a blind fury, swept my arm across her vanity, sending a cascade of expensive perfumes and makeup crashing to the floor. I snatched a piece of the shattered mirror and lunged at her, scratching it across her face. She screamed, collapsing to the ground, a bloody mess, and didn’t move again. “Clara, calm down! Just listen to me, please!” Liam grabbed my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong, forcing me to look at him. “It’s not what you think!” “Not what I think? I saw it, Liam! I saw everything! You played me for a fool, and now you want me to be calm? Calm this!” I wrenched my arm free, grabbed a broken perfume bottle from the floor, and drove the jagged edge straight into his crotch. A gut-wrenching scream tore from his throat, a sound of pure agony that echoed off the walls. He collapsed, clutching himself, and didn’t get up. “You’re insane, Clara!” he gasped from the floor. “Yes! I am! You fucking drove me to this!” “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” “I know exactly what I’m doing! I want you gone, you piece of shit! Isn’t it obvious?” I stood over his writhing form, my whole body shaking. “Eight years, Liam! I gave you eight years of my life! Do you have any idea what that means? We were getting married! Married! I was going to give you everything, and this is how you repay me?” The memories—the good ones, the ones I had cherished—flashed through my mind, and the anger finally gave way to a wave of gut-wrenching sorrow. I sank to my knees and sobbed, the sound raw and broken in the wrecked room. Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked up to see Rhys, holding his phone up. “Hey,” he whispered, “try not to cry. I’m live-streaming this. It ruins the power dynamic.” “You’re… what? A live-stream?” I looked at his phone screen. The viewer count was ticking rapidly past one million. The world went dark at the edges, and I thought I was going to faint.

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Four years of long-distance. I flew a thousand miles for our concert date. But she gave my ticket to her “friend” from school, and I watched them walk in, holding hands. They framed me as a scalper. I was beaten by the crowd. She just stood there, watching coldly, even backing their story. Afterward, her call was breezy and dismissive. “You’re such a good guy, you won’t blame me, right? Now be good, fly down to my city, and we’ll get married.” I laughed. Then I turned around, bought a ticket home, and blocked her on everything. Years later, she returned—a world-famous scientist—and stood before me, demanding I take her back as if it were her right. I just introduced her to my wife standing beside me and the son in my arms. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Have we met?” 1 The tickets were gone. After a four-year, long-distance relationship, my girlfriend Ava had suggested we finally meet in the middle, at a reunion concert for The Wanderers. I’d flown a thousand miles to a city I didn’t know, and when I got to the will-call window, the attendant gave me a pitying look. “Sorry, sir. These tickets have already been picked up.” I figured Ava must have grabbed them. But when I called her, it went straight to voicemail. Again and again. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. Dejected, I was drifting toward the main gate when I saw her. She was standing in the security line, her hand laced through the fingers of some handsome, clean-cut guy I’d never seen before. Something hot and sharp flared in my chest. I walked straight up to them. “Ava?” Before she could answer, the guy with her shot me a wounded look. His eyes were actually turning red. “Dude,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “I paid you ten times face value for this ticket. What, you think you sold it too cheap? Today’s my one-year anniversary with my girlfriend. I’ll give you another twenty bucks, just leave us alone, man.” I stared at Ava, waiting for her to clear this up, to laugh it off as a crazy misunderstanding. Instead, she just looked at me, her expression hardening, and backed him up. She let him slander me. Suddenly, I was the enemy. The crowd around us, smelling blood, turned on me. “Scalper!” someone yelled. “Trying to rip the kid off on his anniversary?” another one shouted. Voices rose, people shoved, and before I knew it, a fist connected with my jaw. Someone kicked me from behind. They were all screaming about calling the cops, about parasites like me ruining everything. The concert ended hours later. Only then did Ava finally call, her voice breezy and casual, as if nothing had happened. “That was Ethan, a guy from my program. He just went through a really bad breakup, and The Wanderers are his all-time favorite band, so I just… let him use your ticket. You’re such a good guy, Caleb. I knew you’d understand, right?