Author: Momo Chan

My friend asked me how thrilling it was to cheat under my wife’s nose. I paused, considering. Thrilling wasn’t quite the word. It was more about avoiding the constant anxiety and the pretense of guilt that plagued others. Then my friend asked, “And if your wife found another man, would you be alright with that?” Of course, I wouldn’t be. But I steadfastly believed my wife would never stray.

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To celebrate my sister-in-law, Chloe, hitting a million followers, I took her to The Spire, my husband’s new rooftop restaurant. It was supposed to be a triumph—for her, for him, for us. We were halfway through a bottle of champagne, the city lights of New York glittering below us like a fallen constellation. Chloe was live, her phone propped against a breadbasket, a ring light casting a perfect angelic glow on her face as she chatted with her followers. I was taking a picture of her, a celebratory shot against the skyline, when a shadow fell over our table. A hand shot out, snatched my phone, and before I could even process what was happening, plunged it into the silver ice bucket chilling our champagne. We both stared, speechless, as the screen flickered and died with a sickening fizz. Then came the voice, sharp and grating as shattered glass. “All you do is tap-tap-tap on that damn phone! Trying to brand yourself as some kind of debutante to trap a rich man, is that it? Didn’t your mother ever teach you to have some goddamn shame?” Chloe and I just looked at each other, then back at my drowned phone, now a useless brick submerged beside a seventy-dollar bottle of Veuve Clicquot. “Are you out of your mind?” I said, slowly getting to my feet. My voice was low, cold. “What I do with my phone has nothing to do with you.” The woman’s smirk widened, her arrogance radiating off her like cheap perfume. “I’m the manager here,” she snapped. “You’ve been taking up this table for forty minutes. That gives me every right to tell you to get the hell out.” She gestured around the opulent dining room. “I can’t stand girls like you. Broke as a joke, but you’ll max out a credit card to play dress-up for the ‘gram. You’re nothing but wannabe mistresses.” I was so stunned I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know my husband, Grayson, had a second wife. Her eyes, framed in severe, black eyeliner, glittered with a poisonous satisfaction. She pulled out her own phone. “You just wait. My husband will be here any minute to deal with two classless little bitches like you.” 1 She crossed her arms, a smug sense of victory plastered on her face. “Don’t think I don’t know your type. You see a place like this, pull out your cheap phone, and start snapping pictures for clout. It’s pathetic. You’re trash.” When we remained silent, she grew even bolder. With a sneer, she fished my dead phone from the ice bucket, water streaming from its ports, and tossed it onto the marble floor. Then, she deliberately brought the needle-thin heel of her glittery pump down on the screen, shattering it with a definitive crunch. “What’s the matter? Nothing to say?” she taunted. “Cat got your tongue? Hit a little too close to home, did I? I see girls like you every single year, trying to fake it till you make it. This is a high-end restaurant, not a goddamn brothel!” Chloe glanced at me, her eyes wide. Her other phone, the one she’d been using for her livestream, was still on, the camera broadcasting this entire nightmare to thousands of people. Her comments section was exploding. [omg what is happening?! Who is this psycho??] [That’s The Spire, the new Blackwood Holdings restaurant. It’s the hottest spot in NYC right now. That woman is the manager, I’ve seen her before.] [A manager can’t act like that! This is insane!] The comments flew by in a blur. Chloe, whose personality was naturally on the softer side, fumbled for her phone. Her fingers flew across the screen, her composure crumbling as she typed in the Blackwood family group chat. [Dad, Mom, something crazy is happening. This woman at Grayson’s restaurant is attacking me and Claire!] Then she tagged Grayson. [@Grayson Blackwood get to the restaurant NOW!] Getting no immediate reply, she tugged on my sleeve, her voice a small, frightened whisper. “Claire…” I patted her hand, a silent promise that I would handle this. Then I lifted my gaze, my eyes locking with the manager’s. “If you’re sick, I suggest you see a doctor. Don’t stand here barking at my sister and me like a stray dog.” Her eyes, heavy with that exaggerated eyeliner, narrowed. A flicker of raw jealousy crossed her face before her words turned even sharper. “Me, barking?” She laughed, a short, ugly sound. “Oh, I’ve seen your kind a million times. You build this fake little princess persona online, get an army of thirsty guys to worship you. You love it when men kiss your feet, don’t you? But you can’t stand it when someone calls you out on your bullshit.” I closed my eyes and took a slow, deep breath. I refused to argue with her. You can’t reason with an animal. “Right now,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet, my eyes snapping open to pin her with a glare. “Go get the owner. Your supposed husband. Bring him here.” I said nothing more, letting the command hang in the air. My gaze drifted over her, cataloging the cheap dress and the overly aggressive makeup. But then, my eyes snagged on the necklace resting against her collarbone. The Ocean Star. In that instant, the brilliant, sun-drenched afternoon outside the panoramic windows seemed to cloud over. A bone-deep chill washed over me, cold and sickening. The Ocean Star was a set. Two identical necklaces, each featuring a sapphire so deep and blue it seemed to hold the sea itself. Grayson had bought both of them at a Sotheby’s auction earlier this year. He’d fastened one around my neck himself. The other, he’d placed carefully back in its velvet box and locked it in our safe. “When we have a daughter,” he’d said, his voice soft as he kissed my temple, “this will be my first gift to her. You and she will have matching ones.” Back then, I had been floating in the warm, blissful sea of our love. I thought I had married the perfect man, a man who already adored the daughter we hadn’t even conceived yet. But now, seeing that promise, that symbol of our future family, hanging around another woman’s neck… it was like watching a blade slice through the beautiful dream I’d been living in. The thought of her powerful man seemed to inflate the manager’s ego even further. Her chin lifted. “You’re clearly out of your depth, sweetie. When my husband gets here, you two will be lucky if you only get thrown out of the city.” Chloe leaned closer, her voice trembling. The woman’s unhinged aggression had terrified her. “Claire,” she whispered, “the owner she’s talking about… it’s not Grayson, is it?” I took another shaky breath but couldn’t answer. It felt like a giant hand was squeezing my heart, cutting off all the air. Realization dawned on Chloe’s face, followed by a surge of protective anger. She grabbed her phone again, her thumbs flying across the family chat. [Mom, Dad, you need to get to Grayson’s new restaurant RIGHT NOW. If you don’t, our family is going to fall apart.] She took a photo of the manager, the Ocean Star necklace clearly visible, and posted it directly in the chat, tagging her brother again. [@Grayson Blackwood, WHO IS THIS WOMAN?! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?!] She didn’t try to hide what she was doing. She wanted—no, she needed—for this to be some kind of terrible mistake. My mother-in-law’s reply was instantaneous. [That bastard! Claire, you tell Claire not to be afraid. The Blackwood family will only ever recognize HER as our daughter-in-law.] But as Chloe waited, her phone remained silent. No reply from Grayson. Our escalating conflict had now drawn the attention of the entire restaurant. I had no desire to be a public spectacle, the star of some cheap circus act, so I fell silent. But others were more than happy to join the fray. An older woman, who I assumed was the manager’s sister, materialized at her side and glared at us. “You heard her! Get out! And delete every single picture you took on your way out. This establishment doesn’t allow trash like you to use it as a backdrop!” The older woman then turned to the manager. “Don’t you worry, sis. I’m here. I won’t let anyone cause trouble for you. Besides, your man will be here any second.” At the mention of Grayson, a sickeningly sweet, triumphant smile bloomed on the manager’s face. It was grotesque. It was blinding. Her confidence surging, she turned back to us, her voice dripping with venom. “You know what? I’ve changed my mind. Just leaving isn’t enough. I want you to post a public apology online. I want you to admit to everyone that you’re nothing but pathetic, clout-chasing gold diggers.” 2 A laugh escaped my lips. Not of anger, but of sheer, unadulterated absurdity. It was as if I had stumbled into a theater of the bizarre. I truly couldn’t comprehend how a person so grotesquely delusional could exist in the world. Chloe, who had just started college, who had been coddled and adored her entire life, had never had a finger pointed at her in accusation, let alone been subjected to such a vile, public tirade. The tears that had been welling in her eyes finally spilled over, streaming down her pale cheeks. She was utterly devastated. The sight of her tears seemed to enrage the manager even more. “Cry! Go on, cry!” she shrieked. “That’s all you women know how to do, isn’t it? Use your tears as a weapon to manipulate men! Am I wrong? Aren’t you gold diggers? It’s disgusting!” Suddenly, she let out a piercing scream that nearly shattered the crystal glasses on the tables. “Ah! You little slut! Don’t you dare get your filthy tears on that plate! I swear to God, who knows what kind of diseases you have!” She took two dramatic steps back, as if we were lepers. “Post the apology now!” she commanded. “And you’ll pay this restaurant a hundred thousand dollars for sanitation fees! You’re filthy!” At the mention of the money, the last bit of color drained from Chloe’s face. She looked like she was about to collapse. I closed my eyes. I had no desire to engage with an idiot, but that didn’t mean I was going to let this raving lunatic walk all over us. I placed a reassuring hand on Chloe’s arm, but a hot surge of adrenaline was already coursing through me. My face was a thundercloud as I rounded the table. I walked straight up to the manager and, with all the force I could muster, slapped her hard across the face. The crisp, sharp sound echoed through the suddenly silent restaurant. Every diner, every waiter, froze. Mouths hung open as heads swiveled in our direction. In the livestream’s comment section, the frantic chatter came to an abrupt halt. Chloe seized the moment, her phone angled just right, transcribing the manager’s every vicious word into the family group chat. My mother-in-law’s response was immediate and furious. [Who is this blind, worthless piece of trash! Chloe, protect your sister-in-law! Your father and I are on our way!] [And your brother, who knows what the hell he’s doing! He’s not even looking at his phone!] Chloe wiped a tear from her eye, a small measure of relief washing over her. The manager, stunned by the blow, took a moment to recover. She cradled her flaming cheek, her eyes filled with a mixture of shock and pure hatred. In her twisted fantasy, I was supposed to be the one groveling, posting apologies, and scurrying away in shame. “You hit me?” she screeched. “You bitch! Who the hell do you think you are to lay a hand on me?” Her voice climbed to a hysterical pitch. “Do you have any idea who my husband is? The president of the Blackwood Holdings! I am the future matriarch of the Blackwood family!” The sound was so shrill it made my ears ring. I wrinkled my nose in disgust. Her gaze flickered between my face and Chloe’s, and her fury seemed to intensify. It was obvious she despised women who looked like us—the type she probably labeled as “the innocent type.” In her mind, that look was a weapon, a master key for hopping from one rich man’s bed to another. The thought sent her spiraling into a nonstop, vitriolic rant. “You two bitches! You dare to touch me on my own turf? I saw you the second you walked in. You didn’t even touch your food, just sat there snapping photos with your phone for forty damn minutes!” she spat. “This is an elite establishment. Our tables are valuable. This isn’t your personal pig trough!” Her voice was loud enough to carry across the entire dining room. “I’ve seen plenty of shameless whores like you. You sleep your way to the top and you’re probably riddled with syphilis!” At that, a murmur rippled through the other diners. They looked at us with a newfound disgust. In today’s world, the mention of STDs is a potent, fear-inducing weapon. And these people, hearing only one side of the story, were easily swayed. “Oh my God, if they have something like that, they shouldn’t be out in public! Don’t infect the rest of us!” “Exactly! The manager’s right. Who takes pictures for forty minutes straight? And look at how they’re dressed, so revealing. They’re obviously trying to seduce someone!” “Manager, get them out of here! And bring me a new set of silverware! A sanitized one!” Hearing the crowd turn in her favor, the manager’s expression grew even more smug. She looked at us as if we were a contamination she was about to heroically expunge. I took a deep breath, my sharp gaze sweeping over the most vocal of the complainers. “First,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise, “is there a rule in this restaurant that forbids photography? Is there a time limit on dining? We are paying customers. This time is ours.” “Second,” I continued, my voice dripping with contempt, “are you all just going to believe whatever she says? Do you have no judgment of your own? You’re nothing but a flock of mindless sheep.” A few people had the decency to look ashamed, clearing their throats and looking away. Internet trolls and real-life bullies are the same. They only prey on those who won’t fight back. The moment you strike, they retreat into their shells like cowards. 3 Seeing that I dared to talk back, the manager’s face contorted with rage. “This is Jessica Fuller’s restaurant! If I say you broke the rules, you broke the rules! What are you going to do about it?” My eyes suddenly fixed on the name tag pinned to her chest. For a moment, the world seemed to tilt on its axis. [Jessica Fuller, Restaurant Manager.] Jessica… I’d heard that name before. Whispered in Grayson’s sleep. It was a few months ago. He’d held me for a long time after we made love, and long after his breathing had evened out, I lay awake, restless. In the dead of the night, I heard him murmur something in his sleep. “Jess… Jess…” It was so faint I wasn’t sure I’d heard it right. The next morning, as he was fastening his tie in front of the mirror, I asked him about it. His hands froze for a fraction of a second before he quickened his movements, his fingers suddenly clumsy. “You must have misheard me, honey,” he said. He’d skipped breakfast, muttering something about an early meeting at the office before hurrying out the door. I hadn’t thought much of it then. But now, in this garish, overwrought restaurant, the final puzzle piece clicked into place. Jess… So intimate. So familiar. The hand at my side clenched into a fist so tight my nails dug into my palm. An icy draft seemed to snake its way into my chest, a cold so deep it felt like it was freezing me from the inside out. Jessica’s anger continued to boil. She snatched a glass of red wine from a nearby table and hurled it at us. Before Chloe or I could react, the dark liquid splashed across our clothes, staining us in a humiliating splatter of crimson. As we stood there, stunned and dripping, she lunged forward. Smack. Smack. Two sharp slaps, one for me and one for Chloe, landed on our faces. The restaurant was now so quiet that her shrill, piercing insults were the only thing you could hear. “You bitch! You still dare to run your mouth? I’m going to teach you a lesson today!” I slowly worked my jaw, tasting the faint, coppery tang of blood in my mouth. And then, I smiled. “What the hell are you smiling at, you psycho—” CRACK! I swung my hand back, putting every ounce of my strength into the blow. I grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back so she was forced to look at me. “Who do you think you are, touching me?” I snarled, my voice low and menacing. “You want to die? I’ll be happy to send you on your way.” While she was still reeling, I reached over to our table, grabbed the plate of black pepper spaghetti, and slammed it upside down onto her head. A strange, dead silence fell over the room. Even Chloe was staring, her eyes wide as she swallowed hard. She discreetly pulled out her phone. [Mom, Dad, Claire is a total badass, but you need to hurry. Her mood is… not good. I think the woman who’s bullying us might be…] She glanced at the family chat. Grayson was still silent. Chloe had a sinking feeling that a storm was about to break over the Blackwood family. Jessica stood frozen, feeling the greasy, sticky sauce and the faint, peppery smell overwhelming her senses. She tentatively raised a hand to her head, pulling away a clump of lukewarm, slimy pasta. “AHHHHHH!” Her shriek was terrifying, a sound of pure horror and rage. She clawed at her hair, flailing like a madwoman. “You bitch!” she screamed, her face turning a blotchy, furious red. “I’m going to fucking kill you today!” Her chest heaved as she fought for breath. She spun around and barked an order at a group of stone-faced men in black suits standing by the entrance. “You! Get these two ignorant little sluts and tie them up!” A dozen bodyguards immediately moved toward us. Jessica’s face was a mask of triumphant hatred, her eyes venomous. “These men were assigned to me by my husband, for my protection. You two whores are dead today.” She gestured at the advancing men. “Get them!” I shoved Chloe behind me, shielding her as I faced down the pack of thugs. “You work for Grayson Blackwood, right?” I warned them. “I’m telling you, I am—” “You are shit!” Jessica shrieked, her rage escalating at the mention of his name. “So you even know my husband’s name, you bitch! You really did your homework before trying to sink your claws into him, didn’t you? I knew I was right about you!” The bodyguards paused, a flicker of uncertainty in their eyes, but it didn’t matter. Their orders were clear: protect the restaurant, and protect Jessica Fuller. With grim determination, they lunged at me. 4 Chloe was trembling, fumbling with her phone as she tried to make a call, her voice shaking uncontrollably. “Dad! Mom! When are you getting here? They’re beating us up, please, oh God—ah!” Before she could finish, a bodyguard snatched the phone from her hand and smashed it on the floor, where it shattered into a dozen pieces. Another guard backhanded her across the face, shoving her to the ground and pinning her there. She couldn’t move. “Grayson Blackwood is my brother!” she cried out. “Let me go!” But her words were muffled as a hand clamped over her mouth, her desperate pleas lost in the chaos. “Chloe!” My heart leaped into my throat. In that split second of distraction, one of the bodyguards drove his foot deep into my stomach. The force of the blow sent me flying backward. I crashed into a table, the sound of splintering wood and shattering glass exploding around me. A searing pain shot through my back as shards of broken glass sliced through my dress and into my skin. The wounds were deep; I could feel warm blood instantly soaking the fabric. My face went pale with pain. Before I could recover, a guard hauled me to my feet, kicked the back of my knees, and forced me into a humiliating kneel before Jessica. My eyes were locked on her. If looks could kill, this vile woman would have died a thousand times over. She stepped forward and slapped me again, her long nails scraping a raw, red line down my cheek. “You still dare to glare at me?” She bent down, grabbed my hair, and slammed my head against the hard marble floor. “Bitch!” she hissed. “You dare to cross me? I’m going to fix your promiscuous, little ass today!” She then picked up a serving dish of Szechuan fish from a nearby table and, with a vicious grin, poured the entire thing over my head. The oily, spicy broth and chunks of fish cascaded down my hair and face. I shut my eyes, struggling and cursing, my voice growing hoarse. “Jessica, I swear to God, I am going to destroy you!” She dropped the empty platter and looked down at me, dripping and defeated, with utter satisfaction. She pinched my chin, her fingers digging into my skin. “Such a tough one, aren’t you? Don’t worry. When my husband gets here, you two sluts won’t have a future left in this city.” From the floor, Chloe was sobbing. “You just wait! When my parents get here, they’re going to make you pay!” Jessica’s contemptuous gaze shifted to her. “Oh, I almost forgot about the younger one.” She strode over and slapped Chloe, a jealous rage flashing in her eyes as she looked at Chloe’s perfect, unblemished skin. “So young and already so experienced with men. Are your parents dead? Who taught you to be such a little seductress?” “You love taking pictures, right?” Jessica sneered. “Let’s take a few of you looking like the pathetic whore you are.” She grabbed Chloe’s discarded phone from the floor. Her eyes widened as she saw the screen. “You bitch! You were still live-streaming?” She ended the stream before turning the camera on Chloe’s terrified, tear-streaked face, snapping picture after picture. “You like the camera so much? Well, here you go!” Chloe was just a girl. She had never known this kind of cruelty. Her eyes were wide with pure, undiluted despair. “Chloe!” A primal, furious scream tore from my throat. Fueled by a surge of pure rage, I broke free from the guard holding me down. I tackled Jessica, throwing her to the floor and straddling her, my hands flying as I slapped her again and again and again. “Ah! Ah!” Jessica shrieked in pain and shock. The bodyguards, stunned for a second, finally reacted, kicking me off her. “Ms. Fuller, are you alright?” the lead bodyguard asked, his voice shaking. He was dead. Mr. Blackwood would have his head for this. His panic mounted, and he turned his vicious gaze back to me, crumpled on the floor. He stalked forward, grabbing my hair, ready to strike again. “I am Grayson Blackwood’s wife, Claire Blackwood,” I spat out, my voice raw but clear. “I’m the daughter of the Sterling Group. If you dare touch me again, you will regret it.” My certainty gave him pause. His hand froze in mid-air. But Jessica, scrambling to her feet, just laughed hysterically. “A gold digger with delusions of grandeur! His wife? I’m Grayson’s wife!” “Teach her a lesson!” she screamed at the bodyguard. “Rip that lying mouth of hers right off her face!” Just then, a commotion erupted at the entrance of the restaurant. The lead bodyguard looked over and immediately straightened up, his demeanor shifting to one of fawning subservience. “Mr. Blackwood! You’re finally here, sir!”

