Author: Momo Chan

I have liver cancer. For three years, I waited for the man I loved to bring back the only woman in the world who could save me. He finally returned to my deathbed today. But he stood in front of her, shielding her from my gaze, and pleaded with me, “She’s scared of the pain. Can we just… not have her do it?” 1 Seven years. I’ve been living with liver cancer for seven years. And, of course, I have the kind of rare, Rh-negative blood that makes a transplant a statistical nightmare. A ghost orchid in a field of daisies. So when they found a match, a one-in-a-million shot, Leo booked a flight. He went to chase her down himself, wherever she was. He swore to me, one hand on his heart, the other clutching his passport. “One week, Anna. I’ll bring her back in one week.” But one week bled into a year. Then two. Then three. I didn’t see Leo again until the hospital had issued my ninth critical condition notice. He finally stood before me, but he wasn’t alone. He was shielding a girl behind him, his voice rough with a feeling I couldn’t place. “Anna,” he said, his throat tight. “She’s scared of the pain. Can we… can we just not have her do it?” “What the hell, Leo? Are you even human?” The voice was Mia’s, my best friend, sharp enough to cut glass. She looked ready to launch herself across the room and tear him apart. But Leo’s eyes were locked on me. “Anna. Please?” I blinked, pulling the cashmere blanket tighter around my shoulders, a frail shield against his words. So this was it. This was the result I’d been waiting for. It was, I decided with a sudden, hollow clarity, a bit anticlimactic. “It’s okay, Leo,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “I forgot to tell you. My family found another donor. The surgery was a little while ago.” I gestured vaguely around the pristine, white room. “See? I’m here now. Recovering in Switzerland.” Mia’s eyes went wide. “Anna, what are you talking ab—” Her words were swallowed by the sudden, racking cough that seized my body. She was at my side in an instant, her hand patting my back, her eyes turning red with unshed tears. From behind Leo’s shoulder, the girl, the donor, finally peeked out. A smile bloomed on her face, revealing two slightly pointed canines that were, I had to admit, quite charming. This was her. Chloe. The girl who held my life in her hands, and who had apparently captured Leo’s soul on the way to delivering it. Leo thought I was in the dark. But I knew. Of course, I knew. The boy I’d grown up with, the one who was an extension of my own heart, had changed. He’d fallen in love on the road to saving my life. In the beginning, he’d been ruthless in his mission. He’d thrown money at her, leveraged every resource the family name could offer, everything. When she’d refused, he’d gotten ugly. He’d threatened to have her deported, to ruin the new life she was so proud of. But even when backed into a corner, Chloe had been defiant, her chin held high. “In your dreams,” she’d spat at him. “I’m not selling off parts of my body for your money. I’d rather we both go down in flames.” After that, their dynamic shifted. They became infamous rivals in their small corner of the world. Then, somehow, that fire had turned into a different kind of heat. They’d ended up in the same bed and hadn’t left for three days. And now, here they were. Three years later. Their hands were tightly clasped in front of me. He seemed to have forgotten the time we played dress-up as kids, how he’d stolen his mother’s wedding veil and placed it on my head, whispering that one day, he would marry me for real. The man in front of me now just stared, his brow furrowed in suspicion. “Then why didn’t you tell me?” Mia let out a short, bitter laugh. “Tell you? We figured you wouldn’t bother coming back until Anna was already in the ground.” Three years had curdled all the love Mia ever had for Leo into pure hatred. His face darkened instantly. “Chloe has a life of her own. She worked her ass off to get where she is in the States. You think she should just drop everything, her entire future, because you call and say you’re not feeling well?” He pulled Chloe forward slightly, a protective gesture. “She gave up a major research conference to come here for you. And for what? To find out you’re already fine? That you’ve been lying to me, wasting our time.” He took a step closer, his voice dropping. “Don’t you think you owe us an apology, Anna?” My head snapped up. There wasn’t a trace of guilt in his eyes. Only a deep, chilling annoyance. I was too tired for this. Too tired to fight. “Okay,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. Leo. Miss… Chloe. I’m sorry for the trouble.” I tried to dip my head, a pathetic attempt at a bow, but Mia’s hand shot out, her grip trembling with rage as she stopped me. “Are you insane?” she hissed under her breath. “What are you apologizing for?” Leo froze, and the anger in his eyes intensified. “You two,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “After all these years, you’re both still so goddamn selfish.” “Unbelievable.” He turned, pulling Chloe with him, and slammed the door shut with a deafening crack. The sound broke something in Mia. She finally let out a choked sob. “Anna, there is no other liver! You’re dying!” she cried, her voice ragged. “Why are you still protecting that bastard?” I had made my peace with death long ago. But hearing the word spoken so brutally, so final, sent a sharp, echoing pain through my chest. It woke the deeper, gnawing ache of the cancer that had, for a brief moment, been dormant. “Leo’s not an idiot, Mia. He can see it.” Look at me. I was practically a skeleton in a blanket, a breath away from the grave. A ghost haunting her own life. “…He just doesn’t want to save me anymore,” I finished quietly. “Besides, there’s no point. It’s too late for a transplant. Another surgery would just be… more pain. More torture.” I sighed. “Just let it go.” Mia stopped, her sobs growing louder. She knew I was right. Seven years of liver cancer had become ten. I’d slipped from early stage to terminal while I waited. I was living in a hell of constant, grinding pain, where every breath felt like a punishment. One more day was just one more day in hell. My hand, thin and brittle as a dried leaf, reached up to touch her tear-streaked face. “Hey,” I whispered. “Mia, remember what you promised me before we came to Switzerland?” “We were going to be happy. We were going to laugh. What’s with all the crying?” She turned her head away, her shoulders shaking. “I’ll cry if I want to,” she mumbled petulantly. “Maybe you’ll get so annoyed you’ll come back to life just to shut me up.” The door creaked open again. Leo stood there, back from wherever he’d stormed off to. He glanced at Mia’s red nose with a strange look, then his eyes landed on me, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. He took a few deep breaths, as if steeling himself. “Anna, there’s something I forgot to tell you.” He paused. “Chloe is my girlfriend now. I have to… I have a responsibility to her.” Another pause, this one heavier. “So… all that stuff from when we were kids, the promises… we have to just call it what it was. A joke. I’m sorry.” I tried to process the words. A joke. His confession of love, all those years ago, had been a joke. A signed, blank check appeared in front of my face. He reached out and ruffled my hair, just like he used to when we were kids. “Fill in any number you want,” he said, his voice trying for kindness and failing. “I hope you feel better soon.” I stared blankly for a long moment, until a dull ache in the back of my hand brought me back. I must have blacked out. Cool fluid was dripping into my veins from an IV. This drug was a miracle. For a little while, nothing hurt. Not my body, and not my heart. When I was fully lucid again, the only people left in the room were a grim-faced doctor and Mia, who was tearing a lab report into tiny, furious pieces. She was still trying to hide it from me. But I’d already seen the numbers. I always snuck a look. They were getting worse. Sharply worse. It was really over. The end stages are ugly for patients like me. You lose control of everything. There’s no dignity. I didn’t want that. Not while Leo was here. A bitter sting filled my eyes, but I forced a smile onto my face. “Mia,” I said softly. “I kind of miss Mom and Dad. And I don’t think I can hold on much longer.” My voice dropped to a whisper. “My birthday is in two days. Let me go then, okay? As a birthday present.”

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The ballroom was humming, a low thrum of self-congratulation set to the clinking of champagne flutes. It was our company’s victory gala, and Melanie Pierce, the VP’s fiancée, drifted toward me like a shimmering, smiling shark. “There you are,” she said, her voice a little too bright. “You must be the special assistant Ryan’s been telling me about. So loyal. And so… capable.” She let the word capable hang in the air between us, weighted with a meaning that had nothing to do with my job description. Yes, I was the VP’s special assistant. But I was also the Director of Project Management for the Sterling Group. I’d been with the company since the beginning, helping our CEO, Arthur Sterling, build it from nothing. By rights of history and sheer sweat, his own son, Ryan, should have been calling me “Aunt Claire.” So why, at our biggest celebration of the year, did I suddenly feel like I was being branded my own nephew’s mistress? 1 Every word Melanie had spoken was, on its own, perfectly innocent. But woven together, delivered with that saccharine smile and the knowing glint in her eyes, they curdled into a potent poison. I saw the expressions on the faces of those around us shift—a flicker of gossip-fueled comprehension, a shared, silent understanding. A hot buzz started behind my ears. I tightened my grip on my glass, fighting to keep my composure. “You must be mistaken, Ms. Pierce. I’m the Director of Project Management. My work speaks for itself. I…” “Oh, Claire, don’t be so formal,” she interrupted smoothly, her smile never faltering. “I get it. A jack-of-all-trades. It must be such a comfort for Arthur, knowing Ryan has one of his own people helping him out. Isn’t that right?” Ryan finally seemed to sense the undertone, the sheer voltage of the current passing between us. He gently touched her arm. “Mel, let’s not. Claire is a vital part of this company.” Melanie immediately melted against him, her voice turning into a playful pout. “What did I say? I was just complimenting her on being so talented and trusted. Are you going to scold me for that?” She looked up at him with wide, wounded eyes. Ryan’s resolve vanished. He shot me a helpless, apologetic glance. Nearby, Arthur Sterling’s face had hardened. But his position as CEO held him in check; he couldn’t very well start a public argument with his son’s fiancée over an ambiguous “joke.” He cleared his throat, a sound like gravel hitting a wall. “Alright, everyone. Let’s find our tables.” The moment was over, but the damage was done. The way people looked at me had changed. The next Monday morning, I headed to the kitchenette for coffee. I wasn’t even at the door when I heard the low, conspiratorial giggles. “Are you serious? No wonder she shot up the ladder so fast.” “I always said Arthur treated her a little too well. Turns out he was just grooming her for the prince.” “‘Special assistant.’ That’s a nice way of putting it. On the clock during the day, on her back at…” The sentence was punctuated by a wave of knowing, sleazy laughter. “You heard what Melanie said at the gala, right? Loyal and capable. Tsk. That’s an evaluation with a hell of a benefits package.” My feet froze to the floor. I thought I’d been prepared, but hearing the filth spoken so casually, so carelessly, felt like a thousand tiny needles piercing my heart. The small kindnesses of office life vanished. Colleagues who used to pull me into their lunch orders now fell silent when I approached, offering strained, overly bright smiles. The junior admin who used to call me Claire now averted her eyes, flinching her hand back as she passed me a file as if I were carrying a disease. I couldn’t let this fester. I had to do something. I knocked on Ryan’s office door. He was staring at his monitor, a deep crease between his brows. “Ryan? Got a minute?” He looked up and gestured to the chair across from his desk. “Yeah, sit down. Actually, I wanted to talk to you. Have you heard some of the… chatter… going around the office?” 2 I took a deep breath and met his gaze directly. “I have. And that’s what I’m here to talk about. Ryan, those rumors are completely baseless. I need you to know that.” He leaned back in his chair, the picture of discomfort. “Look, Mel… sometimes she just speaks without thinking. She’s been a little spoiled, you know? But she doesn’t have a malicious bone in her body.” “Ryan, that ‘joke’ has made it impossible for me to do my job! Everyone in this office now thinks I slept my way to the top. This is a catastrophic blow to my professional reputation!” “Isn’t that a little dramatic?” he countered, his brow furrowing. “The truth will out. People know your work ethic. My father’s opinion of you isn’t going to change over a few whispers. You’re being too sensitive.” My heart sank. He didn’t get it. He had no concept of the malice behind that comment, of the unique and devastating damage it could do to a woman’s career. He was taking the easy way out: placate me and excuse his fiancée. Perhaps Ryan said something to her, because that afternoon, Melanie Pierce herself deigned to visit my desk. She sauntered over, Birkin bag swinging, with the regal air of a visiting monarch. “Claire, busy?” she asked, her voice just loud enough for the entire department to hear. I looked up. “Can I help you, Melanie?” She produced a smile that was laced with apology. “I came to say I’m sorry. At the gala, I might have been a bit thoughtless. It was just a silly joke, and I never imagined it would cause all this gossip. I feel terrible.” Before I could respond, she leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’ve been sleeping with him for a while now, haven’t you? I mean, why else would Arthur and Ryan protect you so fiercely? All this ‘hard-working career woman’ act… who do you think you’re fooling?” A wave of nausea and fury washed over me. I leaned back sharply, putting space between us. “Melanie,” I said, my voice dripping with scorn, “is your mind capable of thinking about anything that isn’t disgusting?” “For the record, my conduct is, and always has been, unimpeachable. My relationship with Arthur and with Ryan is purely professional.” I leaned forward again. “And if we’re talking about old family connections, Ryan Sterling should be calling me ‘Aunt Claire.’ So you just came over here to ask me if I’m sleeping with my own godson? Because if you’re not disgusted by that idea, I sure as hell am.” When Arthur’s company was on the verge of collapse years ago, my father risked everything, injecting the capital that saved it. Arthur, half-joking and half-deadly serious, had said, “I can never repay you. Let me make Claire my goddaughter. In my family, she will be treated like a princess. Everyone will show her respect.” To this day, my family’s investment still accounted for twenty percent of the Sterling Group. The color drained from Melanie’s face. She clearly had no idea about the depth of our families’ history. For a second, I thought that would be the end of it. Then she sneered. “Godmother? That’s not a real title. It doesn’t mean anything.” “It’s a name, a convenient little cover story, isn’t it?” she hissed. “Makes it all the more thrilling, doesn’t it? Hiding in plain sight, a little forbidden spice to keep things interesting.” I was shaking with rage. It was as if she couldn’t form a sentence without a smear of filth. I took a breath, forcing myself into a state of icy calm. “Melanie, I accept your apology. