My brother was the best Fire Captain in the state. During a chemical plant explosion, he was trapped deep inside the inferno, covering the retreat of a rookie.
The entire structure groaned, threatening a secondary blast at any second. The Battalion Chief gave the final order: no one else goes in.
I knelt on the ground, sobbing, as I dialed my girlfriend’s number. My Ava.
She’s one of the top structural engineers in the country. Only her modeling, her analysis, could find the safest rescue path in the sliver of time we had left.
Ava’s voice on the phone was calm, resolute.
“Wait for me, Leo. I’m bringing my team and the equipment now. Keep the scene stable. Don’t let them give up.”
But as I stood guard at the police tape, locked in a standoff with the Chief, a text from her lit up my screen:
[An important academic conference just came up. You’ll have to find someone else for the rescue.]
I clutched my phone, kneeling in the muddy earth, listening to the muffled booms from within the blaze. I called her back, again and again.
On the 99th try, she finally picked up. The background was filled with the clinking of glasses and cheerful chatter.
My voice was a raw whisper. “Ava, my brother is dying. You’re the only one who can save him. Please, come back.”
A brief silence, then the line went dead.
The next second, a new post popped up in my feed, from her old college mentor.
It was a photo. Ava, beaming, laughing with several men in sharp suits.
The caption read: [A huge thank you to Dr. Ava Chen for her critical technical support, clearing the final hurdle for us to land the project.]
So, the mandatory conference… was helping her mentor secure a multi-million-dollar contract.
While my brother’s life hung by a thread, she chose another man’s future.
1
By the time I rushed the police tape again, the entire building had collapsed.
When they carried my brother’s body out, he was so blackened by smoke he was unrecognizable.
The rescue captain took off his helmet and just shook his head at me.
“No chance, son. Asphyxiation, then crushed by the debris. When we got to him, he was still shielding a rookie with his own body.”
My world imploded. My legs gave out, and I crumpled to the ground.
The firefighters from my brother’s unit came to help me up.
“Your brother is a hero, Leo! He saved all of us!”
Their eyes were filled with grief, with regret, but mostly, with a quiet, burning anger.
They knew, just as I did, that the one person who might have given my brother a fighting chance, Ava, was at a champagne toast, celebrating her victory.
The Chief took off his own jacket and draped it over my brother’s remains.
My heart felt like it was being carved out of my chest, but I tried calling Ava one last time. The number had been disconnected.
I couldn’t hold on any longer. I collapsed next to my brother’s body, sobbing, my trembling hands trying and failing to close his wide, staring eyes.
My tears fell onto the badge pinned to his chest.
My brother, Ryan, never took that badge off.
He said it was to remind himself that lives were on his shoulders.
Running on nothing but fumes, I escorted my brother to the morgue and personally saw to his cremation.
At the funeral, the Chief clapped my shoulder and made a promise.
“What your brother did… he’s being put in for the Medal of Valor.”
“As soon as the incident investigation is closed, we will hold a full honors memorial for him.”
The funeral had just ended when my phone rang. A new number. It was Ava. Her tone was clipped, impatient.
“I had to change my number, too many work calls. What’s wrong with you? Is this some kind of tantrum? You’re not even answering my texts?”
I couldn’t form a single word.
After scolding me for a few more seconds, she hung up in a huff.
I opened her last text, sent two days before:
[Marcus’s project is critical for my future. I’ll be back as soon as this is over. Tell your brother’s colleagues to figure something else out.]
But by then, my brother was already gone.
My already numb heart was pierced again. I opened her mentor’s social media feed.
In just three days, he’d posted half a dozen times.
From the group photo at the celebration dinner, to a brag about how Ava had dropped some “unimportant” personal matter to help him.
The latest post was a picture of the two of them at a cocktail party, bathed in low light, smiling into each other’s eyes.
A flood of comments from mutual friends poured in below.
[Dr. Chen is usually so reserved. Looks like you’re the only one who gets to see her smile, Marcus.]
[That’s what years of friendship will do.]
Every word was a searing brand on my soul.
It made sense, I guess. Ava and Marcus, they’d known each other for years, came up through the same program. To everyone else, they were the golden couple of the engineering world. If Marcus hadn’t gone overseas for his post-doc, I probably never would have had a chance.
It was only after Ryan died that I finally understood. If you don’t live in the same world as someone, you can never truly share their joys or their sorrows.
I sent Ava a single text message.
[Ava, we’re done.]
Then I blocked and deleted her from everything.
I placed my brother’s ashes in a small wooden urn and set it carefully in my bedroom.
I wanted to display all the medals and commendations Ryan had earned over the years next to him.
But I couldn’t find them.
I was tearing the apartment apart, frantic, when I ran into Ava and Marcus in the hallway.
“See, Ava? You’re a miracle worker,” Marcus was saying, holding a box. “I mention wanting to build an architectural model, and you find me the perfect metal materials, with real heft.”
“But these medals look pretty valuable. Are you sure it’s okay for me to melt them down?”
Ava gave him a playful little punch on the arm.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got your back. It’s just some honorary stuff. Not nearly as important as your work.”
I never dreamed she would take my brother’s medals—his honor—to win points with her mentor.
I stared at the box in her hands, my throat closing up.
Those medals were bought with every fire my brother walked into, with every life he snatched back from the jaws of death.
“Ava. Those are my brother’s medals. Give them back to me.” My voice was shaking uncontrollably as I advanced on them.
Ava shifted the box behind Marcus’s back, her brow furrowed.
“What are you yelling about? It’s just a few pieces of tin.”
Marcus jiggled the box, a smug grin on his face.
“Hey, it’s Leo. Isn’t your brother still on that rescue? Heard it’s looking pretty optimistic.”
“What’s with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Don’t be so cheap, it’s just a couple of old medals.”
His words made Ava’s eyes turn to ice.
“Leo, I can’t believe you. You’d even lie about something like that just to get me to come home early.”
“I’m not lying!” I roared.
My next-door neighbor opened her door, poking her head out to see the commotion.
“My brother is gone, Ava! You chose to help Marcus instead!”
“Gone?” Ava laughed, her voice dripping with contempt. “My friend at the fire department told me the rescue was a success. The man is out.”
Marcus fanned the flames from the side. “Ava, I told you he was just trying to manipulate you, trying to make you abandon the project. You didn’t believe me.”
“Good thing you stayed to help me, or you would’ve fallen right into his trap.”
“Getting this worked up over a few worthless medals. I bet he was planning to sell them for cash.”
“You’re a liar!” I lunged forward, trying to grab the box, but Ava stuck her foot out and tripped me.
I hit the ground hard. A sharp pain shot through my knee, but my eyes were fixed on that box.
Ryan’s Distinguished Service Cross, his Firefighter of the Year plaque, his Medal of Courage…
Behind every single one was a scar left by the flames.
And now, they were going to be melted down into a cold, lifeless architectural model.
I scrambled back to my feet and lunged again, clamping my hand around Marcus’s wrist.
“Give me the medals!”
He struggled, and the box fell, spilling the medals across the floor.
I reached for them, but he stomped his foot down hard on the back of my hand.
The ribbon of one of the medals snapped under the heel of his leather shoe.
With a yell of pure rage, I shoved him away and gathered the medals, clutching them to my chest.
Marcus stumbled to the ground, a flash of malice in his eyes before he looked up at Ava, his expression turning to one of hurt.
“Ava, it’s fine, if Leo doesn’t want to, we can forget it. He’s obviously just jealous that you were helping me.”
“My project is secured now. You don’t have to worry about me anymore. I’ll be fine on my own…”
Ava rushed to his side immediately, kicking me out of the way to help her beloved Marcus to his feet.
“Leo, Marcus and I are purely professional colleagues. Why do you always have to be so possessive and petty?”
The murmurs from the neighbors grew louder.
[That kid’s got a mean streak. What’s the big deal if his girlfriend helps an old friend?]
[Seriously, it’s just some medals. So dramatic.]
Marcus shot me a triumphant smirk over Ava’s shoulder. “Ava, let’s just go. We’ll find another way.”
Ava glared at me, finally moving her foot, but not before kicking one of the medals into the corner.
“Leo, this is your last warning. There is nothing going on between Marcus and me.”
“As for these medals, I’ll hold onto them for you. When you’ve cooled down and are ready to be reasonable, you can come and get them.”
With that, she took Marcus’s arm and turned to leave.
I ran back into my apartment and grabbed a utility knife from my desk, blocking their path.
My eyes were bloodshot as I stared at Marcus.
“Give me back my brother’s medals. Now.”
Ava was shocked by my action, but her shock quickly turned to fury.
“Put the knife down! Do you have any idea that Marcus has a severe anxiety disorder? You’re going to trigger him!”
“Are you really going to assault someone in front of all your neighbors?”
Amid the neighbors’ gasps, I lunged forward and pressed the blade against Marcus’s neck.
“Give them back, or I swear to God I’ll kill you.”
A thin red line appeared on his skin from the sharp edge.
Ava’s face went white.
“Leo, stop this, you’re insane. We’ll give them to you, just stop.”
Only then did I release my grip.
Ava anxiously checked Marcus’s neck, not sparing me a single glance.
Marcus looked at her, terrified. “Ava, I had no idea he was this hostile towards me.”
“Maybe I never should have come back and asked for your help. Ava, I think I should just go back overseas.”
“The pressure from this project has already given me an anxiety disorder, but I don’t want to be the reason your relationship with Leo is destroyed.”
Ava’s gaze flickered from the scratch on Marcus’s neck to me, and her expression was nothing but icy disappointment.
“Leo, you have disappointed me more than I can say,” she said, supporting Marcus by the arm.
“If you ever want to be with me again, you will get on your knees and apologize to Marcus. Right now.”
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The Mercedes was gone.
My heels clicked on the polished concrete of the garage, the sound echoing in the empty space where the G-Wagon should have been.
“Susan?” I called out, walking into the house. “Did you see where the Mercedes went?”
The housekeeper, Mrs. Evans, was lounging on my custom-made Italian leather sofa, shelling pistachios. The television blared a daytime talk show, and she didn’t bother to look away from the screen when I walked in. “My son took his girlfriend out for the day,” she said, her tone casual, as if she were talking about the weather. “It’s hard to get around without a car. You weren’t using it, so I told him to go ahead.”
I stared at her, at the discarded pistachio shells scattered on the floor around her. “You let your son take my car?”
“You have other cars,” she said, finally turning to look at me, her expression one of mild annoyance, as if I were the one being unreasonable. “And you hardly ever drive that one. Better to let Derek get some use out of it than let it just sit there collecting dust.” She tossed another shell onto the pile. “He’ll even put gas in it for you. See? He’s practically doing you a favor. Cars fall apart when you don’t drive them.”
My jaw tightened. “I want you to call your son. I want him to bring my car back. You have two hours.”
She sighed, a heavy, put-upon sound. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. They’re all the way downtown. It’s not convenient for them to come back now. Don’t be so stingy.”
I didn’t say another word. I turned, walked straight to my bedroom, closed the door, and dialed 911.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“Hello,” I said, my voice steady. “My name is Kate Holloway. I need to report a stolen vehicle.”
Less than half an hour later, a frantic pounding erupted on my bedroom door.
“Kate! Open this door right now! You get out here!” Mrs. Evans shrieked, her voice raw with fury.
“You have the guts to call the cops on my son, but not the guts to open this door? Get out here, you little bitch!”
1
This woman, Susan Evans, had become a tyrant in my own home. Her audacity was breathtaking.
I’d overlooked her earlier transgressions, chalking them up to cultural differences or a lack of professional boundaries. I had even tried to gently remind her of her role, to suggest that she refrain from commenting on my personal life.
She hadn’t listened. If anything, my polite requests had only emboldened her. She’d started treating my deference as weakness, my home as her own, and my life as a project she needed to manage. She began speaking to me not as an employer, but as a disapproving, overbearing mother-in-law I never asked for.
It started small. Expensive cheeses and bottles of wine disappearing from the fridge. Then came the constant, unsolicited advice. She’d sneer at my takeout containers, telling me I’d never find a husband if I didn’t learn to cook. She’d leave sinks full of dishes and patches of dusty floor for me to clean when I got home from a twelve-hour workday, clucking her tongue about my “laziness.”
The absurdity peaked last week. Her daughter was coming for a visit, and because my house is in a gated community a good forty-five minutes from the city, she demanded that I leave work early, pick her daughter up from the train station, and stop at the gourmet market for fresh lobster on the way home. “Cindy just loves lobster,” she’d said, “and I’m going to make her my special bisque.”
Even my own health routines became her property. I’d ask her to prepare my morning collagen drink, and she’d make two—one for me, and one for herself. Mine would be the plain powder dissolved in water. Hers would be a concoction brimming with organic berries, manuka honey, and goji powder from my pantry. When I asked why mine was so spartan, she’d replied, with no hint of shame, “You only asked for the collagen. You didn’t say to add anything else.”
The final straw before the car had been the truffle oil. A friend had brought me an incredibly rare, expensive bottle of white truffle oil back from a trip to Italy. I came home one day to find her complaining of a stomach ache. The bottle of oil, nearly full the day before, was almost empty. She didn’t apologize. She blamed me. “You shouldn’t keep things that are so rich in the house. It’s not good for people.”
And now this. Handing the keys to my $150,000 vehicle to her son so he could impress his girlfriend. I’d only noticed because the garage door was left wide open when I pulled in tonight, a gaping invitation to any opportunist in the neighborhood. The moment I saw the empty space, I knew she was behind it.
Forget the sheer entitlement—think of the liability. If her son, Derek, got into an accident, if he hurt someone, I was the registered owner. I would be the one sued. If he couldn’t pay, the financial and legal fallout would land squarely on me.
I had tried to be reasonable. I had planned to just demand the car back and let it go. But her attitude when I walked in—lounging on my sofa like she owned the place, the floor littered with her mess—ignited a cold fury in me. A housekeeper, a professional, should at the very least stand up when her employer gets home. She should ask if I’ve eaten, if I need anything.
Instead, she’d just gestured vaguely towards the kitchen with a pistachio-filled hand. “Dinner’s in the fridge. You can heat it up yourself.”
A glance into the kitchen confirmed my suspicions. The sink was piled high with dirty dishes, and the trashcan overflowed with the carcasses of a roasted chicken and empty oyster shells. She’d hosted her son for a feast in my home before sending him off in my car.
I wasn’t hungry anymore. I went to my room, took out my phone, and made the call.
“Yes, 911? I need to report a stolen car. The GPS tracker shows it’s currently near the waterfront district in the next city over.” My voice was calm, almost detached. “That’s right. It was taken from my home. Without my knowledge or permission.”
Thirty minutes later, the banging began.
2
“Kate, did you call the police?” Susan Evans screamed through the door. “Derek just called me. The police have him pulled over!”
The pounding intensified. “I know you’re in there, Kate! Stop hiding and come out here and face me! You coward!”
I took a deep breath, walked to the door, and opened it. Susan’s face was a mask of crimson rage. “Are you out of your mind? I told you he was just borrowing it! I said he’d put gas in it! What is wrong with you?”
She advanced on me, stabbing a finger in my direction. “He was just taking his girlfriend for a drive! Is that a crime? You have so many cars, what does it matter if he borrows one? Does it take a pound of your precious flesh?”
Her voice rose to a fever pitch. “I have worked my fingers to the bone in this house! I’ve earned a little consideration! And you call the police over something this small? Now my son is being held by the police in another city! You’re humiliating him! If his girlfriend breaks up with him over this, will you take responsibility for that?”
I leaned against the doorframe, my arms crossed. “Susan, I gave you a chance. I asked you, politely, to have your son bring the car back, and I would have forgotten the whole thing. Do you remember what you told me?”
“Do you have any idea the kind of risk I’m exposed to when your son is driving my car?” I continued, my voice low and even. “If he hits someone and can’t pay for the damages, I’m the one who has to pay for everything.”
“So what?” she spat. “You’re rich! I work for you! Shouldn’t you help us out? It’s just a car! It’s not like he wrecked it! He was going to buy you gas! Do you have to be so cruel? I see what this is. You rich people are all the same. You can’t stand to see working-class people have a single nice thing.”
As she was winding up for another tirade, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She snatched it out, glanced at the screen, and jabbed the answer button, putting it on speaker.
A man’s voice, shrill and panicked, crackled through the tiny speaker. The faint wail of a siren whined in the background.
“Mom, what the hell is taking so long? These pigs have me boxed in, and they’re about to impound the car! You need to get her to call this off! Right now!”
There was a pause, then: “My girlfriend is right here watching all of this! This is a total fucking disaster! If she dumps me over this, it’s on you! Do you want me to be alone forever?”
A deeper, calmer voice interrupted from the other end. “Sir, who are you calling pigs?”
Derek’s voice exploded from the phone. “I’m calling you a pig! What are you gonna do about it, you fucking asshole?” He was practically screaming now. “Are you blind? This is a goddamn G-Wagon! I’ll have your badge for this! I’ll have all your fucking jobs!”
Hearing the escalating chaos, Susan shoved the phone toward my face.
“This is your fault! None of this would be happening if you hadn’t called them! You tell them to let him go! Retract your statement right now!”
“No.”
I looked her dead in the eye. “You had your son steal my car, and you think you’re the victim here? Let him spend a night in a holding cell. Maybe he’ll learn something.” I took a breath. “And you? Don’t bother coming in tomorrow. You’re fired.”
For a split second, she just stared. Then, her face contorted, and she lunged. The sharp crack of her hand across my cheek echoed in the hallway.
“You worthless bitch!” she screamed, her voice guttural. “You want to ruin my son? I’ll kill you!”
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My dad is a tech mogul. My mom is an heiress.
Together, they’re the Sterlings, a name you’ve probably seen in headlines.
And me? I was just a straight-A student, plain and simple.
Everyone says a good girl’s biggest weakness is a bad boy.
So when Liam Ryder crooked a finger in my direction, I fell right in.
