Author: Momo Chan

My brother, in a fit of rage at our parents, opened the gas valve on the grill. Everyone else got out. I was asleep. The fire took most of my skin, and one of my legs. Mom and Dad walked through those first years in a daze of tears, until the day my brother, Ethan, brought home a girl and a piece of paper. A DNA test. It turned out I was the wrong baby, switched at birth. A stranger in their house. And just like that, their guilt was cut in half. I clung to life until I was eighteen. While they all went to the real daughter’s birthday party, I was in my bed, twisting. It had been a long time since Mom and Dad left on their business trip. Too long since anyone had turned me over. The old bedsores on my back had become infected, breeding something that crawled and itched with a fire of its own. I tried to roll over, a desperate, clumsy push that sent me tumbling onto the floor. As I lay there, a muffled shout drifted from the terrace next door, carried on the wind. “Ethan, aren’t you going to tell them? That you faked the DNA test?” It was like a switch had been flipped. “Shut up! Just shut up! I brought Ava home to fix things, to give them a way out. You want me to tell them now that it was all a lie? That I did it out of guilt? What place would I have in this family then!” His voice dropped, thick with a desperate self-righteousness. “I didn’t want everyone to spend their lives feeling guilty over Chloe. It was a kind lie. It was fair to everyone!” I lay frozen on the floor. Everyone? What about me? 1 I lay on the floor like a stray dog for a day and a night, woken only by the sound of shouting from downstairs. “Your sister is in that kind of state, and you want her to donate bone marrow to Ava? I won’t allow it!” It was Mom. She was back from her trip. When she comes in, I’ll tell her. I have to tell her. I’m not the wrong baby. I’m yours. I’ve always been yours. “Chloe’s a write-off anyway, Mom! Why can’t she do something useful for Ava? Isn’t that the least she can do, after we’ve raised her all these years out of the goodness of our hearts?” Ethan argued his point as if I were a piece of burnt trash, something to be picked over for any last scrap of value. “Ethan Hayes, I didn’t raise you to be this cruel. Have you forgotten who the real culprit is for what happened to your sister?” I could hear the tears in my mother Catherine’s voice, the sheer pain of it all. Her biological daughter was sick, and it was tearing her apart, but her conscience wouldn’t let her hurt me further. “Fine! So I lit the goddamn gas. But none of you went in to save her either! Are we supposed to be trapped in that guilt forever? Donating marrow isn’t a big deal. If you won’t care about Ava, I will!” The slam of the front door echoed through the house, followed by a few muffled sobs. My bedroom door opened. Mom gasped. “Chloe! Honey, you fell! Why didn’t you call out?” Under the gauze, the sores itched and burned. I looked at my mother’s face and cried without making a sound. “Mom,” I started, my voice a broken rasp. “The truth is, I’m…” Before I could finish, her phone rang. The hospital. “Chloe, honey, they found out at her birthday party… your sister has leukemia. I have to go to the hospital now. You be good, okay?” She stroked my hair, her touch frantic. “I’ll take care of this and then I’ll be right back to see you.” She rushed out, a blur of motion and worry. I couldn’t bring myself to stop her. They were all living in a prison of guilt because of me. Now my sister was sick. I couldn’t be selfish. But all I wanted was to be their daughter. The tears carved paths through the scarred, uneven terrain of my face, trickling into my mouth. They tasted bitter. I’ll wait one more day, I told myself. Just one more day. When Mom has a clear head, I’ll tell her everything. I waited with a fragile, fluttering hope. But it wasn’t Mom who came. It was Ethan. “Chloe? You awake?” I was startled. It had been years since he’d used my name with such softness. He was carrying a bag full of gifts, and inside, I could see the plush pink of a stuffed rabbit, my favorite as a child. I hadn’t received a gift from him since the day he brought Ava home. Remembering what I’d overheard, I instinctively recoiled. Ethan’s face darkened at my movement. “Still holding a grudge, Chloe? You always do that. You look at me with those eyes. Every time I try to fix things between us, you ruin it.” I didn’t dare defy him. I just lowered my head, my silence a shield. “Where’s Mom?” “She had to go away on business. Be back in a week. She told me to take good care of you.” He leaned in, his voice conspiratorial and kind. “Don’t you want to get out? You’ve been stuck in this room for months. It must be suffocating. We haven’t done anything together, just the two of us, in forever.” He paused, letting the silence hang. “Please, Chloe. Let me make it up to you. I know I was wrong. Just give me one chance to apologize.” He gently placed the pink rabbit in my arms. The sincerity in his eyes was so overwhelming it felt real. I was born premature. Mom always said it was Ethan who saved me, sitting by my incubator every day after school. When I was a picky eater in kindergarten, he was the only one who could patiently spoon-feed me, the only one who would let me ride on his shoulders when we went out to play. After the fire, all of that became Ava’s. I had seen him through the gap in my curtains, gently stroking Ava’s hair, pushing her on the swing in the backyard, driving her across the city just to chase a sunset. I watched it all like a mouse in the walls, peeking at a life that should have been mine. Seeing me hesitate, Ethan wrapped his arms around me. For the first time in a decade, I felt a hug. It was hesitant, fragile, but it was there. “Chloe,” he whispered, his voice thick. “You’re my only sister. I’m begging you.” As he held me, his hand brushed against my back, and he felt the dampness of the sores through my clothes. His face twisted in rage. He stormed out of the room and unleashed a torrent of abuse on the nurse I had. “Is this how you take care of my sister? Get on your knees and apologize to her! And don’t get up until she forgives you. Then get the hell out of my house!” I watched the sharp line of his jaw as he defended me, a strange, electric current running through me. In that moment, forgetting everything else, I nodded. Because of the extensive burns, I couldn’t be in direct sunlight. Ethan wrapped me carefully in a thick blanket and carried me to the car, his movements gentle. Over the years, my brother had cost me so many tears, so much of my heart. And yet, I didn’t hate him. As he drove, a giddy, reckless feeling bubbled up inside me. For the first time since the fire, someone was taking me out of the tiny room that had been my world for a decade. And then, the car pulled into the hospital parking lot. 2 “Ethan, you said we were going out to play.” My voice was a ragged croak. The fire had damaged my vocal cords, and every word felt like swallowing needles. A flash of impatience crossed his face. “We are. But your sister is sick. We’re just stopping to get you tested for a match first.” He looked at me in the rearview mirror, his eyes cold. “Chloe, you can’t be so selfish. I know the fire was hard on you, but Ava is the real daughter of this family. If you do this, the Hayes family will be even more grateful to you. Do you understand?” My world narrowed to a single point. How could I not be selfish? I was their real daughter. The fire wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t… “Mom said… she said I don’t have to.” It was the first lie I had told in a long time. It was the first time I had ever fought back. Ethan exploded. “Mom is just guilty! She’s not thinking straight, and neither are you! It’s not a big deal! If you’re still pissed at me, take it out on me, not Ava!” They held me down while they drew the blood. The results came back quickly. To Ethan’s profound disappointment, I was not a match. How could I be? The chances of a match between two people with no blood relation were minuscule. “Ethan,” I ventured, my voice trembling. “No one in the family is a match for her. Are you sure… are you sure she’s really our sister?” Crack. The slap sent me reeling, nearly knocking me out of my wheelchair. Ethan loomed over me, his eyes red, a cornered animal. “You sick bitch. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You love the idea that Ava is a fake, so you can go back to being the center of our guilt.” He leaned closer, his voice a venomous hiss. “Let me tell you something. Dream on. Ava is the real Hayes daughter. If it weren’t for that mistake at the hospital, you never would have had this life.” His words lit a fuse in me. Tears blurred my vision, but I screamed back at him, the sound tearing from my throat. “I wish I wasn’t your sister! If it weren’t for that mistake, the person in this wheelchair wouldn’t be me!” “I’d be normal! I’d have parents who loved me, I’d be able to run and jump and live in the sun!” Another slap cut my words short, silencing the rage. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. But the hatred in my eyes didn’t waver. Ethan’s hands were shaking. A flicker of regret, of something broken, crossed his face. His voice was suddenly quiet. “I… I can’t talk to you. You’re an ungrateful…” He couldn’t finish. “Just wait here. The driver will come get you.” He turned and fled, as if escaping a monster. Every eye in the hospital lobby was on me. A child passing by saw my face and burst into tears. “Mommy, that person looks like a ghost! She’s scary.” “Don’t look, honey. How disgusting. Let’s go, let’s go, before we catch something.” “Jesus, I thought I was seeing something out of a horror movie. I’m never coming to this hospital again.” I sat there, in the middle of the lobby, with no phone and no one who dared to come near me. I sat from day until night, until my tears ran dry and I nearly passed out from exhaustion. No one came. Finally, a night-shift nurse took pity on me and managed to contact my mother. When the driver arrived, his face was a mask of annoyance. “Why hasn’t this thing been kicked out of the Hayes house yet? Clinging on like a leech, making me come out in the middle of the night.” If it weren’t for the tiny, flickering hope of my parents coming back, I would have prayed for death. Everyone already thought I was a useless burden anyway. Sometime in the dead of night, I was woken by a hot, searing sensation on my face. The nerves there were mostly dead from the first fire, so by the time I jolted awake, the wax from a candle had already hardened into a crust on my cheek. Ava was standing over me, holding the candle, her face flushed with alcohol, her eyes wild. “You’re happy, aren’t you, sister? The tissue typing failed. Now you can take everything back.” She thrust the candle towards my face, and a scream tore from my lungs. “Fire! Get it away! Get it away from me!” Ava just laughed, a crazed, high-pitched sound. “Let me tell you what my brother said. The real daughter of the Hayes family will always be me!” She jabbed a finger at me. “You… you monster. You half-dead thing. You will never take my place.” She staggered out of the room, leaving the candle behind. She didn’t see the flame catch the edge of the curtains. The fire spread with terrifying speed. I was back in that night from years ago, a night where no one answered my screams. No one knows the pain of a severe burn like I do. It’s the feeling of a million ants chewing you alive, your skin blistering and rotting, weeping pus, stinking. And even after it heals, for a long, long time, the phantom pain remains, a constant, stinging companion.[1][2] I had imagined a thousand ways to die. Any of them were better than being burned alive. Through the thick, rolling smoke, I saw a figure running towards me. Why? Why was it him? Why was it my brother? 3 When I woke up again, it was to the sharp, sterile smell of a hospital. Ethan was there, looking haggard, his arm bandaged, pacing anxiously around the room. I couldn’t understand it. Why him? Why did he always do this to me? He made it impossible to love him, impossible to hate him, impossible even to escape him. When Ethan saw I was awake, the raw worry on his face was so real it felt like a dream. “Eth—” “When Mom and Dad get here, you tell them you knocked over the candle by accident.” Our voices overlapped. I heard the exact moment my own breathing stopped. It was the same nightmare, all over again. I looked down at my body, at the ruined landscape of my skin—the scarred flesh, the dead tissue, the craters and valleys—now freshly seared red and raw by a new fire. I felt nothing. The pain receptors had been destroyed the first time around. I tried to push myself up, to make him look at me, at the heap of ruined flesh that was his sister. “Don’t you look at me like that!” he snapped. “To save you, I left Ava in there! She was hit by a falling beam! Aren’t you satisfied?” His voice cracked, rising with hysteria. “Why is it always you? Why are you the one who always traps people in guilt? I won’t let Ava live with the guilt of burning you, not like I have!” He was rambling, his words tumbling over each other. “It would be better to just die. It would be a mercy.” “Besides,” he added, his voice dropping, “she’s already paid the price. Mom and Dad are giving her blood right now. You know what to say when they get here.” He was about to say more when the doctor rushed in. “Mr. Hayes, your sister is in critical need of blood. The hospital’s reserves are low. We need you to come and donate now.” Ethan flew out of the room with the doctor. Outside the operating room, my mother, Catherine, was waiting anxiously with my father, Robert. “Ethan, what happened? How could your sister be so badly injured?” Catherine was leaning against Robert, on the verge of collapse. “Why does it have to be my children? Why is it always my children in a fire?” Ethan’s expression was a twisted mask of emotions. He swallowed hard. “Chloe… she knocked over a candle in her sleep. The whole room went up. I got to Chloe first, but a burning beam fell and hit Ava.” Catherine and Robert were speechless. A wave of regret washed over them. “If we had just sent Chloe away back then,” Robert murmured, “maybe Ava wouldn’t be going through this.” He shook his head, his voice gaining a bitter edge. “I told you then she wasn’t fit to be kept in the house. You wouldn’t listen. Who knows if she did this on purpose, to get back at Ava.” “Ethan told me before that Chloe and Ava weren’t getting along. He told me to send her away. It’s my fault. I was too soft.” Ethan started to speak, to defend me, but the words caught in his throat. He let his father’s assumptions, fueled by his own previous complaints, fester in the silence. “Family members,” a nurse called out, “the father’s blood type doesn’t match. We need both of you to get tested as well.” Ethan and Catherine hurried after the nurse. Robert walked into my room. When I looked up and saw my father, a dam of grief broke inside me. Before I could even speak, tears soaked through the gauze on my face. “Dad…” My choked whisper was cut off by his cold voice. “You have no right to call me Dad. I know Ethan wronged you in the past, but he has lived with that guilt every single day. He would sneak into your room at night just to watch you, to make sure you were still breathing.” He took a step closer, his face a storm of fury. “You’ve been burned. You know how much it hurts. Why would you inflict that same pain on my daughter? If anything happens to Ava, I will never forgive you.” “As soon as this is over, you will leave this family. We have no room for a jinx.” His figure blurred as the oxygen in the ventilator suddenly felt thin, suffocating. Even though most of my ability to feel pain was gone, a different kind of agony seized me, making my whole body tremble. Robert returned to the surgical waiting area. His son was still being tested; his wife was staring blankly at a piece of paper. “Catherine, what is it? Is something wrong with Ava?” She turned her head slowly, mechanically. The tears had already started to fall. By the time she faced him, her face was streaked with them. “Why is she Type A?” she whispered, the words trembling. “Why is she Type A?”