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. Unlike some people,” I added, looking her directly in the eye, “I don’t have time to invent drama and spread malicious lies.” 3 She pressed on, her voice a low, venomous hiss. “Did I strike a nerve?” “Don’t you dare try to use that ridiculous ‘godmother’ title to intimidate me. Let me be clear, Claire. There is only room for one woman at the top of this company. And in my eyes, you’re nothing but a pathetic social climber, clinging to your father’s old favors and desperately trying to marry up.” I’d had enough. I picked up the glass of water on my desk and threw its contents directly in her face. She shrieked and lunged at me. “What is all this shouting about?” The furious roar of Arthur Sterling’s voice stopped her in her tracks. He and Ryan were standing not ten feet away, their faces dark with anger. They had clearly heard the end of her tirade. Melanie’s expression shifted in an instant, from vicious anger to tearful panic. She grabbed Ryan’s arm. “I don’t know what I did! I just came to apologize for the gala, but she wouldn’t accept it, and she started insulting me, and… and I defended myself, and then she threw water on me!” Ryan reflexively wrapped an arm around her shoulders. His gaze on me was filled with reproach. “Melanie can be blunt, Claire, but she’s not a bad person. Did you really have to escalate it like this? Why can’t you just let it go?” “Ryan! You have no idea the vile things she just said to me!” I shot back, my voice trembling with rage. “Enough!” Arthur boomed. He turned to his son. “Ryan, have you lost your mind? You’ve known Claire your entire life. Do you honestly believe she would attack someone without provocation?” Ryan flinched under his father’s glare but didn’t release his hold on Melanie. “Dad, that’s not what I’m saying. I just think this whole thing has gotten blown out of proportion.” “This discussion is over. The rumors stop now,” Arthur declared, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Everyone, get back to work.” The drama was over, but I knew, with chilling certainty, that the war between me and Melanie Pierce had just begun. My proof arrived the next day via an all-staff email. An HR announcement: Ms. Melanie Pierce has been appointed Special Advisor to the Office of the CEO, effective immediately. Now she could walk into my office, interfere with my work, and do it all under the guise of official business. My team and I were in the middle of a frantic prep session for a new project launch when my door swung open. Melanie strolled in and planted herself in front of the projector screen. “Arthur wants me to get up to speed on company operations. This new project of yours seems interesting. I have some notes.” She scrolled through a tablet. “I’ve reviewed the team roster. This one, Pete… wasn’t he responsible for that data breach on the last project? And Sarah just got back from maternity leave. Do we really think she’s up to the task? I think we should swap them out for more experienced personnel.” A fire ignited in my chest. Pete’s “breach” was proven to be the fault of a third-party vendor, and Sarah was one of our most brilliant strategists. “Ms. Pierce, my team was selected after a rigorous evaluation process. They are the best people for the job. Changing personnel now would jeopardize the entire project timeline.” “I’m just trying to help,” she said, her face a mask of innocence. “Mitigating risk. As an advisor, it’s my duty to offer my professional opinion. Right?” 4 She paused on the vendor list. “I see Starlight Innovations isn’t on the list of potential partners. Why is that?” The audacity. Starlight was her family’s company, a dinosaur with a terrible reputation, running on fumes for the last five years. “They don’t meet our technical requirements for this partnership,” I said evenly. “That seems shortsighted,” she countered. “Starlight has been in this business for decades. There’s a deep well of experience there. Better the devil you know, right? It would certainly make communication smoother.” The shamelessness of it—trying to funnel company business to her family’s failing enterprise—was breathtaking. “All potential partners undergo a strict vetting process,” I said, my voice cold. “We don’t make decisions based on personal relationships.” After I systematically dismantled several more of her “suggestions,” she changed tactics. My project required an emergency budget allocation for a critical software purchase. The request stalled in the CEO’s office. When I went to follow up, the admin stammered, “Uh, Ms. Pierce said the cost-benefit analysis needed further review, so we’ve been told to hold off…” I went to her directly. She was sipping a latte, the picture of calm. “Claire, don’t be in such a rush. This is just due diligence. I’m simply questioning if this is the most effective use of funds. Perhaps we could use that money to get better coffee machines for the team? I’ve noticed everyone looks so tired from working all those long hours.” Her smile was pure poison. I finally understood. She didn’t care about the project. She cared about sabotaging me. She wanted to prove her power, to make my life so impossible that I would quit. I went to Ryan one last time. He looked exhausted. He knew what Melanie was doing, but he was committed to his path of least resistance. “Claire, she’s just competitive. She wants to prove herself. It’s her job as an advisor to ask questions. If you don’t agree with her suggestions, just ignore them. You don’t need to get into a fight with her every time.” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “She’s blocking my budget requests and trying to dictate my staffing. How am I supposed to ‘ignore’ that? Ryan, this isn’t a personal squabble anymore. This is affecting the success of the most important project of the year! Can you please…” “Alright, Claire, that’s enough!” he snapped, his patience finally breaking. “I know you feel targeted. But she’s my fiancée. Soon, she’ll be my wife. Can’t you, for my sake, just tolerate it a little? I’ll talk to my dad. I’ll ask him to tell Melanie to tone it down.” A cold wave washed over me. It was final. I would get no support, no justice, from Ryan. My own family had a business, one I could have walked into after college. I came to the Sterling Group because my degree was a perfect fit, and because of the deep loyalty I felt to Arthur. If it weren’t for the projects I’d poured my heart and soul into, I would have walked out that door and never looked back. I closed my eyes, pushing down the rage and disappointment. As soon as this project was successfully launched, I was gone. The day of the final pitch had arrived. We were presenting to Stonegate Capital, a notoriously meticulous and demanding investment firm. Their decision would determine the fate of a nine-figure funding round. Thirty minutes before the meeting, we were in the small conference room doing a final run-through. I plugged my USB drive into the laptop and double-clicked the file: “Sterling-Stonegate_FINAL_PITCH.pptx.” The projector flared to life, and the room fell into a dead, horrified silence. There were no data charts. No sleek corporate branding. The screen was filled with the bouncing, brightly-colored image of Peppa Pig. Slide one: Peppa Pig jumping in a muddy puddle. Slide two: A massive close-up of Daddy Pig’s face. Slide three: A group of cartoon animals laughing maniacally.

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The moment I knew—truly knew—that Mark was keeping someone on the side came three days after I’d pressured him into getting married. He had insisted on one last night out as a “single man,” a transparent excuse to get drunk enough to force my hand, to make me back down. “Seven years together doesn’t mean you have to get married, you know?” “Do women just shrivel up and die if they don’t get a ring?” And then, the drunken whisper that gutted me: “If I marry Grace… what about Lexi? She’s only twenty-one. She can’t live without me…” After that, I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just did exactly what he wanted and called the whole thing off. And then, he had the audacity to show up at my new apartment, banging on the door in the middle of the night. “Grace,” he slurred, his voice wrecked. “I can’t sleep without you.” 1 Mark and I had been a single entity since college. Seven years of navigating life from campus to our careers, building an empire from nothing. We were the couple everyone pointed to—a success story in love and business, a partnership of equals. He was stable, patient, a perfect partner in every way but one: he had absolutely no intention of marrying me. But I dreamed of it. I wanted the dress, the vows, the public declaration. So, at the launch party for his company’s biggest project, I took a breath, gathered all my courage, and proposed to him. In front of everyone we knew, the easy smile on Mark’s face froze. The mask of unflappable composure he wore so well cracked, just for a second. My heart hammered against my ribs as I watched him. These were our friends, people who had watched us grow together for years. If he said no, here and now, the humiliation would be absolute. He just stood there, his face a cold blank. My friend Wendy, bless her heart, saved me. She smoothly took the ring box from my trembling hands and pressed it into Mark’s. “Don’t just stand there,” she hissed playfully. He took it, but said nothing. Gave no answer. The night before our engagement party—a party he’d reluctantly agreed to—Mark insisted on his “last night of freedom.” Around midnight, my phone buzzed with his name. I answered, but it was clearly a pocket dial. I could hear the rustle of fabric, the clink of glasses. I whispered his name, got no response, and was about to hang up when I heard his voice, sharp and laced with contempt. “Who the hell does Grace think she is, pulling a stunt like that? Forcing my hand in public?” “I thought she was different,” he continued, his voice thick with alcohol. “I thought she understood me. Turns out she’s just as basic as every other woman.” I froze, the air leaving my lungs in a silent gasp. Then, another man’s voice chimed in. “But come on, man, Grace is a knockout. She was the queen of Northwood’s campus. And she’s been with you for seven years.” Mark scoffed, a bitter, ugly sound. “And that means I have to marry her? Let me tell you something, after seven years with any woman, you’d be bored too.” “She’s like my buddy now. The feeling’s gone. Honestly, if any of you guys want a shot, I’ll even set it up for you.” “I get it,” another voice slurred, followed by a wave of knowing laughter. “Grace is like a Michelin-star dinner. Amazing at first, but you can’t eat it every night. Sometimes you just want a fucking burger.” The laughter was the soundtrack to Mark’s final, soul-destroying confession. “Besides,” he slurred, his voice dropping. “If I marry Grace, what about Lexi? She’s only twenty-one. She can’t live without me…” It felt like a lightning strike, a physical blow that left my entire body buzzing and hollow. I don’t know when the call ended. But in that moment, with the silence of my apartment pressing in, I knew we were over. That night, I booked a one-way ticket to Carmel. No hesitation. No second thoughts. 2 The next time I saw Mark was at our friend Wendy’s birthday party. I pushed open the door to the private room and the scene hit me like a physical blow. Mark, lounging on a velvet banquette, with a girl nestled in his lap. She was young, her cheeks flushed as she tilted her head back, nibbling on one end of a cracker while Mark leaned in to bite the other. A stupid, intimate game. The boisterous laughter in the room died the second they saw me. The air crackled with awkwardness. Wendy jumped up, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the table with a strained smile. “Grace! You made it! My birthday wouldn’t be complete without you.” I managed a weak smile back, handing her a gift. “Happy birthday, star.” The girl in Mark’s lap turned bright red and tried to stand up, but Mark’s arm tightened around her waist, holding her in place. “Where are you going, little one?” he murmured, his voice a low tease. Her blush deepened as she shot him a playful glare. Mark grinned, a wide, genuine smile full of an adoration I hadn’t seen directed at me in years. He was completely captivated by the girl in his arms. It was a bitter pill to swallow, remembering when I was the girl in his arms, the center of his world. The sight was a knife twisting in my gut. Wendy’s voice was ice. “Mark, that’s enough. Grace is right here.” Sam, one of Mark’s closest friends, spoke up before he could. “Who’s the one out of line here? She’s the one who canceled the engagement without a word and just disappeared. You don’t get to play games like that, Grace. If you didn’t want to marry him, why the hell did you propose?” He was right, in a way. Our engagement party was supposed to have been two weeks ago. The venue was booked, the invitations sent. But on the morning of, I’d left a single, breezy note—The world is too big, and I want to see more of it—and vanished. I’d only just returned to Seattle. To them, I was the selfish one, the villain who broke his heart. Fine. If that’s the role they’d cast for me, I’d play it. I gave a small, cool smile and slipped the engagement ring from my middle finger, placing it gently on the polished wooden table. My eyes met Mark’s, his face an unreadable mask. “Mark,” I said, my voice steady. “The engagement is off. Congratulations, you’re free.” 3 A collective gasp went through the room. “Is she kidding?” “Everyone knows she’s crazy about him. She practically gave up her career to be a stay-at-home girlfriend when Mark’s stomach issues got bad.” “She’s just trying to get a reaction.” “Grace, you’re twenty-eight. Are you really going to throw a fit over some meaningless fling? It’s just how things are.” None of them believed me. Even Mark was looking at me with a flicker of amusement, a condescending smirk playing on his lips as if he were watching a child’s tantrum. I sighed internally. I guess I really had been the doormat for too long. They’d all forgotten who I used to be. The woman who never backed down. “Mark,” I said, my smile never reaching my eyes. “I’m twenty-eight. In your eyes, that obviously can’t compete with a younger model.” The corner of his mouth ticked up in that infuriatingly smug way, daring me to lose control, to become the hysterical, crazy ex-girlfriend he wanted me to be. In the two weeks I was gone, Mark hadn’t called me once. Instead, he’d curated a perfect victim narrative on social media, posting photos of our empty apartment with captions about how quiet and lonely the house was. The comments section was a predictable sea of sympathy from his friends, all rushing to console him. It was almost funny. Men will always have each other’s backs. My smile widened, becoming brighter, sharper. “Don’t worry, I’ll survive without you. And by the way, a mature woman has something called allure. Do you even know what that is?” I leaned forward slightly. “A woman is like a fine wine; she gets better with age. And men? You peak at twenty-five and it’s all downhill from there.” I paused, letting the words hang in the air before delivering the final blow. “And Mark, a little secret? For the past few years… I’ve been faking it. Every single time. I’m done with the performance. I suggest you find a new leading lady.” I savored the look of pure shock on his face, threw him one last dismissive glance, and walked out of the room. 4 It took less than an hour to pack up my life with Mark. One suitcase. Seven years of my life, all packed into a single suitcase. It didn’t matter. I was ready to leave even that behind. I’d just dropped my bags in my new apartment when my best friend, Chloe, called, insisting I come to the grand opening of her new bar. “You’ve been cooped up for too long,” she said. “You need to get out and see the world. There are way better guys out there, and I have a whole tank of them at my place tonight.” At nine, she called again. “Get over here now. Some tech billionaire just showed up and put his card down for the whole night. Free top-shelf everything. Don’t miss this.” That was all the convincing I needed. I stood in front of the mirror, drew a perfect, sharp cat-eye, grabbed my clutch, and headed out. Chloe saw me the second I walked in, her eyes widening. “Damn, girl. Best breakup ever. Do you know how many years it’s been since I’ve seen you look this incredible? Keeping a body like that hidden at home is a criminal waste.” I just smiled. Chloe sat me in a quiet corner booth while she played host. The drinks were light, but I was drinking them one after another. Just as a pleasant buzz started to set in, a tall figure slid into the seat across from me. A long arm reached for my drink. I quickly covered the glass with my hand. “Get your own,” I said without looking up. “There’s a billionaire buying tonight. Don’t be cheap.” A low chuckle, warm and familiar, vibrated through the air. He gently tapped my hand with his finger. “You’re the one who runs off without a word, and you won’t even let me have a sip of your drink? That seems a little unfair, don’t you think?” That voice. My head snapped up, and I found myself staring into a pair of bright, familiar eyes. The man was watching me, a slow, intoxicating smile spreading across his face. My voice caught in my throat. Leo. The college student I met on my soul-searching trip in Carmel. “Leo! You know my Grace?” Chloe appeared at the table, her face alight with surprise. “This is perfect. I was worried about her getting home alone after a few drinks. Would you mind terribly giving her a ride? I’d feel so much better.” I started to protest, but Chloe shot me a look and pinched my arm under the table. She leaned in, whispering, “Grace, he’s the ‘billionaire’ I was talking about. Word is he’s been in a foul mood lately, looking for some heartbreaker who ghosted him. This is the best I can do for you, honey.” Before I could refuse, Leo answered for me. “Of course.” I met his gaze again, his eyes still dancing with that playful smile, and my own smile slowly faded. It was suddenly occurring to me… The heartbreaker he was looking for? There was a very, very good chance it was me.