I skipped class with him, got into fights with him, raced cars with him. I even deleted my applications to the Ivy Leagues and applied to the same community college he was going to.
On graduation day, he stood beaming in front of the whole class, declaring victory.
“See? Told you six months ago. Good girls are the easiest challenge there is.”
I looked down at the acceptance letter from NYU in my hands, and I smiled, too.
My mom always said that with my family and my grades, my future was destined to be blindingly bright.
So I figured, if I was going to cause a little trouble, I’d better get it out of my system early.
1
I got back from the state academic decathlon to the sound of chatter spilling out of my homeroom.
“Ugh, the mouse is back from another competition. I bet the principal gives her another damn award at the Monday assembly.”
“I’m so sick of it. It’s always her, showing off. Can’t stand the sight of her.”
“Seriously. That whole holier-than-thou act is disgusting. What can she even do besides ace every test?”
“She can be born. Got the right parents, didn’t she? Hahaha…”
My name is Claire Sterling. To my face, my classmates called me Claire. Behind my back, they called me “the mouse.”
I leaned against the cool cinderblock wall in the hallway, waiting for the noise to die down. Just as I thought it was safe, my hand on the doorknob, I heard my name again.
“Hey, who do you guys think a girl like Claire Sterling, a total bore, would even be into?”
“What, you interested?” someone jeered.
The guy laughed, a sly, mean edge to his voice.
“Come on, wouldn’t you love to see the ice queen finally melt? I refuse to believe that if Claire Sterling actually got a boyfriend, she’d still be the perfect, untouchable saint the teachers are always gushing about.”
“You’re not wrong. A good girl like her has probably never even held a guy’s hand. She wouldn’t go for someone sweet. It’d have to be someone with experience, someone who comes on strong. You know… like Liam Ryder?”
“Oh my god. The delinquent and the valedictorian. That’s straight out of a novel.”
The name Liam Ryder traced a line over my heart, leaving a tingling numbness in its wake.
A long silence followed. Just when I thought the topic was over, Liam’s low voice drifted through the crack in the door.
“Get lost. Girls like that are boring. I’d rather date a block of wood.”
The room erupted in jeers.
“Come on, Liam! Do it for all of us! You’ve gotta be the one!”
“Yeah, man, if you can get Claire Sterling to fall for you, we’ll all chip in and get you a gift on graduation day. Whatever you want.”
Liam laughed, a lazy, confident sound.
“Alright. But a simple bet is no fun. Let’s make it interesting. If I can get her to go to community college with me, you guys can buy me that new carbon fiber helmet I’ve been eyeing.”
Someone gasped.
“No way. That’s impossible. Claire’s a shoo-in for the Ivy League. No matter how much she likes you, she’d never throw away her future for a guy.”
Liam just chuckled again, sure of himself.
“You guys just get the gift ready. And watch.”
Everyone thought it was an impossible bet.
Until I started skipping class, street racing, and even getting into fights right alongside Liam.
Whatever Liam asked, I never said no.
I earned a new nickname. They started calling me “the puppy.”
A loyal little lap dog, trailing at Liam Ryder’s heels.
2
My parents’ status meant my life had to be a meticulously curated performance, one that could withstand the scrutiny of a magnifying glass.
I had to be brilliant, but not so brilliant that people would whisper about my family pulling strings. I couldn’t be too quiet, or they’d call me the family’s great disappointment.
My mother gave me the strategy: just be the perfect good girl who only knows how to get A’s.
So, from my first day of school, wherever I went, I was number one.
The first time I really saw Liam Ryder was at the freshman orientation assembly. He was so ridiculously good-looking that they’d made an exception and put him on stage as a student speaker.
Nobody expected him to toss the prepared speech aside and lean into the microphone.
“I’m Liam Ryder,” he’d said, his voice echoing through the auditorium. “If you’ve got a problem with that, find me after school.”
From that day on, he was the school’s resident troublemaker, with a disciplinary record a mile long.
I’d seen him once, decked out in a leather jacket, his long legs encased in tight black jeans as he swung one of them over a motorcycle and roared away.
Sharp. Dangerous. Beautiful.
I was jealous of every girl who had ever ridden on the back of that bike. They’d wrap their arms around his lean waist, shouting with joy into the wind as they sped off into a world of freedom.
That evening, during last period study hall, I flipped through a calculus textbook to distract myself. I didn’t dare look up. I could feel Liam’s eyes on me, and they hadn’t moved for half the class.
I knew he was about to make his move. The bet was on.
When the final bell rang, I deliberately told my driver, Andrew, that he could go home without me. I had to give Liam his chance.
A few minutes later, the roar of an engine grew closer. Liam cornered me in a narrow alleyway behind the gym, like a predator trapping its prey.
“Be my girl.”
He tilted his chin up, his eyes intense.
“You only have one answer: yes.”
His impossibly handsome lips were spouting the cheesiest lines I’d ever heard. If I wasn’t so captivated by his face, I might have laughed out loud.
He moved closer, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks.
My mom always said a girl should be demure.
I planned on playing hard to get, to draw it out for a few rounds.
But I quickly discovered that his patience was shockingly thin.
The very next day, I saw him tearing out of the school parking lot with a girl in a micro-mini skirt perched on the back of his bike, her arms wrapped tightly around him.
That night, I tossed and turned in my bed, a pang of regret twisting in my stomach.
Maybe… maybe I should have been more direct? Bolder?
Suddenly, my phone rang, shattering the silence. It was him. His voice was a low, rough pant, like a brush scraping back and forth across my heart.
“…Claire… hah… Claire…”
“Come be with me. Be my girlfriend.”
Clutching my bedsheets, I nodded silently into the phone.
3
My first time on the back of Liam’s motorcycle was on an afternoon we skipped school.
It was my first time ever cutting class, but even more thrilling was the feeling of the wind rushing past my face.
At first, I only dared to cling to the hem of his jacket.
He must have felt how tense I was. At an intersection, he deliberately gunned the engine, and I slammed into his back. His hand, large and warm, covered mine and guided it to his waist.
Beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, I could feel the hard ridges of his abs.
It was a very nice feeling.
I suddenly understood why our teachers were so adamant about us not dating.
It really does mess with your studies.
I was so busy reliving that sensation during my English exam that I completely missed an audio question. I still got first place, though.
On Friday night, the principal called me in to discuss the upcoming decathlon. He had to step out for an emergency, so he told me to head back to class.
As I stood at the classroom door, I heard my name again.
It was Mark, the class president, leading the charge.
“What’s up, Liam? You’re losing your touch. The mouse is dating you and her grades haven’t dropped one bit. Guess she doesn’t care about you that much, huh?”
Mark was number two in our class, and number two in our grade.
There’s nothing a teenage boy hates more than a challenge to his pride.
Liam let out a cold laugh.
“Just you wait. She’s so into me, she’ll do anything I say. Next month’s exams? I guarantee you, she’ll slip up.”
Mark was practically vibrating with excitement. Three years. He’d been number two for three years. Was this finally his chance to take the top spot?
During the next break, Liam found me. He leaned against my desk, a hint of a pout in his voice that was almost like a spoiled complaint.
“Every time we have a test, you’re ranked so far ahead of me. It makes me feel like we’re not even in the same world.”
I rushed to reassure him.
“How can you say that? I’m with you now. We’re in the same world.”
“You really like me? Then prove it.”
He leaned in close, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth, deliberately missing their target. It was more like a cat’s scratch, leaving you itching for more.
I’d never seen any of those old Hong Kong gangster movies, but I felt like the phrase “young and dangerous” fit him perfectly.
He was intoxicating.
On the last exam of the midterms—physics—I turned in a blank paper.
Liam was leaning against the wall outside the testing center, waiting for me.
I ran out, practically skipping, eager to show off.
“Well? I didn’t write a single word.”
A satisfied smile spread across his face, a smile warmer than the spring breeze and brighter than the stars. His beautiful face filled my vision as he leaned in and pressed a firm, rewarding kiss to my lips.
I savored it for a moment. A fair trade.
After that midterm, I was still ranked number one in our grade.
The math and physics exams had been unusually difficult, and scores were low across the board. Even with a zero in physics, my near-perfect score in math put me on top.
Mark, a six-foot-tall varsity basketball player, burst into tears right there in the hallway.
Afterward, Liam was furious, his teeth clenched. He gripped my chin, his voice low and tight.
“You played me.”
I just blinked at him, an innocent smile on my face.
“What are you talking about? It was just a coincidence.”
We were arguing on the side of the road when a car horn blared behind us. Liam glanced back and reluctantly pushed me and the bike out of the way.
From my seat on the motorcycle, I looked over and saw a Maybach. The license plate seemed familiar.
“Claire?”
A guy in a perfectly tailored suit stepped out of the car, calling my name uncertainly.
I looked up. Of course it was him.
Ethan Hayes was my oldest friend. We’d gone to private school together since we were kids, before I transferred to a public high school.
Ethan walked closer, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. He didn’t say anything, but a sly, knowing smile played on his lips. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, revealing a matching, custom-made vest, and slid his hands into his pockets.
“Doing well?” he asked.
“Well enough,” I replied.
The conversation was brief, but he shot a long, meaningful look at Liam before getting back in his car and driving away.
Ethan was just… so much more mature.
Compared to his polished, sophisticated presence, Liam suddenly looked young, almost clumsy.
In a strange way, I was grateful to Ethan.
I had fallen for Liam’s siege too quickly. Aside from the times he was actively trying to distract me from my studies, he didn’t pay much attention to me, often taking that devastatingly handsome face of his and flirting with anyone who looked his way.
Ethan’s appearance was the first time Liam had ever felt a sense of crisis.
Because Ethan was a type of man he could never surpass, never beat.
4
For the first time, he turned down the bombshell with a chest that entered the room before she did.
And I, for the first time in my life, was challenged to a fight.
The bombshell, dressed head-to-toe in leopard print, cornered me at the school gate. Behind her stood five cronies, their hair dyed a rainbow of six different colors.
“So you’re the little bookworm who won’t let go of Liam?”
“You don’t actually think he’s serious about you, do you?”
“He’s just having fun with you. Once the novelty wears off, you’ll be nothing. I suggest you go back to being a nerd and stop trying to steal my man.”
I found the whole thing fascinating. I watched, amused, as she and her little gang tried to intimidate me.
Her long, acrylic nail poked me in the forehead.
“You dare steal my man? Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Tonight, after school, the parking lot across the street. Bring as many people as you can. We’ll see who’s left standing.”
She spun on her heel and strutted away, the picture of cool confidence.
I pulled out my phone and dialed 911, giving them an anonymous tip about a potential public disturbance.
That night, Liam showed up at my door, looking frantic, his eyes blazing with fury.
“Claire, was it you? Did you call the cops?”
He grabbed my shoulders and shook me, demanding answers on behalf of another woman.
I slowly brought my hands up, wrapping them around his neck, my fingers playing lightly around his Adam’s apple.
“Liam, do you remember whose boyfriend you are?”
His expression soured.
“What, you think you can control me?”
“Let me tell you something. Even if you are my girlfriend, you don’t get to meddle in my business.”
I flicked my finger hard against his throat. He yelped in pain, letting go of me and stumbling back, clutching his neck.
I smiled at him sweetly.
“Think about it carefully before you answer.”
He stared at me, surprised. Something was different, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
He hadn’t understood one simple thing.
He wanted to conquer a girl, win a bet, claim a prize. The key to all of it was me.
I was the one who could walk away at any moment and leave him with nothing.
5
Liam didn’t even realize it was happening, but he started spending more and more time with me.
I never asked anything of him, yet he began to proactively check in, telling me where he was going.
And for every step he took closer, my grade on the next test would drop by five points.
In the hallways, his friends would give him discreet thumbs-ups, whispering, “Liam, you’re the man!”
Mark, the class president, started treating him like a king, buying him sodas and snacks every few days.
Fueled by their admiration, he redoubled his efforts, becoming even more attached.
And then, it was the day to submit our college choices.
My SAT scores were solid. I could have my pick of any top-tier university.
The cursor blinked on the college application portal. I was waiting for someone.
A light rain began to fall as night settled in. Liam climbed through my open window, completely soaked, rainwater dripping from his hair onto my white carpet.
The sight of him, so vulnerable and tragically beautiful, was a stark contrast to his usual swagger. It was enough to soften anyone’s heart.
He glanced at my computer screen, and his eyes instantly reddened.
“I heard you did really well on your finals… Where are you going to apply?”
I dabbed at his wet hair with a towel, answering casually, “Probably somewhere in New York.”
He suddenly pulled me into a fierce hug, his voice tight.
“I don’t want to be without you. Don’t go to New York. Let’s go to the same school, okay?”
My hand froze. I looked at this boy, who was suddenly showing me such weakness.
He really, really wanted that new helmet.
If my cousin, who was hopelessly addicted to K-dramas, were here, she would have been screaming like a banshee. “Someone who truly loves you wants you to be better! They don’t drag you down to hell with them!”
But for me, seeing his need so clearly just meant it was time to negotiate my payment.
With his arms still wrapped around me, Liam used the mouse to delete every single one of my Ivy League choices, replacing them with the local community college he was applying to.
The moment he clicked “submit,” he let out a long, satisfied sigh.
Since I had paid his price, it was time for me to collect my reward.
I slid my hand under his shirt, slowly moving it upward.
His eyes shot open. He looked around nervously, sputtering, “…Let’s get a room.”
“No one’s home…”
I silenced his protests with a kiss.
Who wanted to go to some small, dirty motel room?
My room was warm and spacious, my bed soft and strong. This was where I would enjoy my prize.
After that night, we didn’t speak again. Not until the first round of acceptance letters came out, and the school called us back to campus.
The classroom, now without me, was as boisterous as ever.
A crowd had formed around Liam, everyone talking at once.
“So, how’s it feel, man? You put up with that good girl for a whole semester. You must be so ready to be done with her!”
“No kidding. If it wasn’t for the bet, you think our boy Liam would’ve put himself through that?”
“So what’s next? Are you gonna dump the mouse? I call dibs on a front-row seat. I can’t wait to see her pathetic, tear-streaked face, hahaha…”
One by one, they presented their gifts to Liam. He accepted them all, grinning from ear to ear.
The entire class was celebrating, genuinely celebrating the fact that one of their classmates, because of a stupid bet, had just thrown her entire future away.
I turned and looked down into the school’s main courtyard. The principal was walking toward the entrance, greeting a reporter from the local news station.
I covered my face with my hand and laughed.
Oh, Liam. I’m so sorry, but the party’s over.
6
When I first transferred to this public high school, I genuinely wanted to get along with everyone. After all, I’d understood the importance of networking from a very young age.
But I quickly realized it wasn’t going to work.
Problems that I could solve with a single glance, they would ask the teacher to explain over and over again. I was actually very patient. I had simpler ways of solving them, methods that were easier to understand than the teacher’s. I waited for someone, anyone, to ask me.
But they would just glance at my perfect test paper and mutter disdainfully.
“So she got them all right. What’s the big deal?”
I thought maybe I wasn’t being friendly enough. Sharing is a basic social courtesy. So I brought in some imported chocolates my uncle had given me and passed them around to my classmates.
They raved about them.
“Whoa, you can tell these are imported. They’re amazing!”
“I looked it up online. A box like this costs hundreds of dollars. Claire must have brought in like, seven or eight boxes, right?”
I smiled, thinking I was finally making a connection.
But then someone threw one of the empty boxes on the floor. Our class lost points during the daily cleanliness inspection, and our homeroom teacher flew into a rage.
Every finger in the room pointed at me.
“It was Claire. She brought the chocolates. Her family has a little money and she doesn’t know how to act.”
“Yeah, so what if they’re imported? Does she have to show them off at school?”
After class, Mrs. Davison, my homeroom teacher, called me into her office and, in front of all the other teachers, chewed me out.
“I know your family is influential, Claire, but as your teacher, it is my duty to educate you, and I’m not afraid of you running home and telling your parents!”
“From now on, do not bring your rich-girl attitude to this school. This is a place for learning, not a place for you to make friends!”
In that moment, I finally understood what my father had been trying to teach me.
Private school and public school were two entirely different ecosystems. The rules I had learned before no longer applied.
I abandoned any hope of making friends. I stopped holding back, stopped hiding my abilities.
I locked down the number one rank in our grade, leaving second place dozens of points behind.
I started representing the school in academic competitions, competitions our school had never even qualified for before.
The teachers and the principal treated me like a precious treasure, their faces beaming whenever they saw me.
Meanwhile, my classmates’ resentment only grew. It was as if their own mediocrity was somehow my fault.
They started hiding my textbooks, tearing up my assignments, stealing my chair.
When I was looking for my things, they would trip me as a “joke,” and the whole class would erupt in laughter.
“Oh, careful there. That’s the little princess of Sterling Tech. Wouldn’t want her big-shot CEO daddy to come after a little guy like me, would we?”
They hated me, but they were too afraid to do anything serious. Just petty pranks and cruel jokes that Mrs. Davison always chose to ignore.
Gossip is poison to those at the top.
The first person who tormented me faced no consequences, so the others slowly grew bolder.
That was the first time I truly understood why, of the seven deadly sins, one of them was something as seemingly insignificant as envy.
Envy makes people ugly.
7
I pushed open the classroom door, and the room fell instantly silent.
Everyone had a strange expression on their face. Liam was so nervous he started to stammer.
“Wh-when did you get here? You were so quiet.”
I feigned confusion, pulling an earbud out of my ear.
“What did you say? I couldn’t hear you.”
The rest of them let out a collective sigh of relief.
Just then, a student from another class ran in, breathless with news.
“Hey! A reporter from the local news is here!”
“They said they’re just getting some footage from each class. Mrs. Davison told us to look enthusiastic when they come in.”
The reporter and her cameraman came into our classroom like they owned the place.
“Alright everyone, no need to be nervous. I’ll just ask a few questions, and whoever I point to can just give a simple answer.”
Everyone nodded obediently.