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Five years into my marriage with Adrian Vaughn, he brought his piano accompanist home. He cornered me at the funeral home, just moments after my mother’s cremation, to tell me he wanted a divorce. The scent of wilting lilies and antiseptic hung in the air, a sickening cocktail. “I connect with someone like Hailey,” he said, his voice devoid of the warmth I once cherished. “Someone with an artist’s soul. Being with you, Cora… it’s just dull.” Grief was a physical weight, a stone in my chest. I could barely breathe, let alone process his words. Tears I thought I’d run out of pricked at my eyes again. “Can’t we talk about this another day?” A cruel, dismissive smile touched his lips. “No. Today.” I took a deep, shuddering breath and nodded, the fight draining out of me. “Fine.” What he didn’t know was that “Aria,” the anonymous, masked pianist currently taking the classical music world by storm, was me. And that next month, my debut tour was scheduled to begin, where I would finally show my face. Later, much later, Adrian would be laid up in a hospital bed after a car wreck, his arm in a plaster cast. He’d find me on the day of my wedding, his eyes wild with desperation, and cry, “Can’t it be another day?” And I, echoing the ghost of his past cruelty, would look at him with a cold smile and say, “No. Today.” 1 Adrian was a pianist. It was the core of his identity. In the years we were married, his life was a blur of concert halls and international tours. Our home was little more than a place for him to store his things between flights. A few weeks ago, he had a performance in our city. I didn’t tell him I was going; I bought a ticket online and slipped into a seat in the back, just wanting to feel close to him for a night. But as I was leaving the venue, I heard the familiar banter of his friends echoing from the green room. “Damn, Adrian,” one of them crowed, “you’re really getting the full service from that accompanist of yours. Hailey’s what, twenty-two? You lucky bastard.” A young woman’s voice, feigning modesty, followed. “Adrian is the brilliant one. I’m just happy to be near him…” Before she could finish, Adrian’s voice, the voice I knew better than my own, cut in. “Alright, guys, lay off. Hailey’s sensitive. Don’t want to scare her away.” The jeering continued. “Ooh, protective, are we? What about the ball and chain at home? Isn’t she going to lose her mind when she finds out?” The air went still for a second. Then came Adrian’s cold, dismissive laugh. “Why would you even bring her up? She’s the housekeeper’s daughter. Do you really think I don’t come home because I’m busy? The woman is a bore. Seeing her face is a chore. I’m ending it as soon as I get back.” The world went flat and gray. I don’t remember walking home. I remember the buzzing in my ears, the way the streetlights smeared into meaningless streaks of light. Then, the phone rang. It was the hospital. My mother was gone. I knew it was coming. The cancer had been relentless. But for both blows to land on the same day felt like a special kind of cosmic cruelty. There was no time to process Adrian’s betrayal. I threw myself into the grim logistics of death, the endless paperwork and phone calls. The funeral was a blur of hushed condolences and sympathetic looks from people I barely knew. I had just walked out of the chapel, clutching the small, heavy box of my mother’s ashes, when I saw him. He wasn’t there for my mother. He was there for himself. And standing beside him, her hand clutching his arm, was the other woman. Hailey. She looked at me with wide, supposedly innocent eyes, pressing herself into Adrian’s side as if I were a threat. He instinctively stepped forward, shielding her. The gesture was a gut punch, a perfect, painful mirror of a time long ago when he had shielded me from the snickering heirs and heiresses who called me the charity case, the girl from the wrong side of town. Back then, I was the one he protected. “Cora,” he started, his voice clipped and businesslike. “I brought Hailey here today because I wanted to be direct. We’re getting a divorce.” He continued, his words like polished stones, smooth and hard. “We were young. I made a mistake. I’ve realized the kind of woman I need is someone who understands art, who is graceful, who understands me. You can’t offer any of that.” He softened his gaze, turning it to the girl beside him. “You came to my family’s house from nothing. You never learned an instrument, your whole personality is just… small. I admire someone with an artist’s soul, like Hailey. Being with you is just plain boring.” The man I married, or the man I thought I’d married, was there in the gentle look he gave her. But it wasn’t for me. Not anymore. My eyes, already raw from weeping, filled again. “Can’t we talk about this another day? Today is my mom’s…” I thought he might, for her sake. My mother had practically raised him, had cooked his favorite meals and soothed his childhood fevers. But he cut me off with that cold smile. “No. Today.” A bitter taste filled my mouth. I forced it down, drew a breath that felt like swallowing glass, and met his gaze. “Fine.” 2 My mother was the Vaughns’ housekeeper. To keep me close, she brought me with her to their sprawling house after school every day. I became a permanent fixture, Adrian’s shadow and his study partner. We were two halves of a whole, our lives intertwined in a way no one else could understand. When he told his parents he wanted to marry me, they weren’t thrilled, but they agreed. His mother, especially, had watched me grow up. She knew my character, even if my bank account was empty. The Vaughns had been good to us. When my mother got sick, they paid for the best doctors, the most advanced treatments. They gave her a chance she never would have had otherwise. But the outside world saw a different story. They saw the celebrated pianist who never went home to his wife. They whispered that I’d used my mother’s position to claw my way into a world where I didn’t belong. They said Adrian was so repulsed by me he wouldn’t even have a child with me, afraid it might inherit my “poverty.” I endured it all, telling myself their kindness was worth the price of the world’s scorn. When the loneliness and the whispers became too much, I would retreat to the basement. Down there sat an old, dusty piano Adrian had long since abandoned. It was out of tune and worn, but the sound it made was mine. On weekends, I’d enter amateur competitions, always wearing a mask, collecting small trophies and accolades in secret. Adrian never knew. He never knew that the piano was my first love, long before he was. That my mother had saved for a year to buy me a cheap electronic keyboard when I was seven. This love I had nurtured for over a decade, my deepest secret, remained invisible to the man who shared my bed. The irony was suffocating. I wiped the last of the tears from my face. No more looking back. I just needed to pack my things and leave that house forever. But when I got home, the keyboard was gone. My heart hammered against my ribs. I called Adrian. His voice was casual. “Oh, that? I took it.” It wasn’t valuable, not to anyone else. But it was the last piece of my mother I had left. It was sixteen years of my life. The keys were already fragile; if it was handled carelessly… I couldn’t finish the thought. I arranged to meet him, my voice tight, demanding he return it. A few minutes later, my phone buzzed. A notification from the high school alumni group chat. It had mostly become a fan club for Adrian. Someone had posted a video: Adrian and Hailey, on our living room sofa, locked in a passionate kiss. A minute later, it was deleted. “Oops, wrong chat!” the person wrote, but the damage was done. The chat exploded. Before I could leave the group, a private message popped up. Leo: You divorced? The name surprised me. Leo Sterling. In high school, he was the quiet, intense one who never ran with Adrian’s popular crowd. Now he was one of the most respected music critics in the country, easily the most successful person from our graduating class. I hesitated, then typed back: Yes. A moment later, his reply came. Leo: Congratulations. I frowned, puzzled, but my phone started buzzing incessantly. I’d been tagged back in the main group chat. “Cora, is it true you guys divorced because you couldn’t have kids?” “Honestly, you can’t blame Adrian. Cora was always so uptight. A guy’s got to have some fun before he gets too old!” “I always thought Hailey was a much better match for him. She’s so elegant. They’re a perfect pair!” “Wishing them the best!” The messages were a flood of criticism aimed at me, followed by a tidal wave of congratulations for him and Hailey. Adrian ignored the jabs at me, methodically replying “Thank you” to each message of support. My teeth clenched. I didn’t reply. I just left the group and silenced my phone. None of it mattered. I just needed to get my keyboard back. 3 The next day, I walked into the private room at the restaurant he’d chosen and was immediately drenched in a cascade of ice water. My eyes snapped up. The room was filled with the same friends from high school, circled around a large table. In the center, like a king and his new queen, sat Adrian and Hailey. I was lucky I’d worn a thick cotton sweater; otherwise, I’d have been completely exposed. Someone laughed. “Oh, it’s Cora! We made a rule in the group chat—last one to arrive gets a shower! You must have missed it since you left. Our bad!” My gaze, cold as the ice water soaking my clothes, found Adrian. The time, the place—it had all been his idea. This was a setup. He cleared his throat, the orchestrator of my humiliation. “It’s a class reunion. You’re part of the class. Just sit.” I didn’t move. “I’m not interested. If you don’t have my keyboard, mail it to me.” I turned to leave, but Hailey’s soft voice stopped me. “Cora, don’t go. Is it because of me? I know this is a reunion for you guys… I shouldn’t have come. Please, you stay. I’ll leave.” I glanced back. She made a show of standing up, only to be pulled back down by Adrian, who wrapped a protective arm around her. “You’re not going anywhere,” he murmured into her hair. “Everyone loves having you here.” A chorus of agreement went around the table. Hailey dabbed at the corner of her eye, her performance complete. “Cora, the keyboard is on its way,” Adrian said, his tone sharp with annoyance. “Just sit down and stop ruining the mood.” I only cared about one thing. So, I sat. The party atmosphere returned. Hailey charmed them all, laughing and blushing at their questions. “Hailey, isn’t being a piano accompanist exhausting?” someone asked. She shook her head, her expression beatific. “Not at all. It requires skill and patience, and you don’t get the spotlight, of course. But to be immersed in music with the person I love… I think that’s its own kind of happiness.” She gazed adoringly at Adrian, who practically glowed. His friends laid it on thick. “That’s amazing, Hailey. The people behind the scenes are just as important!” “Exactly! At least you understand music. You’re good enough to be Adrian’s accompanist. Unlike some people, who probably don’t even know what an accompanist is.” The table chuckled, their eyes flicking to me. I ignored them, staring at my phone. Then Hailey turned to me directly. “Cora, you were Adrian’s wife, so you must know about pianos. The masked pianist, Aria, is revealing her identity next month. She’s a friend of mine, actually. She gave me some tickets. Would you like to go?” My head snapped up. A friend of yours? That’s news to me. Her question opened the floodgates for more ridicule. This time, Adrian joined in. “You can keep the tickets, Hailey. Cora doesn’t go to things like that. Don’t waste your kind gesture.” “Seriously! Can you imagine someone who only listens to country radio at a classical concert? She’d fall asleep!” “Give her a break. She didn’t grow up with this stuff. How would she even know who Aria is?” Laughter filled the room. A cold, sharp smile formed on my lips, though I kept my head down. I wasn’t going to say a word. Just wait until you see who’s under that mask, I thought. I wonder what your faces will look like then. 4 “You said it was on its way. Where is it?” My patience had evaporated. I looked directly at Adrian. He had the grace to look momentarily sheepish. “Oh, right. I forgot where I put it. That was just an excuse to get you to sit down and stop making a scene.” A roar filled my ears. I slammed my hand on the table, the plates and glasses rattling as I shot to my feet. “So you have no idea where it is?” The room fell silent. Hailey tugged on Adrian’s sleeve. “What is she talking about?” she whispered. “Nothing. Just some old, broken electronic piece of junk.” That was the spark. The room erupted again. “It’s a broken keyboard? Is that what this is about? What, you decided you want to learn piano now? Trying to turn from a crow into a phoenix to win Adrian back?” Adrian raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “It’s not worth anything, Cora. I’ll buy you a new one. Look, you can’t play, so just drop it. I’ve moved on.” The cold atmosphere was gone, replaced by their jeering laughter. But I couldn’t hear it anymore. I walked straight up to Adrian, swung my arm back, and slapped him hard across the face. The crack echoed in the sudden, dead silence. Everyone stared, their faces masks of shock. “A piece of junk?” My voice shook with a rage I didn’t know I possessed. “That was the last thing my mother ever gave me. Do you have any idea what it means to me?” Adrian, holding his reddening cheek, just stared. He had never seen this side of me. “Cora, I…” “Is this it, Cora?” Hailey’s voice cut through the tension. She held up her phone. On the screen was a picture of my keyboard. My name, carved into the plastic by my mother’s own hand, was clearly visible. I fought to control my breathing, my eyes burning as I walked towards her. “Why do you have it?” “I was using it to practice with Adrian a few days ago,” she said lightly. “But it didn’t work very well.” I took a deep breath. “Where is it now?” Hailey put her phone away. The pretense of innocence vanished, replaced by a smug, triumphant smile. “I threw it out.” The dam inside me broke. All the grief, the humiliation, the years of quiet resentment, erupted in a single, violent surge. I lunged, grabbing a fistful of her hair and slamming her against the wall. My other hand closed around her throat. “Ah!” Her face began to turn red as my grip tightened. The fear in her eyes was real now. She choked out pleas for mercy. Adrian, seeing me truly unhinged for the first time, finally snapped out of his shock. He grabbed me from behind, his arms like iron bands, forcing my fingers to uncurl. “Cora, stop! I’ll find it for you, okay? Just calm down!” I didn’t listen. I wrenched myself free and drove my heel into his shin. “This is your fault! You never should have let her touch it!” I left him clutching his leg, and fled the room, leaving their shocked faces behind. Outside, the cold wind was a brutal shock against my soaked clothes. Tears streamed down my face, hot against my frozen skin.

