Author: Momo Chan

On the day of the hurricane, everyone at the office was allowed to go home early. I stayed behind in the empty building, waiting for my boyfriend, Justin, to pick me up because my car was in the shop. But as the wind howled louder and louder outside, Justin was still nowhere to be seen. I called him, but it went straight to voicemail. Our last text message was from an hour ago. He had sent a short, “On my way.” I couldn’t help but start worrying about him. As darkness fell, the rain outside turned into a torrential downpour. The lightbulb above my head flickered violently before dying out with a sharp pop. In the pitch black, I dialed Justin’s number again. This time, the call went through, but a familiar female voice answered: “Chloe?” I froze, caught off guard. “Where’s Justin?” “Justin is driving right now, so it’s not really convenient for him to pick up.” “Where are you guys?” “On the way to my apartment. Justin said it’s too dangerous for me to head home alone in this storm.” “Oh, by the way, he said he texted you like half an hour ago telling you to just Uber home. You’re already back, right?” Outside the window, the wind shrieked. My heart gradually turned into a block of ice. Over the past three years, Justin had showered all his care and attention on this co-worker of his, Gemma. And tonight, the very last ember of my love for him was completely snuffed out. “Yeah, I’m home.” A home that would never welcome him back again.

The girl on the other end of the line let out a visible sigh of relief. “Good to hear. We’re almost at my place too.” “But the hurricane is about to make landfall. Justin wanted me to tell you that he’ll probably have to crash at my place tonight.” “Okay,” I replied, my voice completely flat. From the background of the call, Justin’s voice drifted over. Even with the distance, I could clearly hear the tenderness in his tone. “Are you cold? Should I turn up the heater?” Gemma giggled. “Are you serious, Justin? It’s literally the middle of summer!” Right. It was summer. Yet, I felt so cold that my body wouldn’t stop shaking. The call ended. I stared down at our Snapchat thread. There was no message telling me to take an Uber. Maybe he did try to send it, but it failed due to the bad reception. Either way, it only proved one thing: after sending that message, he hadn’t bothered to check our chat even once. He didn’t use to be like this. When we first started dating in college, he was practically glued to his phone whenever he wasn’t sleeping or in class. He would text me about the most trivial things, even if a random dog barked at him on the street. He used to reply to my texts within seconds. He had said he couldn’t bear to miss a single message from me, and he wanted to be there the very second I ever needed him. Now, the person he worried about was someone else. A bitter feeling spread from the bottom of my heart. The howling wind outside felt like an invisible hand, squeezing my chest over and over again. By 6:00 PM, the hurricane made landfall. And I was trapped all alone in the office. I walked into the breakroom and shut the door tight. Then, I texted my parents, who lived in another state, to tell them I was safe. They asked: Are you with Justin? I stared at the screen for a moment before typing: Yeah. The screen went dark, and the room plunged back into shadows. It was so quiet that the only sound was the violent storm outside. Suddenly, my phone screen lit up. My heart skipped a beat. I grabbed it almost instinctively. Only to feel my chest hollow out in the next second. It was just a safety alert from the city government. The last line read: Please stay safe indoors with your family. We will get through this storm together. On Instagram, everyone was posting about how insane the hurricane was, alongside pictures of their cozy dinners. My stomach rumbled. I realized I hadn’t eaten anything all day. I rummaged through the breakroom cabinets, found a bag of stale crackers, and chewed on them while scrolling through food pictures on Instagram. Suddenly, my thumb froze. I saw Gemma’s latest post. What do I do when my co-worker is such an amazing cook? He’s totally ruining my appetite for other food. The picture showed a beautifully prepared plate of Spanish Tapas—Justin’s absolute specialty. In the corner of the frame, Justin’s hand was visible, flashing a peace sign. He had once promised me that he would never cook for any woman in his life besides his mother and me. I guess his “lifetime” was exceptionally short. I liked the post and left a comment underneath: Then you should probably make him your boyfriend. A few minutes later, a text from Justin popped up on my screen. Chloe, was that comment really necessary? Necessary? Were their actions not far more questionable than my single comment? He had opened our chat, yet he hadn’t even noticed the failed text message. He didn’t even bother to ask where I was. My fingers gripped the phone so hard they turned white. I was just about to text him back, to tell him that I never made it home and was currently trapped in the office. But then, a deafening explosion shattered the silence outside!

Terrified, I peeked through the blinds of the breakroom window. One of the massive floor-to-ceiling glass panes in the main office area had completely shattered. The wild wind rushed into the office like a monster. Debris flew in through the giant hole, slamming heavily against the breakroom door. Trembling, I dragged the breakroom couch to block the door. My mind went entirely blank. By the time I regained my senses, I had already dialed Justin’s number. It rang for nearly thirty seconds before he finally picked up. Before I could speak, Justin said impatiently: “Chloe, hold on a second, I’m kind of busy right now…” Swallowing my terror, I gasped, “Justin, I’m still at the office. The glass window shattered, and I’m so scared…” There was a long pause on the other end. “What shattered? The living room window? Just go back to the bedroom and lock the door. You’ll be fine. I’ll call someone to fix it tomorrow…” In the background, I could hear the faint sound of a video game. In the next second, Gemma cheered loudly: “Yes! I won again!” Justin chuckled, his voice dripping with affection. “Fine, fine, I lost. I’ll buy you dinner next time.” “What do you mean next time? You’re buying tomorrow!” “Sure, whatever you want…” The words I wanted to say got stuck in my throat. At that exact moment, I finally realized it. My seven-year relationship with Justin had ultimately lost to a girl he had known for three years. Three years ago, when he first mentioned Gemma to me, he sounded so annoyed. Gemma had joined the company on the same day as him, and their manager paired them up. He complained that Gemma messed up all the data sheet, forcing him to work overtime for two nights to fix it. He also complained that she accidentally spilled coffee on his favorite jacket, ruining it. For a long time, he sighed whenever Gemma’s name came up. Later, their department had a dinner party and invited me along. That was the first time I met her. She was a year younger than us, with a round face and a bit of baby fat. That night, the way Justin looked at her made me uncomfortable. Now I finally understood. That look was pure adoration. Later on, when I asked Justin to go to an art gallery with me on the weekend, he said Gemma’s laptop was broken and he needed to go over and fix it. Seeing my silence, he quickly explained that all their team files were saved on that laptop. Another time, I mentioned a new thriller movie that was getting great reviews and asked if he wanted to see it. He hesitated before saying he had already watched it with Gemma. He claimed the company had given out free tickets to their department. But I later found out that the two of them had booked seats in the far corner, away from everyone else in their team. Then, he started driving her home every time it rained. He kept track of her period and bought her warm drinks. He even memorized her food allergies and would remind the waiters beforehand… I saw all of it. One day, I finally asked him: “Justin, do you have feelings for Gemma?” He was stunned for a second, then laughed. “How could I like that clumsy girl? I’m just being a good colleague and helping her out.” Clumsy girl. What an affectionate nickname. And what he did for her had long crossed the line of “just being a good colleague.” I didn’t know when I eventually fell asleep that night. It felt like a long, exhausting nightmare. When I woke up, the sun was shining, the storm had passed, and the street below was buzzing with life again. Fortunately, my nightmare with Justin was also officially over. I went back to our shared apartment, took a shower, and changed my clothes. As I walked out of the bathroom, the front door clicked open. Justin walked in. Seeing me, he let out a sigh of relief and asked, “Are you okay after last night? What about the window…” He looked toward the living room window. It was completely intact. I said flatly, “It was just a nightmare.” He nodded, not questioning further. Seeing me grabbing my keys to head out again, he suddenly called out to me. He looked hesitant, but spoke anyway: “Chloe, about that dinner with your parents next Wednesday… can we reschedule?” I looked at him, expressionless. “Why?” He said in a sympathetic tone, “Next Wednesday is the anniversary of Gemma’s mother’s passing. Her dad is out of the country and can’t make it back. She’s going to be all alone. It’s just so sad.” My fingernails dug into my palm. I forced myself to remain calm. “This is the fourth time you’ve canceled on my parents, Justin. They already bought their flight tickets.” He cut me off, his voice tinged with annoyance. “What do you want me to do, just ignore her? We’re colleagues, Chloe.” But we are partners. I kept those words to myself. My temples throbbed from the lack of sleep. Massaging my forehead, I said indifferently, “Sure. Go ahead.” His face lit up with joy. “I knew you’d understand! Don’t worry, I promise I’ll make it up to your parents next time.” His phone rang with that familiar ringtone. He answered it quickly as he walked into the bedroom. “Chloe said yes, Gemma. I’ll be there with you next Wednesday…” Meanwhile, I pulled out my phone and texted my mom: Mom, you know how you always said Justin wasn’t the one for me, and that you wanted to introduce me to your friend’s handsome son? Let’s arrange that meeting for next Wednesday.

By the time I arrived at the office, maintenance workers were already replacing the shattered glass window. My co-workers were still shaken up. “Thank God we left early yesterday. That was terrifying.” Seeing me, one of my colleagues waved. “Hey Chloe, your boyfriend picked you up yesterday, right?” I smiled faintly. “No, he was too busy driving his female co-worker home.” The office went dead silent. Someone asked cautiously, “So… you had to Uber home in that storm?” “No, I spent the night in the breakroom.” Everyone gasped. After a long silence, a colleague gently patted my shoulder. “Chloe, you are incredibly strong.” I didn’t think there was any reason to hide it. After all, I wasn’t the one who did anything wrong. Right before clocking out, I received a text from Justin: I’m downstairs outside your office. My eyes flickered. He hadn’t picked me up from work in almost a year. Even when he did promise to pick me up, he would always cancel at the last minute because of Gemma. I walked downstairs and indeed saw his car parked by the curb. I walked over. But just as my hand was about to touch the front passenger door handle, the window rolled down, revealing Gemma’s cute face. “Hi, Chloe!” Justin spoke from the driver’s seat, “Gemma said there’s a new Mexican place nearby that’s amazing. I got us a table. Want to join?” I stared at him, my voice barely a whisper: “Justin, I can’t eat spicy food.” He froze, a flash of embarrassment crossing his face. In the end, they drove off without me. He didn’t come to pick me up. He just happened to be in the neighborhood and remembered I existed. He had even forgotten that I couldn’t eat spicy food. Yet, he used to be the guy who would meticulously pick out every single piece of chili from my plate if the chef forgot his instructions. My eyes burned, but the evening breeze quickly dried the tears. I decided to break up with Justin this weekend. But out of nowhere, he mysteriously told me that he had planned a big event for Saturday and wanted me to arrive early. I was stunned. Saturday was our seventh anniversary. So, he did remember. I didn’t care what he had planned, but I would use that day to officially end things. Justin told me to be there by 10:00 AM. But because of heavy traffic, I didn’t arrive until 10:30 AM. As I walked toward the private dining room, memories flashed through my mind. For our past anniversaries, he used to rack his brain to plan the perfect surprises. He once used candles to spell out the date we first met. He secretly learned to play the guitar just to sing a song I casually mentioned I liked. He made a scrapbook filled with every single memory of us. But starting three years ago, every single anniversary was cut short. Three years ago, Gemma fell sick. He told me we had plenty of anniversaries ahead of us, but Gemma was all alone in the hospital. Two years ago, Gemma claimed someone was stalking her. He abandoned our half-eaten cake and rushed to her apartment. Last year, Gemma got too drunk at a bar. He said he was just driving her home, but he didn’t return until the next morning. This year, I didn’t expect anything. I just wanted to finish a meal together and say what needed to be said. I pushed the door open. Confetti exploded into the air, raining down on my face. The room was packed with people, all of them unfamiliar faces. But when they saw it was me, they all froze. “Wait, that’s not Gemma.” “I thought you said you heard Gemma’s footsteps!” “Quick, clean this up! She’s gonna be here any second!” I stood there, completely lost. Until Justin pulled me aside and shoved a confetti popper into my hands. “I told you to get here early! Quick, stand here and pop this when Gemma walks in.” It took me a long moment to find my voice. The situation was so absurd I almost laughed out loud. I looked at him and asked, “What is going on here?”

His eyes remained glued to the door as he replied: “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Gemma’s project got approved, and management is promoting her.” “So, this is her promotion party.” Justin was so distracted that he didn’t notice the coldness in my voice. “You always complained that I never bring you along when I hang out with my colleagues. So, I invited you today.” “Justin, do you even know what today is?” Justin blinked at me, looking entirely clueless. I smiled, nodded slowly, and spoke clearly: “Justin, let’s break up.” “Congratulations on the promotion, Gemma!” The loud explosion of confetti and the roaring cheers drowned out my voice. Justin had already rushed to Gemma’s side, throwing an arm around her shoulder. A mocking smile touched my lips as I turned around and walked out. I pulled out my phone and saw a text my mom sent thirty minutes ago: Your dad and I just boarded the plane, Chloe. I’m so glad you’ve finally moved on. The guy my mom wanted to introduce me to happened to be in the city too. My mom said he had already agreed to have dinner with us on Wednesday. I texted back a simple “Okay” and headed straight to the airport to pick up my parents. The next day, I took my parents sightseeing. Just as we finished touring one of the local spots, my phone rang. It was Justin. He sounded frantic, demanding to know where I was. I didn’t want to deal with him, but he sounded so desperate that I eventually sent him my location. Within minutes, he arrived in a rush—and Gemma was right behind him. Seeing my parents standing behind me, he froze for a second before pulling me aside, his voice lowered in anger: “What is this, Chloe? I told you I have to be with Gemma on Wednesday. I don’t have time to have dinner with your parents.” I looked at him coldly. “If you’re busy, can’t I find someone else to join us?” Assuming I was just being petty, he ignored my comment. He pulled out his phone, opened an Instagram post, and pointed at a comment. “Chloe, did you write this?” The post featured a few photos from yesterday’s party. The first was Justin with his arm around Gemma. The second was Justin smearing cake on Gemma’s face. The third was the two of them, their heads leaning close together. It was posted on Gemma’s account with the caption: Celebrating with my favorite co-worker, such a happy day!~ Even though so many colleagues had celebrated with her, she only posted pictures of her and Justin. Her intentions couldn’t be more obvious. I let out a soft chuckle. My eyes fell on the comment he was pointing at: To be honest, this guy has a girlfriend. Below the comment was a photo of Justin and me. No wonder he thought it was me. Justin glared at me. “Gemma’s account is getting spammed with hate right now. People are calling her a home-wrecker. If this gets out, it will ruin her promotion!” “Go post a reply right now. Say you’re his girlfriend and you were there too, and that you guys are all just good friends.” “What if I say no?” Justin stunned, his expression hardening. “Chloe, you didn’t use to be so petty.” The disappointment in his eyes was palpable, as if I was the villain in this story. Yet, he was the one who crossed every boundary. Before I could speak, Gemma suddenly burst into tears. “I’m really not a home-wrecker… If our boss sees those comments, my promotion will be canceled!” My parents were standing a few yards away. They didn’t know what was happening, but they looked over with deep concern. Justin gritted his teeth. “Chloe, if you don’t fix this, I’m going to ask your parents to talk some sense into you!” He turned to walk toward them. “I’ll do it,” I called out, my voice ice-cold. I didn’t want my parents to worry about my relationship drama anymore. I opened the post and replied under the comment: I am the girlfriend. Actually, ex-girlfriend. We broke up, and whatever they do has nothing to do with me. Justin frowned slightly. “You didn’t have to say we broke up just to clear her name.” But now that the crisis was averted, his expression softened. He looked at me gratefully. “Chloe, I knew you were still the sweet girl I loved. I’ll make sure to rush over to dinner with your parents tomorrow night.” I didn’t say a word. Taking my silence as agreement, he wrapped his arm around Gemma and walked away. The next day, dinner was set for 6:00 PM. At 7:00 PM, Justin texted saying he just finished driving Gemma home and was on his way. At 8:00 PM, he texted saying Gemma had severe cramps and he had to run to the pharmacy to get her medicine, so he’d be a little late. At 9:00 PM, hurried footsteps echoed outside our private dining room. In the next second, the door burst open. Justin rushed in, holding several gift bags. “Mr. and Mrs. Smith, I am so sorry I’m late…” But when he saw the scene inside, the smile on his face instantly froze.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “444243”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

One year after a near-fatal car crash left me with amnesia, I got married again. I was on my way to the hospital for a prenatal checkup when a little boy suddenly blocked my path. He frowned, his tone ice-cold. “Julian told me to bring you home. Haven’t you thrown enough of a tantrum?” I found it a bit funny. I knelt down and gently patted his head. “Little boy, did you mistake me for someone else?” He slapped my hand away, looking incredibly annoyed. “Stop acting. If you stop this nonsense, I might let you tuck me in tonight.” Though I was baffled, I decided to take him home safely anyway, just to be sure. We stopped in front of a massive, ultra-luxurious mansion. Standing at the gate was a tall man with a sharp suit and a freezing expression. When he saw me, his eyes flickered, but his voice was dripping with disdain. “Vivian Miller. You finally decided to crawl back?” He grabbed my wrist, trying to drag me through the gates. I wrenched myself free with all my strength and instantly dialed my husband’s number. “Tristan! Help me! I think I’ve run into a family of psychopaths!”