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After the fifth time tonight, he rolls off me, the mattress groaning in protest. He dresses in the blue-gray light of the pre-dawn city, his movements efficient and detached. He tosses a platinum card onto the nightstand. It lands with a faint, sterile click. “Don’t come back here again,” he says, his voice flat. “Ava and I are getting engaged.” Five years. I have been Carter Hayes’s beautiful, perfectly kept secret for five years, and he’s ending it with five million dollars in a bank account I now own. His tone is cold, severe, as if he’s bracing for a scene, for the clinging he’s paid so handsomely to avoid. He doesn’t know that Leo Sterling, the man who practically owns half of Manhattan’s skyline, has been pursuing me for the better part of a year, just waiting for me to say yes. Leo is wealthier, more powerful, and far more generous than Carter ever was. A golden canary like me? I can sing for any man who owns the cage. 1 “You’ve been with me a long time,” Carter says, buttoning his shirt. The sound of it is unnervingly final. “You know the rules.” He doesn’t look at me, just throws the card on the bedside table before pulling on his trousers. His face is a mask of indifference, a carefully constructed blank slate. “I want your things out of here within the week.” I nod, the sound I make a small, quiet “Mm.” Carter Hayes was never my boyfriend. He was my patron, my keeper. Our relationship was a transaction, built on sex, not love. A man of his pedigree, from a family whose name is carved into the stone of half the buildings on the Upper East Side, would never fall for someone like me. I knew that from the very first night. I never allowed myself the luxury of delusion. When the man who owns your time tells you the contract is over, a smart girl knows to walk away without a fuss. My eyes fix on the card, a small piece of plastic meant to represent sixty months of my life. Still, a hollow ache opens up in my chest. Five million dollars for five years with Carter Hayes. By the time I hear the heavy front door click shut, I realize I never even saw his back as he left. My phone buzzes on the nightstand, shattering the silence. It’s Leo. His voice comes through the speaker, a low rumble like aged whiskey. “Chloe,” he says. “This is the ninth time I’m asking. Are you ready to be with me?” He pauses, a soft breath on the other end. “If you say no, I’ll just have to call again next month and make it an even ten.” For a year, eight separate times, Leo Sterling has asked me to leave Carter for him. And while I may be a kept woman, I have my own strange code of ethics. Carter was paying my bills, and until he was the one to end it, I wouldn’t be the one to leave. I stay quiet for a moment, and I hear him sigh, a sound of gentle resignation. “It’s okay,” he says, his voice softening. “I can wait.” Just as he’s about to hang up, the words leave my lips before I can stop them. “Yes,” I say. “From now on, I’m with you.” A beat of stunned silence, then, “Really? Chloe, that’s… that’s incredible!” The undisguised joy, the sheer, unadulterated excitement in his voice, is a thing I haven’t heard directed at me in a very long time. Leo Sterling is a bigger player than Carter in every conceivable way. And for a girl like me, who learned to love money because it was the only thing that never let her down, one patron is as good as another. Or so I tell myself. 2 Leo is in Zurich for the week, closing a deal. “I’ll have my assistant arrange for you to move your things into my penthouse,” he’d said over the phone, his voice already mapping out the logistics. “Just tell David whatever you need.” Carter gave me a week, but it only took a day for his fiancée to get involved. I arrive back at the apartment to find my life piled on the curb outside the service entrance. Designer dresses, shoes, books… all of it tossed into a heap of expensive trash. As I’m standing there, staring at the wreckage, the service door swings open. It’s Ava Prescott, Carter’s fiancée. “I’ve never seen anything so shameless,” she says, her voice a lazy drawl. She leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, a picture of bored superiority. “Still hanging around, hoping for a handout?” She looks me up and down, her lip curled in a delicate sneer. “A girl like you needs to learn her place. Don’t go getting any ideas about moving up in the world.” Her words are coated in venom, her eyes filled with the casual disdain of the truly privileged. I know her type. Girls like Ava Prescott don’t see people like me as human; they see us as obstacles or entertainment. But I force a polite, practiced smile. “Miss Prescott, I have no intention of lingering. I understand the terms of the arrangement perfectly.” I crouch down and begin to gather my clothes, the silk of a blouse feeling cold against my skin. Just then, a black town car pulls up, and Carter gets out. He surveys the scene, his brow furrowing in a flicker of annoyance. “What’s going on here?” Ava immediately melts against his side, her voice turning into a saccharine purr. “Carter, darling, look at her. She refuses to leave. I know how these women think,” she says, loud enough for me to hear every word. “She’s probably trying to figure out a way to trap you.” Carter stands over me, a long shadow falling across my discarded belongings. I look up, my eyes meeting his. His gaze is heavy, filled with the crushing weight of his power, a warning. “Chloe,” he says, his voice laced with ice. “I suggest you make this easy on everyone. Let’s end this cleanly.” A bitter laugh escapes my lips before I can stop it. Does he really think I’m the one who can’t let go? “Don’t worry, Mr. Hayes,” I say, my voice steady. “I have no intention of clinging to you.” I quickly stuff the rest of my things into my suitcases. As I turn to wheel them away, Carter’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and impatient. “You took the money. Now stay out of my sight.” My feet freeze for a second, but I don’t turn back. 3 Leo’s assistant, David, meets me on the corner. He loads my luggage into the back of a sleek, black Mercedes. He’s the epitome of professionalism, whisking me away from the curb and toward a new life. He takes me to Leo’s penthouse, a stunning glass-walled apartment overlooking Central Park. “Miss Miller,” David says, handing me a heavy, cream-colored envelope as he unloads my bags. “Whatever you need, my number is programmed into the house phone.” The envelope contains an invitation. “This is for a private auction tomorrow evening. Mr. Sterling said that if you see anything you like, you are to bid on it. The price is not a concern.” I take the invitation, the thick cardstock cool in my hand. “Thank you, David.” Leo’s home is vast. As I step inside, a housekeeper and another staff member are waiting to greet me. The sheer scale of it all is a little overwhelming. In five years with Carter, I was never once allowed to feel this welcome in his space. I was a guest, always temporary. Here, it seems, I am expected. 4 The next evening, I dress for the auction. David picks me up and escorts me to the venue, a lavish ballroom in a downtown hotel. “I’ll be seated in the row directly behind you, Miss Miller,” he says discreetly. “You can bid yourself, or if you prefer, just catch my eye, and I’ll handle it for you.” “I understand,” I reply. Part of the job is knowing how to please your benefactor. Leo sent me here tonight because he wanted me to enjoy myself, to feel provided for. Buying something, even something small, is a way of showing gratitude. It’s a performance of appreciation. I scan the catalog. My eyes land on a beautiful sapphire ring, delicate and understated. It’s one of the less extravagant pieces, which makes it perfect. A tasteful choice. As I find my seat, a familiar cold dread washes over me. Carter and Ava are here. The moment Carter sees me, his brow knits together in displeasure. “What are you doing here?” Ava, standing beside him, lets out a little laugh. “Isn’t it obvious? She’s fishing. Looking for her next patron.” I say nothing. Carter’s eyes narrow. “Chloe, I believe I told you to stay out of my sight.” A real smile, sharp and genuine this time, touches my lips. “Is this your private event, Mr. Hayes? Am I not allowed to attend? Because I have an invitation.” His face darkens. It’s the first time I have ever spoken back to him, and the shock on his face is deeply satisfying. The auction begins. The sapphire ring is the first item. I raise my paddle. A moment later, I hear a bid from behind me. It’s Carter. I turn slightly and catch Ava’s eye. She’s smirking, a triumphant, childish look on her face. She’s making him bid against me purely out of spite. I’m about to raise my paddle again, but before I can, David’s voice rings out, calm and clear. He’s standing up. “Apologies, everyone,” he says to the auctioneer. “I have Mr. Sterling on the line. His new girlfriend fancies the ring, and he has instructed me to acquire it, regardless of the cost.” A hush falls over the room. My heart hammers against my ribs. I’m stunned, and I can feel the ripple of shock and gossip spread through the crowd. To place an unlimited bid on a relatively minor piece was a statement. A loud one. From the row behind me, I hear Carter’s friend murmur, a teasing edge to his voice. “Well, well. Looks like the untouchable Leo Sterling finally has a woman. I wonder who could possibly tame that workaholic.” I sink lower in my seat, my face burning. Before the auction is even over, I text David that I feel unwell and would like to leave. In the car on the way back, he hands me a small, velvet box. “Mr. Sterling was very clear. If you wanted it, it was not to end up in anyone else’s hands.” He then passes me a black, featureless credit card. “Mr. Sterling will likely be back in about a week. He said you should feel free to use this for anything you might need or want.” 5 A few days later, bored and restless, I decide to go shopping for a dress. David mentioned that Sterling Enterprises is hosting its annual charity gala next week, and Leo wants me to attend as his date. I need something new. A woman on a man’s arm should reflect his status. I’m browsing in a boutique on Madison Avenue when a pair of stunning, stiletto-heeled pumps catches my eye. “Excuse me,” I say to a sales associate. “Could I try these in a seven?” “Help me with these shoes.” The second voice is Ava’s. We’ve spoken at the exact same time. Of course. It seems I can’t escape her. I have no desire for another confrontation. I turn to leave. “What’s the matter?” Ava’s mocking voice follows me. “Can’t steal my man, so you’re trying to steal my shoes instead?” I’ve already tried to de-escalate, to be the bigger person. I’ve held my tongue. But she won’t let it go. “I’m letting you have the shoes, Ava,” I say, my voice tight. She raises an eyebrow, a cruel smirk playing on her lips. “You know, Chloe, you’re so good at pleasing men on your back. Why don’t you please me? Kneel and help me try on my shoes.” I freeze. The sheer audacity, the calculated cruelty of it—it’s breathtaking. “You should watch your mouth, Ava.” She steps forward, and before I can react, her hand connects with my cheek. The slap is sharp, echoing in the quiet store. My face stings, a hot, spreading fire. “If I hadn’t been studying in London,” she hisses, her face inches from mine, “you never would have gotten your claws into Carter for so long. This is a warning. Stay away from him.” I press my hand to my throbbing cheek. And, as if on cue, Carter walks into the store. He goes straight to her side. “What’s wrong?” “The Sterling gala is next week, and I was trying to find the perfect pair of shoes to wear with you,” she says, her voice a perfect imitation of a frustrated little girl. “And she deliberately tried to take the ones I wanted. It made me so angry I just… I slapped her.” Carter looks at my face, at the bright red handprint blooming on my skin. For a split second, I see something flash in his eyes—a flicker of something that might be concern. But it’s gone as quickly as it appears. He turns his attention back to Ava, his voice softening. “Did you hurt your hand?” She pouts. “I’m still mad.” She points a perfectly manicured finger at me. “You love money, don’t you? I’ll pay you. Kneel and put my shoes on for me.” The humiliation is thick, choking. I say nothing. I look at Carter, a silent appeal in my eyes. He wraps his arm around Ava’s waist, pulling her close. His gaze on me is cold, dismissive. “You do whatever it takes in the bedroom,” he says, his voice low and cutting. “What’s the big deal about trying on a shoe?” His words hit me like a physical blow. A cold laugh bubbles up inside me. All this time, that’s all I ever was to him. A toy. An object without dignity or respect. I force myself to stand tall. “That’s a disgusting thing to say, Carter. It’s beneath even you.” And with that, I turn and walk out, leaving them to their ugly victory. 6 David is waiting for me in the parking garage. When I pull open the back door of the car, I’m surprised to see Leo sitting inside. “Leo,” I say, my voice betraying my shock. A genuine smile lights up my face. “I thought you weren’t back until next week.” He reaches out and gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His touch is warm. “The deal closed early. I came straight back.” His eyes scan my face, then my empty hands. “You didn’t buy anything?” I shake my head. “I couldn’t find anything I liked.” “I’ll have a stylist send a selection to the penthouse tomorrow. You can choose from home.” His gaze lingers on my face, his brow furrowing with concern. “What happened to your cheek?” I’d tried to cover the redness with concealer in the restroom, but the slight swelling is still visible. “Oh, it’s nothing,” I lie, forcing a smile. “Probably just an allergic reaction to something.” Leo’s expression becomes serious, but he doesn’t press me. 7 At the charity gala, I am on Leo’s arm. Just before we enter the grand ballroom, Leo is pulled aside by David to discuss something urgent. I wait for him by the entrance, and that’s when I see them arrive. Carter and Ava. Carter’s eyes lock on me, a mixture of surprise and annoyance on his face. “How did you get into an event like this? It’s invitation only.” Ava looks me up and down, her expression one of pure disdain. “She probably found herself another rich old man.” I remain silent. But then Ava’s eyes fix on my hand, on the sapphire ring sparkling on my finger. The ring from the auction. “Hey, how are you wearing that ring?” she asks, her tone accusatory. “Leo Sterling bought that.” Then, a look of dawning comprehension crosses her face, followed by derision. “Oh, Chloe. You can’t be that desperate. Did you really go out and buy a cheap knockoff? How pathetic.” But I see Carter’s expression shift. He’s staring at the ring, a look of grim realization spreading across his face. He’s about to say something, but just then, Leo walks toward us. He comes directly to my side and, in full view of Carter and Ava, takes my hand in his. His thumb gently strokes the sapphire. “I bought it for her,” Leo says, his voice calm and lethal. “How could it be a knockoff?” “What does that mean?” Carter chokes out, his face paling. Leo wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side. “Carter, old friend,” he says, a cool smile playing on his lips. “I should introduce you. This is Chloe. My girlfriend.” Carter stares at me, his mouth slightly agape, looking utterly lost for words. Ava just mutters under her breath, “Wow. She works fast.” I offer them a small, serene smile. Then, I take Leo’s arm, and together, we walk into the gala, leaving Carter standing there in stunned silence.