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Anyway, listen! I just have this one summer project left and then I’m done, I graduate. You should book a flight down to Miami, come to campus. I’ll show you around, and then… we can go home together. Go to the courthouse. What do you think?” “Okay,” I said, my voice flat. “Sounds good.” Then I hung up and bought a bus ticket. The destination wasn’t Miami. It was Maine. She had no idea that I never wanted to marry her again. “Caleb, I checked for you,” Ava’s voice had said through the phone, tinny and distant. “There’s a seat on the midnight Greyhound. You should book it now. It’s too loud to talk here with everyone leaving the stadium, I’m gonna go.” Click. I sat in the fluorescent hum of the bus station, my phone dead in my hand. I laughed, a bitter, hollow sound that pulled at the fresh cut on my lip. After she’d let a mob of strangers beat me up, I’d stormed off to the airport, intending to leave immediately. But a sliver of foolish hope kept me there, a fantasy that there was some noble, complicated reason for her betrayal. I’d sat in that sterile waiting area all night, waiting for an explanation that would make it all make sense. All I got was an excuse about some lovesick kid from her program. That was her reason for holding another man’s hand, for joining him in painting me as a greedy scalper? And her suggestion… her school was in Miami. The only way to get to my hometown in Maine from there, besides a flight, was a grueling three-day bus journey. She knew I got violently motion sick. The last time I took a long bus ride to save money, I was pale and useless for a week. The old Ava would have stayed up all night trying to find me a cheap flight. The old Ava, if she couldn’t find one, would have cried, apologizing over and over for making me endure that kind of misery. This new Ava didn’t even seem to care. Her carelessness was a shard of ice in my gut. I didn’t hesitate anymore. I booked the next bus heading north, back to Maine. It was leaving in twenty minutes. The bus had been on the road for a few hours, deep into the black of night, when she called again. “Ethan and I have to go out of town for that summer project,” she said, her voice rushed. “It’ll be at least a week. When you get to Miami, just find a hotel or something. It’ll give you a chance to heal up.” Right before she hung up, I heard his voice in the background, syrupy sweet. “Ava, I’ve got the whole road trip planned out…” My mouth twisted into a sneer. How thoughtful of her to invent a cover story for their little vacation. How considerate of her to remember that I was, in fact, covered in bruises and bleeding because of her. While strangers were screaming at me, calling me a scumbag, threatening to have me arrested, she had just stood there, watching, her expression as cold as a winter morning. The memory of it still chilled me to the bone. I opened my messaging app, my thumb hovering over the keyboard, ready to tell her I wasn’t coming. That’s when a friend request popped up. The username was “Ethan_G.” I froze. Ava’s username, for as long as I’d known her, was “Ava_My_Guy.” The request message read: Hey man, sorry about that. You just looked so much like the asshole who stole my last girlfriend, I just lost it for a second. I just said whatever to get you to leave, I never thought people would actually believe it and jump you. Ava made me text you to apologize! Then, a five-dollar transfer notification from a payment app popped up. For your medical bills. Get some ointment or something. Don’t worry about paying me back the change. It was him. Every word, dripping with condescending sarcasm, felt like another slap across the face. Until tonight, he had just been a name, a phantom in Ava’s stories from school. At first, she’d complained about some clueless junior in her lab group. Then, slowly, it shifted. When I’d ask what she was up to, she’d be having dinner with Ethan, playing tennis with Ethan. Soon, she was calling him ‘E.’ I’d admitted it bothered me, said I wanted to see a picture of this guy she spent so much time with. She’d brushed it off. “Oh, come on. He’s not as handsome as you. Besides, he has a girlfriend. Don’t be jealous.” I remember one time I called her on video, feeling low after my scholarship application was rejected. She was in the middle of an experiment but picked up anyway. Seeing my face, she immediately put on a goofy dancing bee filter to try and cheer me up. Then Ethan had popped into the frame. He’d snatched the phone from her, switched the filter to a kitten one, and said with a smirk, “Ava, that filter is lame. The one I picked for you is way better.” She’d laughed, calling him a pest as they playfully fought over the phone, the filters flashing wildly between bees and cats and aliens. I just watched, a silent, awkward third wheel. I couldn’t get a word in. When she finally won the phone back, her face framed by the kitten filter Ethan had chosen, she’d smiled at the screen. “E is so ridiculous. Caleb, why are you so quiet?” A sour, indescribable knot had formed in my throat. She must have sensed I didn’t like him, because she stopped