Author: Momo Chan

1 They killed me for stealing bread for my brother, Gerry. Then we both were reborn. Last life, we were orphans with only each other. I took any cash job, scavenged dumpsters, all to get him one hot meal. I thought we meant everything to each other. Until I lay dying and a luxury car pulled up. Our “parents” stepped out, glancing at my broken body with disdain. “In extreme conditions,” my mother said coldly, “you see the difference between noble and vile. Gerry is stronger that way.” Gerry was pure and noble. I was vile, doing anything to survive. I opened my eyes back in that alley, the baker pinning me to the wall, a stale half-loaf in my hand. Gerry stood at the alley’s end, flanked by the same rich parents. Reborn too. His eyes held cold contempt. “Willow,” he spat, “you’re filthy.” “Mom says your kind belongs in the mud. Stay out of my life—don’t contaminate it.” But Gerry, I wasn’t born a thief. … A sharp kick to my shin sent a spike of agony up my leg. The baker loomed over me, his mouth open to unleash a torrent of abuse. Ignoring the throbbing pain, I shouted, my voice clear and steady. “I’m not a thief! I’ll pay for it!” The baker and Gerry both froze, their expressions a mixture of shock and confusion. Slowly, I reached into my tattered pocket and pulled out a few coins. I spread them on my palm, carefully counting them under their stunned gaze. A penny, a dime, another nickel… Gerry used to collect cans and bottles for these coins. He gave them to me, saying we’d save up to buy me a pair of shoes that actually fit. I’d treasured them, refusing to spend a single one. I looked up, letting the tears I couldn’t stop fall freely down my cheeks, and held my hand out to the baker. “I’m sorry I took your bread,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “This is all the money I have. Please, take it as payment.” The alley fell silent. The baker stared at the small pile of change in my hand, speechless. He’d probably never seen a thief try to apologize, let alone pay. A delicate, derisive snort came from the end of the alley. It was Miranda, my so-called mother. “What a pathetic little show. You can’t change what’s in your bones.” Gerry said nothing, but the tight line of his jaw told me everything. He must have wanted me to scream, to beg, to make a scene like I did last time—a perfect, ugly backdrop to his own quiet dignity. But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I pressed the coins into the baker’s hand and turned my back on him. In our last life, to make sure my fifteen-year-old brother never went hungry, I’d worked grueling, off-the-books jobs. I’d hauled heavy crates before sunrise, the weight crushing my small frame until I could barely breathe. I could endure the physical pain, but the humiliation, the constant looks of disgust from others because I had no money—that was a wound that never healed. Once, when a crate of rice went missing from a warehouse, the foreman’s wife instantly accused me. She screamed at me in front of everyone. I swallowed my pride and my tears, because I knew I had to keep that job to feed Gerry. This time, I was done swallowing anything. I looked at Gerry one last time. My gaze traveled past his expensive clothes, his perfectly handsome face, and settled on the cold, selfish void where his soul should have been. As I died for him in our past life, my last thought was a prayer that we wouldn’t be brother and sister in the next. It was just too hard. Now I understood. The hardship was mine alone. For him, I felt nothing. No love, no reliance, no lingering affection. Only a vast, empty space where it used to be. I turned away and limped toward a different alley, one that was deeper and darker. It led to the place we once called home, and to the separate worlds we now inhabited. Behind me, Gerry’s voice rang out, laced with confusion and anger. “Willow! Stop right there!” “Don’t think this little act changes the stench that clings to you. You and I will never be the same.” He paused, his tone shifting to one of magnanimous pity. “If you behave, I might even ask Mom to take you in, too.” I didn’t turn back. I heard Miranda’s sharp voice cut through the air. “Gerry, darling, a little thief like that has no place in the Ashworth family. Leave her be. She’s just a stray dog. How could she ever compare to you?” A stray dog who kept him alive for fifteen years. I knew this dark, winding alley by heart. I’d walked it a thousand times. I remembered once, I’d managed to buy him two hot meat pies. It was so dark I tripped and fell, but I shielded the pies with my body. My arm was scraped raw, leaving a scar that’s still there today. Gerry had cried, calling me an idiot, and promised that one day he’d install lights all along my path home so I’d never fall again. But the lights were never meant for me. I arrived back at our familiar shelter under the bridge. The air was thick with the smell of the stagnant river and rotting garbage. This was the home Gerry and I had shared for fifteen years. In a corner sat a one-eyed teddy bear. I’d pulled it from a dumpster for his eighth birthday, washed it a dozen times, and carefully stitched its torn seams myself. I grabbed the bear, walked to the edge of the bridge, and without a moment’s hesitation, hurled it into the murky water below. Goodbye, Gerry. Goodbye to the fool I used to be. The gash on my leg burned. I dragged myself to a scrapyard and sold everything we owned. With the meager earnings, I bought a bottle of cheap antiseptic and some bandages from a corner store, along with two of the hardest bread rolls they had. Back under the bridge, I bit down on my sleeve and poured filthy river water over my wound to clean it, then followed with the antiseptic. The pain was a blinding, white-hot flash. My body shook uncontrollably, sweat soaking my back, but I clenched my jaw and refused to cry. Once the wound had scabbed over, I started looking for work. For days, I was met with nothing but slammed doors, suspicious glares, and harsh dismissals. Then, passing a small diner, a familiar name on the TV inside caught my eye. The headline blared across the screen: “BILLIONAIRE CEO RICHARD ASHWORTH HOSTS LAVISH GALA TO WELCOME SON, GERRY ASHWORTH, HOME FROM CHARACTER-BUILDING EXCURSION.” There he was, dressed in a tailored suit, looking every bit the refined, aristocratic heir. And here I was, still in rags. We were finally what the world always intended us to be: parallel lines, never to cross again. Just as I was about to collapse from hunger, I found a job at a greasy spoon diner in a rough part of the warehouse district. The owner, a tough-looking woman named Clara, gave me a long look, taking in my ragged clothes, my pale face, and the poorly-tended wound on my leg. “You know how to wash dishes?” she asked, her voice gruff. “Yes!” I nodded frantically. “Thirty bucks a day, plus one meal. You in?” “Yes! I’m in!” I finally had a job. I was a dishwasher. The diner was always busy, and the greasy plates piled up like mountains. Clara was one of those people who hid a kind heart behind a stern face. Seeing how hard I worked, she started packing up some leftovers for me at the end of my shift. “Here,” she’d grumble, pushing a small bag into my hands. “You’re skinny as a stray cat.” “Thank you, Clara.” It was the first kindness I’d received since my new life began. My relentless work ethic didn’t go unnoticed. In less than two weeks, I was promoted from the back-kitchen dishwasher to a server’s assistant, allowed to bring food out to the customers in the main dining area. The staff meals were simple, usually made from leftover ingredients that couldn’t be sold. But even these scraps were a feast compared to what Gerry and I used to eat. I started experimenting, combining the unwanted vegetable ends and meat trimmings with the simplest of seasonings. The meals I created were surprisingly delicious. “Willow, you’ve got a gift! This is way better than what my wife makes!” one of the cooks exclaimed. “Seriously, kid, that flavor is unreal! You’re wasting your talent back here!” Their praise was a balm, slowly rebuilding the confidence that had been stripped from me. One day, Clara took a phone call and her face went white as a sheet. Her son had gotten into a fight at school and badly injured another boy. She needed a lot of money, fast, to cover the medical bills and settlements. But business at the diner had been slow lately. I found her crying silently in a corner. I walked over. “Clara,” I said softly. “Let me try.” “Try what?” she asked, her eyes red and swollen. “Let me try cooking. A new menu item.” “You?” She looked at me, her expression full of doubt. I didn’t waste time with words. I walked straight into the kitchen. In my past life, to make something out of nothing, I learned to turn scavenged day-old rice, cheap soy sauce, and nearly expired eggs into a dish I called “Golden Fried Rice.” There was no complex technique, just the muscle memory of making it hundreds of times because it was Gerry’s favorite. It was our special occasion meal. Whenever he was sad, I’d find a way to get my hands on an egg and make him a bowl. I used to love hearing him say, “Willow’s fried rice is the best in the world! I could eat it forever!” Thinking about it now felt like a bitter joke. I used my own money to buy fresh ingredients and the right kind of soy sauce. The moment the rice hit the hot wok, a rich, savory aroma of soy and egg filled the entire diner, even drifting out onto the street. “What is that amazing smell?” Everyone in the diner turned, drawn by the scent. I scooped a bowl and brought it to Clara. “Clara, try this.” Hesitantly, she took a bite. Her eyes widened. The rice was perfectly cooked, each grain separate and coated in a golden sheen of egg and caramelized soy sauce. It was simple, yet so delicious it could make you cry. “Clara,” I said, pressing my advantage. “Let’s launch a five-dollar ‘Community Bowl’.” “We’ll sell it to the construction crews and laborers around here. They need something cheap, filling, and delicious.” Clara looked at me, a flicker of hope igniting in her eyes. “Okay,” she said, her voice firming. “Let’s give it a shot.” The “Golden Fried Rice” was an instant sensation. Five dollars for a huge bowl, served with a free cup of soup. For the first time, a line formed outside the diner, stretching down the block. The fried rice brought people in, and they ended up buying other things too. Clara solved her financial problem, and I saved up my first bit of “seed money.” The next time I saw Gerry, I was a whirlwind of motion, wielding a spatula in front of a roaring stove, sweat dripping down my face. My cheek was smudged with grease, my hair was plastered to my forehead, and I was a mess. His face darkened the moment he saw me. He stood there in his pristine school uniform, looking down his nose at me. “Willow, can’t you find a decent job? Stop embarrassing me in public.” I ignored him, flipping the rice in the wok. “I’ll give you money,” he said, his voice tight with irritation. “Just quit this job.” I continued to ignore him. He was losing his patience, but my focus was on the line of customers behind him. “Next!” I called out, my voice ringing clear and loud. “You want an egg in that?” I had completely, utterly dismissed his presence. Gerry froze. The eyes of everyone in line were on him—a mix of curiosity, amusement, and confusion. A wave of humiliation, hotter than any stove flame, washed over him. “You don’t know what’s good for you,” he hissed, turning to leave. I didn’t care. Not knowing what was “good for me” was putting food in my stomach, and I didn’t have to beg him for it. Before he left, he stopped and looked back, his eyes glinting with malice. “Willow,” he said, his voice low and threatening, “I will make you regret not listening to me.” A cold knot tightened in my stomach. I shook it off, my arm aching from the repetitive motion of the wok. Life didn’t stop for his threats. My fried rice became famous in the district. With the money I saved, I rented a small storefront in the same neighborhood and hung up a sign: “Willow’s Corner.” I dedicated my little eatery to serving the local laborers—the cheapest, most delicious, and most filling meals they could find. It quickly became their go-to spot, a comfort after a long day’s work. They called me “Boss Willow,” their faces breaking into warm, genuine smiles whenever they saw me. But some people can’t stand to see others succeed. A few days later, a group of men who had just eaten at my restaurant suddenly started clutching their stomachs, foaming at the mouth, and collapsing. They were rushed to the hospital. “Mass Food Poisoning!” Health department officials arrived within the hour, slapping a closure notice on my door without asking a single question. The media descended like vultures. “POISON KITCHEN! OWNER’S GREED PUTS LIVES AT RISK!” Vicious headlines spread across the city. The same workers who had smiled at me just yesterday now stood outside my shuttered shop, their faces contorted with rage. They were the victims’ families. They surrounded me, screaming the foulest words imaginable. “You money-grubbing witch! Give me back my husband!” “Murderer! Give us our money back!” Rotten vegetables and eggs rained down on me. I stood there, unable to defend myself, my mind reeling. I couldn’t believe it. I had hand-picked every vegetable, washed every grain of rice myself. It couldn’t be my food. Just as the shoving crowd was about to knock me off my feet, a path suddenly cleared. Gerry had arrived. He was in his crisp school uniform, Miranda at his side. Behind them was a pack of reporters, cameras flashing. One reporter recognized him and shoved a microphone in his face. “Mr. Ashworth! We understand you’re the brother of the owner of this… establishment. Do you have any comment on this tragic incident?” I looked at Gerry. A tiny, ridiculous spark of hope flickered within me. I didn’t expect him to help me. I just prayed, for the sake of the fifteen years we’d shared, that he wouldn’t kick me when I was down. Gerry met my gaze, then turned to the cameras. His voice was cold, clear, and carried across the chaos. “I am ashamed of her,” he declared. “She will do anything for money. This isn’t the first time she’s done something like this.” “I tried to warn her,” he continued, a note of sorrowful resignation in his voice. “I told her to walk a righteous path, but she wouldn’t listen.” He paused for dramatic effect. “As of today, I have no relationship with her whatsoever.” His words were the spark that ignited the powder keg. His words were the final straw that broke me. An enraged man grabbed a nearby trash can, full of rancid, slimy rainwater and garbage, and dumped it over my head. Slimy, stinking liquid ran through my hair, down my face, drenching me from head to toe. I just stood there, motionless. I smelled the stench on my own body and looked at Gerry’s handsome, clean face. A laugh escaped my lips. A broken, hollow sound. And then the tears came, hot and unstoppable. The most important thing I had wasn’t this little restaurant, or my reputation. It was that last, pathetic shred of trust. And now, Gerry—the brother I once would have died for—had utterly destroyed it. A twisted, triumphant smile spread across his face as he watched me in my miserable state. Pinching his nose with one hand and waving away the foul air with the other, he stepped toward me, his eyes gleaming with the same look one might give a piece of roadkill. “Sis—oh, sorry. Ma’am,” he began, his voice dripping with condescending pity. “You can’t live without a conscience. It’s clear this restaurant of yours is finished.” “But,” he continued, as if bestowing a great mercy, “I can’t bear to see even a stray dog starve on the street. I’ll offer you a way out. Come work for our family as a maid. You can clean my toilet every day. See? I’m being good to you, aren’t I?” He was offering me scraps from his throne. I couldn’t understand. He was already living a life of unimaginable privilege. Why did he need to grind me into the dust? “Why?” my voice trembled. “Why are you doing this to me?” I was just trying to live, just trying to survive. Why couldn’t he just let me be? He faltered for a second, the raw emotion on his young, unseasoned face betraying him. His eyes were filled with a shocking, deep-seated hatred. “If it wasn’t for you,” he snarled, “do you think I would have spent fifteen years of my life digging through trash?” “You owe me. This is your penance. You have to atone for your past!” All the memories of our life together, every sacrifice I’d made, flashed through my mind. All my love had somehow twisted into fuel for his hatred. I said nothing, just stared at him, my eyes burning. “I regret ever taking care of you!” I finally screamed. The words struck him like a physical blow. In a blind rage, he grabbed a nearby folding table and swung it at me. There was a sickening crack, and the world went dark. When I came to, my cheek was pressed against the filthy pavement. He had one foot planted firmly on my face. “If you don’t come with me,” he said, his voice a low, terrifying growl, “I’ll make sure you go to prison.”