The first person they interviewed was Mark, the class president. He’d done well on his finals and had gotten into a good university in California. He confidently shared his reflections on the college entrance exams and offered some words of encouragement to future students. Then, he looked over at me, his eyes glinting with malice.
“The princess of Sterling Tech is in our class, too. Why don’t we let her say a few words?”
Someone behind me gave me a hard shove, pushing me directly into the reporter’s surprised line of sight.
The camera swung around to focus on me.
“Young lady, how did you do on your exams this year? What universities did you apply to?”
Dozens of pairs of eyes stared at me, dripping with ill will. I looked at the microphone and the camera lens, and suddenly, I felt the urge to put on a show.
I adopted a look of distress, glancing nervously toward Liam, as if begging for help.
He just shot me a single look before dropping his head, his expression cold and indifferent.
The grand play they had so carefully prepared was finally reaching its climax.
Even though I remained silent, my classmates were more than happy to help. They crowded around, speaking over each other into the camera.
“Our Claire used to be number one in the grade. With her scores, she could have gotten into Harvard or Yale, no problem. The principal poured all of our school’s resources into her. Whichever class she was in, that’s where they put the best teachers. But it’s such a shame…”
The reporter, sensing a story, pressed on.
“A shame? What’s a shame?”
“It’s a shame that ever since Claire got a boyfriend, she’s just gone completely downhill. It’s senior year, and she started skipping class. I heard some people from off-campus even tried to pick a fight with her. Tsk, tsk. If that were me, my dad would have broken my legs.”
“I also heard that to go to the same college as her boyfriend, she deleted all her applications to top universities and only applied to a community college!”
“Oh my god, is she crazy? How could she do that to her parents, her teachers, and this school?”
The reporter and cameraman exchanged uneasy glances. They had planned on giving the Sterling Tech heiress a glowing feature, but this… this was something they couldn’t possibly air. Their jobs would be on the line.
Noticing the reporter was about to signal for the camera to be cut, one of the students, who had already started a livestream on her phone, spoke up. By now, a crowd of online viewers had flooded in to watch the drama unfold.
[Is this for real? The Sterling heiress is really this wild?]
[She’s a disgrace. Wasting all the resources the school gave her. What a stupid, lovesick fool.]
[How did the Sterlings raise their kid? Our city only gets a handful of kids into the Ivy Leagues each year, and she just throws it away?]
[CEOs like them are too busy making money to pay attention to their own kids. Be glad she wasn’t using her family’s power to bully other students. You really expect her to care about school?]
Jessica, the head of the social committee, stepped forward. She put a comforting arm around me while angling her face perfectly for the livestream camera.
“Claire, maybe you should just take a gap year and reapply. Don’t waste such high scores.”
She leaned in, whispering so only I could hear, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Although… I hear reapplying is really stressful. Some students do even worse the second time around. But don’t you worry. When we’re all away at college, we’ll be sure to come back and visit you!”
Out of the camera’s view, she shot me a defiant, triumphant look.
I understood why Mark hated me; I was always one step ahead of him. But Jessica was an arts student. What beef did she have with me?
Just then, my eyes met Liam’s across the room. Jessica, noticing his gaze, tilted her head back, showing off the long, elegant line of her neck.
Ah. I see. So that’s what this was about.
🌟 Continue the story here
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In my last life, I fought stray dogs for scraps in an alley. I died there, too, with a restaurant owner’s boot against my temple for trying to steal a piece of bread.
The next time I opened my eyes, I was the long-lost daughter of a family so rich they smelled like money.
The girl who had taken my place—my place—looked at me with pure venom in her pretty eyes. “You’re just a stray they dragged in off the street,” she hissed. “Don’t even think about trying to steal Mom and Dad’s affection from me.”
No one had ever spoken to me from that close before. The sound of it, the feeling of her breath, was a gift. I broke into a wide, happy smile and told her the honest truth. “Your voice is so beautiful.”
Later, when a lie got me cornered and my new mother raised her hand to slap me, I didn’t flinch. I closed my eyes and breathed in,
mesmerized. “Your hand smells so nice, Mom,” I whispered. “Even the little breeze it makes smells like perfume.”
And when my new brother shoved his glass of milk at me—the milk he refused to drink—my heart swelled with a warmth I’d never known. So this is what it feels like to be cared for by a brother.
But eventually, everything changed. When they saw me later, beaten and kneeling on the ground, trembling in fear before a bully, my new family finally broke.
1
The last thing I knew was the toe of a boot connecting with my temple. The pain was a white-hot flash, then nothing.
A shame. I never got a single bite of that hot food.
You shouldn’t steal.
I groaned, my head throbbing like a drum, and blinked my eyes open.
I wasn’t in the alley anymore. I was in a car. A clean one.
Seeing me awake, the driver glanced in the rearview mirror, a sneer twisting his lips. I heard him mutter, “Kid from the sticks. First time in a real car and she just passes out.”
A jolt of pure terror shot through me. I instinctively scrambled back, pressing myself into the corner of the leather seat.
“Where—where are you taking me?” My voice was a useless, trembling thing.
My whole body shook. I’d had run-ins with men like this before, men who wanted to grab you. I’d fought them off, gotten beaten for it, and had to run for my life.
But when I spoke, the driver’s disdain vanished, replaced by a wide, unnerving smile.
“Don’t you worry, Miss. I’m your family’s driver. The moment Mrs. Ashworth heard they’d found you, she got the whole family together. They’re all waiting for you.”
The words made no sense, but then a flood of memories—memories that weren’t mine—rushed into my head, sharp and painful as needles.
I was the real daughter, the one who’d been stolen and swapped at birth.
The girl who had taken my place was the biological child of the couple who’d raised her. She had lived my life for over a decade. She had a beautiful name: Stella Ashworth.
She had parents who adored her, a brother who protected her.
She had the life of a princess, never wanting for anything.
Not like the girl whose body I now inhabited. Her name was a cruel joke: Grace. Thrown away, then found by a family that used her as a workhorse.
This girl, Grace, had never been to a single day of school in her life. For as long as she could remember, she’d never had a full meal. She cut grass for the pigs, washed clothes for a family that wasn’t hers, and spent every other waking moment doing back-breaking farm labor.
She was sun-darkened and painfully thin, a girl folded in on herself with shame, who never spoke.
When she learned the truth—that she was the long-lost daughter of a wealthy family—the shock and excitement of getting into this car had triggered a fatal heart condition. She had closed her eyes and never opened them again.
The realization hit me, and tears of guilt streamed down my face.
I’m so sorry. I don’t know how I got here.
She was supposed to have this. She was seconds away from having the life she deserved.
I huddled in the corner, my hand clamped over my mouth to stifle my sobs. I was just a pathetic little stray who’d been kicked to death over a piece of stolen food.
I didn’t know how to get out of this body, but if there was any chance the real Grace could come back, maybe… maybe I could just have a few full meals before I had to leave.
2
The car glided to a stop. I stumbled out, dazed.
Before me stood a house so enormous it looked like it had swallowed the sun. Three figures were waiting on the porch. A beautiful girl stood in the middle, her eyes red-rimmed and glistening with tears.
As I crept closer, a boy, tall and angry-looking, wrapped his arm around her. “Don’t worry, Stella,” he said loudly, for my benefit. “No one in this house is going to hurt you.”
How nice, I thought. He seems like a good brother.
Then the boy—Caleb—turned his glare on me, his brow furrowing in disgust. “This can’t be my sister. She looks like some beggar they pulled off the street.”
A tremor went through me. I instinctively darted behind the woman standing beside him. For some reason, I felt a pull toward her. She must be the original Grace’s mother.
My lip trembled. I apologized again to the girl whose life I’d stolen.
Please, just let me call her Mom once.
“Mom…” I whispered.
The woman, Mrs. Ashworth, flinched and subtly shifted away, breaking our proximity. Her smile was tight and awkward. “You must be Grace,” she said, nodding stiffly. “Welcome home, dear.”
Hearing those words, “welcome home,” I couldn’t stop myself from nodding back, my eyes welling up with tears of gratitude.
It was real. I had a home.
Stella walked over, her soft, pale hand taking mine. Her smile was bright. “I guess that makes you my sister,” she said. “Welcome home, Grace.”
I managed a small, shy smile in return. She seemed nice, too.
As we all turned to go inside, Stella looked back at me, her round, almond-shaped eyes now hard as marbles. “A word of advice,” she whispered, her voice a sliver of ice. “Don’t get any ideas. You can’t win against me.”
I just stared at her perfect face, then dropped my gaze to the ground, ashamed.
“You’re so beautiful,” I said, my voice barely audible. “And your voice is so pretty.”
Stella froze, momentarily thrown. Then a cynical smirk crossed her lips. “Psycho,” she muttered, and walked away.
Inside, I didn’t know where to stand. The place was immaculate. The floors were so polished they reflected the lights like a mirror, making me feel even dirtier and more out of place.
“Grace, you arrived so suddenly, we haven’t had time to prepare a room for you,” Stella said, rubbing her eyes as if fighting back tears. Her voice was filled with guilt. “It’s all my fault. Please don’t blame Mom. It’s okay, you can take my room. I’ll sleep in the storage closet.”
Caleb’s face darkened. “Stella, don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped. “You’ve been pampered your whole life. You can’t sleep in a place like that.” He turned his disgusted gaze back to me. “You stink. You can stay in the storage room for a few nights until we figure things out.”
I nodded immediately, not daring to hesitate. “Okay. Thank you.”
Mrs. Ashworth had looked like she was about to say something, but seeing how compliant I was, she simply let it go.
They led me to a small room on the first floor.
Inside, there was a clean cot, a small nightstand with a lamp, and not much else. The air was a little musty, and the room was dark, but it was the single nicest place I had ever slept in my entire life.
I turned back to them and bowed deeply from the waist.
“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “Thank you so much.”
3
They all just stared at me.
Seeing their stunned silence, I worried my thanks hadn’t been enough. For a gift this great, for a roof over my head, I should be on my knees.
Without another thought, I dropped to the floor, my knees hitting the polished wood with a soft thud. I pressed my forehead to the ground in a gesture of ultimate gratitude.
This time, my cold, distant brother reacted. He sprang forward, almost instinctively, and hauled me to my feet. His brow was so deeply furrowed you could lose a coin in it.
“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. “Nobody asked you to do that.”
I rubbed my eyes, secretly cataloging their kindness in my heart.
That evening, the family gathered for dinner.
My stomach was aching with hunger. Before Mrs. Ashworth could even say a word, I had grabbed a dinner roll from the basket and was stuffing it into my mouth with my bare hands.
Caleb slammed his hand on the table. “Have you no manners?” he barked. “Use a fork, for God’s sake!”
I picked up the heavy silver fork, my hand clumsy, and tried to spear a piece of chicken. I’d never really used utensils before. I knew I must look hideous, mangling the food on my plate. After a few failed attempts, I reluctantly set the fork down.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, the words automatic.
“Please don’t make me leave.”
Mrs. Ashworth’s expression, which had been one of pure distaste, softened slightly. She let out a long, heavy sigh and placed a few pieces of roasted potato on my plate herself.
“Don’t just eat bread,” she said, her voice strained. “Take whatever you want. Anna, could you please bring Grace a spoon?”
Stella jumped up. “I’ll get it!” she chirped, and ran to the kitchen.
But as she returned, she “tripped,” sending the spoon flying through the air. It hit me squarely in the cheek, and the momentum knocked my plate off the table, where it shattered on the floor.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Grace!” Stella cried, her eyes wide and bright, as if she were waiting for a specific reaction. “I was just in such a hurry! Are you okay?”
But I didn’t feel the sting on my face. All I could see was the food—the precious, perfect food—scattered across the floor among the porcelain shards. My heart broke. I dropped to my knees and began picking up the larger pieces of potato, shoving them into my mouth.
Tears of panic streamed down my face.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I sobbed. “I can still eat it. It’s clean.”
The floor was clean.
For years, the cleanest food I ever ate was the leftovers a restaurant owner would scrape into the trash. Most days, I ate from garbage cans. If I was lucky, I’d find a half-eaten sandwich. When the hunger got bad enough, I’d swallow my pride and fight the alley cats for the food kind strangers left out for them. I’d tried the kibble once or twice. It was crunchy, salty, and tasted like fish.
My desperation must have terrified Stella. The crocodile tears she’d prepared froze in her eyes. For the first time, she looked completely at a loss.
It was Mrs. Ashworth who finally broke the spell. She pulled me up from the floor, and as she lifted me, she seemed to startle at how light I was.
Stella and I were the same age, yet she was a head taller than me. I was a stunted, malnourished gargoyle, a living testament to a life of unimaginable hardship.
A flicker of pain crossed Mrs. Ashworth’s face before she suppressed it.
She took me to the sink and gently washed my hands. Her voice was softer now.
“From now on, don’t eat things off the floor. It’s not clean, and you’ll get a stomachache. You’ll rest at home for a few days, and then you can start school with your brother and sister.”
I was staring, mesmerized, at her face. But when I heard the word “school,” my whole world lit up.
I was going to learn how to read.
4
After a few days, I started to adjust.
One morning, Caleb scowled at the glass of milk in front of him. “Milk every single day. I’m going to puke.” He made a gagging motion.
I was walking past the table just then. Caleb’s eyes flicked toward me. A sly smile spread across his face. “Hey, Grace. Want some milk?”
He smirked. “You can have mine.”
I stopped, my heart pounding. “Really?” I asked, my voice filled with disbelief. “Thank you, Caleb!”
I beamed at him. “You’re so nice.”
Caleb blinked, taken aback. “I can’t tell if you’re for real or just crazy,” he muttered, shaking his head.
I just gave him a shy smile, fiddling with the hem of my shirt.
He pushed the tall, cold glass toward me.
I swallowed hard, picked it up, and drank it all down in a few big gulps. It was sweet, with a creamy vanilla flavor. So this is what milk tasted like when it wasn’t expired.
I tapped my chest, feeling a burp coming on. Just then, Stella walked by and bumped into me, jarring the burp right out.
I looked at her with gratitude.
My brother was nice. My sister was nice, too.
Caleb was in tenth grade, while Stella and I were in eighth, in different classes.
The teacher told me to stand at the front of the room and introduce myself.
I hadn’t expected this. My throat went dry. I stood there, swallowing repeatedly, my mind a complete blank.
The teacher tapped her desk impatiently. “Come on, now. Don’t waste everyone’s time.”
Her sharp tone made me jump, and the words lodged even deeper in my throat.
A few students in the back started to snicker.
“Just say something! You shaking so hard you’re gonna wet yourself?”
“Is that even a girl? She’s built like a twig.”
“Look at her clothes. What a hick. Can’t even talk.”
The insults washed over me, and I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. I’d had a few comfortable days at the Ashworths’ house, and I’d almost forgotten. This was what my life was supposed to feel like.
“I’m sorr—”
Before I could finish my apology, the teacher waved her hand dismissively. “Never mind. We don’t have time for this. There are two empty seats in the back. One is next to our class president, Ethan. The other is next to… Ryder,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain as she gestured toward a boy with dyed-blond hair slouched in his seat. “Just find a spot and sit down so I can start the lesson.”
I scurried away from the front of the class, breathing a sigh of relief.
The class president. He must be a very good person.
5
I walked quickly to the back of the room and stood beside Ethan’s desk, waiting for him to let me into the empty seat by the window.
The other students watched me with malicious curiosity. Ethan, however, just smiled—a perfect, practiced smile—and graciously waved me in.
He was handsome, in a clean-cut, slender way. I felt my cheeks flush.
Once the class lost interest, I pulled out my brand-new textbook and ran my hand over the glossy cover again and again.
I’d never been to school. I could barely recognize a few letters. But I was too afraid to admit that, too afraid to disappoint my new family. I would just have to try my best to follow along.
Ten minutes into the lesson, the teacher started passing out a worksheet from the front row.
“Pop quiz. You have twenty minutes.”
My heart sank.
When the paper landed on my desk, I stared at it in horror. Aside from the numbers, I couldn’t understand a single word.
It was the longest, most excruciating twenty minutes of my life.
Before, I had been ashamed of my past, of being homeless, of eating garbage. But I had never felt a shame as profound and all-consuming as this: the shame of my own ignorance.
I didn’t know anything.
I wrote down a few random numbers and handed in my paper.
When the bell rang, I felt a desperate urge to cry. I needed to find Stella, to talk to someone.
I leaned toward Ethan. “Excuse me,” I whispered. “Can I get out, please?”
He didn’t move. His slender fingers turned the page of a book, his focus absolute.
“Hello? I need to get by.”
He still didn’t acknowledge me. It wasn’t that he couldn’t hear me. He was deliberately ignoring me.
I pressed my lips together and sank back into my seat.
The next class began. It didn’t take long for the teacher to grade the short quiz.
She stood at the front of the room, her face a thundercloud, and began reading out the scores from highest to lowest. My head sank lower and lower, my heart pounding in my chest.
Please don’t say my name… please don’t say my name…
Just as I thought I might be safe, the teacher’s voice boomed through the classroom.
“Grace! Stand up.”
I flinched and shakily got to my feet.
She slapped the blackboard with her pointer. “Nine percent! Class, our new student, Grace, has just set a new record low for this class, single-handedly dragging down our class average.”
“Let’s give her a round of applause.”
A smattering of clapping mixed with cruel laughter filled the room. I kept my head down, tears dripping silently onto my desk.
My chest felt tight, aching with a sour pain.
“I’m sorry…” I whispered.
“I’m so sorry.”
6
No one was listening.
The teacher made me stand for the rest of the period. I just stood by my chair, silent tears tracking paths down my dusty cheeks. Every now and then, a student would turn around to smirk at me, and I would duck my head even lower, digging my nails into my palms.
When the bell finally rang, I couldn’t wait to escape.
I couldn’t do this. I wasn’t meant for school. This place was terrifying. I didn’t want to come back.
“Hello,” I said to Ethan, my voice hoarse. “Can you please let me out?”