mentioning him as much after that. Until tonight. At the concert. I finally put the face to the name. He was good-looking, I guess. But he wasn’t as handsome as me. But he had something I didn’t. He had the swagger, the unshakeable confidence of someone who knows they’re backed up by the person they love. And suddenly, the whole thing just felt… exhausting. I didn’t bother replying. I just blocked him. I turned my head and stared out the window. The endless black of night slowly gave way to the soft, grey promise of dawn. I’d taken hundreds of flights and bus rides over the past four years, but I’d never once noticed how beautiful the scenery was. I was always so consumed with the journey being over, with just seeing Ava again. The next morning, at seven o’clock, I was home. I tried to slip in quietly, but my parents were already awake. They were sitting in the living room, studying a neon sign I’d ordered that spelled out the word “MARRY ME?” in bright pink letters. They looked from the sign to my bruised face. “Honey, what happened to your face?” my mom asked, her voice tight with worry. “Why are you back alone? I thought you were going to the concert with Ava… and proposing? We were about to decorate the house to surprise her… Where’s Ava?” My hand instinctively went to the small, velvet box in my pocket. I’d bought the ring weeks ago, a simple, perfect diamond, convinced this trip would mark the end of our four years apart. I was going to ask her to marry me under the stadium lights. Instead, I was a joke. And the ring would never leave its box. Faced with their gentle concern, the dam inside me broke. A wave of humiliation and grief washed over me. I placed the ring box on the coffee table, my voice a raw whisper. “Just… return all this stuff, okay? We’re not getting married.” I escaped to my room before they could ask anything else. We’d been together since high school—seven years. My parents already thought of her as a daughter. I had no idea how to explain this to them. They must have understood. They left me alone until lunchtime, when a soft knock came at my door. “Caleb? Come on out and eat something, son.” The table was filled with all my favorites. Halfway through the meal, there was a knock at the front door. “Carol! It’s me! Can I borrow your car for a bit?” That familiar, booming voice belonged to Ava’s mom. Our families lived next door to each other; we’d been borrowing cups of sugar and lawnmowers our whole lives. My mom opened the door. Ava’s mom saw me sitting at the table and stopped short. “Caleb? Weren’t you two supposed to come back together?” I just stared at her, confused. She looked just as baffled. “Ava called. She said she’s coming in on the afternoon bus today. She asked me to pick her up from the station.” 2 I was stunned. Wasn’t she on a road trip with Ethan? Ava’s mom, oblivious, just smiled. “Well, since you’re here, Caleb, why don’t you come with me to get her?” The last thing I wanted was to worry our parents. I nodded. At the bus station, I smoked two cigarettes back-to-back, trying to find some semblance of calm. I decided I would face her, be civil, and get this over with. I wasn’t prepared for the sight of them walking out of the terminal, two figures leaning into each other, their hands intertwined. The moment Ava saw me, she dropped his hand like it was on fire. Her mother’s brow furrowed. “Ava, who is this with you?” Ava didn’t look at her mother. She stared straight at me, her voice sharp and defensive. “He’s a junior from my program. It’s too hot back home for him, and he doesn’t have the money to travel. What’s the big deal if I bring him to our town for the summer?” I didn’t say a word. I just dropped my cigarette, crushed it under my shoe, and got into the driver’s seat of the car. Ava’s mom smacked her lightly on the back. “What is wrong with you? The way you speak… Only Caleb is patient enough to put up with your temper!” Ava, furious, banged on my window. “Caleb, what the hell is this? Are you following me? I told you to go to my school in Miami!” Her mom cut in before I could. “He got back this morning. How could he have followed you?” The anger seemed to drain out of her, replaced by confusion. She did the math. It was impossible. Her lips parted, then pressed into a thin line. She pulled Ethan into the back seat without another word. The ride home was heavy with a strange, suffocating silence. When we parked, her mom, trying to salvage the situation, suggested a big family dinner. It was what we always did. I had no reason to say no. By dinnertime, nothing had changed. Usually, our parents would save two seats next to each other for me and Ava. Tonight, Ava sat down and pulled Ethan into the seat beside her. Every eye at the table flickered toward me. I kept my face neutral and took an empty chair on the other side. Ethan shot me a smug look, then launched into a loud, animated conversation with Ava about inside jokes from their campus, laughing obnoxiously. The whole spectacle turned my