Before the voice on the other end could reply, my phone was violently knocked out of my hand. It smashed onto the cobblestone driveway, shattering into pieces. Julian’s brow furrowed with suppressed rage. “Vivian, stop playing dumb.” “So what if I made you take the fall for Serena and spend three years in prison? It’s not like it killed you.” “But look at you. You jumped out of the transport van the moment you got out, and you’ve made Serena feel guilty for an entire year!” “When we go inside, you are going to apologize to her.” For some reason, a sharp, sudden pain pierced my chest. My hands trembled as I picked up the broken pieces of my phone. “You have the wrong person! I don’t even know you!” I turned to run, but Julian grabbed my wrist again, pulling me hard into his chest. He was so close I could smell his expensive cologne, but his eyes were filled with pure disgust. “Vivian, did those years in prison teach you nothing? No one is watching your little drama here.” My heart felt like it was being ripped apart. My breath caught in my throat. An inexplicable terror wrapped around me, paralyzing my vocal cords. Suddenly, another woman walked out of the mansion. She was wearing a silk lace nightgown, peeking out from behind Julian’s shoulder. “Vivian! You’re back!” “Where have you been this past year? How could you just abandon your husband and your son?” “Julian was wrong about what happened back then, but I already scolded him for you…” Julian. The name sounded incredibly familiar. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t remember who he was. “Don’t touch me!” I instinctively pushed her away. The woman gasped, slipping and falling hard onto the ground. “I don’t know you people! I want to go home! I want my—” Before I could finish, a sharp pain exploded on my forehead. Warm blood began to trickle down my face. The little boy, Leo, was holding a rock, glaring at me. “You evil woman! Don’t you dare hurt my mom!” Julian looked at me with a flash of worry, but he quickly swept Serena up into his arms first. But Serena broke free, her eyes red as she grabbed my hand. “Vivian, don’t blame Leo. He’s been raised by my side these past few years. He forgot that you’re his biological mother.” She dragged me into the house, pulling out some antiseptic and bandages to dress my wound. “You have no idea how desperately Julian has been searching for you…” Realizing I was trapped, I stopped fighting. I stayed silent, my eyes scanning the walls. They were covered in family vacation photos. A man, a woman, and a child. Holding hands through spring, summer, autumn, and winter. The dates on the photos ran from January to December of last year. My lips curled into a bitter smile. I pointed at the boy who was still glaring at me from the corner. “You say I’m his mother. Then who are you?” “I…” Serena blushed, her eyes darting nervously toward Julian. Julian frowned and snapped at me coldly. “Serena is Marcus’s widow. What’s with the dumb questions?” “While you were in prison, Serena was the one taking care of Leo and me. You should be thanking her.” I found it hilarious. I looked directly at Julian. “If you claim I’m your wife, let me ask you something.” “Why did I have to go to prison for her?” Julian froze, his voice suddenly rising defensively. “Serena is fragile! She couldn’t survive a day in prison! You can’t compare yourself to her!” I stood up, taking a step toward him, throwing out question after question. “Then tell me, what do I like? What’s my favorite flower? What size clothes do I wear?” Julian took a step back, his face turning pale. His lips parted, but not a single word came out. I stared into his eyes, delivering the final blow. “When is my birthday?” Julian remained silent. He clenched his fists, then suddenly roared in frustration. “Enough! Stop acting crazy!” I sneered. I raised my left hand, showing off the massive diamond ring on my ring finger. “I’m sorry, Mr. Vance. I don’t know what kind of delusion you’re suffering from, but I really don’t know you.” “I am happily married. My husband is waiting for me to come home.” “As for the physical assault and illegal detention today, my lawyer will be in touch with you very soon.”

The tube of ointment in Serena’s hand clattered to the floor. She stood up, her face filled with mock disbelief. “Vivian, what did you just say?” “No wonder you refused to come home. You cheated on Julian!” Julian’s eyes turned incredibly dark. He grabbed my wrist so hard his knuckles turned white. “Vivian Miller, who is that bastard?” “Is that why you’re pretending to have amnesia? Just to be with him?!” Like a madman, he dragged me up the stairs by my arm and threw me onto the bed. “Let’s see if that bastard left any marks on you!” “Get off me!” I screamed, swinging my hand and slapping him hard across the face. “If you touch me, my husband will destroy you…” Before I could finish, his mouth slammed onto mine, cutting off my air. Julian used one hand to tear at my clothes, his touch rough and violating. He buried his face in my neck, biting and kissing me, his voice deep and raspy. “You’ve gotten brave, Vivian.” “If you won’t let me touch you, who are you saving yourself for?” I sobbed, fighting him off, when suddenly, the man on top of me froze. His hands hadn’t found smooth, soft skin. Instead, he felt thick, jagged, crisscrossing scars all over my body. Julian’s hands began to shake. He reached out to turn on the bedside lamp. But before he could, the bedroom door was pounded violently. Serena’s delicate, weeping voice drifted in through the door. “Julian! I had another nightmare about Marcus! I dreamed he was beating me, trying to drag me to hell with him!” Julian immediately pushed himself off me. He rushed out of the room and wrapped Serena in his arms, whispering softly. “Serena, it’s not your fault.” “He was abusive. You only killed him in self-defense.” “It’s over now. Don’t be scared. I’m right here with you.” Julian’s tender whispers echoed down the hallway and into my ears. I shivered, desperately buttoning my torn clothes. When I brushed my hair back, my face was completely soaked with tears. I crawled to the door and banged on it with all my might. But even when my fingers were bloody and raw, nobody opened it. I curled up in the corner, whispering one name over and over in my heart. Tristan, please. When are you going to find me? I sat in that dark room all night. The next morning, a maid finally unlocked the door and let me out. She walked past me, completely unfazed by my state, and casually tossed a dead snake into the trash can. Julian was sitting downstairs, reading the Wall Street Journal. Seeing me walk down, he ordered casually, “Serena wants your homemade chicken broth. Go make it.” “And make sure Leo’s milk is strictly room temperature.” “Iron my suits when you’re done. The maids aren’t as neat as you.” These words felt like they were programmed into my DNA. My legs actually started moving toward the kitchen on autopilot. But the moment my hand touched the apron, I snapped out of it. I rushed back into the living room, trembling with rage. “You are kidnapping me! I am calling the police!” Julian looked up from his newspaper, letting out a cold, mocking laugh. “Vivian, what game are you playing now?” I was about to scream at him when my eyes caught a photo on the front page of the newspaper. It was Tristan, attending a high-profile charity gala last week. I pointed at the paper, my voice shaking with excitement. “That’s him! That’s my husband! If you don’t believe me, call him yourself!”

Julian narrowed his eyes, about to say something. But Serena stood on the grand spiral staircase, looking down at me with pure contempt. “Vivian, are you out of your mind?” “Everyone in New York knows Tristan Carter is completely untouchable. He doesn’t even let female business partners near him, let alone a wife.” “Besides, the Vance Group is currently in talks with the Carter Corporation for a merger. We would have heard if he got married.” I clenched my fists, desperate to argue, but a sudden, sharp pain flared in my lower abdomen. My baby… Looking at the unguarded front door, I bolted. “Vivian! Where do you think you’re going?” Serena rushed down the stairs and threw her arms around me, blocking my path. Losing all control, I bit down on her arm, hard enough to tear a piece of flesh off. She screamed in pain, collapsing to the floor and clutching her bleeding arm. “Julian! My arm… it hurts so much!” The tenderness in Julian’s eyes as he looked at her arm instantly turned into murderous rage when he looked up at me. “Vivian Miller! Have you lost your mind?!” Slap! A brutal slap landed squarely on my face. My vision went pitch black, and a loud ringing filled my ears. Before I could recover, Julian dragged me by my hair to Serena’s feet and kicked the back of my knees. “Kneel down and apologize to Serena!” “You hurt my mom! I’ll beat you to death!” Leo rushed over, slamming his heavy toy car repeatedly against my head. My freshly bandaged wound split open, and blood began to gush out again. I swallowed the metallic taste of blood in my mouth, struggling to crawl away. But someone kicked me hard from behind, and my stomach slammed heavily against the sharp edge of the marble stairs. A blinding, agonizing pain ripped through my body. I felt a warm, thick liquid trickling down my thighs. Looking at the pool of blood beneath me, tears finally spilled over. “My baby… Please, take me to the hospital…” I tried to stand up, but the world spun violently, and I plummeted into darkness. When I woke up again, the sharp smell of bleach and antiseptic filled my nose. Faint voices drifted over from the side of the bed. “Pregnant? Amnesia? What the hell does that mean?!” “Mr. Vance, to be precise, it is dissociative amnesia. It’s a defense mechanism her brain built to protect her from severe trauma.” The man’s voice was tight with suppressed fury. “We provided her with everything she needed! How could she get a mental illness like that?!” The doctor sighed heavily. “The patient’s body has scars from sharp weapons, blunt force trauma, and multiple healed bone fractures. These are classic signs of prolonged, severe physical abuse.” “Her body was pushed far beyond its limits. When her mind finally broke down, it chose to completely wipe out all those agonizing memories to keep her alive.” Julian fell silent for a few seconds. When he spoke again, his voice was incredibly hoarse. “I will look into this…” “But the baby in her womb cannot stay. I am not raising another man’s bastard.” I opened my eyes in sheer terror, trying to scream, but my body wouldn’t obey. They wanted to kill my baby! Several medical staff approached, slowly pushing a syringe into my IV line. Julian stood beside me, his eyes rimmed with red. Using the absolute last ounce of my strength, I grabbed the edge of his jacket. “Please… don’t…” He reached out and covered my tear-filled eyes. Slowly, I slipped back into unconsciousness. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the Vance mansion. But I was strapped to a heavy metal chair, and a strange, cold device was strapped to my head. “Vivian, you’re awake.” Serena was kneeling in front of me, a sinister, triumphant smirk on her face. “Julian told me about your little amnesia.” “But don’t worry. We’re going to help you remember everything.” Touching my flat, empty stomach, I let out a gut-wrenching scream of despair. My baby was gone. Julian’s eyes were bloodshot. He knelt down beside me, kissing the tears on my cheeks. “The specialist said that after 99 electroshock sessions, your memory will return.” “Once you remember, I will personally destroy anyone who ever hurt you.” “As for that bastard child… I won’t hold it against you anymore.” My entire body shivered violently as I shook my head in terror. “No! Please! I really don’t know you! I beg of you…” “Start the machine,” Julian ordered coldly as he stood up. The switch was flipped. A massive jolt of electricity surged through my veins like liquid fire, exploding from my fingertips straight into my vital organs. Every muscle spasm felt like my bones were being crushed into powder. I screamed, my voice cracking into a raw, bloody shriek. Blood poured from my lips. My vision went dark, leaving nothing but an endless, tearing agony. And then, the dam in my mind finally burst. Silent tears streamed down my face. I whispered hoarsely, “I remember…” I remembered all eight years of pure, suffocating hell.

The first time I met Julian, I was working part-time as a singer at a high-end lounge. He claimed it was love at first sight. He rented out the entire venue for me. The path from the lounge to my college dorm was lined with thousands of red roses he had ordered. After that day, luxury gifts began piling up at my doorstep. He appeared in my life every single day, playing the perfect, attentive gentleman. I knew the massive gap between our social statuses, so I kept my distance. Until my gambling addict father sold me to an underground human trafficking ring. Julian had stormed into that dark basement alone, taking a dozen stab wounds to save me. That night, covered in blood, he carried me out of that hellhole step by step. “Vivian, you are my entire life.” “If you die, I won’t live another day.” Because of those words, I became his wife. Until Serena and his older brother, Marcus, returned from Europe. It was only then, from a casual slip of the tongue from his friends, that I found out Serena was his first love—the one that got away. After that day, Julian changed completely. All his attention shifted to Serena. The gifts meant for me were redirected to her. Just because Serena casually mentioned she didn’t want another woman ruling the Vance household, Julian forced me to sign divorce papers. She said she wanted a child but was too afraid of the pain of labor. So, the son I nearly died giving birth to was taken from my arms and handed to her. Whenever I screamed and demanded my baby back, Julian would threaten to cut off the life support for my terminally ill mother in the hospital. To pay for my mother’s medical bills, I became Serena’s dog. I washed her feet, endured her slaps, and accepted her verbal abuse. But the one time I couldn’t take it anymore and fought back, my mother was kicked out of the hospital into a heavy rainstorm. She died of a heart attack on the street, and I didn’t even get to say goodbye. Desperate and heartbroken, I tried to run away with my son. But Julian caught me and forced me to take the fall for Serena’s crime. That night, I knelt in the pouring rain, begging him at his feet. “Julian, please! I can’t go to prison! What will happen to Leo if I go?!” But he only kept his umbrella tightly over Serena, shielding her from a single drop of rain. His voice was as cold as a winter blizzard. “Serena is too fragile for prison. Unlike you, you’ve always been tough.” “When you get out, we will compensate you.” On my very first day in that hellhole, inmates hired by Serena rubbed industrial bleach into my eyes. On the second day, I was pushed down the concrete stairs, breaking my arms and legs. On the third day, a group of corrupt guards let violent inmates into my cell… For three years, every single day was a living nightmare. On the day of my release, Julian sent his men to pick me up. But when I saw the faces of the men in the car—the very same men who had tortured me in prison—my mind snapped. I jumped out of the moving vehicle on the highway. I was hit by an oncoming truck, thrown over the guardrail of the bridge, and plunged into the icy river below. I slowly opened my eyes, the haze in my mind completely gone. Looking at the couple in front of me, the unfamiliarity was replaced by a deep, dark hatred that seeped into my very bones. Julian rushed forward, desperately wiping the blood from my lips. “How is it, Vivian? Do you remember now?” I glared at him, spitting out each word like venom. “I remember everything.” “You are my enemy. You murdered my mother, and you killed my baby.” Julian’s face drained of all color. He stumbled back a few steps, looking at the doctor in terror. “What’s wrong with my wife?!” Serena stepped forward, pulling out a long, horrifying syringe filled with a strange yellowish liquid. “Julian, it seems Vivian’s brain is still a bit scrambled.” “I know a back-alley clinic that deals with neuro-damage. One injection of this straight into her temple, and she’ll be perfectly obedient.” Looking at the terrifying needle, Julian hesitated. Just as he was about to speak, the maid knocked urgently on the door. “Sir! Tristan Carter is downstairs. He demands to see you immediately.” “What is he doing here?” Serena offered a sweet, reassuring smile. “He’s probably here to discuss the merger. Julian, go handle him. Leave Vivian to me.” Seeing her confident look, Julian nodded and hurried downstairs. The moment the heavy oak door shut, the sweet smile on Serena’s face vanished. She grabbed my jaw with manic force, her face twisting with pure malice. “Vivian, you miserable bitch! Why did you have to come back?!” She raised the long needle, pressing the cold tip against my temple. “I will destroy any woman who tries to take Julian from me. Go to hell!” The moment she leaned in, I gathered all my strength and kicked her hard in the stomach. I tore myself free from the leather straps and sprinted toward the door. “Tristan!”

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One month before our wedding, my fiancé, Julian Vance, took in a sweet, young college girl. He bought her an apartment, a car, and showered her with millions. He was being way more dramatic and high-profile than when he was chasing me. When my housekeeper, Maria, told me about it, I was picking out photos for our wedding album. My expression didn’t even flicker when I heard the news. “Got it.” She looked at me, completely frustrated. “Aren’t you even a little worried? Chloe Bennett looks even more like Helena than you do!” “If this keeps up, forget about the wedding—your entire position in this house is threatened!” Before I could say anything, my phone buzzed with a message from Julian on Snapchat: “Let’s put the wedding on hold for now. Chloe is young and too clingy.” “I’ll dump her in six months at most. If you’re worried, we can go sign our marriage license at the courthouse first.” I saved the last wedding photo to my album and replied: “No need. It’s just a fling anyway.” He always liked how sensible and low-maintenance I was. He replied with satisfaction: “Good girl.” Good girl? I smiled. I hoped he’d still think so when he attended my wedding with his uncle.

“You’re still laughing?” Maria stomped her foot in frustration. “I seriously don’t get what’s going through your head. Don’t you feel any sense of crisis?” Since I had lost my mother at a young age, I had treated Maria like my own mother ever since I started dating Julian. Looking at her worried face, my smile widened. “It’s fine. Julian was never planning on a proper wedding anyway.” Maria fell silent. Julian and I had set our wedding date three times now. The first time, I was the one begging him, throwing tantrums just to marry him. He reluctantly got engaged to me. But right before the wedding, he canceled it using a business trip as an excuse. The second time was also me. I faked being sick and played the victim, reminding him of his deceased first love, Helena. He reluctantly agreed again. But it didn’t take long for him to see through my act. This third time, he was the one who brought it up. I was thirty now, no longer in my prime. My face, which used to look so much like Helena’s, had started showing fine lines. He bought me a bunch of expensive skincare products and casually proposed. He probably wanted to capture photos of our wedding while I still bore some resemblance to her. Too bad that even though we had already taken the photos, Chloe Bennett suddenly showed up. She looked way more like Helena than I did. She had just graduated from college—youthful, vibrant. Especially her eyes; when she smiled, they looked exactly like Helena’s. It was entirely within my expectations that Julian would postpone the wedding for her. I just hadn’t expected him to be willing to sign the marriage license with me first. “Julian announced that the wedding is postponed for six months? How could he do this?!” Maria’s shout pulled me out of my thoughts. She held up her phone to my face in shock. Five minutes ago, Julian had posted on Instagram: “Due to work reasons, my wedding with Clara is postponed for six months. Sorry for the inconvenience, everyone.” I sneered in my heart. He claimed it was for work, but everyone in our circle knew the real reason. Within a month, he had spent nearly three million dollars on Chloe. He had also taken her to various high-profile events without hiding a thing. Rumors had been flying around our social circle that I was discarded. Some people were even betting on when I’d lose my mind and try to kill myself. After all, to marry Julian, I had threatened to jump off buildings a few times in the past. Maria looked at me with deep concern. “Clara, what are you going to do?” “Tell Julian to make sure they use protection,” I said calmly. “Chloe is still young. I’d hate for her to ruin her health.” Maria let out a heavy sigh. “I knew you were still bitter about what happened two years ago.” “Actually, maybe it was for the best that you didn’t have that baby. Your health was so bad back then, you probably wouldn’t have carried it to term anyway.” I didn’t argue. I just shook my head. “We’re even now.” She didn’t get what I meant. She just sighed again. “You… you’re just too sensible.” Just then, a message popped up on my phone from Arthur. A voice note played, his deep, amused voice filling the room: “The photos look great. You have amazing taste.” “I’ll announce our marriage in the family Snapchat group today.” Maria froze. Her mouth fell open, and it took her a long time to find her voice. “You… you know Julian’s uncle, Arthur?” She couldn’t believe the person Arthur was talking about was me. I had no intention of hiding it. “Yes, he’s my husband.” “We’ve already signed the papers.” Nobody knew. While Julian was busy chasing Chloe with all his might, I hadn’t been idle either. His uncle, Arthur Vance, looked far more like the man in my heart than Julian ever did. After clinging to Julian for all these years, I had almost forgotten my original purpose. If Chloe hadn’t suddenly appeared, I might have actually believed I was in love with Julian. Signing those papers with Arthur was indeed a bit impulsive. But today proved that I made the right choice.

