Author: Momo Chan

Riding the elevator after midnight. A handsome guy walks in, an iron chain dangling from his wrist. I stare at the chain. He thinks I’m nervous. “Don’t worry,” he says, trying to reassure me. “It doesn’t bite—holy crap, where’s my dog?” 1 Two in the morning. The world was dead silent. I was standing in the elevator when a man in a face mask stepped in. The eyes visible above the mask were gorgeous. I didn’t dare look for long. A quick glance and my head was down. But then my gaze froze on the floor. An iron chain, thick as my thumb, was stretched taut from the man’s wrist. He casually rotated his wrist, and the chain let out a soft, metallic clink. Late night… elevator… iron chain… handsome man… Put it all together, and it felt unnervingly weird. I swallowed hard, the gulp echoing in the silent car. He must have noticed my anxiety. His eyes crinkled into a smile. “Don’t worry,” he said soothingly. “It doesn’t bite… Holy crap, where’s my dog?!” I pressed my lips together, shut my eyes, and fought with every fiber of my being to suppress the gale of laughter threatening to erupt. My face turned purple from the effort. The elevator was still ascending. The man looked like he wanted to pry the doors open and leap out. He paced frantically, a perfect picture of a doting dog owner in full-blown panic. A few seconds later, to my utter astonishment, he started to cry. 2 His eyes were bloodshot, tears welling up, making him look utterly pathetic. I fumbled in my purse and handed him a tissue. “Hey, don’t cry. I’ll help you look for him. We’ll find him.” He took the tissue, his voice low. “There are so many dog-nappers these days. I’m scared he…” “No way,” I said, my tone firm with a certainty I didn’t feel. “We’ll definitely find him.” He seemed to calm down a little at my words, his wet eyes fixed on me. “Thank you. I’m Wyatt.” “Chloe.” The moment the elevator doors opened, Wyatt shot out like a cannonball. Since it was the middle of the night, he had to keep his voice down, calling out in a strained whisper, “Boxer! Boxer!” I wanted to laugh but didn’t dare. What kind of person names their dog Boxer? Maybe the dog ran away because he was embarrassed by the name. Wyatt’s search was… thorough. He lifted manhole covers to peer into the darkness. I half-expected that if a woman in a skirt walked by, he’d try to lift that too, just to check if his Boxer was hiding underneath. As he was prying open the third manhole cover, I finally had to say something. “You don’t really think he’s in the sewer, do you?” “You don’t know him,” he said, his voice strained. “Boxer’s smart. He knows how to hide from people.” Uh… smart is one word for it. Possessed is another. We searched the entire complex, but there was no sign of Boxer. Seeing the color drain from his face, I made a suggestion. “We’re not getting anywhere like this. I have a friend who runs a city-wide info group. When the sun comes up, we can post a lost dog notice. More people, more eyes on the ground.” Wyatt rubbed his face, defeated, and agreed. Under the pretense of adding him to the group, I got his number and added him on a messaging app. Then we parted ways in the elevator. Back in my apartment, I collapsed onto the sofa, staring at the ceiling, savoring the name on my tongue. “Wyatt…” After a moment, I got up and pushed open the door to the spare bedroom. “Boxer, dinner time.” 3 A Shiba Inu leaped up and started licking my face with an enthusiasm that would make a stranger think I’d raised him from a pup. He was just like his owner—far too trusting. I mixed some wet food with his kibble and set it down, stroking his round little head. “We’ll get you home in the morning, okay? Your brother’s handsome face was about to collapse from worry.” Boxer glanced up at me before burying his head back in his bowl. I hadn’t turned on any lights. The only illumination came from the faint glow of my laptop screen, which displayed an open document. Wyatt, Male, 23. Well-known esports streamer. Lives alone, Apt. 1601. Walks his dog late every night. Style is mostly athletic wear. Loves small animals, terrified of cockroaches… I thought for a moment, then added a new line: Cries easily. Quick to trust others. The document’s creation date, stamped in the lower-left corner, was a month ago. It had been edited a staggering 56 times. I opened my phone and sent a thank-you payment to my little brother. If he hadn’t snipped Boxer’s collar just before Wyatt got on the elevator, this whole thing would never have gone so smoothly. Wyatt treasured that dog too much. Time flew, and suddenly it was 7 a.m. The building’s security cameras were down for maintenance last night but would be back online at eight. I had to get Boxer back before then. I was about to leave when my eyes caught a small container on the table. I paused. Maybe… I should make the most of Boxer’s role in this. 4 Outside apartment 1601. I took a deep breath and knocked. A moment later, Wyatt appeared. “Boxer?!” I shifted the dog in my arms. “Surprised?” A radiant smile spread across Wyatt’s face. “Completely! How did you find him?” I lied through my teeth. “I went back down for another look after you went home. Lucky for us, he hadn’t gone far.” Wyatt’s lips were pressed together, his eyes overflowing with a gratitude so intense I thought he might bow. The instant he reached out to take Boxer, I squeezed the hidden plastic baggie under my shirt. A wet patch spread across my front. I let out a gasp. “He… he peed on me!” Boxer turned to look at me, his expression one of pure shock, as if to say: Seduce your man, fine, but why you gotta drag me into it? I shot him a reassuring look. Don’t worry. Once I’ve landed your brother, you’ll get a truckload of gourmet canned food. Wyatt was mortified. “I am so, so sorry. Boxer’s never done that before. He must have been scared from getting lost. Let me buy you a new outfit.” I waved his offer away with a magnanimous gesture. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just go home and take a shower.” I took two steps, then patted my pockets with a look of dawning horror. “Uh… I was in such a rush, I forgot my keys.” My performance was Oscar-worthy. My sweet, unsuspecting rabbit of a target bought it completely and extended the wolf-inviting invitation. “If you don’t mind… you can use my shower.” 5 Standing in Wyatt’s bathroom, I let out a long, satisfied sigh. Could this be any easier? My Plan B was completely redundant. Just as I finished showering, there was a knock on the door. A pale, slender hand reached in. “This is new. You can wear it.” I took the shirt, my damp fingertips “accidentally” brushing against his palm. His hand froze for a second, then snatched back as if he’d been burned. A triumphant little smirk played on my lips. So shy. Calling him a little rabbit was an understatement. I slipped on Wyatt’s shirt and studied myself in the mirror. Something was missing. Ah, got it. I quickly wet the ends of my hair, letting droplets fall onto the front of the shirt, making the fabric cling to my skin. Wyatt was a head taller than me, so his shirt came down to my upper thighs, completely hiding the hot pants I wore underneath. It looked like I was wearing nothing but his shirt. Finished, I mentally cursed myself a hundred times. Chloe, oh Chloe, aren’t you afraid you’ll shorten your life with all these schemes? I pushed the door open, but Wyatt was nowhere in sight. Where’d he go? Just as I was wondering, he returned, laden with shopping bags. His eyes landed on me and stopped. His handsome face turned a visible shade of crimson. The bags in his hands clattered to the floor. “You… you…” I channeled my inner damsel, looking at him with wide, innocent eyes. “What’s wrong?” He waved his hands dismissively. “N-nothing.” He crouched down to pick up the scattered items. An opportunity for close contact like this? I wasn’t about to let it pass. I crouched down nearby to “help” him, sneaking glances at his perfect profile and the red tips of his ears. Only one item remained on the floor. Wyatt and I reached for it at the same time. And my hand landed directly on top of his. The timing, the place, the mood… it would be a crime if something didn’t happen, right? Just as I was about to make my move, a long, brown object leisurely crawled into our line of sight. My pupils contracted. I shot a look at my purse on the sofa. The small white box must have fallen out. Damn it. My Plan B has escaped. A cold sweat broke out on Wyatt’s forehead. He was frozen in fear. “Ch-Chloe,” he stammered. “There’s a cockroach.” My words of comfort were pure gasoline on the fire. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. It’ll leave on its own after it’s done eating the people.” 6 Wyatt let out a shriek that nearly gave me a heart attack. He shot up and sprinted toward the bedroom like his life depended on it. Halfway there, he skidded to a halt, turned back, and grabbed my arm, pulling me along with him. As I ran, I shed a few crocodile tears. If he knew I was the one who brought the cockroach, would he still be so chivalrous? Wyatt slammed the bedroom door shut with a loud bang and leaned against it, his face a mask of post-traumatic stress. I played along, clutching my chest and panting. After a moment, he finally realized something was off. “The window screens are closed, and I sprayed insecticide along the walls. How did a cockroach get in?” I spun a tale with a perfectly straight face. “You just went out, didn’t you? It must have followed you in then.” “That makes sense.” I had to bite my cheeks to keep from laughing. Was this guy for real? He was way too easy to fool. Wyatt’s bedroom was immaculate, everything in its proper place. In the center was a king-sized bed that looked incredibly soft. I walked over and sat on the edge, watching him with a playful expression. Now he remembered to be shy again. He stood in the corner like a schoolboy being punished, facing the wall. “Come sit down. You’ll get tired standing there.” Wyatt shook his head, his ears glowing red. “I’m not tired.” I didn’t push it. I made small talk, and after a while, I steered the conversation toward palm reading. “I know a little about palmistry. Want me to take a look for you?” That piqued his interest. He came and sat a careful distance away from me, holding his hand out. I took his hand, noting the well-defined knuckles, my fingertips tracing light patterns across his palm. I spoke with feigned authority. “You have a money-bag pattern. That means you’ll have great fortune. Your life line is clear and unbroken, extending all the way to your wrist. That predicts a long life. And your love line… it gets much thicker right here, at age 23. That means you’ll meet your true love that year. By the way, how old are you?” “…Twenty-three.” I feigned surprise, my face a picture of “Congratulations!” “Well, then it must be this year.” 7 Wyatt stretched his lips into a slight smile and was about to say something when we heard Boxer scratching at the door. He got up to let him in. Boxer, however, completely ignored his owner and trotted straight to me. He looked up at me with his big, soulful eyes, his mouth holding something. I understood immediately. I played along, holding my hand out in front of him. The silly dog opened his mouth, and a large, saliva-covered cockroach dropped onto my “life line.” …Was this Boxer’s revenge? If so, he won. I may not be afraid of cockroaches, but that doesn’t mean I want one sitting in the palm of my hand. In that instant, every hair on my body stood on end. I flung my arm so hard I nearly dislocated my wrist, feeling an urge to break into a frantic dance. In a stroke of terrible luck, the poor little roach was flung directly onto Wyatt. And then… it took flight. It buzzed around the room, looking for all the world like it really was about to eat someone. “Ah!” “Ah!” My scream and Wyatt’s nearly blew the roof off. We scrambled for the living room, a two-person stampede. But the doorway wasn’t wide enough for two adults to pass through side-by-side. I was practically lifted off my feet, my legs churning uselessly in the air. Just then, something pushed me from behind. I lost my balance and tumbled forward. Wyatt, quick as a flash, grabbed my arm and cushioned my fall with his own body. … My hands were pressed against Wyatt’s chest. I stared at his handsome face, now just inches from mine. Our noses were less than a centimeter apart. A slight tilt of my head and I could steal a kiss. The firm, resilient feel of his chest muscles telegraphed through his thin t-shirt to my palms. Even in this position, a stray thought crossed my mind: I guess you could say Plan B was an indirect success? My gaze traveled down his face, from his eyes to his nose, finally resting on his beautifully shaped, thin lips. With an opportunity this good, should I kiss him? Or kiss him? Or… kiss him? Wyatt’s heart hammered against my hands. His eyes darted away. “…The floor is cold. We should get up.” I agreed readily. As I moved my hands away, my fingernail “accidentally” grazed a very sensitive point on his chest. A low, magnetic groan escaped his throat. He had already started to push himself up, but that single touch sent him falling back to the floor. His clear eyes seemed to mist over.