stomach. Halfway through the meal, I excused myself and went upstairs to my old room. I didn’t expect him to follow me. He walked in without knocking. With a single, deliberate motion, he swept the framed photo on my desk to the floor. It was a picture of me and Ava from our high school graduation, our arms around each other, making a heart shape with our hands. The glass shattered. I turned and looked at him, my voice dangerously quiet. “Wandering into someone else’s room? Breaking their things? Is that what they teach you at home?” Ethan just smirked, pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket and slapping it down on the desk. “Cut the crap, Caleb. Do you really think she’s going to spend the rest of her life in this frozen wasteland with you?” “Sorry to break it to you, but she’s already applied for the graduate program at our university. She’s staying in Miami to take care of me, make sure I adjust to my senior year okay. But hey, if you want to keep being a pathetic leech, you can stick with her. Enjoy another three years of long-distance.” On the desk was a graduate school application. It was already filled out, signed by Ava at the bottom. My chest tightened. It felt like the air had been punched out of my lungs. I remembered Ava, years ago, crying into the phone. “Caleb, just give me four years. I promise. The second I graduate, I’m coming home. Even if I go to grad school, I’ll apply to the one back home!” The last ember of hope in my heart died out. I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “If you’re so desperate to have a mommy take care of you at school, nobody’s stopping you. But don’t worry, I have no interest in being this kid’s stepdad.” Ethan’s face turned crimson with rage. He pointed a trembling finger at me, speechless. Suddenly, the soft creak of footsteps sounded on the stairs. His ears twitched. Seizing the moment, he shoved me hard. Caught off guard, I stumbled back against the desk. He grabbed my head and slammed it down toward the sharp corner. As I fell, my hand instinctively shot out, grabbing the desk lamp and pulling it down with me in a chaotic crash of metal and broken glass. When Ava burst into the room, she saw me on the floor, my vision blurring, blood trickling down from my forehead.

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We were on a reality show when my husband and his brother both fell into the lake. My wife, Cassandra, a strong swimmer, didn’t hesitate. She dove in and saved her childhood friend, my brother-in-law, Leo. I watched as she, frantic and tender, had her security detail lift him from the water, wrapping him in blankets and whisking him away without a single backward glance. I was left behind, sinking. The production crew pulled me out just as my lungs gave up. The next day, when I placed the divorce papers on her desk, Cassandra’s face hardened. “Leo can’t swim, River. That’s why I went for him first. Are you seriously going to be jealous about this?” I looked her straight in the eye, my own heart a placid, dead sea. “Yes. Sign them.” 1 We signed the papers with a quiet efficiency that felt more like a business deal than the end of a marriage. Cassandra’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows were knitted together, a look that once would have sent a pang through my chest, but now stirred nothing. She slipped the documents into an exquisite, limited-edition Hermès bag. “I’ll give you a ride.” I shook my head. “No, thank you.” A flicker of irritation crossed her face. “River, you don’t have to be like this. We were married for three years. A divorce doesn’t mean we become strangers.” I was genuinely shocked for a second. I couldn’t believe those words were coming from her. Now that Leo was back—her golden boy, the one that got away—I thought she’d be thrilled that I was so gracefully stepping aside. “For me, Mrs. Sterling, a divorce is exactly that. It means we’re done. We’re not family. We can’t be friends.” “You…” “And since we have no children, no real ties, there’s no reason to stay in touch.” Stung, she turned on her heel and walked away. I watched her go, a long, weary sigh escaping my lips. But then I thought of the balance in my bank account, and the sadness evaporated. Though I was technically a Harrison, the eldest son, I’d never seen a dime of the family fortune. It was the divorce that finally made me a wealthy man. The Sterling family would never have agreed to a 50/50 split, so when my lawyer drafted the agreement, I asked for a clean twenty million. Cassandra agreed without a fight. She also signed over two sprawling properties in New York and L.A., three other houses across the country, and six commercial condos in prime downtown locations. It was enough to live on for the rest of my life, comfortably. Staring at the cold, hard numbers on my banking app, I started to laugh. It was real. I could finally start living for myself. The day after the divorce was final, I moved into a sleek downtown loft that was already in my