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It was the third day of my business trip to Seattle when a new member joined the long-dormant parent group chat for my son’s first-grade class. A voice memo popped up. I tapped it, and a sweet, unfamiliar female voice filled the air. “Hi everyone, I’m Sarah Jenkins, the new language arts teacher. I’m also Leo Sterling’s mom. It’s so nice to meet you all!” A cold paralysis seized me. I scrolled through the member list, my thumb shaking as I compared the names. My son is Leo Sterling. She’s Leo Sterling’s mom. Then who the hell am I? My fingers fumbled as I dialed my husband’s number. “Cole? Did someone get added to Leo’s class chat by mistake?” There was a fractional pause on his end, then a breezy, unconcerned laugh. “Oh, probably just a mix-up. With so many kids in the school, you know, same names happen. Is something wrong?” “No, nothing,” I said, matching his casual tone. I ended the call, and before my bag was even packed, I was booking the first red-eye back to New York. 1 The plane touched down at JFK before dawn. I took a cab straight to Brookfield Elementary. Leo is seven. First grade. It was 1:40 in the afternoon, just after the first bell. The security guard at the front desk, a kindly older man named Arthur, was diligent. He recognized me and immediately called the main office to let them know a parent had arrived. A few minutes later, a young woman in a crisp white blouse and a black pencil skirt hurried out. She looked like she’d graduated college last week. She wasn’t beautiful, more plain than anything, but she had a gentle, soft-spoken way about her. A woman’s intuition is a brutal, unerring thing. I knew, instantly, that this was her. The moment she saw me, her composure shattered. Her face went chalk-white, and a tremor ran through her hands, as if she were staring down a category-five hurricane. “Ma’am, can I… can I help you with something?” she stammered, the words catching in her throat. She was too terrified to form a coherent sentence, yet she’d had the gall to announce herself as my son’s mother to a group of thirty parents. “I saw your message in the group chat,” I said, my voice flat and cold. I wasn’t going to play games, not here in the lobby with Arthur watching. “You said you’re Leo Sterling’s mother. I’m curious about that.” Her hands, dangling at her sides, clenched into tight fists. Her eyes darted nervously toward the security desk before she forced a brittle smile. “Oh, that! The parent-teacher conferences are coming up, you see. Leo’s father mentioned that he and his wife are just so busy, they wouldn’t have time to come.” She took a shaky breath, trying to sell the lie. “He asked me to… to pretend, just so Leo wouldn’t feel left out or sad. I am so sorry if it caused any confusion!” It was a seamless explanation. It absolved her of any wrongdoing and, with a subtle twist of the knife, painted me as the absentee mother, too consumed by her career to show up for her own child. If I hadn’t spent the flight meticulously scrolling through her public Instagram profile, I might have actually believed her. Wednesday, 8:00 PM. The Lincoln Center. A photo of a man’s back as he bought a bouquet of roses from a street vendor. Her caption: He’s not a prince, he’s my king. The next day, I was in an urgent care clinic in Seattle with a severe allergic reaction to a bouquet of lilies my hotel had left in my room. Friday, 6:00 PM. A torrential downpour over the city. A selfie of her, looking doe-eyed and forlorn under the school’s awning. Her caption: Waiting for my king to rescue me from this downpour. Three minutes later, a text from Cole had come through. Hey, honey. Going to be stuck late at the office tonight. Can’t pick up Leo. You’ve got it, right? Thanks, you’re a lifesaver. I was dozing in a hospital bed, an IV dripping antihistamines into my arm. By the time I saw his text, two hours had passed. My son had waited in the school’s office, watching the storm, for two solid hours. He spiked a fever of 103 that night. On the way to the emergency room, Cole sighed heavily, his every word a veiled accusation about my failure to check my phone. I believed him. I thought I was a terrible mother. I spent the whole night stroking Leo’s flushed face, whispering apologies he couldn’t hear. But it turns out I wasn’t the one who needed to be sorry. My grip on my purse tightened until my knuckles were white. My gaze drifted from her pale, guilty face down to her earlobes, where a flash of brilliant blue caught the light. I let a small, sharp smile touch my lips. “Those are beautiful earrings, Ms. Jenkins. Did your boyfriend get them for you? They look expensive.” Last Valentine’s Day, I’d seen the charge on Cole’s credit card statement. A diamond tennis bracelet. A pair of sapphire earrings. The bracelet, worth four thousand dollars, was on my wrist. The earrings, worth twenty-five thousand, were dangling from the ears of the woman standing in front of me.

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My mom sent me on an errand to my brother’s place, to drop something off for his girlfriend. So I did what any sister would do: I barged right in. And was greeted by the sight of a half-naked god with abs so sharp they could cut glass. My brain short-circuited. But, hey, love is love. With a quavering voice and tears welling in my eyes, I managed to stammer, “So… you’re the lucky lady? Hi!” My brother’s voice, dripping with venom, echoed from behind me. “Full points for politeness, Ellie. But my actual girlfriend is standing right behind you.” Me: ??? 1. Oh. My. God. I whipped around to meet the gaze of my brother’s actual girlfriend—a woman with stunningly beautiful eyes. My face instantly went supernova-hot. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole, to randomly teleport me to another dimension. Anywhere but here. My brother, Ethan, grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, his voice a furious whisper in my ear. “Ellie, what in the hell is going on inside that head of yours?” Then he bent down, snatched a white T-shirt from the sofa, and chucked it at the guy. “Put this on, man. My girlfriend can’t stop staring.” A pang of grief shot through my heart. I couldn’t speak for his girlfriend, but my eyes were definitely glued. And I hadn’t gotten a good enough look yet! The man just let out a low, amused chuckle. He casually pulled the shirt over his head, and a few drops of water from his damp hair flicked onto the back of my hand. They felt cool against my skin. “What are you doing back so early?” he asked Ethan. Ethan shot him a glare. “Mom called and said my little sister was on her way. I was worried her overactive imagination would conjure up some home invasion scenario, so I came back to make sure you were safe.” He paused, his voice dropping an octave. “Turns out, she imagined a boyfriend-in-law instead.” The last words were ground out between clenched teeth. I was being publicly shamed and didn’t dare utter a single word in my defense. The guy, however, looked completely relaxed. He sized Ethan up with narrowed eyes. “Ethan, buddy,” he said, his tone laced with amusement. “Even if my tastes suddenly took a sharp left turn, you’re not exactly the kind of prize I’d be after.” “So, relax.” 2. Clearly, this was just their normal brand of banter. I’d actually heard about this Adonis before. He was my brother’s best friend and roommate from all four years of college—Raymond. After graduation, Ethan had proudly joined the 9-to-5 grind, while Raymond, thanks to his stellar academic record, landed a coveted spot in the graduate program at Bridgewater University, the top-ranked school in our state, which just happened to be near our home. Originally, Raymond had just asked Ethan to help him apartment-hunt. But then, as they were passing a coffee shop, some girl apparently “accidentally” twisted her ankle and stumbled right into Raymond’s arms, spilling her latte all over his jacket. She’d looked up at him, all apologies. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry about your jacket! Let me get your number, I’ll totally pay for the dry cleaning.” Her intentions were as transparent as glass. But Raymond was a walking, talking heart-shredder. He’d deadpanned, pulled out his phone, and opened his Venmo QR code. “That’ll be eight hundred and fifty-seven dollars.” The girl’s face went pale. “For a jacket? Are you kidding me? That’s robbery!” So Raymond simply pulled up the online receipt. After confirming the price, the girl decided to play dumb, turned on her heel, and practically sprinted away. Ethan recounted the story with theatrical flair, clearly enjoying every second of Raymond’s romantic misfortune. “The guy’s a total clean freak, so he was losing his mind over the coffee stain. My apartment was close, so I brought him up to take a shower. I even generously offered him one of my own shirts,” he said, puffing out his chest. I shook my head with a sigh. “That was a close one. He almost got a girlfriend.” It just goes to show, when God builds a man that perfect, he’s got to leave a screw loose somewhere. It was so obvious the girl wanted to hit on him, not pay for damages. Ethan put on a deep, thoughtful voice. “You don’t get it. This kind of thing happened to him constantly in college.” “He’d start the semester with a full wardrobe, and by the end, half of it would be ruined by coffee, wine, you name it.” That actually made sense. There are a million ways to show someone you’re interested. Damaging their property has to be the dumbest one. I nodded in agreement and muttered under my breath, “That’s got to be the oldest trick in the book. If it were me, I’d never do something so lame.” But my quiet little comment didn’t go unheard. A glint appeared in Raymond’s eyes. His smooth voice drifted down from above me. “So how do you do it?” “Me…?” I was at a loss for words, my gaze locking with his dark, intense eyes. His expression was curious, and genuinely serious. Staring up into that perfectly sculpted face, a face without a single flaw from any angle… My heart did something funny. It skipped a beat. 3. Raymond ended up renting the apartment directly above my brother’s. It was only two miles from the university campus and two miles from my parents’ house. Despite the proximity, in all my time at school and around home, I had never once run into him. Zero times. The new semester started with a chaotic whirlwind of activities that left my head spinning. Among them was the soul-crushing news that I had not only flunked Calculus last semester but had just flunked the makeup exam as well. I wasn’t sure whether to question my own intelligence or blame my terrible luck. Seeing me sobbing like my life was over, my roommate, Chloe, had to physically restrain herself from laughing. To lift my spirits and pull me out of my academic death spiral, Chloe dragged me to a party her friends were throwing. It was a mix of students from all the universities in the area, a big crowd of people our age, and everyone was having a blast. Everyone except me. After losing three out of four rounds of party games and being forced to take shots, I was nearing my alcohol limit. I wisely waved the white flag and opted for a dare on the next round. One of the senior girls pointed a lazy finger toward a dark figure sitting at a corner table. “See that guy over there? The hot one. Go ask him if he wants to make out.” The dare was insane. And the atmosphere instantly exploded with excitement. I followed her finger, peering through the dim, shifting lights and hazy smoke. From this distance, surrounded by a sea of people, I couldn’t make out his face. But I could tell from his broad shoulders and the elegant, long-fingered hand wrapped around a glass that he had an… undeniable presence. Dozens of expectant eyes were on me. My stomach churned with a mix of dread and desperation. I didn’t want to be a buzzkill. It’s not like we were actually going to kiss. Steeling myself, I stood up. To hide my terror and not ruin the mood, I threw my shoulders back and marched over, my stride so determined that I could see the reflection of a soldier heading into battle on the glass cabinets. I reached his side, shut my eyes, and blurted it all out in one breath. “Hey, you’re really cute. Wanna make out?” Before he could even answer, I spoke again, my words tumbling out at twice the normal speed. “No? Okay, never mind then.” I spun around to leave. But just then, someone completely wasted stumbled past, bumping hard into my back. I lost my balance. My entire body pitched forward, and I landed, with impeccable, mortifying accuracy, right in the man’s lap. In a panic, I looked up and met a pair of eyes that were both achingly familiar and impossibly handsome. My lipstick brushed against the side of his face, leaving a faint, shimmering red mark. The dim lights swirled around us, casting his gaze in shadow as he looked down at me. We were so close I could feel the warmth of his breath mingling with mine. My heart went into overdrive. It wasn’t until a large, warm hand settled on the small of my back to steady me that reality crashed back in. My heart plummeted into a black hole of despair. My face felt like stone. I was ready to say goodbye to this beautiful world. I screwed up. I screwed up big time. I just hit on my brother’s best friend. 4. Every cell in my body went rigid. The embarrassment was so total, so absolute, I just wanted to cease existing. But Raymond, it seemed, had no intention of letting me play dead. “Ellie,” he asked, his voice a low murmur. “Who exactly were you planning on kissing?” That simple question jolted me back to my senses. I shot up from his lap like a spring, pressing my palms together in a desperate plea. “Raymond, please! It was just a dare, I swear! Don’t tell my brother, okay? Please?” His eyes scanned me, his cool expression unreadable as he considered my request. But his reply had nothing to do with it. “You shouldn’t throw a word like ‘brother’ around so carelessly.” “Got it?” In the dim light of the bar, his deep voice seemed to take on a seductive, mesmerizing quality. The air around me suddenly felt thin. My heart was a chaotic mess. I nodded dumbly, but when I opened my mouth, the same stupid word came out. “But, bro, can you just…” I caught myself halfway through, cutting the word off. He turned his head slightly, extinguishing the half-smoked cigarette between his fingers. I couldn’t see his expression clearly in the shadows, but I heard it. A soft, almost imperceptible laugh. The alcohol must have been starting to really kick in, because my head was spinning faster. “You’ve been drinking,” Raymond stated. It wasn’t a question. Terrified he would report my drunken antics to Ethan, I tried to sound tough. “Just a little. Nothing I can’t handle.” He didn’t seem to get my underlying plea. “Just sit for a minute. Your brother’s on his way over anyway. You can have him take you back to your dorm or go home with him.” “My brother?” Every ounce of dizziness and that strange flutter in my chest vanished instantly. I was starting to think Raymond was threatening me. Blackmailing me. He was going to wait for Ethan to get here and then rat me out. He’d tell him how I behaved when I was drunk. How I’d shamelessly hit on him. My voice trembled. “He can’t know I’m here. I have to go, before he arrives.” I was in such a rush that I slammed my shin hard against the corner of the table. His hand shot out and closed around my wrist. A steady warmth seeped into my skin. “Don’t panic,” he said, his voice low and soothing. But then, a hint of amusement crept into his tone, the sound of someone enjoying the show. “I think you’re a little too late for that, Ellie-gator.” And right on cue, a familiar voice growled from behind me, each word dripping with menace. “Ellie. You’ve got some nerve. How is it that I run into you everywhere I go?” Oh, no. My life is over. Again. And again. And again. 