He ignored me again, turning to chat and laugh with the student next to him.
I wiped my tears. My only option was to try and climb over his desk. But as I moved, he shot out an arm, blocking me.
He looked at me, his face cold, his eyes filled with a familiar malice.
“You’ll get my books dirty.”
Without a word, I slowly got down on my knees. As Ethan watched with a smug, raised eyebrow, I crawled out from under his legs.
“Oh my god, look! She’s crawling through the class president’s legs!” someone shouted.
The classroom erupted in laughter. A few kids even came closer, laughing loudly right next to my ear.
It’s okay, I told myself. It’s okay.
This wasn’t new. When I was on the streets, kids my age used to throw rocks at me. When I couldn’t get away, they’d make me crawl between their legs. If they were in a good mood, they might even toss me a quarter.
Just as I scrambled to my feet, I looked up and saw Stella walking past the classroom door.
Our eyes met. I managed a weak, hopeful smile.
It’s my sister.
Stella’s eyes went wide. Then, she twisted her face away in disgust and hurried down the hall.
7
I hid in the bathroom until the final bell rang.
When I got home, I locked myself in my little room and took out my new books, trying to sound out the words one by one. But I was too stupid. Nothing made sense.
I was so consumed by my failure that I barely touched my food at dinner. Tears, like broken pearls, fell from my eyes and splashed into my bowl.
Stella glanced at me but said nothing, returning her attention to her meal.
Seeing me cry, Mrs. Ashworth grew impatient. “Did something happen at school? What is wrong with you? Say something. Crying isn’t going to solve anything.”
My shoulders shook. I felt completely helpless.
“I’m scared,” I sobbed. “I don’t know anything. The teacher yelled at me today. She said I was holding the whole class back. I’m so stupid. I shouldn’t be in school.”
“What are you talking about?” Mrs. Ashworth asked, confused. “School is where you go to learn. If you already knew everything, there would be no point in going.”
But I didn’t want to go back.
That night, my anxiety and misery manifested as a raging fever. My mind grew foggy. Acting on old instincts, I slid off the cot and lay on the cool floor, hoping it would bring the fever down.
Eventually, I lost consciousness.
When I opened my eyes again, I was in a hospital.
What happened?
A nurse came in to change my IV bag. Seeing I was awake, she quickly called the Ashworths.
A short while later, Mrs. Ashworth arrived.
She sat gracefully in the chair beside my bed, her gaze a mixture of scrutiny and a fleeting, quickly suppressed flicker of pain.
“You were burning up like that,” she said, her voice strained. “Why didn’t you call for someone?”
I stared at her face, and a wave of raw, inexplicable grief washed over me.
This was my mother.
When you were sick, a mother was supposed to be with you.
Tears welled up again, but this time they were silent. “I didn’t dare,” I whispered.
Mrs. Ashworth sighed. She reached out and pulled the blanket up a little higher around my shoulders. Her voice softened.
“Grace, you are my biological daughter. You’re allowed to be brave.”
I blinked at her through my wet lashes, my voice small. “Does that mean… you’ll care about me?”
She pressed her lips into a thin line, but after a moment, she gave a single, firm nod.
My eyes lit up. “And… do you like me?”
Mrs. Ashworth hesitated. Her gaze drifted over my small, sickly frame, and finally, she nodded again, slowly.
That’s good.
It felt like I had nothing left to wish for.
8
It was as if my body had stored up a decade of suffering, and it was all coming out at once. The fever kept returning. I was a pincushion of needles and a vessel for medicine.
In my clearer moments, I would stare at the textbooks, trying to decipher their meaning. But it was no use. I had to start with the alphabet.
During my hospital stay, Mr. Ashworth finally returned from a business trip abroad.
He came to see me with Mrs. Ashworth. The moment I saw him, my eyes filled with tears.
“Dad?” I asked, my voice choked with emotion. “Are you my dad?”
Mr. Ashworth’s stern, imposing face softened almost imperceptibly.
He nodded. And I broke into the biggest, happiest smile of my life.
“Dad. Mom.”
He hesitated for a moment, then reached out and placed his hand on top of my head. It was large and warm. The warmth of a father.
I pulled the covers up over my face and cried again, ashamed of my own weakness.
This was a stolen happiness. I knew I couldn’t ask for anything more.
After that, even Caleb came to visit. When he found out I was learning to read because I was illiterate, he stared at me for a long, silent moment.
I automatically smiled at him. “Brother, my life was really hard before. I never had a chance to learn. But I’m smart, I really am!”
I could see the shock in his eyes, and maybe a flash of discomfort. He left abruptly, but returned a while later with a stack of colorful picture books.
By the time I was discharged, a month had passed.
Our shared birthday was approaching, Stella’s and mine. Mrs. Ashworth decided I should continue resting at home until after the party.
On the day of the celebration, Stella was dressed in a breathtaking princess gown. Her hair, dark and glossy, fell in perfect, natural waves around her shoulders. She was the very picture of a fairy-tale princess.
I looked at her, and even though I knew I could never be as beautiful, my heart filled with joy for her.
Mrs. Ashworth had a dress for me, too, but I was so small and thin that it hung off my frame. The only small victory was that my time with the Ashworths had allowed my skin to grow paler, and the years of grime had finally washed away, revealing a subtle resemblance in my features to Mrs. Ashworth.
As was tradition, the house was filled with guests. The adults made small talk, and Caleb hung out with a group of boys his own age.
Stella, naturally, was the center of attention, surrounded by a crowd of admirers wishing her a happy birthday.
“Stella, who’s that?” one of the girls asked, nodding in my direction. “The maid’s daughter?”
Stella shot me a complicated look but didn’t answer.
I just smiled at them and retreated to a quiet corner to eat a slice of the sweet, wonderful cake.
A girl who was clearly older than us sidled up to me. She looked me up and down, a sly smile playing on her lips.
“My name’s Chloe,” she said. “You’re the real daughter, right?” She leaned in closer, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Aren’t you jealous? They only pay attention to Stella.”
I shook my head quickly. “Stella is lovely. Of course they love her.”
9
Chloe stared at me as if I were an idiot.
“This was all supposed to be yours,” she pressed. “How can you not hate her? She stole your parents.”
I felt a pang of discomfort. “Please don’t say that. Stella is my sister.”
Chloe looked genuinely speechless this time, as if she’d run out of ways to provoke me.
Across the room, Stella was opening her presents. Someone had given her a pair of beautiful ballet slippers. She put them on and, to the delight of the crowd, began to dance. She was graceful and light, twirling her way up the grand staircase to the second-floor landing. She finished with a deep, dramatic bow to the applauding guests below.
I clapped along with everyone else.
She’s so talented.
Unlike me. I had nothing. No skills, no dreams.
I decided to slip away to my little room.
As I passed the second floor, I saw Chloe appear behind Stella. She was clapping, but as she did, she gave Stella a subtle, deliberate push.
My blood ran cold. My body moved before my brain could process it.
My sister is in danger!
I lunged forward.
Stella fell backward, hard, right into my arms. The impact sent us both tumbling down the grand staircase.
The room filled with gasps and screams.
By the time Mrs. Ashworth pushed through the crowd, Stella and I were in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.
She rushed over and immediately gathered Stella into her arms, checking her from head to toe for injuries. Then, her eyes landed on me.
I was about to say I was okay when the sharp sting of a slap exploded across my face.
“Grace!” Mrs. Ashworth shrieked, her voice filled with venom. “After all this time pretending, you finally showed your true colors! You couldn’t stand to see Stella happy, could you?”
“I told you again and again that Stella will always be my daughter! I raised her for sixteen years! You’ve only been here a few months! I can’t believe I actually thought you were a sweet, innocent girl. How could you push your sister down the stairs?!”
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I’m the CEO’s doctor friend.
The very first day I get back from my residency in Germany, his girlfriend points a tear-streaked face at me and wails:
“I thought you were different from all those other alpha-male CEOs, but I can’t believe you sponsored a charity case, too. Are you trying to replace me with her?”
I just stand there, completely baffled.
I look over at my friend, the CEO in question.
“Dude,” I say. “You sponsored me? Where’s the money? Because I sure as hell never saw a dime.”
1
Before Leo could get a word in, the girl he’d put on a pedestal for years, Clara Monroe, steamrolled right on.
“It all makes sense now! All those trips you took overseas every month, you said they were for business. You were going to see her!”
“And now she’s back. So what’s next, Leo? Are you going to bring your little charity case home, hide behind some flimsy excuse of pity, and then start sneaking around with her right under my nose?”
Her voice wasn’t quiet. The usual rush of travelers in the arrivals hall at JFK slowed, then stopped. A small crowd was forming, their curious gazes bouncing between the three of us like a tennis match.
Clara, however, seemed completely oblivious, lost in her own tragic performance, tears streaming down her cheeks like something out of an old movie.
My toes were threatening to permanently cramp from the sheer awkwardness of it all.
What in the world was happening?
All I did was finish my residency and ask my oldest friend, Leo Sterling, to pick me up from the airport.
How did that morph into me being his sponsored student from the wrong side of the tracks? And where did this whole plotline about moving into his house and having a secret affair come from?
Leo looked just as stunned as I felt. It took him a second to find his voice, his brow furrowing.
“Clara, what are you talking about? My monthly trips abroad were for work. You were with me on almost every single one of them. You know exactly what I was doing.”
“And this,” he said, gesturing toward me, “is Wren. Wren Miller. My friend the doctor, the one I told you about who was doing her residency in Germany. She’s finally back. She is not, and has never been, a ‘sponsored student.’”
Clara’s eyes raked over me, from my worn-out travel sweats to my messy bun. A fat, perfect tear rolled down her cheek. Her expression crumpled into one of profound heartbreak.
“Leo, darling,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “You don’t have to lie to protect my feelings. If she was really your doctor friend, how could she possibly be back from a German program so soon?”
I, the German-residency-survivor, felt that dig deep in my jet-lagged soul. Thank you for that.
I sighed, deciding to intervene. “Miss Monroe, I really did just graduate. I can show you my diploma if you’d like.”
I tried a small, reassuring smile. “And I have my own place. I have absolutely no plans to move in with Leo.”
Her face twisted as if I’d just slapped her. She stared at me in disbelief.
“You call him by his full name, so intimately. And he bought you a house? Of course, he did.” She let out a watery, bitter laugh. “True love really is fickle. And here I am, like a fool, still drowning in this fantasy.”
I felt my eyelid twitch.
Honey, what alternate reality are you writing in your head right now?
Leo ran a hand through his hair, looking exasperated. “Clara, just tell me. What will it take for you to believe that Wren is just my friend?”
Clara wiped a tear away, her demeanor shifting. Suddenly, she looked like she held all the cards. “In the novels, the CEO’s doctor friend is always on call. 24/7. No questions asked.” She crossed her arms. “Give me one week. Let me test her. If she passes, I’ll believe you.”
Leo’s frown deepened. He shot a hesitant look in my direction.
I shook my head. Vigorously. No. Absolutely not. Forget it. There was no way on God’s green earth I was going to be at anyone’s beck and call.
Leo knew me well enough to know that, but he also knew Clara. It was clear she wasn’t going to let this go.
After a long, tense moment, he squared his shoulders and walked over to me, ignoring my silent, murderous glare.
“Wren,” he started, his voice low. “I know this is insane. But I’m out of options here.”
He leaned in closer. “You know that limited edition SSC Tuatara in my garage? The one you drool over? It’s yours. And I’ll throw in the villa next door to mine. That way, if you do get a midnight call, it’s the shortest possible commute.”
He even had the audacity to try for a charming grin. “Besides, midnight here is only six p.m. in Berlin. You’re not over your jet lag yet anyway. It’s perfect, right?”
My eyes went wide. I stared at him, aghast.
“Leo Sterling, do you really think I’m that easily bought? Do you honestly believe that just because you’re dangling my dream car and a multi-million-dollar piece of real estate in my face, I would actually agree to this madness?”
I took a deep, dramatic breath.
“I’m telling you, right now, that I absolutely would.”
Leo just gave me a flat, unimpressed look. “Next time, just nod. You don’t need the whole soliloquy.”
2
With the deal struck, Leo quickly relayed the verdict to a triumphant Clara.
A moment later, when Leo was busy with the luggage, Clara sauntered over to me, her chin held high. She let out a cold little scoff.
“So, Wren. You played the pity card and got Leo to fund you for all these years. Good for you,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “But in the end, to make me happy, he still agreed to put you on a 24/7 leash. See? In his heart, I’m the one who matters. You can flap your little wings all you want, but a sparrow will never be a swan.”
I just pictured the keys to that Tuatara in my hand, and suddenly, even Clara’s pathetic provocations seemed almost charming.
I smiled sweetly and played along. “You’re absolutely right. You’re everything to him. What am I? Nothing.”
She preened, lifting her chin even higher. “At least you know your place.” With a final, dismissive glance, she turned and glided back to Leo’s side.
Watching them walk away, I couldn’t help but marvel.
That kid’s life was never boring, was it? It was like living in a constant primetime drama.
After explaining the bizarre situation to my parents, I moved into the villa next to Leo’s that very day. He had already arranged for someone to come and clean the place.
It was Maria, a woman who had been the Sterlings’ housekeeper for decades. She’d watched both me and Leo grow up.
When I saw her, I was struck by how tired she looked, her face etched with a deep weariness I’d never seen before.
“Maria, has work been that stressful these past few years?” I asked gently. “You look exhausted.”
She let out a long, heavy sigh. “Don’t even get me started. Ever since Miss Monroe moved in two years ago, I haven’t had a single good night’s sleep.”
She lowered her voice. “Soon after she got here, she started asking me if I had a daughter. Said she could be a potential childhood sweetheart of Mr. Sterling’s, and that threat needed to be ‘dealt with early.’ Then she insisted he had a hundred secret illnesses—insomnia, stomach problems, night blindness, claustrophobia… she gave me a whole list of demands.”
Maria shook her head, a flicker of anger in her tired eyes. “But I wasn’t the worst of it. The worst was Arthur, the butler. All because he didn’t announce that she was ‘the first woman Mr. Sterling had ever brought home’ the moment she walked through the door, she threw a fit and had him fired.”
It was like a dam had broken. Maria, who I’d only ever known as quiet and composed, poured out two years of accumulated misery, a torrent of stories about Clara’s relentless torment.
As I listened to her go on and on, a sinking feeling settled in my stomach. I suddenly felt that my decision to agree to this whole 24/7 charade for a sports car had been, perhaps, a little reckless.
It turns out, I was right. It was incredibly reckless.
It began the very first night, at three in the morning, with a call from Leo telling me to come over and treat a two-millimeter cut on Clara’s hand. From that moment on, my life descended into a special kind of hell.
In less than a week, I understood Maria’s exhaustion on a profound, spiritual level. When she came over to bring me dinner one evening, we just grabbed each other’s hands and stared into each other’s eyes, a silent, shared trauma passing between us.
I sent a text to Leo:
I can’t do this anymore. Your girlfriend is a professional chaos agent. I’m out. Lose my number.
After hitting send, I started packing. I was done with the villa, done with the drama. I was going home.
My phone buzzed relentlessly as I threw my clothes into a suitcase. I figured it was Leo, dangling another shiny object to try and make me stay.
But when I finally checked, the messages weren’t from Leo at all. They were from Clara.
Her tone was drenched in her usual melodrama:
Giving up after only a few days? And you had the nerve to claim you were his doctor friend. I see what you’re doing. You’re pretending to leave so Leo will chase after you. Let me tell you something: forget it. He’s never even going to see this text.
Oh, no. No, no, no. She couldn’t do that. That would make me look like I took the bribe and ran.
I gritted my teeth. Fine. One more night. I would wait for the inevitable midnight summons and tell Leo to his face that I was done.
Sure enough, at eleven p.m., my phone rang. I was being summoned.
After examining Clara’s self-diagnosed dark circles and prescribing a glass of warm milk before bed, I was ready to grab Leo and give him my resignation.
3
But before I could open my mouth, Clara cooed, “Leo, darling, could you go warm up my milk for me right now? I want to drink it and go straight to sleep.”
Without a second thought, Leo nodded and headed for the kitchen.
The moment he was gone, Clara’s sweet expression vanished, replaced by a cold sneer.
“Wren. I thought you were leaving. What happened? Realized Leo wasn’t going to chase you, so you decided to stick around like a bad smell? I’ve seen your little tricks a thousand times in the novels. It won’t work.”
A vein was starting to throb in my temple. I took a deep breath, trying for patience one last time.
“Miss Monroe, I really am Leo’s friend, just back from my residency in Germany. If you don’t believe me, look, I have pictures from my time there.”
I pulled out my phone and showed her a few photos.
Her face, however, only grew darker. She stared at my phone, then back at me, her eyes flashing with anger.
“What are you trying to prove with these pictures? That Leo cares about you? That he spent a lot of money on you? Let me tell you something. Even if you’ve been abroad, you will never, ever be on our level.”
With a flick of her wrist, she tossed a heavy, cream-colored invitation onto the coffee table in front of me, as if bestowing a great favor.
“Tomorrow is Leo’s birthday party. A lot of important people will be there. You should come and see for yourself. Then you’ll finally understand the difference between the clouds and the mud.”
I stared at her, utterly speechless.
Leo’s great love. She was certainly something out of a historical novel.
A very, very feudal one.
I had no intention of going to Leo’s birthday party. My plan was to tell him I quit and then disappear.
But the next day, as I was packing my last bag, Leo showed up at my door.
He looked exhausted. “Clara is insisting you come to the party tonight.”
“I know you’ve been through a lot this week,” he said, his voice laced with apology. “I’m sorry. Look, pick any three other cars from my garage. They’re yours.”
I didn’t stop packing. “This isn’t about the cars, Leo.”
“And the penthouse downtown. The one you love.” He added it so casually.
I dropped the suitcase.
“Deal.”
I dusted off my hands. “It’s not about the cars or the apartment, obviously. I’m just… really invested in making sure my buddy has a happy birthday.”