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Three years of marriage, and my husband, Weston Hayes, still doesn’t know who I am. He can remember the entire world, but he draws a complete blank on my face. If I get a new haircut, he’ll ask me, “Excuse me, miss, who are you looking for?” If I wear a different dress, he assumes I’m the new housekeeper. On our anniversary, I was trapped with him and a group of his employees in a collapsed mine tunnel, a remote asset of his corporation. In the suffocating darkness, I felt my way to his side, my voice trembling as I told him it was me, Claire. He shoved me away. “Stop pretending. My wife isn’t here.” It took the rescue crews three days and three nights to dig me out. That evening, at a celebratory dinner for the successful rescue, Weston raised his glass. “A toast to the team. No casualties.” He had completely forgotten I was lying in a hospital bed. After that, I created a uniform for myself. I wore only one color of clothing, kept my hair styled the exact same way, and used the same perfume, all in the desperate hope that Weston might finally recognize me. But every time, he looked at me like I was a stranger. I thought it was some kind of cosmic punishment. Then, on the day I flew to Milan to celebrate his birthday, I saw him. I watched him cut through a bustling crowd and pull a young woman into a fierce, unerring embrace. And I finally understood. He didn’t have trouble remembering my face because of some rare neurological condition. It was simply because he wasn’t in love with me. If that was the truth, then it was best we just became strangers to each other. 1 The moment I turned to leave, I was surrounded by several Italian police officers. They were shouting, mistaking me for some wanted fugitive. My broken, panicked Italian only made their expressions harden. One of them forced me to my knees on the cold pavement. In the chaos, my eyes instinctively found Weston, not twenty feet away. “Weston! Help me! They’ve made a mistake!” I screamed, my voice raw with desperation. He heard me. His gaze swept over my face, vacant and indifferent. Then, as if looking at a complete stranger, he calmly turned away. “I don’t know her.” It was the coldest sentence I had ever heard in my life. Fifteen days. I counted three hundred and sixty hours by the tolling of a distant church bell, locked away in a sunless interrogation room and a frigid cell. My innocence was finally proven by a DNA report that confirmed a case of mistaken identity. When I dragged my exhausted body out of the police station, it wasn’t Weston waiting for me, but his assistant, Arthur. Arthur adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his tone dripping with reproach. “Claire, what was all that about? Do you have any idea that Mr. Hayes waited at the airport for you for two whole hours?” Whatever little warmth I had left in my heart vanished into the cold Milan air. The day I landed back in New York, a wall of flashing cameras and microphones ambushed me at the gate. My arrest had become a full-blown, humiliating scandal. When I finally fought my way home, Weston’s first words were a reprimand. “How many times have I told you? You wear the white coat when you’re out. Why don’t you ever listen?” He frowned, his tone like he was scolding a disobedient child. “You know I have prosopagnosia. I can’t distinguish between women’s faces.” My fists clenched at my sides. He turned a page in the file he was reading, issuing his next command without looking up. “The PR department has drafted a statement. You’ll hold a press conference tomorrow.” “You need to clear this up. Apologize to the public.” Apologize? For what? For Weston’s heartless indifference? For his so-called “face blindness”? I stared at his cold profile. “At the airport,” I asked softly, “the woman you were holding… who was she?” The hand turning the page froze. For the first time, a flicker of tension crossed his features. After a few seconds, he finally spoke. “It was crowded. I thought it was you.” I almost laughed. The woman that day was wearing a vibrant, eye-catching scarlet dress, her hair in a cascade of voluminous curls I had never worn in my life. My closet didn’t contain a single red item. “Weston, I called out to you that day. You heard me.” The injustice of it all forced the words out. “And?” He lifted his eyes. “Do you want me to apologize for my medical condition? Claire, you knew about this problem long before we got married.” Looking at his completely unaffected face, I suddenly felt a profound exhaustion. He was right. This was all my own doing. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll go to the press conference.” Weston seemed distracted, his gaze fixed on the tote bag at my feet. A corner of an in-flight magazine was sticking out. I followed his eyes and saw that the open page featured a photo of a symphony orchestra. There were dozens of people crowded together, but there, in the most obscure corner of the photograph, sat a young woman playing the cello. It was the girl Weston had embraced. The photo was so blurry you could barely make out her features. Yet Weston had seen her. In a single glance. So, it was never that he couldn’t recognize women’s faces. He just couldn’t recognize the ones he didn’t love. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise; even breathing hurt. Still, I forced a smile, pulled the magazine out, and pressed it into his hands. “Here,” I said. “I don’t want it anymore.” This title of Mrs. Hayes. And these three years of being invisible. I didn’t want any of it anymore. 2 The next day, I arrived at the press conference on time. The spotlights felt like a thousand sharp knives aimed directly at me. I was wearing a rose-colored gown, a deliberate rebellion against the white uniform Weston had demanded. Taking the microphone from the moderator, I spoke calmly. “The reason I was mistakenly arrested is that my husband, Mr. Weston Hayes, told the police, to my face, that he did not know me.” A wave of murmurs swept through the room. I paused, looking directly into one of the cameras, imagining him watching on the other side. “I imagine it must be agonizing to be trapped in a marriage for three years with a wife you can’t even recognize.” “So, I’ve decided to grant him his freedom.” “Mr. Weston Hayes and I will be divorcing.” It wasn’t until I was in the car that I noticed my hands were shaking. Not from fear, but from the liberating release of shedding a heavy chain. My phone buzzed incessantly, the name “Weston” glowing on the screen. I switched it off. The car hadn’t gone far before it was cut off. Weston got out of his vehicle, his face a thundercloud. “Claire, have you lost your mind?!” He yanked me out of the car, his grip so tight I thought my wrist would snap. “Who gave you the right to spout that nonsense at a press conference!” I stared coldly at his furious face. “Which part of what I said wasn’t the truth?” He was momentarily speechless, which only fueled his rage. “Do you have any idea the damage you could cause to other people? What if they dig up the airport security footage and drag Isabelle into this? She just barely secured her position with the Vienna Philharmonic!” So he did know her name. He knew exactly who she was. The pain in my chest spread, a slow, torturous bleed. “Weston, you can recognize her.” His face was a mask of pure irritation. “So what if I can? She’s different, she means something to me, but I still married you.” He leaned in, his voice low and cruel. “Don’t forget, Claire. You’re the one who begged for this.” He was right. It was all my obsession. Weston couldn’t even remember my face, so how could I expect him to remember a promise made twenty years ago? I wiped the tears from my face. “Weston, I regret it. Let’s get a divorce.” He fell silent, but his expression wasn’t one of relief, as I had expected. After a long moment, as if making a monumental decision, he spoke. “Stop this nonsense. Just go back to how things were. Keep wearing the white dresses. I won’t mistake you again.” “And I am not divorcing you.” “Really?” I tilted my head, a bitter smile on my lips. He had apparently forgotten what document I’d handed him just this morning. I’d simply put on a wig and changed my clothes. Weston had automatically assumed I was a new temp secretary. He’d signed the divorce papers without a second glance. He had even asked me to organize the safe in his study. He had meticulously cut out the picture of Isabelle Reed from that magazine. And when I opened the safe, it was filled to the brim with articles and photos of her. In red dresses, blue dresses, black dresses. No matter how Isabelle dressed, Weston could always pick her out. The oldest photo was of her in high school. Wearing a white dress, her hair long and straight. An exact mirror of the image I had so painstakingly maintained for three years. As I stood there lost in thought, Weston reached for my hand. “Claire, I won’t lose you again.” I gave a sarcastic smile, about to tell him everything. But just then, Weston pushed me aside and took off running. I followed his gaze and saw the back of Isabelle Reed disappearing into the crowd. Halfway there, he seemed to remember something. He turned and shouted back, “Claire, wait for me! I’ll be right back.” But he was shouting in the wrong direction, at another woman standing near me. She was also wearing a rose-colored dress. I turned and walked away without a second’s hesitation. Weston was furious that I had left. He didn’t know I spent the entire afternoon in the café next door, meeting with an immigration lawyer. He never came back. I ignored his calls. All I had to do was change my clothes, and I became invisible to him. With my travel documents in order, the first thing I did was go shopping. For years, my closet had been a sterile shrine of white, a walking mausoleum I’d built to catch his eye. Now, the sight of it made me sick. A sales associate enthusiastically presented a fiery red dress. As I was about to pay, a cool voice cut in. “I’ll take that one.” I turned to see Isabelle Reed’s haughty face. She looked me up and down. “Ms. Gable, still trying, are you? Didn’t the airport teach you anything? Weston doesn’t love you. You could buy the most expensive dress in the world, and he’d still look right through you.” I didn’t have the energy to argue. I pulled the black Amex from my wallet and handed it to the associate. “This one she touched, plus every other style in this collection. Wrap them all up for me.” I added, “And please show her out.” The associate began to ask her to leave, but at that exact moment, Weston appeared. He walked straight to Isabelle, not even glancing in my direction. “Wrap up the dress for Ms. Reed.” The associate was stunned. “Mr. Hayes,” she whispered, “but this woman is your…” I was wearing smoky eye makeup and a wild mane of auburn curls. Weston, predictably, didn’t recognize me. “Who is she?” Weston’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried through the silent boutique. “Some nobody who thinks she can cut in line with Isabelle?”

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I woke up in a hospital bed with a concussion I got while saving my girlfriend. The first thing that came to mind was to play a little joke. “Who… are you?” I asked, looking at her. I saw Chloe’s expression freeze, and I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. But then, she pointed to her best friend, Aria, who was standing beside her. “I’m a friend of your fiancée,” she said coolly. “This is your fiancée, Aria.” My smile froze on my face. Aria took a step forward, her expression unreadable. “That’s right. I’m your fiancée.” I forced a weak smile. “Then… let’s go home.” … Aria took me home. Her home. I looked around the unfamiliar apartment, a space that held absolutely no trace of my existence. No photos, no stray jacket, nothing. I lowered my head and started fiddling with my phone, trying to ground myself. “Do you want to get some rest first?” Aria’s voice was soft, gentle. She was playing the part of a loving fiancée perfectly. “Okay,” I nodded, using the amnesia as a perfect excuse to let her lead me to the bedroom. She seemed to let out a breath of relief once I was lying down. I closed my eyes, the air filled with her scent—unfamiliar, but surprisingly pleasant. A few minutes later, I heard a familiar voice drift in from the other room. “Aria, you’re the best friend a girl could ask for! Please, just pretend to be his fiancée for a little while?” It was Chloe. I sat up, peering through the crack of the bedroom door, which wasn’t fully closed. “Aren’t you afraid he’ll get his memory back one day?” Aria asked. They must have thought I was asleep; Chloe had her on speakerphone, her voice filling the quiet apartment. “Oh, please. If he remembers, I’ll just coo at him a little, give him a few kisses and hugs, and he’ll melt,” Chloe said with a syrupy sweetness that felt like a shard of glass in my gut. “He loves me so much, he’d never dream of leaving me.” So that’s what I was to her. Replaceable. A piece of trash she could throw away and pick back up whenever she felt like it, all because I loved her too much. “I’m just… a little bored,” she continued, her voice light and careless. “We’ve been together for so long. I just need a little space, a little excitement to feel alive again. It won’t be for long.” “And I know you can’t stand Ethan. So just think of it as doing me a huge favor, okay?” I never heard Aria’s reply. She walked further away, her voice fading. I pushed myself up, opened the door, and slowly walked toward the balcony where she stood. This should give her a scare, a wicked little thought surfaced. But as if she sensed me, Aria turned around. Our eyes met. She quickly ended the call and walked toward me, wrapping her arms around my waist and resting her head against my chest. “I thought you were resting. Why are you up already?” She snuggled against me, and for a surreal moment, it felt like we really were a couple who had been in love for years. “I’m a little hungry,” I said, my smile never reaching my eyes. Aria didn’t seem to notice. “What do you feel like eating? How about the perfect omelet?” Her words made me pause. My love for a perfectly cooked, fluffy omelet was a small, secret thing. Not even Chloe knew about it. “Okay,” I nodded. I gently unwound her arms from my waist, feeling a strange sense of unease, and sat down at the small dining table. Aria didn’t seem to mind, simply turning and heading into the kitchen. I watched as she expertly tied on an apron and began to cook. I rested my chin in my hand, a dizzying sense of déjà vu washing over me. This was it. This was the scene I had always imagined for my future married life. I just never imagined I’d be living it with my fiancée’s best friend. Soon, a golden, fragrant omelet was placed in front of me. Aria sat opposite me, her chin propped in her hand, watching me with a warm, genuine smile. My heart gave a sharp, painful jolt. I quickly looked down, scooped up a bite, and brought it to my mouth. It was perfect. Unbelievably good. “Is it good?” I didn’t answer. My body was more honest than my words as I quickly took another bite. Aria laughed softly at my eagerness. She leaned forward and gently brushed a stray crumb from the corner of my mouth with her fingertip. “No one’s going to steal it from you,” she teased. “Slow down. If anyone saw you, they’d think I was starving you.” The sudden intimacy made me press my lips together. For a split second, our eyes met, and I heard a frantic, pounding heartbeat. Was it hers? Or mine? I didn’t know. I looked away, tilting my head back slightly. Seeing my hesitation, Aria just smiled, a sad, knowing little smile, and leaned in to press a feather-light kiss to my forehead. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I know you’ve forgotten me. We can take it slow.” “Alright?” Looking into her deep, gentle eyes, I found myself nodding before I could even think. But none of it made sense. For all the years I’d known her, Aria had never shown the slightest interest in me. In fact, everything about her behavior suggested she felt the same way Chloe claimed she did. That she hated me. I stared at her, trying to solve the puzzle. Which one was the real Aria? “I’m going to a party with some friends tonight,” she said, breaking the silence. “Do you want to come?” Friends? An image of Chloe flashed in my mind. “Yes.” When Aria led me into the private room, I was hit by a chaotic mix of perfume and alcohol. It was packed, a tangle of bodies and loud music. Chloe was sitting right in the center of it all, with a familiar man beside her—Leo, her high school sweetheart, the one that got away. As we watched, the crowd roared them on, and they fell into a deep, passionate kiss. They only broke apart when they saw me enter. I could see the glint of challenge in Leo’s eyes. “Oh, you’re here,” Chloe said, leaning against Leo’s shoulder with a lazy smile. “Everyone, I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Leo.” She punctuated the announcement with a sweet, shy kiss on his cheek. “Hey, I’m Leo,” he said, extending a hand to me, his smile warm and disarming. As if the look he’d just given me was a figment of my imagination. “Nice to meet you,” I replied politely, acting as if I’d never seen him before. But I’d seen him a hundred times. In photos on Chloe’s phone, in the pages of her diary, in the drunken, sentimental whispers she thought I couldn’t hear. I followed Aria to a quieter corner and sat down. No one spoke to us, but I could feel their eyes darting between the four of us, hungry for drama. In this circle, I had always been the butt of the joke. But tonight, with Aria by my side, they seemed to keep their distance. My gaze drifted to her. She was already looking at me, her expression soft and warm. Seeing the silent exchange between us, Chloe, who had been cuddling with Leo, suddenly sat up straighter. Her eyes narrowed at Aria, her voice dripping with an acid I didn’t recognize. “You and your fiancé seem to be getting along really well,” she said, her tone sharp. “You’ve got all your friends here, but it’s like you can’t see anyone but him.” The sourness in her voice was unmistakable. It was the bitterness of someone who felt like they were being cheated on. And yet, she was the one who had pushed me into Aria’s arms. I almost laughed. “Of course we do,” I said, unable to resist. The sound of my voice cut through the noise. “We’re engaged. It’s only natural that we’d be close.” Silence. The entire room seemed to freeze. “Alright, alright, enough of that! Let’s play a game!” someone shouted, breaking the tension. Chloe