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After moving into my new apartment, I was added to a strange group chat. Everyone in it pretended to be an animal. Every day, I’d lurk, fascinated by their conversations, but I never said a word. That all changed the day a mouse got into my apartment. I posted in the chat: “Is there a reliable pest control service nearby?” A moment later, a user named ‘AAA Pest Control: Leo’ tagged me. [Two cans. Non-negotiable.] [Cat’s at your door. Open up.] And standing outside my door… was an actual tabby cat. 1 The first thing that happened after I moved into The Haven Apartments wasn’t the unpacking of boxes or the customary awkward nod to a neighbor. It was an invitation to a group chat. The Haven Community Forum. That was the name. The members all had avatars of cute animals. I didn’t think much of it. I figured the property manager had added me for building announcements and maintenance updates. Then, one evening, scrolling absently on my phone, I actually opened the chat. [MischiefMakerMilo: Ugh. Got caught stealing treats from the pantry. Mom smacked my butt three times. I’m chewing up her favorite slippers tonight. See how she likes that.] [Caesar: Pathetic. Letting the biped walk all over you. You should be running that house.] [Image: A fluffy white cat looking down its nose with regal disdain.] [Pumpkin: Quick question, does anyone else’s water taste… spicy sometimes?] [Caesar: Idiot. The water cooler is probably shorting out. Go knock it over before you get electrocuted.] [CallieTheCalico: Mom’s trying to clip my nails! Code Red! I need backup! I need a 911 right MEOW!] I watched the screen for a long time, a slow smile spreading across my face. It had to be kids from the complex, role-playing as their pets. Honestly, it was kind of adorable. Their goofy, earnest conversations were a welcome distraction from the loneliness of a new city. Just then, a new message popped up. [There’s a stranger in my house.] [Image: A dog peering cautiously from behind a sofa cushion.] The avatar was a young husky, all wide blue eyes and chaotic energy. Based on his previous messages, I pictured a kid, maybe five or six years old. My heart seized. A child home alone with an intruder. I was about to ask if he was by himself when the other chat members piled on, questioning his intelligence rather than the danger. [Are you SURE it’s a stranger?] [You said there was a stranger last week and it was just your dad wearing a new jacket.] [Code Red! Send a 911! Send a 911!] I hesitated, my finger hovering over the button to message the property manager. But a second later, the husky typed again. [lol nvm it was just my dad in a face mask. as a reward for this scare i’m gonna go pee in his office tonight.] A false alarm. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, half-amused. But deep down, a strange, unsettling feeling began to take root. Something about this chat felt… off. 2 I got home late from an interview that hadn’t gone well. The moment I flipped on the light, a black shadow darted across the living room floor. My breath caught in my throat. I crouched down to look under the coffee table, and a huge rat shot out, heading straight for my feet. A scream tore out of me as I scrambled onto the coffee table, my heart hammering against my ribs. Panicked, I fumbled for my phone and typed a desperate plea into the only local group I was in. [There’s a rat in my apartment! Does anyone know a reliable pest control service that can come RIGHT NOW? This is an emergency! Please help!] [A rat? What’s a rat?] [It’s one of those fast squeaky toys. My dad won’t let me play with them.] [Are you new here? I haven’t seen you before. Why is your avatar a person? What species is your owner?] My avatar can’t be a person? What species is your owner? My mind was reeling, but the frantic squeaking from under the sofa sent a fresh wave of terror through me. I didn’t have time to process the weirdness. I immediately opened a browser, searching for 24/7 exterminators. Just then, a notification. Someone had tagged me in the chat. AAA Pest Control: Leo: [Two cans. Non-negotiable. Immediate service.] [I’m at your door. Let me in. Meow.] That fast? I slid off the coffee table, crept to the door, and opened it. The hallway was empty. As I started to close it, a soft meow drew my eyes downward. A handsome tabby cat sat there, paws tucked neatly together, looking up at me expectantly. An insane, impossible thought sparked in my mind. “Are you… AAA Pest Control: Leo?”

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At my wedding to Liam, his nemesis, Sadie, crashed the ceremony. She made a scene, shoved me to the floor in the process, and then pointed a perfectly manicured finger at Liam. “You sabotaged my pitch meeting, so I’m sabotaging your wedding!” she shrieked, her voice echoing in the suddenly silent ballroom. A flash of familiar fire lit Liam’s eyes. He shot back, his voice rising to match hers. “That was payback for you getting my car towed during my client dinner!” “And what about the Henderson account? You poached them, and you know it!” They were off, lost in their own toxic orbit right there at the altar. A trickle of warmth ran down my temple, and I realized I was bleeding. I called his name, but my voice was a whisper drowned out by their shouting. My hand trembled as I stared at the two of them, their faces flushed, their bodies bristling with an energy that was far too intimate for a public fight. It was a dance I knew all too well. My fingers brushed against the microphone that had tumbled from the officiant’s stand. I picked it up, the cool metal a shock against my skin. The feedback squealed for a second, finally slicing through their argument. “Liam,” I said, my voice amplified and shaking. “The wedding is off.” 1 He froze, his mouth half-open. It took him a few seconds to even turn his head. When his gaze finally landed on the blood matting my hair, he stumbled toward me. “Chloe? Oh god, Chloe, are you okay?” I turned away from him, my eyes scanning the wreckage of what should have been the happiest day of my life. Most of the guests had fled. Only a few close friends lingered in the corners, looking horrified. I clenched my fists. The wedding I had dreamed of for years, reduced to this. “It’s all my fault,” Liam stammered, his hands hovering uselessly around me. “I never should have let that psycho in here. Don’t be angry. We’ll reschedule, we’ll do it again in a few weeks…” “Who are you calling a psycho?” Sadie’s voice cut in, sharp as glass. “This is what you get, Liam! You plan another wedding, and I’ll ruin that one, too!” “You…” Liam’s anger surged again, and he spun around to face her. I grabbed the corner of his tuxedo jacket, my grip desperate. I squeezed all the pain and exhaustion into five words. “If you argue with her, we’re done.” The fight drained out of him instantly. He deflated, turning to the venue’s security guards and simply telling them to get her out. We could still hear Sadie’s furious curses echoing from the lobby. “I’m not done with you, Liam! I’ll never let you be happy!” He finally ignored her, scooping me into his arms. “Chloe, I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I’m taking you to the ER, just to make sure you’re okay.” After a few stitches and a clean bill of health, I fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep in a quiet hospital room. I was woken up by the sound of a familiar argument. Liam was in the doorway, his back to me, hissing into his phone. “Sadie, if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I swear to God I will make you regret it… What do you mean, I started it? You’re threatening me now? You just wait!” He hung up, ready to storm out, but I shot a hand out and grabbed his wrist. “Don’t,” I whispered. “If you go after her, she’ll just come back with something worse. It will never end. You two will be doing this for the rest of your lives.” My voice was flat. “Just… let it go. For today, just let it be over.” I don’t know what part of my soul I had to scrape out to say those words. In the three years I’d been with Liam, I had been the collateral damage in their endless war. The expensive perfume he bought for my birthday, mysteriously replaced with a gag-gift bottle of hot sauce. The time he was supposed to pick me up from work, only to leave me waiting for two hours in the freezing rain because he got into a screaming match with her over a parking spot. I had tried to be patient. I had tried to understand the decade of baggage they shared. But this was my wedding. And for the first time, watching them fight, I saw something else flicker between them—an old, curdled intimacy that had nothing to do with hatred. So I was afraid. I was terrified that if he retaliated this time, I would be chained to their drama forever. He sighed, his shoulders slumping. He covered my hand with his. “Okay,” he said softly. “You’re right. I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here with you.” On the way home from the hospital, Liam held my hand, his words a constant stream of gentle apologies and promises. But as we reached my apartment door, I stopped. It was slightly ajar. A chaotic, violated energy seemed to pour from the crack. The moment I pushed the door open, my breath hitched in my chest. 2 The wreckage inside my home made me freeze. The first thing I saw was the framed photo of my mother—her last picture—smashed on the floor of the entryway, a dirty footprint marring her black-and-white image. My knees gave out, and I collapsed amidst the shards of glass, reaching for the ruined frame. My fingertips brushed against a soft, familiar object instead: my mother’s old photo album. I flipped it open. Every single picture had been cut to ribbons. Not one was left whole. On the inside back cover, scrawled in what looked like red lipstick, were the words: Still can’t win, Liam. -S. The tiny shreds of my mother’s smile, of my childhood, slipped through my fingers. A roar filled my ears. These photos were the only tangible pieces of her I had left. “It has to be Sadie,” Liam spat, his voice tight with rage. He hadn’t even looked at me, hadn’t seen the way I was crumbling. His eyes were fixed on the mess. “First the wedding, and now this? She’s gone too far.” He took out his phone, his thumb hovering over her contact. “Chloe, don’t try to stop me this time. I’m going to make her pay for this.” I reached for him, but my hand met empty air. I looked up just in time to see the front door slam back against the wall with a deafening crack that made my ears ring. He was gone. I don’t know how long I sat there on the floor, clutching the ruined album. An hour? Two? My fingers were numb with cold when I finally, shakily, pulled out my own phone. Sadie had just posted a new picture to her Instagram story. It was a smug selfie, her head tilted, a triumphant glint in her eyes. The caption was a poison dart. Some people just never learn. As I stared at the screen, my phone started ringing. It was Liam. “Chloe… I just remembered we were supposed to be setting up for the reception tonight,” he started, his voice rushed. “But Sadie was just… she was completely out of line. I had to go over there, for you. To make things right.” He took a breath. “I’m on my way back now…” “Don’t bother,” I said, my voice hollow. The well of my grief was so deep it had swallowed all my other emotions. “Liam,” I said, cutting him off before he could argue. “We need to break up.” The words hung in the air, final. “You and Sadie… you’ve completely taken over my life.” A single, hot tear escaped and slid down my cheek, a traitor to my resolve. They had been fighting for a decade. Over grades in college, over clients and promotions at work. And then, over me. Every fight was a category five hurricane, and I was always the person left standing in the rubble. The time they got into a shouting match over a table at a restaurant and flipped it over, leaving me to apologize to the manager. The surprise party he planned for my birthday that she crashed and ruined, forcing me to spend the rest of the night comforting him. I had endured so much. And now, the one thing I treasured most in the world had been shredded on my floor. Liam’s voice was panicked on the other end of the line. “Don’t cry, Chloe, please. I’m sorry, I was wrong. Just wait, I’m almost there.” Less than ten minutes later, my door burst open and Liam rushed in, breathless. He pulled me into his arms, holding me tight. “Chloe, I’m so, so sorry. Please don’t break up with me. We can fix this.” He pulled back, his eyes pleading. “I’ll never get tangled up with Sadie again. I promise.” I looked up at his face, a mask of guilt and desperation. He was always like this. No matter how badly he messed up, he always knew how to rush back, how to say the right thing. He was perfect in every way… except for Sadie. And that one exception was the wound that was killing me. I gently pushed him away. I was silent for a long moment before my voice emerged, quiet and cold. “You want to cut her out of your life for good?” I asked. “I have a way. Liam, we’re going to sue her.” He stared at me, blinking. “Sue her?” “For breaking and entering. For destruction of property.” I held his stunned gaze. “You hate her, don’t you? Isn’t this what you want? To send her a message she can’t ignore? A few months of legal trouble might finally get her to back off.” Without waiting for an answer, I stood up and walked toward the door. “Let’s go. Right now.” 3 I had my hand on the doorknob when Liam’s hand covered mine, stopping me. “You’re right,” he said, his voice firming up. “We absolutely have to sue her.” He put his hands on my shoulders, his tone softening. “But look at you. You’re exhausted. You don’t need to be running to a lawyer’s office right now.” He gave me a small, reassuring smile. “You forget, my best friend is Mark. He’s one of the best lawyers in the city. Just leave it to me, Chloe. I promise, I will make Sadie pay for this.” The knot of tension in my chest loosened, just a fraction. “Okay,” I whispered. Liam’s face broke into a wide, relieved grin. He leaned in and kissed my cheek, then took my hand. “So, what do you say we go check on the reception venue? We can start planning our do-over wedding,” he said, his voice full of forced cheer. “The one she ruined doesn’t count. I’m going to throw you a party so big, so perfect, it’ll make you forget any of this ever happened. I’ll make it up to you.” Maybe it was the emotional exhaustion, but the fatigue hit me like a tidal wave. I didn’t hear another word he said. Later that evening, he proudly held out his phone for me to see. “Look, Chloe. I blocked and deleted her. From everything.” He sounded like a little boy showing off a good report card. “She’s gone. She’ll never bother us again.” And for a while, he was right. Sadie vanished. Liam, as if trying to earn his way back into my life, became the perfect fiancé. He was more attentive, more loving than ever before. It was during that peaceful period that I found out I was pregnant. The day I told him, the pregnancy test trembled in his hand. Before I could even process it myself, he whooped with joy and swung me around in a hug. “This is it!” he cheered. “The new wedding has to happen, now! As soon as possible!” He held my face in his hands, his eyes shining. “No more waiting, Chloe. I’m not going to let you wait another day.” My heart, bruised and wary, slowly began to heal. I let myself believe him. I pushed all thoughts of him and Sadie away. Until the day I was cleaning out our closet and found one of his favorite dress shirts, shoved in the back, with a long, deliberate slash cut through the fabric. In the trash can under his desk, I found a project proposal that had been defaced with childish scribbles. A cold dread crept over me. I found a quiet place and called his friend, Mark. “Hey, Mark,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I was just wondering… how is the lawsuit against Sadie coming along?” There was a moment of confused silence on the other end. “Uh… lawsuit? Sue who?” In that instant, all the blood drained from my head. The room started to buzz. My grip on the phone went slack. Mark, oblivious, kept talking. “Oh, you mean because she crashed the wedding? Chloe, that’s just how they are. You get used to it after a while.” He laughed, a horribly casual sound. “Honestly, those two almost got together back in college. It was a whole thing. Then Sadie started dating some guy just to make him jealous, so Liam did the same, and… well, they’ve been trying to one-up each other ever since.” I stood there, frozen, my fingers turning to ice. I was listening to a history I had never been told, a history that made our entire relationship feel like a sham, a move in their sick, decade-long game. Mark must have sensed he’d said too much. “Hey, but that’s all ancient history!” he said quickly. “He’s with you now. He’s crazy about you, he’s going to be a father. You’re all he cares about. Don’t even think twice about it.” His reassurances felt like gasoline on a fire, a desperate attempt to cover up a truth I could now see with blinding clarity. I couldn’t listen anymore. I hung up without saying goodbye. A moment later, a heavy weight settled on my shoulders. A jacket, carrying Liam’s warmth, wrapped around me. His voice came from right behind my ear. “Why are you out here without a coat?” 4 “Our wedding is tomorrow,” Liam murmured, wrapping his arms around me from behind and resting his chin on the top of my head. “You can’t get sick now.” His breath was warm against my neck. His voice was filled with a genuine, bubbling excitement. “Chloe, tomorrow you’ll be my wife. I’ve never been happier.” This was the embrace that had always been my safe place. But now, listening to his sweet, cloying words, I felt like I was submerged in ice water. There wasn’t a trace of warmth left in me. I somehow managed to hold myself together through the night and into the next morning. I was in the back of the limo, the white dress pooling around me, when a sudden, violent impact threw me against the seat. “Son of a bitch!” the driver yelled, slamming his hand on the steering wheel. “He totaled the back end! We’re not getting to any wedding in this thing!” I was still trying to catch my breath when I turned and saw her. Sadie, climbing out of the sports car that had just rear-ended us. Before anyone could react, she strode up to our limo, pulled her car keys from her pocket, and dragged the sharp metal tip along the length of the white door. A deep, ugly gash bloomed on the pristine surface. “What the