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It was one in the morning when I sent the message to the brilliant programmer my husband had referred for a job. “What’s the difference between a programmer and a non-programmer?” Liam, my husband, was overseas. But the new hire, a woman named Lorraine, replied almost instantly. “The programmer thinks a kilobyte is 1024 bytes.” She followed it up with a smug little emoji of a finger tapping a head, as if calling me an idiot. It was a subtle, precise little jab, an inside joke I wasn’t supposed to get. But this time, I didn’t scream or cry. I didn’t make a scene. I just took a screenshot and showed it to my husband on our next video call. “Get rid of her,” I said, my voice flat, “and we can pretend this never happened.” Soon after, his young, brilliant secretary was replaced by a woman who looked old enough to be his mother. I thought that was the end of it. I thought I could finally breathe. Then, on our anniversary, a package arrived from overseas. Inside was a nine-carat diamond ring. My friends cooed and gushed, telling me how lucky I was. But I took one look at the magnificent diamond and calmly dialed Liam’s number. “I’m sending the ring back,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion. “Make sure you sign for it. When you get back to the States, we’re getting a divorce.” 1 The room fell silent. On the other end of the line, I could hear the tremor in Liam’s voice. “What? Stella, why? What did I do wrong? I fly back on red-eyes every other week just to see you. I send you gifts constantly.” His voice rose, thick with disbelief. “You were feeling insecure, so I replaced a secretary I’d worked with for years with an old woman, just to make you comfortable! And this ring… it’s one of a kind. How is that not enough for you?” I stared out the window, my expression a mask of indifference. “Give the ring to whoever you want. We’re done.” That night, Liam boarded a fourteen-hour flight and came straight from the airport to the hospital where I was on bed rest for my high-risk pregnancy. The moment he walked in, I pulled the divorce papers from my bag and laid them on the bedside table. “Since you’re here,” I said quietly, “you might as well sign these.” The color drained from his face. “Stella, come on,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “You just did this to get me to come home, right? I’m here now. You can stop.” The other patients in the shared ward started whispering. “Fighting again? What a shame. And look at her, she’s about to pop!” “I know her. Her husband works abroad but sends her flowers and gifts here almost every day. He treats her like a queen.” “She’s just being dramatic. I heard he sent her a nine-carat diamond yesterday and she wasn’t happy with it!” The murmurs grew louder, the accusing glares more frequent. In their eyes, I was the spoiled, ungrateful wife, and Liam was the long-suffering saint. And why wouldn’t they think that? For years, Liam had been the perfect husband. We were high school sweethearts, each other’s first everything. When his company needed someone to manage the new European branch, I was nervous. He volunteered immediately, promising it wouldn’t change a thing. And for years, it hadn’t. He shuttled back and forth across the Atlantic, collecting hundreds of boarding passes, all just to spend a day or two with me. When I got pregnant and my hormones went wild, he fired his beautiful, competent assistant and hired a sixty-year-old woman without my even asking. Everyone, our friends, our family, they all said I’d hit the jackpot. But that was all in the past. I turned my head away, my voice hard as stone. “I don’t care what you think. We are getting a divorce. Today.” Liam’s eyes reddened. He grabbed my hand, his grip desperate. “Stella, please, don’t do this. If you don’t like the ring, I’ll buy you something else. I’ll quit my job. I’ll move back home right now and we can have this baby together. Okay?” “No.” I pulled my hand from his. “I just want a divorce.” Just then, his new secretary, Lorraine, burst into the room. “Mrs. Archer, how can you do this to him!” she shrieked, her face a mask of righteous indignation. “He dropped a multi-million-dollar contract and flew for fourteen hours just because you threw a little tantrum! And this ring! He commissioned it from a world-famous designer! Do you have any idea how much his devotion is worth? You’ve thrown it all away!” I shot her a look of pure disgust. “You’re his secretary. What gives you the right to open your mouth?” I said, my voice dangerously low. “Since you feel so strongly for him, why don’t you marry him instead?” Lorraine’s face flushed a blotchy red. “Mrs. Archer, what are you saying? I’m an old woman! You can’t be jealous of me!” Liam frowned, his brow furrowed with concern. “Stella, darling, I think your pregnancy hormones are making you paranoid. Me and Lorraine? How could you even think that?” The other patients glanced at Lorraine’s wrinkled face and graying hair, and a few snickers broke out. “Is she crazy? She’s jealous of a grandma?” “That woman has to be sixty, at least. Her husband is young, handsome, and rich. If he wanted to cheat, he could have his pick of models. Why would he go for someone old enough to be his mother?” “Exactly! He’d have to be pretty desperate to go after that!” The laughter grew. Liam looked at me, his eyes full of weary helplessness. He squeezed my hand, his voice a low, pleading whisper. “I hired an older secretary specifically so you wouldn’t worry. How can you still imagine things?” “We have so much history. Please, stop this. We can’t get divorced.” I looked at him, a cold, humorless smile touching my lips. “Fine. Then fire her.” Liam froze. For just a second, a flicker of hesitation crossed his face. “Mrs. Archer!” Lorraine cried out, and then she threw herself to her knees in front of me, a theatrical display for the entire room. Tears streamed down her face. “My son has a terminal illness, and my husband is dead! Mr. Archer took pity on me and gave me this job! You can’t ask him to fire me!” Her voice rose to a hysterical wail. “My life doesn’t matter, but my son is in the ICU! He needs this money to live! Please, I’m begging you!” She was putting on the performance of a lifetime. The audience ate it up. A chorus of sympathetic sighs filled the room. “She’s been through so much. How can you be so cruel?” “This is your paranoia talking. The poor woman has enough to deal with without you taking away her livelihood!” “You’re eight months pregnant! Don’t you have a shred of compassion?” Seeing she had the room on her side, Lorraine crawled forward and clutched at the hem of my hospital gown. “Mrs. Archer, I promise I’ll stay away from him. I’ll only do my work… Please, just let me keep my job…” When I remained unmoved, Liam’s face hardened. “Stella, you’ve gone too far this time. Lorraine is a desperate woman.” “I’ve gone too far?” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. I met his eyes. “Liam, the disgusting things you’ve done are far worse than anything I could imagine. Don’t make me say them out loud.” A flash of panic crossed his face before he masked it with outrage. “What have I done? Stella, everything I do is for you! To make you happy, to give you a better life!” Lorraine, wiping her tears, jumped to her feet. “How can you say that to him?” she accused. “You sit here in the hospital being waited on hand and foot, while he works himself to the bone, skipping meals and sleeping in his office! What could he possibly have done? He’s a fool, that’s what, for loving a woman like you!” My gaze flickered between the two of them. “Sleeping in the office? Or are you two just getting your stories straight about what filthy things you’ve been up to?” I threw the divorce papers onto his chest and turned to leave. Just then, my mother-in-law rushed in, breathless. “Stella, what’s going on? I heard you were talking about divorce. What happened?” She grabbed my arm, her face etched with concern. “Did that idiot son of mine do something to hurt you? You tell me, and I’ll handle him!” I looked at Eleanor, my mother-in-law, and took a deep breath. For years, she had treated me like her own daughter. When I got pregnant, she doted on me, catering to my every whim. Between a loving husband and a caring mother-in-law, I had been blinded by my own good fortune. I thought I was the luckiest woman in the world. What a fool I’d been. I didn’t have all the proof yet, so I couldn’t tell her the whole truth. I remained silent. Seeing my silence, Eleanor grew more anxious and turned on her son. “Liam, what did you do?” He opened his mouth, then closed it, sighing deeply. The peanut gallery chimed in to defend him. “It’s not his fault! Your daughter-in-law is being completely unreasonable!” “She wants him to fire his secretary. It’s a misunderstanding. The woman is ancient!” Eleanor looked at Lorraine, then back at me, a helpless expression on her face. “Stella, honey, is the stress of the pregnancy getting to you? You’ve always been so level-headed. Why would you get so upset over this old woman?” “She’s my age, for heaven’s sake,” she added with a sigh. “Are you just upset that Liam’s been away so much? I’ll make him stay. The baby’s due soon anyway. He can stay here with you until it’s born.” My face was a stone mask. “No. I want a divorce.” “Stella!” Liam’s voice cracked. He fell to his knees in front of me, his eyes red-rimmed and desperate. “If I did something wrong, just tell me. Please, don’t threaten me with divorce.” “I know I haven’t been here for you enough, but it was all for the company! To provide for you and our child!” he sobbed, tears streaming down his face. The onlookers were moved. “You have to be understanding, dear. You can’t just throw away a marriage.” “He’s a good man. We’ve all seen how much he loves you.” “And you need a real reason for a divorce. You can’t do it just because of an old lady…” At that, Lorraine shuffled closer again, her voice thick with manufactured sorrow. “If I’m the reason you’re leaving him, then I’ll go! Maybe this is just my fate… to lose my husband, and then my son. When my boy dies, I’ll just follow him…” That did it. The room erupted in condemnation, all of it directed at me. “See what you’ve done? Now you’re going to drive this poor woman to suicide!” “You rich people have no hearts! Her son is her whole world! Do you really think she has the time or energy to seduce your husband?” “Exactly! And frankly, he’s not that desperate!” The accusations flew. Liam and Lorraine were a sobbing, tragic mess on the floor. I watched them, unmoved, and simply held out the divorce papers again. “If you want to be a saint and save her and her son, that’s your business,” I said to Liam. “It has nothing to do with me. Sign these papers, we get divorced, and I don’t care what you do.” I added one last thing. “And you leave with nothing.” The room gasped. Liam’s face went white. “Stella! You have to stop this!” he roared. I said nothing, just stared back at him. The air was thick with tension. Eleanor looked from me to Liam and back again. Finally, she sat on the edge of my bed. “Stella,” she said softly. “I’m not playing favorites, and I know you’re not the type to make things up. Just tell me what’s wrong. Don’t be afraid.” She sighed. “But this secretary… it must be your pregnancy hormones making you overthink things. And the baby is due any day now. You can’t let him be born without a father.” At the mention of the baby, my hand instinctively went to my belly. A pang of regret shot through me. Liam saw it and pressed his advantage. “She’s right, Stella. You can’t let our child grow up without a father just because of some crazy jealous fantasy. Please, stop this, okay?” he begged, his voice cracking. Just then, a doctor knocked and entered the room. He scanned the scene, his eyes landing on me. “Stella Archer,” he said sternly. “Regarding the question you asked me last week, I need to emphasize this again: at this stage of your pregnancy, a termination is absolutely not an option.” A collective shockwave went through the room. Liam froze, the blood draining from his face. The doctor then turned to him. “You’re the husband, correct? Your wife is under extreme emotional distress. You need to be here for her. She’s been to a dozen prenatal appointments, and this is the first time I’ve seen you. That’s a dereliction of your duty.” Liam, looking ashamed, could only nod. As the doctor left, Liam’s face contorted with a rage that finally boiled over. “Stella, what the hell is wrong with you!” he bellowed. “This baby is eight months along, and you were trying to get an abortion? Are you trying to kill yourself?!” Eleanor’s eyes welled with tears. “Stella,” she sobbed, “we tried for years to have this child! What could possibly be so bad that you would even consider such a thing?” A knot of grief tightened in my chest. Of course, I knew how precious this baby was. And I knew how dangerous an abortion would be now. But I grew up in a single-parent home. I knew the whispers, the pity, the feeling of being different. I was terrified of my child suffering the same fate. I took a shaky breath and looked at Liam. “I will keep the baby. But we are getting divorced. You will go back to Europe, and you will never see us again.” As the words left my mouth, Liam’s knees hit the floor with a sickening thud. He lunged for the fruit basket on the table, grabbing a small knife and pressing it against his own wrist. “If you divorce me,” he rasped, his eyes wild, “I’ll kill myself right here!” The room descended into chaos. The onlookers finally lost all restraint. “Just agree with him! Do you want a death on your conscience?” “She wants to abort her baby and divorce her husband over an old woman! I’ve never seen such a heartless monster!” “She’s throwing away a perfect man! What a waste!” Eleanor was on her knees now, too, begging me. “Please, Stella, I’m begging you… What did he do that was so wrong? Are you trying to destroy our family?” The insults rained down on me, a torrent of vile, hateful words. “Fine.” My voice, when it came, was shockingly calm. The room fell instantly silent. Every single person turned to look at me. I slowly scanned their angry, judgmental faces, my gaze finally landing on Liam. “You all want a reason,” I said, my voice as cold and clear as ice. “I’ll give you one. I’ll tell you exactly why I have to get this divorce.”