shot Aria a dark look before settling back with her boyfriend. “Let’s play the King’s Game,” the person suggested. “Whoever draws the King card gets to pick two numbers and make them do any dare they want.” The idea was met with enthusiastic approval. After the first round, the two numbers called belonged to Chloe and her boyfriend. At the King’s command, they had to French kiss for two minutes and post a video of it online. As they kissed, I could feel Leo’s eyes on me, watching for a reaction. When he saw my face was a mask of indifference, he finally turned his full attention back to Chloe. When they finished, Chloe looked at me, a flicker of guilt in her eyes. But when she saw me calmly sipping my drink, she visibly relaxed. The second round, the chosen numbers were mine and Chloe’s. The dare: I had to carry her, princess-style, and do five deep squats. As the others grinned knowingly, I smiled right back. Chloe glanced at Leo, whose face had hardened, then stood up with an impatient sigh, as if being paired with me was a punishment. “Can’t we pick someone else? I have a boyfriend.” I looked up at her, at the undisguised annoyance on her face, and I let out a soft laugh. “You’re right.” At my response, Chloe froze, looking at me in disbelief. “What did you say?” “You’re right,” I repeated, letting a hint of regret color my voice. “You have a boyfriend, and I have a fiancée. We shouldn’t be doing games like this together.” I sighed dramatically. “I guess I’ll just take the penalty drink for failing the challenge.” The moment I reached for my glass, Chloe’s hand shot out to stop me. Her face was a storm cloud of anger. “I can do it with you,” she said, the words practically forced through her clenched teeth. “No, that’s okay,” I said, shaking my head as she glared daggers at me. “Aria would get upset.” I turned to look at Aria, who was watching the exchange with a surprised expression of her own. “That’s what I used to call you, right?” I asked her, my voice full of feigned confusion. “Or was it Ari? Or maybe Sweetheart?” I was dancing on every one of Chloe’s last nerves. As expected, in the next second, she grabbed Aria by the arm and stormed out of the room. I followed a moment later, using the excuse of being worried. At the end of the hallway, Chloe’s voice was shaking with rage. “Aria, what the hell have you done to Ethan?” “I haven’t done anything,” Aria replied, her voice and expression a picture of pure innocence. “Isn’t this how he always was with you?” “He was always so terrified of making you angry,” she continued calmly. “The only thing that’s changed is the person he’s afraid of upsetting. His devotion is the same.” Aria’s words hit their mark. Chloe bit her lip, taking several deep breaths, unable to find a single word to refute the truth. “Just… I’m warning you,” Chloe finally spat out. “Stay away from him. I asked you to act. I didn’t ask you to make it real!” “I know,” Aria replied, her calm smile never wavering. “You know I can’t stand him.” I didn’t wait to hear more. I turned and went back to the party. When they returned, they were arm-in-arm, the perfect image of inseparable best friends. The party raged on. I ignored the challenging glances sent my way and allowed myself to relax and mingle. My newfound ease seemed to catch Chloe’s attention, and I felt her eyes on me throughout the night. Perhaps she was just surprised to see the quiet, boring man she’d grown tired of suddenly become so alive. Late that night, everyone went their separate ways. Aria helped me back to her apartment, supporting my drunken, stumbling form. The moment I sank into the soft mattress of the bed, I grabbed her wrist. “Aria.” My voice, husky with alcohol, seemed to catch her off guard. She stood frozen by the bed, her cheeks flushed. On the outside, I was a drunken mess. But inside, my mind was perfectly clear. I needed to prove something. With a gentle tug, I pulled her off balance, and she tumbled onto the bed beside me. Under the cover of being drunk, I leaned up and kissed her. The moment our lips touched, her eyes flew open in shock. But a second later, she took control, her arms wrapping around my neck, pulling me closer. The air in the room crackled with a sudden, intense heat. After a long moment, we slowly pulled apart. “Ethan,” she whispered, her eyes shimmering. “I had so much fun tonight.” Her words were weighted with meaning. My hand, resting at my side, curled into a fist. Aria’s words and her actions were two completely different things. She said she hated me, yet she never once pushed away my touch. She had even… kissed me back. I didn’t understand. Back when I was with Chloe, Aria had made her disdain for me perfectly clear. No matter how hard I tried to be kind, to win her over, she was always cold, always distant. She openly mocked my relationship with Chloe, telling her to her face that we would never last. I had learned to avoid her at all costs. But now, after I’d “lost my memory,” after Chloe had literally handed me over to her, she was a completely different person. Was she just trying to protect her friendship with Chloe? If so, this was going way too far. My thoughts were a tangled mess. For now, I decided to stop trying to unravel them. I would just continue to play my part in their little drama. Aria’s performance was flawless. Every day, she made sure I ate well. At night, she held me as we slept. In the morning, she greeted me with a gentle smile. She even called my work and, citing my medical condition, got me a month of leave. My days were spent in her quiet apartment, watching movies, tending to her plants, taking walks in the nearby park. It was a simple life, but it was filled with a strange, peaceful happiness I hadn’t realized I was missing. Until a phone call shattered the calm. I saw Chloe again. She was leaning against a sleek motorcycle, dressed in tight shorts, a form-fitting tank top, and a leather jacket. She looked impossibly cool, a radiant, confident smile on her face. Looking at her, I quietly clenched my fists. When we were together, I had always worried about her old back injury. I never wanted her to do anything dangerous—no street racing, no bungee jumping. She always said I was overreacting. I’d gently suggest she not wear revealing clothes when we went out, not because I was controlling, but because I worried about her safety. If she insisted, I’d always have a jacket ready, silently watching over her. To her, all of my concern boiled down to one word. Suffocating. She said I was stifling her, chaining down her free spirit. And now that she had pushed me away, she was finally free to breathe. She spotted us and waved, her smile bright. I gave a polite, distant nod in return. My muted reaction clearly wasn’t what she wanted. She strode over to me, deliberately tugging her shorts down a little lower. “Ethan, how do I look today?” “You look great,” I said, giving her the answer she was fishing for. But her expression only grew darker. “But not as great as Aria.” I was doing it on purpose. If she was allowed to push me away, why wasn’t I allowed to compliment someone else? My words hit their mark. I could see the anger flash in her eyes. “You know,” she said, changing the subject, “Leo organized this whole race today just for me. Because he likes me so much.” I just nodded again. “That’s nice.” My placid response seemed to frustrate her even more. She huffed and stomped back over to Leo. As their friends cheered, she pulled him into another passionate kiss, her eyes locked on mine the entire time. Only when she was certain I truly didn’t care did she finally push him away. Her lipstick was smeared across her mouth, but she didn’t notice. She grabbed a megaphone from someone nearby. “I have an announcement to make!” Her gaze found mine again as she took Leo’s hand and wrapped it around her waist.

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My father hired a pair of orphaned sisters as bodyguards for my brother and me. The older one, Stella, was quick, sharp-eyed, and fell for my brother, Liam, the moment she saw him. That left me with the younger sister, Maya. The one with the silence. I didn’t want to see her sent back to the group home, back to the bullies and the loneliness, so I accepted her. She never spoke, so I took her to every top psychiatrist on the East Coast. I carved out two hours every single day to tell her jokes, to read to her, anything to get a response, even though one never came. She couldn’t protect me, so I learned martial arts, built myself up from nothing, and begged my father not to send her away. I thought she was just wounded. I thought if I was patient enough, she would heal. Then came the day the yacht overturned. In the chaos of the churning water, she clawed the last life vest off my body. And for the first time, she spoke to me. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice raw. “But Liam’s is broken.” Liam. My brother. She watched as I began to sink, her hand squeezing mine one last time. “I owe you a debt in this life,” she whispered, her eyes holding mine as the cold water closed over my head. “I’ll repay it in the next.” So, it turned out her silence was only for me. When I opened my eyes again, I was standing in the grand foyer, back on the day we were meant to choose our bodyguards. 1 I stood before the two sisters, frozen. My brother, Liam, glanced at me, his perfect brow furrowed with concern. He bit his lip. “You know what? I’ll take Maya,” he announced, his voice ringing with false martyrdom. “Ethan isn’t as strong. He needs someone quick and alert, like Stella, to protect him.” With a flourish, he stepped away from the visibly sharp Stella and positioned himself beside the silent, withdrawn Maya. I could see the panic flash in Stella’s eyes. I still didn’t move, my mind reeling, trying to process the impossible reality of being back here. In my first life, I had hesitated then, too, after Liam and Stella had made their instant connection. Seeing my indecision, Liam had offered to switch bodyguards with me. Looking at his pained expression now, I remembered how I’d truly believed he was trying to give me the better protector. I thought he was looking out for me, so I refused, adamant that he shouldn’t be disadvantaged. I couldn’t bear to see my brother lose out, and I couldn’t stand the thought of Maya being sent back to that place. It was all a lie. When the yacht went down, Liam had made a show of refusing my life vest, but he’d stood perfectly still while both sisters strapped it onto him. His own bodyguard, Stella, was a certified lifeguard. There was a piece of floating debris right next to him. But he only offered a few token protests. That was Liam’s signature move. He always knew I’d refuse any offer that required someone else to sacrifice for me. He lost nothing, yet he always walked away with the reputation of a handsome, selfless saint. But this time, I just nodded. “Fine.” Liam’s face, perfectly arranged to display reluctant acceptance of my refusal, went rigid. He wasn’t the only one stunned. Maya’s head snapped up, her vacant eyes suddenly sharp, fixed on me. They were filled with a confusion and shock that mirrored my own. “No!” My father’s voice boomed through the hall. “You are the eldest son of the Reed family, Liam. Your safety is paramount. This girl has autism—she can’t even speak. She is not fit to protect you.” A cold, bitter laugh almost escaped me. So, he knew about Maya’s condition all along. Yet he’d brought her here anyway. This whole charade of letting us “choose” was just for show. “But…” Liam started, a wave of relief washing over his features as he subtly wiped a non-existent tear from his eye. He was about to launch into another performance when Maya spoke. “I can speak.” My head shot up in astonishment. The Maya from my past life, the one who hadn’t uttered a single word for seven years, was speaking now? I saw it then, an awareness in her eyes that didn’t belong to a girl her age. And I knew, with chilling certainty— She was reborn, too. So much for repaying me in the next life. Given a second chance, the first thing she did was ensure she wouldn’t be stuck with me again. But she didn’t know. I didn’t want her anymore. “As for my capabilities,” Maya continued, her voice steady and clear, “you are welcome to test them again, sir.” I didn’t doubt her skills for a second. After I died, my spirit had watched her, a phantom observer. I saw her fight to protect Liam until help arrived, saw her single-handedly drive a gaff hook through the head of a bull shark. The irony was laughable. In my first life, I’d learned to fight for myself, terrified my father would deem her useless—this “helpless” girl—and send her back to the orphanage. Of course, once Maya dropped the act, it took her only three moves to pin the national martial arts champion my father kept on staff to the floor. My father’s resolve began to waver. The pained expression on Liam’s face vanished, replaced by a glimmer of interest. Between the two sisters, Maya was always the more beautiful one. If it hadn’t been for her supposed condition, Liam would have chosen her from the start. “Very well,” my father conceded. “Maya will serve you, Liam. Stella, the second son will be in your care.” At our father’s decree, Stella shot a glance in my direction. Her eyes landed on the scar that marred the left side of my face, and her nose wrinkled in a flicker of disgust. She took a step back and bowed her head. “Sir, I would rather you sent me back to the orphanage.” 2 “What is the meaning of this?” my father asked, his brows knitting together. “A salary of half a million dollars a year isn’t enough to keep you? You’d prefer to go back to a place where you’ll have nothing?” Stella couldn’t hide the revulsion she felt looking at my face. “I am not worthy of serving the second young master.” I let out a quiet sigh. Ever since I got this scar at ten years old saving Liam, my face had been a source of disgust for others. Perhaps that was part of why Maya had treated me the way she did in our first life. “Stella! Are you just going to abandon my brother?” Liam cried out, grabbing her arm, trying to pull her to her feet. Stella looked at him, her eyes shining with an unmistakable adoration. “I didn’t come here for him.” I remained silent. Liam quickly masked a flicker of pleasure, arranging his face into a frown of disapproval. “No! That’s absurd! I won’t let you go back there to suffer!” “What’s the difficulty?” I said, my voice cutting through the drama. “Why don’t you just take both of them, Liam? It seems they’re both yours for the asking.” Liam’s face flushed. “What… what are you talking about?” From the moment the Chen sisters walked in, my brother’s eyes hadn’t left them. He wanted them both. My father looked at me, his expression thoughtful. “You really don’t want a bodyguard?” “I don’t,” I said plainly. “I’m not interested in either of them.” Both sisters turned to look at me then, their expressions a mixture of surprise and indignation, as if wondering what right I had to refuse them. Maya’s gaze was more complex, something deeper than simple curiosity. I couldn’t read it, and I no longer had the desire to try. “And what about your safety?” my father pressed. “Can you guarantee it yourself?” “Probably not,” I admitted, shaking my head. My father stared, taken aback. “Which is why you should send me to work with Claire,” I continued. “She has a whole security team.” 3 In my past life, I had poured all my energy into Maya. I’d even neglected my role in the family business. I wasn’t like Liam. My father paid lip service to loving us equally, but the trust fund was only ever in Liam’s and my older sister Claire’s names. Claire was out on her own, a titan in the tech world, making the family trust grow exponentially year after year. Liam’s annual dividends alone were more than most people make in a lifetime. Meanwhile, I had to practically beg our father for the money to cover Maya’s medical bills. If I wanted to raise my own standing, I had to get in the game. Claire, my rarely-seen sister who had little time for the family’s disfavored spare, didn’t even meet with me. Her assistant threw a menial position my way, and that was that. I wasn’t angry. I just put my head down and worked. I’d never explored this side of myself before. Now, discovering my own aptitude for business was a revelation, even to me. After I closed the deal with a notoriously difficult investor, Claire finally granted me an audience. She threw me a welcome party, three months late, and started handing over significant parts of her portfolio. The company had hit a plateau and desperately needed new blood. As much as she might favor Liam, she couldn’t afford to ignore me. Slowly, my reputation in the business world began to eclipse Liam’s fame for his good looks. One evening, returning home, Liam blocked my path. “Ethan,” he said, his tone dripping with faux concern. “Don’t you think you’re being a little… loud?” I frowned. “You’re making headlines everywhere. I’m not trying to bring you down, brother, but a rapid success like this is mostly luck. If you crash and burn, you’ll be dragging the Reed family name down with you.” He paused, then glanced meaningfully toward where Maya was standing in the distance. “Besides, with your… your face… being so high-profile won’t attract the right kind of attention from women.” He sighed dramatically. “Look, why don’t you stop bothering Claire? I’ll take you under my wing.” I cut straight to the point. “You’re afraid I’ll steal your spotlight, aren’t you?” He froze. “On what grounds are you telling me to keep a low profile, Liam? As the family’s golden boy? The primary trust fund beneficiary? No matter how you slice it, you’ve already won. What gives you the right to stand on your pedestal and tell me not to fight for my own?” “Ethan, you…” His eyes immediately welled up. I gave him no quarter. “Since you brought up my scar, let me ask you something. Have you forgotten what you did when we were ten? I stepped in to protect you from a mugger. If you hadn’t shoved me forward, I wouldn’t have stumbled right into his knife. This face wouldn’t be ruined.” Liam clapped a hand over his mouth, fat tears plopping onto his hand. “You don’t have to cry. You’re not the one who was wronged. Just go back to being the perfect son.” I turned to leave, but he broke into a choked sob, his whole body shaking with manufactured pain. “That’s not it, Ethan… I never meant for that to happen… I’m just worried about you… How could you think that of me?” His tears hit the marble floor, one by one. “That’s enough!” Stella, who had been standing silently behind Liam, rushed forward and wrapped her arms