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The second year of our dynastic marriage, the ghost of his first love came back to town. Then, a car crash stole my memory. When I woke up, the cold man who was my husband had vanished. In his place was a stranger who kissed my fingertips with a reverence that felt like a prayer. “Don’t try to remember,” he whispered, his voice a low murmur. “You just need to know that we’re happy.” But that night, when I stood at his bedroom door clutching a pillow, his gaze turned dark, his voice a gravelly warning. “Are you sure you want to come in?” … Later, when the fog cleared and every memory returned, I packed my bags, ready to leave the wreckage behind. I ran right into him, stumbling home, reeking of whiskey. He cornered me, quietly locking the door before advancing, a slow, predatory smile playing on his lips. “Where do you think you’re going? Running off to that TA of yours?” He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Did you really think I’d just let you go, Chloe?” 1 “What do you remember?” Carter asked. I lay in the sterile hospital bed and shook my head. “Nothing. I remember nothing at all.” His eyes, the color of a stormy sea, studied me for a long, silent moment. Then, using my driver’s license and other documents, he began to reconstruct my life for me, piece by piece. Finally, he lifted my hand. Slowly, deliberately, he brought my fingers to his lips, his kiss a lingering, tender caress. “It’s okay if you can’t remember,” he murmured against my skin. “You just need to know that we have a very happy marriage.” I wasn’t sure if there was a double meaning in his words, but a blush crept up my neck anyway. I felt a pang of shyness, but I had to know. “Are we… in love?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. His last kiss landed on the delicate skin of my wrist. Carter’s gaze met mine, his eyes dark and unreadable, like pools of ink. “Of course.” Maybe it was the unnerving sincerity in his eyes, or maybe it was the practiced intimacy of his touch. Whatever the reason, I didn’t question him. I chose to believe. 2 I became attached to Carter. Clingy, even. That was the doctor’s assessment. “It’s likely a form of attachment dependency,” she’d explained gently. “He was the first person you saw after the trauma. It’s a natural response.” … Following the doctor’s advice, Carter took me downstairs for a walk around the hospital grounds. A sharp, cold wind hit me, and I shivered involuntarily. “Cold?” He let go of my hand, already starting to shrug off his heavy wool coat to drape it over my shoulders. I realized Carter Hayes had surprisingly low emotional intelligence. I reached out, pressing my hand against his chest to stop him. The next second, I wrapped my arms around his waist and burrowed into his chest, seeking the warmth of his body. “This way,” I explained, my voice muffled against his shirt, “neither of us will be cold.” I tilted my head back to look up at him, my expression serious. “A lesson in efficiency.” Then, a flicker of doubt crossed my mind, followed by a surge of hurt. “Carter, do you really love me?” The accusation was soft, wounded. “Why do you never hold me?” The air around us shifted. The darkness in his eyes deepened, swirling with something I couldn’t name. By the time I sensed the danger, it was too late. He pulled me into a deserted alcove, out of sight. Cupping my chin with one hand, his mouth descended on mine. “I love you.” The words were a low growl against my lips, a breath before he stole mine completely. His voice, usually so cool and distant, was thick with a raw, suppressed emotion that the charged atmosphere seemed to amplify. “How could you ever say I don’t love you?” I clung to his shoulders, my head swimming as I yielded to the kiss. Halfway through, he paused, his lips still brushing against mine. He peppered my cheek with a series of small, frantic kisses. “Is this too much?” he asked, his voice strained. I bit my lip, my entire body feeling as hot and flushed as a boiled lobster. “I don’t think I’m very good at this…” I confessed, mortified. “Did I forget how? Or was I always this bad?” Ignoring my question, Carter wrapped his coat around me anyway, leaving himself in just a thin button-down shirt. His fingers traced the shell of my ear, which was burning red. He didn’t answer. When he spoke again, his voice was a low, hypnotic rasp. “Want to try again, Chloe?” he whispered. “This time, you lead.” He wanted me to be the aggressor, to kiss him the way he’d just kissed me. I prayed for a nurse or another patient to walk by, to save me from this paralyzing mix of embarrassment and anticipation. But the corner was too secluded. No one came. In the month since I’d woken up, Carter’s care had been relentless. I saw it in every gesture. He was a perfect, attentive husband. I owed it to him to try… “You have to bend down,” I mumbled, my final words almost inaudible. “I can’t reach…” A ghost of a smile touched Carter’s lips. He obliged, lowering his head. I moved slowly, tentatively, mimicking his earlier actions, my kiss clumsy and inexperienced. The arm around my waist tightened, pulling me impossibly closer. 3 A few days before I was discharged, a guy I didn’t know showed up at my room. Carter was out getting us some soup. He introduced himself as Leo, my TA from my master’s program. He sighed dramatically, a playful glint in his eye. “Please tell me you at least remember the experiment we were halfway through. My academic heart can’t take the rejection.” He handed me his lab notebook. As I scanned the pages, the procedures felt surprisingly familiar, like a muscle memory I didn’t know I had. “I think I remember this,” I said, surprised. “I could probably pick it up again in a few days.” Leo let out a breath of relief. He smiled, raising his hand as if to pat my head. “What are you doing?” The voice was quiet, but it sliced through the air. I had already flinched away from Leo’s hand and was looking past him. Carter stood in the doorway, a faint, unreadable smile on his face. His tone was light, but his eyes were full of shadows. “This is my husband,” I explained quickly. Leo just shrugged, completely unfazed. “So?” Carter didn’t even give me a second to process the shock. In one fluid movement, he strode forward, grabbed Leo by the back of the head, and slammed his face down into the small sink in my hospital room. “Ah!” Carter looked like such a refined, civilized man. I never would have imagined this capacity for violence. “What’s wrong?” Carter asked Leo, his voice deceptively calm. “Just helping you clear your head.” He leaned in closer. “Next time you open your mouth, make sure you understand what the word ‘husband’ means.” Then he turned on the faucet. Ice-cold water gushed over Leo’s head. His muffled sputtering finally snapped me out of my stupor. Barefoot, I scrambled off the bed and rushed over, grabbing at Carter’s arm. “Stop it, Carter! You’re not angry anymore, okay? Let him go.” He was immovable, his eyes as cold and blank as a frozen lake. I glanced at Leo, who looked like he was about to drown. In a panic, I tugged harder on Carter’s arm. “Husband…” I pleaded. He froze. Slowly, he released his grip, his gaze shifting to me, heavy and unreadable. Leo gasped for air, then, like a fool, raised a fist. “You son of a—” I stepped between them, my expression flat. “Leo, you were the one with no boundaries. You can’t really complain about getting your ass kicked. Just drop it.” He stopped, his fist still in the air. He stared at me, a strange, meaningful look in his eyes. “Chloe,” he said slowly, his gaze flickering to Carter. “You should hear someone else’s version of your memories.” “Do you really think you can trust a story from a single source?” With that, he slumped away, slamming the door behind him. “Why aren’t you wearing any shoes?” The menacing aura around Carter had completely vanished. He simply scooped me into his arms and carried me back to the bed. My attention diverted, I momentarily forgot Leo’s warning. I looped my arms around his neck, not letting go just yet. Our eyes met, and a slow smile spread across my face. “Husband.” The man went perfectly still. “You really like it when I call you that, don’t you?” His answer was a kiss, swift and hard, leaving no room for negotiation. His tongue pushed past my lips, demanding entry. By the time he let me go, I was dizzy and breathless. He nipped gently at my lower lip, his voice a low rumble. “Say it again.” I could feel the heat radiating from his palm against my back. I decided it was safer to retreat. I looked at him and blinked innocently. My voice was muffled. “Carter.” 4 During my stay in the hospital, as I was slowly re-learning who I was, I discovered a problem. Carter and I had never taken wedding photos. One day after my discharge, I finally found some free time and decided to visit him at his office to set a date. “Carter, oh my god, I am so fried. My brain is literally melting. Can I just peace out for the rest of the afternoon? Please?!” I froze in the doorway. A young woman, bright and chirpy as a songbird, was flitting around Carter’s desk. And Carter, sitting in his imposing leather chair, hadn’t said yes. But he hadn’t told her to back away, either. Suddenly, I felt like I had been blind to a thousand tiny details. The girl looked up then and happened to spot me. Her demeanor changed instantly. She stood up straight, shot me a dismissive glance, and walked out without a word. The moment Carter’s eyes met mine, the cold indifference in them melted into warmth. He came over to me, enveloping my hands in his. “Why are your hands so cold?” He lifted them to his lips, brushing a soft kiss across my knuckles. “Hmm?” he prompted gently. I didn’t move. I just stared at him for a long moment before speaking. “Carter.” My voice was quiet, steady. “I need you to tell me the truth.” I paused, steeling myself for whatever might come next. “Before the accident… did you really love me?” My voice cracked on the last word. “Please, don’t lie to me.”

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In my last life, I gave up everything to care for my brother. I never married. I never left. In this one, we were reborn together. The first thing he did was get rid of me. He traded me for the girl who was supposed to be the family’s changeling, the one whose fate was intertwined with his. He took me, still wrapped in a hospital blanket, and left me on the street. “Don’t blame me for this,” he whispered, his voice a strange mix of a child’s and an old man’s. “You’re the reason Sophie died.” 01 The year I was born, a relentless Southern drizzle seemed to hang over Virginia for weeks. Liam Donovan, the family’s firstborn son, took three days off from middle school. He raced back to our small hometown, his school uniform soaked from the journey. No one knew. No one could see that inside this quiet, serious boy, with his ramrod straight back and steady gaze, lived a soul carrying the weight of two lifetimes. He was freshly reborn, his heart overflowing with the bitter regrets of a life already lived. He didn’t spare a single glance for me, his newborn sister. Instead, he found a way to bribe a nurse on the maternity ward. He arranged it so the baby from the other life—the one mistakenly swapped at birth—was brought to our parents, presented as their rightful daughter. He was the one who carried me out of the hospital. He placed me in a flimsy cardboard box. Together, we took a long bus ride to the city’s frayed edges. And the other girl, the one wailing louder than I ever could from her swaddled blankets, would now carry the Donovan name. She would become the “little sister” everyone cherished, the one they would move heaven and earth for. The greatest regret of Liam Donovan’s previous life was the girl he’d lost—the brilliant flight surgeon he believed was his destiny. He’d spent decades mourning her, a ghost he could never let go of. And me? His actual sister? I was the one who found my way back to the family at eighteen. I was the one who never married, who taught myself rehabilitation medicine to pull him, paralyzed, from his wheelchair and give him back his life. But the only person he ever saw, the only one he ever yearned for, was the girl he thought I had forsaken. The fake one. The Donovans of Virginia, in that other life, were a legacy family. Military heroes, decorated by the state, their story splashed across three consecutive issues of the Armed Forces Journal. This time, Liam would rewrite it all. He would do it at any cost. Lying in the box, I quietly opened my eyes. Because he wasn’t the only one. I was reborn, too. 02 In our first life, Sophie and I were switched at birth. She became the Donovan heiress. I was sent home with a blue-collar family from the other side of town. When I was three, a car crash left me an orphan, and I was thrown into the foster system. I spent the next decade and a half living on eggshells, just trying to survive. Sophie, meanwhile, lived a life of pampered luxury. She became Sophie Donovan. She was the jewel of the family, the only sister her brother ever acknowledged. She went to the best schools, learned ballet and piano, and studied abroad. Everyone adored her. I was eighteen when they finally brought me home. That year, I walked through the grand gates of the Donovan estate in worn-out sneakers and a faded dress from a donation bin, carrying a battered suitcase. I saw my brother standing in the manicured garden. He was tall and proud in his Air Force dress blues, silhouetted against the afternoon sun. He frowned as I approached. “You’re Cora? You look… provincial.” My brother was one of the nation’s top pilot prospects. Sophie became a brilliant flight surgeon. In photographs, they stood shoulder to shoulder, their smiles radiant. A perfect pair. Until the year I visited them on base. An engine failed. The jet crashed on landing, and the wing pinned them both underneath. As the rescue team worked frantically, the lead medic turned to me, his face grim. “Ma’am, I’m sorry. We can only move on one of them right now. You have to make a choice.” I hesitated for only a second before I said, “Save my brother.” Everyone blamed me. They said I murdered Sophie. But I never regretted it. I started studying rehabilitation therapy, working day and night. I spent ten years of my life getting my brother out of that wheelchair, helping him reclaim his dignity. I never married, never had a life of my own. I took care of him until his dying day. As he lay fading, his pale hand