Leo’s face was a mask of disbelief. “Right. I’m sure you are.”
The party was at Leo’s villa. When I arrived, Clara was playing the perfect hostess, greeting guests with a radiant smile. For a moment, she actually looked the part of the idealized woman he’d made her out to be.
Most of the people there were from our circle, people we’d all grown up with. As soon as they saw me, they swarmed.
“Wren! When did you get back? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, are we even friends anymore?”
“You’re finally done with Germany! That’s amazing. So, where are you headed next? Any hospital would be lucky to have you.”
Before I could even answer, Clara stormed over, her face a thundercloud.
“Well, Wren, I have to hand it to you. I underestimated you. You’re quite the social butterfly, aren’t you? Barely here five minutes and you’ve already got a flock of men around you.”
Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Oh, I get it. You know Leo only loves me, so you’re using his party to find your next meal ticket, is that it?”
She turned to the group. “Gentlemen, don’t let this woman fool you. She may look polished on the outside, but she’s just a charity case that Leo sponsors.”
My friends exchanged confused glances, then completely ignored her and went right back to catching up with me.
Clara stomped her foot in frustration. But then, a cruel smile spread across her face.
“It doesn’t matter how many men you charm tonight, Wren,” she hissed. “When things go down, you’ll be the first one they run from.”
Her smile sent a shiver down my spine. That throbbing in my temple was back with a vengeance. I had a very bad feeling about what was coming next.
And sure enough, in the next second, Clara turned and threw herself, with spectacular drama, straight into the decorative fountain in the center of the foyer.
Just as Leo walked in from his study, finished with his work. He saw her, and his eyes widened as he rushed to pull her out.
Soaking wet, Clara collapsed into his arms, sobbing. “Leo, darling, it was Wren! She pushed me! You have to do something, you have to punish her!”
Leo’s brow furrowed as he looked at me. I immediately held up my hands. “I did not.”
Clara’s crying intensified, her voice taking on a martyred tone. “It’s fine. No one saw anything. If Wren-darling says she didn’t do it, then she didn’t. I suppose I must have just… thrown myself into the fountain.”
4
Her words hung in the air, and Leo’s frown deepened.
But before he could respond, someone else spoke up.
“What do you mean nobody saw?” one of our friends, Mark, called out from the crowd. “We all saw it. You absolutely did just throw yourself in. Why are you trying to frame Wren for it?”
“Yeah,” another friend chimed in. “Besides, there are security cameras everywhere in this place, right? Just pull the footage.”
Clara froze, her mouth slightly agape. This was clearly not how the scene was supposed to play out in her script.
She looked around at the crowd, utterly bewildered. “This is the part where the main characters have their moment. You’re all just the background. Why are you talking?”
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It was the second time the Donovans had sent me away. The first time, I was eleven. This time, I was eighteen.
The reason was the same: Sloane.
This time, it was because I’d slapped her for trying to snatch the worn-out rag doll I’d had for years. The first time… the reasons were more complicated.
On the day I left, my parents—our parents—were busy comforting Sloane, whose sobs echoed through the marble entryway. My brother, Ethan, stood in front of her like a bodyguard, his face a mask of fury directed at me.
The only thing I took with me was that doll. A gift from Carter Hayes, my betrothed, from the day I was first found and brought to this house.
Seven years later, they summoned me back for the second time.
The reason, once again, was Sloane. She had decided she was in love with my fiancé.
1
The moment I stepped into the grand, sun-drenched living room, Sloane dissolved into tears, her face a perfect portrait of tragedy.
“I love Carter,” she cried, her voice catching prettily. “I won’t have anyone but him.”
My brother, Ethan, fixed me with a look he usually reserved for criminals. “Sloane and Carter have always been close. Why do you have to be the one to ruin it?”
My mother and father, the Donovans, took a softer approach, their voices laced with practiced reason. “Sloane has been raised with a certain… delicacy, Chloe. Marrying into a family as influential as the Hayeses is what’s best for her, what she’s prepared for.”
My mother reached out, then let her hand fall. “Please, Chloe. Can’t you just let her have this?”
My hands felt clammy on the handle of my single suitcase. I looked at the four of them, a united front of familial concern, all of it aimed at protecting someone else.
“Excuse me,” I said, my voice quiet in the cavernous room. “Which room is mine?”
The four of them blinked, the flow of their drama momentarily dammed.
After a few seconds of silence, Ethan cleared his throat, a flicker of awkwardness in his eyes. “The housekeeper just cleared out one of the rooms on the second floor. I’ll… I’ll show you.”
I nodded and followed him up the sweeping staircase.
The suitcase was heavy, its wheels bumping on each step. Halfway up, he finally seemed to realize he should be carrying it, turning to take it from me with a gruff, reluctant motion.
I followed a step behind him, the old habit of politeness ingrained in me. “Thank you.”
Ethan’s shoulders tensed. He didn’t reply.
The room was an old storage space, hastily converted. The bed frame looked like a cast-off from the basement, and the mattress was still bare, waiting for linens that no one had remembered. For a family like the Donovans, this room was worse than what they gave the staff.
Ethan coughed lightly. “The third floor…”
“I know,” I cut him off gently. “It’s fine.”
The third floor had four bedrooms. Sloane had claimed the two best ones—with the best light and the best views—one for sleeping, and one for her million-dollar grand piano.
We stood in the dusty silence for a moment before Ethan finally broke. “Chloe, Grandpa set up this engagement for you. He left you a separate inheritance, a significant one. Sloane… she doesn’t have any of that. Can’t you just…”
“What did the Hayes family say?” I asked, cutting through his appeal.
“The Hayeses…” He hesitated. “This is a matter between our families. It’s an alliance. As long as we sort it out internally, we can present a united front to them later.”
So, this wasn’t Carter’s idea.
A small, secret breath of relief escaped me.
I was eleven when they found me and brought me to this house. I thought I was coming home to parents and a brother who had spent years searching for me. Instead, I found a family that was already complete, with a daughter named Sloane.
They told me that after I, the original Sloane Donovan, was lost at four years old, they’d adopted another girl to fill the void, to soothe their grief. They gave her my name. They had come to see her as their own. So when they found me, they gave me a new name: Chloe. The echo. The return.
Sloane, emboldened by their adoration, had thrown a tantrum and smashed up the princess bedroom they had prepared for me. She’d pointed a finger in my face and called me a charity case from the system, unfit to sleep in such a nice room. She’d cried and screamed that she needed an inspiring environment for her piano practice, and so the room became hers.
At the dinner table, she mocked me for eating too quietly, a habit I’d learned in the group home. She laughed, loud and unrestrained, at my clumsy attempts to cut a steak. When my parents offered a mild rebuke, she ran to the rooftop terrace and threatened to jump.
After that, my father’s only refrain was for me to “get along with Sloane” and “not to upset her.” My mother said nothing, but her eyes, so much like my own, followed me with a cold disappointment. The turmoil that rocked the Donovan household was always, somehow, my fault.
The first time I fought back against her, Ethan proposed sending me away to live with a distant relative in Blackwood Creek.
…
“Chloe.”
Ethan’s face was stern again, pulling me from the memory. “You didn’t grow up with Mom and Dad. In terms of education, of culture, of knowing your place… how can you possibly compare to Sloane? A family like the Hayeses… even if you managed to marry into it, you wouldn’t last.”
I looked at him calmly, at this man who shared my blood but had done nothing but belittle me since the moment we met.
My voice was cool, each word deliberate. “Carter is my fiancé. And I am not giving him to Sloane.”
2
“Chloe! I thought after all these years, you would have grown up, learned some sense. Why must you fight Sloane for Carter?”
Ethan’s anger was predictable. His eyes held a familiar glint of contempt. “I know what you’re thinking. You see the Hayes family name, the money. You think marrying Carter means you’ll be set for life, dripping in luxury.”
He took a step closer. “But you and Carter have no real connection. Nothing like him and Sloane. They grew up together. Why are you so selfishly clinging to this arrangement and making Sloane miserable?”
A dry laugh escaped my lips. “Ethan, you just listed all the reasons the Hayes engagement is so valuable. Why on earth would I give it away?” I stepped toward him, my eyes locked on his. “You’re so worried about Sloane’s pain. What about mine? And another thing—did you ever once stop to ask if I, your actual sister, even like Carter?”
He looked genuinely stunned, sputtering, “You don’t deserve…”
My gaze turned to ice. He stopped himself, a look of shamefaced anger crossing his face as he registered my mocking, knowing expression.
What a joke. We were both daughters of the Donovan family. But when it came to me, the only sentiment was that I didn’t deserve it.
I dropped my eyes, the dust motes dancing on the dark wood floor stinging them. I turned away sharply. “Don’t bother with the room. I’m heading back to campus this afternoon. I have an internship to focus on. I won’t be staying here.”
“Chloe!” he called out as I walked away. “You bullied Sloane in high school. You were the reason she fell into a depression and had to drop out for a semester. Don’t you feel any guilt for what you owe her?”
My feet froze on the top step. A hot, acidic sting filled my eyes.
Bullied her?
It didn’t matter what I said. They would always believe the daughter they had raised, the one they knew.
I walked down the stairs and into the living room. My mother was now fussing over Sloane, feeding her something from a small bowl. She looked up as I approached, her body tensing.
“Chloe, you’re not staying for dinner?”
I stood there, studying the familiar lines of her face, the curve of her brows that mirrored my own. A treacherous flicker of hope ignited in my chest.
“I have to get back to school,” I said. “Internship prep is starting.”
My mother hesitated, a wave of relief washing over her features, followed by something else—guilt, maybe. “About Sloane… well, never mind. You… be safe on the road.”
The silence stretched for a few seconds. I gave a small, self-mocking smile.
“…Okay.”
This house. Eight years ago, or today, it made no difference. I wasn’t welcome here.
Not even by my own mother.
I walked out of the Donovan mansion without a backward glance.
…
On the city bus, my phone buzzed. A text from Ethan.
Chloe, you have to pay back what you owe Sloane. It’s my duty as her brother to see that she gets justice, and my responsibility as your brother to teach you right from wrong.
I stared at the message, then powered my phone off.
Eight years ago, Sloane and her friends had made my life a living hell at school. They’d thrown my textbooks in the trash, cut my hair in the bathroom, put hand sanitizer in my water bottle. After school, they would corner me, tripping me, calling me names, their laughter echoing as I picked myself up off the pavement.
In a strange way, it was almost easier than the group home, with its constant hunger, the casual cruelty of the older kids, and the endless chores. Back then, I didn’t understand what it meant to be the true, lost daughter of the Donovans. All I knew was that my parents and my brother loved the beautiful, delicate Sloane. If I wanted to stay in this beautiful, delicate house, I had to get along with her.
I couldn’t go back to the system. I just couldn’t.
So I told myself to endure it. Just like before. Just endure it, and it will pass.
But Sloane didn’t want to share her home. She switched tactics. She started showing up with mysterious bruises, telling her friends I was hurting her. She paid a shady online clinic for a depression diagnosis and tearfully announced she had to drop out of school because of the trauma.
The rag doll from Carter was the final straw.
She’d ripped it from my hands, her face twisted with a viciousness I’d never seen before. “Why do you get to keep anything from him? You’re a pathetic little stray who should have stayed in the system! Why did you have to come back and try to steal my family?”
For the first time, I hit her. I fought back. For that one doll.
It was the only gift I had received since returning to the Donovans. My home, my name, my brother, my parents—they were all hers now. Why did she have to take this one small thing, too?
That night, Sloane presented my parents with edited security footage from a camera in the hall. It showed one thing, crystal clear: me, striking her.
Her carefully constructed narrative of being bullied, her fabricated depression—it all solidified with that video. I was the villain.
They sent me away to Blackwood Creek. And for eight lonely years, that doll, and the memory of a boy I’d met only once, were the only comforts I had.
3
It didn’t take long for Ethan to demonstrate his brotherly “responsibility.”
Over the next week, every single internship application I had submitted to companies in Port Sterling in my field was rejected.
I finally went to my faculty advisor, a kind man who suddenly couldn’t meet my eye.
“Chloe,” he stammered, shuffling papers on his desk. “Did you… have you upset someone important? Someone with your last name, perhaps?”
The words hit me like a bucket of ice water on that hot summer day.
I couldn’t believe it. To force my hand for Sloane, Ethan was willing to use the Donovan family’s influence to blacklist me. Without a relevant internship, I would fail a core requirement of my degree.
I wouldn’t be able to graduate.
Ethan had never, not once, shown me an ounce of mercy.
I wandered the campus in a daze for what felt like hours until a single name surfaced in my mind.
Carter Hayes.
The Donovans were powerful in Port Sterling, but they weren’t the only ones. The Hayes family was just as formidable, and Carter, as one of the heirs, was already working at the family corporation.
Over the years, our engagement had been a strange, disembodied thing. We weren’t close, but we exchanged polite phone calls on holidays and birthdays. Every time he called, my heart would leap with a nervous excitement, and I’d force myself to respond with a calm, measured grace.
He had no idea that a simple rag doll was enough to make a lonely girl think of him for eight years.
My palm was sweating as the phone rang. This was the first time I had ever asked anyone for help. And I was asking the one person I had secretly cherished a crush on.
After I explained my situation, Carter agreed without a moment’s hesitation.
“Don’t worry about it. Just bring your internship forms to HR tomorrow. I’ll let them know you’re coming. We happen to have an opening that’s a perfect fit for your major.”
A wave of relief washed over me, so potent it pushed back the tears that had been threatening to fall all day.
“Carter, thank you. Thank you so much.”
He laughed on the other end of the line, his usually formal tone softening into something warmer, almost intimate. “Chloe, relax. You can intern here for as long as you need. Besides… it’ll give us more time to get to know each other.”
4
After I finished my onboarding paperwork at Hayes Corp, I saw a text from Ethan, sent at some point during the day.
Chloe, if you insist on being stubborn, the consequences will only get worse. This is my final warning, as your brother.
I stared at the screen for a long, quiet moment, then blocked his number.
Though Carter and I worked in the same building, our paths rarely crossed. He didn’t give me any special treatment, which I was grateful for. I was assigned to a senior manager and thrown into the deep end, working on projects, drafting proposals, and pulling the same late nights as everyone else. My manager would even assign me extra off-site tasks. It was exhausting, but also a relief. Carter had given me a chance, and the best way I could repay him was by working harder than anyone else.
My direct supervisor was an older woman, Ms. Albright, notoriously difficult to please. She would send my proposals back covered in red ink, call me at midnight demanding revisions to a PowerPoint, and had no problem chewing me out in the middle of the open-plan office.
I took it all in stride.
One afternoon, however, she was particularly vicious about a minor data error in a report. As she dressed me down in front of the entire department, Carter happened to walk by, pausing for a moment to watch before continuing on his way.
Later, terrified the incident would reflect poorly on him for bringing me in, I found him and explained that the mistake was entirely mine and that Ms. Albright was just doing her job.
Carter just smiled, a strange, unreadable expression on his face, and said nothing.
Eventually, my relentless work ethic started to soften Ms. Albright’s sharp edges. She started making small jokes, offering begrudging compliments.
“You know, Chloe, that stubborn streak of yours reminds me of someone I used to know… someone I respected a great deal.”
“Honestly, if you weren’t an intern, I’d think they’d signed you to an iron-clad contract from hell. You finish my projects, do the extra work the department head throws at you, and then you still manage to pull an all-nighter before spending the next day with me at the factory two hours out of town. I don’t think ten full-time employees work as hard as you do.”
She looked at me shrewdly one day. “Chloe… you didn’t piss someone off, did you?”
I just smiled and didn’t answer.
This was an opportunity I couldn’t afford to lose. If hard work was the price, I would gladly pay it.
…
Four months into my internship, Ms. Albright called me into the office at ten o’clock at night. She handed me a file.
“Chloe, take this to Mr. Hayes.”
I took the folder, confused. “To Carter?” Delivering a document to the heir apparent at this hour was far above my pay grade.
Her voice was heavy with meaning. “You’ll understand when you get there.”
I followed the address she gave me to a sleek, private club downtown. As I approached the door to the VIP room, I could hear Carter’s voice inside.
Just as I raised my hand to knock, Sloane’s high-pitched laughter cut through the door, sharp as glass.
“Oh my god, that video of Chloe getting yelled at like a dog was hilarious! I’ve watched it a dozen times.”
“Carter, darling, tell me again. Besides sending her to that factory in the middle of nowhere and then making her work all night, what else have you done to punish her?”
A violent tremor went through me. My blood ran cold.
Carter’s voice, when it came, was not the polite, gentle one I knew. It was lazy, laced with contempt and a casual cruelty.
“Patience, baby. The old hag I assigned her to is the biggest ball-buster in the company. It’s only a matter of time before she makes Chloe cry.” He paused. “Besides, this is just to soften her up. When the internship ends, I’ll have HR invalidate her paperwork. She won’t graduate.”
Sloane’s voice dropped into a pout. “But the family is planning to announce your engagement on Chloe’s twenty-first birthday.”
Carter sounded bored. “So? I’ll let her think everything is fine until the party. Then, in front of everyone who matters in Port Sterling, I’ll accuse her of corporate espionage. I’ll destroy her reputation so completely that I’ll have no choice but to break the engagement. She’ll be a pariah. Is that satisfying enough for you?”
Through the crack in the door, I saw Sloane, pretty and petite, curl into Carter’s arms.
“Daddy and Mommy and Ethan never liked her anyway,” she purred. “But you know what would be even better? You should pretend to be nice to her. Make her fall completely in love with you. Imagine how much more satisfying it will be to crush her on the day of the engagement.”
Her voice turned sharp. “Just… don’t let it get real, Carter.”
“Please,” he scoffed. “As if I would ever be interested in some charity case from the system.”
…
I stumbled back, away from the door, turning and blindly running down the corridor. I crashed right into someone, hard.