around him. “You’ve gone too far, Ethan!” Liam immediately tried to placate her, shaking his head through his tears. “It’s okay, Stella, I’m fine… really…” he whispered, his shoulders trembling. A flash of pain crossed Maya’s face. She looked directly at me. “You went too far,” she said, her voice cold and even. “Apologize.” I thought I’d misheard her. But Maya just stared at me, her expression unyielding. Crack. The sound of my hand connecting with her cheek echoed in the hallway. Liam gasped, rushing to shield her. “Ethan! How could you hit her!” I flexed my stinging hand. “You should learn to control your people, Liam. Otherwise, they might forget who signs the checks and who cashes them.” “You!” Stella hissed, her jaw tight with rage. Maya cradled her cheek, her eyes wide with a surprise I had never seen before. I turned and walked away without giving any of them another chance to speak. My plan was to pack my bags that night and leave, to never see Liam or those two women again. But the next morning, a frantic pounding rattled my bedroom door. Stella burst in the second I opened it, completely ignoring the intrusion. She grabbed my arm in a vice grip. “Liam’s been kidnapped! You’re coming with me!” 4 Thankfully, the martial arts I’d learned in my first life served me well. I twisted free, shoving her back. “Show some respect,” I snapped. “And what kidnapping? What does that have to do with me?” “You have the nerve to ask?” Stella’s eyes were bloodshot, as if she’d been up all night. “If you hadn’t said those awful things to him, he never would have run out of the house crying! He never would have been grabbed by his enemies! This is all your fault, and you’re going to go and switch places with him right now!” The front door flew open, and Maya stood there, her face pale and drawn. She looked up at us on the landing. “Is Liam back yet?” Stella held up my arm like a trophy. “No. But the kidnappers are offering an exchange. It was Ethan’s fault Liam was taken. It’s time for him to make amends.” “Let go of me!” I slapped Stella hard across the face. “You’re a bodyguard. Who gave you the right to lay hands on me?” A red handprint bloomed on her cheek, but her eyes held no remorse. “My apologies, sir. But this isn’t your decision to make. For Liam’s sake, we’ll accept the consequences of insubordination.” She tightened her grip on my arm and yelled over her shoulder, “Maya! Help me!” Against Stella, I might have been able to hold my own for a few moments. But Maya was different. The world tilted as I was slammed to the ground. Maya’s black leather boot appeared in my line of sight. I struggled against Stella’s hold, knowing that the outcome of this fight rested entirely on Maya. I looked up at her, my voice raw with desperation. “Maya, help me… I’m begging you, please!” A muscle twitched in her jaw. She closed her eyes for a brief second, and when she opened them, she whispered one word. “Sorry.” Then, a crushing weight as both women pinned me to the floor. 5 On the way to the exchange, Maya rode in the car with me, her eyes never leaving my face. “You were reborn, too,” she said, breaking the silence. “Yes,” I answered, my voice like ice. “And you’re still just as cruel to me as ever.” She paused, then murmured, “I’m sorry.” Crack. The sharp sound of another slap filled the car. “Of all the words in the world,” I said, my voice shaking with rage, “those three mean the least to me.” Her head was turned to the side, her hair obscuring her expression. “I promise,” she said, her voice low and heavy, “this is the last time.” Her hand covered mine, her grip surprisingly tight. “We get him out. That’s all. A bodyguard’s final duty. After that, I swear I’ll move heaven and earth to get you out safely.” I just laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. She squeezed my hand harder. “This is just a tactic, Ethan. I won’t let them hurt you for real.” The exchange took place in a desolate, abandoned wasteland. As Liam and I passed each other, he broke into a frantic run. “Maya! Stella!” I whipped my head around just in time to see Maya rush forward, catching him in her arms. Stella was already at his side, skillfully cutting the ropes from his wrists. Maya held him tight, her hands trembling. I could read her lips, even from a distance. I’m so sorry… I didn’t protect you… A strange, cold feeling washed over me. I thought I had prepared myself for this, for being the one who didn’t matter. A rough hand grabbed me, pulling me back to my new reality. Before I could say another word, a cloth was stuffed in my mouth, silencing me completely. 6 I’d been in the dark room for three days. There was barely an inch of skin on my body that wasn’t bruised or broken from the lashings. The leader of the group threw something against the wall in frustration. “Aren’t you a Reed? The second son? Then why the hell hasn’t a single penny shown up in three days! Are you even who you say you are?” I managed a weak, bitter smile. The Reed family only had one real son. And it wasn’t me. “I’ll give you one last chance.” The man approached me, holding a syringe. “This is going to amplify your pain by a factor of ten. You’re going to call your family. If they agree to send the money immediately, I’ll let you go. If not,” he grinned, “I guess we’ll just have to mail them your fingers.” “What? No… ah!” The fluid burned as it entered my neck, and my breathing instantly became ragged. “Call!” A phone was thrust into my hand. I scrolled through my contacts. My father and sister’s lines were busy. Liam’s went unanswered. Then, Maya… “Hello?” “Maya!” I gasped, clinging to her voice like a lifeline. “You have to bring the money! They injected me with something… they’re going to cut off my fingers!” The sound of loud, thumping music blasted through the receiver. I was stunned. “What… what are you doing?” “Ethan,” her voice was strained. “It’s Liam’s birthday. We can’t ruin it.” My eyes widened in disbelief. “What are you saying?” “Just hold on a little longer. After the party’s over, I’ll come get you.” “But if you don’t come now, they’re going to—” “Ethan,” she cut me off, her tone sharp with annoyance. “It’s just one night. Can you please not cause a scene?” The lead kidnapper let out a cold, cynical laugh. He’d already given up hope. My body trembled, but I forced the words out through gritted teeth. “But you promised. You promised you wouldn’t let them hurt me for real.” There was a moment of silence on her end. “Be good,” she said softly. “Just endure it a little longer.” Then she hung up.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384521”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I always felt my husband was forced to marry me. Every time we were intimate, Parker only used his hands. Eventually, I gave up and decided to set him free. But the night before printing the divorce papers, I overheard him with his friends. “Why not touch your wife? She’s right there,” one said. “Nora might run off if you keep holding back.” Parker sipped his whiskey. “You don’t understand. She’s delicate. What if I scare her?” His voice deepened. “She’s my wife. I must cherish her. If she finds what I can’t give elsewhere… fine. As long as she comes home to me.” His friends laughed. “Then why secretly Google everything?” That night, I checked Parker’s history—99 searches, all variations of: “I finally married the girl I love, but I have a kink. How do I not scare her away?” 1 The day Parker came back from his business trip, I had a battle plan. I showered, shaved, and put on a full face of makeup before slipping into the new, sinfully sheer nightgown I’d bought. Then, I slid into his side of the bed, waiting to be conquered. But when he walked out of the bathroom, the sight of me in his sheets made him freeze, the towel in his hands stilled mid-rub. “What are you doing here?” There wasn’t a trace of warmth in his voice. My eyes roamed over him, from top to bottom. Parker’s body was a work of art; even the plush bathrobe couldn’t hide the swell of his pectoral muscles or the faint outline of his abs. Logically, with a nose that sharp and fingers that long, he had to be… well-equipped. And yet, in six months of marriage, I had never been allowed to get a “deeper” understanding. Refusing to be deterred, I decided to be direct. “I’m here to sleep with you.” I didn’t care what excuses he came up with. Tonight, he was mine. Parker’s expression flickered. His gaze dropped to my lingerie, and after a long pause, he gave a clipped, “Fine.” That easy? I was in disbelief. As he approached the bed, I felt a wave of uncertainty. The only light came from the small, mood-setting lamp on the nightstand. He lay down beside me, a wave of cool air and the clean scent of soap washing over me. My heart hammered against my ribs as I boldly wrapped my arms around his waist. Parker’s entire body went rigid. A beat later, his head turned, his eyes finding mine in the dim light. His voice was a low rasp. “Do you want me to help you?” Before I could answer, he pulled away, his movements swift as he opened the nightstand drawer. “…” The little spark of excitement inside me was instantly doused by the practiced ease of his actions. I didn’t even need to ask. I knew what was coming next. He was going to fulfill his husbandly duties—just not with himself. A white-hot spike of anger shot through me. It was always like this. His own body was under lock and key, untouchable even when he was clearly aroused. When he pulled out the finger cots, my face darkened. I snatched them from his hand and threw them at his chest. “Help me with what? You’re so damn vanilla, what new tricks could you possibly have?” My voice was sharp, brittle with frustration. The lamplight was too faint for me to see his expression clearly, but I could feel his dark eyes fixed on me, the intensity of his gaze like a physical touch. It was hot, and maybe, just maybe, laced with confusion. All the pent-up disappointment surged to the surface. “Parker, if you can’t get it up, just say so! It’s not like you’re the only man on the planet. I can find someone else, anytime!” We were married, for God’s sake. Why did every encounter have to feel like he was doing me a reluctant favor? “That’s not what I meant,” he said, his voice strained. But still, he made no move. Not even to cup my face for a kiss. Anything would have been better than this cold distance. This was the third time. The third time I’d laid myself bare, only to be rejected. The disappointment was a crushing weight. I grabbed the robe I’d just discarded and stood up. Then I stormed out, slamming the door with a thunderous crack that echoed the shattering of my patience. 2 I ended up at my best friend Cassie’s apartment. My phone buzzed relentlessly on the coffee table. “Not gonna get that?” Cassie asked, tilting her head. I threw back a shot of tequila, the burn in my throat a welcome distraction. With a sigh, I switched my phone off completely. “What kind of trashy cigarettes did you buy?” I grumbled, my voice already raspy. “One puff and my throat’s wrecked.” Cassie just laughed, playfully tapping the colorful pack in her hand. “They look pretty, don’t they?” She held it up for me to see, and with a few casual questions, she had the whole story out of me. Not that I was trying to hide it. There was one question that had been eating me alive. “Cassie, why won’t Parker touch me?” “Maybe… he’s not into women?” I shook my head. Parker had a girlfriend in high school, and since then, countless men and women had thrown themselves at him, only to be met with his signature ice-cold rejection. Then, a thought sparked in my mind. My eyes narrowed. “I bet he’s saving himself for my perfect older sister, the one who ran off to Europe.” I’d heard the rumors before—that Parker had always been in love with the gentle, quiet heiress of the Sinclair family. Now, it was all clicking into place. This marriage… I was just a stand-in. My sister was the one who was supposed to marry Parker. But she’d dumped him for her supposed “soulmate,” some artist she followed to another continent. Parker, ever the perfect gentleman, had never denied me anything in our six months of marriage—except for that one crucial thing. And every time he used his hands on me, watching my pleasure with that detached, controlled expression… there was never any desire in his eyes. He looked like a spectator at his own life. Did he find me… disgusting? The thought hit me like a physical blow, and the fragile dam holding back my hurt broke. I slammed my glass down on the table with a loud crack. “That’s it, I’ve decided!” Cassie jumped. “Decided what?” “I’m divorcing him!” A man who was all looks and no action was useless, no matter how handsome. Especially one who was still hung up on someone else. I was Nora Sinclair. I didn’t need him. “Okay, okay, easy there. No more drinking,” Cassie said, clearly thinking I was just drunk and emotional. She dragged me off to take a shower. She’d just gotten a fresh manicure, and being a restless sleeper, she left a few angry red scratches on my neck by morning. The moment I turned my phone on, it exploded with notifications. All from Parker. When I got back to our villa, I was surprised to find him home. The air was thick with the smell of stale smoke, the ashtray on the coffee table overflowing with cigarette butts. He looked up, his sharp features cutting a striking figure even in the morning light. “You’re back.” His voice was a gravelly whisper. Then his eyes landed on the marks on my neck, and his pupils contracted violently. The light in his gaze instantly went out, replaced by a chilling darkness. I hadn’t slept well, and the combination of smoke and alcohol had left my throat raw. I was in no mood for a dramatic confrontation. Just as he was about to speak, I raised a hand, my voice raspy. “I’m exhausted from last night. I’m going upstairs.” I wasn’t trying to be cruel. I was just done. I was really going to divorce him. A marriage without passion is a marriage without happiness. 3 But, as fate would have it, I came down with a fever that night. My body felt like it was filled with lead, my head swimming in a thick fog. The door creaked open. Parker had just showered, and the crisp scent of mint from his body wash was so strong it almost made me gag. I wrinkled my nose and tried to push him away. “Leave me alone.” His body tensed. “Then who should take care of you?” His voice was deep, laced with a carefully restrained emotion. He was trying, desperately, to be gentle. “Come on, be good. Take the medicine, and you’ll feel better.” His cool fingertips brushed against my lips, and I saw his hand, resting on his thigh, clench into a tight fist. His gaze lingered on my mouth, his breathing growing heavier. I was completely oblivious. Being held by him felt uncomfortable, and I twisted away, trying to lie back down. “Okay, you can go now.” As I drifted in and out of consciousness, I thought I heard the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. It seemed Parker was taking another shower. … When I woke up again, I was wrapped tightly in Parker’s arms. The distinct feeling of something hard and hot pressed against my leg was impossible to ignore. His warm breath ghosted across my ear as he stirred, his hand coming up to feel my forehead. “Still a little warm. The fever hasn’t completely broken yet.” I was wide awake now. It’s not the fever making me hot, you idiot! It’s you! I tried to elbow him away, but he expertly caught me by the waist. His calloused thumb brushed lightly against my skin, sending a jolt of electricity through me. A small gasp escaped my lips. “Nora.” Parker’s voice was a low, husky whisper, carrying a magnetic pull that was hard to resist. “Should we… try?” “…” On any other day, I would have jumped at the chance. But after the last few days, a wall had gone up between us. To me, this felt like a slap followed by a piece of candy. A pathetic offering. Still weak from the fever, my body ached. I turned my face away, my voice cold. “I can’t. I’m too tired.” The man behind me went utterly still. I could feel the tremor in his breath as the life seemed to drain out of him. With a visible effort, Parker pulled back, creating a small distance between us. He said nothing. When I finally turned to look at him, his eyes were dark pools of sorrow, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “It’s my fault. I don’t blame you.” I let out a cold snort. At least he had some self-awareness. “But please,” he continued, his voice barely a whisper, “don’t push yourself so hard next time. It’s not good for your body to get a fever like that.” Parker lowered his gaze, hiding whatever raw emotion was swirling within him. Before I could process his words, he stood up and went to the closet to get clothes for me. He usually wore silk pajamas, but for once, he was wearing only a towel wrapped low on his hips. The sculpted lines of his muscles and the tantalizing V of his torso were on full display. My eyes traced the firm curve of his waist and the tight clench of his glutes, and my heart gave a little flutter. But that was all. Any handsome man standing in front of me would have had the same effect. Parker handed me the clothes. Without a second thought, I started changing right in front of him. As expected, he immediately turned away, his eyes fixed firmly on the wall. What I didn’t know was that the moment I left the room, Parker walked straight back into my bathroom. 4 A few days later, I started noticing some of my clothes were missing. At first, I didn’t think much of it. They weren’t expensive pieces, and I had plenty of others. But then, the lace lingerie set Cassie had bought me last week vanished. I couldn’t figure it out. We didn’t have cameras in the house, so there was no way to identify the pervert. Finally, over dinner one evening, I brought it up with Parker. “I think we have a thief.” He was calmly sitting at the table, spreading butter on a piece of my toast. He paused for a fraction of a second at my words. Without looking up, he asked, his voice steady, “What’s missing?” “Lingerie.” “…” I said it nonchalantly, but his reaction was anything but. The butter knife slipped, smearing a dollop of yellow across the small mole on the back of his hand. My eyes narrowed, watching his uncharacteristic clumsiness. “Why so nervous? Did you take it?” Parker was silent for a few seconds before letting out a soft, humorless laugh. His long, dark eyes met mine. “What do you think?” Before heading to the office, Parker was always impeccably dressed. He wore a pair of thin, gold-rimmed glasses for his slight nearsightedness, which only served to accentuate the depth of his features. Right now, behind those lenses, his black pupils seemed colder than the sunlight streaming through the window. I offered a light smile. What did I think? Parker was the epitome of buttoned-up, straight-laced propriety. And besides, what on earth would he do with my underwear? I decided to drop it. “What time will you be back tonight? I have something for you.” The divorce papers were ready. Parker handed me the toast, his reply coming instantly. “Whenever you want me, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He said it so quickly, the words tumbling out, that I barely registered the meaning behind them. His phone rang. The assistant waiting in the driveway came in with a briefcase, reminding him he was late. Parker left. I placed a hand over my chest, where my heart had just skipped a beat. My other hand went to my ear, which was inexplicably burning hot. I was both flustered and annoyed. Why couldn’t he just talk normally? What was with all the flirting? 