Maria looked utterly shocked. “So when you were with Julian, you weren’t just a willing stand-in—you were using him as a stand-in too?” I gave a bitter smile. Stand-in or not, this wasn’t some cheesy soap opera. I just wanted to survive. Seven years ago, my fiancé, Leo Wood, died on our wedding day. My soul died with him that day. Now, only this empty shell remained, desperately needing something to hold onto. I told Maria to keep quiet about this and sent Arthur a reply: “If Julian makes a scene, please handle it.” “I’m already looking at houses. I’ll move out in a few days.” Maria’s face went pale. “Clara, are you just saying this because you’re disappointed in Julian?” “Trust me, I know him. You are the most important person to him. Chloe is just a temporary amusement!” I knew that. My seven years with Julian couldn’t be replaced by Chloe overnight. But he had found someone who looked more like Helena, and I had found someone who looked more like Leo. I looked down at my new lock screen. Arthur was in a tailored suit, his eyes cold and sharp, yet they softened into a smile when he looked at me. He looked exactly like Leo. I knew I couldn’t wait any longer. If I waited any longer, I wouldn’t even recognize myself anymore. That evening, Julian came home unusually early. He smiled as soon as he walked in. “Do you remember my uncle Arthur? He suddenly announced in the family group that he’s getting married next month. He wouldn’t say who the bride is. Keeping it so mysterious.” I raised an eyebrow. “Is it the person we had dinner with last time?” “Yeah, him.” Maria opened her mouth several times but said nothing in the end, retreating to the kitchen to make dinner. Then, Julian suddenly ordered: “Maria, practice making some Mexican dishes over the next few days. Chloe is going to stay here for a while.” Before I could say anything, Maria couldn’t hold back. “Julian! How can you bring her here? Clara is still living here!” Julian frowned. “So what? There are plenty of rooms.” “Chloe just graduated. The house I bought her needs remodeling. She can’t just sleep on the street.” “You—” “Let her move in,” I interrupted Maria. “There are empty rooms upstairs. I’ll stay on the first floor. We won’t get in each other’s way.” Seeing how submissive I was as always, a flash of guilt crossed Julian’s eyes. “Clara, I know this is unfair to you.” “Don’t worry. I’ll definitely make her leave in six months.” “Sure.” I nodded smoothly and went into the kitchen to help Maria with dinner. Julian didn’t think much of it and immediately called his driver to pick up Chloe. That night, the three of us sat down for dinner. Seeing a table full of plain, boiled dishes, Chloe frowned deeply. “Julian, didn’t you tell the housekeeper that I like Mexican food?” “These dishes have no color, let alone flavor. How is anyone supposed to eat this?” Maria glanced over and clattered the plates in the sink on purpose. Julian patted Chloe’s head affectionately. “Just eat this for a few days. Clara has a sensitive stomach and can’t eat anything too spicy.” “I’ll have Maria cook separate meals for you later.” Chloe looked over at me. It was her first time looking at me closely. Our eyes met, and a look of “she’s nothing special” flashed across her face. She reluctantly put down her fork and pushed her plate forward. “Forget it. I won’t eat. I’ll just count it as a diet.” With that, she got up and walked over to the sofa to watch TV. Julian immediately chased after her. “How can you not eat? You’ll get a stomachache. Be good, just have a few bites.” Chloe glanced at me and crossed her arms. “She must have told the housekeeper to do this. If you didn’t want me to move in, you should have just said so.” Julian grabbed her hand and coaxed her humbly, “Clara wouldn’t do that. I just told Maria too late. It’s my fault.”

Chloe pouted. “I don’t care! That food is practically dog food. I’m not eating it!” Watching them, I felt like I was back to when Julian and I first met. Back then, because I wanted to accompany him in eating spicy food, I ended up in the ER with acute gastritis. His eyes had been red with panic. “Clara, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know your stomach was this sensitive.” “Tomorrow—tomorrow I’ll eat bland food with you!” He kept his word. For the rest of our time together, he never touched a single spicy dish. I knew he was only good to me because of Helena. So I never dared to tell him that my stomach was ruined because of the heavy drinking after my fiancé died. I didn’t dare to be spoiled and demanding like Chloe. Because I was afraid. Afraid of losing someone who looked so much like Leo. “I’ll take you out to eat,” Julian continued to coax Chloe, helping her put on her high heels and pulling her up by the hand. As he passed the dining table, he said coldly to Maria, “Starting tomorrow, everyone eats spicy food. Including Clara.” Maria was shocked. “But Clara has chronic gastritis. If she has an attack…” “A little bit won’t hurt. Gastritis isn’t some terminal illness. She won’t die from it.” He grew impatient. “It’s settled. If you can’t cook it, I’ll find a housekeeper who can.” For the next few days, every meal in the house was heavy, spicy Mexican food. Julian had eaten bland food with me for years, so his stomach wasn’t used to such greasy, spicy food either. But to accommodate Chloe, his face flushed red from the spice, yet he never complained once. Maria tried to cook separate, bland meals for me a few times, but Chloe eventually found out. Her face darkened, and she dumped my food right in front of Julian. “What is this garbage? It makes me want to throw up!” “Julian, can you tell Maria to stop making this stuff? It totally ruins my appetite.” I frowned, meeting Julian’s slightly guilty gaze. He looked away. “Maria, don’t make separate meals for Clara anymore.” “Let her eat with us. It’s no big deal.” At his words, my expression finally turned cold. “I can’t eat spicy food.” “I’ve accommodated you for so many years. Can’t you accommodate someone else for once?” The guilt in Julian’s eyes vanished instantly. His gaze turned heavy and cold. “You didn’t say anything for the past few days, and I thought you were actually being sensible. Turns out it was all an act? Now you finally can’t hide it anymore?” “Chloe is only staying here for six months. Can’t you just bear with it for six months?” Right. The anger inside me slowly dissolved. Since I was leaving soon anyway, there was nothing worth arguing about. Without saying another word, I turned to head to my bedroom. But Chloe suddenly grabbed my arm. “Where do you think you’re going?” “Someone has to keep me company when I eat!” This was just pure harassment. I yanked my hand back. “Chloe, I am not your servant.” “Ah!” As soon as the words left my mouth, she suddenly tumbled backward. With a loud crash, her lower back slammed hard against the chair. Blood quickly stained her dress. Everyone froze. I stared in shock, my fingers tightening as I stood there, speechless. Julian’s face went pale. He rushed to help her up, his voice trembling. “Chloe! Are you okay?” “Julian… why am I bleeding? Am I… am I pregnant?” Chloe looked utterly dazed and terrified. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead as she clutched Julian’s sleeve. “What do we do…” Julian suddenly snapped his head up to look at me, his face terrifyingly dark. “You pushed her! How can you be so vicious?” “If anything happens to the baby, I’m never letting this go!” “I didn’t even use force—” “Chloe, I’m taking you to the hospital right now!” He didn’t wait for me to finish. He scooped Chloe up in his arms and ran out. The bloodstains left on the floor made my face turn pale. I had also lost a child once. In our second year together, I found out I was pregnant and started pushing for marriage. He kept making excuses. In the end, when he couldn’t stall anymore, he said coldly: “If you’re only forcing me to marry you because of this baby, then go get an abortion.”

Why? Why wasn’t Julian this frantic back then? Why could he coldly tell me to get an abortion back then? “It’s okay, Clara. Don’t… don’t cry.” Maria gently took my hand, her voice choked with tears. I mechanically reached up to wipe my face, only to realize my cheeks were already soaked with tears. “I saw it! Chloe fell on her own. It had nothing to do with you!” Maria said as she pulled out her phone to call Julian. “I’ll tell him right now!” “He won’t believe you.” I held Maria’s hand down, my voice hoarse. “We’re even. We’re completely even now.” Julian didn’t return all night. At dawn, I was still tossing and turning, unable to sleep. Thinking back to the absurd years I spent with him, I felt a deep sense of guilt toward Leo. He had given his life to protect me, and his only wish was for me to live a good life. But what was I doing? What on earth was I doing? Suddenly, my phone buzzed, interrupting my thoughts. I picked it up and saw a friend request on Snapchat from a girl with a cartoon avatar. After a moment of thought, I accepted. I clicked on her profile. Her pinned post was a side profile of Julian. Along with a photo of them holding hands. The caption was incredibly intimate: “Stay with me forever, okay?” It was Chloe. I didn’t message her. Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, she couldn’t help herself. “You’re Clara, right?” “Julian is with me right now. He’s not coming home tonight.” I still didn’t reply, pretending I didn’t see it. She waited for a while before finally getting to the point: “I won’t hold the baby thing against you, but on one condition: you have to give Julian up to me.” “You know his heart only belongs to Helena. Now that I look more like her than you do, you have no advantage left.” “I don’t care what others say. I’m willing to be her stand-in.” Indeed, youth is always full of reckless passion, ready to dive in headfirst. Just like how I had risked everything when I first approached Julian. “You don’t need to ask. He’s already yours.” After replying, I blocked Chloe. The sky outside was gradually brightening. Before packing my things, I called Julian. I wanted to meet him one last time to clear everything up. After last night, I had completely let go. There was no longer any need to hide anything. Once we talked, I would start my life with Arthur. But I called him several times, and he didn’t pick up once. He was doing it on purpose. I put my phone down and stopped trying. Seeing me packing my luggage systematically, Maria paced back and forth in panic. After pacing for a while, she called Julian. This time, he picked up. But his voice was extremely impatient: “If you’re calling to talk about Clara, save your breath. I don’t want to hear anything about her right now.” “Chloe is still in the hospital. I’ll settle the score with Clara once she’s recovered!” “Julian, Clara is leaving. She’s packing her bags—” “Where could she possibly go? She has no parents, no friends. Aside from the Vance house, where else can she go?” Maria, interrupted, was sweating profusely with anxiety. “She’s going to find—” “I don’t care who she finds. Chloe is awake, I’m hanging up.” With that cold remark, the call went dead. Maria frantically tried to call back, but I smiled and spoke up: “Don’t disturb him, Maria. I’m leaving.” “If you ever need anything in the future, call me anytime.” I gave her a warm hug. Maria burst into tears. She watched me leave with my luggage, reluctant to say goodbye. For the next two weeks, Julian barely contacted me. Occasionally, he would send weird texts in the middle of the night: “Clara, where did you put my white shirts?” “We’re out of toothpaste. Which brand do you usually buy?” “I’m thinking of moving. If you’re never coming back, I won’t bother telling you the new address.” … I didn’t reply to a single message. And on his end, he finally received a call from his friend who ran a wedding planning agency. “Julian, what’s going on with you and Clara?” He frowned, his tone dark. “Even you know we had a fight?” “Did she go to your agency? Is she trying to force me into marriage again?” The voice on the other end hesitated. “She did come, but not to force you. In fact, she’s getting married…” Julian laughed, his tone completely indifferent. “Getting married? To whom? Is she trying to pick some random guy off the street to make me jealous?” “I’m not falling for that.” “Oh, come on!” His friend got anxious, his voice rising: “Her groom is your uncle, Arthur Vance! The scale is huge—they booked our entire grand ballroom!”

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When it was time to exchange rings at my wedding, my best friend suddenly walked up to the altar, wearing a wedding gown and sporting a bright smile. And my fiancé, Austin Harrison, slipped my wedding ring onto her ring finger right sin front of all the guests. With eyes welling with tears, I demanded an explanation. But the two of them looked at each other and actually burst out laughing. Hailey Bennett waved her hand, showing off the ring on her finger. “Chloe, Austin and I made a bet last night on who would win the World Cup final.” “He lost. So, according to our bet, I get to be the bride today.” Austin wrapped his arm around her waist, his tone completely relaxed. “It’s just letting Hailey be the bride for one day. We’ll host another wedding for us next month. Don’t be such a party pooper.” They always loved to use me as a betting chip. At our engagement party, he lost a bet, and my engagement ring ended up on Hailey’s finger first. When we took our wedding photos, he lost another bet, and ended up shooting the snowy-themed photoshoot—my absolute favorite—with Hailey instead of me. Even the master bedroom of our new house was decorated exactly the way Hailey liked it, all because of a lost bet. Every time I felt hurt and cried, they would smile and say, “It’s just a bet. Why are you taking it so seriously?” But it wasn’t until today that I finally understood. In their eyes, my wedding, my love, and my entire life were nothing but cheap chips they could toss onto their gambling table whenever they pleased. I looked at Austin. The pain in my chest finally cleared, replaced by an absolute, icy calm. “If you want to give her the wedding, you can go with her too.”

After saying that, I turned around to leave. But Austin grabbed my wrist tightly. “Chloe Miller, that’s enough.” “All of our family, friends, and business partners are here. Do you really have to embarrass everyone and make a scene?” I yanked my hand out of his grip. “Am I the one making a scene?” “Today was supposed to be my wedding!” Austin frowned, his voice dripping with impatience. “I already told you, it’s just for Hailey to experience it for one day.” “Once the wedding is over, nothing changes between us.” “Are you seriously going to break up with me over a stupid ceremony?” He paused, as if remembering something, and let out a scoff. “You said the exact same thing last month—that you were done with us.” “But didn’t you end up buying Hailey’s birthday cake yourself a few days later?” Hailey laughed along. “Chloe, every time you lose your temper, you threaten to cut us off.” “But in three days max, you always come crawling back to us.” She twirled the wedding ring on her finger, her smile filled with mock playfulness. “This time, I bet it’ll only take two days.” “Austin, do you want to bet on this?” Austin looked down at her. “What’s the wager?” “Let’s bet on how long it takes for Chloe to come back to us.” “If she begs for your forgiveness within two days, you have to give me the custom vanity set in the master bedroom.” Austin didn’t hesitate for a single second. “Deal.” “Actually, she won’t even last a day.” Right in front of my face, the two of them started placing another bet on me. It was as if the breakup I had just declared was nothing more than a new, amusing game designed for their entertainment. I stared at Austin. “Are you really that confident that I’ll come back?” Austin’s voice was dead calm. “We’ve been together for six years.” “You spent an entire year planning this wedding just to marry me.” “You personally booked the venue, chose the dress, and managed the guest list.” “Chloe, do you really have the guts to leave me?” He knew the old me too well. That was why he dared to step over my boundaries again and again. Because no matter who won or lost, I was always the one who cleaned up the mess in the end. When Hailey ruined my engagement dress, I was the one who quietly ordered a replacement. When she tore up my photos with Austin, I was the one who said it was fine. Even when she redecorated our new home into her favorite style, I was the one who ended up apologizing to Austin, saying I shouldn’t have argued with them over interior design. It wasn’t that they didn’t know I would be hurt. They were just absolutely sure I would never leave. From the guest tables below, one of Austin’s friends, Liam, called out with a chuckle: “Come on, Chloe, don’t take it so seriously.” “Austin and Hailey have always been like this. They’re just goofing around.” “Besides, Hailey is a proud independent woman who’s never getting married anyway.” “Letting her experience a wedding is just a nice way to check it off her bucket list.” “Calling off the wedding over something so trivial makes you look really petty.” One voice after another. Everyone was telling me to be the bigger person. But not a single person asked me if I was willing to give away my own wedding. Austin’s mother, Victoria, walked up to the stage from the VIP table. She took Hailey’s hand, her eyes filled with nothing but warm approval. “You know, this ring actually looks much better on Hailey than it does on Chloe.” Hailey smiled coyly, leaning into her. “Mrs. Harrison, please don’t say that.” “Chloe will be sad if she hears you.” Victoria shot me a cold, dismissive glance. “She’s about to marry into the Harrison family. If she can’t even handle a little joke like this, how is she going to survive as our daughter-in-law?” Then, she patted Hailey’s hand gently. “Honestly, I’ve always liked you more, Hailey.” “You’re lively and you know how to make people happy.” “Unlike some people who always have to argue about who’s right or wrong, ruining the mood over every little thing.” Austin’s father, Richard, also walked over with a glass of champagne in his hand. “Since Austin lost the bet, he has to honor it. A man must keep his word.” “We can just throw another wedding for Chloe next month. It’s no big deal.” I looked at him. “In your eyes, a wedding is something that can just be casually redone?” Richard’s face darkened with displeasure. “It’s just a ceremony.” “As long as Austin is still marrying you in the end, what more do you want?” “And to be completely honest with you.” “If Hailey weren’t against the idea of marriage, we would have much preferred Austin to marry her.”

The entire banquet hall fell dead silent. Austin finally noticed the icy expression on my face. Frowning, he interrupted his father. “Dad, why are you bringing this up today?” Then, he turned to me. “My parents just like Hailey’s outgoing personality.” “Don’t take everything so personally.” I suddenly laughed. Any words that cut me to the bone could always be brushed off as “just a joke.” Hailey clung tighter to Austin’s arm. “Alright, let’s not fight because of me.” “Chloe, since you already said you’re giving the wedding to me, just let me finish the rest of the ceremony.” She looked at my wedding gown, her eyes curving into sweet crescents. “After all, you get to have another wedding next month anyway.” I didn’t argue with her. Instead, I pulled out my phone and dialed the event coordinator. “The bride for today’s wedding has been changed at the last minute.” “I refuse to pay the remaining balance.” The phone went quiet for a few seconds. The coordinator asked hesitantly, “Miss Miller, didn’t you know?” “A month ago, Mr. Harrison came in with Miss Bennett to modify the contract.” “The bride’s name on the contract was changed to Hailey Bennett a long time ago.” My hand gripping the phone suddenly tightened. “A month ago?” “Yes.” “Miss Bennett also personally re-confirmed the menu and the stage setup.” “Mr. Harrison told us that all the changes were made with your full consent.” I raised my head to look at the two people standing on the stage. So, this so-called “bet on the World Cup” from last night… They had already planned this an entire month ago. Suppressing my trembling voice, I continued, “What about the remaining balance?” The coordinator replied, “It was fully paid off last night.” “Mr. Harrison authorized a payment of $95,000 from your joint wedding account.” I quickly opened my banking app. The balance of our joint account was exactly $3.70. That $95,000 was my entire life savings from five years of grueling work. I had planned to use the remaining money after the wedding to open my own interior design studio. Seeing my phone screen, Austin finally walked down from the stage. “The money is already paid. Even if you cancel now, the venue won’t give you a refund.” I stared at him, my eyes burning. “What gave you the right to touch my money without my permission?” Austin replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “That money was meant for the wedding anyway.” “The wedding is still happening today, so the money didn’t go to waste.” Hailey cozied up next to him, gently showing off the ring. “Chloe, didn’t you just say you were giving the wedding to me?” “Since you gave it to me, of course that includes the expenses.” Looking at them playing their tag-team game, my anger suddenly vanished. They didn’t just use my wedding as a toy. They stole my savings. All so Hailey could have a grand, luxurious wedding with my fiancé using my hard-earned money.