“Watch where you’re going! Do you have any idea who you just ran into?” a voice beside him snapped.
Dazed, I looked up, and my vision swam into focus on a familiar, sharp-featured face.
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I’d been grinding for a full month to make my position permanent.
The last all-nighter was finally over. I stared at the proposal on my screen—flawless, perfect—and let out a breath I’d been holding for weeks. The caffeine that had been thundering through my veins finally gave way to exhaustion. I slumped forward, resting my head on my arms, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep right there at my desk.
I woke to a sharp, piercing shriek.
My head snapped up. The scene in front of me sent a jolt of ice through my veins, freezing the blood in my heart.
Mark—my boyfriend of three years, my mentor at the firm—had a line of glowing, translucent text hovering above his head:
【THE DEVOTED HERO: Logic Optional. Utterly Whipped.】
And next to him, Ava, the new intern, had her own label:
【THE CHOSEN ONE: The Saintly Martyr. Weaponizes Tears.】
1
Before I could even begin to process the sheer absurdity of it all, it happened.
Splash—
Ava, holding a steaming cup of black coffee, stumbled. Her hand slipped with a theatrical “oops,” and the entire contents of the cup cascaded directly into the cooling vents of my laptop.
A wisp of blue smoke curled into the air. The acrid smell of burning electronics, mixed with the cheap, bitter scent of office coffee, assaulted my nostrils.
My screen flickered twice, then went completely black.
A month of my life’s work, my entire future at this company, was trapped inside that dead machine.
The office fell deathly silent.
Tears were already streaming down Ava’s cherubic, innocent face.
“Oh my god, Nora, I’m so, so sorry… I… I really didn’t mean to…”
She bit her lip, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, but her gaze darted past me, landing helplessly on Mark. It was the look of a startled fawn, a direct hit to the glowing tag above his head: 【The Devoted Hero】.
Mark’s protective instincts flared so intensely you could almost feel the heat from them. He rushed over, but his anger was aimed at Ava.
“Ava, how could you be so careless?” he snapped.
A sliver of relief went through me. For a second.
Then he whipped around to face me. His handsome features, the face I knew better than my own, were twisted with blame and impatience.
“Nora! It was an accident. Don’t give her a hard time about it!”
A buzzing filled my ears. Give her a hard time?
I hadn’t even opened my mouth.
“What’s the point of blaming her now?” he continued, his brow furrowed with a frustration aimed squarely at me. “The presentation is this afternoon! What about the proposal? Your entire month’s work was on there, and now it’s gone!”
I looked at him, then at Ava, who was sobbing as if she were the one who had just lost everything. The whole scene was so ridiculous, it was almost funny.
One month. Thirty days. I had survived on four hours of sleep a night, chugging coffee like water, to single-handedly tackle the bid for “Project Tempest,” a project so notoriously difficult no one else dared to touch it.
And Mark. My mentor. My boyfriend.
He’d paid lip service to how worried he was about me, how much he admired my work ethic. But now, in the moment I needed his support the most, he was tearing me down to protect an intern who’d been here for three days—an intern who had just destroyed everything.
Ava was still sniffling beside him, delivering the final, perfectly timed blow.
“Nora… I can pay for the laptop… but the proposal… it’s all my fault. Maybe… maybe I should just…” She trailed off, but her meaning was crystal clear.
She’d replace the computer.
But the loss of the work? That was on me. After all, I was the one who hadn’t protected my own data.
Coworkers had started to gather, murmuring and pointing at the disaster.
“Well, she’s screwed. The client briefing is at two.”
“Seriously, Nora. For something that important, you’d think she would’ve made a backup.”
The looks they gave me were a mixture of pity and, worse, a smug, schadenfreude-fueled excitement.
Just as the weight of it all was about to suffocate me, a thought struck me like a bolt of lightning.
The cloud.
Late last night, as a final precaution, I had uploaded a compressed file of the final version to my personal cloud drive.
The will to survive instantly overrode the heartbreak and the humiliation.
I lifted my chin and met Mark’s disappointed gaze. My heart felt like a block of ice. He was still lecturing me.
“Nora, are you going to say something? Are you mute? This isn’t the time for a tantrum!”
I stared at the glowing words above his head and felt a bitter laugh rise in my throat.
【The Devoted Hero】.
Fine. Just fine.
Let’s see just how stupid love can make you.
2
“I’m going to the restroom.”
I dropped the sentence into the suffocating silence and, without another glance at them, grabbed my phone and walked out of the office.
Behind me, I heard Mark let out an annoyed “Tsk.” He must have thought I was storming off in a huff. “See? That’s the attitude I’m talking about. Forget it, Ava, stop crying. I’ll figure something out.”
My fingers tightened around my phone, nails digging into my palm. The sharp pain was the only thing keeping me grounded, keeping me sane.
I ducked into the cold, empty stairwell, leaning against the concrete wall as my trembling fingers navigated to my cloud drive app.
There it was. A single file named “Project Tempest – Final Draft.”
The download progress bar crawled across the screen, each percentage point feeling like an eternity.
Just then, through the wall, I heard hushed voices from the breakroom. It was Ava, her voice thick with a put-upon sob.
“…I really didn’t mean it. I don’t know why Nora reacted like that, like… like I was trying to sabotage her or something.”
“Mark, am I just too clumsy? Did I make things worse for you again?”
A few of the office gossips chimed in with their support.
“Oh, honey, don’t worry about it. Everyone makes mistakes when they’re new.”
“Exactly. Nora is totally overreacting. She’s always been so full of herself, walking around like she owns the place just because she’s dating the creative director. The slightest little thing sets her off.”
“Right? I asked her to grab me a coffee last week and you would’ve thought I’d asked for her firstborn. What’s her deal?”
My heart sank. I held my breath.
And then, I heard Mark’s voice. It was a sigh, laced with a kind of weary indulgence I had never heard before.
“She’s just like that. I’ve spoiled her, I guess. You’ll have to forgive her.”
“She’s been under a lot of pressure with this project. When she gets stressed, she loses control.”
“Ava, don’t take it personally. On her behalf, I apologize.”
Boom.
The last thread holding me together snapped.
Spoiled?
High-strung and out of control?
So that’s who I was to him. In his words, I was just some irrational, shrewish girlfriend. Our three years together, in the eyes of our colleagues, were nothing more than leverage I used to get ahead.
And Ava—the person who ruined my work, the cause of all this—was “Ava,” the one who needed his protection, his personal apology.
How intimate.
It struck me then that Mark hadn’t called me by my nickname in a long, long time. More often than not, it was just a flat, perfunctory “Nora.”
My phone screen lit up. Download Complete.
I took a deep, shuddering breath, wiped away a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen, and composed my face into a mask of calm. Then, I pushed open the door to the breakroom.
The conversation stopped cold. The atmosphere crackled with awkwardness.
Ava’s eyes were still red-rimmed. When she saw me, she instinctively shrank behind Mark, a practiced movement she seemed to have perfected.
I ignored them, walking straight to the water cooler to fill a glass. Then I turned around and held up my phone for Ava to see. The screen displayed a freshly started audio recording.
“Ava, you said you’d pay for my laptop, correct?” I asked, my voice as placid as if I were discussing the weather.
Ava froze, then nodded jerkily. “Y-yes! Of course, Nora! I’ll definitely pay for it!”
“Good,” I said, the smile on my face widening. “It was the latest top-spec MacBook Pro. The price on the Apple store website is two thousand, three hundred and ninety-nine dollars.”
“Will you be wiring the money, or paying in cash?”
“Oh, and by the way,” I added sweetly, “just to avoid any future confusion, I’ve recorded our little agreement.”
The color drained from Ava’s face.
The other people in the room stared, their expressions shifting.
“Twenty-four hundred bucks? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“She’s an intern. She makes, what, three thousand a month? How is she supposed to pay that?”
Just moments ago, she’d been so eager to take responsibility. Now that the bill had come due, her saintly mask was cracking. Her lips trembled, unable to form a single word.
“Nora! Have you lost your mind?” Mark finally snapped, grabbing my wrist. “It’s just a laptop! Do you have to be so aggressive?” he hissed. “She’s just starting out! Where is she going to get that kind of money?”
I yanked my arm from his grasp, my eyes cold as I stared at his face, now a mask of righteous indignation.
“Mark, that was my laptop. I paid for it with my money.”
“She broke it. She pays for it. It’s that simple.”
“So how, exactly, does that make me the aggressor here?”
“Are you trying to be reasonable, or are you just trying to guilt-trip me with our three-year history?”
My voice was quiet, but each word landed like a stone.
Mark was speechless. He clearly never expected me, the woman who had always deferred to him, to suddenly have such a sharp tongue.
“Nora, you—”
“I what?” I cut him off, my gaze shifting from him to Ava’s pale, stricken face.
“If you can’t pay it all at once, that’s fine,” I said, pressing my advantage. “You can write me an IOU. I’ll even let you pay in installments.”
“I’ll give you the lowest possible interest rate. How does that sound?”
I didn’t give her an inch of breathing room.
Fresh tears welled in Ava’s eyes. This time, they were real tears of panic. She looked to Mark, pleading for rescue.
He took a deep breath and squeezed the words out through clenched teeth.
“Fine. I’ll pay for it.”
“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow. “Such a gentleman, Director Evans. I’m just curious, in what capacity are you paying? As her boyfriend? Or… as her backup plan?”
“Nora!” he roared.
I was done with him. Holding my phone and my glass of water, I turned and walked toward the communal hot-desking area.
Log in. Plug in the USB drive I kept in my purse. Open the file.
It was all seamless.
Behind me, I could hear Mark’s furious cursing and Ava’s pathetic sobs.
I put on my headphones and turned the volume all the way up.
The world was finally quiet.
My counterattack had just begun.
3
At two o’clock sharp, the final bidding presentation for Project Tempest began.
When I walked calmly to the conference room door, USB drive in hand, the expressions on Mark and Ava’s faces were priceless. They looked like they’d seen a ghost.
“Nora? You…” Mark hurried over, his face a complicated mess of feigned concern. “Where did you get the proposal? Did you pull another all-nighter to redo it?”
“Let me see it,” he demanded, his voice softening into his familiar mentor tone. “I need to check for any mistakes. We can’t afford any slip-ups in a meeting this important.”
He reached for my USB drive, his manner so natural it was as if the morning’s horror show had never happened. As if he were still my caring boyfriend and supportive boss.
I pivoted my wrist, smoothly evading his touch.
“Don’t trouble yourself, Director Evans,” I said coldly. “I can handle it.”
The title, “Director Evans,” landed like a slap, drawing a formal line between us that hadn’t existed an hour ago.
Mark’s hand froze in mid-air. His face darkened.
The room was filled with the company’s top brass—our CEO, Mr. Sterling, department heads, and senior executives from the client’s side. This wasn’t the place for a scene. He lowered his voice, his words laced with a threat.
“Nora, don’t be childish. The success of this entire project is on the line.”
I didn’t even bother to look at him again. I walked straight to the podium.
The presentation began.
I inserted the drive. On the massive projector screen, the meticulously designed slides appeared one by one. The animations were dynamic, the logic was airtight, and the visual impact was stunning. I saw Mr. Sterling, seated at the head of the table, nodding repeatedly, a look of distinct approval in his eyes.
I could feel two pairs of eyes burning into my back: Mark’s and Ava’s.
I was halfway through, just getting to the core creative concept. As I was about to click to the next slide, Ava suddenly shot up from her seat.
Her voice trembled, the tears arriving right on cue.
“I’m sorry… Mr. Sterling, everyone… I… I have to tell the truth.”
She took a ragged breath as if steeling herself for a great sacrifice, then pointed a shaking finger at me.
“The core concept of this proposal… the ‘Immersive Interactive Experience’… that was my idea!”
“Nora knew I was new, just an intern… easy to push around… so she… she took my idea and put it in her proposal as her own!”
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The noise from the room upstairs ripped me from my sleep.
It was the scraping of chairs on the floor, the sound punctuated by shrieks and what sounded like laughter.
“Idiots,” I muttered, clamping a pillow over my head. I fumbled for my earplugs on the nightstand, shoved them in, and rolled over, surrendering back to the darkness.
The next morning, the landing for the fourth-floor staircase was cordoned off with police tape.
When I asked what happened, the story came out in hushed, horrified whispers.
Sometime in the dead of night, the girls in Room 414 were slaughtered.
All four of them. No survivors.
1
To understand the timeline, the four of us from the room directly below—314—were brought to the station for questioning.
It was the girls in 427, the room next door to the victims, who found them. The winter dawn was still a vague promise in the sky when they got up for an 8 AM lecture and noticed 414 was still dark.
Then they looked down. A thick, blackish-red liquid was seeping from under the door.
The police were fast, but someone was faster. Before the scene was fully secured, a photo had been snapped and blasted to every group chat on campus.
The pictures were… a Jackson Pollock of blood and something worse.
Leah threw up the second she saw them.
Now, Nina, Zoe, and I sat in a sterile waiting room at the police station while Leah gave her statement. The air was thick with a shared, unspoken weight.
If just one of us, annoyed by the noise, had gone up there to complain… could we have stopped it?
And if not, could we at least have seen the killer’s face? Given the police something to go on?
But we didn’t. None of us did.
I just laid there, beneath the unfolding carnage, and cursed them for waking me up. I called them idiots, then fell asleep and didn’t wake until morning.
Sleep feels impossible now.
Every time I close my eyes, I see blood dripping through the ceiling tiles above my bed.
Sensing our fragile state, the police brought in a specialist to “interview” us—a department-approved psychologist.
The door to the interview room opened, and Leah emerged, leaning on the arm of a woman with long, dark hair.
2
Dr. Evelyn Reed was a renowned criminal psychologist, a frequent and vital partner in the department’s major cases. Her reputation was built on one extraordinary skill: a masterful use of hypnosis.
A conscious criminal can lie, can control their narrative. But under hypnosis, the mind’s floodgates open. Every detail, every buried memory, is laid bare for the hypnotist to see.
Dr. Reed gently guided Leah to a chair beside me, her voice as smooth and soothing as warm honey.
“Alright, girls, thank you for providing what you could. The detective tells me you’re all quite shaken up. Don’t worry. I’m going to have a one-on-one session with each of you, just to help you process everything. How does that sound?”
She was talking to us like we were children. I glanced at her ID badge. She couldn’t have been more than four years older than us.
But I didn’t care. At that moment, I desperately needed whatever help she was offering.
3
We went into her temporary office one by one.
For the twenty minutes I was under, I have no idea what happened. I only know that when I woke up, a profound sense of calm had settled over me. The bloody image of Room 414 had, for a moment, receded into a manageable haze.
As I was leaving the room, she offered a small, disarming smile.
“Nice combat boots, kiddo.”
I waited in the lounge while the others took their turns. A young officer, sensing my boredom, handed me a tablet to watch videos on.
Leah was the last to finish. This time, she walked out on her own, no longer needing support.
“Congratulations, girls. You should all be able to get a good night’s sleep tonight,” Dr. Reed said, clapping her hands together softly. Her gaze landed on me.
I offered a weak smile in return, but as my eyes met hers, a sliver of ice traced its way down my spine.
Her red lips parted. “I’m sorry, Ava. You’ll need to stay.”
Nina, Zoe, and Leah froze.
Leah was the first to speak. “Why?”
Dr. Reed strode toward me. My wrist suddenly felt heavy. Cold. A pair of handcuffs clicked shut around it.
She was still smiling, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes. “Because you’re the one who murdered everyone in Room 414.”
4
“What are you talking about?” Nina lunged forward, placing herself between me and the psychologist. “Ava was with us the entire time! There’s no way she could have killed anyone!”
Zoe and Leah rushed to my defense.
“That’s right! I even heard her roll over in her sleep that night!” Leah added.
Dr. Reed crossed her arms, watching our frantic display with a detached amusement. “She’s deceived all of you.”
“You’re lying!” Nina was furious now. “I thought you were here to help, but you’re just twisting things! Police! Officer!”
Nina’s voice was loud, echoing through the station as she yelled for the uniformed officers standing down the hall. “Help! Someone is trying to illegally detain my friend!”
A few officers approached, their expressions a mixture of confusion and concern as they looked from my terrified face to Dr. Reed’s calm demeanor.
“Dr. Reed,” one of them began, “are you saying this girl… killed four people?”
She said nothing, her smile unwavering.
“That seems… unlikely,” another officer murmured. “The killer was brutal, a complete psychopath. She’s just a twenty-two-year-old kid.”
Dr. Reed’s gaze settled on me. “Then I suggest we watch the session tapes.”
5
I didn’t kill anyone. I knew that.
But when the video from my hypnosis session played, my world tilted on its axis.
On the screen, I was reclined in a soft armchair, Dr. Reed’s voice a gentle murmur guiding my answers. It started with simple things: my name, my major, the university I attended. Then it delved deeper, into secrets I’d barely admitted to myself—the time I cheated on an exam, the raw, simmering resentment I held for my family.
I pressed my hand to my mouth.
Some of these details were things I thought I’d forgotten, yet under her guidance, they flowed from me with perfect clarity. Hypnosis unearths memories buried under layers of dust.
Finally, she asked the question.
“On April 12th, at 1:00 AM, what were you doing?”
My voice, thin and distant, came from the speakers. “Killing them.”
Dr. Reed pressed on. “Who?”
“Room 414. All four of them.”
6
A gasp escaped my lips.
Nina, Zoe, and Leah stared at me, their faces masks of disbelief.
I shook my head frantically. “No! That’s not me! That’s when the noise woke me up! I looked at my clock—it was exactly 1:00 AM! I muttered something and put my earplugs in and went back to sleep!”
Leah immediately backed me up. “I can vouch for that! I’m a light sleeper. I heard her toss and turn!”
Nina nodded vigorously. “Our beds are head-to-head. I heard her curse them out! How could it be her?”
Zoe chimed in, her voice firm. “I was half-asleep, but I know it wasn’t Ava. She has a history of depression, and since her recovery, she’s been extremely sensitive to screaming. I heard screams from upstairs that night. Ava would never go towards a sound like that.”