hell are you doing?!” I threw the door open and scrambled out, grabbing her by the wrist. “I have never done anything to you! Why can’t you leave me alone?” She wrenched her arm free, her eyes flashing with a wild hatred. A cold smile twisted her lips. “Because I hate Liam,” she snarled. “And by extension, I hate you.” She glanced back at the gash on the car. “This is his car, isn’t it? Perfect.” The traffic behind us was already backing up, a chorus of angry horns. Someone leaned out their window. “There’s an ambulance back here! You need to move, people are trying to save a life!” Sadie shot the driver a contemptuous look and planted her hands on her hips. “I don’t care about your stupid ambulance,” she announced to the world. “This wedding is not happening. I’m not letting Liam get what he wants. Not today.” The wail of the ambulance siren was a drill boring into my skull. I stared at her, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” I said, the realization hitting me with the force of a physical blow. “This isn’t hate. No one hates like this.” She stiffened for a second, then dropped the act entirely. “You’re damn right I am,” she spat. “And I’m ruining your wedding. What are you going to do about it?” “You’re insane,” I breathed. I turned to get back in the car, to tell the driver to just try to pull over, but Sadie blocked my path. “No one is going anywhere.” My patience snapped. I pulled out my phone, took a picture of her standing defiantly in the middle of the highway, and sent it to Liam. Your nemesis is back. His reply was instantaneous. On my way. He arrived moments later, his car screeching to a halt. I instinctively took a step toward him, but he blew right past me without a glance. He grabbed Sadie by the front of her shirt, his face a mask of fury. “Sadie, are you out of your mind?!” he roared. “Why can’t you just let it go? Do you have to ruin every single important moment of my life?” She immediately fired back, and just like that, they were at it again, screaming at each other in the middle of a traffic jam. He didn’t look at me once. Not a single glance to see if I was okay. I stood there, frozen, a cold that had nothing to do with the weather seeping into my bones. Another driver leaned on his horn. “Hey! This is a wedding limo, right? You two should be celebrating, not fighting! Move it!” My heart twisted. He thought they were the couple. Sadie shot me a look of pure, venomous triumph. Pushing back the tears that threatened to fall, I held up my phone. “If you don’t move your car right now,” I said, my voice dangerously steady, “I’m calling the police.” As my thumb hovered over the dial button, my phone was violently slapped out of my hand, clattering onto the asphalt. I looked up in disbelief at Liam. The tears finally broke free. A desperate, destructive anger surged through me. I bent down to retrieve my phone, determined to make the call, to burn everything to the ground. And then I froze. Liam was holding a small pocketknife, the blade pointed directly at my stomach. My mind went completely blank. “Don’t call the cops,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It’ll ruin her life.” He looked at me, his eyes a terrifying mix of pleading and command. “I’ll take her home. I’ll deal with this. Then I’ll come back, and we can get married, okay? I’ll cut her off for good, I swear. We’ll have the baby, we’ll have a good life. Please, Chloe. Please.” I stared at the knife pointed at my belly, at our child. The blood in my veins turned to ice. Before I could answer, he dropped the knife, grabbed Sadie’s arm, and dragged her away without a backward glance. Time seemed to stop. I just sat on the pavement, my mind a hollowed-out shell. I was still there when a traffic cop finally helped me to my feet. “Ma’am, are you the bride? Do you need us to give you a ride to the ceremony?” I shook my head slowly, my hand instinctively going to my slightly rounded stomach. “No,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “I need a ride to the hospital. I’m here for an abortion.” 5 When I woke up, I was out of the operating room. I placed a hand on my abdomen. It was flat again. My heart felt like a hollowed-out cavern, but underneath the emptiness was a profound, quiet sense of finality. It was over. Liam and I were completely, irrevocably over. There was no reason to bring a child into that wreckage. My phone was vibrating on the bedside table. It was a long chain of texts from Liam. Chloe, where are you? We can talk about what happened. I can explain. Please don’t shut me out. Chloe, it’s our wedding day… My finger hovered over the screen. A bitter, humorless laugh escaped my lips. He remembered. The screen lit up again and again. Annoyed, I opened the message thread and typed six words. Liam, we are broken up. Goodbye. The notifications stopped. The “typing…” bubble appeared and disappeared, over and over. Finally, a single message came through. Where are you? I’m coming to find you. I didn’t reply. I just turned off the phone. An hour later, he burst into my hospital room, his face frantic. He dropped to his knees by my bed and grabbed my hand. “Chloe, I was an idiot today. I was impulsive,” he pleaded. “Sadie’s father is critically ill; she’s all he has. If she got a police record, it would destroy her career, her whole life…” He squeezed my hand tighter. “I already told her it’s over. I made it clear. I will never have anything to do with her again. I swear it.” Looking at his guilty, desperate face just made me feel sick. I should have seen it all along. They weren’t enemies. There was a place for Sadie in his heart, a place he protected more fiercely than he ever protected me. I pulled my hand from his grasp. My voice was calm, almost conversational. “What ever happened with the lawsuit you were going to file? The one you asked Mark to handle for you?” His eyes flickered. He froze for a few seconds before mumbling, “It’s… it’s in process. It’ll be resolved soon.” I said nothing. I just reached into my purse, pulled out my phone, and pressed play on the recording of my call with Mark. As his friend’s cheerful, damning voice filled the sterile room, the composure Liam had been struggling to maintain completely shattered. “I…” he stammered. “Don’t,” I cut him off. “There’s nothing left to say, Liam. I’m not marrying you. We’re done.”

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The house was silent, deep in the clutches of the night. I’d just found the perfect story to unwind with—The Roommate Deal—and settled in for a delicious read. It was one of those steamy, forbidden romance tropes, but the more I scrolled, the more a strange unease began to curdle in my stomach. The male lead… the way he was described… Why did he sound so much like my boyfriend? 1 Six-foot-one, with thin lips. A university lecturer who stayed on at his alma mater after graduation. Allergic to nuts. A small, crimson birthmark just below his left collarbone… Could the world really serve up a coincidence that specific? My throat tightened. I kept scrolling. 【…He pressed me against the living room’s floor-to-ceiling window, his fingers deftly unhooking my bra. The city lights blazed outside, blurring the figures of people walking on the street below, but the thrill of being caught, the sheer risk of it, only seemed to fuel his fire.】 What followed was a long, explicit passage that made my heart skip a beat. Ethan’s new condo, the one he was so proud of, had a massive floor-to-ceiling window just like that. He’d taken me to see it a few months ago, when it was still being renovated. The room was empty then, a hollow shell, but that window dominated everything. The sunset bled across the river, the colors pooling in his smiling eyes. Ethan had wrapped his arms around me from behind, his voice a soft murmur against my ear. “I know how much you love a good view,” he’d said. “When you finish your master’s and move in, we can sit right here and watch the city lights every night.” I frowned, the screen of my phone feeling cold in my hands. Could the man in this story really be Ethan? I scanned the text more carefully, but as I did, a sense of absurd dissonance began to wash away my initial shock. The male lead in the story was wild, almost feral, his words laced with a crude, demanding heat. My Ethan was gentle, thoughtful, with a streak of old-fashioned chivalry that was almost bashful. He was the kind of man who’d make a teasing joke and then blush before I did. How could a man like that be the same one pinning a woman against a window in plain sight, without a shred of restraint? Besides, Ethan was something of a minor celebrity on campus. A handsome young lecturer was bound to attract admirers. It wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility that someone had used him as the muse for their fictional fantasies. And my two best friends, the only two people I trusted with the intimate details of my life? One was studying abroad in Germany, and the other had graduated and was happily dating a woman. I trusted them implicitly. I let out a long breath, the tight knot in my chest loosening just a little. Maybe I was just overthinking this. 2 Even though my gut told me it was impossible, I couldn’t stop myself. I read the rest of the story, devouring every chapter. The plot was simple enough. The heroine, a college student, moves out of her dorm after a fight with her roommate. She finds a great new place, only to discover after moving in that her landlord—and new roommate—is a man. Not just any man. Her best friend’s boyfriend. They make a pact to keep it a secret from the friend, and for a while, they live together in platonic harmony. But the forced proximity of two single people in one apartment inevitably sparks something. One night, after the boyfriend and his girlfriend (the heroine’s best friend) have a fight, the heroine tries to comfort him. They drink a little too much wine, and the long-suppressed tension finally ignites… The heroine discovers that beneath his polished, gentle exterior lies a completely different man, one he only reveals to her. From there, the story descended into a torrent of explicit scenes. My thumb mindlessly swiped down, landing on the comment section at the bottom of the page. A reader had posted: “OMG, this feels so real! Is the male lead based on a real person? Dying for the next update!” The author had replied just two minutes ago. “The muse… 😉 Let’s just say he’s right here beside me. He just put me through my paces again, and I’m exhausted ~ We’re going to bed. New chapter tomorrow! Good night!” I stared at that reply for a long, long time. Logic told me it was a coincidence. That I was letting my imagination run wild. But my finger was already opening my message thread with Ethan. I typed: Are you asleep? The thirty seconds I waited for a response stretched into an eternity. The night outside my window was thick and dark, the only sound the frantic thumping of my own heart. Then, my screen lit up. 3 Ethan: Just finishing up some work. About to head to bed. Why are you still up? You know late nights are bad for you. His reply was as prompt and caring as always. On any other night, my heart would have fluttered. I would have told him to get some rest, too. But tonight, that swift response felt like a slap in the face. I bit down on my lip, hard enough to taste blood. An impulse, sharp and undeniable, seized me. I had to see for myself. Words could lie. A scene could not. My fingers moved faster than my thoughts, already opening the ride-share app. Destination. Request. Confirm. The motions were mechanical, swift. After a long moment, I picked up my phone again and sent Ethan a new message. Suddenly really miss you. I don’t have class tomorrow. I’m coming over now, okay? The second the message delivered, his call came through. I watched his name flash on the screen—Ethan—and immediately declined it. A new text from him appeared instantly. Ethan: It’s almost one in the morning. I don’t want you coming over by yourself this late. Ethan: Be good. How about I come pick you up first thing in the morning? I replied: No. I want to see you now. I’m already in the car. After sending it, I took two steps forward. The motion-activated light in the hallway flickered on, illuminating my pale, drawn face. I was already standing right outside Ethan’s front door. 4 I didn’t knock right away. If that one-in-a-million chance was real, what would barging in accomplish, other than tipping them off? I turned and slipped into the fire-stairwell at the end of the hall. The angle gave me a perfect, unobstructed view of Ethan’s apartment door. A minute later, the door creaked open, just a crack. It didn’t swing wide, as if the person inside was cautiously checking the coast was clear. A man’s voice, hushed and urgent, drifted out. “Hurry up.” Then, a girl stepped out. Her face was flushed, glowing with a sated, rosy warmth. She let out a coquettish little hum. “Do I really have to go? Can’t I stay a little longer? She said she was still in the car, didn’t she?” Ethan’s voice was unnaturally hard, a tone I had never heard before, stripped of all the warmth I knew. “Go home. Now. Don’t make me say it again.” His next words were clipped, severe. “She could be here any minute, and she absolutely cannot see you. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come back.” The girl seemed taken aback by his coldness, her lips forming a wounded pout. “…You’re that scared of her?” “Maya, you know perfectly well what she means to me.” “And you’re not scared I won’t come back?” Ethan’s reply was certain, absolute. “You will.” The story had mentioned that the male lead had stopped charging the heroine rent months ago. But my mind wasn’t processing that detail right now. Because I recognized the girl. Maya—my sister. Or, the sister I refuse to acknowledge. The living, breathing product of my father’s affair. 5 Ethan and I had only been officially dating for six months. But we had known each other for over twenty years. We weren’t exactly childhood sweethearts in the traditional sense. Our families had been neighbors, living in the old faculty housing complex by the university. In the hazy memories of my childhood, he was always the quiet boy trailing a step behind me, the one who’d share his candy and chase away the stray dogs that scared me. My mom used to laugh and ruffle his hair, calling him my little guardian. My world was small then, contained within the courtyard of that complex. I thought life would go on like that forever. Until Maya and her mother showed up. I will never forget the blood-drained, ashen look on my mother’s face. My happy, carefree childhood, it turned out, had been hollowed out by a silent infestation. Maya was only a year younger than me. Which meant that while my mother was pregnant with me, filled with joyous anticipation for her new baby, my father was in another woman’s arms, creating another “surprise.” The arguments, the crying, the sound of things shattering, the prying eyes of our neighbors… that entire period of my life is a dark, painful blur. My mother was a proud woman. She couldn’t stomach that kind of betrayal, especially not when the other woman showed up on our doorstep with a child in tow, demanding that my mother step aside. In the end, she chose divorce. It was drizzling the day we left. I remember pressing my face against the car’s rear window, looking back. I saw Ethan run out from the entrance of the complex. He was holding something, trying to give it to me. But his small figure quickly vanished into the rain-swept gray. That frantic escape didn’t just take my family; it severed all my connections to my childhood, to Ethan. My mother took me far away, to a new city, a new school. Maya, and everything associated with her, became a wound I never spoke of, a mark of shame carved deep into my bones. The next time I saw Ethan was in high school. 6 He was on stage, giving a speech as the student body president. He stood tall and confident in the auditorium’s spotlight. I sat in the audience, not daring to believe it was him. But when the assembly was over, he found me in the swarming crowd and called out my name without a moment’s hesitation. It felt like fate had circled back on itself. The trauma of my childhood had changed me, twisting my personality. I was brittle, insecure, and sharp-edged. Ethan saw all of it. He witnessed all my jagged edges, my moments of weakness, my defensive pride, and he still chose to hold me. Year after year. From high school through college graduation. Finally, I let my walls down. I allowed myself to believe that he truly understood me, that he truly loved me. But I never, ever imagined that the person he would cheat on me with would be Maya. He knew. Better than anyone, he knew how much I despised her. Why? When he held her in his arms, did he ever, for even a second, think of the helpless little girl I used to be? Of the tears I’d cried? This wasn’t just cheating. This was a slow, deliberate execution. Ethan had taken the most painful part of my past and used it as a knife, slicing away at my trust, piece by agonizing piece. The hallway light timed out, plunging me back into darkness. I leaned against the cold wall, listening to the soft click of his apartment door locking. The world was utterly silent, but inside me, the fortress I had built from love and trust was crumbling into dust. 7 My phone screen glowed in the dark. Ethan: Where are you? Want me to come get you? With a trembling hand, I forced myself to type a reply. Suddenly not feeling well. Really dizzy, think I caught a chill. I’m not coming over anymore. I’ll just go back to my dorm and rest. His response was immediate. Not well? Is it serious? Where are you right now? Still in the car or back at campus? Don’t move. Tell me where you are. I’m coming to find you right now. Wait for me! His panic was so palpable it practically vibrated through the screen. I didn’t reply. Less than two minutes later, his apartment door was thrown open again. Ethan was a mess. He’d thrown on a T-shirt, the collar askew. His face was a mask of genuine, unfeigned worry. He was fumbling with his phone in one hand while trying to pull on a jacket with the other, his movements clumsy with haste. Looking at him, so completely undone, I wanted to laugh. But all I felt was a profound, hollowing sadness. Just as the elevator doors were about to open for him, I stepped out from the end of the hallway. The stark, white glare of the motion-activated light enveloped us both. My voice was quiet, but in the echoing silence of the corridor, it was enough to make his entire body go rigid.