The moment I stepped off the stage, my mother pushed through the crowd and grabbed my hand. “Chloe, sweetheart, what is going on?” My parents were seated at the very back of the hall, right next to the exit doors. They were the only two guests from my side of the family. My relatives from our small hometown had all wanted to fly in, but Victoria had complained that they were “clueless about etiquette” and would embarrass the Harrison family. Austin had also told me, “We can just host a cheap dinner back in your hometown later. Don’t invite too many people here.” So, my parents had taken a grueling twelve-hour Greyhound bus ride alone just to attend their daughter’s wedding. My mother’s dress was slightly ill-fitting; she had tailored the waist herself with a needle and thread. The “Father of the Bride” boutonniere on my father’s chest had been crushed in the crowd, but he still refused to take it off. Now, they had to watch Hailey wearing my wedding dress and my ring. My father walked right up to Austin. “Take that ring off her finger, and apologize to my daughter.” Austin’s face darkened. “Mr. Miller, it’s just a harmless bet.” “Hailey is just filling in for the ceremony today. I’m still going to sign the marriage license with Chloe after this.” My father froze for a second. “You’re having a wedding with her, but you want my daughter to just sign papers?” “What does that make my daughter?” Austin frowned. “We’ve always played games like this. Chloe never used to care.” My mother was trembling with rage. “Just because she didn’t complain, you think you can walk all over her?” In her anger, her small-town accent slipped out, and her voice grew louder. Victoria immediately raised her chin, her face cold. “Please, watch your volume.” “This isn’t your quiet little trailer park.” “The people here today are all elite clients of the Harrison family. Are you trying to make us a laughingstock with your screaming?” Whispers erupted from the surrounding tables. “No manners at all. Typical small-town folks.” My mother’s face flushed a deep, painful red. She had only wanted to stand up for her daughter, but now she shrank back, nervously clutching her fingers, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m not trying to make a scene.” “I just… I just hurt for my daughter.” A sharp pang of sorrow hit my chest. She had done absolutely nothing wrong, yet she felt forced to apologize to the very people who were humiliating her. Austin interrupted impatiently. “Let’s just let Hailey have this wedding today.” “Next month, I’ll go to your hometown and host a nice dinner.” “All of your relatives can come. I think that’s more than fair to Chloe.” My father slowly raised his head. “You give this hundred-thousand-dollar wedding to her…” “…and then you want to brush my daughter off with a cheap dinner in some small town?” Austin’s expression turned ugly. “I already promised to throw another dinner. What more do you want?” Hailey finally sashayed over, holding up her dress, and reached out to hold my mother’s hand with fake warmth. “Mrs. Miller, does it really matter where the wedding is held?” “It wasn’t easy for you and Mr. Miller to travel all this way.” She pointed to the party favors stacked in the corner. “Why don’t you take a few extra boxes of chocolates back home to share with your neighbors? At least you won’t leave empty-handed.” My mother flinched and pulled her hand back as if she had been burned. My father ripped the red boutonniere off his chest and slammed it onto the table. “Our family might not be rich.” “But we are not so poor that we would trade our daughter’s dignity for a few boxes of chocolates!” Hailey’s eyes instantly welled with tears. “Mr. Miller, I was just trying to be nice.” Austin immediately stepped in front of her to shield her. “That’s enough!” “Hailey is trying to accommodate you, and you’re being completely ungrateful.” My father stared at him quietly. “When you got down on your knees in front of us, you swore you would never let Chloe suffer a single day of unhappiness.” Austin avoided his gaze. My father didn’t ask anything else. He turned to wipe the tears from my face, his voice suddenly sounding ten years older. “Chloe, I was wrong about him.” “We are not doing this. Let’s go home.” My tears finally spilled over. The entire room of wealthy guests was pressuring me to endure this humiliation. Only my parents, who had just been deeply insulted, stood firmly in front of me. I pulled off my bridal veil and took each of their hands. “Okay.” “Let’s go home.” Behind us, Austin let out a cold laugh. “Since she wants to walk out so badly, let’s make another bet.” Hailey’s eyes lit up instantly. “I bet Chloe won’t last three days before she brings her parents back to apologize to us.” Austin stared at my retreating back, his voice filled with absolute certainty. “It won’t even take three days.” “She’ll crawl back this afternoon, begging me to sign the marriage license.” Hailey giggled. “And the wager?” “If she doesn’t apologize to me by tonight, the penthouse downtown is yours.” “Deal.” Their laughter echoed from behind us. Even at this very moment, they still viewed my dignity as a pathetic little game. I didn’t look back. As we walked out of the hotel lobby, my father asked softly, “Chloe, sweetheart… do you regret it?” I caught sight of the welcome sign at the entrance, which proudly displayed the names: Austin Harrison & Hailey Bennett. I squeezed my parents’ hands tightly. “I only regret not seeing through them sooner.” But I wasn’t just going to walk away. I was going to leave Austin a grand parting gift. Since he loved betting so much, I wanted to see if he could actually afford to lose this time.

At 3:00 PM, a notification popped up on my phone. 【Reminder: Your appointment to register your marriage license is scheduled for today at 4:20 PM. Please arrive on time with your IDs.】 Right after, Austin sent a screenshot of the appointment on Snapchat. “I’m throwing you a bone here.” “Be at City Hall by 4:00 PM. I’ll overlook the stunt you pulled today, and we can still sign the papers.” Austin then sent a voice note. “But before we sign, you have to apologize to my parents.” “And to Hailey.” “She cried for a long time today because of how you and your dad treated her.” “As long as you sincerely apologize, we can put this behind us.” I calmly typed back two words. “Sure, see you there.” The Snapchat group chat went quiet for a few seconds. Then, Austin tagged Hailey. “I won.” Hailey sent a pouting emoji. “Ugh, fine. A bet’s a bet.” “But when you guys go on your honeymoon, I’m tagging along.” Austin immediately sent a screenshot of an added flight ticket. “Already bought your ticket.” It turned out that even the honeymoon I had looked forward to for months was just another prize on their betting table. At 4:15 PM, I arrived at City Hall. Austin was waiting near the entrance of the registry office. When he saw me, the tension on his face finally melted into a smug smile. “I knew you’d come back.” “My parents and Hailey are waiting at the restaurant.” “Once we sign the papers, I’ll take you there to apologize.” He held out his hand. “Give me your ID.” I didn’t move. The next second, two police officers stepped out from behind me. “Mr. Austin Harrison?” “We received a report of grand larceny. You are accused of unauthorized access to another person’s bank account and stealing $95,000.” The smug smile on Austin’s face instantly froze. “Stealing? What are you talking about?” “That’s our joint wedding fund!” I pulled out my bank statements and the modified hotel contract. “The account is solely under my name, and every single dollar in it came from my personal income.” “You stole my password while I was asleep and forged my authorization to pay the venue.” “I have already handed over the hotel’s security footage, the transaction records, and our chat history to the police.” The officers stepped forward and handcuffed his wrists. Austin finally panicked. “Chloe Miller, didn’t you come here to sign our marriage license?!” I looked at him and smiled gently. “No. I came to watch you get arrested.”

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On the day of my wedding to William Thompson, Silicon Valley’s golden boy, his college classmate Grace Young got into a car crash. He was about to throw down his wedding band and run out when I grabbed his hand, hard. I leaned in and whispered that if he walked out that door, my family would instantly pull our venture capital funding from his tech startup. If we finished the ceremony today, the funding would go through. If he dared to leave, I would have him kicked out of his CEO seat by tomorrow morning. With a face of pure ice, he forced himself to stand by my side and finish the ceremony. But right after, news came from the hospital—Grace hadn’t survived. William didn’t say a single word. Three months later, he took me to a private charity gala at a vineyard in Napa Valley. The moment I turned my back, he drugged my champagne and handed me over to his corrupt business partner, Mark Vance. Mark took compromising photos and videos of me and sent them straight to William. William just sat on the plush leather sofa in the VIP lounge, laughing. “She’s the one who forced me to marry her,” he sneered. “This is her karma.” “Call the press. Tell them she cheated on me, got blackmailed, and died in a tragic accident.” As my consciousness faded, the brutal truth finally hit me. William hated me. He blamed me for taking away his chance to save his precious Grace. When I opened my eyes again, William was holding the diamond wedding band, about to slide it onto my finger. I smiled. I turned my head, pulled out my phone, and called Arthur Blackwood. I asked him if he wanted to be my groom instead. …

“By the power vested in me, the groom may now kiss the bride…” The priest’s voice was still echoing in my ears, but William’s expression had turned incredibly strange. “Grace got into a car accident…” he muttered. He hadn’t even picked up the phone that was buzzing in his pocket yet. He just “knew” she was in trouble. Looking at the raw panic in his eyes, my heart felt like it had been plunged into freezing water. The memories of my past life rushed back like a tidal wave. The terrifying helplessness of being drugged. The rough, disgusting hands of Mark Vance tearing at my bridal gown. William’s face as he sat on the sofa, laughing and saying I “deserved it.” The humiliating video, and the bone-chilling wind as I fell from the vineyard balcony. William’s hands trembled as he finally answered the call. “Grace, hold on. I’m coming. I’ll be right there.” Hanging up, William shook off my hand—the hand that was supposed to receive the ring. “Ann, Grace is in trouble. I have to go to her right now. Be reasonable. This is a matter of life and death.” I raised my hand and slapped him across the face. Hard. The sharp smack echoed through the grand cathedral. The guests instantly fell dead silent. He cupped his cheek, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Ann, what the hell is wrong with you?” Seeing the disgust and self-righteousness in his eyes, I knew. He had regressed, too. Just like me. “You’re right,” I said, my voice dead calm. “I’m not going to make a scene.” I slowly took off my own engagement ring. In front of hundreds of high-society guests, I tossed it directly into the nearby champagne tower. The crystal glasses clinked and shattered. “The wedding is off. Get the hell out.” The crowd erupted into whispers. William stood frozen, then knitted his brows, looking at me like I was just throwing a childish tantrum. “Ann, don’t play games right now. Grace is waiting for me at the ER. I’ll explain everything when I get back.” He turned to leave. I stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “No need to explain. If you walk out, you walk out. But let’s make one thing clear to everyone here—you are walking out on me. I didn’t kick you out.” Without even looking back, he threw a loud statement to the crowd: “Ann wants to cancel the wedding. I respect her decision.” Then, he rushed out of the cathedral. His parents’ faces turned instantly green. They swarmed me, shouting accusations. “Ann! William left to save a life! How can you be so incredibly selfish?” “You’re throwing a fit like this before you’re even officially married? How are the two of you supposed to build a life together?” My parents instantly flared up, stepping forward to defend me. I held my dad’s arm and shook my head, signaling him to stop. William’s parents took my silence as submission. “Figure it out yourselves,” his father huffed, leading their guests toward the exit. The massive venue emptied out by half in minutes. The remaining guests were whispering and pointing at me. My dad was shaking with rage, wanting to chase them down for an explanation. I held him back, pulled out my phone, and dialed a number I hadn’t called in a very long time. “Arthur,” I said when the line connected. “When you said you wanted to marry me last time… did you mean it?” “As long as I’m breathing, Ann. Always.” “I’m short of a groom at my wedding right now. How fast can you get here?” “Fifteen minutes.” I hung up, looking up at my shocked parents, and then down at the wedding ring resting at the bottom of a champagne glass.

While waiting, I whispered to my dad, telling him to immediately gather all the evidence of William embezzling company funds. “Once you have it, email it directly to the Board of Directors and the SEC,” I instructed. Since he wanted to save his darling Grace so badly, he could pay for it with his CEO title. Arthur arrived even faster than promised. He was wearing a bespoke black suit, with a light dusting of snow on his shoulders. The moment he stepped through the heavy oak doors, every eye in the room locked onto him. He walked straight to me and handed me a black velvet box with his long, elegant fingers. “I happen to carry a ring with me. The size should be perfect.” I took the box and opened it. The ring inside was exactly my style, and when I slid it on, it fit perfectly. “Are you sure about this, Arthur? If you marry me, you and William will be sworn enemies in the business world.” He took my hand without a second thought. His voice was deep, warm, and steady. “I have never been more sure of anything in my life.” The priest recovered quickly, clearing his throat and announcing that the ceremony would proceed. The remaining guests went from shocked murmurs to stunned silence, which quickly erupted into thunderous applause. As Arthur and I exchanged rings, he leaned down and pressed a gentle, feather-light kiss against my lips. “Ann, from this day on, I’ll protect you.” Feeling the warmth of his palm, the anxiety that had gripped my chest for two lifetimes finally dissolved. The moment the ceremony ended, my phone vibrated like crazy. It was a text from William on SnapChat. [Ann, I know you’re just doing this to get back at me. Hiring an actor to play your groom? Really?] [Apologize to me right now, and I might consider coming back to finish the wedding later tonight.] I figured his assistant, who had stayed behind, must have sent him photos of me and Arthur. I didn’t reply. I just locked my screen. A second later, my phone rang. It was him. His voice was dripping with sarcasm. “Ann, you really are desperate to get me back, aren’t you? Hiring some random guy to play a role? You think this is funny?” Before I could speak, Grace’s weak, trembling voice came through the receiver in the background. “William, don’t blame Ann. She probably just loves you too much. She acted on impulse…” “Oh, by the way, I just asked the nurse… she said the brake lines on my car looked really strange, like someone tampered with them…” William’s fury instantly boiled over the line. I could practically feel his rage through the screen. “Ann! Was it you? Are you so jealous of Grace that you tried to murder her?!” Hearing this utterly ridiculous accusation, I laughed out loud. “I don’t have the time or the interest to touch her cheap car, William. Believe what you want.” “Stop lying! Why would Grace accuse you if it wasn’t true?” He was completely deaf to reason. I didn’t want to waste my breath, so I hung up and blocked his number on everything. Right after I blocked him, a text from an unknown number popped up. [If you want my forgiveness, come to the hospital, get on your knees, and apologize to Grace. And you’re going to sign over your corneas to her. She might go blind.] [Do it, or I’m calling the police and throwing you in federal prison.] I stared at the text, then slid my phone over to Arthur. Arthur glanced at the screen, and his eyes instantly turned predatory and cold. “Do you want me to handle this?” I shook my head, raising my glass of champagne to clink against his. “No. I want to ruin him myself.”

That evening, Arthur drove me back to my estate. The moment we pulled into the driveway, we saw William blocking the gates. He still smelled of hospital disinfectant, and his eyes were bloodshot. Seeing me get out of Arthur’s SUV, he charged at me, reaching out to grab my arm. Arthur stepped in front of me like a wall, catching William’s wrist and twisting it slightly. William groaned in pain. “Ann! You’re actually serious about this guy?” He ripped his hand away from Arthur, glaring at me with disbelief. I leaned against the car door, looking at his indignant face. It was pathetic. “Of course I am. Did you honestly think my world revolved around you?” “And let me make this clear—whatever happened to Grace’s eyes has nothing to do with me. Stop pointing fingers.” William’s face turned purple. He pointed at me, shaking. “Who else could it be? Who else hates Grace? I’m telling you, Ann, you’re going to pay for her medical treatment, or I’ll destroy you!” He pulled out his phone, threatening to call the cops. “I have security footage of you near her car. If you don’t comply, I’m sending you to jail.” I didn’t feel like playing his games. I unlocked my phone and dialed 911 myself. “Yes, officer? I’d like to report a stalker trespassing on my private property and harassing me. Please send a patrol car.” William gasped, stunned by my move, then let out a cold laugh. “Good. Let the cops come. Let’s see who they arrest.” The police arrived within minutes. William rushed over to them immediately, shoving a flash drive into the deputy’s hand. “Officer, I want to report a felony. This woman cut the brakes on my friend’s car, causing an accident that might leave her blind. The evidence is right here.” The deputy took the flash drive and looked at me. I pulled out a tablet from my bag, showing the security logs of my company’s office from that day, along with signed affidavits from my executive team. “This is my alibi. I was in a board meeting all day. The video he has is a deepfake. I welcome a forensic audit.” The deputy carefully reviewed my documents, made a quick call to verify the security company’s logs, and turned to William with a stern look. “Mr. Thompson, this footage you provided has clear signs of digital manipulation. Filing a false police report is a serious crime.” William’s face drained of color. “That’s impossible! Her alibi must be forged!” “She wanted to kill Grace! She’s capable of anything!” I didn’t want to watch his manic episode anymore. I nodded politely to the officers. “Thank you, officers. I will be pressing charges for harassment and defamation.” Even after the police ordered him to leave the perimeter, William lingered near the edge of the street, staring at me with venomous eyes. “Ann, I know you remember,” he whispered, stepping closer. “I know you regressed too. I know I wronged you in the past life, but Grace is innocent.” “Give her the medical settlement. If you do, I’ll take the fall for the embezzlement charges. I won’t drag your father, David, into this. Deal?” Hearing him twist the truth so effortlessly, I laughed in his face. “I already sent the embezzlement files to the SEC, William. You should worry about your own skin.” William’s face went completely white. Before he could speak, his phone rang. He picked it up. Within seconds, his hands were shaking so hard he almost dropped the device.

William stood frozen like a statue. His assistant was screaming through the speaker, but William’s hands were trembling so violently he couldn’t even speak. “Impossible… I wiped all the digital footprints…” He looked up at me, his eyes filled with madness and pure, unadulterated hatred. “You! Ann, you set me up!” He lunged at me again. Arthur stepped in, delivering a brutal kick straight to William’s stomach. William stumbled back and fell hard onto the snow-covered driveway, looking utterly pathetic. “You embezzled the money yourself, William. Don’t blame me for your own greed,” I said, walking up to him and looking down at his miserable state. “When you threw me to your business partner in our past life, did you ever stop to think about this day?” William’s pupils dilated. The remaining color drained from his face. “You… you really did come back…” Suddenly, he started laughing. It was a manic, hysterical laugh that brought tears to his eyes. “Fine. Great. Just you wait, Ann. This isn’t over.” He scrambled to his feet and stumbled away into the dark, leaving his buzzing phone on the ground. I picked it up. The screen was lit up with a text from Grace on SnapChat. [William, the doctor said without a transplant, I’ll never see again. I’m so scared.] [Please don’t blame Ann. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have been in your life.] I stared at the screen, took a screenshot of the text, and tossed the phone into the trash can. Arthur walked over, draping his wool coat over my shoulders. “Are you cold? Let’s go inside.” I shook my head, pulling out my own phone to text my PR director. “Release the files on William’s embezzlement and his arrest warrant for filing a false police report. Make it trend.” Within ten minutes, the internet exploded. TechFounderEmbezzlement trends. WilliamThompsonHarassesEx trends. I scrolled through the comments on Ins, watching the internet turn on him, calling him the ultimate trash. I couldn’t help but smirk. The next morning, my dad called me, his voice tight with anxiety. “Ann, look at the stock market. William just hosted a live stream. He’s claiming I forced him to embezzle the funds, and he’s showing fake wire transfers to our family accounts!” My heart sank. I checked the market. Our family company’s stock was tanking, dropping fast. Another hashtag was trending: DavidMartinezEmbezzlement. Arthur frowned beside me, pulling out his phone to make some calls, but I stopped him. “Don’t worry. I was waiting for him to make this move.” I opened William’s live stream on YouTube. He was dressed in a sleek suit, looking perfectly remorseful, crying to the camera. “I was young and stupid. David Martinez coerced me into doing it. All the money went into their offshore accounts. I am willing to cooperate with the feds. I just want to do the right thing.” Grace was sitting next to him, her eyes bandaged, bowing slightly to the camera in a frail voice. “I know people might not believe us, but William is a good man. He was forced. Please don’t hate him.” Watching their little performance, I sneered and made a quick call to our legal contact at the SEC. After hanging up, I waved a flash drive in front of Arthur. “This contains the real paper trail of William and Grace moving the funds to their own accounts, along with audio recordings of them planning to drain my family’s company six months ago.” Arthur raised an eyebrow, a proud smile playing on his lips as he ruffled my hair. “You’re always three steps ahead, aren’t you?” I smiled back. But before I could speak, the front doorbell rang. I opened it to find two federal agents standing there, badges in hand. “Ann Martinez? We’re with the SEC. We have a warrant to bring you in for questioning regarding your father’s alleged financial fraud.”