We sat on one side of a long table, the four of us from Room 314. On the other side sat Dr. Reed and the police. Detective Miller, the lead on the case, clearly trusted his consultant, but his eyes held a flicker of doubt as he looked at me.
Another officer leaned over and whispered to Dr. Reed, “The girl’s history checks out. Hospital records confirm it. She has a stress-induced aversion to screaming. Are you sure about this?”
Dr. Reed just smiled. “Detective Miller, when has my hypnosis ever been wrong?”
The detective fell silent.
I’d read about her. In the four years since she’d started consulting, Dr. Reed had helped close over a hundred major cases, including twelve cold cases from the last century.
And in all those cases, she had never once made a mistake.
7
Because of Dr. Reed’s flawless record, the department had granted her a special privilege: any suspect identified under her hypnosis could be detained immediately, pending further evidence.
Just like that, I was held at the station.
But to formally charge me, they needed more than a recording. They needed physical proof.
Dr. Reed seemed unusually invested in my case over the next few days. The clock was ticking. The department could only hold me for a limited time without concrete evidence. If they couldn’t produce anything in five days, I’d have to be released.
And her special detainment privilege would be revoked.
I wasn’t worried. I knew where I was that night: in my bed.
In five days, I would become the first blemish on her perfect career.
But on the evening of the fourth day, the forensics team found one of my footprints in the blood-spattered dorm room of 414.
8
With solid evidence now in hand, I was formally arrested.
Dr. Reed sat across from me in the interrogation room, her face radiating confidence. “Well, Ava, what do you have to say now?”
I clenched my fists. “I was never in Room 414!”
Detective Miller looked at me, his expression conflicted. “Then how do you explain your footprint at the scene?”
I had no answer.
Why was my footprint there?
I hadn’t even gotten out of bed that night. How was it possible?
Unless… unless I had sleepwalked? Murdered them in a trance and had no memory of it?
But that didn’t make sense. I was awake when I heard the noise. The screams mixed with laughter, the sounds that made me think it was just a wild party…
My breath hitched, a painful tightness gripping my chest. It was hard to breathe. I clutched my head, curling into myself in the hard metal chair. “I… I don’t know… It wasn’t me… I can’t… breathe…”
“Hey! Are you okay, kid? Dr. Reed! Get a medic in here!”
9
When I came to, Leah was sitting across from me.
They told me that in my disoriented state, I had begged to see one of my roommates. I needed to know, needed to hear from someone else if I had left the room that night.
Leah was the only one free from classes, so the police had called her in.
Seeing her familiar face, I opened my mouth, my voice raspy. “Leah, I…”
She held up a hand. “I know what you’re going to ask. Don’t.”
I stared at her, confused.
Leah sat perfectly still, her eyes darting to the side for a split second. “I did some digging…”
I didn’t understand. She brought her gaze back to me and gave me a tiny, almost imperceptible wink.
“All you have to do is keep denying it.”
“But that night…”
“Don’t worry,” she interrupted, her voice firm. “I was barely asleep. You never left your bed. Don’t you dare start doubting yourself.”
The visit was over just like that.
After Leah left, I remained seated, my mind reeling. It was Detective Miller who gently prompted me to my feet.
As I turned, I saw Dr. Reed standing in the doorway, watching me with a strange, knowing look.
Wait.
I spun back around, looking at the spot where Leah had been sitting.
Her eyes… where had they been looking?
Slowly, I lifted my gaze.
The one-way mirror.
The digging she did… it wasn’t about the case. It was about Dr. Reed.
“Ava!”
Leah suddenly ran back into the room and threw her arms around me. “I’ll be back to see you soon, I promise!”
For the first time, Dr. Reed’s composure cracked. An annoyed expression flashed across her face as she reached out to pull Leah away. “That’s enough! The visit is over!”
As Leah was pulled back, she leaned in, her lips brushing my ear as she whispered a single, rapid phrase.
“She has a history of coercion.”
10
“What did you say to her?” Dr. Reed demanded, her fingers digging into Leah’s shoulders. Her voice was sharp, menacing. “Do you have any idea that by withholding information, you’re only hurting yourself?”
Leah looked at her, her expression a mask of innocence. “I just told her to take care of herself.”
“You—!”
Dr. Reed seemed to realize she wouldn’t get anything more. She released her grip, took a deep breath, and nodded slowly. “Fine. If you refuse to cooperate, then I can’t guarantee your friend will be able to take care of herself.”
“Oh, she will,” Leah said, her gaze unwavering. “This is a police station. There are rules here.”
I saw a muscle jump in Dr. Reed’s jaw. She forced her signature smile back into place. “Alright, kiddo. Let’s hope so.”
After Leah was escorted out, I stared at Dr. Reed, a terrifying thought taking shape in my mind.
If hypnosis could unearth forgotten details…
…could it also be used to implant them?
A chilling possibility bloomed in the darkness of my thoughts. If she could alter someone’s memory and then plant corresponding evidence, she could frame anyone she wanted. She could make anyone a killer.
And my footprint…
My mind flashed back to the moment after my first session. Her casual comment as I walked out the door.
Nice combat boots, kiddo.
11
“You can forget it! I’m not confessing to anything!”
Facing Dr. Reed again, I felt a surge of defiance. “Your hypnosis is bullshit! I never left Room 314 that night!”
I turned my attention to Detective Miller. “Detective, the killer was obviously a violent maniac. Instead of wasting time on a girl who can barely lift a textbook, why don’t you focus on finding the real monster?”
Detective Miller’s brow furrowed, but Dr. Reed cut in before he could speak. “Rest assured, kiddo, the police have considered more angles than you can imagine. Do you really think we haven’t looked at other suspects? The fact is, there were no signs of forced entry, and no trace of anyone else at the scene. Just you.”
I let out a cold, bitter laugh. “You’re at every crime scene with the team. How hard would it be for you to fake a single footprint?”
“Thump, thump!”
Detective Miller rapped his knuckles on the table. “Watch your tone! That’s a baseless accusation against an officer of the court!”
I pointed directly at Dr. Reed. “She’s not an officer. She’s a consultant you brought in. And if I recall correctly, Doctor, right after you graduated, there was an incident, wasn’t there? A little scandal involving forced confessions?”
A flash of genuine anger lit up Dr. Reed’s eyes. Her chest rose and fell sharply before she suppressed the emotion. “Ava, it would be much better for you to confess now. It could be a mitigating factor during sentencing.”
I said nothing, staring back at her in stony silence.
She turned to the detective. “Detective Miller, I’m requesting permission to conduct another hypnosis session.”
After receiving a nod, she looked back at me, her voice cold. “Just remember, a confession extracted under hypnosis doesn’t qualify for leniency.”
I slammed my hands on the table. “This is coercion! It’s a forced confession under a different name!”
Dr. Reed walked around the table and grabbed my arm. “Let’s go.”
12
I fought against the hypnosis with every fiber of my being.
But she had some kind of power, a force of will that pinned me to the chair. She held a silver pocket watch, swinging it gently before my eyes. After a few passes, a throbbing pain began behind my temples.
“Your father doesn’t love you. Your mother doesn’t love you. You don’t even love yourself,” her voice whispered, weaving its way into my mind. “You’re not the cheerful person you pretend to be. It’s all just an act…”
There’s a unique cruelty to hypnosis. The things I had locked away, the deepest vulnerabilities of my soul, she pried them open with casual ease. Then, she used them as leverage, as weapons to shatter my defenses.
The overhead light blurred, expanding into a hazy halo.
Her words sank into me like anchors, and once again, my consciousness slipped from my grasp and fell into her hands.
“You killed everyone in 414 because you wanted to survive, isn’t that right?”
My body felt limp, my mouth moving against my will. “Yes… No… it wasn’t… Yes, it was me…”
“Say it again. You were the one who killed them, correct?”
“No… Yes, it was me…”
“That night, you snuck into 414 and used a hammer to crush their skulls, didn’t you?”
My teeth chattered, a violent tremor running through my body.
Dr. Reed’s voice sharpened, cracking like a whip. “Didn’t you! Speak! Say it was you!”
Tears streamed down my face. “Yes… yes…”
“Good. Now, I’m going to ask you again, calmly and clearly…”
Through my blurry vision, I saw her reach over and turn on the video camera.
13
A tidal wave of despair crashed over me, so heavy I thought it would drown me. I wanted to scream, but I was paralyzed by a terror that stole my voice.
Then, the door burst open. The sound was followed by a volley of camera flashes.
“See! This is exactly what I was talking about! Coerced confession! Dr. Reed, I can’t believe in this day and age, you’re still pulling these tricks!”
My mind slowly cleared. I pushed myself up from the reclining chair to see a wall of reporters and cameras blocking the doorway, all aimed at the scene inside. Nina was at the forefront, her voice booming and righteous as she condemned Dr. Reed’s methods. Leah and Zoe stood beside her, adding their own angry accusations.
It turned out they had dug into Dr. Reed’s past, found the dirt, and leaked it to a few hungry tabloid reporters. These were people who cared only about clicks and controversy; they had no problem storming a psychologist’s office affiliated with the police department.
The office was technically separate from the main station, and by the time the police responded to the commotion, the reporters had already captured their headline moment.
Detective Miller pushed through the chaotic crowd, his eyes wide with shock as he took in my tear-streaked face and the frozen figure of Dr. Reed.
“Dr. Reed,” he stammered, “what in God’s name are you doing?”
14
With concrete proof of her coercive methods, the department immediately revoked Dr. Reed’s status as a special consultant. Her special detainment privileges were gone, too.
And just like that, I was released.
We got a stern lecture about orchestrating a media circus, but in the end, Detective Miller let us go back to campus.
Dr. Reed’s office, situated just beside the main police building, looked like it was being shut down. As I walked out of the station, I saw her standing by the door, wrapped in a white coat, her gaze cold and fixed on me.
A shiver of discomfort went through me. I kept my head down and tried to walk past without making eye contact.
“You think this is over?”
Her voice, low and sharp, stopped me in my tracks.
I turned back. She hadn’t moved a muscle, only tilted her head slightly in my direction. The smile on her face was deeply unsettling.
“Psycho,” Nina muttered, stepping in front of me. She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward our waiting ride-share.
Dr. Reed remained motionless, her chilling gaze following me until the car door slammed shut.
15
Back in my own bed, I slept better than I had in days. Maybe the sheer exhaustion of the ordeal had finally overridden the trauma of what happened upstairs.
I thought it was finally over.
The next morning, I rolled over and felt something hard and circular digging into my side.
Half-asleep, I reached for it. The cool metal against my palm sent a jolt of ice through my veins.
I shot upright in bed, my hand clenched around it.
A pocket watch.
A silver pocket watch, identical to the one Dr. Reed had used to hypnotize me.
A flicker of movement in my peripheral vision made me turn my head.
A splash of crimson against the pale morning light made me scream.
Across the room, Zoe was dead. Her body was half-draped off the side of her bed, her face turned towards me, her eyes wide and lifeless.
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On my wedding day, my fiancé was a no-show. His reason: the girl he was supposed to marry, the one I replaced, was having a depressive episode.
As the silence in the grand hall stretched into an eternity, I called the man who’d been my shadow, my best friend for the last decade. The one who’d told me he loved me a thousand times.
“Liam,” I said, my voice dangerously steady. “If you get here now, I’ll marry you instead.”
A dry, cold laugh came through the phone. “You really think you’re all that, don’t you?”
Before I could process the sting, another voice bled through the line—a delicate, trembling soprano.
“Liam,” she whispered, “are you going to leave me, too?”
It was Stella. Of course, it was Stella.
Half an hour later, two men stormed into the reception hall.
My fiancé, Carter, marched up to me. In front of hundreds of guests, his hand cracked across my face.
“Stella is in so much pain, and all you can think about is your goddamn wedding?” he snarled, his voice vibrating with rage. “Do you even have a heart?”
The blow sent me stumbling backward. I wasn’t used to the heels, the weight of the dress. I crashed into the ten-tier wedding cake, a humiliating explosion of buttercream and jam. A clown in a ruined gown.
I looked up, my eyes searching for Liam. He stood by the entrance, hands shoved in his pockets, a flicker of disgust in his eyes.
Even my own parents marched toward me, their faces etched with disappointment.
“A wedding can be rescheduled, Chloe,” my father said, his voice tight with authority. “Stella’s health is not something we can afford to delay.”
But when I finally decided to give up on all of them, they were the ones who panicked.
1
The slap from Carter’s hand was still ringing in my ears as I tried to peel myself away from the wreckage of the cake. Sticky cream and fruit filling soaked into the custom-designed silk of my wedding dress. My gaze instinctively flew to Liam.
His eyes, the eyes that had always looked at me with warmth, were now filled with a deep, chilling contempt. He scanned me from head to toe, his voice cold as ice.
“Chloe, you’ve gone too far this time,” he said. “Stella is having a breakdown. This is life or death. And you choose now to throw a tantrum? Have you no humanity?”
A sharp, stinging pain radiated from my cheek. I saw a single drop of blood land on the white satin of my skirt. I touched my nose; my fingers came away wet and warm.
“Carter, are you insane?” I whispered.
He let out a bitter laugh. “If it weren’t for Stella—if she, in her kindness, hadn’t begged me with tears in her eyes to come here and go through with this farce—do you think I would have shown up at all?”
He violently yanked a glass from the bottom of the champagne tower, sending the entire structure crashing down in a symphony of shattering crystal. With his other hand, he grabbed a bottle, held it over my head, and let the golden liquid cascade down, soaking my hair, my dress, my skin.
When the bottle was empty, I was a drenched, pathetic mess.
He smashed the bottle on the floor, then crouched down, his face inches from mine.
“You wanted to get married, right?” he hissed. “Here. A wedding toast.”
He still had the glass he’d salvaged. It was full. With a brutal flick of his wrist, he flung its contents into my face.
The liquid dripped down my chin. I couldn’t tell what was champagne and what was blood.
He stood up, towering over me. “Satisfied, my lawfully wedded wife?”
And Liam, my childhood friend, just watched. Hands in his pockets, an impassive spectator at the circus.
A murmur rippled through the guests. My parents finally pushed through the crowd. For a fleeting, foolish moment, I thought they were coming to defend me.
My mother didn’t even look at me. Her eyes were wide with panic. “Where is my Stella?” she demanded, her voice frantic. “You know how fragile she is! How could you both leave her to come here? Tell me where she is! If anything happens to her, I swear, I won’t go on living!”
My father took the microphone from the stunned officiant.
“My apologies, everyone,” he announced, his voice strained but firm. “There has been a small family emergency. The wedding is canceled for today. All gifts will be returned. I offer my sincerest apologies to all our friends and family who came to celebrate with us.”
He set the microphone down and turned to Carter, his face a grim mask. “Take us to Stella. Now.”
He never once glanced in my direction. The tremor in his voice betrayed a desperate anxiety he couldn’t quite conceal.
Just then, the grand doors at the back of the hall burst open. A tear-choked cry echoed through the room.
“Dad… Mom…”
2
Stella stood there, a vision in a simple white dress, her face a canvas of tears. She stumbled forward, her high heels clicking a frantic, sharp rhythm on the marble floor.
Even in this state, she was the picture of tragic grace. The little princess the Monroe family had meticulously crafted for over twenty years. Every movement, even a panicked sob, was more refined than anything I could ever manage. She looked heartbreakingly beautiful.
“Mom, Dad, please… please don’t leave me,” she cried.
Every eye in the room was fixed on her.
My mother was the first to move, breaking into a run, her own tears flowing freely. “Stella, my baby, don’t be scared. Mama’s here.”
My father followed, his usual stoicism crumbling. The man I’d never seen show emotion had red-rimmed eyes. He reached them, wrapping his arms around my mother, who was already holding Stella, pulling them both into a tight, protective embrace.
Carter watched them, a profound sigh of relief escaping his lips. The look in his eyes as he gazed at Stella was pure, undiluted love.
Liam glanced back at me, a slow, disappointed shake of his head.
I ignored him.
Painfully, I pushed myself to my feet. A sharp pain shot through my ankle; I must have twisted it when I fell.
I started to limp away, in the opposite direction of the family tableau. I didn’t get two steps before a hand grabbed my arm, yanking me back.
I stumbled, turning to find myself face-to-face with Liam.
“Chloe,” he said, his voice low and intense. “Tonight… you disappointed me more than I can say.”
He wouldn’t let go of my arm. “I always thought you were tough, resilient. I never thought you’d resort to cheap tricks like this to get attention.”
His grip tightened. “Stella has already given back everything she ever had to you. Why can’t you just leave her alone? Why did you have to push her to the edge at a time like this?”
He finally let go, his final question hanging in the air like a judgment. “Chloe, what happened to you?”
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A video of my husband’s first love and a senior attending screwing in an operating room went viral.
The internet exploded. Anonymized outrage demanded the hospital administration launch a full investigation into the “incident of moral decay.”
To protect her, my husband, Ethan, went live on Instagram. He told the world the woman in that grainy, illicit video was me.
Overnight, I became a pariah. Men catcalled me on the street, their words dripping with a grotesque blend of contempt and invitation. Everyone whispered about the slutty doctor.
My mother drove to the hospital to confront Ethan, her voice shaking with a righteous fury I hadn’t heard in years. He just told her to mind her own business.
So she went to the roof. To prove my innocence, she jumped from the 18th floor of the hospital’s main tower, her body hitting the pavement right in front of me.
Through a haze of shock and grief, I asked him why. Why would he do this to us?
Ethan’s voice was calm, almost bored. “Claire’s fragile, Anna. She couldn’t handle the online hate. You’re stronger. This kind of thing… it won’t break you.”
Seven years of love, three years of marriage.
All of it turned to ash in that single, chilling moment.
My heart didn’t just break. It died.
1
The divorce papers felt weightless in my hand, a flimsy record of a colossal wreck. I slid them into a manila folder, my face a blank mask I had perfected over the last few weeks.