rested on mine. His voice was a fragile whisper, but every word was a dagger to my heart. “Cora… I wish you’d saved Sophie.” I froze. It felt like the weight of the world had just crashed down on me. I finally understood. Even at the very end, he didn’t have a single word of thanks for me. 03 He walked a long way, the box held tightly in his arms. From the hospital, he took a bus that rattled through the old downtown district, all the way to the most neglected part of the city, the East End. Finally, he stopped at the mouth of a crumbling alley choked with weeds and knelt. He stared down at me, his face pale, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Cora,” he began, his small hands trembling. “Don’t blame me.” “Sophie’s death… it was too horrible. In the last life, she died because of you… I don’t blame you, not really, but she… she deserved a life of sunshine, a life without a single worry.” He placed me in the shadows of the alley entrance. He gently tucked the blanket around me. “Someone will find you here. You can just be… a normal person this time.” He stood up. His eyes were red, but he stubbornly turned his face away. “Cora, I’m just begging you. This time, stay away.” He left. He never looked back. My reborn consciousness was already wide awake. But I was a baby. I had no voice to protest. I lay in the shadows. I watched his small figure disappear, and all I felt was a profound, chilling cold. 04 A heavy downpour began to fall. I opened my eyes again. The sky was the color of a dirty dishrag. The wind tore through the alley, making the leaves on the overgrown bushes rustle violently. He was long gone. I was barely a day old, my body impossibly weak. I didn’t even have the strength to cry. Only a faint, choked whimper escaped my throat. The rain soaked through my blanket. A fever began to burn through me, my vision swimming with white spots. In the distance, I could hear the snarling of stray dogs. It sounded like claws tearing at my heart. I couldn’t move. I could only stare up at this strange, hostile sky. I thought of my past life. I had devoted my entire existence to medicine. I spent forty years caring for my brother, only to be told, “I wish you had saved her instead.” This time around. The very first thing he did upon his rebirth… was cast me out. I closed my eyes, the smell of wet earth and rain filling my senses. My consciousness started to fray, to dissolve. Until a gentle woman’s voice cut through the noise. “What was that sound? Is it a kitten?” Another voice, a man’s, followed, laced with a hint of teasing affection. “Well, we can take it home. You’ve always wanted a kitten.” 05 A faint light pierced the darkness. It was the hazy glow of a streetlight in the rain, the bleed of distant headlights. It was also the first glimmer of hope my fading mind could grasp. I saw an umbrella. It opened against the storm, and beneath it was the face of a beautiful, elegant woman. Rain had plastered strands of her dark hair to her cheeks. The moment she saw me, her soft expression sharpened with urgency. “Robert, get the car! We need to get to a hospital. It’s a baby!” Her voice trembled, the words tumbling out in a rush. She was clearly terrified. A second later, she was lifting me gently from the box. My blanket was soaked, so she shrugged off her own coat and wrapped me in it, pulling me tightly against her chest. She smelled wonderful. Like old books and lavender, a scent so warm it made you want to cry. I nestled against her. A hot, wheezing breath escaped my lips. My mind was drifting. She held me close, cursing under her breath. “God, I can’t believe this. We come down here for one conference and run into a nightmare.” “She’s burning up,” the man’s voice said from the side, a new roughness in it. “Her lips are blue.” “I’ll get the car. We can’t wait.” The woman murmured softly to me, “It’s okay, little one. It’s okay. We’re going to get you to a doctor.” 06 The fever broke that night. I was lying in a crisp, white hospital bed. When I opened my eyes, a woman named Helena Shaw was dozing in a chair beside me, her fingers still resting lightly on my hand. I twitched my fingers, and she woke with a start. She stared for a moment, and then her eyes welled with tears. “You’re awake? Oh, thank God. You’re a little fighter, aren’t you?” Later, after the doctor confirmed my temperature was stable and my vitals were normal, I heard them talking quietly by the window. “We’re taking her with us,” Helena said, her tone absolute. “I’ve seen the group homes around here. They’re not always… gentle. She’s too small, Robert. We can’t just leave her to the system.” Robert Adler sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But our schedules, Helena…” “We can manage. Raising a child won’t stop us from anything.” He was silent for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. We’ll start the paperwork when we get back home.” That day, a black sedan with D.C. plates drove out of that forgotten southern alley and headed north, all the way to the capital. I was officially adopted and given a new name: Cora Shaw. “Shaw” was for my new family. “Cora” was for my mother’s grandmother. “It means ‘maiden,’” she told me, stroking my hair. “Strong and good. A new life.” From that day forward, I had a new beginning. My father, Robert Adler, was a high-ranking official in the State Department. He came from a family of academics and diplomats, a respected figure in Washington D.C. My mother, Helena Shaw, was one of the youngest lead researchers at the National Science Foundation. A genius in her field, yet gentle by nature. She loved cats and flowers and knew how to fix anything that was broken. They were newlyweds. After adopting me, they decided not to have biological children of their own. “A child is a gift from the universe,” my mother used to say. “Our job is to give her the life she was denied.” They never let me want for anything. From formula and first words to fevers and losing my baby teeth. From my first A+ on a paper to the day I graduated from the academy. They were there, every single step of the way. And I, in turn, made them my entire world. 07 More than a decade flew by in the blink of an eye. I grew from an abandoned infant into a young woman, calm and composed, with clear eyes. It was as if the past had been a long, terrible dream, and upon waking, I found the world had completely changed. In 2018, on the day I graduated from the Air Force Academy, I wrote a single sentence on my assignment request form: “Request for assignment as Public Affairs Officer, 1st Air Command Squadron, Langley AFB, Virginia.” Everyone was shocked. My father called me, certain I’d made a mistake. “Cora, honey, you’ve always been so level-headed, top of your class. You could get a cushy D.C. post anywhere. Why are you shipping yourself off to the middle of nowhere?” I smiled into the phone. “Dad, it’s just something I have to do. A promise I made to myself.” No one knew. That southern base… it was where my destiny had shattered in my last life. It was the beginning of my end. Jake Callahan, a guy I’d grown up with in the D.C. military housing community, had just passed his flight exams. His target was also the 1st Squadron. When he heard about my assignment, he chased me down, grinning. “Cora, don’t tell me you’re following me down there.” I gave him a cool look. “You wish, Callahan.” He just laughed, that easy, carefree laugh of his, and stuck to me like glue for the rest of the summer. The day of the base’s annual combat readiness competition, he dragged me along. “No way, you have to come watch. Be my good luck charm.” I didn’t want to go, but I couldn’t say no to him. So there I was, standing by the viewing platform under the blistering sun. The air was filled with the sharp commands of drill instructors, applause, and the roar of engines overhead. I took a sip of water, and just as I lowered the bottle, my eyes locked onto two familiar figures in the crowd. Liam Donovan. And Sophie Donovan. My brother. And beside him, dressed in a flight surgeon’s uniform, smiling that serene, gentle smile… The changeling. My fingers tightened around the bottle, my palm suddenly cold and slick. This reunion, this collision of fates… It had come much sooner than I expected.

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My husband’s parents drove six hours from their small town to Chicago, wanting to surprise him. I led them to Aura, the upscale restaurant where he was the executive chef, and told him to give them the best table. Instead, he called over his favorite apprentice, a doe-eyed girl named Tessa, and had her prepare the fugu sashimi—a dish even his most seasoned chefs wouldn’t touch. Tessa wrinkled her nose, her voice a breathy whisper. “Oh, Chef, the tetrodotoxin… I’d be terrified to even touch it…” Ethan just laughed, a careless, dismissive sound. “Just rinse it off. They’re a couple of old farmers. They won’t know the difference.” Not ten minutes after eating the fugu, my in-laws collapsed, foam bubbling at their lips. When Ethan was finally summoned from the kitchen, he barely glanced at the two elderly figures slumped over the table. All his attention was on the apprentice, now pale and trembling in his arms. “If they’re sick, send them to the ER,” he said. “But get them to sign a liability waiver for the restaurant before they go.” He shot me a look, his tone so detached you’d think the dying couple on his custom Italian leather banquette were complete strangers. “Your parents just got to the city. Probably just a shock to their system. Don’t you dare try to pin this on Aura, or on my Tessa.” It was then I realized. He still had no idea who was dying on his table. I looked him dead in the eye. “Are you absolutely certain you want to absolve your ‘Tessa’ of all responsibility?” 1 Ethan let out an exasperated sigh. “Leah, are you deaf?” He snatched a printed liability waiver from his assistant’s hand and slapped it down on the table in front of me. “Sign it. Now. Tessa’s a sensitive girl. You’re scaring her.” In his arms, the apprentice, Tessa, was shaking like a leaf. She shot a furtive glance in my direction, then buried her face in his chest, her voice thick with manufactured tears. “Oh, Ethan, it’s all my fault… I just wanted to show off for your… for the nice couple…” she sobbed. “I’ll take full responsibility. I’ll get on my knees and beg for their forgiveness…” Ethan immediately hushed her, his hand cupping her face with a tenderness I hadn’t seen in years. “Don’t be ridiculous. This has nothing to do with you. They’ve probably got weak stomachs,” he murmured. “Besides, a delicate ingredient like fugu? It’s no surprise a couple of country folk like them can’t handle it.” I pointed to my in-laws, whose bodies had begun to twitch and seize on the polished mahogany table. “Ethan,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “This isn’t about blame right now. We need to call 911.” He scoffed as if I’d just told the funniest joke in the world. “And who’s going to pay for that?” he asked, crossing his arms. He still hadn’t looked at them. “You think ambulances are free? That getting your stomach pumped doesn’t cost a fortune?” “I’m not paying a dime until you sign that waiver. They can go back to whatever one-horse town they came from and find a country doctor for all I care.” A hush fell over the dining room. Every eye was on our table. Ethan didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he reveled in it. He raised his voice, jabbing a finger at me. “Let me make something clear, Leah. This is my restaurant. At Aura, what I say goes.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “Your parents’ lives are in my hands right now. And if you don’t sign, I’ll let them die right here.” From behind his shoulder, Tessa peered out, a sliver of a triumphant smirk on her lips. Seeing my hesitation, Ethan’s patience snapped. He lunged forward, knocking over a glass of Cabernet. He grabbed my hand, dipped my thumb into the puddle of dark red wine, and forcibly pressed it onto the signature line of the waiver. “There,” he said, disgust twisting his features as he flung my hand away. “We’re even.” He pulled a silk pocket square from his jacket and meticulously wiped his fingers as if he’d touched something contaminated. Then, he turned back to Tessa, his entire demeanor softening into a mask of concern. “Tess, honey, can you go with them to the hospital? Keep an eye on things, make sure they don’t try to fleece us.” He straightened his tie. “I’ve got an interview with a food critic tonight. I can’t be late.” He wouldn’t even go to the hospital himself. As he walked away without a backward glance, I took out my phone and snapped a crystal-clear photo of the waiver, my thumbprint stark and crimson against the white paper. Then, I dialed 911. I rode in the ambulance, my heart hammering against my ribs as I watched the paramedics work on my in-laws. “It’s the fugu!” I told the EMT, my voice cracking. “They ate pufferfish!” The medic’s face went grim, and he immediately started prepping advanced life support. But the moment we burst through the doors of the ER, Tessa, who had followed in her own car, intercepted the attending physician. She grabbed the sleeve of his white coat. “Doctor, they just had some bad shellfish,” she said, her voice filled with authority. “I watched them eat it myself. Just some shrimp and mussels. I think it’s a severe case of food poisoning, maybe an allergy.” She had deliberately omitted the most critical piece of information. The doctor glanced at her chef’s whites and, after a moment’s hesitation, nodded. He chose to believe her. “Alright, let’s treat it as severe foodborne illness and anaphylaxis! Get them on antihistamines and prep for gastric lavage!” But after the IVs were in, their condition only worsened. A terrifying paralysis began to creep into their limbs. The attending’s forehead was beaded with sweat. “This isn’t right,” he muttered. “The reaction is too extreme for a simple allergy…” Suddenly, the heart monitor shrieked. I couldn’t take it anymore. I shoved Tessa aside and rushed to the doctor, holding my phone up to his face. “They ate FUGU!” I screamed. “Improperly prepared fugu sashimi! Do you understand me?!” The doctor’s eyes widened in horror as he saw the picture of the sloppily plated fish. He dropped the syringe of epinephrine in his hand. “Damn it! Get me toxicology and the ICU, now! We need the TTX antidote! We’re dealing with tetrodotoxin poisoning!” The ER exploded into controlled chaos as the medical team scrambled to transfer them to the Intensive Care Unit. But just as the specialists finalized the treatment plan, just as they were about to administer the life-saving drug, that venomous little snake Tessa spoke up again, her voice dripping with false concern. “Doctor! Wait! I just remembered something!” she cried, clutching his arm. “Back at the restaurant… I think I overheard them talking… They said they have severe allergies to a lot of common medications!” The entire medical team froze. To ensure patient safety, they had no choice but to run a series of rapid allergy tests. Another thirty minutes—thirty precious, golden minutes of rescue time—were lost. I was shaking with a rage so pure I wanted to wrap my hands around her neck and squeeze. It was then that Ethan finally arrived, fresh from his interview, looking impeccable in a tailored suit. He didn’t even glance at the red light glowing above the ICU doors. He walked straight to Tessa and pulled her into a protective embrace, his eyes full of worry. “Tessa, are you okay? They didn’t give you a hard time, did they?” Tessa melted against him as if she’d finally found her anchor. She pointed a trembling finger at me. “She was awful to me, Ethan,” she whimpered. “She kept screaming at me. I was so scared…” Ethan cooed, stroking her hair. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here now. No one’s going to hurt you.” Then he turned on me, his face a mask of fury. “What the hell is wrong with you, Leah?! Tessa came here to help, out of the goodness of her heart, and you attack her? She’s just an apprentice, what does she know? You want to blame someone, you blame me! Don’t take it out on her like some shrew!” I stared at the grotesque scene before me, a profound coldness seeping into my bones. My voice, when it came out, was a raw shout. “Ethan! Even if they were my parents, wouldn’t you care at all if they lived or died?!” He was taken aback for a second, then his lip curled into a sneer as he adjusted the collar of his shirt. “Why are you making such a scene? People get sick, people die. It’s the circle of life. Get over it.” As the last word left his mouth, the red light above the ICU door clicked off. The doctor emerged, his face etched with exhaustion. He pulled down his sweat-soaked mask and looked at me, a deep, profound sorrow in his eyes. He slowly shook his head. “I’m so sorry. We did everything we could.” he said. “We just… we ran out of time. The toxin had spread too far.” A roar filled my ears, and the world went numb. Ethan, however, let out a long, slow breath, not of grief, but of relief. As if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He took Tessa’s hand and turned to leave, his voice almost cheerful. “Well, that’s that. They’re gone. It has nothing to do with us anymore.” He squeezed her hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of this place before the bad luck rubs off on us.” I handled the arrangements myself. The funeral home, the death certificates, the urns, the cremation schedule. Through it all, Ethan never called. It was as if the two people who had raised him had simply vanished from his memory. His Instagram, however, was updated. A smiling photo of him and Tessa clinking champagne glasses at a trendy cocktail bar. The caption read: Clearing out the trash, welcoming a new chapter. I was at the crematorium, waiting for the final preparations, when Ethan showed up. He was with Tessa and several of his hulking line cooks from the restaurant. He wore a custom Armani suit, his hair perfectly coiffed, a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere of the place. He strode directly to me and threw a sheaf of papers in my face. “Sign it.” The sharp edge of the paper cut my cheek. I picked it up. A divorce agreement. The terms were breathtakingly cruel. I was to leave with nothing. All our shared assets were to be transferred to him as compensation for “reputational damages.” The reason? My parents had died in his restaurant, tarnishing its reputation and jeopardizing his career as a “Michelin-starred chef.” He stood there, chin held high, his voice like ice. “I have worked my ass off for ten years to build Aura! We were on the verge of getting our second star, and your hillbilly parents ruined everything!” he spat. “The whole internet is saying my restaurant kills people! Do you have any idea how much money I’ve lost? Do you know what this does to my brand? This is your family’s fault! You owe me!” Tessa, standing behind him, chimed in, her voice saccharine sweet. “Leah, Chef is being more than generous. He could be suing you for millions.” She looked me up and down with disdain. “Let’s be honest. You have no money, no connections. You’ve always been dead weight. Don’t you think it’s time you had some self-respect and just disappeared? Stop dragging him down.” I trembled with rage, my eyes locked on Ethan’s merciless face. “Do you have a conscience, Ethan?! My parents—no, your parents! They worked their fingers to the bone for you their entire lives. They came all this way to see you, and you killed them! And now you want to throw me out with nothing? Is this how you repay them?!” “Shut up!” he roared, his face contorting in fury. “Don’t you dare mention your goddamn dead parents to me!” He took a step forward and swung. His fist connected with my jaw, a sickening thud echoing in the small room. Pain, hot and sharp, exploded across my face. “Who are you to talk to me about conscience?” he sneered. “You’re nothing but an orphan now.” He gestured to his cooks. They moved in, grabbing me like I was a child, and slammed me against the cold, tiled wall. Ethan pried my fingers open and forced my hand down onto the divorce agreement, smearing my signature. He finished, then once again pulled out his handkerchief and scrubbed his hands raw. He picked up the signed papers, blew on the ink to dry it, and a satisfied smile spread across his face. He glanced at the two simple coffins waiting to be moved into the furnace. “What are you waiting for?” he barked at the crematorium staff. “Burn them. Two dried-up husks, not much fat on them. Don’t waste our taxpayers’ electricity.” With that, he wrapped his arm around Tessa’s shoulders and strutted out, the very picture of triumph. Just before they disappeared through the door, Tessa looked back at me, her smile a mocking parody of sympathy. I watched them go, then slowly, painfully, pushed myself upright. I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth, took out my phone, and called my father-in-law’s brother. “Uncle Rob? It’s Leah.” My voice was steady. “The funeral is arranged. I’ll text you the time and location. You can let the rest of the family know. It’s time to say goodbye… to Mom and Dad.” My in-laws had treated me more like a daughter than a daughter-in-law, loving me in a way their own son never could. I used my life’s savings to buy them a beautiful, peaceful plot in a cemetery just outside the city. I chose the headstone myself, a simple, elegant granite, engraved with their names and etched with their favorite photograph, the one where they were laughing on their porch swing. I had Uncle Rob invite every single relative—aunts, uncles, cousins—to pay their last respects on the seventh day after their passing. On the day of the funeral, as I was setting up a small speaker to play somber music, the sound of loud whistling and barking cut through the quiet air. Tessa appeared, dressed in a ridiculously colorful and expensive streetwear outfit, with a pack of large, powerful dogs on leashes. Ethan trailed behind her, a smirk playing on his lips. “Wow, so gloomy in here! Lighten up a little!” Tessa called out, earning furious glares from the few relatives who had already arrived. She paid them no mind. With a flourish, she unclipped the leashes. “Go on, babies! Have fun!” The dogs, freed from their restraints, went wild. They tore through the small cemetery, digging up freshly laid sod, ripping apart wreaths of flowers, and fighting over the food offerings the family had placed on the ground. The scene descended into chaos. “Tessa! Stop them!” I screamed. She just shrugged, a playful smile on her face. “Oh, relax, Leah. They’re just being friendly. I’m sure your mom and dad would love the company.” As if on cue, an Alaskan Malamute, tall as a man on its hind legs, lifted its leg and urinated all over the new headstone. A yellow stream trickled down the polished black stone, defiling the smiling, kind face of my mother-in-law in the photograph. Nearby, a Doberman squatted and left a steaming pile of feces directly in front of the grave. Several of the older relatives looked like they were about to faint from pure rage. I lunged forward, but Ethan blocked my path. He watched the disgusting spectacle unfold, not with horror, but with uproarious laughter. “Ha! Look at that, Tess! Your dogs are smarter than most people. They know how to pay their respects!” he howled. “Bringing gifts of water and ‘gold’! They’re more dutiful than some ungrateful brats I know!” His words were daggers aimed straight at me. In the midst of the chaos, the largest dog, a German Shepherd, slammed its body against the stone pedestal holding the urns. CRACK. CRACK. Two heavy, ornate wooden boxes tumbled to the ground. The lids burst open on impact. The ashes, the last mortal remains of my in-laws, billowed into the air. The mountain breeze caught them, scattering them across the dirt and grass, where they were instantly trampled into the mud and dog filth by the rampaging animals. Ethan actually applauded. “Now that’s what I call returning to nature!” he declared, his voice ringing with satisfaction. “They spent their lives digging in the dirt. It’s only fitting they end up back in it. Dust to dust, right? Getting trampled into the ground with dog shit… it’s a real homecoming.” Just then, a commotion rose from the cemetery entrance. Ethan’s uncles, aunts, and cousins… dozens of relatives from his hometown had finally arrived. They stood frozen, staring in utter disbelief at the scene of desecration before them. At the shattered urns, the desecrated grave, and the ashes scattered and lost forever. Ethan’s Uncle Rob, a sturdy man in his fifties, began to tremble with fury. He pointed a shaking finger at the urine-stained headstone, his voice a choked, horrified roar directed at the still-laughing Ethan. “Ethan… are you insane?!” he screamed. “What are you doing?! What in God’s name are you doing to your own mother and father’s grave?!”

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The year I went completely off the rails, I played the part of a girl from the wrong side of the tracks and became the kept woman of the Manhattan tycoon, Cole Blackwood. In public, he was glacial. In private, a storm of a man, possessive and insatiable. I developed a taste for it. For three wild months, I let myself drown in him. Then, the novelty wore off. Just as I was about to call it quits, I overheard someone warning him: “You need to be careful with Ava. The last thing you want is to get her pregnant. Those true-believer types, the ones who think it’s a fairytale, are the hardest to get rid of.” Cole’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “Enough money solves any problem.” He paused. “Besides, the girl’s in the thick of it. Incredibly clingy. There’s no rush.” Clingy? Was he talking about me? That was funny. Because I seemed to recall him, drunk and wrecked, weeping and begging me never to leave him. And I happened to have recorded the whole thing.

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I discovered that my guardian, the man I secretly adored, isn’t human. He’s a devastatingly handsome werewolf. When I found out his secret, he chained me by the ankle. I leaned in close, pleading, “Brother? Guardian? Dad? Please, just let me go…” He loomed over me, a dangerous glint in his wolfish eyes. “The best way to keep a secret,” he whispered, “is to turn the keeper into one of two things: dust… or family.” I caught on immediately: “Okay, I get it! But can we maybe… try it out first?” 1 The night draped itself over the estate of my guardian, Alaric Thorne, like a shroud of damp, cold velvet. He had me cradled in his arms before the hearth, his voice a low thrum against my back, like the deep notes of a cello. The warmth of the moment felt potent enough to melt stone. My heart was a frantic bird trapped in the cage of my ribs. But then I tilted my head back, and my breath caught. Reflected in his eyes, flickering in the firelight, was a haunting, amber glow. My gaze shifted slightly, and there, behind him, a massive, thick-furred gray wolf’s tail unfurled from the shadows. A scream clawed its way up my throat, but an invisible pressure clamped it shut. A sharp pain lanced through my chest, and I jolted awake. It was a dream. But it had been so vivid I could still trace the chilling curve of his fangs in my mind. Once my pulse settled into a less frantic rhythm, I slipped out of bed, needing the cool water of the washroom. The stone floor was icy against my bare soles. I’ve never liked slippers, and the chill was a welcome shock. Tonight, the oak door at the far end of the hall was unlocked. A weak, trembling sliver of candlelight seeped from beneath it, painting a quivering line on the floorboards. That room. The one Alaric had forbidden me from ever approaching. In the dead of night, curiosity is a vine that snakes around your reason and squeezes. After a moment’s hesitation, I crept forward, my bare feet making no sound on the cold stone. At the threshold, I peered inside. The sight froze the blood in my veins. I stared, my teeth chattering uncontrollably, at Alaric. The man who took me in, the lord of the manor I secretly adored, was kneeling in a posture that wasn’t human. He was before the enormous stained-glass window, moonlight pouring through it, bathing him in a silver glow. And in that ethereal light, his body was contorting, elongating—transforming into a colossal gray wolf. 2 I knew, with sickening certainty, that the wolf was Alaric. Last summer, by the lake, I’d caught a glimpse of him swimming. On his back was an old, crescent-shaped scar, like a sliver of a broken moon. And now, on the identical spot on the gray wolf’s powerful back… was the same exact scar. I swallowed hard, my body screaming to run, but my limbs were stone. My hand fumbled, bumping against the iron door ring. Creeeak. The ancient wood groaned, a sound that echoed like a death knell in the silent hall. Instantly, the great wolf’s head snapped around. Its eyes met mine. Amber, glowing, and utterly feral. Exactly like in my dream. A deep, bone-rattling chill shot up my spine. I spun to flee, but my legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the floor in a heap. I watched, paralyzed, as the wolf’s form seemed to shrink and fold in on itself in the shadows, melting back into the handsome, severe features of Alaric. God, how pathetic. Even then, with my life on the line, my heart still stuttered for that face. And then—he chained me by the ankle, a prisoner in my own bedroom. 