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Leo and I were the kind of childhood constants people write songs about, clinging to each other like vines growing up the same crumbling wall. The year we were poorest, he danced at a dive bar downtown to pay my way through college. He’d make three thousand a month. Five hundred for our drafty studio, two hundred for himself. The rest was for me. All of it. The day after I graduated, my stepfather decided it was time to cash me in, telling me I had to marry some guy he knew to help fund my stepbrother’s latest dead-end business venture. Leo called every person he knew, borrowed from anyone who would listen, and scraped together enough cash to buy my freedom. He slapped the bills on my stepfather’s table and that was that. From then on, we were it. The only two sources of warmth in that cramped, damp apartment that always smelled of rain. Six months after I got my first real job, I bought a pair of rings. I was going to ask him to marry me. I came home, turned the key in the lock, and walked in on a scene that burned itself onto the back of my eyelids. Leo, shirtless, was bent over, his back muscles tight. He was picking something up off the floor. Something small. Something lace. A stranger’s underwear. And on our bed—our bed—was a naked woman I’d never seen before. Before a single question could tear its way out of my throat, his voice cut through the silence, cold as steel. “Rosie, I’m tired. Just… let me go.” The world stopped for two seconds. Then, I found my voice, a whisper from a stranger’s mouth. “Okay.” I walked over to him, my legs moving on their own. I took the small, velvet-lined box from my pocket. Instead of the rings, I pulled out the cheap kite charm I’d bought for his keychain months ago and pressed it into his palm. “Go on,” I said. “Go find your freedom.” 1 I’d replayed the scene of seeing Leo again a thousand times in my head. Never once did it happen like this. The call came from his phone, but the voice was a nurse from County General. There’s been an accident. A car crash. Are you able to come to the hospital? It was the first I’d heard that he was even back in the city. This sprawling metropolis, where even at three in the morning the streets bleed with the light of a thousand cars, felt impossibly large and suffocatingly small all at once. I got to the hospital, scribbled down his room number, and rushed through the sterile, echoing hallways. It was a private room, but not a spacious one. A woman with a figure made for magazines stood with her back to me, her voice a playful purr. “See, Leo? I was the first one here. Don’t I get points for that?” “Yeah,” he answered. “You’re the best.” That voice. The same gravelly timbre that had once been my entire world. I froze, my hand hovering inches from the door. It had been years. The breakup had felt like being torn in half, a visceral, physical agony. But time, they say, is the great healer. And for the most part, it had worked. Thinking of him no longer sent me into a spiral. But hearing his voice, so suddenly, so unexpectedly… I realized the truth. It wasn’t that the love was gone. It was just too heavy, a weight I’d locked away in the deepest part of my chest, hoping to never feel its pull again. I couldn’t go in. Instead, I found a nurse at the main desk, got Leo’s patient ID, and paid for his hospital stay. Leaving the hospital, I pulled my car over to the curb and smoked for what felt like an hour. I was always the good girl, the straight-A student. Smoking was the one and only bad habit I’d inherited from Leo, something I only picked up after he left. The pressure at work had been mounting for years, and so had my nicotine addiction. I finished half a pack, my head swimming. The last drag went down the wrong way, and I collapsed against the steering wheel in a fit of harsh, ragged coughs. Pathetic. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. By all rights, this was the moment I was supposed to stroll back into his life, looking incredible, a picture of effortless success, and hit him with a cool, detached, “Long time no see.” Instead, I hadn’t even laid eyes on him. The mere sound of his voice had sent me running like a coward. Maybe I was just one of those people. The kind who loves nothing more than to offer up her own heart, just to watch someone else stomp on it. 2 Over the next few days, I went back. I never went in, just skulked around, even managed to ask his attending physician about his condition. Leo’s room was always full of life. No matter when I crept by, there was a crowd around his bed—men, women, all of them laughing, talking, a whirlwind of energy. It wasn’t a surprise. He’d always been like that, a natural center of gravity. People just orbited him. He was born to be the focus of the room. The last time I cornered his doctor, the poor man was rubbing his temples, clearly exhausted. “Look, the patient in room 214’s injuries are not severe. A minor fracture, a slight concussion. He’s recovering perfectly well. I know you all care about him, but could you please just… elect a spokesperson? I’ve had to give this same update six times today. It’s affecting my ability to speak with other families.” I didn’t have the heart to tell him I wasn’t family. I just mumbled an apology and backed out of his office. And walked straight into Leo, who was taking a slow stroll down the hallway. He had an entourage. One person holding his IV drip, another with a hand on his arm, a third trailing behind. A king holding court. I overheard him grumbling, his voice laced with annoyance. “I’m injured, not an invalid. Can you people let go of me? I can walk on my own.” His words died in his throat the moment he saw me. I wished the hospital corridor wasn’t so wide, so bright, leaving no shadows to hide the panic seizing my body. We stood there for a long, silent moment. Finally, I broke the spell. “Long time no see.” “Leo, who’s this?” one of his friends asked, looking me up and down. Leo’s eyes never left mine. His expression was flat, unreadable. “Someone I grew up with.” “The way she’s staring, I thought she was an ex-girlfriend or something,” the friend chuckled. Someone I grew up with. Twenty-odd years of a shared life. I wore his only winter coat; he wore my only scarf. We’d shared single orders of takeout and slept tangled together in one bed. And now, it was all reduced to that one, sterile phrase. My fingers tightened around my phone. I turned to leave. “Wait,” Leo called out. He asked if I was the one who paid his bill. “I saw the call log on my phone. The hospital called you, right?” he said. “You still use the same bank account? I’ll transfer the money back.” “Don’t,” I said, my voice firmer than I felt. “If anyone’s transferring money, it should be me.” Leo froze. “I was always so shameless about spending your money,” I continued, forcing a casualness I didn’t feel. “It’s embarrassing to think about now. Give me your account number. I want to pay you back.” His friend laughed again. “Pay him back after all these years? Where’s the sincerity in that? You gonna add interest?” Leo shot the guy a look so cold it could have frozen fire. “Ignore him,” Leo said to me. “You don’t have to pay me back.” I scratched the back of my head, a nervous habit. “No, I do.” I used to take his money without a second thought. When he bought me things, it felt as natural as breathing. We were family. His money was mine, and one day, mine would be his. But we weren’t family anymore. And when you’re not family, you settle your debts. 3 He never gave me his account number, but I went to my bank and had them print a detailed statement of all the transfers from the college years. The next day, clutching a cashier’s check, I took a deep breath and walked back into the hospital. His room was empty. Stripped bare. A part of me knew he’d never take the money. I just wanted an excuse to see him again. But he wouldn’t even grant me that. The moment I reappeared, he vanished. Sometimes I can’t help but wonder what I did that was so wrong. I never screamed at him, never made a scene. What did I do to make him hate me so much, to make him avoid me like I was poison? “You know, what men hate even more than a heartless bitch is a clingy, lovesick martyr,” my friend Chloe said, downing her cocktail at the bar. She tapped my forehead with her finger. “A girl who acts like a piece of gum on their shoe. Annoying to have around, disgusting to scrape off.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’m talking about you. The girl with the broken heart-shaped brain.” I clutched my glass, offering a serious rebuttal. “First, my brain is not broken. I’ve never loved anyone but Leo. Second, he’s not a scumbag. He’s… he was a good person.” Chloe rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. “Oh my god. I thought years apart would give you some clarity, but you’re exactly the same. It’s hopeless. We should just bury you alive.” I managed a small smile and didn’t argue further. Every single one of my friends had told me I was delusional. And I’d explained to every single one of them that I wasn’t. I knew exactly what I was doing. My brain wasn’t broken. He really, truly had been so good to me. “That’s what they all say,” Chloe sighed. “But look at what he did, Rosie. He cheated on you. In the apartment you shared. With another woman. Then he ghosted you. You waited outside that bar for a week straight trying to get him to talk to you, and he never even showed his face.” “You don’t understand,” I said, my voice thick. “Without Leo, I wouldn’t have gone to college. I might not even be alive.” I drained half my beer in one go. My tolerance had grown over the years, but tonight, I was mixing everything, and it was hitting me hard. I slumped against the bar, grabbing Chloe’s arm and pointing a shaky finger at the dancers on the small stage. “My tuition, my books, my food for four years… Leo earned it all, one night at a time, just like that.” “He was making three grand a month back then. Five hundred for rent, two for himself. The rest of it? All on me.” “He got into college too, you know. A state school. But my parents wouldn’t pay for me. So Leo said his school wasn’t that great anyway. He said he’d drop out, get a job, and support me.” “And when I graduated, and my stepfather tried to marry me off for money, Leo borrowed from everyone he knew to come up with the cash to get him off my back.” I was rambling, the words tumbling out. “So you see? In a way, he already paid for me. I was supposed to be his wife. I was always going to marry him.” The music was still pounding, but Chloe had gone quiet, her head resting on her arms beside me. I fell silent for a long time. “So maybe… maybe it was only fair that he wanted to leave,” I whispered to no one. “I was a burden. I was weighing him down for so, so long.” 4 Chloe was completely passed out. I finished the last of my beer and paid the tab. As I stood up, my eyes drifted toward the entrance of the bar, and my heart slammed against my ribs. Leo. He was wearing a simple black hoodie, the hood pulled up, and a mask over his face, but I’d have recognized him anywhere. He didn’t see me. He walked straight to a crowded booth where someone immediately made space for him in the center. I watched him pull down the mask and accept a beer from a friend. A young woman leaned in close, smiling, saying something in his ear. Leo nodded absently, taking a sip of his drink. I was never the jealous type. Not with him. I was so sure of us, so certain that nothing and no one could ever come between us. I knew how magnetic he was, but I had a deep, unshakeable faith in his loyalty to me. When did that change? When did he stop loving me? I remember after he said he wanted to leave, he never came back to the apartment. I went to the bar where he worked. I called every one of his friends. I even showed up at their houses, begging them to tell me where he’d gone. I sent him endless messages. I wanted to know what went wrong, if we could just talk about it. I promised I would change, whatever it was. I told him I didn’t mind if he wanted to mess around with other girls, just please, don’t be angry with me. Eventually, the desperation turned to pure fear. I told him he didn’t have to respond, just send me one single text so I’d know he was safe. Nothing. Finally, at three in the morning, I sat on the cold concrete steps outside the bar, my whole body numb, my fingers stiff as I typed out one last message. [I agree to the breakup. Just come home. We need to figure out the apartment.] Ten minutes later, he appeared. He had been there the whole time. Standing just out of sight, watching me. Coldly. In that single moment, he became a stranger. The apartment was in his name. He said he was leaving town, that he’d prepaid three months’ rent. I could stay or talk to the landlord about breaking the lease. He left so cleanly. Just a black backpack with his wallet and his ID. Nothing else. He didn’t want anything else. I walked him downstairs, still wearing the matching set of pajamas we’d bought together at a flea market. I handed him the small kite charm. My voice was steady, but my smile was brittle. “For your freedom.” Leo. Now that you have it, this freedom you wanted so badly… are you happy? 5 Knowing Leo might be at that bar, I started going every few nights. I knew, deep down, that there was no going back for us. That was Leo. Once he made a decision, he never looked back. But I never saw him again. I couldn’t be sure if he was avoiding me, though it wouldn’t have been a surprise. Nobody enjoys being haunted by an ex they’ve grown tired of. I took to sitting at the bar, and after a while, I got to know the bartender. He’d have a drink ready for me as soon as I sat down. Tonight, I’d barely been there for two minutes when there was a loud thump beside me. I turned to see a scantily clad woman slam a delivery box onto the counter. “Vodka, straight up,” she snapped at the bartender. “Who pissed you off this time, princess?” he asked casually. “Who do you think? It’s the gift I bought for Leo. I reminded him a hundred times it was at his building’s mailroom, and it’s probably growing mold by now. He never went to get it.” She stomped her foot. “And it was expensive! I wouldn’t even buy a watch that nice for myself!” My heart skipped a beat. I discreetly glanced at the shipping label on the box. The address was there. Detailed. Down to the apartment number. The bartender slid her a sweet-tasting liqueur instead of the vodka. “I seem to recall Leo saying he doesn’t accept gifts.” “He just hasn’t gotten the right gift yet,” the woman pouted, resting her chin in her hand. “Ugh, when am I ever going to conquer that man?” “You and every other woman in a five-mile radius,” the bartender chuckled. “All I can say is, good luck.” I leaned over, feigning curiosity. “Who are you guys talking about?” The bartender grinned. “Just a really handsome guy.” “How handsome?” “Extremely.” The woman shot him a warning glare, and he clammed up. I gave an awkward laugh, paid my bill, and left. The second I was outside, I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address from the box. My heart was hammering against my ribs. My palms were sweating. I’m just going to pay him back, I told myself. That’s all. This is the last time. The absolute last time I let myself be this weak. Thirty minutes later, I was ringing the doorbell to Leo’s apartment. I heard footsteps approaching. I took a deep breath, forcing my lips into what I hoped was a natural smile. The door opened. A woman with beautiful eyes stood there, wearing an apron and holding a wooden spoon, a sweet smile on her face. She looked at me, confused. “Can I help you?” “Sorry, I think I have the wrong—” The words caught in my throat. I couldn’t say another syllable. Because over her shoulder, I saw the bedroom door open. And I saw Leo walk out, shirtless, his hair messy from sleep. 6 It’s strange. I’d seen him with another woman before, the day he left me. But this… this hurt more. Maybe it was the overwhelming sense of domesticity. The apron, the spoon, the comfortable way he walked through the space. It felt like they had been together for a long, long time. It hit me with the force of a physical blow: Leo had someone else now. Not just a fling, but a life. They probably shared everything, the way we used to—a glass of water, a bed, the rising and setting of the sun. My presence here was nothing but an intrusion. If I truly loved him, if I really wanted what was best for him, I would do the graceful thing. I’d hand over the check, offer a polite smile, and disappear from his life for good. But when I tried to speak, my voice was gone. I swallowed hard, finally managing to hold out the check. “Hi. I’m… an old friend of Leo’s. From back home. He lent me some money a long time ago, and I came to pay him back.” The woman looked over her shoulder at Leo. He stood frozen for a moment, his gaze finally landing on me. After two silent seconds, he said, “You want to come in?” I shouldn’t have. I really shouldn’t have. But Leo was already getting a glass for me, pulling out a chair at the small dining table. The woman opened her mouth, then closed it, her brow furrowed. “Leo, honey, you should put a shirt on. You don’t want your cold to get worse.” He ignored her, his eyes fixed on me. I kept my head down, feeling trapped, and finally stepped inside. “Sorry to bother you.” I tried my best not to look around, terrified of what I might see, what other small details would twist the knife in my chest. But some things were unavoidable. Leo came back from the bedroom wearing a long-sleeved shirt, the air around him heavy and tense. This was how he always got when he was sick. I could tell from the tight line of his mouth that he was probably running a low fever. My fingers twitched. I curled them into a fist. The woman brought a bowl of chicken noodle soup from the kitchen. She carefully fished out the pieces of celery, then placed a hard-boiled egg on a small plate next to it. She separated the white from the yolk, placing the white on the plate and mashing the yolk into the soup with a spoon. “Here you go, Leo. Try some?” He hated celery. And he never ate the egg whites, because he knew I loved them. A sharp, stinging pain flared behind my eyes. I had to look away before the tears came. How could he be so cruel? Was this intentional? Did he want me to sit here and watch this performance of his new life, his new happiness? Leo didn’t touch the soup. He just asked me, his tone casual, like we were distant acquaintances catching up, “So, how have you been?” I looked at the woman sitting beside him, her eyes burning holes into me. I knew that if I showed even a flicker of my true feelings for Leo, a fight would erupt. I had nothing left to give him. The least I could do was not cause him any more trouble. Thinking this, I squeezed my fists tighter in my lap. The bite of my nails into my palms was sharp, but it grounded me. When I looked up, I had managed to plaster on a natural, almost shy smile. “I’ve been good,” I said. “Actually, I’m getting married soon.” Leo’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto mine. For a moment, I could see my own reflection in their dark depths. A long time ago, I was the only thing reflected there. I took a slow, steadying breath. “You two should come to the wedding.” He would never come. It was a safe lie. The hostility on the woman’s face finally melted away, her attention shifting back to Leo. “Come on, honey, eat before it gets cold.” I took a polite sip of the water in my glass, then stood up. “I should get going.” Leo stood up too. “I’ll walk you out.” “Leo, you’re still sick. I can see her out,” the woman offered. He paid her no mind, just followed me to the door, walking a little too close, close enough that I could smell the clean, simple scent of his soap. The door clicked shut behind me. I didn’t look back, just walked straight toward the elevator. Leo’s footsteps were steady behind me, the same rhythm as always. My hand, hanging by my side, twitched with the sudden, desperate urge for a cigarette. “Getting married is a good thing. You should have done it a long time ago,” he said, his voice raspy from his cold. “Is he good to you?” I was afraid my voice would break, so I just managed a small, tight, “Mmm.” “What about you?” I found my voice, forcing a smile as I turned to him. “You two seem really happy. Wedding bells in your future, too?” The elevator doors chimed open. I rushed inside, jabbing at the ‘close door’ button, not wanting to hear his answer. Only when the doors were completely sealed did I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. And I whispered to the empty space, “Goodbye.” This time, for real. No more seeing you again. 