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To the world, Caleb Murney and I were the perfect, loving couple. Behind closed doors, we were poison to each other. Ours was a marriage of convenience, a business merger in human form. His heart belonged to Lillian, the heiress his family had raised, who had died seven years ago. After the wedding, he retaliated against our forced union by parading a string of new lovers in front of me. I struck back by poaching his clients and torpedoing his deals. It was a cold war of attrition, with no end in sight. Until last month. Drunk and reckless with his latest conquest, a young intern, Caleb played with fire—literally. He burned down my warehouse, the one storing millions in imported materials. I rushed to the police station, my world smoldering around me, and saw her: a college girl with a face that was an uncanny echo of Lillian’s. Caleb held her protectively, his arms a fortress around her. “It’s just a damn warehouse, Catherine!” he snarled. “Keep your voice down. You’re scaring Serena.” And in that moment, a profound exhaustion washed over me, heavier than any loss of money.

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1 My son was trapped in a burning building while my billionaire husband photographed his new obsession. “Hold that pose, baby,” Scott Taylor said, his face lit by flames. “I’m getting you ‘Hero of the Year’.” His phone wasn’t aimed at real firefighters—but at Bella, drowning in an oversized uniform, posing with a discarded hose in the safe zone. She tried to turn it on, recoiled, and shrieked, “Jules, it’s too heavy!” Her foot slipped. The nozzle flew, and the water jet—powerful as a ram—shattered the last load-bearing wall. The building collapsed. Coddling her cost my son his last chance. He died buried alive. Scott emerged from rubble clutching his trembling pet, handing me a document coldly: “Sign this accident waiver. Your son was lost anyway. Bella’s traumatized—can’t be blamed.” My fingertips turned icy. He thought our son Leo was buried there. A cruel smile stretched my lips. “I can’t sign this. You’ll need his real mother to.” … Scott’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “Sarah, what the hell are you talking about?” “Just sign the damn paper. Don’t push your luck.” Bella, nestled in his arms, began to sob, her body trembling like a leaf in an autumn wind. “Jules, don’t be mad at Sarah.” “Her son just… she must be heartbroken…” Giant, theatrical tears rolled down her cheeks. “It’s all my fault. I was so stupid. If I had just been a little braver, maybe this wouldn’t have happened…” Scott looked as if his heart was breaking for her, his eyes filled with a tenderness I had never, ever seen directed at me. “Bella, you’re just too good for this world,” he murmured. “That little brat was never going to amount to anything. His death is a public service. It has nothing to do with you.” He turned, his gaze stabbing into me like shards of ice. “Sarah, are you trying to drive a twenty-year-old girl to her grave? Is that what you want?” “Sign the paper. Then go online and tip Bella a million dollars on her livestream. Make a public statement thanking her for her bravery. Do you hear me?” I almost laughed out loud. When Scott got the call about the fire at our old family estate, he had rushed over with Bella, playing the hero. I’d foolishly thought it was a flicker of sentimentality. I see now he was just eager to create a PR opportunity for his new plaything. Now a child was dead, and the family was expected to pay the killer and sing her praises? But since Scott believed the dead boy was worthless, why should I argue? “I can sign,” I said. “But your word isn’t enough.” “Let’s do this: I’ll start a recording. You just repeat everything you just said. We’ll call it a supplementary statement for the authorities and the public.” Scott stared at me like I was insane. “Are you brain-dead? It’s your son who died, not mine.” “What the hell do I care that he’s dead?” That look on his face. So familiar. A few days ago, I’d overheard my mother-in-law on the phone. Scott’s son from his first marriage to Victoria, a boy named Marcus, was coming home from overseas to surprise him. Marcus was the pride of the family, a world-renowned architect at a young age. In contrast, my son with Scott, Leo, had always been frail and introverted. Later, Scott asked if Leo was playing at the old estate again. My mother-in-law shot me a look, begging me to keep Marcus’s surprise a secret, so I went along with it. Only now did I understand the thoughtful, calculating expression on Scott’s face when I’d confirmed it. It was disgust. And relief. Seeing me just standing there, holding my phone, he waved his hand in dismissal. “Fine, fine! I, Scott Taylor, confirm that Bella Vance bears no responsibility for this incident. Happy now?” “Now get out of my sight. Can’t you see how shaken she is?” Bella shrank into his embrace, but over his shoulder, her seemingly innocent eyes flashed with a triumphant, malicious glee. Scott shoved me aside. As he passed, he paused. “Stop playing the victim, Sarah. A kid like yours? The world is better off without him.” I truly hope he can maintain that same detached calm when he finds out it was his genius son who died. During a break in the recovery team’s work, a few firefighters and a police officer approached me to take my statement. They looked uncomfortable. Scott was the property owner, a family member of the deceased, and a powerful public figure. Before they could speak, I handed them the blank liability waiver and my phone with the recording. Every single one of them froze. Leaving the temporary command post, I walked toward the ruins. Halfway there, I saw Scott and Bella, wrapped around each other. He stopped me, shoving a piece of paper in my face. 2 I picked it up. It was an On-site Cremation Consent Form. Even knowing it wasn’t my son buried under that rubble, my face hardened. “I refuse. We find a body, dead or alive.” Bella let out a derisive laugh. “Oh, Sarah. Now is not the time to be so stubborn!” “If you ask me, the kid was just bad luck. A curse on his parents. God himself must have wanted him gone, burying him alive like that.” “Otherwise, why is everyone else fine, and he’s the only one in there?” Scott nodded with a smug, condescending smile. “Sarah, your son never did a single thing to make you proud in his life. Now that he’s dead, let’s not have him waste any more public resources.” “Disposing of the remains here saves the state some trouble. It’ll be the only contribution he’s ever made.” Have some respect for the dead. Even if it wasn’t his son. How could any human being say something so monstrous? I fought to control my rage. “That was a human life,” I said through clenched teeth. “Scott, do you even have a heart?” “I will never agree to this!” I turned to leave, but he grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight I thought the bones would snap. He raised his other hand, his eyes burning with menace. “You really want to do this the hard way, don’t you? You just don’t understand plain English!” I looked up, my gaze as cold as steel. “You lay one finger on me, Scott, and my parents will destroy you.” CRACK. The slap was so hard my head whipped to the side, my ears ringing. “You think your daddy the politician makes you untouchable?” he snarled. “You’re always holding your parents over my head. You think I’m scared of them?” He dragged my hand forward and forced my thumbprint onto the consent form. Then he shoved me violently, and I fell to the ground in a heap. I pushed myself up, staring at him in disbelief. The man who once couldn’t bear to speak a harsh word to me… had just hit me. Bella immediately rushed to his side, cradling his hand. “Jules, honey, don’t be angry. It’s not worth hurting your hand over someone like her!” Scott’s fury vanished, replaced by a tender concern for his little treasure. “You’re right, you’re right. Let’s not give her another thought.” “Come on, I’ll take you somewhere nice to eat. Help you calm your nerves.” Bella’s eyes darted around. “You go ahead, Jules,” she cooed. “I want to stay and help a little longer!” “Let me do one last thing for the deceased!” Once Scott was gone, Bella’s expression transformed. She walked to the edge of the rubble and picked up a blood-stained piece of concrete. She dropped it in disgust. “Ugh, so gross.” She then picked up a charred piece of wood and began poking at the debris. “This is such a huge mess. It’s going to take forever to dig him out.” “I wonder what he looks like under there. Probably all burnt up. I hope it doesn’t give me nightmares.” While she poked, she took out her phone, snapped a selfie with the ruins in the background, and sent it to Scott. The caption read: Mourning the lost. Hope there are no fires in heaven. Scott’s voice message came back instantly, dripping with affection. “My Bella is as beautiful as she is kind. Not like some people, who are just cold-hearted bitches.” “Don’t stay in that gloomy place too long. Don’t want you catching the bad juju from that place. I’m waiting in the car, baby.” I clapped a hand over my mouth, my stomach churning. Bella looked at me, a sweet, poisonous smile on her face. “Your son is so tragic. Not even a whole body left to bury.” “Sarah, he’s just a pile of meat now. What difference does it make if they dig him out or not? This is for the best. Don’t take it personally.” Of course I didn’t mind. If Scott, his own father, didn’t care, why should a stranger like me? But now that I had seen his true colors, I couldn’t stay with him a moment longer. God only knew when he would sell me and Leo out for his precious Bella. I snatched the phone from her hand and spoke into it. “Scott. I want a divorce.” 3 Scott stormed out of the car. “Sarah, have you lost your mind?” “Rescues are dangerous! Accidents happen! Your son is dead, and now you’re going to blame me?” I looked at him calmly. “I’m not blaming you. I just think we’re not right for each other.” He gritted his teeth, trying to suppress his anger. “I know this is hard for you to accept right now, but Bella and I did everything we could. You can’t just throw the word ‘divorce’ around like it’s a game.” Beside him, Bella let out a delayed gasp, pointing a finger at her own chest. “Sarah, if you’re not blaming Jules… are you blaming me?” Her eyes instantly reddened, and she sank to the ground, burying her face in her hands. “It’s all my fault. I couldn’t save your boy.” “Sarah, hit me, scream at me, do whatever you want! Just please, don’t divorce Jules! He’s innocent!” Scott rushed to help her up, then roared at me, “Bella is already under so much pressure, and you’re deliberately saying things to provoke her! What’s your problem?” “You want a divorce? Get a grip, Sarah. Your son is gone. Your parents are old. You think you’re still some untouchable princess?” “Let me make this clear: the only person you have to rely on from now on is me! Not those two washed-up relics you call parents!” I just watched him. His ugly, twisted face was reflected perfectly in my eyes. “Scott. You finally said what you really think.” “You used my father’s connections to climb the ladder, and now that you’re on top, you see my whole family as a burden.” “The sight of you right now makes me sick.” Scott’s face turned a shade of dark crimson. Bella looked completely lost, her eyes darting between us. “Fine! Divorce it is!” he screamed. “You’ve got balls, Sarah! I’ll give you that!” “You just better pray that your parents stay safe and sound for the rest of their lives, and you don’t come crying to me for help!” Before he left, he glanced back at the ruins. He picked up a property manager’s walkie-talkie and barked into it, “He’s a lost cause. Don’t waste any more manpower. Notify the family to prepare for the funeral.” I had intended to let Scott see his son one last time. Now, I realized, there was no need. A few days later, I arranged a small memorial service for Marcus and notified Scott and his family. He was, after all, my son in name. It was the least I could do. When I returned to the memorial hall after finishing the preparations, I was stunned by what I saw. Red paint had been splashed across Marcus’s portrait, and a cartoon turtle had been crudely drawn on his face. The tables, meant for flowers, were littered with snacks and beer cans. The solemn funeral music had been replaced by a deafening DJ track. “This is much better!” Bella giggled, kicking a funeral wreath aside before grabbing a marker to doodle on the memorial scrolls. I stared, my throat tight, unable to speak. Just then, the door opened. Scott strode in. He glanced at the chaos, but there was no anger on his face. In fact, a cold, satisfied smirk played on his lips. Bella winked at him and ran over like a puppy seeking praise. “Jules, you said you didn’t want the memorial to be so gloomy. What do you think of my decorations? Creative, right?” Scott walked up to the portrait and looked at the defaced image. He didn’t recognize his own son. He even reached out, straightened the frame that Bella had knocked askew, and nodded in satisfaction. His voice was low, but every word was a dagger. “Not bad. All that crying and wailing is so pathetic.” “This is how it should be. A big party. A fitting end.” 4 Even if he wasn’t my biological son, a person deserves respect in death. I stared at Scott, my voice trembling with rage. “You… you can still smile?” He looked at me, bewildered. “It’s a celebration of life, don’t you get it? Does everything have to be doom and gloom to be respectful?” “Your son loved a good party. I’m just giving him what he would have wanted.” “A celebration of life?” I walked toward him, my voice rising with every step. “This is a memorial service! You’ve destroyed his portrait so badly you can’t even recognize him… and you call that respect?” My voice was nearly a roar. “This isn’t honoring the dead! This is desecration!” Bella, startled by my outburst, pouted. “Oh, please. It’s the 21st century. Why are you so old-fashioned? It’s just a dead kid. No need to be so dramatic.” Seeing Scott’s completely unconcerned expression, I suddenly laughed. “If you don’t see a problem with it,” I said slowly, “then who am I to object?” “Let’s do it your way. A celebration of life it is.” Scott paused, a slight frown creasing his brow, as if he hadn’t caught the ice in my tone. He took it as surrender. “Sarah, that’s the spirit,” he said with a smile. “Don’t worry. From now on, I’ll be twice as good to you.” Seeing my compliance, Bella cheered and waved her pack of degenerate friends into the hall. The room quickly filled with the stench of alcohol and the sound of their drunken games. I sat in a corner, watching them, my face a mask of indifference. The emcee arrived on time, holding his program sheet, and froze in the doorway. “What are you waiting for?” Scott ordered. “It’s time. Let’s get started.” The man had no choice but to begin. “Friends, family… today we gather with heavy… uh… joyful hearts, to hold this… celebration of life for the deceased.” A few stifled snickers rose from the crowd. “I’ve seen a wedding get wild, but never a funeral!” “If the kid knew his memorial was a rave, he’d probably rise from the dead just to haunt them!” “No peace even in death. This family must have a lot of enemies.” Bella giggled, making sure I could hear her. “See? Even the emcee called it a celebration of life!” “And you were so angry before. You really need to get with the times! This is all the rage overseas!” Scott shot me a contemptuous look. “Some people are just so rigid. We went to all this trouble to throw your son a unique memorial, and you’re not even grateful.” My lips curved into a smile. “I’m sure my Leo would never be able to appreciate such a… unique memorial,” I said calmly. “As for whether your older son likes it… well, that I don’t know.” Scott’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I just smiled and said nothing. He snorted. “You think being clever with words will bring your son back?” “Pathetic.” Bella immediately linked her arm through his. “Jules, honey, ignore her. She just can’t stand to see you happy.” Just then, the emcee cleared his throat to move to the next part of the program. “And now, we invite the family of the deceased to come forward and say a few words.” As he spoke, the large doors to the hall swung open. An grief-stricken elderly couple walked in, supporting a pale, trembling woman who looked as if she was about to collapse. The smile on Scott’s face froze. The woman was his ex-wife, Victoria. I stood up and walked toward them. “Father, Mother,” I said to his parents. “You’re here.” I paused, my gaze sweeping past the petrified Scott to his red-eyed parents, and added, my voice clear and cutting, “This memorial service was Scott’s idea, for Marcus. He said… it’s a celebration of life.” “He said Marcus always loved a good party, and that this was a fitting end.”