3 The candlelight overhead was dim, casting long, dancing shadows. I leaned against the headboard, the chain on my ankle a cold, heavy weight. Alaric stood over me, his presence filling the room. From this angle, his brow was severe, his features carved as if from granite. Even in the oppressive gloom, he was flawlessly, dangerously beautiful. But he wasn’t human. The tension was so thick it was making me physically uncomfortable. “Alaric…” That’s what I’d always called him. Just Alaric. “I need to use the washroom.” He glanced at me, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a cruel smirk. He let a single word drop into the silence. “Hold it.” …So werewolves really were monsters. After a beat of silence, I leaned forward, pitching my voice to its softest, most placating tone. “Brother? Guardian? Dad? Please, just let me go…” For the first time, a real smile touched Alaric’s lips. He leaned down, his face suddenly inches from mine, so close my breath hitched. “The best way to keep a secret, Eliza,” he whispered, his breath like a winter wind, “is to turn the keeper into one of two things: dust… or family.” I caught on immediately. “Okay, Dad! I get it!” Alaric’s brow arched, a flicker of something dangerously playful in those wolfish eyes. It made him even more magnetic. “Did it ever occur to you,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, “that I was referring to… my mate?” Mate? I swallowed against a dry throat. “Don’t be ridiculous.” I forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. “An interspecies union… we couldn’t even have children.” My words seemed to amuse him. “Who said?” He leaned closer still, his lips almost brushing my ear. “Want to try?” 4 Honestly, for a split second, I was tempted. But then I met those eyes again, and the image of that powerful, wild wolf’s tail under the moonlight flashed in my mind. A shiver traced its way down my spine. “Alaric, trying or not, I really can’t hold it any longer…” The curve of his lips deepened. “Hmm,” he mused, “that does sound… more interesting.” …I was completely lost. Was this really the same man who was usually as cold and remote as a mountain peak? My shock must have been written all over my face, because in the end, he didn’t push it. He lifted a hand and snapped his fingers. The chain on my ankle clicked open. “Go.” Granted a reprieve, I practically scrambled off the bed. As I sat in the washroom, I was calculating whether a jump from the second-story stained-glass window would result in a broken leg or a broken neck when Alaric’s voice materialized right behind me. “You could try.” I whipped my head around to find him impossibly close, a ghost who’d appeared without a sound. His eyes were dancing with amusement. “Thinking of running?” I shook my head frantically, but before I could form a denial, he cut me off. “Jump.” He grabbed me by the collar of my nightgown and hauled me to the open window. “Try it.” The night air was cool on my face, but as I reached out, my hand hit something solid and invisible, like a pane of glass. I looked back at him, confused. Alaric just raised an eyebrow. “I put up a ward.” …So, just telling me that in the first place would have killed you? We were at a standoff by the window in the dead of night. I licked my dry lips, trying to pledge my allegiance. “Alaric, you have my word. I will never tell anyone.” It was useless. He dragged me back to the bed. Dangling from his grip, I couldn’t help but think: werewolves are ridiculously strong. He tossed me onto the mattress, and his body followed, hovering over me. His breath was hot on my skin. This was it… was he really going to try? I squeezed my eyes shut, a wave of shame and anticipation washing over me. But the touch I was bracing for never came. Instead, a woman’s voice drifted up from the courtyard below, musical and seductive. “Alaric…” My eyes flew open. I saw the playful look vanish from his face, replaced in an instant by a cool mask. He moved to the window. “Stay here. I’m coming down.” The tenderness in his voice was a tone I had never, ever heard from him before. He shot one last glance at me, then turned and was gone. I recognized that voice. It belonged to a countess from Alaric’s circle, one of his own kind. She was also the woman who had publicly rejected his advances months ago. I sat on the edge of the bed, a leaden weight settling in my chest. Damn it. I was actually jealous over a goddamn werewolf. 5 I decided werewolves must be cold-blooded creatures. He went off for a midnight rendezvous with the countess and left me locked in my room. No phone. No laptop. The door wouldn’t budge, and the window was a lie. This was a nightmare. I forced myself to fall asleep by counting the ornate plaster details on the ceiling, but my dreams were a chaotic mess of Alaric and that enormous wolf tail. In the morning, I sat on the edge of the bed, staring into space. Alaric hadn’t come back all night. It was over. He was captivated by her. That bastard. One minute he’s talking about making me his mate, the next he’s running off to someone else. I sighed, my eyes landing on the grandfather clock against the wall. Suddenly, I shot to my feet. It was nine forty-five. I’d completely forgotten. I had an arrangement to meet an old acquaintance today at ten. His name was Caleb. A friend I knew from before Alaric took me in. We were supposed to meet right at the estate gates. A surge of adrenaline hit me, and I started pacing. Caleb… he was a little unusual. I’d heard rumors his family belonged to an ancient line of hunters. My escape today depended entirely on him. As if on cue, a voice faintly called from the courtyard. “Eliza?” I rushed to the window and looked down. Sure enough, a man was standing at the gates, tall and well-built. I couldn’t make out his face from this distance. “Caleb! I’m up here!” I yelled, my voice cracking with desperation. He seemed to pause for a second, then I saw the flash of a smile. “Why climb when there’s a perfectly good gate?” And with that, he pushed open the heavy iron gates, strode through the courtyard, opened the manor’s main door, and then… my bedroom door swung open with a gentle click. I stood there, gaping. Was Alaric’s ward that weak, or was this hunter that skilled? I didn’t have time to dwell on it. Caleb was standing right in front of me. The boy I’d passed a love note to in our teens, only to be shot down with the excuse that “the pursuit of truth leaves no room for childish romance.” I hadn’t seen him in a year. It seemed he’d really committed to that path. Our eyes met. I swallowed. “You… I didn’t think you’d actually come.” Caleb tilted his head, his expression as earnest and straightforward as ever. “I said I would.” 6 There was no time for catching up. I grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the doorway. “Caleb, break it!” He tilted his head again. “Break what?” “The ward! The barrier!” His next words almost made me choke. “There’s a ward here?” If there wasn’t a ward, I would have been gone hours ago! He must have seen the frantic seriousness in my eyes, because he stepped cautiously toward the threshold and took one slow step forward— He was thrown back as if he’d hit a trampoline, flying backward and crashing into me, sending us both sprawling to the floor by the bed. After shoving him off me, I scrambled up, frustrated beyond belief. “Caleb, you told me you were dedicating your life to the ‘truth,’ and this is all you’ve got?” Caleb helped me to my feet, his gaze sincere. “I’m the most promising new recruit in my organization.” …What kind of sham organization was he in? Before I could say anything, Caleb’s expression shifted. “He’s back.” “Who?” He gave me a complicated look. “Your father.” My father? I opened my mouth to say my father had been dead for years, then remembered what I’d desperately called Alaric just last night. Oh, great. How did Caleb know what I’d said? I didn’t have time to ask. I heard footsteps in the hall. Deliberate. Heavy. Each one seemed to land directly on my heart. And there was another sound… something heavy being dragged across the floor. My nerves screamed. What was I going to tell Alaric? How would I explain Caleb’s presence? But Alaric was impossibly fast. Before I could invent a lie, his figure filled the open doorway. Alaric. He was dressed in a dark, formal suit, looking impeccably sharp for a man who was secretly a wolf. His gaze flickered over me for a second before landing squarely on Caleb. “Who is he?” Alaric’s voice… was terrifyingly cold. I was trying to decide whether to make up the name of an impressive-sounding hunter organization to intimidate him when Caleb spoke first. “I’m the guy she hired to piss you off.” I froze. What?? This guy wasn’t just useless, he was suicidal. To avoid getting an innocent hunter killed, I had no choice but to nod. “Right, I, uh… hired him.” Alaric didn’t say a word. He just crooked a finger at me. “Come here.” I shuffled forward slowly. My obedience wasn’t because I was mesmerized by his face, but because I was utterly, completely terrified. When I reached the doorway, Alaric’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around my wrist. He pulled, and I passed through the invisible barrier without any resistance at all. He dragged me to the bedroom next door—his room. He pushed the door open, and I gasped, sucking in a breath of frigid air. There was a woman on the bed. A woman bound hand and foot, completely naked, her head turned away from me. I couldn’t see her face. So that’s what he’d been dragging… a living person. Alaric gave me a shove from behind. I stumbled toward the bed. A moment later, a dagger clattered onto the floor at my feet, its blade gleaming with a sinister light. Alaric’s voice came from behind me, low and menacing. “Kill her, and I’ll let you go.” My knees felt weak. This day just kept getting worse. After a long moment, I managed a shaky laugh. “Alaric, this isn’t funny…” He took one step. I swear, it was only one step, but he moved from the doorway to right behind me in a blink. The next thing I knew, his hand was wrapped around my neck. His breath was cold, and the warmth was gone from his eyes, replaced by a chilling darkness. “Eliza. Kill her, or I kill you. Make a choice.”

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“Marrying a man with a kid is one step up from dating an ex-con, you know that right?” My best friend, Jenna, was practically screaming, shaking my arm so hard the ice rattled in my drink. I just kept smiling, chewing on my straw like an idiot. “It’s fine,” I’d said, full of a hope that felt foolish now. “A kid will make the house feel more alive.” Back then, I truly believed marriage was an island for two. As long as Leo loved me, nothing else mattered. That belief shattered the night his daughter got sick and his drunk ex-wife showed up, her hand cracking across my cheek twice before I could even register the intrusion. “Leo, is this what you promised me?” she shrieked. “Is this how you ‘wouldn’t let Maddie suffer’? It’s only been a few years and you’ve already found her a wicked stepmother!” The sting on my face brought me back to reality. A hot flash of anger surged through me and I raised my hand to retaliate, but Leo caught my wrist. “Don’t,” he said, his voice low and firm. “Not in front of Maddie. She’ll never forgive you for hitting her mom. Let me handle this.” He moved with a familiar, practiced ease, grabbing Sasha’s coat from the floor, fetching a bottle of water from the fridge, and steering her toward the door. In that moment, I realized Jenna’s warning might not have been an exaggeration after all. Thank God it wasn’t too late. I scrolled through my contacts and pressed a number with no name attached. “Are you still coming home for Thanksgiving? And if so… are you free to go on a date?”

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It was our anniversary, and all I wanted was a slice of cake to celebrate. Instead, I found the driver’s seat of my car pushed all the way forward. And on the floor mat, a delicate shower of croissant flakes. I called my husband. “Hey, has anyone else been driving my car?” The hesitation in his voice was a story in itself. “Oh, yeah. My cousin Nick borrowed it yesterday. Why?” His cousin Nick is six-foot-four, built like a linebacker. He wouldn’t fit in my car with the seat pushed up to the steering wheel. More importantly, Nick has a severe gluten allergy. The man treats bakeries like biohazard zones. A small, cold laugh escaped my lips. I hung up and drove straight to the artisanal patisserie he’d been frequenting lately. Through the window, I saw a girl with a saccharine smile, laughing with a coworker. “So what if I’m short?” she chirped, loud enough for half the shop to hear. “I have to pull the seat all the way up to drive, but I’ve got a man who spoils me rotten!” I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and just watched her. Alex always told me I was too tall for his taste, that I wasn’t quite his type. It seemed he’d finally found someone who was. 1 “Welcome to The Gilded Spoon—” The girl’s practiced smile evaporated the second she saw me. Panic flickered in her eyes, a tiny, satisfying storm. She dropped her gaze to the countertop. “Hi… what can I get for you?” The moment our eyes met, I knew. She was the one. A slow smile spread across my face. I let my eyes drift over her, from her too-big apron to her petite frame, the picture of innocent, damsel-in-distress charm. “Two crème brûlée tarts, please.” She was exactly his type. Small, sweet, breakable. All those times Alex had told me, It doesn’t matter that you’re not petite, Claire. It’s cute. I used to think he was reassuring me. Turns out, it was just wishful thinking on his part. She handed me the neatly packaged box. As I took it, I held her gaze, my smile unwavering. “Are you new here? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.” The other barista, a familiar face, chimed in. “Claire! It’s been ages. This is Mia, our new intern. Your husband actually recommended her for the position.” Then, turning to the girl, she said, “Mia, this is Mrs. Hayes. You know, your sponsor’s wife. You should say hello.” The girl—Mia—kept her eyes downcast, her voice barely a whisper. “It’s… it’s nice to meet you.” I couldn’t help it. I laughed out loud. Just a moment ago, she was preening, boasting about being spoiled and cherished. Now she was shrinking like a violet in a hailstorm. I finally took the box she’d been holding out, glanced inside, and let my brow furrow. “I didn’t ask for these to be warmed.” Her face went blank with panic. She bit her lip, cornered. “I’m so sorry,” she stammered, her voice tight. “It’s just… Mr. Hayes always asks for them fresh from the oven. I guess I just assumed…” I almost laughed again. Was she trying to establish her territory? To let me know she was more familiar with my husband’s habits than I was? What a pathetically childish move. The truth was, this bakery used to be my spot. I was the one with the Black Card VIP membership. Then Alex started insisting. Let me get your pastries for you, honey. I hate the thought of you going out of your way. It’s my job to take care of you. And just like that, I’d handed them the perfect cover for their little rendezvous. At first, it had felt so romantic. No matter how late he worked, he’d come home with a little white box containing my favorite dessert. I’d felt a mix of sweetness and guilt. I would help him out of his suit jacket, telling him he didn’t have to go to such trouble. But he’d shake his head, his voice sincere. You deserve every good thing in this world, Claire. And he acted like he meant it. I never had to do a single chore; he kept the house spotless. If I craved a specific dish, he’d learn how to make it, even if he burned his hands in the process. He’d even stop mid-Zoom call, in front of his entire team, to bring me a cup of my favorite chamomile tea if he heard me cough. I thought I had found that once-in-a-lifetime, all-consuming love. Now I see it for what it was. The equivalent of a 4 a.m. “I love you” text. Not a declaration of love, but an act of penance. A desperate attempt to soothe a guilty conscience. My gaze drifted from Mia’s flustered face down to her wrist. “Nice bracelet,” I said casually. She gave a nervous laugh. “Oh, this? Just a cheap thing I picked up.” I smiled and said nothing. That “cheap thing” was a one-of-a-kind vintage piece. Alex had won it for me at a charity auction for my birthday. It was the first real gift he’d ever given me, and I cherished it. I kept it locked away in the safe in my walk-in closet. I never thought the next time I’d see it would be on another woman’s wrist. Just then, my phone buzzed. A text from Alex. [Alex: Hey, you went to The Gilded Spoon?] My heart gave a little jolt. I looked up and saw Mia hastily shoving her own phone under the counter. A cold, heavy certainty settled in my stomach. I typed back, my fingers steady. [Me: Just getting out of the house for a bit. Want me to bring you something?] His relief was palpable, even through text. A voice note popped up a second later. “No, you just get whatever you want, honey. Love you.” The automated transcript displayed the words “Love you” under the audio file. The sight of them made me feel sick. I glanced at Mia, who was now trying to act casual, as if she was about to strike up a conversation. Pathetic. I ignored her, turned on my heel, and walked out of the bakery. The moment the door closed behind me, I dialed my father’s number. His overseas firm had, just two days ago, agreed—at my urging—to invest a significant sum in Alex’s company. “Dad,” I said, my voice calm and clear. “Don’t sign the contract. And while you’re at it, could you get me the name of the best divorce attorney you know?” “Yes, a divorce. It seems Alex has picked up a new hobby: cheating.” 2 The first thing I did when I got home was tear apart my walk-in closet. Just as I suspected, more things were missing. The closet was mostly for my couture gowns and valuable pieces I rarely wore anymore. After marrying Alex and becoming a homemaker, I had little use for them, so the closet became more of a vault. Alex was the one who managed it, who had the dehumidifiers checked and the garments steamed. To a casual observer, nothing looked out of place. But the items that held the most meaning for me… they were gone. My face was a grim mask as I pulled up the security footage from the closet’s discreet camera. I discovered that in this small, fifty-square-foot space, a whole other life had been playing out. May 7th: The first time they entered my closet together. Standing in front of my full-length mirror, trying on my clothes. Or rather, he was putting my dresses on her, laughing as they spun around. It wasn’t about fashion; it was a twisted act of intimacy. August 29th: Our seventh anniversary. He’d canceled the elaborate dinner I’d planned, claiming a last-minute work emergency. Instead, he’d spent the entire night locked in here, on the phone with her. October 5th: I was on a business trip. He brought her here, and they made love on a pile of my gowns. A wave of nausea washed over me. I ran to the bathroom and retched until there was nothing left. The footage kept playing. The camera now showed Alex standing in front of the open safe. He removed my bracelet, and then his eyes landed on a document inside. A cold dread pooled in my stomach. It was the deed to the condo my mother had left me. The last physical piece of her I had in this world. I watched in horror as, on the screen, Alex turned and handed it to Mia. I scrambled back into the closet, my hands shaking as I pulled the corresponding file from the safe. The document inside looked identical, but it was a forgery. It lacked the official notary seal. I had trusted him so completely, it never would have occurred to me to double-check it. I sank to the floor, a chill seeping into my bones as I listened to the audio from the recording. Alex’s voice, so gentle and reassuring. “Don’t you worry,” he murmured to Mia. “I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, with or without a ring on your finger.” Mia’s voice was a practiced performance of modesty. “Alex, this is too much. I can’t accept this…” And then, another voice from the doorway—a voice that made the blood freeze in my veins. “Oh, just take it, Mia! I had to work my butt off to get Claire out of the house just so Alex could pull off this surprise for you!” It was my best friend, Chloe. “I better get a seat at the head table at the wedding for this! You hear me?” Seeing Chloe’s smiling face in my closet, conspiring with them, felt like a physical blow. I remembered that day perfectly. Chloe had called me in a panic, begging me to go get her a specific cronut from a famous bakery across town. I’d stood in line for three hours, my feet blistering in my heels, just to do her a favor. I was trembling with a rage so profound it felt like it could split me in two. Not just my husband. My best friend, too. In the video, Alex pulled Mia into an embrace. “What’s mine is yours,” he whispered, his voice thick with adoration. “Don’t you ever feel like you have to ask.” Using my mother’s legacy to romance his mistress, and spouting clichés like what’s mine is yours. The irony was suffocating. For a moment, all I wanted was to find them and claw their eyes out. To make them understand exactly whose life they were tearing apart. Just then, my phone chimed with a new friend request on social media. I accepted, and a video immediately popped up in my DMs, then was just as quickly deleted. But I saw it. In the short clip, Mia was holding up her phone, beaming. “Mom, look! I finally have my very own place!” The background was unmistakable. It was my mother’s condo. Every last shred of my composure vanished. I remembered that day at the hospital. My mother, frail and fading, pressing the deed into my hand. I was sobbing, telling her I didn’t want a condo, I just wanted her. Alex had gently taken the document from my grasp, pulling me into his arms. His voice was heavy with sorrow as he spoke to my mother. “Don’t you worry, Mom. I’ll take care of Claire. I’ll never let her feel alone.” My mother had given him a weak, grateful smile. It was the last expression she ever made. I had collapsed in the cold, sterile hallway, and Alex held me tight, whispering over and over, “It’s okay, Claire. I’m here. I’ve got you.” In the fog of grief that followed, I couldn’t bear to look at anything that reminded me of her. Alex handled everything—the funeral arrangements, sorting through her belongings. My father saw his devotion and told me Alex was a man I could truly depend on. And all along, the man my parents had trusted with their daughter’s heart was only ever interested in her inheritance. It wasn’t flawless. Looking back, the signs were there. The faint scent of a different perfume clinging to his shirts. His sudden use of slang popular with college kids. The endless string of “business trips.” I had made him my entire world, the sole pillar of my emotional stability. And so, I chose to be blind. A new message from Mia popped up. “Oops, wrong person, so sorry!” It was followed by a slew of photos of new seasonal pastries from the bakery. I stared at the appallingly bad acting on display. Without replying, I clicked on her profile. She hadn’t blocked me yet. Her latest post was the same video she’d just “accidentally” sent me. [Moved into my new place today! Housewarming party this weekend—everyone’s invited!] The address listed below was, of course, the address of my mother’s condo. And underneath, a comment from Alex, punctuated with a heart emoji: “Congrats, babe.” My eyes scanned further down. There was a comment from Chloe, too. “So proud of you, girlie! Another strong, independent woman getting what she deserves! ✨” They all knew. They all knew it was my property, and they stood by, smiling and applauding as she claimed it for her own. My face was a mask of ice. I made a call to the county clerk’s office, informing them of a fraudulent transfer of title for that property and requesting an immediate freeze on all activity associated with the address. Let’s see how they enjoy their party when they can’t even get through the front door. The next day, I drove to my mother’s condo. I had a locksmith meet me there, and within an hour, the old lock was replaced with a new biometric system keyed only to my fingerprint. Then, I parked across the street and waited. Soon enough, the small, private courtyard began to fill with flowers, catering trays, and a ridiculous champagne tower set up in front of the fountain. Guests started to arrive, most of them strangers to me. Then I saw Chloe. She swanned through the gate, a glass of rosé in hand, and cozied up to Mia. Her expression was one of pure envy.

The day my brother, Caleb Ashford, and the girl who stole my life came to collect me, I was out back, hacking through weeds for the hog feed. Caleb’s gaze landed on the raw, angry gash on my forearm, and his face twisted in disgust. “Get in the car.” A flicker of triumph crossed the face of the girl, Chloe. She was already positioning herself for one of her signature, saccharine performances. But then, something shifted. Caleb grabbed my arm, his grip surprisingly tight. His eyes, which had been clouded with a distant annoyance, suddenly sharpened with a shocking clarity. He bit out the words through a clenched jaw. “Who did this?” My blood ran cold. Oh god, this was it. In the novel I was trapped in, Caleb Ashford wasn’t just obsessively protective of his sister—he was a notorious clean freak. He wasn’t going to look at this ugly, mangled arm and decide to just… get rid of it, was he? “My foster father,” I whispered. “He said I was working too slow… he used the scythe.” I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the searing pain of a severed limb. Instead, I heard Caleb’s voice, dangerously calm, directed at one of the men in black suits standing by the car. “Cut off the arm of my sister’s foster father.” Chloe and the bodyguards all stared at him, stunned. As for me? I could only think one thing: Did I get a bootleg copy of the book? 1 Caleb’s order—“Cut off the arm of my sister’s foster father”—hung in the thick, humid air. The bodyguards exchanged uneasy glances, hesitating. My foster father, however, did not hesitate. He dropped to his knees with a wet thud, his face hitting the mud. Chloe’s carefully composed expression crumbled. “Caleb!” she cried, rushing to his side. Her hand, delicate and soft, fluttered onto his sleeve. Her eyes instantly welled with tears, her voice a fragile sob. “Don’t be rash, I know you’re worried about our sister…” “But he did raise her all these years. Even if he made a mistake, we can’t just—” She never finished. Caleb’s gaze, as cold and sharp as splintered ice, fell on her. “You feel sorry for him?” Chloe flinched as if struck. Her hand dropped from his sleeve. “I… that’s not what I mean. I just think—” “Be quiet.” He cut her off without a shred of warmth. “Chloe, are you telling me how to handle my affairs?” he pressed, his voice dangerously low. “Or are you suggesting that my sister deserved to have her arm laid open with a scythe?” Chloe was completely thrown. Her lips trembled, but no words came out. I stared at Caleb’s profile, my heart hammering against my ribs. This was wrong. This was all wrong. In the book, Caleb was Chloe’s staunchest defender. He would have rained hellfire on anyone who dared to make her shed a single tear. Why would he ever speak to her with that tone? On the ground, my foster father was a sniveling mess of tears and snot, slamming his forehead against the gravel-strewn dirt until it bled. “Mr. Ashford, sir, have mercy! I was wrong! I ain’t human! I’ll never do it again!” Caleb finally tore his gaze away from Chloe, his eyes sweeping over my foster father as if he were a piece of trash on the roadside. His lips barely moved. “He can do it himself.” The head of security stepped forward. “Mr. Ashford?” “Tell him to destroy the hand that he used on my sister.” Caleb’s voice was flat, as if he were commenting on the weather. “Three fingers,” he added. “A bargain for his arm, I think.” A gasp escaped my own lips. That was worse, somehow. More personal. More cruel. My foster father’s wails choked off, replaced by a look of pure, hollow despair. The bodyguards, their faces impassive, dragged the man, now limp as a ragdoll, into the dirt-caked shack we called a house. A moment later, a raw, gut-wrenching scream tore through the air. The color drained from Chloe’s face, leaving it the color of paper. Caleb didn’t even flinch. He turned, his dark, intense eyes landing on me. Then he shrugged off his tailored suit jacket—a piece of clothing that was obviously handmade, impossibly expensive, and utterly spotless. He draped it over my shoulders, covering the girl who had just emerged from a pigsty, covered in filth and bits of straw. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice a fraction softer. I nodded, still reeling from the shock. Chloe, biting her lip so hard it had to hurt, trailed silently behind us, tears swimming in her eyes. In the back of the black Bentley, Chloe sat in the passenger seat, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. According to the plot I knew, this was the moment Caleb was supposed to notice her distress, pull her into a gentle embrace, and murmur words of comfort, maybe shooting a warning glance at me—the interloper—for upsetting his precious sister. But the Caleb in this car didn’t so much as glance at her in the rearview mirror. My confusion deepened. What version of the story was this? It had to be a pirated edition. 2 The Bentley glided to a stop before an ornate, wrought-iron gate. This was the Ashford estate. The book’s brief descriptions of its luxury were now my staggering reality. The second the car door opened, Chloe seemed to find her footing again. “Dad! Mom!” There, standing anxiously by the grand entrance, were our parents. My mother—my biological mother, Eleanor—swept Chloe into her arms. “Chloe, darling, why are you crying? Who upset you?” “Caleb… he was so scary…” Chloe buried her face in Eleanor’s shoulder, her sobs finally breaking free. My father, Richard Ashford, scowled. “Caleb, what’s the meaning of this?” Caleb ignored him, walking around the front of the car to open my door. “Get out, Maya.” I moved my stiff limbs, the heavy, expensive jacket draped over me, and stepped into the magnificent entryway of my new home. Instantly, every eye was on me, each gaze dripping with disdain. A bitter smile touched my lips. This, at least, was exactly as it was written. Next up was Chloe’s masterclass in twisting the truth, followed by my parents’ furious condemnation of the “feral girl from the countryside,” culminating in them demanding I kneel and apologize to her. After that, the endless torture would begin. I lowered my eyes, calculating my first move for survival in this house. Should I swallow my pride and endure it, or should I burn the whole thing down? Just then, Chloe lifted her head from Eleanor’s embrace, her eyes red-rimmed and brimming with a pitiful sorrow as she looked at me. “That man back in the country… he did raise our sister for eighteen years. He may not have been perfect, but he was there for her…” she began, her voice trembling. “When Caleb wanted someone to… to break the man’s fingers, all I did was suggest he reconsider…” She choked on a sob. “And Caleb… he told me to shut up.” Her tears spilled over again, as if she had suffered the world’s greatest injustice. “I know he’s just being protective of his sister now that she’s back, but we can’t be so unreasonable, can we?” It was a flawless performance. She painted herself as the victim while branding me as “unreasonable” and Caleb as cruel and impulsive. As expected, Eleanor hugged her tighter. “You poor thing. It’s not your fault, sweetheart.” She then turned to me, her brow furrowed in disapproval. “Maya, is it? I understand you’ve had a difficult life, but the Ashfords are a reasonable family.” “Chloe is your sister. She was only looking out for you. How could you let your brother treat her like that?” Richard let out a sharp, cold grunt. “No manners at all! You’ve been here five minutes and you’re already turning the house upside down! Apologize to your sister this instant!” I stood there, silent. Anything I said now would be wrong. “Apologize?” Caleb’s voice cut through the tension, cold as a winter wind. “Chloe, I’ll ask you again.” “You feel sorry for him?” Chloe flinched at his tone, shrinking back into Eleanor’s arms. “I… I just felt that…” “That he was right to take a scythe to my sister’s arm?” Caleb’s voice rose, sharp and dangerous. The expressions on Richard and Eleanor’s faces froze. “A scythe?” Eleanor whispered, her eyes wide with disbelief as she stared at me. Caleb gave no one a chance to recover. He strode over to me, grabbed my wrist, and yanked up my filthy sleeve. The wound was laid bare for all to see—a jagged gash where the flesh was peeled back, the blood dried to a dark, grotesque crust. It was hideous. “Do you see it clearly now?” he demanded, holding my arm out as if for inspection. “This is what the man your ‘good daughter’ Chloe was defending did to her!” Eleanor’s breath hitched. She covered her mouth, her eyes filled with shock. Richard’s face went from stern to ashen. “Now,” Caleb said, his gaze locking back onto the terrified Chloe. “You tell me. Who should my sister be apologizing to?” Chloe’s lips trembled, but not a single sound escaped. I watched the hard line of Caleb’s jaw, my heart pounding in a wild, uncontrollable rhythm. Who was this man? This was absolutely not the Caleb Ashford from the book—the brother who would have burned the world down for Chloe. 3 Richard and Eleanor’s faces were a kaleidoscope of shifting emotions, the most prominent being a flicker of guilt—a shamefully late arrival for their biological daughter. Chloe was as white as a ghost. While I was still processing, Caleb pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “Dr. Evans, I need you at the house immediately.” Less than ten minutes later, a silver-haired man carrying a medical bag hurried in. Dr. Evans sucked in a breath when he saw my arm. “This was made by a sharp blade. It needs to be cleaned and stitched at once, or it will get infected. It could even cause permanent damage.” Eleanor swayed on her feet, her eyes instantly reddening. Caleb guided me to the sofa and watched intently as Dr. Evans treated the wound. When the antiseptic wipe touched the raw flesh, my whole body seized with pain, but I clamped my jaw shut and didn’t make a sound. This was nothing compared to the eighteen years I’d already endured. From the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of what looked like jealousy in Chloe’s expression. She couldn’t seem to grasp why the center of attention had suddenly shifted to me. At dinner, Chloe sat beside Eleanor, trying several times to start a conversation, only to be silenced by a cold glare from Caleb. Finally, she plastered on a bright smile, picked up the largest shrimp from a platter, and placed it in my bowl. “Maya, you have to try this. Mrs. Gable’s scampi is the best you’ll ever have.” Her smile tightened. “I bet you never got seafood this fresh… back where you were from, did you?” Before I could respond, Caleb set down his fork. He reached over, took my bowl, and swapped it with his own. “She’s allergic to shellfish.” The smile on Chloe’s face froze. “Oh! I’m so sorry, Maya, I… I didn’t know…” She immediately adopted a wounded, on-the-verge-of-tears expression and looked to our parents for sympathy. “I was just trying to make sure she ate well…” “You didn’t know?” Caleb’s laugh was devoid of humor. “Her file has been on my desk for a week. You looked at it yesterday.” The blood drained from Chloe’s face, leaving it completely colorless. For the first time, Richard and Eleanor looked at her with a glimmer of suspicion. After dinner, Caleb led me upstairs to the second floor. He pushed open the door to the largest room at the end of the hall. “You’ll stay here from now on.” The room was decorated in minimalist shades of black, white, and grey, dominated by a massive floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the estate’s gardens. It had the best view in the house. “Caleb, we haven’t had a chance to get Maya any clothes yet…” Chloe had followed us, her voice timid. “The dress I wore after my shower this afternoon was one of Chloe’s,” I added quietly. The dress was faded, the style was years old, and it fit me terribly. I knew exactly what Chloe was doing: reminding everyone that I was still the country bumpkin who had to wear her hand-me-downs. “If you don’t mind, Maya, you can wear some of my things for now. They’re all a bit old, but…” She didn’t get to finish. Caleb snapped his fingers. Several clerks in sharp uniforms appeared, pushing a long rack of clothing into the room. Louis Vuitton. Chanel. Dior. Everything from casual wear to evening gowns, shoes to accessories. All of it brand new. “It was all purchased in your size,” Caleb said, his gaze fixed on me. Then he glanced at Chloe. “Her old things can be thrown out.” Standing before a mountain of luxury goods, Chloe looked like she was grinding her teeth to dust. Later that night, as I was getting ready for bed, there was a knock on the door. It was Chloe, with Richard and Eleanor standing behind her. “Maya,” Eleanor began, her tone strained, “this room… Chloe has always wanted to turn it into her playroom.” Chloe’s eyes immediately filled with tears as she tugged on Eleanor’s sleeve. “Mom and Dad promised me. They said for my birthday they would fill it with presents just for me…” Richard frowned. “It’s just a room. You just got here, you can take the smaller one next door for now. Let your sister have this one.” There it was again. The casual, deeply ingrained favoritism. They still couldn’t grasp who their real daughter was. I was about to speak when a cool voice came from behind them. “Fine.” Caleb was leaning against the far wall of the hallway, hands in his pockets. “She can have it.” A triumphant smirk flashed across Chloe’s face. “However,” Caleb continued, his gaze pinning her in place, “Maya will move into your room.” Chloe’s smile froze. “She is the true heir of this family. She deserves the best room in the house, after the master suite.” He didn’t give them an inch. “Since Mom and Dad already promised you this one as a playroom, I won’t interfere.” He lifted his chin slightly. “You,” he said to Chloe, “can move into the guest room.” Before anyone could protest, he spoke to the butler who stood silently down the hall. “Go and have all of Miss Chloe’s things removed from her room. Everything.” 4 The butler bowed his head. “Yes, sir.” He turned to carry out the order. Chloe finally broke. “Why?” she shrieked, tears streaming down her face, her swollen eyes locked on Caleb. “Tell me why, Caleb! Why have you been targeting me ever since I came back?” “You… you used to love me most of all!” Eleanor could no longer stay silent, her face a mask of disapproval. “Caleb, how can you treat Chloe this way? She’s your sister!” Richard’s face was dark with anger. “This is ridiculous! What has Chloe done to deserve being kicked out of her room?” I watched from the sidelines, a cold observer. Not a single one of them, not even now, saw me as part of this family. Seeing her parents rush to her defense, Chloe’s crying intensified. She stumbled forward and grabbed Caleb’s sleeve. “Brother, please tell me, did I do something to offend you? Tell me and I’ll change, I promise I’ll fix it, okay?” Caleb’s gaze slowly swept over the three of them. He ignored Chloe’s desperate pleas. “Dad, Mom. Is there something you’re failing to understand here?” Richard and Eleanor froze. “Who,” Caleb said, his voice dangerously quiet, “is your actual daughter.” The question was a knife, twisting directly into our parents’ hearts. Their eyes involuntarily darted toward me, toward the face that was a clear echo of Eleanor’s, the eyes so like Richard’s. Eleanor’s lips parted, her expression a war of guilt and internal conflict. Richard’s throat worked. Finally, he managed to force the words out. “But… but Chloe… we raised her for eighteen years. There are feelings involved…” “Feelings?” Caleb let out a short, sharp laugh. “So, your feelings trump blood? They trump justice?” He took a step forward, his presence overwhelming. “Have you ever stopped to think that if Maya hadn’t been stolen, the life Chloe has been living would have been hers? This house, these clothes, this very room—it was all meant for her!” His voice rose with each word. “And yet you stand here acting as if she’s the intruder, the one who doesn’t belong!” Every syllable he spoke drained more color from Richard and Eleanor’s faces, leaving them speechless and pale. Sensing the tide turning against her, Chloe panicked. She quickly wiped her tears, transforming into a picture of mature understanding and heartbreaking sorrow. “Caleb, don’t blame Mom and Dad. It’s all my fault.” She lowered her head, her voice thick with unshed tears. “I shouldn’t have fought with my sister over a room. I… I’ll move out right now.” She looked at our parents, pleading. “Please, just don’t send me away.” Then, she took a small step toward me and tugged on the sleeve of my shirt, fat tears plopping onto the floor. “Maya… I’m sorry. Please don’t be angry with me.” A brilliant tactical retreat. But I knew that in this moment, I couldn’t say a word. Caleb was fighting this battle for me. If I softened now, if I played the part of the magnanimous sister and gave the room back, I would be throwing his efforts back in his face. It would be a slap in the face to him, and it would put me right back in the position of being the family doormat. After just one day, I understood the landscape of this house perfectly. My parents’ affection was fickle, and Chloe was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. The only person I could rely on to secure my place here was the cold, powerful man standing before me. So I dropped my gaze and said nothing. Seeing her olive branch rejected, a flicker of pure venom crossed Chloe’s eyes before it was drowned again in a fresh wave of sorrow. In the end, under Caleb’s unwavering pressure, the scene concluded with Chloe sobbing as she was moved to the guest room. That night, lying in a bed so soft it felt alien, I tossed and turned. For eighteen years, I’d slept on hard wooden planks under damp, mildewed blankets. This sudden comfort felt strange, unsettling. I closed my eyes, but one sentence echoed in my mind. “She is the true heir of this family.” I slept without dreaming. The next day, my body’s internal clock woke me at the crack of dawn. I put on a set of the new clothes Caleb had bought for me, the silk a foreign, luxurious sensation against my skin. I opened my bedroom door, planning to head downstairs. I never expected to find Chloe kneeling on the floor right outside, her face streaked with tears.