5. I think I’m sick. Ever since that night, I can’t get Raymond out of my head. The ghost of his smirk, the way the light played in his dark eyes, the feeling of my lips brushing against his cheek… it all replays in my mind like an endless loop of pop-up ads. And with those memories comes this strange, electric current that zips through my chest. A wild, terrifying thought surfaced: Am I… developing a thing for my brother’s best friend? The realization sent another wave of horror through me. I was snapped out of my trance by my roommate, Chloe, grabbing my arm, her voice buzzing with excitement. “Ellie! The game’s over!” she squealed. “See that guy in the blue jersey? Number 9? That’s my crush. Isn’t he gorgeous?” She sighed dramatically. “I’m so bummed we missed him playing. I bet he looks amazing on the court.” Today was the Bridgewater University intramural basketball championship. Chloe had scored us passes to get onto campus, put on a full face of makeup, and dragged me along to be her personal cheerleader. But my Calculus professor had scheduled a last-minute review session, making us miss the entire game. By the time we rushed over, it was already ending. Chloe, a lovesick smile on her face, pulled out her phone. She was trying to zoom in on her crush’s face when the frame froze on another figure. She gasped. “Oh my god, it’s Raymond!” Her voice was a whirlwind of teenage angst and awe. All my distracted thoughts immediately evaporated, replaced by a sudden, sharp anxiety. “Wh-what?” Chloe didn’t notice my strange reaction. She excitedly shoved the phone into my hand. On the screen, a guy with perfectly messy hair stood bathed in the afternoon sun. His features were flawless, his tall frame lean and muscular under a white jersey. The golden hour light seemed to set him apart from the world, making him glow. My heart hammered against my ribs. Chloe was still babbling in my ear. “You seriously don’t know who he is? He’s basically a campus legend at Bridgewater. The hottest guy in the grad program. But he’s super aloof. They say the line of girls he’s rejected could circle the track three times. He’s the definition of ‘look but don’t touch’…” “Oh! My crush sees me! I gotta go give him his water! Talk later!” The power of love. This was a girl who acted like she was dying after running a hundred meters in gym class, yet in the blink of an eye, she had vanished into the throng of people on the court. She’d even forgotten her phone. My eyes fell back to the screen. Just as the phone was about to go dark, my finger tapped it awake. I zoomed in on the picture, my thumb swiping unconsciously. His eyes, the kind that seemed full of soul even when looking at a stray dog, filled the entire screen. It was almost like he was looking right at me. And in the next second, those very eyes were right in front of me. “Taking my picture?” I spun around in a panic. My hand jerked, and Chloe’s phone went flying. Time seemed to slow down as it tumbled through the air. I lunged for it. But it landed securely in a hand with long, elegant fingers. And my hand… …had latched onto the strong, steady wrist connected to that hand. His skin was warm beneath my palm. He tilted his head down, his eyelids slightly lowered. For a second, I thought I saw the corner of his mouth twitch into a smile. “Ellie, were you trying to destroy the evidence?” The slight curve of his lips sent my head spinning. “No, that’s not it.” Chloe’s phone was the newest model, top of the line, worth more than my tuition. I was just relieved. “I would never.” The words were out of my mouth before I realized how they sounded. I bit my lip. “I wasn’t taking a picture of you.” “Oh,” he said, his tone perfectly calm. But the amused glimmer in his eyes told me he didn’t believe a word of it. “Well then—” Raymond drew the word out, his expression deceptively pleasant. “—are you planning on letting go of my wrist anytime soon?” Me: !!! Seriously. I’m done. This is the end for me. I snatched the phone back like it was a hostage and bolted, my feet moving faster than they ever had. As I fled, one of Raymond’s friends squeezed out of the crowd, a water bottle in hand. He nudged Raymond, watching my frantic escape with a look of bored familiarity. “Another one bites the dust? Seriously, man, you’re a one-man heartbreak machine.” Raymond’s reply was quiet. “She wasn’t.” His friend laughed. “What, is the world ending? Did hell freeze over?” “Or did the great Raymond finally decide to show off for someone?” From a short distance away, I heard Raymond’s casual, almost lazy response. “You never know.” My frantic footsteps faltered, as if my shoes were suddenly glued to the ground. A firework of hope exploded in my once-dead heart. He didn’t deny it. He! What did that mean!?

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The moment my new neighbor found out I was Chief of Obstetrics at City General, the harassment started. “Dr. Hayes, open up! Something’s wrong—you have to check!” “Are you dead? This baby is special! If anything happens, can you even pay for it?” Three in the morning. My door was hammered so hard the walls shook. It was the sixteenth time this month I’d been woken like this. At first, I thought it was an emergency. I let her in, examined her—only to find her perfectly healthy, just bloated from overeating. But to her, she’d found a free, on-call private doctor. She started demanding nightly check-ups. Between my demanding job and no sleep, I nearly passed out in the OR more than once. I began refusing her. But she was relentless. Every night, without fail, she’d pound on my door—the noise earning complaints from the whole floor. I was at my wit’s end when a post on the community board caught my eye: “Seeking new apartment. Severe insomnia, emotionally unstable. Just beat up my neighbor. Need to move ASAP.” My eyes lit up. I contacted him immediately. 1. He replied almost instantly. We settled on a price, and he said he’d move in next month. I let out a long, slow breath. Finally, someone who could handle my neighbor. When I continued to ignore her, the pregnant woman, Brenda, became even more unhinged. She started shrieking in the hallway. “Lillian Hayes, are you trying to murder me and my baby?” “They say doctors are supposed to be compassionate. You call yourself a doctor?” “I am ordering you to come out and examine me right now, or I’m calling the cops and telling them you’re letting a patient die!” Her screaming was so loud it woke up half the building. The residents’ group chat started blowing up. “Seriously? Again? When is this going to end? Why is there always screaming at this hour?” “Apartments 301 and 302, whatever your issue is, please handle it privately. The rest of us are trying to sleep.” “To the pregnant woman in 302: Have you ever heard of common decency? My son has his SATs coming up, he needs his rest. Could you please be quiet?” Brenda, still lurking outside my door, must have seen the message. Her voice ripped through the hallway again. “What kind of idiot is your son that he’s not pulling all-nighters to study for his SATs? He probably won’t even get into community college.” “The baby I’m carrying is a golden child, a once-in-a-generation miracle! A psychic told me he’s destined for greatness, to be a senator or something.” “If anything happens to him, the worthless lives of everyone in this building couldn’t pay for it!” Her words were so vicious that the parent who had posted the message was furious. They tagged the building management. “Are you people going to do anything about this? Do we pay our HOA fees just to be verbally abused?” The property manager was clearly exasperated. He called me first. “Ms. Hayes, is there any way you can talk to Ms. Jones? Get her to stop the nightly disturbances.” “We’ve tried talking to her multiple times, but she just throws a tantrum every time. We’re at a loss.” I wanted to reason with her, but did Brenda sound like someone who understood reason? “You’d better come up here. I can’t communicate with her either.” I rubbed my temples, a migraine pounding behind my eyes. Just two nights ago, I’d opened the door and told Brenda she needed to go to the hospital for check-ups, not harass me. She had stormed right into my apartment, shouting indignantly. “Easy for you to say! Do you know how much a hospital visit costs?” “The co-pay alone is enough to buy me a week’s worth of groceries. I’m not rich like you.” “My husband works his fingers to the bone at a construction site out of state. Every penny he earns is precious!” Then, as if she owned the place, she’d marched to my medical supply cabinet, grabbed my fetal doppler, and shoved it into my hands, demanding I check the baby’s heartbeat. Before leaving, she’d shamelessly helped herself to a pile of my prenatal supplements. 2. I wanted to snatch them back, but she was holding that huge belly of hers like a shield. If we struggled and something happened, she’d sue me into oblivion. Remembering that, and listening to the rhythmic thump-thump-thump on my door, I wished I could just march out there and slap her. I clenched my fists, taking a deep breath to calm myself. The end of the month was coming. Once the insomniac moved in, we’d see if Brenda still dared to be so arrogant. The property manager arrived quickly. I opened the door to find Brenda, hands on her hips, in full-blown tantrum mode. “What’s it to you if I’m here to see Dr. Hayes for a medical issue?” “Now get lost before you upset my precious son!” The manager gave me a helpless look. “Dr. Hayes, maybe it would be easier if you just did a quick check-up for her. At this rate, nobody’s getting any sleep tonight.” Hearing this, a smug, triumphant look washed over Brenda’s face. “See, Dr. Hayes? You should feel honored that I’m letting you examine my son. I don’t let just anyone touch my belly, you know.” I took another deep breath, keeping my voice polite. “I’m sorry, but I am not your personal physician. I am under no obligation to perform daily check-ups for you.” “The women’s health clinic is two blocks away. You can go there if you need medical attention.” At that, Brenda’s eyebrows shot up. She jabbed a finger in my face. “You’re the Chief of Obstetrics! Why should I pay to go to a clinic?” “You doctors are all the same—heartless scammers. You won’t lift a finger to help someone for free, you just want to trick people into spending money at the hospital.” “I get it now. You must have a deal with that clinic, right? You send them patients and get a kickback!” “I’m telling you, if you don’t examine me right now, I’m putting this all over the internet. We’ll see how long you have a job after that!” I had tolerated her nonsense for weeks, but this was the last straw. “Ms. Jones, let me make myself clear one last time: I will not be examining you. Not now, not ever.” “I have a security camera right here. It recorded every slanderous word you just said. Go ahead, post it online. Let’s see who ends up in jail.” My usual demeanor was calm and professional. This was the first time I had ever lost my temper like this. Brenda was momentarily stunned. After a long pause, she hissed through clenched teeth. “Fine. You don’t have to check on me.” “I have three months left until my due date. That’s about one check-up every other day. You give me twenty thousand dollars for my medical expenses, and I’ll leave you alone.” Her demand left not just me, but the property manager, completely speechless. My breath came in short, angry bursts. “He’s not my child. Why on earth would I pay for your expenses?” Brenda’s voice dripped with entitlement. “You’re a department chief. You must make tens of thousands a month. My husband breaks his back on a construction site for a few grand. You’re rich. What’s twenty thousand dollars to you?” “They say doctors are angels in white coats. If you won’t help me, then you should pay!” Her logic was so twisted it was nauseating. I had lived for decades and never met anyone so utterly shameless. The property manager couldn’t help but intervene. “Ms. Jones, Dr. Hayes is just your neighbor. She has no obligation to pay for your prenatal care…” Before he could finish, Brenda’s shriek cut him off. “What the hell are you talking about? She’s a doctor, she’s supposed to help me!” “You’re taking her side. Are you two sleeping together?” The manager’s face darkened. “I am a married man with a family. Please do not make such baseless accusations!” 3. Brenda rolled her eyes dismissively. “So what if you’re married? Lillian Hayes dresses like a tramp every day. It’s obvious she’s trying to seduce men.” “Who knows how many married men in this building she’s already slept with.” “It’s a good thing my husband works out of state. I wouldn’t feel safe living next to her otherwise.” I work in a hospital. I spend most of my day in scrubs. When I’m not working, my clothes are perfectly normal and modest. I couldn’t fathom how she had twisted that into something so vile. I tried to stay calm, but my heart was hammering against my ribs with pure rage. “Ms. Jones, if you’re going to make accusations, you need proof. You slander me again, and we’ll settle this in court.” Brenda crossed her arms, smirking. “You know whether it’s true or not. I’ve knocked on your door plenty of times when you refused to open it. You must have been hiding a man in there.” “You act all high and mighty, but you’re just a slut.” Her insults grew more and more vulgar. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. Seeing me actually call the police, a flicker of panic crossed Brenda’s eyes. But then she glanced down at her round belly, and her arrogant expression returned. The police arrived within half an hour. Before I could say a word, Brenda burst into tears, playing the victim. “Officers, you have to help me!” she wailed. “Lillian Hayes, a doctor, is bullying a pregnant woman! My stomach is killing me, I’m dying, and she won’t even look at me! Isn’t that attempted murder?” The officers frowned and turned to me. “What’s going on here?” I didn’t say much. I just played the security footage from my phone. “I am a doctor, but I am not obligated to be her 24/7 free clinic. She harasses me every night and verbally abuses me. I want to press charges.” After watching the video, the officers looked just as fed up as I was. The lead officer addressed Brenda sternly. “Ma’am, your behavior constitutes public disturbance and harassment. Please come with us to the station.” Brenda hadn’t expected this. She started screaming. “Why are you arresting me? Lillian is the one who refused to help a dying woman! You should be arresting her!” One of the officers took out a pair of handcuffs, but as he approached, she threw herself on the floor, clutching her stomach. “Help! The police are trying to kill me! They’re going to kill me and my baby!” She was impossible to deal with. And with the pregnancy, it was a minefield. The officer gave me an apologetic look. “Ms. Hayes, she’s pregnant. We can’t forcibly remove her.” “How about this: we’ll give her a formal warning for now. If it happens again, we’ll file for a court order.” I knew their hands were tied. I could only nod. After that incident, Brenda was quiet for a few days. I finally got some much-needed sleep. Just when I thought she had given up, I came home from work to find the window to my apartment wide open, the reinforced security screen violently torn. I thought I’d been robbed. I rushed inside, only to find Brenda sitting on my sofa, eating a durian. 