name. The feeling of ownership, of having something that was truly mine, gave me a sense of security I’d never known. I had braced myself for an avalanche of grief. I thought leaving Cassandra would destroy me. For three years, despite everything, I had loved her. But that night, I had the best sleep of my life. A profound, long-overdue relaxation settled over me, and I didn’t wake up until noon the next day. 2 Cassandra and I were a product of a corporate merger in human form. Her grandfather and my own had been friends, business partners who had sealed a pact with the promise of a marriage between their families. But that promise was originally meant for Leo. He was, after all, the Harrison family’s little prince, cherished for eighteen years. I was the biological son they’d discovered by accident. The changeling. Before I was a Harrison, a girl like Cassandra—class valedictorian, campus queen, heiress to a billion-dollar empire—was in a different universe. We would never have met, let alone fallen in love. Then, at eighteen, my biological parents found me. They showed up in a black town car at the group home where I lived, weeping about a hospital mix-up, a careless nurse, a stolen life. I saw their expensive clothes and imagined a future of ease. A future where I wouldn’t have to collect cans to pay for textbooks, where I wouldn’t have to worry if the underfunded home could afford to send me to college. But the reunion didn’t bring the tearful apologies and lavish affection I’d read about in novels. It brought a polite, cold distance. That’s fine, I told myself. As long as I can go to school, that’s all that matters. They told me Leo’s biological parents had passed away, so he would be staying. He was their son. But their treatment of us was night and day. I wasn’t the son of the house; I felt more like the chauffeur’s kid. The reason they finally needed me came in the form of a catastrophe. Cassandra, the brilliant, untouchable girl Leo had been trailing after for years, had a horrific car accident. The doctors said her leg was permanently damaged. She would walk with a limp for the rest of her life. For a woman like her, it was a devastating blow. It wasn’t just about the loss of grace, but the inability to ever again wear the beautiful heels and short dresses she loved. Leo, upon hearing the news, had a screaming tantrum. He would not, he declared, marry a “cripple.” And so, the duty fell to me. I could have refused. But the image of that cool, stunning face, a face I hadn’t seen in over a year since starting college, flashed in my mind. On a strange, self-destructive impulse, I agreed. I was twenty, about to start my sophomore year at Columbia. My new parents had me withdraw from my classes and, at an age when most guys are figuring out their majors, I married into the Sterling dynasty. When I went to see her before the wedding, she was a storm of fury. She hurled a vase that shattered at my feet. “Get out! Tell Leo to come see me!” she screamed. But Leo was already gone. My parents had given him a black card and sent him off to study abroad, far away from the inconvenient reality of his “damaged” fiancée. The Harrison family business depended on the Sterlings, and while Leo refused to marry Cassandra, someone had to maintain the alliance. I was the placeholder. The spare part. It was the first and only time my mother, Mrs. Harrison, showed me anything resembling kindness. She cried, telling me how much the family was struggling, how pitiful poor Leo was, how my father’s hair was turning gray from stress. I was unmoved. Why all the drama? I was marrying Cassandra because I wanted to. Not for them. For her. 3 During my freshman year, Cassandra was a senior. She was a legend at Columbia—the brilliant campus beauty, with a confession page full of anonymous love letters and a line of wealthy suitors she consistently ignored. Back then, the only person she ever had by her side was Leo. His association with her made him a campus celebrity. He would boast about his unique place in her life, the unshakable position he held in her heart. I’ve always appreciated beauty, but it was her mind that truly captivated me. Her passion for mathematics, the way she could lose herself in complex theories, led to a series of papers published in prestigious academic journals. I read every single one. Her work clarified several problems that had stumped me for months. I was enthralled by her intellect. The slide from admiration to love was short and steep. On our wedding day, Cassandra didn’t smile once. I was so nervous my hands wouldn’t stop sweating, and I kept wiping them on my trousers. When I took her hand at the altar, I nearly stumbled. A ripple of laughter went through the guests. I felt like a cheap, clumsy impostor. I heard someone whisper Leo’s name, and Cassandra’s expression darkened even more. She loves him, I thought. Of course she does. Otherwise, why would she hate me so much? In that moment, I regretted everything—the marriage, my silent, stupid crush. That night, she was in control. I lay passive as she moved above me, her commands sharp and clear. I wasn’t to touch her, wasn’t to do anything that might displease her. Her injured leg made her movements awkward, and my own frustration grew. I wanted to flip her over, to take the lead, but the raw pain in her red-rimmed eyes stopped me. This wasn’t about pleasure for her; it was about release, about reclaiming some kind of power. Soon, our breathing grew heavy. A flush crept up her neck, and in the midst of her calculated control, I felt a flicker of genuine connection, a shared, unexpected pleasure. 