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My son had been kidnapped. The ransom was one hundred million dollars. When I went to wire the money, I discovered my husband’s executive assistant had frozen our accounts. I stormed into his office to confront her. She tossed a check on the desk—it was for two hundred and fifty dollars. Chloe smirked. “Maybe you could negotiate with them? Ask for a payment plan? I’m sure they’d be willing to return the kid in installments, too.” Rage, white-hot and blinding, washed over me. I slapped her, hard, across the face. Then again. That’s when Carter arrived. He didn’t hesitate. A swift, brutal kick landed squarely in my chest, knocking the air from my lungs. He pulled Chloe into his arms, shielding her as if I were the threat. His eyes, when they met mine, were chips of ice. “Chloe was just making a joke, Evelyn. You had no right to lay a hand on her.” His voice was dangerously calm. “And since we’re being honest… our son isn’t coming back. So I might as well tell you. Chloe and I have a child together. A boy. If you play your cards right, he might even be generous enough to call you ‘Mom’ one day.” My world fractured. At that exact moment, my phone buzzed. A video from the kidnappers. It was a close-up of a small hand, followed by the sickening crack of bone as they broke every single one of his fingers. But as the child’s face, contorted in agony, filled the screen, a strange, chilling calm descended over me. I recognized that face. I smiled, a thin, brittle thing, and transferred the $250. I attached a note: His mother said you can have the money in installments. I guess you can return him the same way. 1 The first thing I did after the transfer was place a video call to my son, Leo. He answered almost immediately, his sweet, familiar face filling my screen. “Mom! I’m still in Berlin with Uncle Mark for the robotics championship! We’ll be on a flight home this afternoon. Don’t miss me too much, okay?” A wave of relief so powerful it felt like grief washed over me. My heart, which had been a stone in my chest, finally started to beat again. I hung up and turned, just in time to see Chloe directing facilities management to hang black-and-white portraits of Leo around the office. Memorial photos. The rage returned, a tidal wave in my blood. I snatched one of the portraits from the wall and tore it to shreds. Chloe blinked, a perfect picture of innocence. “Evelyn, I know this is hard to accept, but I was just trying to help you find some closure. There’s no need to lash out.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “The only person who needs to be grieving here is you. It’s your son they took.” For a split second, her face went slack, her skin ashen. Then she crumpled into Carter’s arms, her shoulders shaking with manufactured sobs. “Even if I didn’t pay… how could she say something so horrible? How could she curse my Sterling?” Carter’s eyes burned with a righteous fury. He struck me, a sharp, stinging slap that rocked my head to the side. “So what if I don’t want to pay?” he snarled, his voice low and menacing. “For years, you and that boy have been leeches, bleeding me dry.” He gestured to my clothes with a contemptuous flick of his wrist. “You want money? Start taking things off. Ten thousand dollars an item.” The scornful gazes of his employees were like a thousand tiny needles piercing my skin. My entire body trembled with fury. Fine. I walked to the head of the boardroom, connected my phone to the projector, and played the kidnapper’s video on the massive screen. The brutal, bloody images filled the room. No one could watch it without flinching in horror. Chloe let out a theatrical shriek and buried her face in her hands. Carter’s attention snapped to her immediately, which is why he missed it—the unmistakable resemblance between the tortured child on the screen and the woman sobbing in his arms. “Carter, it’s horrible,” she whimpered, clutching his suit jacket. “I’m going to have nightmares for weeks. I’m so scared.” He instantly ordered someone to smash the projection system, then shot me a look of pure loathing. “You think showing me this will make me feel sorry for you? Make me pay? You want to put on a show, Evelyn, you have to go all the way. Tell the kidnappers to send me his body.” I stared at the man before me, a stranger carved from ice and cruelty. We were college sweethearts, had built an empire together, weathered more than a decade of storms side-by-side. I couldn’t believe this was our final chapter. My voice was flat, devoid of all emotion. “Just make sure you don’t regret this, Carter.” He had the IT department forcibly wipe the video from my phone, ensuring Chloe wouldn’t be “traumatized” again. Tucked safely in his embrace, she shot me a triumphant, mocking smile. Just then, Carter’s phone rang. It was the kidnappers. “Mr. Harrison,” a gravelly voice threatened. “You’re a colder bastard than I thought. Don’t you even want your favorite son back?” “Maybe hearing him will change your mind.” A child’s agonized screams filled the line. “Daddy! Mommy! It hurts so much! Please, help me!” The color drained from Carter’s face. He looked down at Chloe, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “Chloe… that sounds a little like Sterling.” She rolled her eyes, a perfect imitation of loving exasperation. “Don’t be silly. Sterling is safe at the Greenwich estate. It’s obviously Leo, trying to imitate his voice to trick you into saving him.” Comprehension dawned on Carter’s face, followed by a renewed wave of disgust directed at me. He spoke into the phone, each word a block of ice. “Kill him. I have other children.” He paused. “But do me a favor. Keep his kidneys. Freeze them and send them to me. Sterling needs a transplant. You do that, and I might even throw in ten million for your trouble.” The kidnapper laughed, a harsh, incredulous sound, and hung up. Watching Carter’s smug, cruel expression, a wave of nausea rose in my throat. I couldn’t take another second. I pulled the divorce papers from my purse and slammed them on the table. “I’m done, Carter. We’re getting a divorce.” He stared at me for a moment, then his face hardened into a mask of contempt. “Can’t get the ransom, so you threaten me with divorce? You’re getting more creative, I’ll give you that, Evelyn.” He snatched a pen and scrawled his name across the signature line, then threw the papers in my face. “Your doctor told me years ago, remember?” he sneered. “Your fertility was declining. By now, you’re nothing but a barren old hen. I was going to be generous. I was thinking I’d let you stay on as Sterling’s nanny, give you a few hundred bucks a month so you wouldn’t die alone. But you threw that away. Don’t come crawling back to me when you realize what you’ve lost.” My knuckles were white as I clutched the papers. It took every ounce of my self-control not to scream the truth at him—the truth I had hidden for years to protect his fragile ego. The doctor’s diagnosis hadn’t been for me. It had been for him. He swept Chloe into his arms, a picture of adoration. “Come on, darling. Let’s go to the hospital and arrange that transplant. Sterling is going to be whole again very soon.” True to their word, the kidnappers sent the kidney. Carter had me dragged to the hospital, insisting that since it was Leo’s kidney, I was the one who had to sign the organ donation consent forms. When I arrived, he was in the middle of wiring ten million dollars to the kidnappers, not blinking an eye. The voice on the phone was dark, laced with a strange significance. “You’re a generous man, Mr. Harrison. But like I said before, if I don’t see the full hundred million, you’re going to get your son back… piece by piece.” Carter hung up impatiently and shoved the forms at me. “Sign.” I looked at him, my face a blank mask. “This isn’t Leo’s kidney. It’s Sterling’s. Shouldn’t Chloe be the one signing this?” His fingers clamped around my jaw, his grip so tight I thought the bone would snap. “If I hear you curse my son’s name one more time,” he ground out, his voice like grinding steel, “I will kill you.” Just then, one of his executives rushed in, breathless with excitement. “Mr. Harrison! The tech team tracked the calls! We have the kidnappers’ location. We can give it to the police and get your son back!” I wrenched myself from Carter’s grasp. “Then what are you waiting for? Call them!” I despised Carter and Chloe, despised the secret life they’d built on a foundation of lies. But the child didn’t deserve to die. “No!” Carter’s voice was a whip crack. “Do not call the police! And tell the tech team to wipe all the location data immediately.” I stared at him in disbelief. “Carter, are you insane? That’s your son!” He whirled on me, his face a mask of rage. “Sterling needs that kidney! If the police get involved, they’ll put it back in Leo’s body. Are you really willing to let a child die just to save Leo? Is that how selfish you are?!” To make sure I couldn’t act, he had his bodyguards smash my phone and tablet. I watched it all, numb, a storm of hatred and vindication brewing inside me. You chose this, Carter. This is all on you. At that moment, Chloe ran in, her face streaked with tears. “Carter! I called the estate to have them bring Sterling for the surgery, but they said he’s gone! He’s missing!” Panic flared across Carter’s handsome features. Chloe’s eyes, full of venom, locked onto mine. Then, she threw herself to the floor, kneeling at my feet. “Evelyn, I know you’re in pain,” she sobbed. “I know you resent that my Sterling is alive while you’re losing your own son. But take your anger out on me! Please… just give me my son back! I’m begging you!” I frowned, bewildered by her insane performance. Before I could speak, Carter’s foot slammed into my stomach. Pain exploded through me. I collapsed, gasping for air as agony ripped through my abdomen. Carter stood over me, his shadow falling across my face as he delivered his judgment. “Tell me where Sterling is. Now,” he said, his voice deadly soft. “Or I swear to God, I will end you.” It was a struggle to speak through the pain. “I told you… the kidnappers have Sterling. You need to talk to them, not me.” He let out a series of short, cold laughs. “Right.” He turned to his assistant. “Evelyn’s brother has been out of the country. Find out where he is. Now!” Minutes later, a stack of photos was in his hands. It was my brother, Mark, with Leo at an airport. Mark’s security detail is legendary; they’re the best in the world. The photographer had only been able to get shots from a distance, mostly of their backs. Even just seeing the familiar shape of Leo’s back made my heart ache. But in that moment, I had never been more grateful that he was safe. I pointed a trembling finger at the photo. “Open your damn eyes, Carter. That jacket Leo is wearing? You had it custom-made for his birthday last year. It’s one of a kind. That is Leo with my brother. Not Sterling.” Carter’s hand tightened on the photos, a flicker of panic in his eyes. But Chloe snatched them from him. “Don’t listen to her, Carter,” she insisted. “Look at his height, his build. It’s exactly like Sterling’s. That is our son. Believe me, the kidnappers would never touch Sterling.” Her absolute confidence was jarring. A wild, impossible thought began to form in the back of my mind. Carter’s brow smoothed. He stepped forward and ground his heel into the back of my hand. A sickening crunch echoed in the sterile room, followed by my own scream. The pain was blinding. In a frenzy, I lunged forward and bit his leg, my teeth sinking into the flesh. He yelped and pulled back, a sadistic smile twisting his lips. “Stop pretending. I know your brother has the resources to snatch Sterling without anyone knowing. But your protector isn’t in the country now, is he? If you don’t have him return my son, you’ll be joining yours in the grave.” I fought back tears of pain, about to speak, when a security guard entered with a box, a coppery smell wafting from it. “Mr. Harrison. This just arrived from the kidnappers.” He opened it. Inside lay a child’s severed arm. A note was tucked beside it. The first installment. If the money doesn’t come, the next one will be fatal. I stared at Carter, my voice ringing with desperate clarity. “If you have a shred of sense left, you’ll have a doctor do a DNA test on that arm and prove I’m telling the truth!” The challenge hit its mark. He started to call for a doctor. “Carter, no!” Chloe wrapped her arms around his, pouting. “Don’t fall for her tricks. A DNA test will take time. She’s just stalling until her brother gets back to save her.” He froze, understanding dawning in his eyes. The look he gave me was pure venom. “It seems you won’t learn until you’ve lost everything,” he whispered. “In that case, don’t blame me for what comes next.” He had me dragged to the estate’s dog kennels, where he kept a pack of half-starved wolves. Sterling’s arm was hung from the cage. The frenzied snarling of the animals made my blood run cold. Chloe leaned against Carter, a picture of smug pity. “You should just tell your brother to bring Sterling back, Evelyn. In a few minutes, that arm is going to be wolf food. I’ll tell you what… if you get on your knees and apologize for everything, I’ll be merciful and give you ten more minutes to think about it.” Carter stroked her hair. “You’re always too kind, my love.” I looked from them to the arm, my voice eerily calm. “You two really are a perfect match. Blind in exactly the same way. Can’t you see it? There’s an oval birthmark on the forearm. Leo doesn’t have a birthmark.” Chloe’s composure faltered for an instant. She stepped closer, squinting at the arm. Then she burst out laughing. “A birthmark? Evelyn, that’s a smudge of dried blood. I think you’re finally losing your mind.” Carter gently fed her a grape and gave a cold command. “Throw it in.” The wolves descended on the arm in a flurry of teeth and snarls. Carter watched me, his eyes searching my face for a flicker of grief, of pain. He found nothing. “Has she really gone insane?” he muttered, lighting a cigarette with a frustrated flick of his wrist. With a wave of his hand, a swarm of reporters and news crews flooded the area. Chloe winked at me. “See? I even called the media for you. With all this attention, I’m sure your precious Leo will be rescued soon.” She leaned in closer. “I’m even willing to forgive you for having your brother kidnap Sterling.” I couldn’t help but laugh, a raw, humorless sound. Everyone knows that involving the media in a kidnapping is a death sentence for the hostage. It only angers the captors. My heart ached for that poor, innocent child. I couldn’t stop the tears that welled in my eyes. “Do you really have to take it this far?” I whispered. Chloe moved beside me, her voice a venomous hiss for my ears only. “You should know, even if you returned Sterling, your son would still be dead. He’s in my son’s way. If he survives this, I’ll just arrange another accident. And another. Let’s see how long Leo’s luck holds out, shall we?” I snapped. My hand flew out, the crack of my palm against her cheek echoing in the sudden silence. She expertly used the momentum, stumbling backward and collapsing to the ground, her beautiful eyes filling with tears as she let out a wounded sob. Carter’s chest heaved with fury. He rushed to Chloe’s side, lifting her into his arms before turning to face the cameras, his voice booming with authority. “We have investigated this matter thoroughly. The kidnapping of my son, Leo, was orchestrated by his own mother, Evelyn Vance.” “Therefore, I will not be paying the ransom. Furthermore, as of this moment, I am officially and legally severing all ties with him. He is no longer my son.” He gestured to a lawyer, who stepped forward with a document. “The contract is prepared. It will be signed and effective immediately.” The media erupted. Cameras flashed, microphones were shoved in my face, capturing my humiliation from every angle. The crowd of onlookers jeered, shouting insults, calling me a monster. Someone lunged forward, grabbing my hand, trying to force my thumb onto an ink pad. I wrenched free and locked eyes with Carter, a long, silent moment passing between us. Then, with a resolve that felt ancient and absolute, I bit down on my own thumb, drawing blood, and pressed a crimson print onto the paper. My voice was steady, each word a vow. “This is your choice, Carter. From this day forward, Leo has nothing to do with you.” A triumphant smile spread across Carter’s face. He leaned down and kissed Chloe. “It’s done, my love. From now on, everything I have belongs to Sterling. I promised you, and I delivered.” As they celebrated, a phalanx of large, professional-looking men in dark suits cut through the crowd, clearing a path. And then I heard a small, worried voice behind me. “Mom, don’t be scared! I brought Uncle Mark to come save you!”

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