7 I walked home that night. It took almost three hours. I cried the entire way. When I finally got to my apartment, my throat was raw. I drank a whole pitcher of water, and then, without taking off my makeup or even changing my clothes, I crawled into bed and wrapped myself in the comforter like a cocoon. Sleep was a restless, shallow thing, and my mind drifted back through the years. Leo’s father was a construction worker. His stepmother was cruel, often refusing to feed him. I’d save a bowl from my dinner and sneak it to him. When I got my first period, it was Leo who went to the store to buy me pads. During puberty, when my stepfather started lingering outside the bathroom door when I showered, Leo would come over on the pretense of doing homework and wouldn’t leave until I was safely out. When the first KFC opened in our small town, Leo ate instant noodles for a week to save up enough money to take me. In high school, knitting was popular. I stayed up for three nights straight to make him a black and white scarf. He wore it every winter, right up until the day he left it behind in our little apartment. We went to college in the same city, but my classes were demanding and his job was on the opposite side of town. Money was tight, so we couldn’t see each other often. We made up for it with dozens of phone calls a day. Besides his payday, he would send me money sporadically, telling me it was extra tips from customers. My roommates found it strange that I had a boyfriend who worked in a bar. They saw me as the quiet, studious type, a world away from the nightlife scene. They hinted that a guy like that, getting tips from strangers, was probably seeing other people. But my trust in him was absolute. Blind. I never once doubted him. To save up for his birthday, I secretly took on a tutoring job. After months of saving, I bought him a ridiculously expensive down jacket. Most of the gifts I gave him were things to keep him warm. I think it was because we were so poor growing up; the winters always felt the harshest. It was hard then. So hard. But knowing I had him behind me, it never felt like suffering. It’s just a shame we can never go back. At 4 a.m., I gave up on sleep and got out of bed. I’d bought this condo last year. I put down a deposit and poured all my energy into renovating it, making every detail exactly how I wanted it. I pulled out an empty storage box and started collecting things. The mug I’d bought for him. Into the box. The set of chopsticks and bowls. Into the box. The towel and toothbrush. Into the box. The clothes I’d bought on a whim because I thought they would look good on him. Into the box. Soon, the box was overflowing. I dragged it into the storage closet. There were already two other boxes in there, filled with the remnants of our life in that tiny apartment. “You’re pathetic,” I said to myself. “But this is it. This is the last time you get to be this pathetic.” 8 I stopped going to the bar. I stopped opening the storage closet. I started deliberately avoiding the entire neighborhood where Leo lived. For Chloe’s birthday, I brought a bottle of wine to her party. The moment I walked in, she pulled me aside conspiratorially. “What do you think of that one?” She jutted her chin toward the living room. I scanned the crowd. There was only one man I didn’t recognize, wearing rimless glasses, with a gentle, academic air about him. I nodded with a smile. “He’s handsome.” “And he’s single,” Chloe said, grinning. “Interested?” I shook my head, smiling. Fearing she would press the issue, I looked her in the eye. “Seriously, Chloe. I’m just not in that headspace right now. I promise, the day I decide I’m ready to date, you’ll be the first person I call.” She sighed, defeated. Later in the evening, after a few more glasses of wine, Chloe put her arm around my shoulders. “You know,” she said softly, “when you and Leo broke up, a part of all of us was relieved. You had such a bright future, this whole amazing life ahead of you. It would have been a shame to see you settle for something… ordinary.” She paused, swirling the wine in her glass. “But seeing you now… I don’t know. It’s complicated.” I took another sip of my own wine. “I’ve seen you happy, Rosie,” she continued. “It’s not that you’re unhappy now, but… there’s a part of you that’s missing. It’s a damn shame.” I smiled. “What’s there to be ashamed of?” “After seeing Leo again… did you ever think about getting back together with him?”

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I am the tenth in a line of martyrs, each of my foremothers born with a burden and a gift, each dying for a cause greater than herself. So it was that from the moment I drew my first breath, a voice, ancient and genderless, whispered in the back of my mind: “You will have three wishes, granted without question. All they will cost is a small piece of yourself.” For my first wish, I prayed for Ethan, whose body had been frail since birth. I asked that he be granted perfect health. The price was my right eye. For my second wish, I asked for a happy marriage with him, a life of love and partnership. The price was the feeling in the left half of my body. For my third wish, I prayed for Ethan’s success, for his ambitions to be realized. The price was a constant, searing pain, as if a thousand needles were embedded in my skin, every second of every day. And then, on the second day after his name appeared at the top of the Forbes list, I was dragged onto an auction block. Ethan sat in the front row, his arm draped around his “work wife,” Veronica. They were here to sell the rights to me. I closed my eyes and said nothing. Veronica’s sharp laugh cut through the murmuring crowd. “Look at her. Has the blind girl completely given up? She won’t even scream.” But I wasn’t listening. I was focused on a new sensation. A flicker of warmth, a ghost of a pulse in the hollowed-out socket of my right eye. A forgotten strength, coiling in my veins, returning to me at long last. If you want my life so badly, I thought, the words a silent prayer to the forces I’d bargained with, then you’d better be ready for the blowback when your wishes expire. 1 When I opened my eye again, the needle-prick agony was already washing over me. In a strange way, I was grateful for the price of my second wish—the paralysis that had claimed my left side. That half of my body was a silent continent, immune to the pain, a blessed void. I looked down. Sometime, in the darkness, they had changed me into a flimsy silk slip. It did little to hide me, and the chill on my skin seemed to amplify the jeering voices beyond the bars of my cage. “Seriously, Ethan, is your wife brain-dead?” a familiar voice drawled. “She’s not giving us any reaction at all. How boring.” I lifted my head. Through the haze of my single eye, I could make out the sharp silhouette of Veronica, the COO of Ethan’s empire. His work wife. “Hey, look at that,” she said, her voice sharp with surprise. “The little blind thing is glaring at me.” She rose and sauntered to the cage, her fingers slipping through the bars to stroke my cheek. Her touch was cold. “Tell me, Ethan. A woman this beautiful, and she did all that for you. Don’t you feel even a flicker of regret?” The man who had once whispered promises of forever into my ear just chuckled. He pulled Veronica onto his lap and kissed her, a hard, possessive kiss. “If I felt regret, would you like that? Weren’t you the one who couldn’t stand the thought of her in my bed? Hmm?” Ethan’s hand slid down to squeeze Veronica’s hip, but his eyes, cold and flat as river stones, were locked on me. “She’s served her purpose. Better to sell her for a good price than to keep her around and listen to you complain.” I remained silent, watching them. From the moment the masked men threw the sack over my head, I knew. I knew it was Ethan. I had tried, of course. I had screamed for him. I told my kidnappers, “I’m Ethan Carter’s wife!” They had just roared with laughter. “We know! That’s why we’re here! Mr. Carter himself is paying us to do this. He offered us…” One of them flashed a number with his fingers, a blur I couldn’t decipher. I didn’t need to. I understood it was a fortune. I knew people changed. I just didn’t realize how fast. He’d been on the cover of Forbes for a single day before he decided the pretense was over. All that pain. All that sacrifice. For nothing. A bitter smile twisted my lips. I met his gaze through the iron bars. “I have to ask something stupid,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Did you ever love me?” For a second, just a second, something flickered in his eyes. A ghost of emotion. Then it was gone, his expression hardening into a mask of disgust. He shook his head. “How could I love a monster like you?” he said, his voice laced with contempt. “Loving you would be like making a deal with the devil.” 2 A deal with the devil. Funny, he didn’t seem to think I was a monster when he was begging me to make those deals for him. I never told Ethan about the prices I paid. I didn’t want him to know. The sacrifices were mine to make, a private testament to my love. I loved him, so I bore the pain gladly. Now, with a few cruel words, Ethan had shattered that illusion. Before I could even process the wreckage of it all, Veronica signaled to a guard, who unlocked the cage. She stepped inside, a smirk playing on her lips. “Honestly, darling,” she said, circling me like a shark. “You’re about to be sold like cattle, and all you care about is whether he loved you? Ethan was right. You’re pathetic.” She paused, running a perfectly manicured hand down his tailored suit jacket. “Then again, he does cut a fine figure. If it weren’t for me dragging him to the gym every day, he wouldn’t have this body, would he?” The pieces clicked into place. The two hours every night, religiously spent in his private gym. The way he always refused when I asked if I could join him. He had company all along. A cold sensation on my cheek snapped me back to the present. Veronica was holding a small, gleaming knife, tracing its edge along my face. “I’ve always hated this perfect little face of yours,” she purred. “The way you’d look at him, all wide-eyed and innocent. Like a goddamn siren.” Just as the blade was about to break the skin, Ethan’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. “Veronica. Don’t ruin the merchandise.” “Are you defending her?” she spat, her eyes flashing. Ethan simply smiled, a cold, empty thing. “Of course not. But if you scar her face, how will we get top dollar? And how will I buy you that diamond you wanted?” He snapped his fingers. An assistant scurried forward with a long, velvet-lined box. When he opened it, my breath caught. It was filled with hundreds of long, slender silver needles. “They say for a creature like her,” Ethan said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as he leaned close to my ear, “it takes nine hundred and ninety-nine silver needles to seal away her power.” He pulled back, his voice now a soft, intimate murmur that made my skin crawl. “Don’t blame me, baby,” he whispered. “Your gift… it’s terrifying. It scares me. I lie awake at night, terrified that one day you’ll just… take it all away.” His eyes met mine, devoid of any warmth. “Don’t worry. I’ve already found the perfect buyer. When this is all over, you’ll still be mine.” His words were a demonic promise. He was insane. He stepped back and gave a sharp nod. Veronica grinned, a predatory flash of white teeth, and plucked a needle from the box. She drove the first one into my arm. The pain was sharp, electric, a violation that seemed to pierce straight through to my soul. She was heavy-handed, brutal. One after another, she plunged the needles into my flesh, expertly avoiding any vital organs but choosing spots designed to inflict the most agonizing, debilitating pain. “Monsters like you, who make deals with demons,” she hissed, her face close to mine, “you don’t deserve to exist in this world.” She drove another needle in, this one into my thigh. “You should be grateful you’re still worth something. Otherwise, I’d make you regret the day you were ever born.” She worked with a feverish intensity, pausing only to admire her handiwork, to watch my face for the agony she expected to see. But she was disappointed. From the moment I made the third wish, my body had become a landscape of phantom needles. This? This was just a Tuesday. A familiar torment I had learned to breathe through. As the nine hundred and ninety-ninth needle found its home, a laugh bubbled up from my chest. Oh, Ethan. You accepted the gifts so freely. You let me bear the cost without a second thought. You have no idea how this works, do you? Everything has a price. Every action has a consequence. The moment I am harmed by the one I wished for, the pacts begin to unravel. Everything you were given will be taken back, piece by painful piece. My laughter grew louder, echoing in the cavernous room, a wild, unhinged sound. Ethan, I can’t wait to watch it all burn. The laughter stopped abruptly as the world tilted and went black. I had finally passed out from blood loss. 3 Cold. So cold. I curled in on myself, a desperate, futile attempt to find a scrap of warmth. When I came to, I was in a walk-in freezer. My wounds had been bandaged, the bleeding stopped, but a fine layer of frost on my eyelashes told me I’d been in here for a long, long time. As if sensing I was awake, the heavy door creaked open. “Damn, she’s tough. Still not dead?” one of the guards muttered. “Told you there was something freaky about her…” the other whispered back. They grabbed me, one by the shoulders and one by the feet, and hauled me out of the freezer. Their handling was rough, but I closed my eye and almost enjoyed the sensation of being moved. It was a strange comfort. From the day I was born, I knew. I was not meant to die easily. I’d asked the voice about it once, long ago. It had answered with something like a sigh. “In this life, you are meant only to experience. The joy, the sorrow, the sweetness, the bitterness. Live it all. The rest is not your concern.” This life was for me to simply feel. As for Ethan… he still didn’t understand. He wasn’t chosen by fate. He was chosen by me. Without me, he was less than the beggars on the street. Blinding lights assaulted my vision. I threw a hand up to shield my face. “Well, look what the cat dragged in. Not quite dead yet,” Veronica’s venomous voice dripped into my ear. She huffed in annoyance. “I told you she was resilient! We wasted all that good medicine on her. Hmph!” I saw Ethan then. His eyes met mine, and for a fleeting moment, I saw a flash of anxiety before he masked it. He gently steered Veronica away from me. “Careful, honey. The baby. Don’t get worked up.” My blood ran cold. My hand instinctively went to my own flat stomach. There was a baby there once. But Ethan said he wasn’t ready to be a father. He held my hand all the way to the clinic. Veronica noticed my gesture. A smug, triumphant look crossed her face as she snuggled deeper into Ethan’s embrace. “The auction doesn’t start for a little while, and my feet are already killing me.” He guided her to a plush velvet chaise lounge. She settled into it, then pointed a stiletto-heeled foot at me. “I want a footstool.” Ethan waved his hand. Two guards seized me, dragging me across the floor and forcing me to my knees in front of her. “Kneel,” he commanded. I held my spine rigid, refusing. Ethan strode over and kicked the back of my knees, hard. “Are you deaf? Do what you’re told.” I crumpled, collapsing at Veronica’s feet. She slowly lifted her leg, the red sole of her designer heel pressing against my head, grinding my face into the floor. “Do you know what they’re auctioning off in a little while?” she cooed. Her heel scraped against my cheek, leaving angry red marks. “It’s not you, silly. Your body isn’t worth that much.” She leaned in closer, her voice a triumphant whisper. “It’s your wishes.” The four words hit me like a physical blow. Ethan knew. He knew I only had three. They were all used. They were all for him. My gaze shot to his, a silent, desperate question. He simply turned away, offering no explanation. “Hey! Who told you to look at him?” Veronica’s red-lacquered nails dug into my chin, forcing my head back towards her. Her lipsticked mouth twisted as she spoke, but the words were a distant buzz. Noticing my detachment, she slapped me hard across the face. “Pay attention when I’m talking to you! You’re about to die and you’re still spacing out?” Her eyes glittered with malice. “Do you want to know why we’re auctioning your wishes?” 