4 Life within the Sterling family was surprisingly peaceful. There were no power struggles or family dramas. I was more at ease there than I ever was at the Harrisons’. I loved to read, to lose myself in the academic problems I’d left behind at Columbia. I may have dropped out of school, but I never stopped learning. Cassandra, in turn, began to change. The nights she spent away from home grew less frequent, until she was coming home every evening. Even on her busiest days, she’d send a text letting me know her schedule. I found an old Chinese medicine practitioner and learned therapeutic massage techniques. I thought, maybe, I could help her leg heal. I remember the first time I suggested it. My voice shook. But I started, and I persisted. For six months, I worked on her leg every single night. I became an expert, memorizing the entire map of the human body’s pressure points. My hands grew strong and sure. Cassandra went from protesting, to tolerating, to finally, eagerly anticipating our nightly thirty-minute sessions. Life was simple. To break the monotony one day, I went to deliver a file she’d forgotten to the Sterling Tower. In the lobby, a casting director for a web series stopped me. He said they were looking for an actor to play a brainy supporting character, a “nerd-type,” and that I had the perfect look. On a whim, I said yes. Cassandra didn’t object. To everyone’s surprise, the series became a viral hit. My character, the nerdy best friend, gained a small but devoted following. It was a strange new world, this entertainment business I’d stumbled into. Sterling Industries owned countless ventures; Rainfall Entertainment was just a tiny subsidiary. Cassandra’s only rule was that I never use the Sterling name for leverage. She said I was free to “play around” as I wished. So, I got an agent, Maria, and a small assistant. I started landing minor roles in bigger projects—the fourth, fifth, sixth supporting character. I became a B-list actor, and I found a strange joy in scrolling through comments on social media. One night, I was lying in bed, reading funny fan messages to Cassandra while my other hand worked on her leg. Lost in the moment, my hand drifted higher up her thigh. She let out a soft gasp. I thought I’d hurt her and immediately dropped my phone. But when I looked up, her face was flushed, her eyes wide with a different kind of emotion. The kiss that followed felt inevitable. What came after was natural, a seamless union. We found a rhythm, a deep and satisfying intimacy we had both been craving. From that point on, our relationship blossomed. She would bring me complex Lego sets she knew I’d love, buy me clothes and watches, and sometimes, she’d pull me out of the house for a movie or a quiet walk by the lake. We were like any other married couple. And her leg, under my constant care, was improving. Her doctor called it a miracle. Now, as long as she didn’t walk too fast, you could barely notice her limp. Then, in our third year of marriage, Leo came back. 5 The day he returned was the first time in a long time that Cassandra didn’t need me close. It was also the first time in three years my parents called, summoning both of us to the Harrison estate. Leo had been gone for three years without a single visit home. At the rare holiday gathering, my parents would awkwardly explain that his studies were too demanding. Cassandra would sit in stony silence, her thoughts a mystery. I, their biological son, had barely set foot in that house since my wedding day, yet the Sterling family’s generous support of the Harrison businesses had never wavered. When we arrived, we saw him—a handsome young man, rushing like the wind and throwing himself into Cassandra’s arms. I stood beside them, invisible, as Cassandra made no move to push him away. Nestled against her shoulder, Leo looked more mature, but he still called her “Cassie, Cassie,” his voice thick with emotion. Fat tears fell from his eyes, darkening the fabric of her white silk dress. Watching them, I felt a sharp, needle-like pain in my chest. I regretted coming back here more than anything. Finally noticing me, Leo straightened up. “Sorry, man. I was just so happy to see her. Cassie… oh, wait. Should I be calling you sister-in-law now?” A muscle in Cassandra’s jaw twitched. She shot him a cold look, took my hand, and led me to the dinner table. Leo stared at our joined