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The first thing I remember is the smell of damp stone and expensive cologne. The second is being picked up by a werewolf lord in a remote Gothic manor who was, objectively, handsome enough to make angels weep. He had the money, the face, the eight-pack, and a case of OCD and self-loathing so severe it was practically a second personality. I was bracing myself for either a kidnapping plot or a serious case of Stockholm syndrome. Instead, in a desperate attempt to get me into a bathtub, he consulted an ancient tome and then proceeded to strip naked. Looking at his gorgeous face, which was practically screaming “Aren’t I doing a good job?”, I came to a profound realization: when a species evolves, sometimes it leaves a little bit of the common sense behind. 1 The man who took me in was Alaric, the last werewolf lord of Moonshadow Keep. Right now, his brow was furrowed, his knuckles white where he gripped the collar of my shirt. His eyes, the color of storm clouds over a winter sea, seemed to hold their own light in the candle-haunted gloom. He was assessing me like a priceless antique someone had dropped in the mud. He wanted to give me a bath. I fought him with everything I had, my nails snagging on the fine wool of his coat, leaving faint red scratches across the wrist of the hand that clamped down on mine. With an exasperated sigh, he pinned me between the cold stone wall and the surprising heat of his body. With one hand, he reached into his long coat and produced a heavy, silver-edged book. Those stormy eyes scanned the yellowed pages, searching, it seemed, for some forgotten spell to tame a stubborn pet. After a moment, he snapped the book shut, a strange, thoughtful look on his face. “To purify a mortal vessel,” he murmured, the words sounding like a half-remembered prayer, “the guardian must first reveal his own untainted form, as a sign of harmlessness.” And so, as I watched in stunned silence, Alaric began to unbutton his elaborate tunic. One by one, the jet-black clasps came undone. The velvet coat slid from his shoulders and pooled on the floor, as silent as a falling shadow. Next came the linen shirt, embroidered with a crest I didn’t recognize. I could only stare as he shed every layer. Moonlight streamed through a high, arched window, tracing a pale, ethereal glow over the sharp lines of his body. The muscles were sleek and powerful, not with the bulk of a human athlete, but with the fluid grace of a predator. I was frozen solid, the blood turning to ice in my veins. Alaric, however, looked as if he had just completed a perfectly normal and necessary ritual. He walked to the enormous, sarcophagus-like stone tub, then turned back, his expression a mixture of confusion and earnest expectation. “Clara,” he said, and my new name echoed in the cavernous bathroom. “Now. It is your turn.” I scrubbed a hand over my face and gestured vaguely for him to at least turn around. “Okay, before we go any further, we need to have a talk,” I said, my voice hoarse with shock. “Rule number one: no getting naked in front of the human.” He shifted his weight, a gesture of innate arrogance that, for the first time, was undermined by a clear flicker of uncertainty. 2 My captor, I soon learned, was a very melancholy werewolf. “I was not seeking to end my life that night,” he explained later. “It was an old ritual, an attempt to soothe the restlessness in my blood. I did not expect… to find you.” He recalled the moment, his brow crinkling. “You were covered in grime, clutching a piece of scorched, twisted metal. You looked utterly lost, and yet you were trying to take a bite out of it.” He shuddered. “I could not abide it.” “It was too… chaotic.” “I thought, before the beast within me consumed this estate entirely, I could at least throw away that piece of junk and get you cleaned up.” And that was how I was brought to Moonshadow Keep. Thinking back on it, the whole thing felt like a fever dream. Who would have guessed that this aloof, aristocratic lord was secretly waging such a violent war against himself? The deep, jagged lines on his wrists, clotted with dark blood, looked like grim runes against his pale skin. When he saw me looking at his arms, he subtly pulled his cuffs down. “Don’t look. They are unsightly marks.” “After you are clean,” he stated, his tone flat, “I will find a suitable guardian for you, and I will send you away.” I nodded without a second’s hesitation. Alaric’s expression darkened. He stared at me, saying nothing. I was brutally honest, pointing toward his scarred wrist. “You don’t seem to care much for your own soul. I can’t expect you to truly care for me.” “If I stayed with you,” I said softly, “I don’t think I would ever know peace.” He was furious. At dinner, he carved the roast beef with a silver knife, the blade scraping against the porcelain with a piercing shriek that echoed through the cavernous dining hall. Yet, the plate he set before me held a perfectly cooked meal fit for a human. I ate in silence, refusing to engage with his simmering rage. At the far end of the long table, the werewolf’s every breath was a study in suppressed volatility. “You ate my food,” he said, his voice cold. “You found me, you feed me,” I replied without looking up. I didn’t understand why he was so unstable. The first night he brought me here, I had curled up on a sofa in a side parlor and slept surprisingly well. But in the middle of the night, Alaric shook me awake, dark circles already forming under his eyes. “What have you done to me? Why can I not sleep?” Every time he closed his eyes, he said, all he could see was my small, fragile form curled on the cushions. I was completely baffled. “What does your insomnia have to do with me?” He stared at me, those silver-gray eyes practically glowing in the dark. Suddenly, he threw his arms around me, burying his face in the crook of my neck and breathing in deeply. It wasn’t a sniff; it was like he was drawing something essential from me, like air. He tried to haul me off to the massive bed in his chambers, and I started to struggle. “You’re insane!” “You told me I wasn’t allowed in your private wing!” Alaric clamped a hand over my mouth, his voice a ragged whisper. “I’ve changed my mind.” He rested his chin on my shoulder and closed his eyes. Moments later, the sound of his long, steady breathing filled the silence. I lay stiffly in his arms, staring up at the shadows of the stone beams on the ceiling. This werewolf lord, I decided, had absolutely no integrity. 3 Because I put my foot down, Alaric did not, in the end, help me bathe. He simply stood outside the heavy oak door, stubbornly explaining the function of the ancient crystal faucets. His voice was strained. He hung a change of clothes on the door handle, then walked away with deliberately heavy footsteps, as if to broadcast his gentlemanly departure. I peeked through the crack in the door, then quickly snatched the clothes inside. From the shadows at the end of the hall, the werewolf lord who was supposed to have left had a hand covering his face, but his eyes were locked on my every move through the gaps in his fingers. He was radiating a bizarre scent, a mixture of shame and deep satisfaction. After my bath, I found two beds had been placed in my room. One was his, ornate and enormous. The other was small, simple, and clearly for me. “You really can’t give me my own room?” Alaric, now back to his usual composed self, patted the edge of my small bed with a faint smile. “I cannot.” A human soul, he explained, was far too fragile. It required the protection of a powerful being nearby to acclimate to the nights at Moonshadow Keep. I gritted my teeth and accepted his grand-sounding excuse. I lay down, folded my hands over my stomach, and closed my eyes peacefully. I heard a soft rustling sound behind me. Alaric’s enormous, silver-white wolf tail snaked out from his side of the room and gently tucked the corner of my blanket in. “Goodnight, my… Clara.” I said nothing. I don’t know how much time passed before my eyes snapped open again. Who could possibly fall asleep at dusk in a creepy, ancient manor? My sudden movement startled Alaric, who had been leaning over me. “Wh-what is it?” he stammered, his intention to secretly touch my cheek while I slept now painfully obvious. I sat up and sighed. “Tomorrow, can you get me a magic mirror or something I can use to connect to the outside world? I can’t sleep without some kind of reading material.” Alaric hemmed and hawed. “No, a human’s eyes are delicate. The arcane light would burn them.” I pressed my lips together and stared at him, my expression blank. “Please.” He flinched, and his wolf tail gave a slight, involuntary twitch. “Fine. But I have a condition,” he said, holding up three fingers. “Since I brought you to this castle, you have defied me three times.” “I want to be repaid.” Beggars can’t be choosers. I offered him my cheek and closed my eyes. “Go on, then.” A frantic flurry of kisses fell upon me. I went into a state of complete, soul-crushing surrender as he held me, touching his lips to my cheeks, the backs of my hands, even my forehead, with an almost religious reverence. “Clara, you smell of moonlight and clean spring water. It’s intoxicating.” “I am no longer the beast guarding an empty fortress alone!” He was lost in the simple pleasure of breathing me in, completely oblivious to the fact that my face was burning hot. I finally understood how kittens felt when they were snatched up and sniffed obsessively by their human owners. I held up a finger and pressed it against his approaching lips. “Alright, three acts of defiance. You’ve more than paid yourself back in kisses.” “No more.” Alaric stopped. Then he hugged me and took another long, slow breath, so deep it felt like he was trying to inhale my very soul. I just let him. 4 Because humans, apparently, require a “sense of social value,” Alaric arranged a “job” for me. This so-called “Sanctuary” was in a small town just outside the walls of Moonshadow Keep. It was a place designed to offer temporary comfort to supernatural beings who found the eternal twilight of this realm unsettling. And I, as the only human for miles, was the most valuable soothing agent on the market. My first day, my first client was an exceedingly proud and delicate Elven noble. He clutched his chest, claiming his heart ached. “I do apologize for the intrusion, but the pain is unbearable,” he said, looking up at me weakly, his lips unnaturally pale. “I believe… I require the solace of a human’s touch to mend it.” I silently filled out his intake form, then double-checked. “Are you quite sure your heart is not located somewhere else?” The Elven noble nodded firmly. “Yes, I am certain.” I opened my arms to him and asked softly, “Would you like a hug?” He practically dove into my embrace, letting out a blissful sigh. “So content…” As he hugged me, he surreptitiously wiped off the white powder he’d used to make his lips look so pale. I understood. They were here to “get a fix” of humanity. The lord of the manor, who had been spending his days staring pensively at the sky from a 45-degree angle, stopped his brooding the day I came home with a young vampire who claimed he was “about to molt” and needed a safe place. Alaric was aghast. He stared in disbelief at Casimir, who was draped dramatically over my shoulders. “You’re going to keep him?!” I nodded. Casimir politely inclined his head toward Alaric. He just needed a safe haven to get through his vulnerable phase, and he had paid handsomely for it. “I do not approve!” Alaric’s voice cracked with emotion. “I have not yet been consumed by my bloodline, and you are already seeking your next guardian?” “I will not have this… this bloodsucking leech in my house! Impossible!”