When I pushed open the door to Ethan’s office, he was at his desk, the blue light of the monitor glinting off his glasses. He looked up, and a flash of irritation crossed his face—a look I’d come to know intimately.
“For Christ’s sake, Anna. Are you still dragging this out? I thought you’d have learned your lesson by now.”
My hand, hanging by my side, curled into a fist, nails digging into my palm. I kept my eyes down. “This is my suspension report. It needs your signature.”
Just as Ethan picked up the document, his phone buzzed on the desk. I glanced over. The screen lit up with a picture of Claire.
He snatched it up, his voice instantly softening. I could hear Claire’s manufactured sob through the speaker. “Ethan, he came looking for me again… I’m so scared!”
Ethan shot to his feet, scribbling his name across the form without a second glance. He then shoved the papers at me, the sharp edge of the cardstock slicing my cheek. He didn’t notice. He was already gone, sprinting out of the office to rescue her.
I knelt, gathering the scattered documents from the floor. His signature, usually a controlled, elegant script, was a frantic scrawl. I tucked my copy of the divorce agreement safely away and looked around the empty office, a space that once felt like a shared dream.
I spoke the words to the silence.
“It’s over, Ethan.”
We had been together for seven years. He had loved me with a fierce, possessive passion that made me feel like the center of the universe. He once told me if I wanted the moon, he’d find a way to lasso it for me. Everyone in Northwood knew that Ethan Sterling, the golden boy of the Sterling Group, was utterly bewitched by me. No one dared say a negative word about Anna Reed in his presence.
The night he proposed, he lit up the city skyline with fireworks, a spectacle designed to announce our happiness to the world. He made me a princess in a fairy tale of his own making.
Then Claire came back, and he pushed me off the castle walls.
I learned the truth then. The reason the heir to the Sterling fortune had even noticed me, a scholarship kid from the wrong side of the tracks, was because I had a face that was a seventy-percent match to Claire’s.
All the devotion he’d shown me was just borrowed love, a placeholder for the real thing.
I’d asked for a divorce.
His answer had been cold and final: “Sterlings don’t divorce, Anna. We widow.”
But that was before. Whenever Claire was involved, Ethan lost all reason. I wondered what his face would look like when he realized the paper he’d signed wasn’t a suspension report, but his freedom.
A bitter laugh escaped me, so sharp it brought tears to my eyes.
This is better.
Ethan, I thought, I hope you live to regret this.
I composed myself and went to the hospital administrator’s office to say my goodbyes.
“Anna, it’s you.” Dr. Harris looked ten years older, the stress of the scandal having bleached the remaining color from his hair.
“Dr. Harris, I came to say goodbye.” I placed my official resignation on his desk. “This should take the heat off the hospital. The trolls will have their sacrifice.”
He sighed, his expression a mixture of pity and deep disappointment. “Anna, the investigation isn’t even finished. If you just wait, the truth might come out.”
A humorless smile touched my lips. “I can’t win this fight, sir. You know that.”
Dr. Harris had been my mentor, almost a father figure. He knew the whole sordid story. He also knew that Ethan Sterling was dead set on protecting Claire, and as the heir to the Sterling Group—the hospital’s largest benefactor—what Ethan wanted, Ethan got. My mentor’s hands were tied.
“What will you do?” he asked, his voice heavy.
“I’m thinking of going abroad. Finally take that fellowship I turned down.”
His eyes lit up with genuine pleasure. In medical school, I’d been at the top of my class, fielding offers from prestigious programs across the globe. I’d turned them all down for Ethan.
“That’s wonderful news, Anna! Truly. You go, you let this whole thing blow over. When you come back, your reputation will be restored.”
We talked for a few more minutes, then I stood and bowed my head slightly. “Thank you, Dr. Harris. For everything you’ve taught me.”
2
Leaving the administrator’s office, a sliver of the crushing weight on my chest seemed to lift. I went back to the office I once shared with Ethan to pack up my personal belongings.
Just as I was taping up the last box, the door opened. Ethan walked in, his arm wrapped protectively around a weeping Claire.
His brow furrowed when he saw me. “What are you doing here?”
Claire’s head snapped up. She broke away from Ethan, her voice a hysterical shriek. “Was it you? Did you let him in? Ethan promised he’d never be allowed in the hospital again! Why would you bring him here?”
Ethan’s gaze turned to ice as it landed on me. “I thought you were done making trouble. It seems your mother’s death didn’t teach you a damn thing.”
“Apologize to Claire.”
His words were like a thousand tiny needles piercing my skin. Ever since Claire had reappeared, everything was my fault.
She was consistently late for her shifts? I had created an unreasonable schedule that disrupted her “circadian rhythm.”
She prescribed double the normal dose of blood pressure medication to a patient? She claimed I wrote the order and forged her name.
She misdiagnosed a gallbladder attack as gastritis, nearly killing a patient? She blamed me for not double-checking her ultrasound reading.
Anyone else could see through her clumsy, pathetic lies. But not Ethan. The moment Claire’s eyes welled with tears, I was the villain. Time and time again, he forced me to apologize, grinding my pride into the dirt until there was nothing left.
So, when her affair with the chief resident was exposed, and she called Ethan crying, claiming the man had assaulted her on my orders, Ethan believed her without hesitation. He demanded I go online and confess that I was the woman in the video. When I refused, he used his credentials as Head of Cardiothoracic Surgery to start a livestream and publicly name me himself.
But this time, I didn’t apologize.
I looked at Claire, my voice flat. “You know exactly why he’s looking for you. You should stop pretending you actually believe that woman in the video is me.”
Her eyes flared with rage. “You sent him to ruin my life!”
She took a step forward, her body starting to crumple as if she were about to kneel. “I’m begging you! Please, just stop torturing me!”
Ethan caught her instantly, pulling her back against his chest. “Anna, I warned you not to play these games. Now get on your knees and apologize to Claire. Beg for her forgiveness, or I’ll make sure you are never reinstated.”
Before I could respond, the office door slammed open. The chief resident’s wife, a large, furious woman, stormed in, clutching a small bucket.
“You fucking homewrecker!” she screamed, her eyes locked on me. “Can’t you survive without a man in your bed?”
She lunged, throwing the contents of the bucket at me. I didn’t have time to react. A wave of rancid, stinking filth—what smelled like garbage and dirty mop water—drenched my face and scrubs.
Ethan’s first instinct was to shield Claire, spinning her around and covering her with his own body.
“It’s okay,” he murmured into her hair. “I’m here. No one will hurt you.”
The image burned itself into my mind. I remembered a night years ago when he took me to a dive bar, wanting to show me a different side of the city. A drunk guy had tried to grope me. Ethan didn’t hesitate. He smashed a beer bottle over the man’s head. His father had to bail us out of the police station, slapping Ethan hard across the face in the process. It was the first time I’d met Mr. Sterling, the first time I’d seen Ethan look vulnerable. It only made me love him more.
As he got older, he grew colder, more distant, his Sterling entitlement hardening into a shell. I never thought I’d see that reckless, protective fire in him again. And now I had.
It just wasn’t for me anymore.
The woman turned her rage entirely on me. She had a small wooden stick—maybe a broken mop handle—and she started hitting me with it. I tried to fight back, to shield myself, but she was strong, fueled by a righteous fury, and I was her target.
She only stopped when she was exhausted, spitting on my crumpled form on the floor. “Fucking whore. If I ever see you near my husband again, this will be nothing. You hear me?”
3
She left, slamming the door behind her. I was curled on the floor, every part of my body screaming in pain.
Ethan took a step toward me, his hand outstretched, but then he saw the filth clinging to me and recoiled. A flicker of guilt crossed his face, quickly replaced by his usual weary frustration. “You’ve been suspended. Just go home and rest. Stay out of sight. Once this blows over, I’ll talk to the board about getting you reinstated.”
Before the words were even fully out of his mouth, Claire started sobbing again. “Ethan, she’s a monster! If she finds out the video was really me, what if she does this to me? What if she sends that woman after me?”
“Ethan, I can’t live like this! I might as well be dead!” She covered her face and ran out of the office.
Ethan shot me one last conflicted look before chasing after her, his voice calling her name down the hall. He never looked back.
I slowly, painfully, pulled myself to my feet and walked out of the hospital, a ghost in my own life, covered in someone else’s grime.
There’s a thirty-day cooling-off period for a divorce. I still had to arrange my travel documents for the fellowship. I dragged my bruised body back to the penthouse we shared, ignoring the horrified and disgusted stares of people on the street.
We bought this place because it was close to the hospital. I had designed every inch of it myself, from the custom bookshelves to the color of the tiles in the master bath. It was filled with memories, echoes of a life I no longer recognized. Now, every beautiful detail felt like a mockery.
I pulled out a suitcase and began to pack. My belongings were pathetically few—mostly things I’d bought with my own salary. Everything Ethan had ever given me, every lavish gift the Sterling family sent over on holidays, I left behind.
My eyes landed on two small, hand-knitted dolls sitting on the dresser in our walk-in closet. When Ethan proposed, he didn’t have a ring. Instead, he’d spent weeks learning to crochet, presenting me with these two figures, their yarn hands stitched together.
He’d said, “This is us. We’re like these dolls, tied together forever. Nothing can ever pull us apart.”
I took a pair of scissors from my sewing kit and snipped the thread connecting their hands. I tossed the female doll into the trash.
“Everything in this house should have been mine.”
I spun around. Claire was standing in the doorway of the closet, wearing a fire-engine red slip dress. On her feet were the matching pair of slippers I’d bought for Ethan and me.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
She sauntered into the bedroom, her eyes greedily scanning the rows of designer bags and jewelry. “Ethan brought me, of course. He wanted me to get a feel for the place, pick out which room I liked best.”
She perched on the edge of the bed, running her hand over the silk duvet. “I think the master suite is perfect. Great view, and I bet it’s soundproof. Don’t you think?”
My fingers clenched. I couldn’t believe he would bring her here. Into our home.
“If I hadn’t left back then, you never would have had a chance to be Mrs. Sterling,” she said, her voice laced with a venomous resentment. “I was his first, Anna. And he has never, ever loved anyone but me.”
I already knew this. Hearing it again just felt… dull. The pain had cauterized itself.
I ignored her and went back to packing. Seeing she wasn’t getting a rise out of me, she pouted and started to wander around the room, touching everything.
When I turned back, she was standing at my vanity, admiring a silver locket on her wrist.
My blood ran cold. It was the only thing I had left of my mother’s.
“Take it off.”
Claire jumped, startled. “What’s your problem? Everything here is going to be mine soon enough anyway.”
“I said, take it off!” I lunged for her, trying to pry the locket from her wrist. It was caught, the delicate chain snagged. She shrieked in pain. “Let go! You’re hurting me!”
I grabbed a fistful of her hair, my vision tunneling. “Give it back to me.”
4
Ethan burst in from the living room, shoving me away so hard I stumbled backward. He immediately gathered Claire into his arms. “What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?”
“It’s nothing,” Claire whimpered, pressing her face into his chest. “I just thought the locket was pretty, so I tried it on. And then she just… she went crazy. She attacked me, called me a slut who stole you away.”
That look of pure adoration and concern on Ethan’s face as he looked at her… it made my stomach churn. Seven years of love, three years of devotion, all for this. To be trampled on, lied about, and discarded.
“Ethan.” I pointed a trembling finger at the locket on Claire’s wrist. “Get it back for me.”
He glanced down, his expression dismissive. “It’s just a piece of jewelry. If Claire likes it, let her have it.”
“It was my mother’s!” My voice cracked with fury. “Have you forgotten how she died?”
“Ah!” Claire screamed as if she’d been burned. She ripped the locket off her wrist and hurled it at me. “Why didn’t you say so! It’s bad luck!”
I scrambled to catch it, but it was too late. The delicate silver hit the hardwood floor with a sickening crack.
Time stopped.
I stared at the three shattered pieces on the floor. I hadn’t been able to protect my mother, letting her fall to her death from that rooftop. And now, the last piece of her I had was destroyed.
“Oops, my bad,” Claire said, covering her mouth with her hand, her eyes devoid of any real apology. “You should have told me it belonged to a dead person. You can’t have things like that around. What if it brings Ethan bad luck?”
At her words, Ethan’s expression softened as he looked at her. He then turned to me, his tone sharp with annoyance. “Anna, remember that you are a Sterling now. Stop acting like you crawled out of a gutter. I don’t want things like that in this house.”
I knelt, my fingers carefully picking up the broken pieces of the locket, their sharp edges biting into my skin.
Ethan had the grace to look momentarily ashamed. “Look, it’s not like it was worth anything. I’ll buy you something better.”
He wrapped his arm around Claire and started leading her downstairs.
A surge of pure rage propelled me forward. I shot up, grabbed Claire’s arm, and spun her around. The slap echoed in the silent room. “Apologize. Apologize to my mother.”
“Aah!” Claire shrieked, her body suddenly going limp. Before Ethan could even react, she threw herself backward, tumbling dramatically down the staircase.
“Claire!” Ethan roared. He turned on me, his hand flying, and slapped me hard across the face.
I staggered back, the imprint of his fingers burning on my cheek.
I watched him race down the stairs, gathering Claire’s supposedly injured body into his arms, murmuring questions about her pain. It was all a lie. I had been holding her arm. She had wrenched herself free and thrown herself down those stairs.
“We’re going to the hospital,” he snarled, glaring up at me. “And you better pray to God that Claire is okay. Because if she’s not, you can forget about ever practicing medicine again.”
The front door slammed shut, plunging the penthouse into silence.
I let out a dry, rasping laugh. I turned, grabbed my suitcase, and walked out without a backward glance.
I checked into a hotel. As soon as I got to my room, a text from Ethan came through.
[Clear out the master bedroom. Claire sprained her ankle because of you. She needs a comfortable place to recover.]
[You will apologize to her, and you will take care of her until she is fully healed.]
[If you don’t, I will never forgive you.]
5
It took a month in that anonymous hotel room for the bruises to fade and the cuts to heal.
During that time, Ethan was relentless. His calls and texts moved through a predictable cycle: from furious threats to worried questions. The last few days, though, there had been nothing. Silence.
Today, I had to go back to the hospital to tie up some loose ends. My fellowship papers were approved. I could leave anytime.
At the main nurses’ station, a group of nurses was huddled together, whispering.
I approached the desk, my face hidden behind a mask. Their hushed conversation became clear.
“I’m sorry, but there is no way Dr. Evans has the brains to get invited to the International Medical Forum. No way.”
“Someone had to have written that paper for her. Probably one of her many… admirers.”
“I heard her reputation in med school was a joke. She slept her way through every single rotation.”
“It’s just sick. A good person like Dr. Reed gets forced out, and that viper gets everything.”
One of the younger nurses saw me and her eyes went wide. “Dr. Reed! You’re here!”
“I’m not a doctor here anymore. Please, just Anna,” I said, a knot of dread forming in my stomach. “What are you all talking about? What paper?”
They exchanged nervous glances, no one willing to speak.
Suddenly, the volume on the large TV in the waiting area blared to life.
Ethan’s voice, smooth and confident, filled the space.
“It is my distinct honor to introduce my fiancée and research partner, Dr. Claire Evans, who will be presenting a groundbreaking new theory in cardiac surgery.”
Claire glided to his side, taking the microphone from his hand. They shared a smile, a look of intimate partnership.
The patients watching erupted in soft murmurs of approval.
“Dr. Sterling and Dr. Evans are such a perfect couple! I hope they get married soon.”
“I had no idea she was so brilliant! She’ll probably be the next department head after this.”
Ethan and I had kept our marriage private. Only our closest circle knew. The forum had ended a few days ago, but the hospital had been replaying this clip on a loop. To any outsider, Ethan and Claire were the hospital’s golden couple.
It didn’t matter. The divorce would be final soon. He could marry whomever he wanted.
But then, Claire began to speak. She outlined her “new theory,” and the blood in my veins turned to ice. The slides appearing on the screen behind her… the data, the charts, the methodology… I had created every single one of them. It was the culmination of two years of my research.
When I’d left our home, I’d only packed my clothes and personal documents. I’d forgotten about the backup drive in the study. I never imagined, not in my darkest nightmares, that Ethan would take my life’s work—work I kept locked in our home safe—and hand it to Claire to pass off as her own.
Three years of sleepless nights, of chasing down data points, of pushing my body to the brink until I developed a chronic stomach condition… all to solve this one complex medical problem.
A bitter smile twisted my lips. I just hoped Claire was prepared to deal with the consequences of taking a shortcut to the top.
“Dr. Reed…”
I turned. A young intern was standing there, looking terrified. She quickly pressed a small flash drive into my hand.
“I filmed this,” she whispered, her head down, nervously twisting the hem of her scrubs. “I was so scared. I didn’t want them to do to me what they did to you. But you were always so kind to me…”
6
I remembered her. A few months ago, Claire had been on call and prescribed a dangerous medication to a patient. The intern had caught the error and pointed it out. From that day on, Claire made the young woman’s life a living hell. I’d stepped in a few times to defend her, and Claire, like a rabid dog, had simply transferred her obsessive harassment from the intern to me.
“It was the night of the… incident. A month ago. I came back to the hospital to get something I forgot, and I saw them. I filmed it. I’ve been too scared to show anyone.”
Her voice dropped to a choked whisper. “When your mother came to the nurses’ station that day… asking if anyone could help prove your innocence… I was so afraid. I said nothing.”
“If I could do it again, I would have given this to you right away.”
“I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry.”
She gave me a deep, formal bow, her eyes filled with tears, and then she ran off.
My hand closed around the flash drive, its sharp edges digging into my palm. How could I blame her? I couldn’t stand up to them. How could I expect a terrified intern to?
The people who killed my mother were Claire and Ethan.
But this wasn’t the time to use this. I would wait. I would wait until they were at their absolute peak, basking in their stolen glory. And then I would burn their world to the ground.
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