5 After my meal, I took a trip to the doctor’s office. He told me I had a hormonal imbalance and that finding a man to… regulate things would be beneficial. The moment Cassie heard this, she was practically vibrating with excitement, offering to “lend” me the services of a chiseled model with eight-pack abs and a young stud with pecs for days from her agency. At the time, I was sitting in my air-conditioned studio, sketching out the line art for my graphic novel, completely absorbed in perfecting my characters. I immediately shot her down. She cut straight to the chase. “You’ve been breaking out lately, haven’t you?” Her words hit a nerve. I mentally cursed Parker’s name again. Two pimples! Right on my chin. “You know what they say, the grass is always greener… Besides, you two are about to get divorced anyway. You’re really not going to try?” Cassie’s voice was a siren’s call of temptation. I put down my pencil. I was stuck on the design for a side character’s face. A little real-life reference couldn’t hurt. “Looking only. No touching.” So my testosterone was a little high. Once I was divorced, I could find a hundred and eighty men if I wanted. But not now. It wasn’t because I was a coward; I just had high moral standards. I didn’t just go around lusting after men’s bodies! Cassie laughed, clearly not buying my claims of self-control. I was full of confidence at the time, but that night, as I slept, my own mind betrayed me. I had the most vivid, steamy dream. In it, I was locked in a passionate kiss with a man, our bodies tangled together. Our breaths mingled, his hot and heavy against my skin, the sound of our mouths moving together pulling me deeper and deeper into a rising tide of pleasure. I was lost in his bold exploration, completely immersed in a world of shared ecstasy. It was pure bliss. Until—I saw Parker’s face, inches from mine. I jolted awake, my heart pounding, my body slick with a cold sweat. The phantom sensations of the dream still lingered. My legs felt weak as I made my way downstairs for a glass of water. That’s when I heard the lazy, teasing voices from the living room. “You know, some people are absolutely drowning in desire, but they’re so afraid of scaring their wives that they just… suffer in silence. Not naming any names, of course.” 6 Peeking around the corner, I saw Parker’s closest friends lounging on the sofas, whiskey glasses in hand, their tones dripping with mockery. “Women can’t resist a little temptation, Parker. You keep this up, and Nora’s gonna run off with someone else. You’ll be crying before you know it.” These guys were close enough to Parker to say whatever they wanted. In response, Parker just lifted his glass and took a slow sip, his handsome face an unreadable mask. He said something that made his friends roar with laughter, and a prickle of suspicion ran down my spine. They mentioned he had a secret blog. A private account where he posted things. Driven by a mix of curiosity and a desire to finally get some leverage on him, I mentally replayed the username they’d mentioned. I typed it in, and sure enough, an account with the same profile picture as Parker’s official one popped up. I clicked on it and saw a pinned post at the top. I was expecting to find some typical, crass locker-room talk. But the words on the screen made me freeze. It read— “I finally married the girl I’ve been in love with for years, but I have a specific kink. How do I make it a good experience for her without scaring her away?” The next post. “The world is full of temptations, and she thinks I’m boring. It’s my fault. If I tried to please her like this, would she reject me?” Attached was a picture of a male butler costume and a small, silver bell collar. In an instant, all the blood in my body rushed to my head…

My sister and I were unexpectedly given a choice between two systems. One was the Amplify System, which could make anything 100 times bigger. The other was the Shrink System, which could make anything 100 times smaller. My sister, Jessica, smiled and chose the Shrink System. That left me with the other one. Three days later, the apocalyptic rains began. The entire world was trapped indoors, unable to move, and resources became the single most critical issue. Using the Amplify System, I enlarged our meager supplies, and by rationing carefully, my sister and I managed to survive the ordeal. But the day the rains stopped, Jessica pushed me from the roof of our high-rise apartment building. “If you hadn’t stolen the Amplify System from me, I could have made enough food to save Leo and his family!” she had screamed, her face twisted with rage. “You’re a good sister in every way, Kathreen, except for one thing. You’re just too selfish!” When I opened my eyes again, I was back in that moment of choice. Jessica, moving a split second before me, chose the Amplify System. That’s when I knew. She had been reborn, too. I smiled. Using the Shrink System, I shrank enough food to last me five years, and then… I shrank myself. And just like that, I vanished from the world. 1 “Please select your system.” The words, the scene—why was it all so familiar? My mind was still foggy. Wasn’t I… just pushed off a building by my sister? A dizzying sensation of falling washed over me before I finally snapped back to the present. Jessica seemed just as stunned, but only for a moment. She lunged forward, her voice sharp with decision. “I want the Amplify System!” A disembodied voice echoed in our minds. [Affirmative. The Amplify System is now bound to you.] She shot me a triumphant look, her eyes shining with unconcealed glee. That’s when it hit me with absolute certainty. I had been reborn. Reborn to the exact day my sister and I were given our systems. I sneered inwardly. If you love your precious Leo so much that you’d murder the sister who saved your life, then fine. This time, I won’t be lifting a finger to help you. Seeing Jessica’s ecstatic expression, I said calmly, “Then I’ll take the Shrink System.” [Affirmative. The Shrink System is now bound to you.] Jessica was already eager to test her new power. She picked up a nearby cup and focused. In an instant, the small cup swelled into a massive, oversized mug. “Wow, it’s real! The Amplify System is really mine!” she squealed. I watched her with cold detachment. This was the sister I had protected with my life. In my past life, when the apocalyptic rains hit, trapping everyone in their homes, supplies became dangerously scarce. I used the Amplify System on the few cases of instant noodles and bread we had, stretching them out to survive the five-year deluge. Jessica’s childhood crush, Leo, lived in the apartment across the hall. She had begged me to help his family, to enlarge their food, but I refused. In an apocalypse, I told her, you couldn’t trust anyone. Without my help, Leo’s family didn’t last five years. They starved to death early on. I survived the apocalypse, only to be murdered by the very sister I protected. The irony was laughable. “Kathreen, the Amplify System is mine now. Aren’t you jealous?” Jessica asked, a sly glint in her eye. “I can make anything I want bigger. Your Shrink System seems kind of useless, doesn’t it?” She was testing me, trying to see if I remembered. Her gaze was sharp, laced with suspicion. I let out a relaxed breath and forced a casual smile. “What’s the difference? It’s just a system. If you wanted it, you can have it. I don’t really care.” Seeing my complete lack of interest in the Amplify System, Jessica finally relaxed, her smile genuine now. I knew, without a doubt, that this time she would save Leo and his family. And I also knew that the moment anyone else found out about her system, her life in this new world would be in constant danger. Everyone would covet a power like that. Jessica excitedly ran out of our apartment and knocked on Leo’s door. “Jessica? What are you doing here?” Leo asked, looking confused. She immediately linked her arm through his, ignoring the flicker of annoyance on his face. “Leo,” she said with a sugary sweet smile, “let’s talk inside…” The moment their door clicked shut, I pulled out my phone. The date glared back at me. The 14th. Three days until the storm hits. There was still time. I grabbed my car keys and sped to the nearest supermarket, clearing the shelves of everything I could get my hands on. Non-perishables like instant noodles and bread, essentials like toilet paper, combs, and mirrors, and comforts like blankets and pillows. I bought sacks of rice and flour, packets of every kind of vegetable seed imaginable, and, on a whim, a crate of live baby chicks. I even went to a furniture store and bought an entire matching set for a new home. I was going to build myself a perfect, tiny sanctuary. 2 My apartment was on one of the highest floors, high enough that even in my past life, the rising floodwaters never reached it. I had no plans to leave my home. I was just going to live in it… a different way. I went on a frantic shopping spree, draining my bank account to the last cent. Jessica, on the other hand, was completely unconcerned. Knowing the storm was coming, she made no preparations at all. With her Amplify System, she figured she could make a single loaf of bread last forever. She was actually looking forward to the apocalypse. I knew why. She was dreaming of becoming the hero who saves her beloved Leo and his family from starvation, earning his eternal love and devotion. I always knew she had a crush on him, but I never realized she was such a lovesick fool. That night, she came home floating on a pink cloud, looking like she’d already spent the day swimming in the ocean of love with Leo. “Kathreen, if I saved Leo’s family—hypothetically, of course—do you think he’d fall in love with me?” she asked, her face glowing with a shy, hopeful blush. “No,” I said coldly. “That’s impossible! He’ll definitely fall for me!” she retorted, her tone suddenly sharp. “Just admit it, you like him too, don’t you? But you’re two years older than him, so don’t even think about it!” I ignored her, my head bent over my phone as I ordered the last of my supplies online. She had already killed me once. I wouldn’t let it happen a second time. This time, you can die on your own. “Hey, Kathreen, do you have any money left? Can you lend me a few thousand? I want to buy some snacks,” she asked, her voice wheedling. “No,” I said, my face a mask of stone. “I just bought a new refrigerator. I’m broke.” Her voice turned into a shrill shriek. “Why would you buy a refrigerator?!” I frowned. “I wanted a new one. Is that a problem? Why are you overreacting?” Realizing her mistake, she quickly smoothed over her expression. “Oh, no reason! I was just curious, hehe,” she giggled. “By the way, Kathreen, I remember you had some snacks in your room. I hope you don’t mind, but I already gave them to the lonely old folks in our building. They have it so tough, you know? You’re not mad, are you?” She beamed at me, as if expecting me to praise her for her kindness. I couldn’t believe it. Reborn with the system she always wanted, and her first move was to give away my last remaining supplies. She was actively trying to kill me. If I hadn’t been reborn, if I didn’t have a system, I would have starved to death in the coming apocalypse. Looking at her bright, innocent smile, my disgust for her deepened. I thought I had been a good sister. Our parents died when we were young. As the older one, I shouldered the responsibility, dropping out of school to put her through her education. I never blamed her for her poor grades. I always made sure her allowance was far more generous than her peers’, money I earned through back-breaking work. When she failed her college entrance exams, I had already managed to buy this apartment. I brought her here to live with me. But then she reconnected with Leo, her childhood friend who lived across the hall. They had played together as kids, but his family had moved away after receiving a huge payout for their land. The moment Jessica saw the now-handsome Leo, she fell head over heels, chasing after him relentlessly. Even in our past life, when I refused to help his family, she had secretly given them a third of our precious supplies behind my back. All I could do then was lock our door tight to prevent theft. It was clear now. In my sister’s eyes, I was worth less than a man who had never done a single thing for her. 3 I was done with her. “It’s fine,” I said. She smiled and hooked her arm through mine. “Hehe, you’re the best, Kathreen! I knew you wouldn’t get mad over something so small!” I pulled my arm away. “I’m a little tired. I’m going to bed. You should get some rest too.” I retreated to my room and began to finalize my plans. I had also purchased a small wind turbine generator, which would provide a steady stream of electricity during the storm. All my preparations were complete. Now, all I had to do was wait. Jessica, confident in her Amplify System, used her pocket money to buy a few hundred dollars’ worth of food and locked it in her room, as if she was afraid I would steal it. I had already decided to abandon the apartment I had worked so hard to buy. No matter how small I became, if I stayed in the main living area, there was always a chance they could find me. So I chose another place. The secret room inside my bedroom. It was a small, hidden room I’d had built during renovations, a space I had never told Jessica about. It was no bigger than a walk-in closet, but for a shrunken me, it would be a perfect safe house. The door was controlled by an app on my phone. I had no fear of her finding it, and even if she did, she could never open it. As a final preparation, I had driven ten miles out into the wilderness and used my system to shrink a large plot of fertile soil. With that and my seeds, I could grow my own vegetables and be completely self-sufficient. I also shrank a few small trees and brought them back with me. Within a day, all my orders arrived. There was now only one day left until the storm. I had everything delivered to our old, abandoned family home in the countryside. The village had been deserted for years. The house was now piled high with furniture, appliances, food, and all sorts of other supplies. When no one was around, I used the Shrink System to shrink everything down and pack it into a large suitcase I had prepared. At the last moment, I hesitated, then shrank the little house itself and brought it with me. It was old, but with a little work, it would be a cozy home. Late that night, I drove back to the city and moved everything into the secret room. Jessica was so giddy with her own preparations that she hadn’t even noticed my comings and goings. The secret room was already equipped with an air filtration system, so I wouldn’t have to worry about oxygen. I left five large bottles of mineral water unshrunk, pouring them into a small basin to serve as my future water source. I installed lights that I could also control with my phone. After a full night of careful arrangement, the secret room had been transformed into a miniature farm. The chirping of the tiny chicks was barely audible as they pecked for insects in a small patch of grass. Just beyond the farm stood my little house, complete with every modern convenience. Now, finally, I could rest. I was ready for the storm. 4 During the last half-day of peace, Jessica went over to Leo’s apartment again. His family didn’t seem to like her much, but she didn’t care, making a beeline for his room as usual. I’d overheard Leo’s mother complaining to the other women in the building more than once. “That girl from across the hall has no shame. She’s a grown woman, and she’s always running into my son’s room. So improper.” One of the neighbors had joked, “Looks like she’s got a crush on your son! You might be getting a daughter-in-law soon!” Leo’s mother had scoffed. “Please! You don’t know? She couldn’t even get into college. She’s in her twenties with no real job, just mooching off her sister all day. A poor girl like that wants to marry my son? No way! My Leo is tall, handsome, and has a good job. She’s not even in his league.” I had heard it all and said nothing. There was one hour left. I called Jessica. “Hello? Kathreen, what’s up?” “Something came up at work,” I said, my voice flat. “I’m working overtime tonight, so I won’t be back.” She hesitated for a second, but offered no warning about the impending storm. “Okay, I’ll eat by myself then. I’m hanging up.” Hah. I knew she wouldn’t tell me to be safe. My call was just a ruse anyway, to make her think I wasn’t home. Using my phone, I opened the secret door, slipped inside, and sealed it behind me. Then, I used the Shrink System one last time. This time, the target wasn’t an object. It was me. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and then my perspective shifted dramatically. The once-cramped secret room now felt like a vast, open world. I was willing to take this risk because of something I had observed in my past life. After the rains stopped, everything I had enlarged with the Amplify System had miraculously returned to its original size. I gambled that the Shrink System would work the same way—that it would deactivate when the apocalypse ended. Looking at my plot of land, my trees, my chicks, and my little house, a profound sense of peace filled me. I was finally free from the storm. While Jessica was out, I had installed hidden cameras in the apartment and the hallway outside, all linked to my phone. I could watch everything. For good measure, I even put one outside Leo’s door. The cameras were top-of-the-line, with crystal-clear images and audio. With everything in place, I tucked my phone into my pocket, shouldered a tiny hoe, and began to till my land.