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The world hated me, but Hollywood had a script it wanted me to play. In it, I was cast opposite Ethan Cole, the golden boy of the silver screen. We were to play a couple teetering on the edge of divorce, two souls torn apart by heartbreak and betrayal who, against all odds, find their way back to each other. A second chance. A story of redemption. No one on set knew the irony. In real life, Ethan and I were secretly married. And we hadn’t spoken a civil word to each other in years. The day we wrapped, I went home to our cold, empty house. But he was there, a shadow in the darkness, and his arms wrapped around me from behind. “Whatever you did back then,” he whispered, his voice thick with a history I no longer wanted, “the betrayal… I’m willing to forget it. We can—” His words were cut off by the sharp ping of a notification. Another headline, another picture of Ethan with his new girlfriend splashed across the gossip sites. The ninth one this year. I pushed him away. “Let’s get a divorce, Ethan.” He didn’t understand. The day he let the world crucify me to save himself, our story ended. There was no coming back from that. Our broken pieces could never be glued back together. So why, then, was he sitting in the front row, tears streaming down his face, the night I finally walked on stage to accept my award? 1 The first day on set, I saw him before he saw me. Ethan Cole was locked in a passionate embrace with his latest girlfriend, Chloe, right by the trailers. It was a full-blown, movie-style kiss, a performance for an audience of none. Or so they thought. I watched them, a dull ache in my chest where a storm used to rage. She wasn’t the first. She wouldn’t be the last. The first time he brought a woman home, I had shattered, screamed, even hurt myself in a desperate, pathetic attempt to shock him back into our marriage. All I did was push him further away. Liam, the director, was walking me through the production schedule when Ethan’s face suddenly appeared in my line of sight. My breath caught. He wasn’t just dropping Chloe off. Liam, oblivious, beamed at us. “I don’t think you two have formally met! Ava, this is Ethan Cole. Ethan, Ava Reed. You’re my leads.” He then waved Chloe over. “And this is my little sister, Chloe. She’s playing your rival, Ava. I know you’ll all take good care of her!” A cold knot formed in my stomach. I glanced at Ethan. His face was a mask of polite confusion. He hadn’t known either. My agent, Maya, shot me an apologetic look from across the lot. I had no idea it was them, she mouthed. I took a slow, steadying breath and gave her a small nod. It’s fine. Let them come. I wasn’t the one who should be hiding. Chloe bounced over, linking her arm through her brother’s. “So, did you finally come to your senses and make me the lead, big bro?” Liam playfully rolled his eyes. “With your acting skills? You’re barely ready for a guest spot. I want this film to actually sell tickets.” She pouted, retreating into Ethan’s arms for comfort. “She’s just some nobody who slept her way to the top. What’s so special about her? I’ll be way bigger than her one day…” Her voice was a stage whisper, designed to be heard. My jaw tightened. I waited, a foolish part of me hoping Ethan would defend me, even a little. He just chuckled, stroking her hair. “Of course you will, babe. You’ll be a thousand times the star she is.” In that moment, it felt like a thousand tiny needles piercing my heart. The boy who once picked fights with anyone who dared to speak ill of me was gone. In his place was a man who would casually join in on the gossip himself. 2 During our first scene together, I couldn’t find my focus. The script demanded I look at him with a mix of love and resentment, but all I felt was a cold, clinical distance. I didn’t want to see his face. I’m sure the feeling was mutual. “Cut!” Liam yelled for the fifth time. During the break, I sat in my chair, trying to quiet the storm in my mind. Memories kept ambushing me. Years ago, we were nobodies, just two more faces in the crowd on sprawling studio lots. We were extras, background players, sharing the same impossible dream. That shared struggle forged a bond between us, and it wasn’t long before he used a scene from a cheesy medieval fantasy series to confess his feelings for me. “We might be background players in this world,” he’d said, looking earnest and ridiculous in his pageboy costume, “but in my heart, you’re the only leading lady.” I couldn’t help but laugh. He got flustered. “You don’t believe me? I’m going to make it, Ava. I swear. And I’m going to give you everything.” That day, surrounded by a hundred other extras, we felt like the stars of the whole show. “A pageboy getting married?” I teased. His eyes lit up with a familiar spark. “Just wait ’til tonight. I’ll show you what this pageboy can do.” … My thoughts scattered as I saw Chloe dabbing sweat from Ethan’s brow, cooing over him. He leaned into her touch, soaking it up. “Her acting is atrocious,” Chloe was saying, loud enough for me to hear. “How many takes for one simple scene? And they call her a Starlight Award winner. I wonder how many directors she had to sleep with for that. My brother must have been blind to cast her.” I pretended not to hear, my nails digging into my palms. Liam, seeing that Ethan and I were a lost cause for the moment, decided to move up a scene between me and Chloe. The cameras rolled. Before I could even get my line out, Chloe’s hand cracked across my face. A real, stinging slap. I stumbled back, my cheek burning, and stared at her in disbelief. “The scene is about her trying to steal my man,” Chloe announced to the crew, her voice dripping with self-satisfaction. “I felt adding a slap would make it feel more authentic.” A production assistant helped me up. Fury pulsed through me. “Stick to the damn script,” I said, my voice shaking. She scoffed. “It’s called improvisation. It’s what real actors do. Maybe you should try it instead of relying on your stale, robotic techniques.” The set descended into chaos. Liam rushed over to mediate. After a quick touch-up from makeup, we reset for another take. This time, I was ready. I channeled all my anger into the performance, and in the raw energy of the scene, she was clearly outmatched. She was losing control. Frustrated, she suddenly shoved me, hard. Caught completely off guard, I fell backward, the back of my head hitting the unforgiving concrete floor with a sickening thud. A warm, wet sensation spread through my hair. Blood. Through a dizzying haze, I saw Chloe shrink into Ethan’s arms. “It wasn’t me… I barely touched her…” Ethan’s voice cut through the fog, sharp and clear. “Don’t worry, I saw it. It was her own fault. She threw herself backward. She’s always been good at faking it.” He paused, his voice laced with venom. “If she died, it’d be no great loss.” A shocked silence fell over the crew. Liam finally broke it, his eyes wide with confusion. “Ethan… Do you two know each other?” 3 Know each other? We were husband and wife. We still were. It was a secret we’d kept buried for years. Few people even knew we’d once had a love story so bright it could have lit up a city. But we were small-town kids then, nobodies. And the love stories of nobodies rarely make it into the spotlight. On our wedding day, I made a wish that in five years, we’d still be as happy as we were in that moment. Well, I’d held on, refusing to sign divorce papers, dragging our marriage to its five-year anniversary. But the happiness was long gone. He hadn’t come home in years. Our marriage was a ghost. I woke up in a sterile white hospital room. The crew had gathered around my bed, their faces a blur of concerned expressions. My eyes scanned the room, searching, hoping… but Ethan wasn’t there. A familiar wave of disappointment washed over me. What did you expect, Ava? After the crowd dispersed, I picked up my phone. No calls. No texts. Nothing from him. I remembered a time, early in our careers, when I was working as a stunt double. A lead actress had accidentally scratched my face with her long nails, drawing a thin line of blood. Ethan had lost his mind, screaming at her until he was red in the face, ready to burn the whole set down just to defend my honor. Now, his new girlfriend could send me to the hospital, and he couldn’t be bothered to send a single, perfunctory text. My head throbbed. I was about to put the phone down when a push notification lit up the screen. #AvaReed Injured on Set, Co-star Chloe Miller Implicated #AvaReed Rushed to Hospital #Production Halted on ‘An Echo of Us’ I clicked on a link. The comments section was filled with supportive fans, many of whom had already descended upon Chloe’s social media accounts with a vengeance. But one comment, pinned near the top, caught my eye. [Don’t fall for her act. This is a woman who would do anything for fame. You really think this isn’t a publicity stunt for the new movie?] I knew that username. It was Ethan’s burner account. He despised me. We had created those secret accounts together, years ago, laughing about how we’d use them to be each other’s biggest fans, our own private hype-squad. He was using it, just as we’d planned. Just not in the way I’d ever imagined. My fans fought back, and soon, his callous comment was trending too. Exhausted, I fell into a restless sleep. Maya woke me up later, carrying a container of soup. She fidgeted, looking hesitant. “Ava… did you see the news?” I assumed she meant the articles about my injury. I nodded. She let out a strange sigh of relief. “Oh, good. I was worried you’d be upset when he made it official with Chloe…” The spoon in my hand clattered against the tray. With a shaking hand, I grabbed my phone. It was the number one trending topic in the country. #EthanCole: ‘Chloe Miller is My Girlfriend’ Something inside me, something I didn’t even know was still intact, quietly shattered. He’d had so many women over the years, but he’d never, ever gone public. Was he serious about her? Or was this just a desperate move to bury the negative press about my “accident”? I didn’t know. A memory surfaced, unbidden. Five years ago, his words whispered in the dark: “If I ever go public with someone, Ava, it will only ever be you.” I managed a bitter smile. Some promises just weren’t meant to be kept. 4 After three days, I was back on set. My old friend, Noah Sterling, a director I’d worked with before, stopped by to check on me. “Coffee and pastries for the hardest working crew in Hollywood!” he announced, charming everyone instantly. The crew buzzed with speculation. “Ava, what’s the story with you and Director Sterling? I heard he never visits sets.” “Yeah, he’s handsome, rich, and was voted ‘Sexiest Man Alive’ by that online poll! Are you two an item?” I just smiled, unsure of what to say. Noah handed me a thermos. “I made this for you. Bone broth. You need to recover.” The teasing from the crew grew louder. “Ooh, is a big announcement coming? Are you two going Instagram official tonight?” “Guess that means the on-screen couple is officially doomed in real life, since both our leads are taken now!” Noah paused, a tray of croissants in his hand. “What do you mean?” Maya quickly filled him in. “You don’t spend enough time online, Noah. That one over there…” His gaze followed her gesture to where Ethan and Chloe were busy doing a live stream, projecting an image of perfect love for their followers. As Noah approached, Ethan looked up, a smirk playing on his lips. “Still hanging around her after all these years, Sterling? Haven’t you two made it official yet?” He let out a cold, humorless laugh. “Then again, after what she did… I guess even you think she’s too dirty to touch, right?” Before the words had even fully settled, Noah’s fist connected with Ethan’s jaw. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Noah snarled, his voice trembling with rage. “If it wasn’t for Ava, you wouldn’t even have a career today! You ungrateful piece of shit, parading your little flings in front of her!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384321”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

A nine-thousand-dollar Omakase delivery on a night the sky was splitting open with rain. The tip was five hundred bucks. I was letting the quiet thrill of it soak in when I heard the laughter from inside the mansion. “He actually believes you were paralyzed in a car accident? That he has to work delivery jobs to support you? He even sold his father’s old signet ring?” “Can you imagine his face if he knew you were a trust fund princess worth billions, just playing a little poverty game with him? He’d probably cry himself to death.” I recognized Isabelle’s voice. She was toying with a wine glass, I could picture it. “Men like that… they’re born to serve. It’s in their blood.” “Besides,” a man’s voice added, one I knew all too well. “He deserved it. A little punishment for always trying to one-up me back in college. Tricking him was the least I could do.” I stood there in the pouring rain, a bitter smile twisting my lips. So, her two years of feigned sickness were just to help her childhood friend, Caleb, get revenge on me. Her shattered legs, her tragically deceased parents, her helpless tears—all of it was just a meticulously crafted lie. Finally, I pulled out my phone and called the woman I’d been fighting with for years, the CEO who also happened to be my mother. “Mom,” I said, the rain dripping from my hair into my eyes. “I lost. I’ll do the merger.” 1. I hung up just as Caleb Shaw’s voice drifted out from the mansion again. “It’s because my darling Isabelle spoils me rotten that she’d teach that bastard a lesson for me. And I couldn’t be happier.” His long, elegant fingers tipped Isabelle’s chin up. I saw it then. On his ring finger, gleaming under the chandelier light, was my father’s signet ring. Isabelle giggled, then lightly nipped his fingertip with her teeth. “You’re terrible.” I watched as the legs that were supposed to be useless, the legs I had carried up and down four flights of stairs every day, crossed elegantly on the coffee table in front of her. Not a trace of injury. The heavy, white cast that had fooled me for more than two years seemed to mock me from its place in the corner of the room, stark and obscene under the warm light. Clutching the insulated delivery box, I knocked on the door. The heads of everyone inside snapped in my direction. The boisterous living room fell into a dead, suffocating silence. I walked toward Isabelle, my soaked sneakers leaving a trail of dark footprints on the polished marble. Her voice was tight, strained. Her eyes darted around, refusing to meet mine. “Noah? What are you doing here?” she stammered. “I… I was just having a little get-together with some old friends…” I ignored her, my gaze fixed on the ring on Caleb’s finger. “The ring. Give it back.” The smile on Isabelle’s face froze, as if she couldn’t comprehend my cold tone. She instinctively wheeled her chair closer—the prop still ready at a moment’s notice—and tried to soothe me with that practiced, gentle voice. “Noah, just listen to me…” “Listen to what?” I cut her off, a grimace pulling at my lips that was more pain than smile. “Listen to you explain how you so kindly helped me sell it to Mr. Shaw for a premium price? Or are we going to talk about the miracle? About how your paralyzed legs just happened to start working again tonight?” Isabelle’s face went white. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. The silence in the room deepened until Caleb broke it with a contemptuous snort. He rose to his feet, his leather loafers silent on the thick rug, and sauntered over to me. He deliberately held up the hand wearing the ring. “Isabelle gave this to me,” he said, drawing out the word ‘gave.’ His eyes were filled with a triumphant, goading light. “You like it so much you want it back?” Isabelle’s face was a mask of pale panic. “Caleb, stop it! Noah, he…” “He what?” Caleb interrupted, his voice sharp with impatience as his eyes roamed over my drenched, cheap delivery uniform. “You want it? Fine. For Isabelle’s sake, I’ll consider it. But not for what you sold it for. I’ve worn it. So how about a friends-and-family price? Fifty thousand. Cash. Right now. You hand over the cash, you get the ring.” Fifty thousand dollars? After I’d walked away from my mother’s empire, I’d poured everything I had into Isabelle’s “treatments.” I’d sold or pawned every last thing of value my father had left me. Right now, I didn’t even have five hundred dollars to my name. I looked at Caleb’s smug face, then at Isabelle. She avoided my gaze, tacitly approving of his cruelty. A cold hand squeezed my heart, crushing the last wisp of warmth I held for our past. In that instant, it all turned to ash. “Fine.” “I’ll buy it.” I just wanted the last piece of my father back. Then I could walk away from these people and never, ever look back. “You’ll buy it?” Caleb echoed, as if I’d just told the funniest joke in the world. He clutched his stomach, laughing dramatically. He then pointed at the nine-thousand-dollar Omakase box still in my hand. “You couldn’t make fifty grand if you delivered food for the rest of your life. Look at that thing. Have you ever eaten sushi this expensive? Hell, have you ever even seen it up close? Do you think you deserve to?” Before I could react, he lunged forward, snatched the insulated box from my grip, and slammed it onto the marble floor. CRACK! The wooden box shattered. The lid flew open, and a king’s ransom in perfect, top-grade sushi spilled across the floor. Glistening pieces of otoro, glistening uni, perfect cubes of A5 wagyu… all of it scattered in a disgusting mess. Caleb stared down at the ruin, then ground the heel of his shoe into a piece of priceless bluefin tuna, smearing it into the grout. “See that? Nine grand. I can throw it away without a second thought. But a pathetic loser like you? You’ll never have that freedom, will you?” He sneered. “You’ll work your fingers to the bone and never afford a single bite of something like this. The best you can do is smell it. That’s the difference between you and me. Understand?” The room erupted in a chorus of jeers and mocking laughter. “Exactly! A delivery boy trying to pick a fight with Caleb?” “God, he’s pathetic. Born to be poor. Talking about fifty grand… maybe he can find a rich old lady at a nursing home to pay for it!” “I mean, he’s not bad-looking. The cougars love that tortured artist vibe.” Caleb soaked in the validation, his grin widening. He glanced at the ring on his finger, then back at my miserable state, his expression one of utter disgust. “Isabelle told me this ring of yours was some priceless heirloom. But you’re broke as a joke. How valuable could it really be? Probably a cheap knockoff.” He scoffed. “You’re the only one who thinks this piece of junk is a treasure.” As he spoke, he worked the ring off his finger. Then, before anyone—including Isabelle—could react, he slid open the glass door to the terrace, and with a flick of his wrist, he threw it. The signet ring carved a small, dark arc through the rain. With a tiny splash, it vanished into the churning water of the decorative river that ran alongside the mansion. “NO!” The word tore from my throat. It was the last thing my father ever gave me. My body moved before my mind could catch up. I sprinted for the terrace like a madman, ready to vault the railing and plunge into the freezing water. “NOAH!” Isabelle screamed. In a flash, she was on her feet, lunging from the wheelchair with a speed that belied two years of “paralysis.” She tackled me from behind, her arms locking around my waist, dragging me back from the edge. “Let go of me! Isabelle, let me GO!” I struggled against her, my eyes fixed in desperation on the murky water that had swallowed the last glint of my father’s ring. Cold rain and hot tears mingled on my face, blurring my vision. “Calm down! Are you going to kill yourself over a stupid ring?!” Isabelle’s voice was laced with a flicker of panic, but it was quickly overwhelmed by an impatient anger at my “irrational” behavior. A stupid ring? The only thing I had left of my father. Thrown away like a piece of trash by the man she loved. In that moment, all the anger, the grief, the humiliation, coalesced into a cold, dead calm. I stopped struggling, my body going rigid in her arms. “We’re done.” My voice was terrifyingly quiet. Isabelle’s body went stiff. Then she laughed, a shaky, incredulous sound. “Noah, don’t be ridiculous. I know you’re upset about the ring. I’ll make Caleb apologize! We can…” “I’m not being ridiculous.” I interrupted her, prying her fingers from my waist, one by one. I turned to face her, to look at the face that now filled me with nothing but disgust. “Two years, Isabelle. Aren’t you tired of the act? My father’s ring is gone. And any last feeling I had for you is gone with it. How much longer were you planning to play this game?” Her eyes flickered. Instantly, she put on the mask I knew so well—the fragile, helpless victim. “Noah, what are you talking about? My legs… they were really hurt, it’s just… they’ve gotten so much better with the treatments… Are you leaving me? I knew it. You always resented me, you were just looking for an excuse to abandon me!” She was trying to trap me again, using the same old guilt trips about her “paralysis” and my “abandonment.” Watching her flawless performance, I could only feel a weary sense of the absurd. I didn’t have the energy to argue, to explain, to say another word to her. I just bent down and picked up the empty, soiled delivery box from the floor. Without another glance at her or the crowd of hyenas on the terrace, I turned and walked back into the deluge. Behind me, I heard Caleb’s confused voice. “Isabelle, what’s the big deal? The secret’s out. You’re not actually upset for that psycho, are you?” “Don’t tell me a billionaire like you actually fell for a delivery boy.” I didn’t hear her answer. Since we were done, I didn’t need the job anymore. I called my manager to quit. He was surprised. “Noah? What happened? You’re one of my best guys. Aren’t you saving up for your girlfriend’s treatment?” “She’s better,” I said, a hollow smile on my face. “Completely cured.” “Hey! That’s fantastic news!” the manager said, his voice full of genuine happiness for me. “See? What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger! She’s going to treat you like a king now. You’ve earned it, kid. Your good karma is finally paying off.” Good karma. I laughed, a silent, bitter sound. Of course, it was Isabelle herself who had recommended this job to me—this job of baking in the sun and freezing in the rain, of being looked down upon and treated like dirt. She’d said it was to “help me carry the burden.” In reality, it was just another way to make me “suffer a little,” to get revenge for her darling Caleb. Well, it was over now. I packed my few belongings. The next day, I took my duffel bags and cardboard boxes to the most opulent hotel in the city. I must have been a sight, dragging my life’s possessions across the gleaming marble lobby. My presence was so out of place it immediately drew a constellation of stares. “Well, well, look what the cat dragged in. If it isn’t our hardest-working delivery boy, Noah!” The sharp, grating voice behind me made my stomach turn. It was Caleb. He and his pack of sycophants were here, too. I kept walking, ignoring him, but he had no intention of letting me go. He and his friends surrounded me, grinning like they were watching a monkey at the zoo. “What is this?” Caleb pinched his nose dramatically, as if I smelled. “A delivery boy? In the Grand Sovereign? Security! Security! Has your clientele really sunk this low? You’re letting in any stray dog off the street now? It’s filthy!” His friends chimed in immediately. “Seriously, he’s going to ruin the carpets!” “Oh, come on, Caleb, you forgot. The man is above material wealth, remember? So, what’s the plan, Noah? Now that your crippled girlfriend finally dumped you, you’re here to troll for a sugar mama?” The cacophony of their laughter echoed in the vast lobby. I listened to their twisted version of the truth, my eyes locking on Caleb’s, my jaw tight. “Get out of my way.” “You’re telling me to get out of your way? Ha!” Caleb’s face darkened, and he shoved me, hard. Caught off guard, I stumbled backward, my back slamming into a massive display cabinet filled with priceless vintages of wine and spirits. The entire structure shuddered violently. CRASH! TINKLE! Dozens of beautifully packaged, exorbitantly priced bottles—Château Lafite, Romanée-Conti, Macallan Rare Cask—cascaded to the floor, exploding in a shower of glass and liquid. The sound shocked the lobby into silence. Everyone stared, wide-eyed, at the devastation. Then, the silence was shattered by an even louder burst of laughter. “Hahaha! Look at that! You’re in for it now, you little pauper!” “Someone do the math! How many treasures did the hick just break?” “One bottle of Lafite, two Romanée-Conti, three Macallan Rare… oh my God, what’s the total on that?” “Got to be a few million, at least! Hahaha, they could sell his organs and it wouldn’t cover the cost!” “Can’t pay?” Caleb said, strolling forward with a malicious grin. “Simple. Get on your knees and lick the floor clean. For every drop you lick up, I’ll cover a drop’s worth of the bill. Can’t finish? Then you just keep licking. You lick until we’re satisfied! Hahaha!” The vile suggestion was met with enthusiastic agreement. “Yeah, get on your knees and lick it!” “Let’s see the delivery king lick the floor!” A couple of Caleb’s cronies closed in, grabbing my arms and forcing me down toward the puddle of expensive liquor and glittering glass shards. “Kneel! Lick it up!” “Do it, or we call the cops and have you thrown in jail right now!” A wave of pain and crushing humiliation washed over me. They twisted my arms behind my back, grabbed my hair, and forced my head down. With every ounce of strength I had left, I wrenched my head up and screamed, my voice raw. “I’m Noah Sterling! The sole heir to the Sterling Group! Anne Sterling is my mother!” A brief pause. Then, an even more violent explosion of ridicule. “Did he say he’s the heir to the Sterling Group?” “The billionaire CEO is his mom? Has he finally lost his mind? Did the shock break his brain?” “Yeah, right! If you’re a Sterling, then I’m the President of the United States!” Caleb was laughing so hard he was bent over, tears streaming from his eyes. “The Sterling heir? The Sterling heir is the owner of the Grand Sovereign Hotel Group. He’s engaged to my sister, Sophia Shaw! I won’t even make you call your mommy. Why don’t you get your fiancée to come down here and teach us a lesson, huh?” “He doesn’t even think before he lies. This is priceless.” In the midst of this ultimate degradation, a familiar figure appeared. It was Isabelle. She walked toward us, her dress flowing, her chin held high. When she saw me, a flicker of surprise and pity crossed her face. “Noah? Caleb? What’s going on here?” She surveyed the wreckage and my pathetic state on the floor, her brow furrowing. Then, her gaze settled on me, her voice dripping with condescension. “Noah, what have you done now? Did you cause more trouble?” She sighed. “But… if you ask me for help… if you beg me, for old times’ sake… maybe I can take care of this little mess for you…” The word “you” had barely left her lips when a commotion erupted at the hotel entrance. The crowd of onlookers parted instinctively. “I think that’s Sophia Shaw. She’s gorgeous.” “Of course she is. She was raised to be a queen. That kind of presence can’t be faked.” A woman in a perfectly tailored black dress, a chic blazer draped over her shoulders, strode into the lobby. Her eyes scanned the scene and locked onto me instantly. The moment she saw me being held on the floor, covered in filth, her face hardened into a mask of cold fury. “What,” she said, her voice dangerously low, “do you think you are doing?!”

After I died, I became my enemy’s cat. He spoiled me rotten, even bought me a set of those recordable word buttons for pets. A press of the paw, and a mechanical voice would announce: Hungry. Litter box. Treat. He tried to teach me with endless patience, but I loved to piss him off, so I’d just slam my paw on a random jumble of them every time. But on the anniversary of my death, he drank himself into a stupor, all alone in his room. He cried, clutching a photo of me like a madman, sobbing about how much he regretted everything, how much he missed me. He even said he loved me. “I love you, too.” His head snapped up, his eyes wide and unfocused. I slammed my paw down again, hard. The robotic female voice echoed through the room once more: “I. Love. You. Too.” 1 I was in love with Caleb Hale for ten years. But the man I loved fell for my long-lost sister the moment she came back into our lives. What was so great about her, anyway? Claire was folksy and unrefined. How could she ever compare to me? So why was it that the second Caleb laid eyes on her, it was like a lightning strike, and he couldn’t look away? I couldn’t accept it. So, like every cliché villainess in every story, I decided to drug him. I’d sneak into his hotel room in the dead of night. A drunken mistake, a one-night stand that could blossom into love. Everything went according to plan, until the first ray of sunlight hit the face of the man beside me. He looked about seventy percent like Caleb, but there was a small, dark mole just beside the bridge of his nose. A scream tore from my raw throat. When he saw me, his own face went pale. “How the hell is it you?” he choked out. “Where’s Claire?” It was only later that I understood. In a pulpy bestseller, this would have been the triumphant climax—the moment the scheming side character gets her humiliating comeuppance. Except we weren’t the masterminds of this story. We just stared at each other, a long, stunned silence stretching between us as the same horrifying realization dawned: we had both, with extraordinary and terrible synchronicity, hatched the exact same plan. And we had both ended up with the wrong person. As if the universe demanded another twist of the knife, the hotel room door swung open at that exact moment. Claire stood there, clinging to our parents’ arms, a few crocodile tears tracing paths down her cheeks. “See, Mom, Dad?” she whimpered. “I told you. Ethan doesn’t like me.” That was the first time I learned his name. Ethan. He was the older brother of the man I loved. And he, I discovered, had been informally engaged to my sister since they were children—an old family understanding that was put on hold when she went missing. Ever since Claire had been found and brought home, the rumor was that Ethan had been nothing but difficult and cold toward her. The gossip in our circle was that Ethan was ambitious and obsessed with appearances; marrying a girl who’d grown up in the middle of nowhere was an embarrassment. But I could see the truth. I saw the way his eyes followed her. He was falling for her, too. He was just too proud and cruel to admit it, so the story had apparently assigned him the role of the brooding man destined for a dramatic, groveling redemption arc. The outcome of this whole sordid, predictable mess was this: I was ordered by my family to take Claire’s place and fulfill the marriage pact with the Hale family. It was a disgrace, they said, but at least it was a neat solution. A happy ending for all. A happy ending? It was a damn tragedy. Ethan was the last man on earth I could ever love. And the feeling was mutual. I called him a manipulative, cold-blooded snake. He called me a green-eyed, venomous bitch. We were forced into a marriage that lasted five years. We fought for all five of them. Every time I’d try, pathetically, to catch Caleb’s attention, Ethan would be there, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. “Ava, your most terrifying flaw isn’t that you’re cruel. It’s that you’re stupid and cruel.” And whenever he’d get that tight-lipped, jealous look on his face over something to do with Claire, I’d lean in close, my voice sweet as poison. “Need a mirror? Your clown nose is practically glowing.” Other people had romance. We had pure, unadulterated hatred. Until the year Claire went through the ordeal every damsel in a drama is destined to endure: she was kidnapped. At three in the morning, Ethan got the call. He was out of bed and dressing in an instant, without a flicker of hesitation. I watched him from the bed, my voice dripping with ice. “Don’t rush. You won’t be the hero who gets to save her.” He shot me a look that could have frozen fire. “Ava, do you have a conscience? That’s your sister.” Something in my head snapped. “Do you? You’re married to me.” He froze, his hands stilling on the buttons of his shirt. I let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Ethan, what exactly do you expect me to say right now?” “Wish you and Claire a long and happy life together?” His jaw tightened. The look he gave me was one of profound disappointment. Maybe it was the strange, disorienting haze of the late night, but I pushed further than I ever had before. I said, “Ethan, if it were me dying tonight, would you be this worried?” I never got his answer. He vanished out the door. But when he arrived at the designated location, he found it was a trap. A clumsy, obvious diversion. Claire was perfectly safe, nestled cozily in a mansion with Caleb, the two of them looking utterly baffled to see Ethan storm in. As realization hit him, his eyes went wild. He tore out of there, speeding home. But he was far, far too late. 2 My name is Ava. And I think I’m dead. But not quite. I tried to clear my throat. “Meow.” I’d be lying if I said I didn’t freak out. I scrambled over to a dirty puddle on the pavement and finally saw my reflection. White paws, a mottled black-and-white face. This was… this was the stray I used to feed every day on my doorstep. A cold sweat, or what passed for it on a fur-covered body, broke out. I didn’t know how any of this had happened, but I knew one thing for sure… If I didn’t find something to eat, and fast, I was going to die a second time. This little body was starving. It had been seven days. Probably because I’d been missing for seven days. My house had been empty all week. I figured they were all out looking for me. Just as I was contemplating begging for scraps at the neighbor’s, a sudden pressure tightened around the scruff of my neck. I cursed a blue streak in my mind. And then I was staring up into the magnified face of Ethan Hale. He held me up, his brow furrowed as he studied me. “I know you,” he said, his voice quiet. “Ava used to feed you.” The frantic, angry meows died in my throat. I was, to put it mildly, surprised. He remembered the cat I fed. His gaze softened, and he clumsily, awkwardly, pulled me into his arms. “She called you Patches, didn’t she? What a stupid name.” Logically, I should have clawed him. But maybe it was just my imagination… When he said that, his voice was rough, laced with a sorrow I didn’t expect. I gave his hand a tentative, gentle lick. His long fingers began to scratch behind my ears, a touch so tender it sent a shiver through me. He finally let out a long, ragged sigh. “My house… it’s so empty. It’s so cold I can’t even stand to go back.” He looked down at me, his eyes pleading. “You’ll stay with me, won’t you? Please.” 