4 She enunciated every word, savoring my dawning horror. “Ethan and I both know you’re all used up. Worthless.” She smiled. “But they don’t know that, do they? Imagine it. Some billionaire pays a fortune, takes you home, and discovers he bought a broken toy. What do you think he’ll do to you then?” It was a fate worse than death. A slow, agonizing execution of the soul. I stared at them, at the two people I had given everything for, and felt a hatred so pure it was almost blinding. Suddenly, Veronica recoiled, scrambling away from me as if I were venomous. “Ethan! I told you there was something wrong with her!” she shrieked. “She’s crying blood!” I lifted a hand to my face. My fingers came away wet and crimson. A blood tear. A slow, cold smile spread across my face. It was starting. The blowback was coming for him. It took me years to realize I had loved the wrong man. And now that heartless man wouldn’t even grant me the mercy of a quick death. I had built my entire world around him, this hollow, faithless creature. How ridiculous. How utterly, pathetically ridiculous. As I was lost in my grief, I heard Ethan sigh beside me. His hand gently brushed the bloody tear from my cheek, his touch eerily reminiscent of how he’d wipe away my tears of pleasure after we made love. “Baby, I know this is hard for you,” he murmured, his voice a low, seductive croon. “Just hold on. As soon as Veronica has the baby, I’ll come and get you. We can be a family again. Just be good, and wait for me.” Heh. I tried to laugh, but the pain in my heart was so vast it choked the sound in my throat. Veronica watched his pathetic attempt to soothe me, then let out a peal of shrill laughter. “Oh, Ethan, you haven’t told her about the pills, have you?” she giggled, clapping her hands. “Well, let me! Listen up, little wifey. After your… procedure… Ethan came to me, asking my permission. Could he risk getting you pregnant again? And I said, absolutely not! I forbid it!” “And you know what? He listened to me! The very next day, he started grinding birth control pills into your morning coffee. He was so scared I’d kick him out of my bed!” She doubled over, howling with laughter. “Oh, you should have seen his face! So pathetic!” I didn’t react. My gaze was fixed on a point in the distance, my mind a hollow chamber. Then, something shifted. A flicker. In the dead, useless orb of my right eye, a blurry shape began to resolve. A distant chandelier, a hazy outline. I was stunned. My good eye darted toward Ethan. He was still watching Veronica, his face a perfect mask of adoration, one hand hovering protectively over her swollen belly. Had he ever looked at me with such tenderness? I couldn’t remember. It was as if someone had taken an eraser to my memories of him, scrubbing away all the sweet moments, leaving only the stark, ugly truth. All that remained was a deep, abiding hatred. As if sensing my stare, he looked down at me. He opened his mouth to say something, but just then, a deep, resonant bell chimed through the hall. “The auction is beginning!” Veronica declared, beaming. She pointed at me. “Drag her out. She’s the grand finale.” I was pulled across the floor like a sack of meat, limp and silent. The whispers and stares of the wealthy patrons followed me, their eyes filled with a greedy curiosity about my “secret.” I found I had the strength to offer them a strange, unsettling smile. Why wouldn’t I be happy? I could feel it now, a current of power thrumming back into my limbs, filling the empty spaces inside me. The gavel fell, and the show began. The blowback I had waited for, the price of Ethan’s betrayal, was finally here.

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My husband and I adopted a girl from the slums. I taught her how to shoot, how to fight, how to read people. I molded her into one of the most capable operators in our organization. Cole said she had my fire, the same untamed spirit I’d had when we first met. He spoiled her rotten. But at the victory dinner tonight, Maya, our adopted daughter, knew I had a severe shellfish allergy. Still, she placed a grilled shrimp in my bowl, her smile all sugar. “Cassie, you know, if you just eat it a few times, the allergy might go away,” she said, her voice light. “Besides, my dog loves to copy people.” She gestured to the massive Cane Corso lying at her feet. “If you don’t eat it, he’ll learn not to eat it. And I can’t stand picky eaters.” The table, filled with our top lieutenants, erupted in sycophantic laughter. Cole just reached over and tweaked her nose playfully. “You’re just as bossy as your mother was,” he said, turning to me. “Come on, Cassie. Eat the shrimp. Set a good example for the dog.” A cold smile touched my lips. I’d been too soft for too long if he thought he could say something like that to me. 1 This wasn’t the first time Maya had tested my boundaries. The girl’s wings had grown strong. It was time they were clipped. I took a slow, deliberate sip of my iced tea. “Bring me the young lady’s dog,” I said to my guard, my voice quiet but carrying across the suddenly silent room. My men dragged the Cane Corso, a beast larger than a full-grown man, to the center of the floor. It took four of them to hold him down. At an auction last year, Maya had merely glanced at the dog. Cole, in a grand gesture to delight his “darling daughter,” dropped three million dollars on it without a second thought. The animal snarled at me, baring a row of yellowed teeth. One of my men kicked it squarely in the jaw, and a tooth went flying across the polished marble. Cole extinguished his cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. He walked over and cupped my face, his tone laced with a condescending playfulness. “Cassandra. Are you angry? We were just teasing you.” I brushed his hand away, my eyes like chips of ice. I nodded to my men. “Beat it,” I ordered. “If you kill it, it’s on my tab.” I turned to watch the color drain from Maya’s face. “Someone filed a complaint with me yesterday,” I said conversationally. “They said your dog snatched a steak right out of their bowl. Then, it ran over to the neighbor’s kennel and screwed the dog next door’s husband.” I paused, letting the words hang in the air. “Maya, darling. It seems your dog really does love to copy people. The only question is… who is it learning from?” Her face went from white to a blotchy, furious red. She dropped to her knees in front of me. “Mom, I’m sorry. I was wrong. I’ll train General better, I promise.” Her voice was a desperate plea. “They’re going to kill him. Please, Mom, make them stop.” Cole, who had been listening to my thinly veiled insults, remained silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and dangerous. “Cassie. Tell your men to stop. Don’t make this ugly.” I’ve never responded well to threats. I pulled the sleek pistol from the holster at my back, aimed it at the dog, and pulled the trigger. “No!” Maya screamed, lunging forward. The bullet grazed her cheek, leaving a thin red line. A second later, a neat, dark hole appeared in the center of the Cane Corso’s skull. It collapsed without another sound. That dog had bitten me on more than one occasion, always tearing a piece of flesh from my arm or leg. It always happened when I got too close to Cole, a low growl serving as its only warning. And every time, Maya would cover her mouth with her hand to hide a small smile, nestle into Cole’s arms, and then reward the beast with a piece of expensive jerky. It had gotten to the point where the dog would lunge for my throat on sight. If she wouldn’t discipline it, I would handle it for her. Maya cradled the dog’s lifeless head, her body shaking with sobs. Cole grabbed my wrist, his eyes blazing with a fury I hadn’t seen in years. His grip was crushing; I felt the delicate bones grind together. “She’s our daughter, Cassie! Why did you have to make such a scene?” he hissed. “She’s young, she makes mistakes! What is wrong with you, picking a fight with your own child?” When we brought Maya back from that forgotten corner of the city, she was so small and thin we thought she was thirteen, maybe fourteen. We showered her with affection. We only found out later that she was just two years younger than me, far from the innocent child we’d imagined. I extricated my wrist from his grip, my voice dangerously calm. “She’s young? You know better than anyone that isn’t true.” I leaned in closer. “To those who know, it looks like you’re raising a daughter. To everyone else, it looks like you’re keeping a mistress. What do you think, Cole?” His handsome features tightened into a knot, his eyes darkening to pools of ink. “Cassie, if it weren’t for me, you’d still be selling yourself on a street corner.” A familiar, cold spike of pain shot through my chest, but I forced a laugh. I met his gaze, my voice light and dismissive. “And Cole, if it weren’t for me, you’d still be a helpless wreck, unable to even control your own bladder.” 2 Cole’s pupils contracted. My words seemed to sober him up instantly. His gaze fell to the angry red marks on my wrist, and a flicker of regret crossed his face. When he spoke again, his voice was a raw, hoarse whisper. “Take the dog’s body outside. Feed it to the strays,” he commanded his men. “From now on, anything that upsets my wife is to be disposed of.” The harshness of his tone startled Maya. She flinched, pulling her hands back as my men unceremoniously dragged the massive corpse away. She fought to hold back her tears, and I saw Cole’s own eyes redden with sympathy for her. I was tired of watching them. I picked up my cane and turned to leave. This leg… this was from the ambush years ago. Cole had been cornered. I crashed the enemy’s compound, found him, and carried him on my back for seven days and seven nights while we fled. A bullet shattered my kneecap. I’d walked with a limp ever since. That night, after we’d finally made it to safety, he’d whispered in my ear, “Cassie, you’re the bravest woman I’ve ever known.” Usually, if I walked off like this, Cole would rush to my side, offering his arm for support. This time, he stayed right where he was, standing guard over Maya. By the time I reached the villa, a thin layer of sweat coated my skin. That evening, Maria, our housekeeper, stormed into my study, her face flushed with anger. “Ma’am, Mr. Harrison just signed over all your Bayview properties to Miss Maya.” She wrung her hands. “He knows your mother left those to you…” I said nothing. I was looking at my phone, at a video Maya had sent me. They were having dinner at the main Bayview villa. In the video, one of Cole’s business partners was suggesting a marriage alliance with Maya. Even as an adopted daughter, we treated her as our own and had already given her control of several business arms. And since I couldn’t have children, there would be no biological heir to challenge her inheritance. Maya refused the offer with a smile. “No, a matter like that can’t be taken lightly.” She looked at Cole, her eyes full of a disturbing adoration. The next moment, she leaned over and pressed a firm kiss to his cheek. “The only one I’m interested in is my father,” she announced to the table. “I’m officially going to start pursuing him.” Amid the ensuing laughter, Maya leaned in closer, aiming for Cole’s lips. I counted silently in my head. Three, two, one. He didn’t pull away. I closed the phone, fighting the bile rising in my throat. I turned to Maria. “Arrange a car for me to Bayview,” I said. “And a small team from the Ravens.” The weather outside was turning, a heavy gloom settling over the estate. My knee began to throb with a dull, familiar ache. I had my men position themselves out of sight, with orders to move only on my command. The dinner party was still in full swing when I arrived. Through a window, I watched as Maya carelessly popped a piece of piping hot baked cheese into her mouth. She yelped, tears instantly springing to her eyes. Without a word, Cole held his hand out in front of her, palm up. “Spit it out,” he said simply. Maya’s eyes went wide as she stared at him, stunned. Cole sighed, then used two fingers to pry open her mouth, retrieving the scalding food himself. I watched the entire exchange, and the block of ice in my chest grew heavier. There was probably only one woman in the world he would do that for, and it was Maya. I pushed the door open and stared them down, my face a cold mask. Cole’s face went pale. His voice was unsteady. “Cassie… what are you doing here? Didn’t I schedule a physical therapist to work on your leg tonight?” Maya, however, met my gaze without flinching, a defiant challenge in her eyes. It was the same look I used to have, back in the day. A predator’s glare. No wonder Cole was so fond of her. “You should have just given him to me a long time ago, Mom,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt. Before the last word left her mouth, a flash of silver cut through the air. 3 A sharp, piercing pain erupted in my shoulder. The short blade was buried deep in my flesh. It was a beautiful, jade-handled dagger I had given her for her eighteenth birthday. Who knew I was raising a viper? Blood began to soak through the fabric of my blouse. Cole’s eyes widened in horror, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Cassie, why didn’t you move? Your leg is bad, but you could have dodged that. You know you could have!” he stammered. “Everyone in the organization knows the legend of ‘Nightshade.’ Maya was just sparring with you. How have you gotten so slow?” He was right. How had I gotten so slow? The year I turned twenty-five, I was pregnant with Cole’s child. I was nearly full-term when I was kidnapped. Cole nearly lost his mind. He threw away all caution, storming the enemy compound alone to rescue me. They’d captured me only to lure him in. They injected him with a cocktail of neurotoxins and threw us both in a damp basement to die. He was curled up behind a pile of crates, his eyes vacant, drool trickling from the corner of his mouth as he mumbled, “scared… so scared…” My heart seized in my chest; I could barely breathe. Ignoring the sharp, contracting pains in my abdomen, I gritted my teeth and knelt beside him, taking his trembling hand in mine. “Cole, we’re leaving.” I shielded my stomach with one arm and turned, letting my back take the brunt of the bullets as his captors found us. The searing pain dropped me to my knees. The last thing I remember was shoving him into a service elevator and hitting the button for the roof, where I knew our evac team was waiting. When I woke up, he had no memory of the event. He couldn’t even control his own body, no better than a broken invalid. And I… I was no longer pregnant. My body was weak from the blood loss and the miscarriage. But he remembered nothing, didn’t even know we had lost a child. There was a time we would have died for each other. I never imagined a love like that could be so fleeting. I suppressed my rage. “The Bayview properties are my line in the sand,” I said, my voice tight. “And Maya is old enough now. It’s not appropriate for her to live with us anymore. She has her own assets. It’s time to send her away.” He rubbed his temples, a look of weary frustration on his face. Ignoring my demands, he waved his hand. “Someone take my wife downstairs, have a doctor look at that wound, and then send her home to rest.” I frowned, staring at him as if he were a complete stranger. Cole, I don’t even recognize you anymore. The men who escorted me out had been bought by Maya. They had no intention of taking me home. They sealed my mouth with duct tape, bound my hands, and threw me into a small storage closet. Maya appeared in the doorway, a triumphant smile on her face as she looked down at me. “You once taught me, Mom, that the strong don’t rely on weapons. They rely on being ruthless and knowing the right moment to strike.” She pressed the jade-handled dagger to my neck. “How am I doing so far?” “You also taught me to go after what I want,” she purred. “So I slipped Dad a little something in his drink. You just stay in here and have a good listen.” The sharp edge of the blade broke my skin. The scent of my own blood seemed to excite her. My Ravens, my personal guards, were ready to move in, but I held them back with a look. Cole, I want to see just how far you’ve fallen. 4 A few minutes later, I heard the main door open. Cole strode in, looking confused when he saw Maya in his room. “Maya, what are you doing here? Go back to your own room.” Maya wrapped her arms around his neck. “Dad, I miss General so much. He always sleeps with me. Don’t make me leave tonight, please?” She kissed the hollow of his throat. “Dad, your skin is so hot.” Her hands slid under his shirt, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest. Cole’s eyes clouded over with a haze of lust. His voice was like sandpaper, rough and strained. “Maya, what am I going to do with you? You shouldn’t be tempting me like this.” He lifted her chin, his mouth crashing down on hers. I listened to the sounds from the closet, and my heart turned to stone. I raised a hand to my cheek and felt the cold dampness of tears I hadn’t even realized I’d shed. Maya grew bolder, her hands fumbling with his belt. The moment the buckle sprang open, a deafening crack of thunder shook the villa. Cole froze. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving. “It’s storming,” he gasped. “Cassie’s terrified of storms. And you stabbed her today… I have to go check on her.” He bent down, scooping up his clothes and wrapping them around Maya. “You should get some sleep.” Then, without another glance, he turned and left. Maya’s hands clenched into fists, her knuckles white with fury. She wrenched open the closet door. “Happy now? He still cares about you.” I had already worked my hands free. I was calmly massaging the red welts the ropes had left on my wrists, a cold, mocking smile on my face. “Why would I be happy? Because I realized I picked a venomous snake for a daughter? Or because Cole didn’t go all the way with you? He had his pants off, Maya. Does the final step really matter at that point?” The scales of his heart had already tipped. They would never be balanced in my favor again. What I wanted was his unwavering choice, his absolute devotion, not the guilt and sense of responsibility he tossed my way after weighing his options. I stared at her, my eyes frigid. “Maya, do you remember what I told you when I first took you in? Betrayal has a price. And the price is death.” My men had already surrounded the entire estate. The main doors burst open with explosive force, and dozens of my Ravens, clad in black tactical gear, flooded the villa like a dark tide. They had Maya restrained in seconds. Her face was ashen, her eyes wide with disbelief. “How… how are you connected to the Ravens?” I ignored her, giving a single command to my captain. “Take the young lady back to the main house.” I had a score to settle with both of them. And I was going to do it together. We hadn’t even reached the house when I heard shouting from inside. It was Cole, roaring with a rage I had rarely witnessed. “Get out! Who the hell let you in here?” Then, a clear, lazily arrogant voice replied, “But Cassie promised she’d make me her boy-toy.”