4. She glanced at me, a look of disgust on her face. “This durian you bought isn’t even ripe. It’s not very good. You should pick a better one next time.” I was stunned. “What are you doing in my house?” I asked, my voice shaking. Brenda answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I ran out of my vitamins. You weren’t home, so I had to pry open the window to get them.” I was so furious I could barely speak. “This is my home,” I said through clenched teeth. “This is breaking and entering!” “And what does you running out of vitamins have to do with me? Why are you stealing mine?” Brenda rolled her eyes. “So stingy. How much could this stuff possibly be worth?” “If my son is born unhealthy because he lacked nutrients, could you afford to compensate me for that?” The supplements I had were for my sister, who was trying to conceive. They were expensive, hundreds of dollars a box. I had let the previous thefts slide, but this batch was special. I’d had a friend buy them for me from abroad. There was no way I was letting her take them. I moved toward her to grab the vitamins, but she clutched them to her chest and shrieked. “What are you doing?” “I’m not even asking you for that twenty grand anymore, and you can’t even spare a few boxes of vitamins? You are such a cheap bitch!” She was screaming like a maniac. I couldn’t get near her. My only option was to call the police again. When the officers arrived and saw the scene, they looked exhausted. But this time, it was breaking and entering and theft. They were finally able to haul her down to the station to make a statement. It didn’t matter. As soon as she was released, she was back to her old tricks. She even posted a twisted version of the events online. The headline read: “Chief Physician at City General Hospital, Dr. Lillian Hayes, Refuses to Help Pregnant Woman, Repeatedly Conspires with Police and HOA to Bully Her.” The post gained a lot of traction. My hospital’s administration contacted me, demanding to know what was going on and telling me to handle it immediately. I explained the situation to my superiors, then, seething with a rage I could barely contain, I knocked on Brenda’s door. She took her time answering. When she saw me, a triumphant smile spread across her face. “What’s this? Finally decided to come and give me my check-up?” “You’re pathetic. Have to be beaten into submission before you do the right thing.” I shoved my phone in her face. “Did you write this?” I gritted out. Brenda’s lips curled into a smirk. “I did. This is what you get for calling the cops on me. This is your punishment.” Looking at her arrogant, gloating face, I dug my nails into my palms, trying to keep my anger in check. “Take the post down. Now.” She scoffed. “Why should I? Everything I wrote is the truth. Go ahead, sue me!” “It won’t matter. I won’t go to jail, and you’ll be the one whose reputation is ruined.” Conventional methods were useless against a person like this. I gave her one last, cold glare and went back to my apartment. I endured it for three more days. Then, finally, the day my new tenant was scheduled to move in arrived. I hired a moving company and quietly, without a word to anyone, moved out. I had my lawyer handle the online post, and then I threw myself back into my work. Less than a week later, my upstairs neighbor added me on a messaging app, her text urgent. “Dr. Hayes, something terrible happened! That pregnant woman from 302 is in the community courtyard with a huge banner, saying she’s going to sue you for murder!” “What do you mean?” I typed back, a knot of dread forming in my stomach. My neighbor’s reply came back instantly. “You moved out, right? Well, Brenda went over to your place in the middle of the night and started banging on the door. When no one answered, she found a crowbar and started trying to break it down.” “Your new tenant opened the door, snatched the crowbar from her, and beat her with it. She lost the baby, Lillian.” My blood ran cold. “She’s too scared to go after your tenant,” the neighbor continued, “so she’s blaming you. She says you’re the one who killed her baby, and she’s demanding you pay for it!”

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At eighteen, Asher Vance shielded me with his body, letting a group of thugs beat him until he was bloodied and half-dead. Lying on a stretcher, someone asked him if he regretted it. He was barely conscious, but he laughed, wild and unrestrained. “Regret it? What’s a couple of broken legs?” “I’ve got a wife now, don’t I?” At twenty-eight, I slid the wedding ring from my finger and placed it on the table, along with the pink hair tie I’d found in his pocket. He picked up the hair tie, the one the little girl had used to taunt me. Leaning against the wall, he watched me with a smirk. “Joanna, sweetheart. You don’t really think this little drama is going to change my mind, do you?” 1 I didn’t answer, just kept packing my things. The hair tie was a soft, bubblegum pink, the kind that would perfectly suit a young, vibrant girl. Asher slipped it onto his own wrist with a soft click of his tongue. He smiled, as if the simple object conjured a sweet memory, the curve of his lips softening. The old me would have been screaming by now. A hysterical, raging mess, demanding to know if he was thinking about that little tramp again. But now, I just pushed the wedding ring closer to him. “Let’s get a divorce,” I said, my voice perfectly calm. Asher didn’t respond. He just maintained that casual, indifferent posture, though his smile was now laced with contempt. I knew he didn’t believe me. Because I had said those two words countless times over the past few years. The first few times, he had panicked, just as I’d wanted. He’d sworn to me with tears in his eyes, promising it would never happen again. He’d used every trick in the book, begging me not to leave. Until the time the girl he was keeping got a high fever. I was on the verge of a complete breakdown. I told him if he went to her, we were done. It was my birthday. Asher didn’t come home. When the girl sent a video to my phone—a calculated, taunting clip of them in bed—I actually thought about ending it all. I stood by the open window, the wind chilling me to the bone. In the end, I turned back, collapsing onto the floor in a heap of pathetic, ugly sobs. When Asher finally came home, he crouched in front of me, his smile dripping with scorn. “Sweetheart, I thought we were getting a divorce?” he’d purred. “So why are you still here, waiting for me like a good little dog?” 2 “Asher, this time it’s for real.” I finished packing the last of my things and took a deep breath. He was starting to look annoyed. But just then, his phone rang, playing a melody that could only belong to a teenage girl. Asher straightened up, his features softening the moment he answered. He shot me a triumphant smirk and began to flirt, completely ignoring my presence. “What is it now, my little princess?” “Hmph, you have to ask? It’s Valentine’s Day!” “All the other girls have their boyfriends with them, and mine is stuck with some old hag.” The girl’s voice was young, vibrant, and undeniably sweet. Asher melted under her pouting. “Alright, alright. I’m on my way.” He hung up, the affectionate look still lingering in his eyes as he turned to me. But the words that came out of his mouth were ice cold. “Joanna, you’re not hitting menopause early, are you? What’s with all the drama?” I watched his retreating back and let out a soft sigh. I had loved him too desperately for too long. Now that I truly wanted to leave, no one would ever believe me. 3 After Asher left, a notification popped up on my phone from a contact named “Lily.” [Aunty, didn’t I tell you Asher would spend Valentine’s Day with me?] [Hehe. Looks like I was right.] Her provocations were childish, but they were effective. In the past, they would have sent me into a blind rage. But I knew exactly where her confidence came from. When Asher first started cheating, he wasn’t this brazen. He hid Lily’s texts, soothed me, begged me, and promised he would end it. I was in agony, unable to believe that the boy who had loved me so fiercely could be the one driving a knife into my heart. Like so many betrayed wives, I did all the cliché things. I stormed into his office, screaming about his infidelity in front of his entire staff. I tried to find the woman who was destroying my life, to make her suffer. But Asher had built a fortress around Lily. Until the day Lily, too impatient to wait, came to find me herself. I didn’t even have a chance to fight back. She slapped down a stack of photos—intimate, graphic pictures of her and Asher in bed—and my world shattered. “Aunty, Asher said it was love at first sight with me, but he told me he doesn’t date high schoolers.” “So he waited until I graduated to make me his. And right after, he took me on a trip to Europe to celebrate.” “Yeah, that’s right. It was while you were back home, dealing with your father’s funeral.” “See? That’s how much he loves me.” Lily stood there, her ponytail bouncing, smugly recounting Asher’s devotion. I lost my mind. I grabbed a glass and threw it at her. Then I picked up a shard and raked it across her face, wanting to destroy her perfect, mocking smile. Asher arrived in a flurry, pulling a sobbing Lily into his arms. He looked at me, his voice colder than I had ever heard it. “Joanna, I’ve let you get away with too much over the years.” “So much that you actually thought you had the right to touch what’s mine.” 4 After that day, Asher stopped hiding Lily. He brought her to company events, to dinners with friends, showing her off, their affection on full display for the world to see. He turned me into a joke. No matter how much I screamed or cried, he remained a detached, indifferent spectator to my pain. During that time, I felt like a zombie, a walking corpse. My nerves were constantly frayed. I was a madwoman. When did I finally decide to give up on him? It was probably the day my mother was in the hospital for a major surgery. I was exhausted, running back and forth, and eventually collapsed from the strain. That night, Asher brazenly threw a party at our house, bringing Lily and all their friends. I dragged my weak, sick body downstairs and heard one of Asher’s friends talking about our past. “Man, Ash used to be so in love with Joanna.” “He was a hell of a soccer player back then. Even got scouted by the national team. The guy had a golden future.” “And then he threw it all away to protect her from those thugs, got both his legs broken. He’s never been the same since.” Lily, overhearing this, pouted and demanded to know the details, refusing to believe Asher had ever been so devoted to me. Her displeasure soured Asher’s mood immediately. Another friend laughed, a sleazy edge to his voice. “It was simple, really. A bunch of guys cornered Joanna.” “They were dragging her into a bar, planning to… you know. By the time Ash got there, they’d already ripped her clothes off, groped her all over.” “She was a wreck. Crying her eyes out.” Lily covered her mouth, but a giggle escaped. She snuggled into Asher’s arms, her voice dripping with malicious glee. “If that were me, I’d have killed myself after being touched by all those disgusting men.” “Besides, flies are only drawn to rotting meat. Who knows, maybe she was asking for it?” “Sounds like she got what she deserved.” But as the words left her mouth, Asher’s face went cold. “Shut up,” he commanded. Lily stared at him in disbelief, her eyes welling with tears. She started sobbing, saying she wanted to go home. “I was just saying I feel bad for you! You got your legs broken for her, and this is how you treat me?” Asher couldn’t stand to see her cry. He immediately started trying to soothe her. Lily stubbornly wiped her tears away, refusing to be placated. She tugged on his tie, her voice thick with anger. “Then say it. Say you regret it. Say that if you could do it all over again, you wouldn’t save that old hag. You’d let her rot!” Asher sighed, raising his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I wouldn’t save her. Fine.” In that moment, it felt like my sick, broken body finally dissolved into nothing. My heart seized with a suffocating, absolute despair. And in that moment, I finally woke up. I realized that Asher was no longer the boy who had loved me. I had to let him go. For his sake, and for mine. So I gave myself one week to learn how to let go. Today was the final day. 5 The past was the past. I took one last, long look around our home. My gaze moved from the wild, carefree smile of the man in our wedding photo to the worn, tarnished ring on the coffee table. Asher had only taken Lily’s hair tie. He hadn’t even glanced at the ring. He must have forgotten that he had placed that ring on my finger himself, right after we graduated high school. His legs hadn’t even fully healed yet, but he had limped to a construction site every day for two months, earning exactly ten thousand, three hundred dollars. Ten thousand for the ring. Three hundred for a bouquet of flowers. He had promised me, his voice thick with guilt, that he would buy me a better one someday, when he had more money. The evening breeze was cool that night as the boy knelt on one knee, his handsome face lit by a smile that would become the cage I lived in for half my life. Later, he became successful. His company went public. He bought Lily a ring worth over a hundred thousand dollars, but he never mentioned getting me a new one. I took a deep breath, grabbed my suitcase, and walked out the door. Then I called my lawyer. “I’m on my way. I’ll be there in about half an hour.” I had contacted the lawyer—an old classmate—a week ago. We sat in a coffee shop, going over the details of the divorce agreement. My name was on some of Asher’s company shares, and all of that had to be settled. The agreement was fair. I couldn’t see any reason for Asher to refuse. “This looks good,” I said, looking up at the man in the impeccably tailored suit. “Thank you.” He gave me a polite, professional smile. As he was leaving, he handed me a coat from the back of his chair. “It’s windy out,” he said. “Be careful on your way.” 6 Asher wasn’t at the office. I had a pretty good idea where he would be. Arriving at Lily’s university, I felt a strange sense of déjà vu. But the sight of her snapped me back to reality. Asher had spoiled her. She was draped in luxury brands from head to toe, surrounded by a gaggle of fawning admirers. She carried herself with an air of arrogant entitlement. A stark contrast to my own college days, when I had scrimped and saved every penny to help Asher fund his startup. When Lily saw me, she frowned. “Ugh, what a buzzkill.” Her friends started whispering, asking who I was. I ignored them and spoke to her directly, my voice cold. “Get Asher. I need to talk to him.” But as I said this, one of Lily’s friends stepped forward and shoved me, hard. I was wearing heels and stumbled backward, my lower back slamming into the metal pole of a basketball hoop. A sharp, radiating pain shot through me. The girls surrounded me, acting like a pack of righteous vigilantes. “Shameless old hag. Are you really trying to steal a college student’s boyfriend?” “Aunty, are you that desperate for a man? Following him all the way to a university?” “Lily and her boyfriend are in love. Stop trying to be a homewrecker.” Lily stood behind them, a smug look on her face. I bit my lip, then I slapped the girl who had pushed me, hard across the face. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she started to curse at me. I didn’t give her the chance. I pulled out the marriage certificate I had brought with me. “Lily, every single thing Asher has given you over the past two years… I’m entitled to half of it. That’s my legal right as his wife.” “I hope you can afford to pay it back.”