3 Hell no! I’ve had enough of you to last a lifetime! I let out a fierce yowl and sank my teeth into his wrist, launching myself out of his arms with every ounce of strength I had. This body was still new to me, but… Legs, run! If I could just outrun him, my new cat life would be… It would be… Wait. Meow? Meow meow meow? I skidded to a halt. Was it just me, or the farther I got from Ethan, the fuzzier my human thoughts became? I took a cautious step back. The stream of creative insults I had for him in my head immediately became sharper, clearer. Did this mean… if I got too far away from him… I’d turn into a real cat? The sound of his footsteps grew closer. As his face, that face I had loathed for so long, came back into focus, the despair returned. I’d rather be a cat than be stuck with him. A cat’s life is one of freedom! The world is my territory! I arched my back, ready to spring toward the community gate. “My journey to the stars beg—!” And then I was dangling by the scruff of my neck again. “Running away?” Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow! Damn you, Ethan. I swear on this flea-bitten life, I will have my revenge! 4 I never knew Ethan Hale was such a cat person. He treated me like royalty. He bought me the most extravagant cat tree, a veritable skyscraper of sisal rope and plush carpeting. He fed me the most expensive canned food every day and cleaned my litter box three times a day without fail. Boxes of toys arrived constantly, some discarded before their packaging was even fully removed. He even took out a ridiculously expensive lifetime pet insurance policy on me. When Claire and Caleb came to visit, they were speechless at his lavish, almost obsessive, pet-parenting. Caleb tried to reason with him, but Claire gently held him back. I heard her whisper with a sigh, “He’s just grieving. This is how he’s coping.” I let out a soft meow. How absurd. Grieving? Ethan Hale? For me? Not buying it for a second, I rubbed against Caleb’s leg, hoping he might talk some sense into his brother. A cold laugh echoed from above. “Of course. Her cat. Acts just like her.” I froze mid-rub. You have got to be kidding me. Are you jealous of a cat? Wait a minute… He was jealous? Over me? The next thing I knew, I was scooped up into his arms. My world went dark. Dude, we can talk about this. Put me down. Your cat-holding technique is atrocious! My tail! You’re crushing my tail! You monster, Ethan! I struggled, meowing furiously, my claws itching to come out. But he didn’t get the hint. He just tightened his grip, as if he was terrified I would escape and run back to Caleb. After a solid minute of this one-man, one-cat standoff, Claire finally cleared her throat. “You know,” she said, her voice strained with a forced smile, “I saw these things online recently… these recordable buttons for pets to ‘talk’.” “They say cats are incredibly smart. I bet Patches could learn in no time.” I let out a weak, hopeful meow. Claire. My dear sister. Whatever bad blood was between us, in this moment, you are a saint. A goddess to all felines. Ethan was silent for a moment, then he lifted me closer to his face. “Talk?” I wagged my tail expectantly. He tilted his head. “Sounds interesting. But she looks like the type to secretly curse me out.” He bought the talking buttons anyway. For no other reason than his brother’s breezy comment: “Oh, yeah. Our golden retriever learned how to use those months ago.” Ethan’s lip curled into a sneer. He immediately ordered the super-deluxe, thousand-word-vocabulary edition. They covered the entire floor of the living room. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to teach me to speak or train me for a feline marathon. Every night, he’d patiently take my paw and begin our lessons. “This one is ‘hungry.’ This one is ‘thirsty.’ This one is ‘litter box needs scooping.’” The only thing that needs scooping is your brain. If I couldn’t understand human speech, there was no way his teaching method would work. He’d be waiting a hundred years for cats to evolve into sentient beings. He patted my head. “Give it a try.” Try my paw. I rolled my eyes and slammed my paw down, producing a string of nonsensical words. He sighed, disappointed. “You’re so dumb.” I stared at him, deadpan, and then slowly extended my paw. “Jerk.” His brow furrowed. I blinked innocently. “Meow?” It was then that he picked up an old sweater of mine and held it under my nose. “Here, girl. You knew her. Can you smell where she is?” A strange warmth spread through my chest. So, he was still looking for me. And while I was also morbidly curious about the location of my own body… That’s a job for a dog, you idiot! What do you want from me? My only skill is inhaling canned tuna! Go ask your brother’s eloquent golden retriever! I couldn’t speak, but my glare must have conveyed the sentiment. He reached out to smooth my fur. The moment his hand moved, my fur stood on end. For the first time, a shadow crossed Ethan’s face. A raw loneliness. “You hate me that much.” He was looking at me, the cat, but his words felt like they were aimed at someone else. At the me I used to be. I sighed. Alright, alright. The great and powerful cat bestows her mercy upon you. I’ll humor you, for a moment. I rolled over, exposing my belly, and flicked my eyes up at him. Go on. Pet the soft tummy fur. He didn’t move. I let out a few soft, coaxing meows. His face went grim as he pulled out his phone. “Hello, vet? Yes, my cat rolled onto her back and is making strange noises. Is she dying?” 5 I gave up. You can’t help a man who is determined to be clueless. I couldn’t escape, so I might as well get comfortable. Everyone else quickly got used to my presence. They even praised me. Because after a short period of what looked like depression, Ethan seemed to return to his normal self. They all said it was me, his furry companion, who had helped him heal so quickly. I almost choked on a laugh when I heard that. They all knew the truth. He wasn’t sad because he never cared about me in the first place. Our marriage was a well-known disaster, a chaotic mess of flying sparks and bitter words. And he played the part of the heartless widower perfectly. Aside from those first few moments after he found me, he almost never mentioned Ava. Even when someone would accidentally let my name slip and apologize profusely, he wouldn’t even bother to look up. “It’s fine.” And everyone else would rush to smooth things over. “It’s good that you’ve moved on. You have to look forward.” He would always nod, a polite, detached smile on his face, not even bothering to feign grief for a single second. Honestly, I wasn’t disappointed. Any hope, any delusion, any lingering attachment I had for him had been burned out of me back when I was human. And being a cat was a pretty sweet deal. A few meows a day earned me premium food and endless toys. When he was at work, I could even hop on the computer and play a few games. The only remnant of my existence seemed to be the daily morning call from our housekeeper. It was like clockwork, the words always the same. “Sir, we still haven’t found Mrs. Hale.” And every time, he’d hang up without a word, as if he couldn’t be bothered to waste another second on the call. Until today. After the housekeeper’s usual line, she added something new. “It’s been a year, sir. Should we keep looking?” I was lounging on his lap, licking a paw. I rolled my eyes. A year. If they were going to find me, they would have by now. He never really wanted to find me anyway. Ethan was probably just waiting for an excuse to stop. But to my surprise, his voice came out tight, strained. “Keep looking.” I sighed. Right. Still playing the part of the devoted, grieving husband, are we? His cool fingers absently stroked my head. “Be good, Patches. I’m heading to work.” The motion caught my eye. There was something on his finger. “Meow.” I nudged his hand with my paw. He paused. Two pairs of eyes—one human, one feline—stared down at his left ring finger. It was a single strand of hair. A long, burgundy-red, wavy strand of hair. Ava’s hair. One night, when he was drunk, he’d suddenly complimented my hair, saying it was beautiful when it was long and straight and black. My heart had leaped for a second, before I turned and saw Claire, with her identical, gentle, dark hair. The very next day, I dyed my hair burgundy and had it styled in big, dramatic waves. I’d even bought a slinky red dress to match, and waited for him in the living room, arms crossed. “Like it?” He had stared at me, speechless for a solid three seconds. “You look like a siren.” I never changed the color after that. And now, exactly one year after my death, that single strand of hair was wrapped around his finger. It wasn’t that surprising, I guess. Long hair gets everywhere, and it’s a pain to clean up. God knows when it had fallen out. Ethan let out a small, humorless laugh and flicked his finger. It didn’t come off. He tried again, with more force. Still there. The third time he raised his hand, I was about to offer to claw it off for him. But instead, he covered his eyes with his hand. My paw froze in mid-air. Holy hell. Unbelievable. Was he crying? How could he be crying? I let out a tentative meow, trying to see if maybe he just had something in his eye. But a single, hot, salty tear dropped onto my nose. And then I watched, completely stunned, as his silent tears turned into choked sobs, his shoulders shaking with the force of his grief. I curled into a ball on his lap, my mind a chaotic whirl. As ridiculous as the conclusion sounded… I think… He was thinking of me.

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My marriage to Liam Sterling was a merger, a union of two dynasties. On the night we signed the papers at City Hall, he stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse, smoking one cigarette after another. Then he told me he was in love with someone else. A girl he described as poor but resilient, a wildflower growing in the cracks of the city pavement. I was quiet for a moment. I didn’t tell him that I’d been quietly in love with him for years. Instead, I asked, “So what happens now?” He gave a small, humorless smile, the city lights glinting in his cool gray eyes. “Give me two years. I won’t be the man whose life is dictated by others forever.” His voice was low, cutting. “Then, we’ll divorce. But don’t worry,” he added, a gesture toward magnanimity, “I’ll make sure you and the Calloway family are compensated.” I agreed. But when that day finally came, he was the one who wasn’t ready to let go. 1. Three months into my marriage with Liam, I finally saw her. Ava. It was my birthday. The Sterling family had been planning the party for half a month. The venue, the catering, the champagne—everything was the absolute best. I overheard someone whisper, “Old man Sterling really treasures his new granddaughter-in-law.” “Every person with any real power in New York must be in this room tonight.” They weren’t wrong. And yet, even in a room full of power and precision, things go wrong. The crystal chandelier directly above me began to fall. In that split second, the only other person in its path was a waitress clearing glasses. The room erupted into chaos. I was already moving to get out of the way when I saw Liam cut through the crowd, his eyes fixed, his expression urgent. He was rushing toward the danger. And then he ran right past me and grabbed the waitress, pulling her into his arms. The final tableau was this: my arm, sliced open by a shard of falling crystal, and the waitress, held tightly in Liam’s protective embrace. I had never been so publicly humiliated in my life. It only lasted a second. Liam seemed to register what had happened, releasing the woman and rushing to my side. He scooped me up and carried me out of the ballroom and straight to the hospital. To the rest of the world, the incident was smoothed over, a husband’s frantic concern for his injured wife. When I woke up, Liam was standing by the window of the private hospital room, his back to me, talking on the phone. “You shouldn’t have come today,” he was saying, his voice low and tight with emotion. “If you had been hurt… what would I have done?” A pause. “This thing with her… it will end. I promise. Just wait for me, okay?” Just two sentences. That’s all it took for me to understand. The waitress was Ava. The woman he wanted to marry but couldn’t. He turned then and saw my eyes were open. A flicker of relief crossed his face. I tried to smile, but my mouth wouldn’t cooperate. He walked over to the bed, one eyebrow slightly raised. “You’re awake.” I managed a nod. In the three months since we’d signed the papers, our interactions had been polite, professional, like two colleagues sharing office space. We’d barely spoken since our wedding night. The silence in the room now was absolute. Finally, he broke it. “You’re not going to ask for an explanation?” “I don’t need one,” I said, my voice flat. “I know who she is.” A small, almost bitter smile touched his lips. “You’re just as smart as you were in high school.” 2. After he left, my best friend, Jessica, came to visit. “The Sterling mansion is in total chaos,” she said, fluffing my pillows. “But I have to say, the way Liam carried you out of there… he looked terrified. Is this a secret romance? An enemies-to-lovers situation? I’m so happy for you, Claire. When you first got married, I was so worried. But now? I think it’s only a matter of time before you conquer that untouchable man.” Sunlight streamed through the window. I thought about an hour before the party, when I’d been opening gifts in our bedroom. Liam’s was the last one I opened. It was a necklace from Tiffany’s. A delicate, beautiful thing. I put it on immediately. And just before the chandelier fell, I had seen it: a bracelet from the same iconic blue box, on Ava’s wrist. My surprise gift was just something he’d picked up while buying a real gift for someone else. “I’ve already agreed to it,” I said suddenly, my voice quiet. “We’re getting divorced in two years.” Jessica shot up from her chair, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and anger. “What? Why? Are you insane? Is he cheating on you? Is that it?” I managed a weak smile. It wasn’t like that. Liam wasn’t that type of man. In fact, he was fiercely protective of Ava’s reputation. He loved her quietly, terrified that the vultures in our world would find her, pick her apart, or tarnish her name. Besides me, only his closest circle of friends knew he had fallen for a woman so far outside our social stratosphere. “No,” I said. “And as for why… I can’t tell you yet. But it’s decided. I gave him my word, and I’m going to keep it.” A lifetime with a man who didn’t love me, versus the tangible benefits he and his family could offer mine. Anyone could do that math. Jessica stared at me for a long moment, then sighed, her shoulders slumping. She didn’t press. “But Claire,” she said softly, “you’ve been in love with him for so long.” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. What did it matter? I met Liam Sterling when I was sixteen. We were lab partners in AP Chemistry for a semester. When I came down with a fever, he carried me to the nurse’s office and sat with me all morning, missing the final basketball game of the season. When kids whispered that my mother was a homewrecker and I was the illegitimate daughter, he was the one who shut them down, telling me to hold my head high. We co-hosted the winter formal; he would say a line, and I would finish his thought. And then, at twenty-three, when our families were brokering our engagement, we sat across from each other at a polished mahogany table. He looked at me with a polite, distant gaze and said, “I’m sorry, have we met before?” He had forgotten me. In that moment, I couldn’t breathe. I hadn’t changed that much. I was still quiet, still preferred dresses, still didn’t smile much. The only real difference was the subtle makeup I wore now, instead of the bare face of my teenage years. But he didn’t remember. All those moments that I had clung to like a life raft had just been casual acts of kindness for him. He wasn’t kind to me; he was just a kind person. So I smiled, pretending it was nothing. “You don’t remember? Mr. Harrison’s history class, junior year. I’m Claire Calloway.” Liam’s brow, which had been furrowed in concentration, relaxed. He let out a soft sigh of recognition. “Oh. Right. It’s you.” 3. Liam came to the hospital to pick me up himself on the day I was discharged. The room was cluttered with gifts from friends and relatives—fruit baskets, bouquets, my own toiletries and clothes. He packed everything meticulously before taking care of the paperwork. Downstairs, he carried all the bags. The elevator was crowded, and he stood beside me, positioning himself slightly in front, creating a protective barrier around me. Even then, juggling everything, he looked effortlessly composed. When we stepped out into the lobby, I turned to him. “Thank you,” I said, and I meant it. Liam glanced at me. “Don’t mention it. After all…” He trailed off, his sentence unfinished. His gaze shifted, looking past me toward the hospital entrance. I followed his line of sight. It was Ava. She was dressed simply, holding a paper pharmacy bag and supporting a middle-aged woman who was walking with a pronounced limp. As I watched, I realized the woman’s left leg was unsteady, making each step a struggle. I pulled my attention back to Liam, but he was already gone. He was walking away quickly. I hurried to catch up. I don’t know if I was desperate to talk to him or just morbidly curious, but the words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Shouldn’t you go say hello? I can get a cab home.” Liam stopped so abruptly I walked right into his back. He looked down at me, his expression unreadable. “That won’t be necessary. Let’s go.” I nodded dumbly. As we started walking again, his voice came, soft but laced with steel. “Claire.” “I told you about her because I didn’t want any unnecessary drama. But if you think that gives you the right to interfere in our lives… you’re mistaken.” The hospital lobby was bustling with people. I dropped my gaze to the floor. “Oh.” “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I overstepped.” He treasured her. Of course he wouldn’t want anyone from his world to see her like this, to look down on her or judge her circumstances. 4. After that day, I never brought up Ava’s name again. Neither did Liam. But I knew he was watching over her. Living in the same house, you overhear things. I learned that Liam had secretly arranged a job for her—good salary, respectable position. To protect her pride, he had used a chain of connections so convoluted that even the person who hired her had no idea the request originated from Liam Sterling. He went to incredible lengths for her. There were countless other things just like that. As time went on, even I started to believe that if they didn’t end up together, it would be a cosmic injustice, proof that the universe had no regard for true love. My relationship with Liam remained cool and distant. He’d felt a sliver of guilt over my injury, but my thoughtless comment at the hospital had erased it completely. It was two months before things between us started to thaw. And, of course, it was because of Ava. Her mother, the woman I’d seen at the hospital, had been in a car accident years ago. She had a check-up every few months. One rainy afternoon, she slipped while bringing in laundry, hitting her head. A neighbor found her and rushed her to the emergency room. As luck would have it, Liam was in a different city for an all-day board meeting. Ava couldn’t reach him. Desperate, she came to the Sterling estate. That same afternoon, Liam’s grandmother had summoned me. She’d just returned from an auction with several new pieces of jewelry and wanted me to pick something out. I was halfway through examining a sapphire bracelet when I heard a knock at the front door. For some reason, my eyelid twitched. I stopped the maid who was going to answer it and went myself. When I opened the door, I saw Ava’s pale, desperate face. She froze when she saw me, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I’m looking for Liam.” Before I could speak, Liam’s grandfather appeared in the grand foyer behind me, his voice booming. “Claire, who is it? It sounded like someone asking for Liam.” I panicked, my eyes meeting Ava’s. Then I turned back to the old man, forcing a smile. I looped my arm through Ava’s, pulling her into the light and into the view of the Sterling family. “Grandfather, this is a friend of mine. She’s here to see me.” Grandfather Sterling gave us a long, meaningful look. After a moment that stretched into an eternity, he nodded. “Well, don’t let us keep you. I’ll have the driver take you wherever you need to go.” “Thank you,” I said, and quickly pulled Ava out of the house. 5. I didn’t take the driver. Instead, I went to the garage and got the keys to one of Liam’s cars. At first, Ava refused to get in. “Do you know where he is?” she asked. The moment Liam and I were married, she had blocked his number. My birthday party was the last time they’d spoken, and even that was on his assistant’s phone. In her own way, she was a proud and resilient woman. I rolled down the window, my expression hardening. “He’s not coming back today.” “You came to him because it’s an emergency. Whatever he can do, I can do. Get in the car, and I’ll help you. If not, you’re on your own.” Ava stared at me, her gaze intense. Then, she opened the passenger door and got in. She gave me the address for the hospital. I didn’t hesitate, pulling out onto the main road. When we arrived, I handled the admissions paperwork, paid the initial fees, and called a friend of mine who was a surgeon to get her mother the best doctor in the hospital. When it was all done, I went to wait outside the surgical wing. And that’s when I saw him. Across the long, sterile hallway, there was Liam. He looked like he’d flown straight here, still in his suit, his hair slightly disheveled. He was crouched down, comforting the woman he loved. He reached out and gently wiped a tear from her cheek, then took off his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “I’ve got it from here,” he told her softly. “Everything will be okay.” Ava nodded, her eyes red-rimmed. “Okay.” I knew I wasn’t needed anymore. I left the hospital, opened my phone, and sent Liam a brief text summarizing what I’d done. Then I went home, took a shower, and waited. At one in the morning, his reply came. Two words. Okay. Thank you.

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Alex and I had a rental-unit kind of love. The kind built in a space that was never truly ours, filled with furniture we promised we’d replace one day. Lately, that space had felt emptier than usual. He was a ghost, leaving before sunrise and returning long after I’d fallen asleep. Tonight, when he finally walked in, reeking of the city and exhaustion, something in me snapped. I slapped him. The sound was sharp and ugly in our small living room. And then the text appeared, floating in my vision like a cruel, omniscient narrator’s notes. 【The hero was just about to pull the engagement ring from his pocket. The side character just slapped it right back in.】 【If only she had shown him an ounce more understanding, the fortune he’s about to build wouldn’t have fallen into the heroine’s lap.】 【One slap. It shattered the last of his pride. This is where they go their separate ways…】 I closed my eyes, the words burning behind my lids. Then I opened them and slapped him again, on the other cheek. “What’s in your pocket?” 1. Alex lifted his head, his lips pressed into a thin, white line. His skin was naturally pale, and against it, the two red imprints of my hands stood out like graffiti. Stark. Shocking. I flexed my stinging fingers. “I asked you what’s in your pocket,” I repeated, my voice steadier than I felt. 【LMAO, does she really think he’s still going to propose after this?】 【Don’t worry, our girl is on her way to comfort him.】 【It wouldn’t be a side character if she didn’t self-destruct.】 The floating commentary was impossible to misunderstand. I was the self-destructing side character. The villain of my own story. Alex and I were locked in a stalemate. It was clear now that whatever was in his pocket was staying there tonight. His phone buzzed on the coffee table. I sighed, the fight draining out of me. “Fine. Go answer your phone.” I turned and walked toward the bedroom. As I passed the table, my eyes caught the name on the screen. Lana. Definitely not a man’s name. Could this be her? The heroine the comments were cheering for? A wave of nausea hit me. It’s a lie to say it didn’t hurt. Alex and I had known each other for five years, been together for three. We both came from nothing, two kids from working-class towns who decided to brave the city together after college. To save on rent, moving in together was a no-brainer. Our apartment was small, but every mismatched mug, every scuffed piece of IKEA furniture, every throw pillow, we’d picked out together. We’d polished this temporary box into a home, warm and lived-in. We even adopted a cat, Milo. My gaze swept over our little world, a lump forming in my throat. Soon, all of this might just be a memory. I collapsed onto our bed, and the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free. Just as I’d expected, I heard the front door open and click shut. He left. He went to find someone else. The realization ripped through me, and a sob tore from my throat, raw and ugly. My heart seized, a physical, stabbing pain. My first love. My first everything. And it was ending. “Waaaaah…” In the empty apartment, the only sound left was the echo of my own grief. 2. I don’t know how long I cried before exhaustion pulled me under. When I woke, Alex was sitting on the edge of the bed. He stared at my swollen eyes, a strange mix of anger and amusement on his face. “You hit me, and you’re the one crying?” His anger seemed to have faded. Someone had clearly done a good job of soothing him. I turned my back to him, refusing to even look at him. If he wasn’t going to break up with me now, what was his plan? To see us both? When he reached for me, I slapped the back of his hand away. “Don’t touch me with your filthy hands!” That did it. Alex shot to his feet, his voice tight with fury. “Filthy? Chloe, I shouldn’t have bothered going out to get you ointment!” Ointment? I glanced down at my hand. A thin layer of a pale, soothing balm was spread across my knuckles. But what did that prove? It was just a final, desperate twitch from a dying relationship. Since he wouldn’t say it, I would. “Alex, let’s break up.” 【Whoa, didn’t expect the side character to be the one to end it.】 【Yeah, but wait until she sees how successful he becomes. She’ll be the one crawling back.】 【Just break up already. You two are toxic.】 Alex froze, his face a mask of disbelief. “What did you say?” “I said, let’s break up. I’m tired.” He looked down at me, his voice eerily calm. “I want to know why.” I sniffled, the words tumbling out. “Because I’m tired of waiting up for you until one or two in the morning. Sometimes I don’t see you for days. You know I hate the dark, Alex.” But the real reason was simpler. It was better for me to dump him than for him to dump me. At least this way, I could keep a shred of my dignity. 【This girl is killing me. The man is grinding to build a future, and all she can think about is herself. She deserves to be broke forever.】 【He was right not to propose. A girlfriend like this will only drag him down.】 【The heroine is so much better. She supports his career and gives him the emotional validation he needs.】 That’s what Alex was thinking too, wasn’t it? 3. I secretly wiped a tear from my eye and started pulling my clothes out of the closet. Alex watched me, his voice softer now. “I told you, once this project is over, I’ll make it up to you. Why don’t you believe me? I don’t agree to this breakup. You don’t have to move out right away. I won’t come back for a few days. Just… cool off.” And then he was gone again, leaving me alone. I did the math. The lease was up in two weeks. I could stay here while I looked for a new place. I went about my days, work and home, keeping myself busy enough not to think about him. Three nights later, there was a knock on the door. I assumed it was Alex, back already. I checked myself in the mirror, smoothed my hair, and opened it. But it wasn’t him. It was a woman I’d never seen before. She gave me a bright, practiced smile. “Hi, I’m a friend of Alex’s. He asked me to pick up a few things for him.” The feeling was instant—a sharp, cold needle straight to the heart. I forced myself to stay calm. “You’re Lana, aren’t you?” She blinked, just for a second, then nodded. I handed her the bag of files she’d pointed to. As she turned to leave, the words came out before I could stop them, a painful litany of my love. “He doesn’t like to be bothered after he’s been drinking. Just let him sleep it off. And he has a severe peanut allergy, so be careful with takeout. Remember to pack him a mask every day, he’s sensitive to strong smells on the subway…” The woman’s smile turned smug, victorious. “Okay, got it. I’ll be sure to take very good care of him for you.” The moment the door closed, my legs gave out. I slid to the floor, a hollow ache spreading through my chest. The comments flared to life again. 【Tonight’s the night! The hero and heroine get drunk at the bar, things get heated, and he finally realizes who his heart truly belongs to.】 【So hot. He goes all night.】 【Our girl is gonna be so sore tomorrow. Poor baby!】 Alex wouldn’t agree to a breakup but would sleep with someone else that quickly? All night? I didn’t even know he had that in him. A reckless, self-destructive urge took over. I needed to see it. I needed to let the reality of it cauterize this wound shut for good. I went to the bar they mentioned in the comments. I checked room after room in the private lounge area until I got to the one at the very end of the hall. Before I could even touch the handle, I heard it—the kind of sounds that make you blush. “Oh, Alex, harder…” “I’m so close, ah…” My hand trembled on the doorknob. I couldn’t believe this. I couldn’t believe he could be so… cheap. A sour taste filled my mouth. Well, I came all this way. I might as well witness for myself how completely the man I loved for five years could disappoint me. The door swung open. A shriek pierced the air. Two strangers, a man and a woman, stared back at me, their faces a mixture of terror and outrage. Realization dawned. I mumbled an apology and backed out, my face burning. Just as I turned, I saw Alex and another woman walking into a different private room down the hall. So I’d just had the wrong room. The small flicker of relief I’d felt moments ago was instantly extinguished.

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