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When I listed the riverfront condo—the one where I’d personally put down the three-hundred-thousand-dollar down payment—the realtor asked how I could bear to slash the price so drastically just to get rid of it. I pulled at the corner of my mouth. “Because of a cashmere throw.” The night before, I had worked past midnight. My stomach ulcer flared up, leaving me shivering on the living room floor in a cold sweat. All I wanted was to slide into the master bed and close my eyes. But Devon’s hand clamped down on the doorknob, blocking me. He frowned. “Don’t go in. Mallory loves those silk sheets and that cashmere throw. The last time you slept in there, you left a trace of your perfume, and she couldn’t sleep a wink all night.” He closed the door tightly, keeping the gap sealed, and spoke in a hushed, pleading tone. “Just hold out on the sofa tonight, Bella. Mallory just got discharged from the psychiatric ward. We need to be accommodating.” The protective way he stood guard over that door felt like a physical blow. Suddenly, the home I had spent six months building—running to hardware stores, supervising contractors, picking out every piece of trim—felt freezing cold. I didn’t argue. I didn’t demand answers like I usually did. I simply turned around and walked back to the stiff leather sofa. Devon watched me go, shaking his head with a sigh, assuming I was just being difficult. Then he retreated to his study. I stared at my phone screen, watching the confirmation for my mortgage redemption appointment pop up. I closed my eyes and let sleep take me. I was done trying to force my way into the fortress of becoming Mrs. Devon West. … I woke up with my stomach still twisting in knots. The living room lights were still on. On the coffee table sat a half-empty glass of cold water. Devon hadn’t even bothered to find my medication. I forced myself upright, my palms slick with cold sweat. A faint strip of light glowed beneath the master bedroom door, accompanied by the low hum of a white noise machine. It was the sound of falling rain—the only thing Mallory could sleep to. I leaned against the wall, walking toward it. Hanging from the brass doorknob was a wooden sign: “Sleeping. Do Not Disturb.” It was brand new. I had never seen it before. I reached for the handle. The lock was turned from the inside. “Bella, don’t mess with the door,” Devon’s voice called out from the study. I turned to look at him. He was in his pajamas, holding a mug of warm water. He didn’t offer it to me. Instead, he set it down on the small console table right outside the master bedroom. “Mallory needs warm water if she wakes up in the middle of the night,” he explained. “Where is my stomach medicine?” I asked, my voice flat. He paused. “I’ll pick some up for you tomorrow.” I walked over to the entryway and flipped open the first-aid kit. My prescription was three months expired. Meanwhile, Mallory’s sleep aids were meticulously sorted into daily pill organizers, each slot labeled with the date and exact dosage. Devon stepped over, pressing his hand down on the lid of the kit. “Don’t mess with her medicine.” I let go of the box. “When did she move her things in here?” “She just got discharged. The doctor said she needs a stable, familiar environment to recover.” “This is our house, Devon. Our wedding home.” His brow furrowed, a look of deep exhaustion crossing his face. “Do you have to be so petty? She’s only staying for a few nights.” I turned and walked toward the guest bedroom. When I pushed the door open, the room was piled high with wedding favors. Stacked against the far wall was Mallory’s easel, and her rolled-up yoga mat lay on the floor. I turned back to him. “Is the guest room a temporary stay, too?” Devon avoided my eyes. “Painting keeps her calm.” I pulled out my phone. A notification from a real estate app showed the current valuation of the condo. It was a painful drop from what I had paid, but I didn’t care. I opened my banking app, reviewing the outstanding mortgage balance, prepayment terms, and penalties. Devon stood beside me, exasperated. “What are you throwing a tantrum over now?” I didn’t look up. “Just running some numbers.” He sighed. “Bella, be mature. Mallory is sick. You’re healthy. Don’t fight her for the bed.” My thumb froze over the screen. “Fight her for the bed.” I had spent six months checking on contractors, selecting drywall, and testing mattresses at seven different stores before finding the perfect one. And now, he used the word “fight”. I opened the digital copy of our purchase contract. “Sole Title Holder: Bella Shaw.” “Mortgage Borrower: Bella Shaw.” My down payment records were saved in my cloud storage, alongside every renovation invoice. Devon caught a glimpse of the screen, and his expression shifted. “Why are you looking at those?” I locked my phone. “I can’t sleep.” “Well, keep it down. Don’t wake Mallory.” I looked at the master bedroom door. It had someone else’s sign on it. The bed held someone else’s blanket. The cabinets held someone else’s medicine. I opened my messages and texted Janice, our real estate agent. “Is there any way we can list this place immediately?” Janice replied almost instantly. “Are you sure? You’d be taking a massive hit.” I typed back: “I’m sure.” Inside the master bedroom, the rain machine cut off for a brief second. Devon immediately turned, rushing to knock softly on the door. “Mallory? Are you awake?” I set my phone face down on the coffee table. If the master bedroom didn’t belong to me, then there was no reason for the house to belong to us. The next morning, I opened the refrigerator. My coffee beans were gone. So was my Greek yogurt. In place of my hot sauces sat a neat row of low-sugar oat milk. A post-it note was stuck to the door in Devon’s neat handwriting: “Mallory: No caffeine, no cold drinks, no high sugar.” He walked out of the kitchen holding a bowl of plain oatmeal. “You should eat light today too. Mallory can’t stand the smell of anything heavy right now.” I looked at the bowl. Last night, when my stomach was tearing itself apart, he hadn’t asked if I needed a single bite of food. But he remembered exactly what smells would trigger Mallory. I grabbed my purse. “I’m not eating.” Devon’s face hardened. “Another attitude? You’re going to sour the whole morning over breakfast?” I slipped into my flats. “Keep it for her.” “Bella,” his voice dropped, warning me. “Don’t speak like that.” I walked into the closet to grab my coat. The main racks were now occupied by Mallory’s beige trench coats, silk pajamas, and knit shawls. My garment bag containing my wedding dress had been relegated to the corner of the balcony door, the bottom of the bag dusted with gray soot. I picked up the bag. Devon followed me in. “She gets anxious when her things are left out in the open. Don’t overthink this.” “So her anxiety matters, but mine doesn’t when my wedding dress is collecting dust by the balcony?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you really going to compare yourself to a clinical patient?” My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a notification from the West family group chat. Devon’s mother had sent a voice note. “Devon, how did Mallory sleep last night? Make sure Bella doesn’t go into the master bedroom and agitate her. A sick person can’t handle any stress.” Devon replied: “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ve taken care of it.” His mother messaged back: “Bella is strong. A few days of compromise won’t hurt her. We’re all going to be family soon anyway.” No one asked how my stomach was. No one asked where I had slept. I took a screenshot of the conversation. Devon noticed, his expression instantly souring. “Why are you screenshotting that?” “For the memories.” He reached out to grab my phone. I took a step back, my eyes cold. “Don’t touch me.” His hand hung suspended in the air. “Bella, why are you being so sharp lately?” I zipped the garment bag shut. “Your family is much sharper. I’m just trying to keep up.” That afternoon, I took a half-day off work. I exported my down payment transfers. I exported every single mortgage payment. I saved the invoices for the custom cabinets, the designer lighting, and the landscaping. In the entire ledger, Devon had only contributed a few scattered transfers for minor monthly expenses. The only major purchases under his card were the television and the dining table. I sent the files to Sam, my closest friend who worked in corporate law. “Help me draft a pre-marital asset liquidation.” Sam replied within seconds. “You’re finally awake?” I wrote back: “No jokes. Just do the math.” Sam sent a quick reply. “The deed is in your name, and you have the paper trail. Do not play nice.” Devon came home around lunchtime. He handed me a glass of lukewarm water. “I was too impatient last night,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry. This weekend, let’s go look at wedding bands.” I looked at the cup. The bottom of the glass still had a small thermal sticker Mallory used to measure her drinks. Forty-five degrees Celsius. I didn’t take it. His phone rang. A voice note from Mallory played automatically over his speaker. “Devon, the cashmere throw feels a little damp. I can’t close my eyes.” Devon instantly snatched his car keys off the counter. “I’ll take it to the dry cleaner. I’ll be back soon.” “What about the rings?” I asked. He paused at the door. “We can do that anytime. There’s no rush.” I looked down at my phone and clicked “Confirm” on my mortgage prepayment request. The screen blinked: “Request submitted.” He was busy protecting a blanket. I was busy dismantling a life. Devon had promised to accompany me to our wedding tasting. I had booked the reservation two weeks in advance, noting his parents’ dietary restrictions three separate times. But right before we were supposed to leave, his phone rang. Mallory was too terrified to go to her therapy session alone. Devon looked at me guiltily. “Go ahead without me. I’ll drop her off and meet you there as fast as I can.” I picked up my car keys. “Okay.” He let out a long breath of relief. “Thank you, Bella. I knew you’d understand.” I didn’t reply. When I arrived at the restaurant, the event coordinator handed me the seating chart for the reception. Right next to the head table, a new name had been added. “Mallory.” The notes beside her name were highly detailed: “Keep away from speakers. Avoid direct spotlights. Position near the exit/lounge area so Mr. West can easily assist her.” I held the pen, staring at the page. “Who requested this change?” The coordinator checked her tablet. “Mr. West called it in last night.” I set the pen down. “The head table is reserved for the bride, the groom, and their immediate families.” The coordinator offered an apologetic, awkward smile. “Mr. West mentioned the guest has special medical needs.” Half an hour later, Devon arrived. Mallory was trailing behind him, wrapped tightly in the cashmere throw, clutching a manila folder of medical records. “Bella,” Mallory whispered, her eyes downcast. “Should I not have come?” I looked at Devon. He immediately stepped in front of her, shielding her from my gaze. “I wanted her to get used to the venue ahead of time. We don’t want any unexpected episodes on the wedding day.” “It’s my wedding,” I said. “Who gave her permission to practice?” Mallory’s eyes welled with tears. Devon’s face darkened instantly. “Don’t raise your voice at her. She can’t handle stress right now.” I flipped open the menu. “Then she shouldn’t be here.” The tasting began. When the first course—a pan-seared sea bass—was served, Mallory covered her mouth with her napkin. “It smells too fishy.” Devon immediately signaled the server. “Please swap this dish out for something else.” When the soup arrived, she knit her brows. “The broth is too rich.” Devon turned to the coordinator. “Change this one too.” The coordinator looked at me for confirmation. I pushed the menu across the table. “Do whatever Mr. West wants.” The venue’s sound system began playing our selected ambient playlist. Mallory clutched the throw tighter to her chest, her breathing shallow. “This music… it’s making my chest feel so heavy.” Devon turned around. “Can we change the playlist to soft piano or white noise?” I stared at him. “Are our guests coming to a wedding, Devon, or a sleep clinic?” His voice fell into a harsh whisper. “Bella, the wedding is just a ceremony. Mallory’s health is real. She cannot be triggered.” “And what about me?” I asked. He hesitated, his voice softening slightly, though it offered no comfort. “You’ve always been the strong one, Bella.” The words hung in the air, cold and heavy. I closed my folder. Mallory spoke up, her voice trembling. “Maybe I should just leave. I don’t want to cause an argument between you two.” Devon immediately reached out, his fingers wrapping around her wrist to keep her in her seat. “No one is asking you to leave.” I stared at his hand on her skin. He realized what he was doing, flinching slightly as he let go. Mallory’s breathing became rapid and shallow. Devon stood up, supporting her by the shoulders. “I need to get her some air. Handle the deposit, and I’ll call you later.” The coordinator tentatively slid the invoice toward me. I didn’t reach for my pen. “We are putting the wedding date on hold indefinitely.” The coordinator gasped. “Ms. Shaw, you might lose the entire reservation deposit.” “Follow the terms of the contract.” As Devon helped Mallory into his passenger seat outside, my phone rang. It was Janice. “Bella, if you’re serious about selling that condo, I actually have a cash buyer who is ready to close quickly.” I watched Devon gently tuck the cashmere blanket around Mallory’s knees before shutting the car door. “I’m serious,” I said. Janice paused. “What about the price?” “Below market is fine. Just make it fast.” When I got back to the empty condo, I cancelled the catering, the florist, and sent a formal contract termination to the bridal boutique. Devon sent a text an hour later: “Mallory is resting now. Don’t overreact to what happened today.” I typed two words: “Too late.” He didn’t reply. I downloaded the standard residential purchase agreement template. A wedding could happen without me. And a house could certainly exist without him. At nine the next morning, I walked into the bank. The clerk noted the prepayment penalty fee on a slip of paper. “Ms. Shaw, this is a substantial fee. Are you sure you want to proceed with paying off the balance early?” I signed my name. “I’m sure.” She checked the documents. “Once the title is cleared, the property will be fully eligible for transfer.” I handed over my ID. “I understand.” When I stepped out of the lobby, Devon’s name flashed on my screen. “What do you want for dinner?” I replied: “Be home early. We need to talk about the house.” He wrote back: “Okay. I promise I’ll listen this time.” I slipped my phone into my coat pocket. By afternoon, Janice arrived with the buyers. Before they walked in, I had already gathered Mallory’s pillboxes, her diffuser, her slippers, and her sleep machine into clear storage bags, lining them up neatly by the front door. The buyer’s wife walked into the master bedroom, admiring the silk bedding. “These are gorgeous. Are they included?” “No,” I said. “The bedding goes with me.” The husband walked out to the balcony. “Why the sudden sale?” I handed him a copy of the cleared title deed. “I’m relocating out of state.” Janice pulled me to the side, whispering, “They’re going to try to negotiate because you’re moving so fast.” “If they can do a cash close, I’ll take the cut.” Janice looked at me, her eyes soft. “You’re really done, aren’t you?” “Entirely.” By twilight, Devon walked through the door. He stopped when he saw the cardboard boxes stacked in the hallway. “Are you organizing the wedding favors?” I placed the financial liquidation ledger on the coffee table. “Have a seat.” He looked at the document, his face losing color. “Bella, what is this?” “I slept on the couch last night, Devon. That was real. This is also real.” He sat down slowly. “Go ahead.” I flipped to the first page. “The down payment was three hundred thousand. I paid two hundred thousand; you paid one hundred thousand.” He nodded. “Yes. I don’t dispute that.” “The renovation costs were eighty thousand, paid entirely by me. The bulk of the mortgage payments, HOA fees, and interior design bills were also paid by me.” He rubbed his temples. “Is there really a point to doing this right now?” “Yes.” His phone began to vibrate. Mallory’s name lit up the screen. He pressed decline. It rang again immediately. On the third attempt, a voice note came through: “Devon, I’m alone in my room, and the windows feel like they’re falling down. I don’t want to live anymore.” Devon bolted upright, grabbing his keys. I stepped in front of the door, blocking him. “If you walk out that door tonight, we are finished.” He gripped the keys so hard his knuckles turned white. “She is sick, Bella! Don’t force me to be a heartless monster!” I looked him dead in the eye. “You were perfectly comfortable being a monster the night my stomach flared up.” He froze. Then, he pushed past me. The heavy front door slammed shut, and his hurried footsteps faded down the corridor. I sat down, opened my banking app, and initiated a wire transfer to his account. I calculated his exact share of the mortgage contribution, deducted his portion of the shared furniture depreciation, and hit send. In the memo line, I wrote: “Property and joint expenses cleared.” His phone call came thirty seconds later. I ignored it. I gathered the deed, the title release form, my ID, and the spare keys. At the title company’s office, the buyers were already waiting. Janice handed the paperwork to the closing officer. My phone vibrated continuously on the desk, Devon’s name flashing over and over. The officer verified my signature. “Property owner Bella Shaw, all documents are in order.” I placed the physical keys into the plastic tray. The officer looked up. “Ms. Shaw, do you confirm that you are selling this property of your own free will?” Behind me, the door to the office burst open. “Bella Shaw!” Devon’s voice cracked through the quiet room. “Don’t you dare sell this house!”