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Three months before my wedding, the world came crashing down. My fiancé, Mike, posted a picture on his Instagram. It wasn’t of us. It was his marriage certificate, side-by-side with a photo of my stepsister, Della, cradling her pregnant belly. His caption read: Legally welcoming our little one into the world. Della commented with a single shy-face emoji. My own mother liked the post. Then she commented, I’ll watch the baby for you. You two just enjoy your time together. I couldn’t help myself. I typed a single question mark. A second later, my phone buzzed with an incoming call from Mike. His voice, once a comfort, was a torrent of accusations. “She’s just ‘borrowing’ me for a year, Clara! The baby will be born, and then I’m all yours again.” “Don’t be so petty,” he continued, his tone sharp. “My mom agrees. She always said you should have a son before we make it official anyway. This works out perfectly. We have the wedding first, and you get your certificate later. It’s fine.” A cold numbness spread through me. “Okay,” I whispered, then hung up. I methodically went through my social media, deleting every trace of him, every happy memory now tainted. Then, I posted something new. Need a groom. Any takers? 1 Mike was the first to reply. Mike: Are you out of your goddamn mind, Clara? I marry her for a technicality, and you pull this stunt? Did you really think a pathetic post like this would make me jealous? That’s hilarious. I’m warning you, stop making trouble, and leave Della out of it. Della’s comment appeared right below his. Della: Sis, Mike just wants our baby to have a proper name. I’m not trying to steal him. When you and he get married, my child can even call you Mom. Then came my mother. Mom: You’re being so ungrateful. You get a child without the pain of childbirth, and Della is making it happen for you. The least you could do is thank her. A flood of comments from Mike’s buddies followed, each one a jab to the ribs. You and Della are sisters, right? Doesn’t matter who Mike marries, it’s all in the family! How about Della gets him Mon-Weds-Fri, and you get Tues-Thurs-Sat? They all thought it was a riot, their laughing emojis mocking my pain. I stared at the screen for a long time, a bitter, acidic feeling rising in my throat until it stung my eyes. Tears I couldn’t hold back began to fall, splattering onto my phone. They were the ones in the wrong. And yet, here they were, shamelessly blaming me. How pathetic. These people weren’t worth a single one of my tears. I wiped my eyes fiercely. Amidst the chaos of the comment section, one stood out, a calm island in a sea of insanity. It was from Liam. Can I be your groom? Liam and I grew up together. After college, I’d stayed in the city while he went abroad for his master’s. The day I started dating Mike, Liam had respectfully distanced himself. It had been years since we’d really talked. As I was still processing his comment, my phone rang. It was him. “Clara,” his voice was steady, warm. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time.” He didn’t wait for me to respond. “You know I’ve never liked your stepsister, so there will be no drama there. I don’t have a messy circle of friends, and I’ve spent the last few years building my career. There are no ex-girlfriends in the picture.” A notification popped up on my screen. A legal document. I opened it. It was a contract, transferring all his assets and company shares into my name. My breath hitched. “Clara,” he said, and for the first time, I heard a tremor of vulnerability in his voice. “This is my entire commitment. It’s all I have to offer. Will you give me a chance?” A familiar ache settled in my chest. I remembered us as kids. Our teacher had given him two pieces of his favorite candy as a reward. He had looked at them, his mouth watering, but he hadn’t eaten a single one. He’d saved both for me. He had always given me everything. My voice was thick with emotion. “Yes.” Love had proven to be a ghost, a phantom I’d chased only to be left wounded and bleeding. I had been ready to give up, to accept that I would be alone. But my grandmother’s dying wish was to see me married, to know there was someone in the world who would have my back. Mike was not that man. But Liam… if my groom was Liam, I knew my grandmother would rest easy. His voice bloomed with pure joy. “I’ll wrap things up here. I’ll be back to marry you in two weeks.” He paused, his tone turning almost pleading. “Clara, you’ll wait for me, won’t you? You won’t change your mind?” That hint of childlike vulnerability reminded me of the time I’d promised to be his bride when we grew up. “I will,” I promised, a sudden urge to cry washing over me—not from sadness, but from a profound sense of relief. “Liam,” I whispered, “pinky swear.” 2 After the call, my bedroom door swung open. It was my mother. “Where is that sapphire necklace your father left you?” I remained silent. Her brow furrowed in annoyance. “What’s with the attitude? Your sister thinks it’s pretty and wants to wear it for a few days. Just get it. Don’t be so childish!” Della clung to our mother’s arm, her face a mask of disappointment. “It’s okay, Mom. I know she’s never really seen me as a sister. If she doesn’t want to, I won’t force her.” “She wouldn’t dare!” my mother snapped, turning her glare on me. “That necklace belonged to my husband—your father. As of today, it’s yours, Della.” She looked back at me, her voice hard as steel. “If you don’t hand it over, don’t blame me for having your room searched.” I stared at her, a bitter smile twisting my lips. It felt more like a grimace. The gentle, loving mother from my memories had vanished, replaced by this harsh, scolding stranger. But it didn’t matter anymore. I was leaving this place for good. There was no point in another meaningless fight. Wordlessly, I retrieved the velvet box, opened it, and handed her the necklace. A satisfied smile spread across her face. “That’s my girl. Della is your little sister. You should always give her the best of everything.” After Mom left, Della fastened the sapphire clasp around her neck, admiring her reflection in my vanity mirror. “Don’t blame Mom for favoring me, sis. Honestly, this necklace looks much better on me anyway.” She smirked. “Just like Mike looks better as my boyfriend.” Her eyes met mine in the reflection. “Some things are just meant to be mine. No one else can ever have them.” I said nothing, watching her pathetic victory dance. With people like her, any reaction was fuel for the fire. Indifference was the only weapon. I grabbed my purse, walked past her as if she were thin air, and headed for the stairs. “Ah! Sis, why did you push me—” Della suddenly lurched in front of me, feigning a push and stumbling backward toward the top of the staircase. As much as I loathed her, my instincts kicked in. I reached out to grab her arm. It was a twenty-step drop; this was no joke. “Clara, you venomous bitch!” A hand slapped mine away from Della’s arm with brutal force. My hand slammed against the wooden banister with a sickening crack. A wave of white-hot pain shot up my arm, and I broke out in a cold sweat. “Mike, you came just in time! I was so scared, I…” Della sobbed, burying herself in Mike’s arms, her face a mess of tears and fabricated terror. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here now,” Mike murmured, stroking her hair. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.” I looked down at my hand, already swelling and turning a bruised, angry purple. Then I looked at Della, who hadn’t suffered so much as a scratch, being held and comforted as if she were made of glass. The irony was a bitter pill to swallow. The boy who had once promised to cherish me forever, the man I was supposed to marry in three short months… how had his heart turned so cold, so fast? 3 Once Della was calm, Mike’s gaze, dark and menacing, fell on me. “I know you’re upset that I married her and we’re having a baby behind your back. You can take it out on me, I get it. I should have told you.” He took a step closer. “But you do not get to hurt Della. Her health is fragile. She’s been through enough.” His voice rose with indignation. “All she did was ask me for a chance to be a mother. Is that so wrong? Why should she have to suffer your anger?” He pointed a shaking finger at me. “You are going to apologize to her. Right now.” My whole body trembled with a rage I could barely contain. “And what did I do wrong?” I hissed. “Tell me, Mike, what exactly did I do wrong?” He stared into my blazing eyes and faltered for a second. “It’s okay, Mike, really,” Della sniffled from the safety of his arms. “Even though I almost fell to my death… I don’t blame my sister. I don’t need an apology.” She looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “You and Clara still have to get married. I don’t want you fighting because of me.” Mike sighed, his expression softening as he looked at her. “Della, you’re too good. It’s heartbreaking sometimes.” He turned back to me, his eyes cold again. “You’re just jealous of her. You can’t stand to see her happy.” He paused. “Fine. Della is speaking up for you, so if you don’t want to apologize, you don’t have to. But if you ever try to hurt her again, I swear, I won’t be so lenient.” He scooped Della into his arms and, just before leaving, shot me one last look of utter disappointment. “You can’t even compare to your sister.” The silence of the living room pressed in on me. I watched the dead leaves drift past the window, then sank to the floor, buried my face in my hands, and finally let myself sob. One last time. This was the last time I would ever cry for Mike. That afternoon, he posted again. A nine-photo grid of our future home, the one we had picked out together. Each picture showed a different corner, a different room. The caption read: Every room, every piece of furniture, every little detail, all chosen with love to give my baby a warm and happy home. The comments poured in. Congrats, Mike! A baby on the way! So you and Clara are having a baby! Wonderful news! Clara is so lucky to have a husband like you! I’m so jealous! I wouldn’t miss your wedding in three months for a billion-dollar deal! As the congratulations flowed, Della dropped a bomb in the comments. Oh, everyone, don’t get the wrong idea. This isn’t Mike’s marital home. It’s my house. An awkward silence fell over the comment section. I was the one to break it. Three’s a crowd. I’m out. Wishing you two happiness. Then, without a second thought, I blocked both of them. My phone rang almost immediately. It was Mike. “Clara, have you lost your mind?” “I’m perfectly sane,” I said, my voice flat. “That comment you left—you’re deliberately trying to make Della look bad,” he seethed. “You just had to paint her as a homewrecker, didn’t you? Is that what makes you happy? Keep slandering her, and this wedding is off!” His cruel words washed over me, but I felt nothing. The part of me that cared was already dead. “Mike,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “What on earth makes you think I’d still want your sloppy seconds?” 4 I hung up. The phrase “sloppy seconds” must have struck a nerve. He called again, and again, and again. When I didn’t answer, he bombarded me with texts. I ignored them all. In ten days, I was going to marry Liam. These people were about to become ghosts from a past life. I had intended to spend my remaining time here in peace, but Della shattered that illusion when she smashed my father’s urn. His ashes spilled across the floor. She felt no remorse. Instead, she let her cat urinate on them. Then she looked at me, a triumphant smirk on her face. “Look, sis. Your dad makes great kitty litter!” In that instant, every ounce of grief and suppressed rage inside me exploded. I grabbed the baseball bat from behind the door and swung it at her with all my might. It connected with a solid thud. She shrieked, her face turning sheet-white as she scrambled away. “Clara! Have you completely lost it? How dare you hit your sister!” My mother’s voice was Della’s salvation. She scurried behind her, hiding like a frightened child. “Mom, I’m scared,” she sobbed. “She’s trying to kill me!” My mother shielded Della like a hen protecting her chick, her fury directed entirely at me. “I’ve let your bullying slide, thinking it was just petty squabbles, but this is too much!” She was my mother, yet she always stood against me, defending a girl with no blood relation to her. There was no greater sorrow. Tears blurred my vision. “She broke Dad’s urn!” I screamed, my voice raw. “That was Dad! My dad! Why? Why?” Why, after I had already yielded so much, did they have to destroy the one tangible memory I had left of him? Why did my own mother not love me? Della dropped to her knees dramatically. “Mom, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to, I swear! If Clara can’t forgive me, then… then I might as well just die!” she wailed. “Della, you stop this—” SMACK! My mother’s hand cracked across my face before I could finish my sentence. “Enough!” she shrieked. “It’s just ashes! He’s already dead. Is a pile of ash more important than a living person?” Her final words hung in the air, cold and sharp. “If you bother Della again, you can get out.”