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A text from the real estate agent lit up my phone in the dead of night: “Annie, can you give me your fiancé’s number? I missed my period this month, and I’m starting to get scared.” I glanced at the message, then at my fiancé, Tomer, sleeping like the dead beside me. “You managed to get pregnant but not his phone number? You’re pathetic,” I typed back, my thumb jabbing the screen. Then, with a surge of fury, I kicked him clean out of the bed. 1 I woke up in the middle of the night, my throat parched. As I reached for a glass of water, my phone buzzed with a notification. Who would be texting me this late? I wondered, picking it up. To my surprise, it was Amber, the real estate agent I’d been in contact with recently. “Annie, can you give me your fiancé’s number? I missed my period this month, and I’m starting to get scared.” For a moment, the words didn’t register. I rubbed my eyes, reading it again. And then it hit me like a ton of bricks. My fiancé’s mistress was knocking on my digital door. I looked over at Tomer, who was snoring peacefully, oblivious. In my mind, I was already tearing him limb from limb. “You managed to get pregnant but not his phone number? You’re pathetic,” I typed, gritting my teeth as I sent it. Then, I swung my leg out and shoved him hard. He tumbled out of bed with a startled yelp. jolted from a deep sleep, Tomer scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide with alarm. “What’s wrong? Was that an earthquake? Babe, we have to go!” I just stared at him, my expression glacial. “Babe? What is it?” Seeing my face, he realized the danger wasn’t seismic. It was me. He sighed, cautiously climbing back onto the bed. “What happened? Did you have a nightmare? What unforgivable crime did I commit in your dreams this time?” He tried to pull me into a hug, but I pushed him away. “Don’t touch me,” I said, my voice cold. “Stay right there. I have some questions for you.” Tomer, utterly confused, retreated to the corner of the bed, looking like a kicked puppy. It was a look I knew well, the one he used when he wanted comfort. The thought that this same man, this man who could look so pitifully innocent, would betray me with another woman… Honestly, before today, the possibility had never even crossed my mind. I took a deep breath, about to demand how he and Amber had gotten together, when my phone buzzed again. It was her. Amber: “Annie, I know it’s hard to accept that your fiancé cheated on you. I get why you’re trying to put me down.” “But you need to face reality. Cutting me down with words won’t help you. You can’t keep a man who doesn’t want to be kept. Besides, I’m not trying to cause trouble. I just think the father has a right to know about his child.” “Are you so afraid of him finding out because you know you can’t compete with me?” I’d lived for over two decades and had never encountered someone so utterly shameless. For a second, I was too stunned to speak. Instead, I tossed the phone at Tomer. “Your baby mama’s looking for you. You’d think after knocking someone up, you’d at least get their contact info. Now she’s using me as a messenger.” Tomer, who had assumed my rage was dream-induced, was completely blindsided by the phone hitting his lap and the words “baby mama” hitting his ears. He gave a weak laugh. “Annie, what are you talking about?” He picked up the phone and started reading. As the meaning of the texts sank in, his eyes went wide. “This is slander!” he yelled, jumping up. “It’s defamation! Who is this? I’m going to sue her.” “She missed her period? Maybe she has a hormone imbalance or some kind of illness! How does that automatically mean she’s pregnant?” “Wait, even if she is pregnant, what does that have to do with me? I don’t even know this person!” He looked up at me, his face a mask of wounded innocence. “Annie… do you have another boyfriend?” My first instinct was to scream. The nerve of this man, trying to pin his own mess on me! But then I thought about it. For the past two months, Tomer had been on a business trip with my dad. He’d only gotten back yesterday. He genuinely didn’t know Amber. So why would she claim to be pregnant with my fiancé’s child? Seeing my silence, Tomer’s act grew more dramatic. He looked ready to burst into tears. “You really do have another man on the side, don’t you? You cruel, heartless woman! I’m telling your parents! We’re about to get married, and you’re cheating on me!” He actually pulled out his phone and started scrolling for my mom’s number. I lunged, clamping my hand over his. “Don’t you dare!” “I have to! You have another man! I’m heartbroken! Your parents need to know about this!” He struggled against my grip but didn’t actually hit dial, just stared at me with wide, pleading eyes. I sighed, my anger giving way to confusion. “Something isn’t right here.” I took my phone back and explained the situation to Tomer. We were planning to buy a new house for our wedding, so I’d spent the last two months visiting sales galleries all over the city. Amber was the agent I’d dealt with the most. Our interactions had always been pleasant, though recently, whenever I’d tried to schedule a viewing, she’d made excuses or passed me off to another agent. When her text came in tonight, I hadn’t stopped to think. I’d just assumed she meant Tomer. With that in mind, I sent Amber another message: “Are you sure you have the right person? Do you know who I am? Do you know who my fiancé is?” Her reply was instantaneous. Amber: “Annie Davis. You can’t be hoping I made a mistake. Of course I know who your fiancé is.” “If you don’t believe me, I’ll send you a picture of us. Tomer himself told me I’m way more interesting than you.” A photo appeared on my screen. In it, Amber was pressed tightly against a handsome man. He was grinning from ear to ear, his arms wrapped securely around her waist. But the man in the photo wasn’t Tomer. It was someone we both knew, though. It was Tomer’s cousin, Aidan. That’s when I remembered. When I first started house hunting, Tomer was away on that business trip, so he’d asked his cousin to go with me. But I was picky. It was our first home, after all. After two viewings, Aidan lost his patience. In front of the sales staff, he’d griped about how high-maintenance I was, how I was making a simple task difficult and wasting everyone’s time. I’d bitten my tongue for Tomer’s sake, but I complained to him about it later. After that, Tomer never asked his cousin to accompany me again. I never imagined that in just those two visits, he and Amber had… connected. On my phone, two minutes after sending the photo, Amber unsent it. I didn’t even have time to take a screenshot. “See? I told you it wasn’t me,” Tomer said, a note of triumph in his voice now that he’d seen the picture. I shot him a withering glare. “Right, it’s not you. But it looks like she’s about to become your cousin’s new wife.” Tomer’s brow furrowed. “What new wife? My cousin is married!” 2 He was right. Aidan had gotten married a year ago. He had a wife. And he was sleeping with Amber. A wave of disgust washed over me. I was about to call Aidan and give him a piece of my mind, but Tomer stopped me. “What? Are you going to cover for your cousin?” I asked, my eyes narrowing. Tomer shook his head. “Of course not. But if you call him now, he’ll just deny everything. He’ll probably even flip it around and accuse you of trying to stir up trouble between us.” His assessment told me he knew his cousin’s character all too well. “So what do you suggest we do? Just pretend we don’t know?” I said, feeling deflated. A wicked grin spread across Tomer’s face. “No way. The other woman has come directly to you, the fiancée, to pick a fight. It’s only natural for you to go raise a little hell, isn’t it?” His words made my eyes light up. He was right. Amber had provoked me in the middle of the night. It was perfectly normal for me to be furious. I ignored the stream of taunting messages still coming from Amber, turned off my phone, and went back to sleep. The next morning, Tomer left early for work. I slept in, then took my time getting ready before driving to the sales gallery where Amber worked. She saw me the moment I walked in. A smug smile played on her lips as she watched me storm towards her. Another agent, seeing my thunderous expression, approached me. “Ma’am, is there something I can help you with?” I pointed a trembling finger at Amber, who was standing a short distance away, still smirking. “I’m about to get married,” I announced, my voice loud enough for the entire showroom to hear. “And your employee, Amber, seduced my fiancé! She’s pregnant with his child! Does your company just let its staff destroy people’s families like this?” My voice echoed through the large space. The handful of potential buyers browsing the models all turned to stare. They followed my finger to Amber. I had to hand it to her; anyone bold enough to provoke the fiancée directly had nerves of steel. Faced with the judgmental stares of everyone in the room, her expression didn’t waver. That smug smile never left her face. Amber walked towards me, her smile unwavering. “Honey, if your fiancé did something wrong, you should take it up with him. Why come after me?” “You don’t actually think it’s all the other woman’s fault when a man cheats, do you? You’re a woman yourself. Has it ever occurred to you that the real problem is your fiancé?” Her smile grew brighter as she closed the distance between us. Her shamelessness almost threw me off balance. But I’m no fool, and I wasn’t about to let her deflect the blame with a few well-chosen words. It was clear, however, that some of the onlookers were being swayed. A young woman nearby whispered, “She has a point. Every time a guy cheats, the wife comes and attacks the mistress while the jerk gets to hide. Why not deal with your own man instead of making trouble for another woman?” Hearing this, Amber’s colleagues seemed to gain a bit of confidence. One of them even approached me with a placating smile. “Miss, if your fiancé really did wrong you, perhaps you should talk to him? We’re all women here, why make things hard for each other? At the end of the day, this is all about a man.” More people started chiming in, and my face grew darker by the second. 3 I never thought that I, the victim, would be labeled as some pathetic woman obsessed with a man. As more people took her side, Amber’s confidence swelled. She placed a hand on her stomach and gave me a triumphant smirk. “Honey, I helped you see your man for the cheater he is. You should be thanking me, not causing a scene. You’re being so ungrateful.” I could feel her deliberately trying to provoke me, hoping for an explosive reaction. It was obvious she was an expert at manipulating a situation and shifting the focus. Seeing her increasingly smug expression, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I stepped forward and slapped her hard across the face. “A homewrecker is a homewrecker. Did someone teach you to build a monument to your own virtue after sleeping with another woman’s man?” After the slap, I saw a flash of triumph in her eyes, though her expression immediately crumpled into one of pain and sorrow. She clutched her cheek, her voice choked with emotion. “This world is so cruel to women. It takes two people to make a mistake, but you only come after me.” With that, she transformed into the perfect victim. The other customers and staff immediately rushed to her side, forming a protective circle around her. I frowned, a sudden realization dawning on me. This woman had been pushing me to confront my fiancé from the very beginning. Her goal was to make me fight with the man, so she could swoop in and pick up the pieces. “It does take two,” I said, my own eyes welling up with tears as I put on a performance of my own. “How do you know I haven’t confronted my fiancé? He denies ever knowing you. But you’re the one who texted me in the middle of the night to taunt me. Shouldn’t I come to you?” I grabbed the arm of a girl standing nearby, showing her the messages Amber had sent me last night. “Look at this. Isn’t she deliberately trying to provoke me? My fiancé isn’t even in town. I called him, and he denies everything. My only option was to confront her directly.” “If this is true, I’m calling off the wedding,” I added, my voice cracking. The girl read the messages, and her face twisted in disgust as she looked at Amber. “You’re the one in the wrong, and instead of lying low, you jump out and provoke his fiancée? That’s disgusting.” She then read Amber’s first text aloud for everyone to hear: “‘Annie, can you give me your fiancé’s number? I missed my period this month, and I’m starting to get scared.’” “Wow, the passive-aggression is off the charts. If that were me, I’d be furious too.” The girl read a few more of the messages, and the expressions on the faces of the onlookers shifted. Those who had been standing by Amber awkwardly shuffled a few feet away. Amber hadn’t expected me to play the victim card. Her face paled slightly, but she quickly regained her composure. “I’m just trying to do what’s best for the child in my belly. And besides, I helped you see your fiancé’s true colors. Isn’t it better to find out he’s a scumbag now, before you’re actually married?” She had the audacity to look like she was doing me a favor. I almost laughed out loud. “Don’t you dare say you’re doing this ‘for my own good.’ I’m your client, for God’s sake. If you really cared about my well-being, you wouldn’t have slept with my fiancé. And now he’s calling you a liar and denying you even exist. Why don’t you clear that up for me?” My words seemed to surprise her. “Didn’t you see the picture I sent?” “I didn’t get a good look before you unsent it,” I said dismissively. “Since you claim you slept with my fiancé, show me some proof. After all, you didn’t even manage to get his number.” 4 My taunt seemed to trigger her competitive streak. She pulled out her phone. “I said I didn’t have his phone number. We’re connected on social media.” She opened a chat window. The profile name was ‘Tomer,’ and the avatar was his. I squinted, trying to get a better look, but she quickly snatched the phone back and placed a video call through the app. At that moment, I pulled out my own phone, my heart pounding. Was it possible Tomer had been lying to me? But a second later, the call connected, and the voice that came through the speaker was unmistakably Aidan’s. “Honey, your fiancée is here at my office, making a scene. What do I do? I’m so scared,” Amber cooed, her voice dripping with false fear while her eyes shot me a look of pure provocation. Aidan’s voice, full of disdain, crackled from the phone. “What’s there to be scared of? It’s not like she can eat you.” “But she said you won’t even acknowledge our relationship. You’re not just going to sleep with me and then dump me, are you?” Amber’s voice became even more saccharine, sending shivers down my spine. She completely ignored the disgusted looks from the people around her, her eyes fixed on me, eagerly awaiting my reaction. Aidan laughed on the other end. “Of course not. If Annie hadn’t come along first and gotten the family’s approval, I would have broken up with her a long time ago. Let her make a scene. If it gets too bad, you can quit, and I’ll support you.” Aidan’s voice was loud and clear. Everyone in the showroom heard it. Amber shot me a triumphant smirk. The onlookers now looked at me with pity. The girl who had read my texts aloud stepped forward and put a supportive hand on my arm. I feigned an expression of utter disbelief and lunged for Amber’s phone. She stepped back, still holding the phone to her ear. “What if your fiancée comes to find you?” “Let her,” Aidan’s voice boomed. “I doubt she has the guts. She’s lucky to be marrying into our family.” That was the last straw. Even Tomer wouldn’t dare say something so arrogant. Where did Aidan get the nerve to say I was lucky to be marrying into his family? I was about to open my mouth and let him have it, but Amber, satisfied, ended the call. She looked at me with a mixture of pity and contempt. “It seems you don’t have the courage to confront your fiancé after all, Ms. Davis. Everything you said before was just a lie.” “A woman needs to learn to love herself. If you just cling to a man, one day he’ll let you down. Consider this a lesson from me: men can’t be trusted.” “There’s no point in directing all your anger at me. It’s 2025. When will you learn that when a man cheats, it’s not just the other woman’s fault? Most of the blame lies with your own partner.” “It’s obvious you can’t handle your fiancé. So why not just recognize him for the scumbag he is and walk away?” Her little speech, incredibly, seemed to win over several people in the crowd again. I even saw someone recording a video. “Now that’s what I call a strong female lead,” the person recording muttered. “You guys, this sales agent is amazing. So calm, so clear-headed.” I was so furious I could only laugh. “Are you people insane? Now we’re glorifying homewreckers and calling them strong female leads?” “Getting involved with someone who’s already in a relationship is morally wrong. There’s no excuse. You can’t just say ‘it’s mostly the man’s fault’ and expect to get off scot-free.” “And don’t you stand there acting like you’re my savior. I don’t need you to rescue me.”