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On my wedding day, the bride didn’t show up. Instead, a gig courier in a high-vis jacket walked down the aisle. “Mr. Mitch, hello. I’m here on behalf of Rebecca. She hired me to stand in for her and complete the ceremony.” The crowded chapel went dead silent. I stood there, wearing the custom tuxedo Rebecca had personally picked out for me, my fingers slowly crushing the bridal bouquet in my hand until the stems snapped. Only last night, she had stayed up until dawn, meticulously choosing the tie that would suit me best. “Connor,” she had whispered, her arms wrapped around my neck. “No matter how long that aisle is tomorrow, I’ll be right beside you to walk it to the end.” Sitting in the front row, my grandmother, whose eyesight had been failing for years, heard the commotion. She smiled warmly and reached her trembling hand out toward the altar. “Rebecca? Come here, sweetheart. Let Grandma hold your hand. After today, you’re officially my granddaughter.” The courier took a half-step back, her face turning bright red under the gaze of a hundred guests. Then, she pulled a folded sheet of paper from her pocket. I stared at the printed lines, a sudden numbness creeping into my fingertips. Right then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Zach had posted an update on his private social media story—visible only to me. In the photo, Rebecca was wearing her custom-tailored wedding gown, smiling brightly as she wheeled a suitcase down a hallway ahead of him. His caption read: She said a wedding can always be rescheduled, but I only have today. From the front row, Gran’s quiet, fragile voice drifted up to me again. “Connor, why isn’t Rebecca coming over?” I tossed the mangled bouquet onto the altar. Without looking at the crowd, I handed the courier’s instruction sheet to the technician booth and had them project it onto the giant screens for every guest to see. “Gran,” I said, my voice echoing through the speakers. “She outsourced her own wedding. We don’t want a woman like that in our family.” … The text on the screens was magnified until every single word was agonizingly clear. Bride’s Entrance: Hired courier will walk the aisle in her stead. The Vows: Nod when prompted by the officiant; no verbal response required. Exchange of Rings: If the groom is emotionally stable, the courier may slip the ring onto his finger. If he is unstable, simply hand the ring box to the officiant. Note: Connor’s grandmother has severe vision impairment. If she mistakes the courier for the bride, there is no need to correct her. The color drained from the faces of the relatives in the front rows. Whispers broke out, turning into a low, angry hum. “Is this some kind of joke?” “Where the hell is the bride? She actually hired a delivery driver to stand in for her wedding?” “This is incredibly disrespectful to the Mitch family.” Rebecca’s mother, Mrs. Christian, was the first to snap out of the shock. Clutching her designer gown, she rushed up the steps of the altar. “Turn that off!” she hissed, glaring at the technician booth before turning her venom on me. “Connor, do you have to humiliate both of our families today?” I took a step back, keeping my distance. “Mrs. Christian, I didn’t humiliate anyone. Your daughter is the one who outsourced her wedding.” Her face flushed an ugly purple, and she lowered her voice to a threatening whisper. “Don’t forget who is sitting out there. Half of these guests are our business partners. Rebecca just had a temporary emergency. What do you gain by blowing this out of proportion?” I ignored her and looked at the terrified courier. “What else did Rebecca give you?” Fumbling with her pockets, the courier hastily produced a small black velvet box. Inside were two wedding bands. The groom’s ring was the one I had picked out myself, carrying it in my pocket for weeks. The courier’s voice shrank to a squeak. “Ms. Christian said… she said if you didn’t make a scene, I should just hand these to the priest. She told me I didn’t even have to touch your hand. I could just slide the box over.” Another wave of outrage rippled through the pews. Hearing this, Gran struggled to stand up. Because she rose too quickly, her balance gave way, and her fragile frame swayed. I rushed over and caught her before she could fall. “Connor,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Is she really not here?” My throat felt like it was coated in sand. “No, Gran. She sent a stranger to take her place.” Gran went quiet for a long, heavy moment. Today, she was wearing a vintage burgundy silk dress. It was the same dress she had worn to her own wedding decades ago. The waist was far too tight now, so she had stayed up until midnight, painstakingly altering the seams by hand under a dim lamp. Before we left for the chapel, she had been practicing her blessing in her room, whispering to herself. “Rebecca, my Connor has a stubborn streak, but he has a good heart. Please be patient with him.” Then she had looked up at me, asking softly, “Connor, do you think that sounds okay? I don’t want to embarrass you in front of her family.” I had held her hands and told her she was perfect. “That’s good,” she had smiled, her face wrinkling with warmth. “I wanted to wear something festive. I can’t let my boy down.” Now, Gran slowly reached up to her chest, unpinned her red rose corsage, and crushed it in her palm. Mrs. Christian was still trying to salvage the situation. She turned to the wedding planner. “What are you standing there for? Keep the music playing! The bride’s representative is here. We are continuing the ceremony!” She glared at me. “Connor, I’m giving you one last chance. When Rebecca gets back, you can throw whatever tantrum you want. But if you drag our family through the mud today, don’t expect her to ever walk down an aisle for you again.” I picked up the microphone from the altar. “To all our guests,” I said. “As you can see, the bride isn’t here today. She arranged for a courier to walk the aisle, nod to the vows, and exchange the rings. She even planned for all of us to lie to my grandmother.” I paused, looking out over the crowd. “The wedding is officially canceled. Every single registry gift and cash donation will be returned to you by the end of the day.” Mrs. Christian screamed, “Connor!” I didn’t give her another look. I plugged my phone into the AV system and projected Zach’s Instagram story onto the massive screens behind us. The white wedding car, the flowing lace of Rebecca’s gown, her radiant smile. And the caption: She said a wedding can always be rescheduled, but I only have today. “As for Rebecca,” I said, my voice steady and cold. “I’m done.” As I guided Gran toward the exit, my phone began to vibrate. It was Rebecca. I tapped the screen and put it on speakerphone. Her voice filled the quiet space—calm, sweet, and laced with a hint of exasperation. “Con, what’s going on? The coordinator just called and said you’re refusing to go through with the ceremony.” She spoke with such easy nonchalance, as if she hadn’t just abandoned her own wedding. As if I were merely a toddler throwing a fit over nothing. “Rebecca,” I said, “do you even know what you wrote on the instructions you gave that courier?” I heard her sigh softly on the other end. “I knew you’d be upset when you saw it. But I did it to keep things moving. You get so anxious in front of crowds, Con. I didn’t want you standing up there looking foolish and alone.” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “So you wanted our entire family to lie to my grandmother?” The line went quiet for a second. When she spoke again, her tone was softer, patronizing. “Con, let’s not make a big deal out of this. Gran’s eyes are so bad anyway, she wouldn’t have even noticed. Just cooperate with me, okay? Your tie is probably crooked, and it’s going to ruin the photos. You know how much I love you in that tuxedo. When I get back, we’ll take our own private photos.” “Where are you right now, Rebecca?” I asked slowly. There was a brief hesitation. “I’m with Zach. His landlord evicted him, and all his things were thrown onto the sidewalk. I couldn’t just leave him sitting out there in the cold.” I looked down at Gran, whose head was bowed. “So you left my grandmother to cry at our wedding instead?” Suddenly, Zach’s voice drifted through the receiver. “Rebecca, am I causing trouble again? You should go back. I’ll be fine on my own.” Rebecca’s voice instantly dropped, muffled as she spoke to him. “Don’t touch that box, Zach, it’s too heavy. Just wait for me.” Then she turned her attention back to me. “Con, a wedding is just a piece of paper and a party. You’re the one I chose to spend my life with. You’ve always been the sensible one. You wouldn’t want to embarrass both our families over something this trivial, right?” At that moment, the truth finally sank in. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how much this would hurt me. She knew. She just knew I would endure it. Because I was sensible. Because I loved her. She was handing me a blade, expecting me to press it into my own chest and smile through the bleeding. Gran suddenly reached up and took my hand. Her voice was quiet, but it carried perfectly through the silent hall. “You don’t let a stranger stand in for your wedding.” I squeezed her hand. “You don’t need to come back, Rebecca,” I said into the phone. “I’m not marrying you.” Her breathing finally hitched. “Connor, calm down. Don’t throw our future away over a tantrum.” I smiled, though there was no warmth in it. “You outsourced our wedding. I’m just cutting my losses on the marriage.” Before she could speak, I hung up. In front of Mrs. Christian and all the remaining guests, I blocked her number. As we walked toward the exit, the hotel manager caught up to us, looking highly uncomfortable as he held an invoice. “Mr. Mitch, I understand the wedding is canceled. But the remaining balance for the venue and catering must be settled today.” Before I could speak, Gran stepped forward. She reached into her coat and pulled out a faded red cloth purse. The edges were worn, mended with thick, uneven thread. I recognized it immediately. It was where she kept her life savings. Inside, there was supposed to be the welcoming cash gift for Rebecca, along with a pair of handmade red silk pillowcases she had spent weeks sewing for us. Because of her failing eyesight, she had worked on them day and night, tearing out the stitches and restarting whenever they went crooked. “Con,” she had told me when she finished them, “newlyweds need to sleep peacefully. These stitches carry my blessings for a long, happy life.” Now, she bypassed all of that and handed her debit card to the manager. “How much do we owe?” “Gran, no,” I said, trying to push her hand back. “I’ve got this.” She patted the back of my hand gently. “Connor. Money can always be earned back. But if you enter a family on your knees, you’ll spend the rest of your life unable to stand up straight.” The manager looked at her with pity. “Ma’am, the balance is quite high.” Gran nodded. “Run the card. My grandson doesn’t owe them a single dime.” Her hand shook violently as she pressed her fingers against the keypad to enter her PIN. She got it wrong the first time. And the second. Frantic, she apologized to the manager. “I’m so sorry. My eyes are failing me, and my fingers are clumsy. Please, don’t hold it against my Connor.” Watching her, a tight knot formed in my chest, making it hard to breathe. Just then, Mrs. Christian marched over. She snatched a red velvet jewelry box from her bag and threw it violently at my feet. The box burst open on the marble floor. “Since you’re calling off the wedding, give us back our family heirlooms,” Mrs. Christian spat. “Don’t act all high and mighty while holding onto our gold. Did you really think you deserved to be part of our family?” Gran instinctively bent down. Because of her poor vision, she thought something of value had dropped and wanted to help retrieve it. Before I could stop her, her palm pressed directly onto a shard of glass from the shattered box. Blood immediately began to pool on the floor. “Gran!” I gasped, dropping to my knees. Gran’s face went white with pain, but her first instinct was to pull her hand into her sleeve, trying to hide the wound. “Don’t let it drip, Con,” she whispered. “The hotel’s carpet looks expensive.” In that second, a blinding fury roared to life in my chest. Mrs. Christian scoffed, crossing her arms. “Oh, please. What a cheap performance. The Christian family gold isn’t something just anyone can touch.” I stood up, stepped forward, and slapped her hard across the face. The sharp crack echoed off the high ceilings of the lobby. Everyone froze. Mrs. Christian clutched her cheek, staring at me in absolute disbelief. “You… you dared to hit me?” I reached down, tore off the heavy heirloom gold bracelet from my wrist—the one she had insisted I wear as her future son-in-law—and hurled it straight at her chest. “Take your gold and get the hell out of my sight,” I snarled, my voice shaking with a rage I had never felt before. “If anything happens to my grandmother, your family won’t have enough money to pay for it.” In the sterile corridor of the hospital, I was still wearing my wedding tuxedo. Gran sat on a plastic chair outside the exam room, her palm bound in white gauze after receiving five stitches. I knelt in front of her, unable to look her in the eye. “Gran, I’m so sorry. I brought this on us. I chose the wrong person.” Gran reached out with her uninjured hand and gently stroked my hair. “Connor, don’t you dare apologize. Walking away today was the best thing you’ve ever done. My eyes might be failing, but today, I saw everything clearly.” That night, I spent hours returning every single registry gift and donation. By 1:00 AM, I finally unlocked the door to the apartment we were supposed to share. The entry code was still my birthday. I stood in the entryway, unable to take a step further. The living room was crowded with pink cardboard boxes, each one bearing Zach’s name in bold marker. His expensive sneakers were lined up on the top shelf of our shoe rack. His cologne sat dead center on my writing desk. In the master bedroom, his discarded jacket was draped carelessly over the headboard. The vibrant red silk bedding I had spent hours preparing for our wedding night had been ripped off the mattress and tossed into the dirty laundry hamper on the balcony like a piece of trash. My phone buzzed in my hand. It was a notification from our mutual friend group chat—the one containing me, Rebecca, Zach, and a dozen of our college friends. Zach had posted a short video. In the video, he was sitting on our new bed, wearing the spare wedding tie I had left hanging in the closet. He smiled warmly at the camera. “Finally moved into the new home she built for me,” he said. From off-camera, Rebecca’s voice filtered in, soft and slightly scolding. “Stop playing around, Zach. Connor will mind.” Zach leaned back, flashing a boyish grin. “But he’s always so sensible. You said yourself, he’ll get used to it.” The video went silent for a second. Then, Rebecca murmured softly, “Just don’t push him too hard.” A second later, the video was retracted from the chat. But it was too late. I had already downloaded and saved it to my drive. My phone lit up again. It was a private message from my best man, Will. Con, are you okay? I stared at the screen, and a sudden, quiet laughter spilled from my lips. It turned out I wasn’t even the first groom to sleep in my own wedding bed. I walked into the walk-in closet, dragged out my suitcase, and packed only my essential documents, a few changes of clothes, and the handmade red pillowcases Gran had sewed for us. When I stripped off the tuxedo, I stood in front of the mirror for a long time. Then, I hung it up neatly right in the center of the closet. I placed the wedding ring boxes on the nightstand, beside a simple note: Rebecca, we are done. The next morning, Rebecca returned to the apartment. She was still wearing her wedding dress, though the hem of the white lace was stained with grey dust from Zach’s moving boxes. Zach hovered behind her, his voice small and hesitant. “Rebecca, do you think Connor is still mad?” Rebecca offered a tired, dismissive chuckle. “His heart is too soft, Zach. No matter how bad the fight was last night, he just needs to sleep it off. I’ll buy him a nice dinner and he’ll be fine.” She pushed open the bedroom door. The smile froze on her face. The closet was half-empty. My clothes, my books, my documents—all gone. Only the wedding tuxedo hung in the center, looking like a ghost. On the nightstand sat the rings, the house keys, and my note. Zach’s face paled. “Maybe… maybe he’s just trying to scare you…” Before he could finish, Rebecca’s phone rang. It was the hotel manager. She answered it, trying to keep her voice steady. “The wedding balance. Contact my assistant, she’ll handle the payment.” The line was quiet for a second. “Ms. Christian, the balance was fully settled by Mr. Mitch last night. However, he left a message for us to convey to you.”