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While other children played, I was forged into a weapon for my mother’s revenge. A scorned heiress who fled her wedding after stabbing her mob-boss groom, her love for him curdled into a bottomless hatred after he left her. My sole purpose, she said, was to reclaim her lost fortune. A prodigy with a photographic memory, I was drilled in finance, high-society etiquette, and how to charm her powerful new fiancé, Lucas Thorne. After eight years of planning, we succeeded. In a boardroom, my childish voice recited a tampered will, winning back her hundred-million-dollar inheritance. I looked to her, yearning for praise. Instead, coolly looping her arm through Lucas’s, she told the butler, “Send Lucy to boarding school.” I didn’t cry. My gaze fell to her stomach, knowing a new child would soon receive all the love I never had, while I was left to rot. 1 The butler was packing my suitcase in my room, his movements efficient and cold. “Your mother has given strict orders. You are to remain upstairs. Do not, under any circumstances, go down and ruin her engagement party with Mr. Thorne.” From the grand hall below, the gentle strains of a waltz and ripples of laughter drifted up. I pressed my face to the crack in the door, watching them, mesmerized. Beneath the glittering crystal chandeliers, my mother and Uncle Lucas were dancing. The smile on her face was a radiant, joyful thing I had never seen before. On instinct, my bare feet began to trace the steps on the wooden floor, as if I, too, had been invited to the ball. Suddenly, the door creaked open. A boy about my age peered in, his eyes wide with curiosity. “It’s way more fun downstairs! Come on!” He was strong. Before I could protest, he grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the room, dragging me to the top of the grand staircase. In an instant, every head in the ballroom turned. A hundred pairs of eyes, followed by a blinding barrage of camera flashes, zeroed in on me. “Who’s that little girl with the Thorne boy?” “She looks just like Ms. Astor, doesn’t she?” The reporters, smelling a story, swarmed the base of the stairs. Microphones were thrust towards my face. “Young lady, who are you to Ms. Astor?” “Why has she been hiding you?” “There are rumors Ms. Astor has an illegitimate child. Is that you?” My mother’s face went deathly pale. Lucas’s brow furrowed into a sharp, displeased line. I froze, paralyzed by the attention. The flashbulbs were like whips lashing at my face. The reporters’ questions grew sharper, more relentless. “Ms. Astor fled her wedding ten years ago. Could this girl be the result of that affair?” “Is Mr. Thorne really raising his rival’s child?” Lucas immediately wrapped a protective arm around my mother. “Get this child out of here,” he commanded, his voice devoid of any warmth. He didn’t even look at me. He just glared at the butler. “Now.” I was roughly dragged back to my room and the door slammed shut. The butler snarled, “You little monster.” He pulled a thin sewing needle from his pocket. “Just like your deadbeat mobster father. You just can’t stand to see your mother happy, can you?” He pricked my fingertip, a sharp sting of pain. I cried out, struggling, but the sight of the tiny bead of blood sent a wave of terror through me. My vision swam, and the world went black. I don’t know how long I was out. When I came to, I could hear muffled, angry voices from the next room. “If she dares to pull a stunt like that today, she’ll dare to ruin everything for me tomorrow!” my mother shrieked. “I don’t care, Lucas! I want her gone by morning. I can’t stand to have her here for one more day!” Uncle Lucas was silent. My mother’s voice rose to a hysterical pitch. “Lucas, you waited eight years for me! Eight years! Now that we’re finally together, are you going to let her destroy our happiness? Don’t you understand? Every time I look at her, I’m reminded of how I betrayed you. It’s driving me insane!” I pushed myself up, my body trembling, my fingernails digging into the wall. I prayed, begged to a god I didn’t believe in, for him to say no. A moment later, I heard Uncle Lucas sigh. 2 “If you’re sure,” he said, his voice heavy with resignation. “Then send her away.” I collapsed against the cold wood of the door, my heart a stone in my chest. I could hear my mother weeping softly into his shoulder. “Don’t cry,” Lucas soothed. “You know what the doctor said. A mother’s stress isn’t good for the baby.” Her sobs slowly subsided, replaced by a laugh that sounded unnervingly light. “You’re right. We’re going to have a perfect, angelic baby. Nothing like that little demon.” That last word lodged itself in my throat, a shard of glass that made it hard to breathe. “What are you doing, skulking in the dark and eavesdropping?” I spun around. My grandmother stood there, leaning on a rhino-horn cane, her eyes cold and hard. She looked like a witch from a fairy tale. Terrified, I scrambled back into my room and locked the door. The next morning, the butler broke the lock and dragged me out of bed, throwing me onto the cold marble floor of the living room. The remnants of last night’s party were still there—discarded ribbons tangled on the floor, half-empty glasses on a long table draped in purple silk. My stomach clenched with a mixture of fear and hunger. A group of adults entered the room, ignoring me completely. My grandmother pointed at me with her cane. “The car is waiting. Get your things and go.” My mother, clinging to Lucas’s arm, let her gaze sweep past me as if I were invisible. “Just looking at her,” she murmured, “makes my stomach turn.” Lucas patted her hand comfortingly. “Then don’t look. Let’s take a walk in the garden.” They turned to leave. Not one of them had spoken a single word to me. I clutched the little rag doll I had spent all night sewing, my nails digging into my palms. “Mother,” I called out, my voice barely a whisper. “I have something for you.” She stopped, an annoyed frown creasing her perfect brow. Lucas hesitated, then stepped forward and took the small doll from my hand. “It’s me,” I said softly. “So it can keep you company when I’m not here.” My mother’s expression twisted in horror. She snatched the doll from Lucas’s hand and threw it violently to the floor. She stomped on it with the pointed toe of her designer heel, grinding it into the marble, her composure completely shattered. My grandmother slammed her cane on the floor. “Are you trying to upset her on purpose?” she hissed. “She’ll have a new baby soon. She doesn’t need you anymore!” My heart felt like it was being torn in two. Tears streamed silently down my face. Still, I clung to one last, desperate hope. I looked toward the dining room. “Mother, can I have a piece of cake?” I asked. “You promised… you promised that when your plan succeeded, you’d throw me a birthday party. With singing and dancing and lots of people…” “I thought… I thought that was yesterday.” Her eyes met mine, and she flinched as if burned, turning to flee. At that exact moment, one of the estate’s guard dogs, a massive, startled wolfhound, burst into the room, snarling as it charged directly at her. Without a second thought, I threw myself in front of her. The dog’s teeth sank deep into my arm. The pain was so intense I nearly passed out. My mother stared, frozen, at my arm, at the blood pouring from the wound. Her voice trembled. “Why?” I gasped for breath against the searing pain. “Mother… I remember you’re afraid of dogs.” For a fleeting second, I saw something soften in her eyes. She even started to raise a hand toward me. “Butler! What are you standing there for?” my grandmother shrieked. “Get this girl out of here! Don’t let the sight of her upset your mother any further!” She glared at me as if I were the vicious animal that had just attacked. My mother seemed hesitant. Grandmother seized her arm. “What did you promise me?” she whispered fiercely. “If you keep this little beast around, you could lose everything you have now. Is it worth it?” It was as if a switch had been flipped. My mother looked at me, and the flicker of warmth in her eyes was instantly extinguished, freezing over into a sheet of ice. I reached out with my uninjured hand, a futile gesture towards her retreating back, desperate for a hug that would never come. The next thing I knew, Uncle Lucas was scooping me up. He carried me to the car and buckled me in, then drove away at high speed. When I woke up, I wasn’t at a hospital. I was in front of a cold, iron gate bearing a sign: SACRED HEART BOARDING SCHOOL. 3 Lucas was inside, signing paperwork with the headmaster. When he saw I was awake, his voice was gentle but distant. “They’ve given you the vaccine shots. Don’t be afraid.” “Study hard here,” he continued. “When you’re grown up, I’ll come get you. I’ll arrange a good marriage for you.” The headmaster stood beside him, his face wreathed in a sycophantic smile. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Thorne. We’ll take care of Miss Lucy as if she were our own daughter!” As soon as the car disappeared down the drive, a young teacher standing nearby scoffed. “Mr. Thorne is so handsome and kind. He and Ms. Astor are a match made in heaven.” Her gaze fell on me, dripping with contempt. “A pity, really. A sparrow will always be a sparrow.” “Dreaming of being a Thorne?” she sneered. “Pathetic.” I never had a dream like that. All I ever wanted was to be my mother’s daughter. It was as simple, and as impossible, as that. A month later, I was a legend at Sacred Heart. I aced every test, skipped grade after grade. The headmaster, giddy with excitement, called my mother to share the good news. Her voice on the other end was cold and impatient. “She was doing university-level work at eight. I sent her there for peace and quiet, not for academic reports. There’s no one here to look after her.” The headmaster’s smile froze on his face. I reached for the phone, desperate to hear her voice, but then she said, “I can’t talk, I have a prenatal appointment.” The line went dead. The headmaster put the phone down, and the warmth in his eyes vanished completely. His fat hand came to rest on my head, then began to slide slowly downward, his smile turning greasy. “A child with no mother’s love… but so smart and pretty. I hear your mother is a great beauty. You’re turning into one yourself…” I stiffened, rooted to the spot in horror. Just as his hand was about to touch the collar of my uniform, the door was kicked open with a loud bang. It was Jayce, the school’s resident troublemaker. He had a blade of grass hanging from his lips. “Hey, old man,” he said, his voice a lazy drawl. “What’s going on? You hear the sirens? I think the cops are here.” The headmaster snatched his hand back as if he’d been electrocuted, his face a mask of panic. Jayce seized the opportunity, grabbing my wrist. “She’s with me. We’re leaving.” Without another word, he pulled me out of the office and we ran. We ran all the way to the grassy hill behind the school, not stopping until our lungs burned and we collapsed onto the ground. The sun was blinding. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I started to cry, my sobs tearing through me. “My mom’s having a new baby,” I wailed. “I won’t have a mother anymore.” Jayce let out a short, bitter laugh, pillowing his head on his arms as he stared at the sky. “Is that all? Who here has a family? We’re all just castoffs.” His words were like an icicle piercing my heart, freezing me to the core. After that, my life at the school took a nosedive. Even the cafeteria ladies went out of their way to torment me, giving me a glass of mango juice and telling me it was banana. Soon after I drank it, my throat began to swell. I couldn’t breathe. An angry red rash broke out all over my skin. Jayce found me, threw me on his back, and sprinted to the infirmary. The school nurse examined me and said slowly, “The imported medicine works best, but it costs extra.” Jayce turned to me. “Got any money?” It was only then that I remembered the massive “living allowance” Uncle Lucas had provided. It had been transferred directly into the headmaster’s account. I didn’t have a single penny. Jayce swore under his breath. He yanked the gold chain from his neck and tossed it to the nurse. She weighed it in her palm before grudgingly fetching the medication. As I lay weakly on the cot, I whispered, “Jayce, I’ll pay you back someday. I promise.” He leaned against the wall, a smirk on his face. “Focus on staying alive first.” When the nurse came to give me the shot, Jayce instinctively turned away. As he did, the collar of his shirt shifted. I caught a glimpse of his neck and the top of his back—a crisscrossing map of angry, raised scars, some old and faded, some terrifyingly new. His life wasn’t any easier than mine. The nurse, tidying up, suddenly remembered something. “Oh, by the way,” she said casually, “it’s time for her rabies booster shot.” Before the words were even fully out of her mouth, Jayce exploded. He lunged across the room, grabbed the nurse by her collar, and slammed her against the wall. “What the hell did you just say?” he snarled, his eyes blazing with a fury that made her stammer and beg for mercy. “Are you telling me those people didn’t even leave her money for a damn vaccine?” After he dragged me out of the infirmary, Jayce had calmed down a little. His voice held a strange, self-mocking tone. “Scared you, huh? My family said I might have that super-male gene, you know? Said I was born bad. So they wrote me out of the inheritance and dumped me here to rot.” He said it so casually, as if he were talking about someone else. A few days later, two police officers came and took Jayce away. The headmaster followed behind them, a triumphant, ugly grin stretching from ear to ear.