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After blazing through three power-fantasy stories, the hardest thing I’d ever faced was an overly bitter iced Americano. So when I woke up reborn as the tragic heroine of an angst-filled novel, my first instinct was to find the nearest wall and ram my head into it for a reset. But just as I was about to, memories from the original character flooded in. A mafia Don father. A billionaire CEO mother. A handsome, rich, devoted childhood sweetheart. With a setup this overpowered, how did the original girl waste her life chasing a scumbag? She let him and his mistress destroy her—right up to her bones being fed to wild dogs. It was an insult to badass heroines everywhere. I pulled back from the wall. Just then, my phone buzzed. A text from the other woman, Seraphina, with a photo of her and my fiancé, Jerry, tangled in bedsheets. [Sera Reed]: Jerry had too much to drink. Staying at my place tonight. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of him.] Time, place, culprits—all served on a silver platter. I forwarded the message and photo to every major gossip outlet I knew. My caption: “BREAKING: C-list actress and billionaire heir caught ‘rehearsing a script’ late at night. Wait for slide #2!” 1 While the paparazzi swarmed Seraphina’s apartment complex, I was soaking in a ridiculously large bathtub, scrolling through a sitcom on my tablet. The hashtag #JerrydSera was dominating the trending charts. I lazily reposted the provocative photo Seraphina had so thoughtfully sent me, adding a simple, questioning emoji. Meanwhile, Jerry Vance was trying to hunt me down, blowing up my phone with a string of furious calls. I ignored them, happily nursing a cocktail in a neon-lit nightclub, shamelessly checking out the DJ. Of course, a billionaire heir has his resources. It only took an hour for his bodyguards to find me and unceremoniously drag me back to his villa. Jerry’s eyes were blazing with a fury so intense it felt like he wanted to devour me whole. “Aurora Blackwood! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he roared. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to Sera? Is this your pathetic attempt to get my attention? By ruining her?” I shook my head, sinking languidly into the plush sofa. “Get your attention? Please. Your ego is taking up all the air in the room. I’m not trying to get your attention. I’m just trying to ruin you and that cheap knock-off you’re sleeping with.” As a heroine from a power-fantasy world, I had a particular set of skills. Pissing people off was my specialty. It worked. Jerry stared at me, his brow furrowed in confusion, clearly thrown off by my departure from the usual script of tearful accusations. But his confusion quickly morphed back into rage. “Sera is just a friend from high school, Aurora! Stop projecting your own filthy thoughts onto us!” he snarled. “If you want to stay with me, if you want your father’s little company to stay afloat with my support, you will get online right now and issue a public apology to Sera. You will tell everyone that you faked that photo and the texts.” Hold on. My father’s company needs his support? I’d almost forgotten. The original Aurora, terrified that her background would scare Jerry off, had told a little white lie. Her father, the feared Don Marcus Blackwood, and her mother, the ruthless billionaire CEO Isabella Lin, were painted as simple small-business owners struggling to make ends meet. Little did Jerry know, the ‘Vance empire’ he was so proud of was only standing because my parents had been propping it up for years, a little charity project for their daughter’s fiancé. And he had the audacity to posture like this. I crossed my legs, leaning back into the sofa with a smirk. “And if I don’t? What are you gonna do about it?” He trembled with rage, his hand raising as if to strike me. Before his palm could connect, I whipped out my phone and hit ‘record.’ “Go on, do it,” I taunted, holding the camera up to my face. “Hit me right here. I guarantee if you lay a single finger on me, I’ll sue you for everything you have, right down to your last pair of boxer shorts.” His hand froze mid-air, caught in an awkward limbo between striking me and losing face by backing down. Just then, the frantic click-clack of high heels echoed from the foyer. A second later, a figure flew into the room and threw herself into Jerry’s arms. “Jerry, darling, please don’t fight with Aurora because of me,” Seraphina sobbed. “It’s all my fault. I just wanted to let her know you were safe. I never thought she would misunderstand so badly and cause such a scene.” She heaved with dramatic, breathless sobs—all the sound, none of the tears. Jerry clutched her as if she were a precious, fragile doll, practically trying to absorb her into his own body. My phone was still recording. Perfect. The B-roll was delivering itself. I moved around them, getting all the angles. A full 360-degree, high-definition shot of their touching reunion. “Yes, just like that!” I encouraged them. “A little louder on the crying, Sera. You can do better. And you, Jerry, hold her tighter! Did you skip lunch? Put some feeling into it! Don’t you think this moment calls for a passionate kiss to seal the deal?” Jerry finally remembered I was there. He hastily let go of Seraphina’s waist. “Aurora, are you insane?” he seethed. “Delete that video. Now!” I scoffed, tucking the phone safely into my pocket. “Not a chance. I think I’ll let the internet be the judge. We’ll see who’s really the one with the filthy mind, and who’s just rotten to the core.” He opened his mouth, but the only threat he could muster was a weak, “You’ll regret this, Aurora.” Please. I’ve stared down intergalactic warlords. A flimsy threat from a cheating fiancé was hardly going to make me lose sleep. This was just the beginning. Now that I was here, this story was no longer a tragedy. It was a revenge fantasy. And I was writing the script. 2 I had assumed the cheating duo would lay low for a while. I was wrong. At three in the morning, my phone erupted with a storm of notifications, shattering my peaceful sleep. I groggily unlocked it, and a flood of pop-up links funneled me directly into Seraphina’s livestream. There she was, perched precariously on a rooftop ledge, tears streaming down her face as she told the world how I was driving her to her death. “Jerry and I are innocent,” she cried. “Why won’t anyone believe me? Why do you have to slander me… why are you trying to ruin my life, to take everything from me! What’s the point of me even being alive anymore…” Her performance sent the comment section into a frenzy of vitriol directed at me. [Sera is too pure for this world. She doesn’t understand how evil people can be. Not like that gold-digging witch trying to marry into a rich family.] [Sera and the CEO are the perfect couple. Why won’t that other bitch just die already?] [Sera shouldn’t have to jump for someone like that! SHE should be the one on that ledge!] [Exactly! And that Jerry guy is blind. How could he be engaged to such a monster?] I rolled my eyes. Keyboard warriors. Predictably brainless. Just then, another figure burst onto the screen. It was Jerry, his face a mask of panic, his voice choked with emotion. “Sera, get down from there! It’s my fault! I didn’t protect you!” he pleaded. “I swear, I will never let anyone hurt you again…” The drama was thick enough to cut with a knife. I could already see how this would play out: the scumbag CEO and the damsel in distress would have a tearful confession of love, a passionate embrace, and the world would celebrate their twisted romance. The original Aurora would be the only casualty. Too bad for them, I wasn’t the original Aurora. And my favorite pastime was pouring gasoline on a fire. Without a second thought, I started typing in the chat. [I suggest Jerry jump with her to prove their innocence. Lock it down, you two!] [If you don’t jump, you’re both my children.] Satisfied, I exited the stream, turned off my phone, and went back to sleep. The next morning, the gifts from my new internet fans started arriving. Funeral wreaths, buckets of red paint, bricks through the windows. To top it all off, Jerry had successfully bankrupted the “small business” the original Aurora had claimed her family owned. I checked my phone. My name was still the number one trending topic, with hundreds of thousands of comments demanding my head. This was perfect. The bigger the spectacle, the harder the fall. Eager to gloat, Jerry arrived at my door with Seraphina on his arm, a smug, triumphant look on his face. “Have you learned your lesson yet, Aurora?” he asked. “Apologize to Sera online, and I might be willing to forget this ever happened. You can even continue to be my pathetic little lapdog.” I lounged on the sofa, my eyes rolling so hard I was surprised they didn’t get stuck. “Did you forget to take a piss this morning? If you don’t have any urine to look in, maybe try a mirror? But don’t do it in my house. It would probably smell as foul as you do.” Seeing his threats had no effect, Seraphina tugged on Jerry’s sleeve, her face transforming in an instant. Her eyes reddened, her lip trembled. “Jerry, darling… does this mean Aurora will never forgive me? I’ll get on my knees if it will make her feel better. Please, don’t fight because of me.” She made a show of starting to kneel. Jerry immediately hauled her up, shielding her behind him like a mother hen. He glared at me with a look so venomous it could kill. I just started humming a little tune. “Oh, what a poor, innocent little flower, so full of… bullshit and cheap tricks…” Jerry, deprived of the groveling apology he expected and seeing his precious Sera “bullied” again, finally snapped. “You will regret this, Aurora,” he seethed. “Mark my words.” I waved them off. “Bye-bye now.” 3 I’ll give Jerry this: he was a man of his word, especially when it came to avenging his little damsel. If I didn’t have the backing of an insanely powerful family, his scorched-earth tactics might have actually been intimidating. But as a power-fantasy heroine, his petty games were laughable. Seraphina’s rabid fans camped outside my door, screaming obscenities? I called the police and had the pests removed. Jerry bought hashtags to smear my name online, with an army of trolls spreading rumors? I hired a team of lawyers to sue every last one of them for defamation. My mother was a billionaire. I could afford to be reckless. My father was the Don. I had an army of bodyguards. I wasn’t afraid of anything. The day before Jerry was set to make a grand appearance at the city’s most exclusive high-society gala with Seraphina, my mother called. She told me she had organized a little party and that I was required to attend. It was time, she said, for me to find a husband worthy of our family. My parents weren’t living under a rock. They’d seen the online drama and had called immediately, asking how I wanted to handle it. But this was my fight. A satisfying victory is one you win yourself. All I asked was for my dad to run a background check on Jerry. Otherwise, I wouldn’t even need my father’s influence; a few of my bodyguards could have turned him into a human pretzel. So when I walked into the very gala Jerry was so proud to have been invited to, wearing a couture gown designed by a living legend, the look on his face was priceless. “Aurora? How did you get in here?” he stammered. What, I’m not allowed to attend the party my own mother threw for me? He was about to call security to have me thrown out when I cut him off with a dismissive shrug. “If they’re letting trash like you in, this party can’t be all that exclusive.” He obviously had no authority to command the event’s security, so he lowered his voice to a hiss. “This is not a place for lowlifes like you. You’d better not cause a scene, or I swear, you’ll pay for it.” At least he had enough sense to know he was out of his league here. He had probably begged, borrowed, and stolen to get an invitation, hoping to network his way to the top. A noble goal, if he hadn’t brought a liability. Suddenly, Seraphina dropped to her knees in front of me, one hand clutching her chest dramatically, the other grabbing the hem of my gown. “Aurora, I’m begging you, please stop fighting with Jerry because of me,” she wailed. “I’ll leave him. I’ll disappear from your lives forever. Just please, don’t embarrass him in front of all these important people.” The little fool didn’t realize that her pathetic act was the most embarrassing thing of all. As intended, her performance drew the eyes of everyone in the ballroom. People started pointing and whispering. Jerry, who had just warned me not to cause a scene, immediately switched into protective mode. He rushed to Seraphina’s side, scooping her into his arms and roaring at me. “Look what you’ve done, Aurora! I told you not to make trouble, and now you’ve forced Sera to her knees! Did you think you could bully her into leaving me? Let me tell you something: in my eyes, you’re not even worthy of polishing her shoes!” He was so loud I was almost certain his earlier warning had just been a fart in the wind. I nodded slowly and began to applaud. A truly moving performance. “A show this spectacular deserves a bigger audience than just me,” I said, pulling out my phone and starting a livestream. “Let’s share this with the world.” I aimed the camera at them. “Okay, I wasn’t ready before. Let’s take it from the top. Run the scene again. Let the whole world bear witness to your beautiful, tragic love story.” 4 The moment the livestream went live, the chat exploded. Seraphina immediately buried her face in Jerry’s chest, turning just enough to give the camera a perfect, tear-streaked profile. Her voice, choked with manufactured sobs, was a masterpiece of victimhood. “Please, everyone, don’t misunderstand,” she whimpered. “Aurora is just… confused right now. I’m sure she doesn’t mean to be so cruel…” Jerry stroked her back, his eyes spitting fire at me. “Confused? She’s malicious! She knows you have a kind heart, and she preys on it, framing you again and again! Now she’s pulling this livestream stunt at a high-society gala to destroy your reputation!” One played the victim, the other spun the lies.

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