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Three years after I faked my own death, the Caldwell women tracked me down. I held a knife to my own throat, desperate to escape them, willing to bleed out right there on the floor. But then my seven-year-old daughter wrapped her small hands around her grandmother’s ventilator hose. Isabel stood beside her, her voice trembling but cold as ice: “Choose, Henry. Do you want to watch your mother suffocate, or do you want to come back and be the man of the Caldwell house? It’s up to you.” My hands shook with a rage so violent it nearly tore my artificial heart from my chest, but I had no choice. I dropped the knife. I signed the remarriage papers. When I crossed the threshold of that familiar mansion again, I became the model husband. I lived to appease them. When Jared—Isabel’s foster brother—was having an off day and needed her comfort, I didn’t say a word. I packed a bag, booked a hotel room, and got out of their way. Even when my stomach lining ruptured and I had to undergo emergency surgery alone, I never called her once. When our daughter, Ruby, refused to eat, whining that she only wanted the dishes her “Uncle Jared” made, I didn’t complain. I got in the car, drove to his apartment, and brought him back to live with us. Then came my birthday. Jared sat at the dining table, his eyes turning a soft, performative red as he whispered, “I envy you, Henry. You have such a loving wife, a beautiful daughter… not like me. I’ve never even received a real birthday gift in my life.” Without a second thought, I slipped the carnelian bead bracelet off my wrist and pressed it into his palm. The deep crimson beads looked strikingly bright against his skin. But Isabel’s eyes flared with sudden, raw emotion. She grabbed my wrist, her grip painful, her teeth clenched so hard her jaw shook. “Henry Ward,” she hissed. “That is the amulet I begged for on my knees. I bowed at every third step on my pilgrimage to Tibet to get that for you. It was our promise!” 1 The air in the room instantly turned to lead. Jared quickly closed his hand around the bracelet, pretending to slide it off his wrist. “I’m so sorry, Isabel. I didn’t know. I’ll give it back to Henry right now.” Beside him, Ruby’s small face tightened with anger. She glared at me and shouted, “Daddy knew exactly how important it was! He did it on purpose to make Uncle Jared feel bad! You’re a monster!” Isabel stared at me, the exhaustion in her eyes heavy enough to sink a ship. “Henry, when is this going to end?” she asked, her voice cracking. “I brought you back because I wanted us to be a family again.” Inside, I felt nothing but a hollow, absurd amusement. Years ago, if I didn’t give Jared what he wanted fast enough, I was punished. Now that I was finally playing the submissive husband, she still wasn’t satisfied. I turned, picked up the antique brooch Isabel had just gifted me for my birthday, and held it out to Jared. “Is the bracelet not enough? Here. Take this too.” Isabel’s face turned a terrifying shade of gray. With a sudden, violent sweep of her arm, she sent my birthday cake flying off the table. Vanilla frosting splattered across my shirt as the porcelain plate shattered against the hardwood floor. “Do you have to be so incredibly petty, Henry? Do you have to twist the knife every single time?” “I’m not twisting anything,” I replied softly. Isabel closed her eyes, taking a long, ragged breath to force down her fury. “I know you’re still angry about the ambulance,” she said, her voice dropping. “I know you hate me for sending Jared first.” “But he was hemorrhaging, Henry. He almost died on that gurney.” “And these past few years, I’ve been searching everywhere for a compatible heart donor for you. I don’t want a tragedy to happen again.” “Please, Henry. Stop punishing me. Can we just go back to the way we were?” I nodded, offering her a vacant, agreeable smile. Ruby slammed her hands on the table and stood up, her little chest heaving. “Mommy just apologized to you! Why are you still acting like a block of ice?” She sneered. “No wonder Grandma is the only one in this house who actually likes you.” The words were a sudden, sharp needle to my chest. I let out a soft, cold laugh. “Funny. Because except for my mother, there isn’t a single person in this room I care about either.” Isabel froze, her gaze turning completely dead. “Fine. Perfect… Since you care about nothing and love no one.” She stood up, tall and unyielding. “Starting tonight, Jared and I are sleeping in the master bedroom. You can pack your things and move down to the maid’s quarters.” I didn’t argue. I simply turned and walked toward the stairs. Behind me, Ruby clapped her hands, giggling. “Yay! I finally get to sleep with Mommy and Uncle Jared every night!” 2 Back in my room, I began to pack in silence. I opened the closet. Cashmere coats, silk ties, designer cufflinks, limited-edition watches… All the luxuries I had starved myself of during my leanest years, Isabel had bought to fill the void. The lavender diffuser on the dresser was hand-blended by her; even the heavy drapes had been changed to the forest green I loved. In the two years since she dragged me back, she had tried so hard to act like the girl who once loved me blindly. But the old Henry was dead. I could no longer be swayed by expensive toys or sweet words. I only packed the worn, simple clothes I was wearing the day she dragged me back. As I zipped the suitcase, Isabel walked in. Without a word, she grabbed my wrist and forced the carnelian bead bracelet back onto my arm. “Keep it,” she commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument. “And don’t you ever give away anything I buy you again.” I looked up, genuinely surprised. She had actually gone and clawed it back from Jared. Her eyes drifted down to my open suitcase, her brow furrowing deeply. “That’s all you’re taking?” “None of the rest is mine,” I said, my voice flat. “There’s no point in pretending.” The old fury flared back in her eyes. “If you despise it all so much, then none of it matters.” She turned to the hallway and shouted, “Someone get in here! Take every single thing I bought for the master of the house and burn it in the incinerator.” She glared back at me. “From now on, if you want to use a single luxury in this house, you ask Jared for permission.” My expression didn’t change. I picked up my suitcase and walked out. I was halfway down the stairs when a heavy force slammed into my back. I lost my footing and went tumbling down the wooden steps. My knees scraped raw against the polished wood, a burning heat blooming under my skin. Ruby stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at me with absolute contempt. “You haven’t changed at all! You’re just pretending to be nice so you can drive a wedge between Mommy and Uncle Jared.” She pointed a finger at me. “I’m warning you. If you ever hurt Uncle Jared again, I’ll make sure Mommy throws you out for good.” Then, she spotted the yellow protection amulet peeking out of my breast pocket. She lunged down and ripped it away. “Give that back!” I gasped, scrambling on the floor to reach her. I had knelt on a stone floor for three days and three nights to get that blessed charm for my ailing mother. Ruby waved it in my face, a cruel, triumphant smirk on her lips. “Every time you make Uncle Jared sad, I’m going to destroy something you care about. Maybe then you’ll learn to behave!” She tore the paper charm to shreds. Bright yellow fragments fluttered down like dead autumn leaves, landing on my bruised hands. Something inside me snapped. The last thread of my endurance broke. I dragged myself up, stepped forward, and slapped her hard across the face. The slap echoed through the foyer. “The biggest mistake of my life,” I whispered, my voice trembling with a cold, absolute hatred, “was giving my heart to you.” “If you love Jared so much, go ahead. Let him be your father.” Ruby clutched her cheek, her eyes wide with shock. I didn’t wait for her to cry. I picked up my suitcase, limping heavily as I made my way to the tiny, cramped staff bedroom under the stairs. I was cleaning the dirt out of my bloody knees when the door was kicked open. Isabel stormed in, her face twisted in rage. “Henry Ward, you hit a child over a—” She stopped. The sight of the dark purple bruises and raw skin covering my legs silenced her. “How did you get these?” she whispered. She sat on the edge of the narrow cot, trying to pull my leg onto her lap to bandage it. For a split second, I saw the gentle girl from our youth in her eyes. My throat grew tight, a bitter burn rising in my chest. “Henry…” Isabel leaned in, her eyes searching mine, her lips reaching for a kiss. I instinctively flinched, turning my face away. She froze. Then, her grip tightened painfully around my jaw, forcing my head back as she kissed me with a desperate, punishing violence. The taste of copper bloomed in my mouth. I stayed entirely still under her touch, my mind flashing with a thousand terrible memories. When her warm hand began to slip beneath my collar, my stomach violently rebelled. I shoved her away with everything I had, leaned over the edge of the cot, and dry-heaved onto the floor. “Henry!” Isabel’s face turned white, then red with sheer humiliation. “Am I really that repulsive to you?” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, my eyes fixed on the floor. “I’m sorry. I don’t feel well. If you want someone, go find Jared.” Tears welled in her eyes, her voice shaking with hurt. “Are you pushing me away again?” “Henry, I’ve told you a thousand times. Since you disappeared, I haven’t let another man touch me. I only look after Jared because your father begged me to on his deathbed!” I looked at her, completely detached. “I believe you. You two are perfectly innocent.” The calm in my voice drove her mad. She kicked the plastic trash can, sending it flying across the room, and slammed the door behind her. A few hours later, my phone vibrated. It was a video call from Isabel. I hesitated, then picked up. A low, ragged groan echoed from the speaker, filling the small room. On the screen, Isabel was straddled over Jared’s waist, pressing him against our wedding portrait on the master bed. Jared stared directly into the camera, a smirk playing on his lips. “Isabel… gentler…” he gasped. “Your husband is watching.” Isabel angled the camera closer to the sheets, her voice dripping with vengeful malice. “Since you insist on imagining it, Henry, I might as well make it real.” “Watch us. Watch how much Jared loves me.” “Don’t you dare hang up until we’re done.” 3 They kept the call going all night. She dragged Jared to every corner of the master suite, leaving their sweat and noise in every space we had once shared. The screen was a blur of skin and breathless whimpers that made my stomach churn with a deep, physical revulsion. It wasn’t until the first light of dawn broke through the window that she finally ended the call. My weak, artificial heart couldn’t handle the strain. A heavy, squeezing pain bloomed in my chest, making it hard to draw a full breath. I dragged myself out of bed to find my heart medication. But as soon as I poured the pills into my hand, a small figure rushed in and snatched them away, throwing them onto the floor. “Who said you could take medicine? Uncle Jared said you aren’t allowed to touch anything without his permission!” Ruby glared at me, her face contorted with anger. The pain in my chest was spreading like wildfire. I didn’t have the energy to argue. I bent down, trying to gather the scattered white pills. But before my fingers could reach them, Ruby’s foot slammed down, grinding the medicine into the dirt-covered floor. The pills dissolved into gray powder in the cracks of the wood. “Thief! Freeloader!” she screamed. “Get out of our house!” A high-pitched ringing filled my ears. The artificial heart inside me was failing, straining against the limits of its programming. I collapsed onto the floor, my vision blurring as the past rushed back to drown me. Ruby had been a sickly child, born with a failing heart. By the time we diagnosed her, there was no time left to wait on the transplant list. Without telling anyone, I went to the hospital, ran the tests, and found out I was a match. I gave her my own healthy heart and had a mechanical pump installed in my chest instead. I spent nearly a month hovering between life and death in the ICU. But the very day Ruby was allowed to leave her bed, she didn’t come to see me. She ran straight into Jared’s arms. “Uncle Jared, when are you going to marry Mommy and be my real daddy?” she had asked, her voice sweet and bright. “My actual dad is so annoying. He yells at Mommy if she drinks iced water, and he won’t let me watch TV.” “I like you so much better. You buy me burgers and take me to the theme park. Mommy and I love being with you.” I had been standing right outside the door. I heard every single word. The massive surgical scar across my chest burned like liquid fire. I swallowed the lump in my throat and stepped into the room. “Ruby, I almost died on that operating table for you. Is this how you talk about me?” Jared immediately pulled her behind him, looking up at me with soft, helpless eyes. “Henry, she’s just a little girl. She doesn’t know what she’s saying. There’s no need to raise your voice and terrify her.” With Jared protecting her, Ruby grew even bolder. She peeked out from behind his back and screamed, “I hate you! You’re always so cold and miserable! Why didn’t you just die on the table?” “Mommy is going to have Uncle Jared’s baby anyway. I’m going to have a little brother soon. We don’t need you!” The words hit me like a physical blow. My body went cold. The blood rushed to my head, and my vision went entirely black as I fell to the floor. When I woke up, Isabel was sitting by my bedside. Seeing me open my eyes, she remained silent for a long time before speaking in a quiet, detached voice. “Since you know, I won’t lie to you.” “Jared and I slept together. It was the night of your father’s funeral.” “I told you I was drunk and didn’t hear your calls. The truth is, Jared was holding me too tight. I couldn’t get away to answer.” My mind went completely blank. I remembered that night. Jared had fainted at the memorial service. I was so worried about him that I told Isabel to take him back to the hotel while I stayed behind. But as soon as the service ended, my father’s greedy relatives descended on the house, trying to seize our inheritance. To protect my mother and the family home, I fought them off until my head was bleeding. During those hours of terror, I called Isabel dozens of times. She never picked up. While I was bleeding on the floor of my childhood home, she was in a hotel bed with Jared. The betrayal ripped through me. Rage and humiliation boiled over, and I slapped her across the face, over and over. She didn’t move. She didn’t try to block the blows. She just took them, staring at the floor. But the moment I stood up to find Jared, she grabbed my wrist with a sudden, violent strength. “Henry, please!” she cried. “You’ve had everything your whole life. Parents who loved you, me to protect you… you never wanted for anything.” “But Jared has nothing! He was an orphan, living under other people’s roofs, always afraid. Can’t you just let him have this one thing?” Looking at her—so thoroughly, hopelessly blinded by her pity for him—I felt the last drop of warmth leave my body. “Let’s get a divorce, Isabel,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. 4 “No!” Isabel threw her arms around me, her tone instantly softening into desperation. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean it.” “Henry, I only love Jared like a brother. He was just scared that after your father died, we would throw him out. He put something in my drink, Henry. I swear it.” “It only happened that one time. I promise you, never again.” “Think of Ruby. She just got a new heart. Do you really want to break up her family now?” For the sake of our daughter, I hesitated. No matter how much I hated what they had done, Ruby was still the child I had raised. “I will give you one last chance,” I told her. “But you have to send Jared away, terminate the pregnancy, and cut him out of our lives forever.” Isabel hesitated for a long second, then nodded, her jaw tight. “Okay. I promise.” She deleted his number in front of me. She started coming home early every night, behaving like the gentle, attentive wife she used to be. Even Ruby became quiet and obedient. I actually allowed myself to believe that we could heal. Until Ruby’s birthday. I left work early, wanting to surprise her with tickets to the amusement park. But as I approached her bedroom door, I heard their voices. “Mommy, when can we go see Uncle Jared? I miss him so much.” Isabel’s voice was a low, hurried whisper. “Shh, be quiet. Tonight, after your dad gets home, we’ll put some sleeping medicine in his milk. Once he’s asleep, we’ll go see him.” I stood in the hallway, the cold seeping deep into my bones. That night, I drank the milk she gave me. I waited until I heard their soft footsteps leave the house, then I got up and followed them. The trail led to a luxury penthouse on the other side of town. Through the half-open door, I saw Isabel sitting comfortably on the sofa, her loose maternity dress draping over a prominent, heavy stomach. Jared was gently feeding her grapes, massaging her swollen ankles. “It’s been so hard on you, having to hide like this,” he murmured. Ruby curled up next to him, pouting. “It’s all my stupid dad’s fault. Why won’t he just let Mommy bring you home?” I pushed the door open, my teeth chattering as I spoke. “You told me you terminated the pregnancy. You told me you sent him away.” “Isabel… is there a single word that comes out of your mouth that isn’t a lie?” Isabel immediately stood up, shielding Jared with her body. “Henry, enough!” she snapped. “Jared has never tried to steal anything from you. He lives here with no name, no status, just to be near me. He’s suffered enough. Can’t you stop being so selfish?” Jared looked at me from behind her, his voice dripping with condescension. “Henry, let’s be honest. You’re older, you’re boring, and Isabel was tired of you a long time ago. Instead of letting some stranger have her, why not me?” The rage overtook me. I picked up a heavy crystal vase from the entryway and threw it at his head. Chaos erupted. In the scuffle that followed, Jared and I both tumbled over the low balcony railing, crashing onto the pavement below. In the shock of the fall, Isabel went into premature labor, losing the baby. When the sirens wailed and the paramedics arrived, they looked at our broken bodies and turned to Isabel in panic. “Ma’am, they are both in critical condition. We only have one trauma bay available in this rig. Who do we take first?” Isabel didn’t even look in my direction. “Save Jared,” she said instantly. I lay on the freezing asphalt, watching the red tail lights of the ambulance fade into the dark. With trembling fingers, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. “If I survive tonight,” I whispered into the receiver, “help me disappear.” 5 “Henry! Henry!” Isabel’s frantic voice pulled me back from the edge of the dark. She was holding me, desperately shoving a nitro tablet under my tongue. As the medicine dissolved, the tight, suffocating grip on my chest began to loosen. I opened my eyes to see Ruby standing nearby, her jaw set in a stubborn, defiant pout. Isabel turned and slapped her hard across the face. “You stupid girl! Who told you to throw away your father’s medicine?” Ruby burst into tears, wailing. Jared immediately pulled her into his arms, glaring at Isabel. “Isabel, don’t scream at her. She’s just a child. She didn’t understand what she was doing.” He pulled a piece of folded paper from his pocket and tossed it onto the bed. “I wasn’t going to show you this, but Henry is taking this act too far.” “He had a heart transplant years ago. He’s perfectly fine. This ‘weakness’ is all a show.” Isabel scanned the forged medical report, her expression hardening instantly. “You’re fully recovered?” she whispered, her voice laced with cold fury. “You’ve been faking this entire time just to make me feel guilty?” I didn’t have the strength to argue. I just stared at her, exhausted. She crumpled the paper and threw it in my face. “I wanted to give you a real birthday today. But since you’d rather lie and play the martyr, we’re leaving.” She grabbed Ruby and Jared, walking out and locking the heavy bedroom door from the outside. I lay in the dark, feeling absolutely nothing. I had no desire to join them anyway. An hour later, my phone buzzed with a notification. Ruby had posted a photo on her social media. In the picture, Isabel was leaning against Jared’s shoulder, with Ruby standing between them, all three of them smiling brightly under the sun. The caption read: The perfect family. I stared at it for a moment, then tapped the ‘like’ button. Suddenly, the phone began to ring. It was the hospital. “Mr. Ward? You need to come quickly. Your mother’s condition has taken a turn for the worse. She’s failing.” My stomach dropped. I lunged out of bed and threw myself against the door. It was locked tight. I dialed Isabel’s number. Once. Twice. Three times. It went straight to voicemail. Desperate, I ran to the window, opened it, and jumped. The impact sent a sickening crack through my right leg. Pain flared like white-hot lightning, but I didn’t stop. I dragged myself up, limping and crawling to the main road, waving down a passing cab. But by the time I reached the ICU, the room was silent. The doctor looked at me with pity. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Ward. Her heart gave out. It was a sudden, massive shock.” I fell to my knees on the cold tile, the world dissolving into gray. While packing up her few belongings, my hand brushed against something beneath her pillow. A small digital voice recorder. I pressed play. Jared’s voice filled the quiet room—soft, polite, and dripping with venom. “Mrs. Ward? I thought you should know the truth before you go. I’m not some orphan your husband adopted. I’m his son. His biological, illegitimate son.” “You spent your whole life fighting my mother, and in the end, you spent decades raising her boy. Isn’t that hilarious?” “Oh, and that family home you and Henry fought so hard to keep? Your husband signed it over to me the day I turned eighteen. Thanks for taking such good care of my inheritance.” “My mother beat you, I beat your son, and soon, I’ll have his daughter, his wife, and his wealth. You really were our lucky stars, weren’t you?” My mother had been in a vegetative state, but she could still hear. He had literally tortured her to death. A blinding, blood-red rage took over my mind. I ran from the hospital like a madman, tracking them to the amusement park. Through the crowd, I saw them laughing on the grassy lawn. I pulled the small pocket knife from my jacket and charged at Jared, wanting nothing more than to drag him down to hell with me. But before I could reach him, Isabel caught my wrist, her grip like iron. “Henry Ward! Have you lost your mind?!” The crowd immediately gathered, muttering and pointing. Ruby leaped in front of Jared, screaming at the top of her lungs, “My dad is a psycho! He’s always trying to hurt Uncle Jared!” “Uncle Jared just got better, and now he wants to kill him!” “Go away, you crazy monster! Go away!” She picked up a stone from the path and hurled it at me. Encouraged by her, the onlookers began to join in, throwing trash and shouting insults. “Get him out of here!” “Crazy bastard!” The screams and abuse washed over me like a freezing tide. I looked past the crowd, my eyes meeting Isabel’s. She was still holding Jared, looking at me with nothing but disgust. I let out a laugh—a broken, hysterical sound that tore from my throat. “Isabel Caldwell, in our next life, I pray I never meet you.” Before she could react, I turned the blade toward my own chest and drove it deep into my heart.