hands, his eyes wide with shock. The meal was excruciating. My parents didn’t ask me a single question about my life. Instead, they focused all their energy on Leo and Cassandra, reminiscing about how he had always thought of his “Cassie-sis” while he was away. It felt like they were pimps, and Leo was their prized commodity. From that day on, Leo was a constant presence, a buzzing fly in our lives. And Cassandra, after less than a month of initial resistance, accepted it. Leo wanted to be an actor, so Cassandra assigned Rainfall Entertainment’s top agent to him. He started waltzing into the Sterling Tower like he owned the place. Everyone assumed he was the true son-in-law. My own identity at Rainfall was a secret; no one knew about my connection to Cassandra. But Leo was different. He’d call her from the lobby, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear as he flirted and wheedled, before taking takeout up to her executive office. After Cassandra had once coldly told me not to visit her at work, I never went back. Most people there thought I was just another desperate actor trying to sleep my way to the top. Leo was handsome and charming. With Cassandra’s backing, he skyrocketed to fame. The company’s resources were funneled directly to him. When my agent, Maria, asked if I knew him, I lied and said the shared last name was a coincidence. She launched into a tirade of gossip about him—how he was a diva on set, how he used his connection to the CEO to steal endorsements from other actors. It wasn’t until he’d stolen three major campaigns from me that I realized he was targeting me specifically. Cassandra, who had never given me a single advantage in my career, would walk past me in the hallways as if I were a stranger. Even then, I didn’t think about divorce. I really, truly loved her. Until something happened that, to her, was a small thing. But for me, it was the moment I knew we were over. 6 It was on the set of a popular wilderness survival show. They had invited both me and Leo. For the most part, it was fine. Leo played the part of the cheerful, energetic college kid, and I pulled my weight in the challenges. One afternoon, Cassandra made a rare visit to the set. The directors and producers swarmed around her, fawning. And that’s when the accident happened. We were on an old bamboo bridge over the lake. It was rotten, and when both Leo and I stepped onto it at the same time, it snapped. We both plunged into the cold water. Chaos erupted. Crew members started scrambling to help. But before anyone could move, Cassandra, the CEO of Sterling Industries, dove into the lake herself. Swimming was the only exercise she enjoyed after her accident; she was incredibly skilled. I can’t swim. When I saw her slicing through the water, I thought she was coming for me. Her husband. But then I watched as she reached past me, grabbed Leo, and started pulling him toward the shore. In that single, clarifying moment, my heart didn’t break. It simply went still. Three years, I thought. And she still doesn’t love me. It was as if she didn’t even see me struggling. She screamed for her bodyguards to get Leo, and then a whole entourage surrounded him, carrying him to her waiting Maybach. The panic on her face, the fierce protectiveness—it was all for him. As I slipped beneath the surface, the last thing I saw was the glint of her car driving away. By the time the crew realized I was still in the water and pulled me out, I was unconscious. It was a cruel twist of fate. Everyone had assumed someone else was saving me. In the commotion Cassandra had created, I had been completely forgotten. It was only when the assistant director screamed my name that they remembered I existed. I was rushed to the hospital. The show was put on hold. When I woke up, the only person by my side was my agent, Maria. She looked terrified, her eyes red and puffy. I tried to sit up. My body ached, but I seemed to be in one piece. “Maria, I didn’t die.” “Don’t you dare say that!” she scolded, her voice thick with emotion. “You scared the hell out of me, River. It’s all her fault, showing up like that, making a big show of saving that little brat. They just forgot about you. Does it… does it hurt?” “No,” I said, and it was the truth. “I don’t feel a thing.” My heart was calm. I had foolishly believed that being husband and wife made us a single entity. Reality had just delivered a brutal correction. Our story, I knew, was over. That afternoon, as I was being discharged, I saw them. Cassandra was supporting Leo, and walking beside them, beaming, were my parents. They looked like a perfect, happy family. Leo was leaning his full weight on Cassandra, completely oblivious to her bad leg, while my mother gently draped a coat over his shoulders. It was as if I didn’t exist to any of them. I watched them walk away, then pulled out my phone and dialed the number for the lawyer Maria had recommended. I told him to draw up divorce papers.

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