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The day Ethan Shaw booked a private island for his new girlfriend’s birthday was the day I picked up his medical report. Well, now. Cancer. I calmly asked the doctor just three questions. “How long does someone in his condition have?” “Would drinking and smoking every day make it worse, faster?” “And what if he’s also trying to have a baby, with…you know, zero restraint?” 1 Ethan Shaw was a very busy man. So busy that when his own medical reports were ready, it was me who went to collect them. At that exact moment, his secretary, Jenna, was on the phone with me. The girl was practically sobbing. “Claire, aren’t you going to do anything about Mr. Shaw?” I scanned the details of Ethan’s lab results, my voice placid as I dealt with her. “Jenna, does Mr. Shaw know how unprofessional you’re being?” “But… but you’re his wife!” she choked out. “He’s messing around out there, aren’t you even angry?” Angry? I leaned against a quiet corner of the hospital corridor and let out a cold, quiet laugh. If I got angry over little things like that, I would have died of rage a hundred times over by now. I tried to summon a little patience for the girl on the other end of the line. “It’s Miss Vance’s birthday today. What’s wrong with Ethan renting an island to make her happy? For your birthday, didn’t he buy you that limited-edition handbag?” The line went silent, then the call disconnected. Incredible, really. I’d never seen a mistress so shamelessly run to the wife, crying because she was losing a turf war with another mistress. What did she expect? That I was going to step in and play referee for them? I really don’t have the time. I smoothed a stray piece of hair from my forehead and returned my focus to the report in my hands. Well, now. Cancer. I rubbed my eyes hard, making sure I wasn’t mistaken. Then I sent a silent prayer of thanks to whatever deity was listening. One of them had finally answered. My dream was coming true. 2 I took Ethan’s medical report to see my old college friend, David, who’s a doctor. We met privately in a quiet café, tucked away in a corner booth. I kept my head down, my expression a careful mask of melancholy and gravity. “David, I haven’t dared to tell him yet,” I began, my voice low. “I’m afraid he won’t be able to handle it.” David’s face was equally grim. “A lot of families feel the same way, Claire. But ultimately, we believe it’s best for the patient to know the truth.” “No, you don’t understand.” I made a show of dabbing at my eyes, my voice thick with contrived emotion. “I just want him to be happy right now. I want him to stay happy for as long as he has left.” He looked at me with such sympathy, letting out a soft sigh. “Whatever you need to know, just ask. We go way back. If there’s anything I can do to help, I will.” I took a moment to compose myself, then slowly looked up. “How long does he have?” “It’s hard to say. Maybe six months. Maybe a year. With aggressive treatment, maybe longer.” Maybe longer? That wasn’t the answer I wanted. A flicker of annoyance passed through me, but I kept my voice steady. “Will smoking every day make it worse?” I asked, then quickly corrected myself. “I’m sorry, it’s just… he has so many business dinners. If smoking is going to affect his health, I’ll try to find a way to talk him out of it.” David looked helpless. “In his condition? He absolutely has to quit.” Quit smoking? Ethan? Not a chance. I lowered my gaze again, asking my final question. “And… should we be limiting our… marital life?” Fearing he wouldn’t understand, I added, “I still want to have a child with him. At least… at least then I’ll have a part of him with me, always.” That did it. David’s professional composure finally cracked. “Claire, you need to prepare yourself. A child… I’m afraid that’s something you can’t force.” And with that, a wave of profound relief washed over me. A train wreck like Ethan Shaw. Who in their right mind would want to have a child with him? All I wanted was a confirmation of his expiration date. 3 I made David promise to keep this confidential, and he agreed. I trust him. On the drive home, every breath of air I took felt sweet. I found the divorce papers I kept in my nightstand drawer. I had once planned on using them to make a clean break, to walk away with what I could. Not anymore. I fed the papers into the shredder, the machine’s grinding a symphony to my ears. For the days to come, all I had to do was wait. Ethan would never give up his cigarettes, and he’d never give up his women. The only question was whose bed he would finally die in. I poured myself a glass of expensive red wine and put on some soft jazz. Then, I drew the curtains of my five-thousand-square-foot penthouse overlooking the river and savored the pure, unadulterated joy of the moment. I have been married to Ethan for seven years. I have never, not once, been as happy as I am today. My only fear now was some unforeseen complication that might prevent me from smoothly inheriting his entire estate. I was tempted to immediately call up the most expensive young escort in the city to come share this perfect night with me. 4 The next time I heard from Jenna was a month later. Ethan had fired her. Because his new flame, Sienna, didn’t like her. Jenna was hysterical on the phone. “Why? Who the hell does she think she is?” I moved through my yoga poses, listening to her rant. “She’s just some D-list influencer! What’s so special about her? Her plastic surgery face isn’t even as pretty as mine! What does Ethan even see in her?” I stared straight ahead, holding a perfect warrior II, a small smile on my face. “I don’t know what he sees in her, Jenna, but I know he’s not seeing you anymore.” “It’s not fair!” “You’re an idiot,” I said, my voice sharp. “That condo he gave you in the West End is worth five million. You could sell it tomorrow if you dropped the price by a few hundred thousand. You’re never going to be Mrs. Shaw, and you’re never going to have Ethan’s love. You should have just taken the money and disappeared quietly.” Jenna whimpered, sounding like she had more to say. I had no interest in hearing it. “Or, you could wait for me to file a motion to reclaim it as marital property. Then you’d be left with nothing at all. Your choice.” Silence. Then a click. She wasn’t that difficult to handle. And she’d been around the longest, I recalled. Four, maybe five years. Of all Ethan’s women, Jenna had always been the most docile. She knew what she wanted and never dreamed of trying to usurp my position. I didn’t begrudge her the five million. See? Sometimes, I can be very generous. 5 During my afternoon break, my assistant forwarded me an email. Sienna Vance… I opened her file. D-list influencer? Hardly. She was a major beauty blogger with several blockbuster product collaborations. Tens of millions of followers across her platforms. She was the one Ethan rented the island for last month. They say influencers make good money; someone at her level must be loaded. So what was she doing with a married “old man” like Ethan? It couldn’t possibly be true love, could it? I rested my chin on my hand, scrolling idly through her photos. I couldn’t figure it out, and I didn’t want to waste the energy trying. Ethan wasn’t going to be around for much longer anyway. I just needed him to die, quickly and cleanly, while our marriage was still legally intact. Don’t transfer any major assets. Don’t cause me any trouble. As for spending a little pocket change to entertain his women? I couldn’t care less. Compared to Ethan’s net worth, it was a drop in the ocean. I’m very generous. But someone, it seemed, was determined to ruin my plans. Because Sienna Vance wanted to be the real Mrs. Shaw. 6 Ethan brought her to our home. Boldly. Shamelessly. I had just woken up from a beauty nap. I opened my bedroom door to find Sienna clicking across the marble floors of my penthouse in a pair of stilettos, taking a tour. She seemed to adore the place. The decor, the furniture, the art, and of course, the panoramic river view from the floor-to-ceiling windows. She was completely captivated, suddenly calling out to Ethan. “Ethan, come look! You can actually see the gulls from here! Oh, I love it!” Ethan wrapped an arm around her slim waist, murmuring, “As long as you love it. That’s all that matters.” “So when can I move in?” “Soon. Very soon.” They kissed, oblivious to my presence, and Ethan’s hand was already sliding up under her shirt. I really didn’t want to interrupt. But. It was making my eyes hurt. And! I didn’t want them dirtying my house. I’ve grown accustomed to this place. I plan to enjoy it by myself, to entertain my own beautiful young things here. So, I cleared my throat, stopping them before they could proceed any further. They both turned. Ethan didn’t even bother to feign surprise, his hand still resting on Sienna’s waist. I tightened the belt of my silk robe and walked over to the armchair, sitting down gracefully. I picked up the cup of herbal tea my housekeeper had left for me, took a delicate sip, and said, “We have a guest? You should have told me. I would have prepared a proper welcome.” Sienna nestled against Ethan, poking him in the chest. Ethan cleared his throat. He walked over and sat on the sofa across from me. No preamble, no beating around the bush. “Claire,” he said, his voice flat. “Let’s get a divorce.” The water in my teacup trembled slightly, the flower petals dancing on the surface. “A divorce?” I repeated the word, my tone light, as if he’d just told a moderately amusing joke. If he’d asked me this a month ago, I might have just nodded. We would have let the lawyers handle the division of assets and the paperwork. But things were different now. “No,” I said simply. Before Ethan could react, Sienna stormed forward. She stood over me, glaring. “Why not? Why won’t you agree? Ethan doesn’t love you anymore! He loves me!” “Oh.” It was the only response she deserved. She didn’t understand. “We’ll make sure you’re taken care of,” she continued. “We’ll give you enough money so you can live comfortably for the rest of your life. Ethan said, for the sake of your seven years together, he won’t leave you in a bad position.” Is that so? It sounded less like a settlement and more like charity, like they were tossing a few coins to a beggar. What others give you can never be as reliable as what you own yourself. Even a kindergartener knows that. Seeing my lack of reaction, Sienna grew anxious. She turned to Ethan. “Ethan…” Ethan shifted, crossing his legs, his tone turning vaguely threatening. “If you agree to a divorce now, you’ll walk away with something. Like Sienna said, we won’t be unfair to you. But if you make this difficult, I’ll make sure you get nothing. Not a single cent.” “Oh.” I maintained my cool, detached expression. Sienna’s voice rose to a shriek. “Is that the only word you know how to say?” Of course not. I stood up, walked calmly around the sofa, and repeated, “I am not agreeing to a divorce.”

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For three years, I was the secret wife of Cole Pierce, Hollywood’s biggest star. And for three years, I was the most hated woman on the internet. He resented me. He resented our arranged marriage, a business deal that forced him onto the set of a reality dating show with Ava Sinclair—the girl he’d always loved—and pretend they were strangers. We were toxic, a slow poison we fed each other daily. It only stopped when I was diagnosed with terminal cancer. On my deathbed, I scrolled through my phone and saw it: Cole and Ava’s relationship was finally public. The whole world was celebrating. “It’s about time,” one of the top comments read. “That desperate parasite is finally out of the picture.” The next time I opened my eyes, I wasn’t in a hospital bed. I was back on the set of that godforsaken reality show, at the exact moment the director told us all to reveal our phone’s lock screen. The first time around, my screen showed a candid photo I had secretly taken of Cole. They crucified me for it online. This time, with a steady hand, I woke up my phone. “It’s nothing special,” I said. “Just the photo from my marriage certificate. To Cole Pierce.” You want your freedom, Cole? Fine. But first, you can pay for it by giving me the most spectacular, career-ending implosion the world has ever seen. 1 “Alright, everyone, let’s start with a little icebreaker to warm things up!” The director of Heartbeat Harbor, the reality dating show of the season, grinned as he raised a megaphone. “On the count of three, I want everyone to show us your phone’s lock screen. Let’s see who—or what—you’re all holding close to your hearts!” A ripple of knowing smiles went through the cast. Cole Pierce, the aloof, impossibly handsome movie star, stood with a practiced, cool distance. Beside him, Ava Sinclair, the current “it girl,” glanced at him with a blush painting her cheeks. They were the internet’s favorite couple, a match made in PR heaven. And then there was me, Claire. The background character. The one they shoehorned in, the industry plant everyone loved to hate. The last time I was here, in another life, this exact moment had been my public execution. The candid photo of Cole’s profile on my lock screen had made me a laughingstock. “Get that desperate stalker off the screen!” “Claire needs to stay a million miles away from our man!” Cole had shot me a look of pure disgust, his words a cold blade in the sudden silence. “Claire, have some self-respect.” One sentence, and I was condemned. Now, the director’s voice boomed again. “Okay, here we go! Three… two… one!” Ava, with a bashful dip of her head, turned her screen to the camera. It showed an adorable little ragdoll cat. Everyone knew Cole’s beloved cat was named Mochi. The livestream chat instantly exploded. omg I’m screaming!! It’s Mochi! This is proof! Ava is so sweet! Look at the way Cole’s looking at her, his whole face just softened! And it was true. A faint smile was playing on Cole’s lips. He pulled out his own phone. The screen showed the generic, default mountain landscape that came with the device. Classic Cole. Never giving anything away, always maintaining that untouchable brand. Finally, every camera, every pair of eyes in the room, swiveled to me. They were filled with judgment, with disdain, with the delicious anticipation of watching a train wreck. I met their gazes and calmly woke my phone. The screen lit up with a government-issued document, its header stark and official. It was a photo of a man and a woman, shot against a plain red background. The man’s handsome features were pulled into a tight, reluctant line. The woman beside him offered a gentle smile, but her eyes were utterly dead. It was my marriage certificate photo. Mine and Cole’s. The air in the studio froze. The director’s smile was cemented on his face. The color drained from Ava Sinclair’s cheeks, inch by painful inch. And Cole Pierce’s famously unreadable expression finally cracked. He whipped his head toward me, his eyes wide with utter shock. The livestream chat, after three seconds of stunned silence, went nuclear. ??????????? Is my screen frozen or am I having a stroke? Is that a MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE??? HAS to be photoshopped! That bitch Claire is insane, she’ll do anything for clout! Through the rising chaos, I heard Cole’s voice, squeezed through his clenched teeth. “Claire, what the hell have you done?” His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist in a blind spot from the cameras. His grip was tight enough to grind my bones together. I looked up at him, my smile as thin and sharp as ice. “You think the certificate is fake, Cole? Is the fact that we’re married fake, too?” I ripped my wrist from his grasp, stood, and held my phone up to the nearest camera, making sure the lens got a clear, steady shot. “Sorry, I almost forgot to introduce myself properly.” “I’m Claire. Cole Pierce’s legal wife.” “We’ve been married for three years.”

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