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After my billionaire-family brother found me—the true heiress—I’d already been scavenging for eight years. He crushed my cardboard pile with his polished shoe as I gnawed on spoiled rice from a dumpster. “Aria has cancer,” he said flatly, hiding disgust. “I’ll bring you home after she’s gone.” I just nodded cheerfully. On his birthday, I spent my last money on his gift and flowers for Aria. Approaching the house, I heard him reassure her softly: “Flora will never know your cancer is fake. We can stall three, even five years. She can survive without me—but you can’t.” He blew out his candles and wished, “May Aria stay by my brother forever.” I walked away without entering. His wish came true—I didn’t have five years. Three days after I died, a viral video titled “Eighteen Years: A Cancer Patient’s Entire Life” spread online. 1 My brother had just given Aria a bracelet worth five million dollars. Her delighted laughter echoed from the grand villa. I couldn’t bring myself to disturb their happiness. The moment I stepped outside the gates, I couldn’t hold it back any longer. A mouthful of blood spewed from my lips, splattering across the gift in my hands. It was just a cheap watch, but the sight of it stained made my heart ache. I had spent three months collecting cardboard to afford it. I frantically tried to wipe the blood away, but my eyes caught a pile of cardboard next to a trash can, and professional habit kicked in. I had just bent down to grab it when a man holding a camera stepped in front of me, the lens practically shoved in my face. “‘Exploring the Underclass,’ episode three! What do you say, folks? Should we follow this little scrap-picker for the day?” The man was clean-cut and handsome, but something in his eyes made my skin crawl. “No, no, absolutely not!” I waved my hands frantically. He simply pulled out his phone and showed me a payment QR code. “Five hundred bucks for a day’s filming. I’ll pay you at the end.” Trash-picking could wait. Making money couldn’t. I scanned the code so fast I was afraid he’d take it back, tell me it was all a joke. The man lowered the camera for a second and sneered. “Her eyes sure light up at the sight of money.” I just grinned back at him like a fool. The truth is, money is useless to the dying. It’s for the living. And I didn’t have many days left. “My name is Kai,” he said. “I’m a vlogger who makes documentaries about the poor.” “You’re skin and bones. Must be starving. Let’s get you something to eat!” There was a calculating excitement in his voice as he dragged me towards the most expensive restaurant in the area. The gilded, opulent building would be the perfect backdrop to highlight a poor girl’s pathetic state, guaranteed to rack up clicks and controversy. Just as he’d hoped, I clutched the hem of my washed-out shirt, my voice timid. “That’s… that’s a place for rich people. I’ve never been inside.” A triumphant smirk played on Kai’s lips. He could already see the video going viral. Heh. I was lying. I came here all the time. Covered in grime, I’d scavenge through the dumpsters out back, watching my brother lead a princess-like Aria inside for dinner. Every night, the restaurant would throw out the leftovers. I’d be there waiting, squatting by the door for my “lucky feast.” Once, I hit the jackpot. I found a necklace in the scraps. It was a gift from my brother to Aria, her name engraved on the back. She’d tossed it because she thought the style was outdated. Shamelessly, I picked it up and put it on, admiring my reflection in the grimy mirror of a public restroom. I pretended… I pretended he had given it to me. I was still lost in the memory when Kai half-pushed, half-pulled me inside. The moment we sat down, his camera was back in my face. “You look so young. Why are you picking through trash? Don’t you have a family?” I held up two fingers, a strange pride in my voice. “I’ve had two families…” I paused, thinking of my brother, and raised a third finger. “No, wait. Three.” Kai raised an eyebrow, his tone mocking. “Three? Shouldn’t you be the happiest girl in the world then?” A lump formed in my throat. I started to tell him about my first family. “When I was five, I was sold by traffickers to an old, childless couple in the mountains.” Because I was a girl, I was cheap. The daughter of the city’s wealthiest man, sold for a mere thousand yuan. But in those backwoods villages where sons were prized above all else, being a girl was a sin. 2 My days were an endless cycle of herding sheep and finishing chores. They ate meat, but never shared any with me. All I got were potatoes. One for breakfast, one for lunch, half for dinner. When the hunger was unbearable, I’d beg from the other villagers. One man made me kowtow and call him grandpa before tossing me a stale bun. Another kicked me over and told me to get lost. At night, I slept in the sheep pen. In the winter, with no blanket, I’d press myself against the sheep for warmth. Through the low-set windows, the faces of the family I barely remembered would flicker in my tear-filled eyes. I tilted my head back, forcing the tears down, and put on a brave smile. “You know, whenever I thought I was going to freeze or starve to death, I would dream of my mom, my dad, and my brother,” I boasted. “They were so good to me. My parents would give me my favorite toys, and my brother would hold me in his arms and call me his ‘little treasure.’” The mocking smile on Kai’s face froze. The food arrived—all the restaurant’s signature dishes. He placed a piece of pork rib on my plate. “Let’s eat,” he said, his voice a little strained. I fought back the nausea churning in my stomach and shook my head with a hint of defiance. “I don’t eat meat.” Kai blinked, then burst out laughing. “A little beggar who’s a picky eater? You don’t eat meat?” I chuckled along with him, but tears welled up in my eyes. “At my adoptive parents’ house,” I began, “even their dog, Big Yellow, felt sorry for me. He would always leave me half of his food.” I was one step away from calling that dog my big brother. Thanks to him, I finally wasn’t starving anymore. To show my gratitude, I scrubbed his food bowl clean every single day until it shone. The first time I tasted meat was when my adoptive parents threw me a bone they had already gnawed clean. It was the most delicious thing I’d ever eaten. I chewed on it until my face was greasy. Then, my adoptive father smiled at me, his yellow teeth like gravestones. “Tastes good, doesn’t it? That’s Big Yellow. We got a good twenty pounds of meat off him.” The half-chewed piece of meat lodged in my throat. I clawed at my own neck, gagging and retching until I was spitting up bile. “After that,” I finished, pushing the plate away with a flourish, “I never touched meat again. Even when I could get it. I just… quit.” Kai stared at the pork rib, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “What happened after that?” “After that…” I rested my chin in my hand, my tone light. “That night, my adoptive father crept into the sheep pen. He started pulling at my clothes. Luckily, I was brave and clever. I grabbed a rake and cracked him over the head with it!” “He got really mad and said he was going to strangle me, but I squeezed through a hole in the wall that Big Yellow had dug before… you know. My dog brother saved me one last time.” I told the story as if it were nothing, but Kai’s eyes were turning red. He violently waved over a waiter. “Take all the meat dishes away! Bring us all vegetarian plates!” The waiter looked bewildered. Kai exploded. “What are you waiting for? Can’t you see this girl is starving?” I ate until I was full, patting my round belly with a satisfied burp. As we were leaving, I stopped the waiter. “Don’t throw those meat dishes out. Please pack them up for me.” At my words, the flicker of sympathy in Kai’s eyes instantly turned to suspicion. He aimed the camera at me, his voice dripping with contempt. “There it is. The act couldn’t last, could it? Tells a sob story about not eating meat, then turns around and asks for a doggy bag. What a little liar.” I ignored him, carefully scraping every last morsel of meat into the takeout containers. After the meal, Kai insisted on filming at my “home.” The car pulled up to a desolate garbage dump. In the center stood the burnt-out frame of a shack, patches of early winter snow still clinging to the broken roof tiles. That was my home. Just as I got out of the car, my phone rang. It was one of the students I sponsored. “Sister, I got the money. But it’s too much! Are you sure you have enough for yourself?” I puffed out my chest, my voice loud and proud. “Of course! Your sister is rich! I’m a billionaire’s daughter! I live in a huge mansion, drive a convertible, and eat gourmet food every day. Don’t you worry about me.” Kai looked around the foul-smelling dump, pinching his nose. “This trash heap… this is your ‘huge mansion’?” “It’s huge, isn’t it?” He kicked the tire of my three-wheeled cart, the one I used to haul trash. “And I suppose this is your ‘convertible’?” “Never gets stuck in traffic. Eco-friendly.” He scoffed. “And the ‘gourmet food’? I guess that part’s true. Scraps from a dumpster that not even a dog would touch!” “Waste not, want not,” I shot back. “Tch,” he muttered. “Too proud for your own good.” His condescending tone lasted until he glanced at my phone and saw the transfer history. The five hundred dollars he had just sent me… I had forwarded every last cent to that student. 3 His hand, holding the camera, faltered. He followed me into the burnt-out shack in silence. The inside was bare, but spotlessly clean. The walls were covered with donation certificates. The most prominent item was an old, yellowed certificate for “First Place in Class.” Kai squinted, adding up the amounts on the certificates. “Holy crap… you’ve donated a grand total of one hundred and five thousand, three hundred seventy-two dollars and sixty-three cents?” “Some of that was from my grandma,” I corrected him. “You have a grandmother?” he asked, surprised. “She was my second family.” When I was ten, I escaped my adoptive father’s clutches but nearly froze to death on the streets. An old woman who also collected scraps found me and took me in. She declared the day she found me to be my new birthday. I finally had a home again. Grandma sponsored a lot of students with the money she made from collecting scraps. That’s why, after a lifetime of doing it, she was still poor. But every day, she made sure I had milk and an egg. She said it would help me grow tall. I’d try to get her to eat some too, but she’d just shake her head and say she’d already eaten. Grandma was a liar. I knew she was living on cold, hard buns. So I became a liar, too. I’d pretend I had a small appetite, throw a little tantrum, and “waste” half my milk and egg in the trash can. She would always pick them out later and eat every last bit. “So what’s with the certificate?” Kai asked. “I didn’t go to school for a single day during the five years with my adoptive parents. But the day after Grandma found me, she enrolled me. She always used to say, ‘Oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful if our little Flora could get first place?’” I studied like my life depended on it. And on my thirteenth birthday, I did it. I got first place. I ran all the way home. When I pushed open the door, I saw a hot meal on the table and a tiny little cake. But Grandma was lying on the floor. She never woke up. The doctor said if I had brought her in just half an hour earlier, she would have been fine. “I came home at the same time every single day. That was the only day I was late… by half an hour… because I waited to get my first-place certificate.” The memory was a familiar weight, crushing my heart all over again. My name is Flora, but it feels like happiness has always been just out of my reach. “That was the only time in my life I ever got first place,” I whispered. “And she never got to see it.” “I believe that education can change your destiny. But after Grandma died, I was afraid no one would look after the students she sponsored. So I dropped out of school, took over her route, and kept picking trash to pay for their education. I just hope they can be happy one day.” “It doesn’t matter, though,” I said, waving a hand dismissively, though I wasn’t sure who I was trying to comfort. “Knowledge just turned me from a happy pig into a miserable Socrates. I think I’d rather be the pig.” Kai’s hand was shaking so much he could barely hold the camera. He opened his mouth to say something, but I suddenly remembered. I wiped my tears, grabbed a stainless-steel basin, and ran outside, banging it like a gong. “Dinner time!” From all corners of the dump, stray cats and dogs appeared, rubbing against my legs affectionately. I carefully divided the meat dishes I’d brought back into a dozen broken bowls and watched them devour the food. “Don’t fight, there’s enough for everyone.” Kai stared at me, dumbfounded. “You packed up the food… for them?” “Yep. This is my crew,” I said, beaming with pride. His face turned beet red. He fumbled for his phone. “I’m so sorry, I…” “I’m sending you another five thousand!” he blurted out, then quickly spoke to his camera. “And this isn’t for show, I swear.” My eyes lit up at the transfer notification. I started counting on my fingers. “Okay, so that means I have to film with you for ten more days.” Ten days. I should… I should still be alive for ten more days. “What about your third family?” Kai’s tone had become gentle, almost cautious. I looked up at the sky, trying to remember. “I guess they were really my first family. I was born to the wealthiest man in the city. But when I was five, my brother was being dragged away by a kidnapper. I tried to save him, and they threw me in the van instead.” Kai’s jaw dropped. “You were kidnapped because you were trying to save your brother?!” 4 He whipped out his phone and started typing furiously, quickly pulling up news articles about the city’s richest family. “The Sterling family, city’s wealthiest tycoon… your parents passed away a few years after you went missing. They said it was from heartbreak.” “But then your brother… he must have been looking for you this whole time. After all…” His voice trailed off as he came across an article about Aria. “Six years ago, your brother, Jared Sterling, adopted a girl. He named her Aria and treats her as if she were his own flesh and blood…” His voice got quieter and quieter. I gave him a sad smile. “Funny, isn’t it? My real brother found me, and he still didn’t want me.” “Then why didn’t you go find him?!” Kai yelled. I just smiled, a tear tracing a path through the grime on my cheek. “I was too scared.” Besides, I was out of time. Kai was furious. He grabbed my hand and started dragging me toward the road, determined to confront my brother. He was so enraged he forgot his camera, his hand just gripping mine tightly. For a dizzying moment, the warmth of his hand felt just like my brother’s, from a lifetime ago. As we stood before the opulent gates of the Sterling mansion, a ridiculous sliver of hope bloomed in my chest. Would he let me stay? The butler led us inside. As we approached the study, we heard Aria’s voice, whining and tearful. “But what if Flora throws a fit and demands to come back? Will you get rid of me then, brother?” Jared’s voice was warm, laced with a smile. “I’ve raised you for six years. Don’t you know me by now? I would get rid of Flora before I ever got rid of you.” “You bastard, Jared!” Kai roared, kicking the door open. The air in the room froze. Jared didn’t even bother to look up, his voice dangerously calm. “Kai, isn’t it? I’ve looked into you. A minor influencer who fakes everything for clicks. What is it you want?” Kai lunged forward, but I held him back. “The whole house is full of bodyguards. You’ll get hurt.” He gritted his teeth, pointing a shaking finger at my brother. “I might have faked things for money, but there are some lines I won’t cross. But you? You’re loaded, yet you let your own sister eat out of trash cans on the street! You’re worse than an animal!” Jared let out a cold laugh, his gaze landing on me like a shard of ice. “Is it money you want?” Before I could say no, Aria rushed forward and yanked at the necklace around my neck. “Isn’t this mine? It even has my name on it! You stole from me!” I clutched it desperately. “No, I found it!” Terrified that Jared would find out she’d thrown it away, she doubled down, screeching that I was a thief, clawing at my hands. In the struggle, my nail accidentally scratched the back of her hand. SLAP! Jared was on me in an instant, his hand connecting with my cheek in a brutal slap. “So this is what happens when you’re not raised right. No manners at all. You steal, and you think you’re justified?” I just stood there, stunned. The burning pain on my face spread straight to my heart. Kai screamed in rage and tried to throw a punch, but two bodyguards slammed him to the floor. Jared pulled out a thick wad of cash and threw it at my face. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Here, take it!” he snarled. “I told you I’d take you in after Aria was gone. Did you have to disgust us like this?” The bills fluttered down around me. A sudden, coppery taste filled my mouth. A mouthful of blood sprayed from my lips, splattering across the scattered bills in a sickeningly bright red. Oh. Maybe I don’t even have ten days left.

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