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Because my sister and I were both genetically prone to obesity, our mother laid down a strict rule: we were forbidden from eating anything except the diet meals she personally prepared for us. I complied completely, terrified of gaining even an ounce. I barely dared to drink a single extra drop of water. But when I stepped on the scale a month later, the numbers shattered my world. I had ballooned to three hundred pounds. Panicking, I ran to my sister Mel’s room. She was standing in front of her full-length mirror, turning side to side with a smug smile. “Cassie, does this bodycon dress look good on me?” My eyes flicked to the digital scale on her floor. The display read ninety pounds. I felt like the ground had been pulled out from under me. I suspected something was wrong with the meal prep Mom was making. So, for the next month, I became her shadow. I watched her buy the groceries, watched her prep, and stood by the stove until the food hit the plate. The moment it was done, I took my portion straight to my room, eating behind locked doors, giving no one a chance to tamper with it. Yet, thirty days later, my weight soared to five hundred pounds. Deep, angry purple stretch marks tore across my skin. My blood pressure hit a dangerous 220. Because of my extreme weight, my company let me go. My boyfriend ghosted me without a word—a brutal, sudden breakup that left me hollowed out. My body became a prison of chronic pain and failing organs. I spiraled into absolute despair. I refused to touch another bite of Mom’s food. I begged them, screamed at them to take me to the hospital for gastric bypass surgery. But by then, I was nearly eight hundred pounds. I was suffering from severe hypertension, diabetes, and advanced congestive heart failure. The day after the surgery, a massive, rampant infection took hold. I died in my bed, suffocated by my own body. Then, I opened my eyes. And I was back. Back to the exact day my mother started her mandatory diet plan. … “Mel, Cassie, dinner’s ready!” My mother’s voice floated through the door, sharp and familiar. I walked out of my bedroom to find the dining table set with two identical meal-prep containers, just like in my previous life. Mel’s was on the right. Mine was on the left. The meal was simple: a piece of pan-seared fish, a few steamed broccoli florets, and a small scoop of brown rice. It looked like any standard fitness meal you’d buy at a health-food store. My hand shook as I picked up my fork. Why had Mel shrunk to skin and bones in my past life, while I had gained a hundred pounds in a single month? Was there some hidden difference between these two seemingly identical plates? I looked at Mel, keeping my voice casual. “Hey, Mel. Let’s swap plates.” A sharp clang echoed from the kitchen. Mom had dropped her spatula onto the tile floor. She hurried out, her expression momentarily slipping into panic. “They’re exactly the same, Cassie. Why would you swap?” Mel rolled her eyes. “What is your problem now? Just eat your own food.” Their resistance only fueled my suspicion. Without another word, I lunged across the table, grabbed Mel’s container, and began shoving the food into my mouth. Mel didn’t fight me. She just scoffed, rolled her eyes again, and quietly started eating the portion I had abandoned. Mom, however, looked downright skeletal in her fury. Her face darkened, her lips twisting into a tight line, but she forced herself to turn around and walk back into the kitchen. For the next three days, I did the same thing. I forced Mel to swap meals with me every single time, telling myself that this time, I had to lose weight. I had to. With a racing heart, I finally stepped onto the digital scale. The numbers flickered, bouncing up and down, before locking in. Two hundred and twenty pounds. My stomach plummeted. In just three days, I had gained twenty pounds. It was impossible. Mathematically, biologically impossible. In a blind panic, I picked up the scale and smashed it against the wall. The tempered glass shattered into a thousand glittering pieces across the floor. I drove straight to Target, bought the most expensive, high-end smart scale they had, ripped the packaging open in the parking lot, and stepped on it. Two hundred and twenty pounds. Exactly the same. Under the bewildered stares of passersby, I collapsed against my car door, tears streaming down my face. An older woman carrying grocery bags gently patted my arm. “Honey, the local hospital has a fantastic weight-management clinic. I lost fifty pounds with their help. You should go get checked out.” I managed a choked thank you, rushed home, and immediately confronted my mother. “Mom, I need to go to the hospital’s weight-management clinic. Will you take me?” Before Mom could answer, Mel walked out of my bedroom, holding a family-sized bag of potato chips. “Cassie! You’re stuffing your face with junk food in secret, and now you want to go to a clinic? Are you insane? Mom literally quit her job to meal-prep for us. Have some decency and stop binging behind our backs!” My throat tightened. I wanted to scream that those chips were old, from months ago, that I hadn’t touched them. But Mom stepped forward, turning her phone screen toward me. “Cassie, I already booked you an appointment at the clinic. We’re going tomorrow.” I was stunned by how quickly she agreed. Behind her, Mel crossed her arms, rolling her eyes so hard they almost disappeared. “Fine, Mom. Just keep enabling her!” At the hospital, I underwent every test they offered. Blood work, metabolic rate, thyroid function—everything. Even with a genetic predisposition, there was no biological pathway for a human to balloon this quickly on a calorie deficit. Something was fundamentally broken. These specialists saw thousands of cases. Surely, they would find the glitch in my body. The doctor flipped through my charts, a patronizing, all-knowing smirk touching his lips. “Young lady, if you want to lose weight, you need to start by losing the lies.” I froze. “What do you mean?” He gave me a pitying look. “Do you know what the law of conservation of energy is? With a metabolic spike like this, you are absolutely binging in secret. There’s no other explanation.” It felt like a physical blow. “I didn’t! I haven’t eaten anything else!” The doctor ignored my protests, typing away on his computer. “Next patient, please!” “Doctor, please, I didn’t eat junk food! I only ate the meals my mother prepared!” Mel, thoroughly embarrassed, grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the exam room. She shoved her finger hard against my forehead, poking me repeatedly. “Cassie, stop with the goddamn act! The specialist literally just called you out. What are you still lying for?” My head hit the drywall with a dull thud, leaving me dizzy. Through the haze of pain, I saw Mom standing nearby. Her eyes were swimming with a heavy mixture of disappointment and sorrow. “Cassie, please stop eating behind our backs,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “If you keep gaining at this rate, your heart won’t last another six months.” I opened my mouth, but the words died in my throat. I had to find out what was happening to me. I had to. Once we got home, I spent hours scouring the internet, looking for any medical anomaly that matched my symptoms. That’s when an ad for an intensive fitness retreat popped up. EXTREME WEIGHT LOSS. LOSE 50 POUNDS IN A MONTH. My heart hammered against my ribs. This retreat was a closed, controlled environment. It was my only lifeline. But would Mom let me go? My doubts about her meals hadn’t faded. She and Mel were keeping secrets—I could feel it in the tense silence of our house. But if I went to the retreat, I could escape whatever trap they had set for me here. I packed a single duffel bag and tried to slip out the front door at dawn, but a sharp voice cut through the quiet house. “Cassie, where the hell do you think you’re going?” Mel spotted the printed retreat brochure in my hand. Instantly, the color drained from her face, her eyes widening in pure terror. She screamed, “You can’t leave this house!” Mom stepped out of her bedroom, her expression dark and menacing. “Cassie? Are you actually trying to go to a fitness camp?” A cold sweat broke out across my back. I nodded numbly, clutching my bag tighter. A strange, calculated glint flashed in Mom’s eyes. She slowly slid her hand into her pocket, as if reaching for something. I braced myself to bolt, but instead of a weapon, she pulled out her designer leather wallet. “Cassie, if you really want to go… I’ll pay for it.” In that single second, a wave of intense guilt washed over me, instantly drowning out all my suspicions. I felt like a monster for doubting her. Maybe my body was just broken. Maybe my metabolism was uniquely resistant. I promised myself I would work twice as hard at the camp. I wouldn’t let Mom down again. At the retreat, the trainer looked at my swollen frame and smiled encouragingly. “Don’t worry, Cassie. Bodies with a lot of water weight actually drop the first few pounds fast. Just stick to the program.” My determination skyrocketed. Every morning, long before sunrise, I was on the track. I ran six miles, followed by three hundred jump ropes. Even after the grueling daily classes, I pushed myself through an extra hour of laps in the pool. My trainer told me I was the most dedicated client he’d ever worked with. He guaranteed I would see massive results. I strictly avoided binging, only eating my designated meals at the camp’s dining hall. Oddly, the low-sodium, high-protein meals here tasted strangely familiar. They had the exact same bland, slightly metallic undertone as Mom’s food. I shook it off, telling myself all diet food probably tasted the same. After seven days of sheer agony and sweat, the day of the first official weigh-in arrived. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped onto the heavy-duty scale, letting my weight settle. A few other camp residents had gathered around, curious to see the hard worker’s progress. “You’ve got this, Cassie! You worked harder than anyone!” “I bet you lost at least ten pounds!” I blinked my eyes open. The glowing red digital display glared back at me: 250 lbs. The crowd went dead silent. “Is the scale broken? How did she gain thirty pounds?!” I froze, a primal, icy terror clawing its way up my spine. How? Why? I fled to my cabin, sobbing. My trainer chased after me, his face red with frustration. “Cassie, be honest with me! Did you sneak out to the diner down the road? Did you smuggle snacks in your duffel? Empty your bags right now!” Once again, I was trapped in the familiar, suffocating nightmare of being labeled a liar and a glutton. Broken and humiliated, I demanded a partial refund, packed my bags, and checked out. On the ride home, my chest felt incredibly tight. My body felt like rising dough, expanding from the inside out. I could almost feel the fat cells multiplying beneath my skin, suffocating my organs, heavy and suffocating in my limbs. The rapid expansion phase from my past life had begun again. If I couldn’t figure out how to stop this, I would end up exactly where I did before—a prisoner in my own failing body, dying of organ failure. When I walked through the front door, Mom looked at me with tears in her eyes, her face a mask of deep, performative disappointment. Mel scoffed from the couch. “Your trainer called Mom. He said you were binging at the camp. You’re hopeless, Cassie. Once you hit five hundred pounds, Mom is going to have to bathe you and wipe your ass. Do you want to keep her chained to you forever?” Mom shot Mel a warning look to quiet her down, then turned to me, her voice dripping with maternal agony. “Cassie, sweetheart, if you can’t control your eating, you’re going to die. Your father passed away from obesity complications. I can’t lose you too!” She began to sob, her shoulders shaking violently. A profound sense of helplessness settled over me. I couldn’t prove my innocence. I didn’t want to break her heart, and I desperately didn’t want to die. My mind spun in chaotic circles. In a desperate bid for answers, I posted my story on a popular health forum, begging for advice. But the replies were brutal. Most trolls made fat jokes, while others told me to “stop lying to myself” and admit to my midnight binges. Only one anonymous reply stood out. OP, have you looked at your sister? Why is she the one shrinking while you balloon, when you’re doing the exact same thing? Look closer at her. A jolt of electricity shot through my brain. It was true. We had the exact same DNA, ate the exact same meals, and I exercised far more than she did. Yet she was thin as a rail. What was she doing behind closed doors? I began to watch Mel’s every move. Her daily routine was incredibly sparse. She ate, used the restroom, and spent the rest of her time locked in her bedroom, ignoring all her friends’ texts. But there was one bizarre anomaly. While my showers took fifteen minutes tops, Mel would lock herself in the bathroom for two full hours every single night. I used to think she just liked long baths. Now, I realized that bathroom was hiding something. That night, the second she stepped out, I slipped inside before the steam could even clear. I searched the shelves. Standard shampoo, body wash. But then, tucked away in a corner soap dish, I found a strange, irregularly shaped bar of soap. I picked it up. It felt sticky and slightly oily to the touch—she had just used it. I brought it to my nose. A heavy, chemical-sweet fragrance hit me. It was the exact scent that clung to Mel’s skin lately. Was this the secret to her weight loss? My heart raced with excitement. I turned on the shower, got wet, and began lathering the sticky soap all over my body. Almost instantly, my skin flushed a bizarre, irritated pink. A strange tingling sensation spread beneath the surface, as if the fat cells under my skin were vibrating. I stayed under the water, rubbing the soap into my skin for two agonizing hours. By the time I walked out, Mom’s room was pitch black. But a thin sliver of light escaped from Mel’s bedroom door. I peeked through the gap. Mel was holding an unmarked green prescription bottle. She shook out a single pill and swallowed it dry. My brow furrowed. Another secret? I crept back to my room and waited in the dark. It felt like hours before Mel’s soft, rhythmic snoring finally drifted down the hallway. I slipped out of bed, crept into her room, and guided myself by the moonlight to her vanity. I picked up the green bottle. The label had been completely torn off. I carefully twisted the cap off, trying to tip one pill into my palm. Suddenly, a cold draft hit the back of my neck. “What do you think you’re doing?” The voice sliced through the silence, making the hairs on my arms stand on end. I spun around just as the overhead light flicked on, blinding me. Mom was standing in the doorway. Her face was cast in harsh shadows, completely devoid of her usual warmth. Mel bolted upright, rubbing her eyes. When she saw the pills scattered on the floor, she let out a screech of pure rage. “Cassie! Who gave you permission to touch my stuff?!” She scrambled off the bed, gathering the pills with trembling fingers, dusting them off and counting them frantically before locking them back in the bottle. Her panic only cemented my suspicion. This bottle was the key to everything. “Mel, what are those pills?” I demanded. Mel’s eyes darted toward Mom before she shoved the bottle deep into her nightstand drawer. “None of your business! Why the hell are you sneaking into my room in the middle of the night anyway?” Mom stepped into the room, her voice dangerously quiet. “Cassie… did you find something?” They flanked me, locking me between them. Their cold, calculating stares made my blood run cold. “I… I just wanted to see how Mel got so thin,” I stammered, my voice shaking. “I wanted to see if she was taking diet pills. I didn’t find anything else!” Mom’s tight posture slowly relaxed, and her face softened back into her maternal mask. She reached into her robe and pulled out a piece of paper. “Oh, Cassie. Mel’s weight dropped too fast, and her doctor said she’s severely malnourished. Those are just prescription vitamins to help her recover. And that soap in the bathroom? It’s just a specialized medicated soap for her eczema.” I stood frozen. Something felt deeply, fundamentally wrong with her explanation. Seeing my hesitation, Mom went back to her room and returned with a brand-new bar of the specialty soap and an sealed bottle of the same pills. “If you don’t believe me, try them yourself,” Mom said with a weary sigh, handing them to me. She walked away, looking defeated. Mel shoved me out of her room and slammed the door in my face. I was left standing alone in the pitch-black hallway, holding the bottles like an outcast. Every day after that, I took two-hour showers with the medicated soap and swallowed one of the pills before bed. But instead of dropping weight, my body expanded at a terrifying speed. I could literally see the fat multiplying under my skin, stretching it until it burned, leaving angry, weeping tears in my flesh. I crushed every scale we owned. When I stood in front of the mirror, I was a stranger to myself—a monstrous, ballooning shape expanding daily. My blood pressure spiked to a lethal 220. The deep folds of my skin, impossible to clean properly, began to chafe and decay, giving off a horrific odor. I couldn’t even use the bathroom without Mom lifting and cleaning me. My boss called to fire me, citing my “incapacity to perform physical duties.” And then came the text from my boyfriend: Looking at you makes me sick. Don’t contact me again. The neighbors whispered whenever they saw us. “Poor Helen, working herself to the bone to care for that gluttonous girl. It’s a tragedy.” I went on a total hunger strike, consuming nothing but water, clinging to the desperate hope that if I put nothing in, I couldn’t expand. Mom fell to her knees in the living room, sobbing, begging me to schedule a gastric sleeve surgery. I lay on my reinforced mattress, gasping for air. “No,” I whispered. “I’m not going.” I knew how that story ended. I wouldn’t die on a cold operating table from systemic infection like I did before. I closed my eyes in absolute despair. If death was inevitable, I wanted to go out on my own terms. That night, I wrote a suicide note, dragged my heavy body into an Uber, and rode out to the edge of the city. There was a wide, rushing river there. I stood on the bridge, staring down into the dark, swirling water. God, if you gave me a second chance, why did you let me end up here again? I didn’t want to die, but the agony of living in this suffocating skin was worse than death. Rain began to fall, soaking through my clothes. An elderly passerby spotted me on the ledge. He lunged forward, grabbing my coat. “Sweetheart, don’t do it! Please, step back!” As we struggled, my thin jacket ripped open, exposing my back. The cold rain hit my bare back, and a sharp, localized stinging sensation flared up. It was a chemical-like burn, spreading down my spine. In an instant, my mind cleared with terrifying sharpness. I gasped, the truth hitting me like a physical blow. “I know… I know what they did.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “518516”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The moment graduation ended, I boarded a five-hour train to Boston to see my boyfriend. While waiting for Lewis at South Station, I was scrolling through my feed when I stopped on a viral post with thousands of likes: “Am I being too sensitive? My childhood best friend ditched me to pick up his girlfriend, and it kind of hurts.” “His girlfriend is my close friend. The three of us grew up together, a tight-knit trio. He’s always been incredibly good to both of us.” “A few days ago, I had a high fever. He panicked, carried me to the ER in the middle of the night, and even took a day off work to stay by my side. When my thesis advisor rejected my draft, he stayed up all night rewriting it with me…” “I used to think nothing of it, but lately, hearing him on the phone with his girlfriend for hours makes my stomach twist.” My heart skipped a beat. I remembered calling Lewis a few nights ago, only to find his phone switched off. He didn’t call back until the following afternoon. He claimed he’d been busy with research, but never mentioned who he was with. In the comments, people were egging her on: “Call him back! Let’s see who he chooses—you or the girlfriend!” I was about to leave a reply when a text from Lewis popped up. “Hey babe, something came up and I can’t pick you up anymore. Grab an Uber, okay?” My breath caught. I tapped on the poster’s profile. Her location tag showed the exact city I was standing in: Boston. … I froze, the noise of the crowded station fading into static. I kept telling myself I was overthinking, grasping at ghosts. Then, I saw the poster’s reply from a minute ago: “He says he’s almost here.” The comment section was in a frenzy, waiting for updates. I opened my rideshare app, my fingers trembling so hard I could barely type the address. In the four years I’d been visiting him in Boston, Lewis had always been there to meet me the second I stepped off the train, rain or shine. This was the first time he hadn’t shown up. Maybe it was the heavy, overcast sky, but a cold weight began to settle deep in my chest. I switched to a burner account and followed her profile. A few minutes later, she posted an update. The caption was dripping with playful affection: “I knew I was his favorite.” Beneath it was a photo of two hands, fingers tightly intertwined. I recognized the hand instantly. The watch on his wrist was the designer chronograph I’d bought him for Valentine’s Day. To afford it, I had worked two part-time jobs for nearly two years, draining every single cent of my internship savings. Taking a shaky breath, I read the rest of the text. “He heard me cough on the phone and rushed right back. My heart is so full.” The comment section was in a frenzy. “Go confess your feelings! We’re rooting for you!” Irene replied: “I don’t know, it feels wrong. He’s been with my best friend for seven years.” Someone shot back: “So what? Ever heard of the seven-year itch? Your friend is ancient history to him. You’re the one who owns his heart now!” A sudden crack of thunder echoed overhead, and the heavens opened up, pouring rain onto the Boston streets. Standing near the drafty exit of the station, I shivered violently. Seven years. Lewis and I had been together for seven years. We survived three years of high school drama and four years of a grueling long-distance relationship. When he and Irene got into the fast-track Ivy League graduate program here, I spent every waking hour planning to relocate to Boston so we could finally be together. During a FaceTime call a few days ago, I saw Irene drape her arms around Lewis’s neck, whispering something directly into his ear. He didn’t even flinch, let alone push her away. They just laughed, sharing some private joke, before abruptly ending the call. My stomach had dropped then, but I forced myself to swallow the doubt, telling myself they were just close. I hadn’t realized that their “closeness” had long since crossed the line of acceptable friendship. It took me twenty agonizing minutes to finally secure a ride. By the time the Uber pulled away, the rain was coming down in sheets. The radio announcer warned of a historic storm hitting the northeast, predicting days of heavy, unrelenting rain. The sedan I was in had low clearance, and as we hit a flooded intersection downtown, the engine sputtered and died. The driver cursed the weather, threw his hands up, and told me he couldn’t go any further. I had to get out and walk. Standing on the rain-slicked sidewalk, I dialed Lewis’s number. He usually answered on the first ring, but this time, the line rang and rang, stretching into a painful silence before he finally picked up. I stood at the street corner, drenched, freezing, and utterly exhausted. The moment I heard his voice, the tears I’d been holding back spilled over. “Lewis, please, can you come get me? I’m stuck near—” “Grace,” he interrupted, his voice flat and heavy. “You’re not a child. I can’t drop everything to rescue you every single time. Just call an Uber and head to the apartment, okay? Be reasonable.” “No, Lewis, listen—” Before I could explain that the streets were flooded, the line went dead. Just then, a notification pinged on my screen. It was an email from a prestigious firm in Boston—a formal job offer. To bridge the gap between us, I had spent the last four years killing myself academically—stacking my resume with internships, maintaining a perfect GPA, winning competitions. I had turned down great offers back in my hometown of Philadelphia, sending out over a thousand applications to Boston-based companies instead. After nearly fifty rejections, I had finally landed my dream job here. This was supposed to be the happiest moment of my life, but looking at the screen, I felt absolutely hollow. I stared at the acceptance button for what felt like an eternity. Then, with a numb finger, I clicked Decline. By the time I finally reached the apartment building, the city was draped in pitch darkness. I stood in front of the door, shivering, and punched my birthday into the keypad. Incorrect code. I tried again, and then again. The red light flashed mockingly. Before I could try a fourth time, the door clicked open from the inside. Lewis stood there. The moment his eyes fell on me, he froze. I was half-drenched, my hair plastered to my forehead, and water was pooling around my suitcase. He frowned, taking my suitcase with a look of mild irritation. “How did you manage to get yourself this soaked?” I didn’t answer. My eyes drifted to the shoe rack. There were several pairs of women’s heels and sneakers. None of them belonged to me. Irene sat up from the sofa, her voice dripping with sweet concern. “Grace! You’re finally here! You must be exhausted. I kept telling Lewis he should go pick you up, but he just wouldn’t listen…” Lewis grabbed a throw blanket and gently draped it over her shoulders. “You still have a fever. I wasn’t going to leave you alone.” Irene snuggled into the fabric, a delicate blush creeping onto her cheeks. I stared at the blanket wrapped around her. It was a custom cashmere throw I had bought him for his birthday. He’d told me it was too precious to use every day and kept it folded away in his closet. Now, it was keeping another woman warm. I looked directly at Lewis, my voice hoarse. “Why did you change the door code, Lewis?” The keypad code had been my birthday for four years. He had never changed it. Not once. “Irene kept forgetting it,” he said casually. “So we changed it to something easier.” But the three of us had grown up together. There was no way she didn’t know my birthday. I bit my lip, forcing the next words past my throat. “She’s here that often? Or… are you two living together now?” Only a few months ago, Lewis had promised me this apartment would be our sanctuary—the place we’d build our life together once I moved here. But looking around, every corner of this “home” bore the unmistakable stamp of another woman. Lewis’s expression instantly hardened. “Grace, what are you implying? Irene is our childhood friend. What’s wrong with her staying over for a few days while she recovers?” A draft seeped through the window, making me shiver. I broke into a sudden fit of coughing, my eyes watering from the strain. Lewis grabbed a towel and tossed it over my head. “Go take a hot shower. You look like a mess.” I clutched my change of clothes and ran into the bathroom. The moment the door clicked shut, my composure shattered. On the vanity, my toothbrush, my face wash, my towels—everything I’d left here—were gone. In their place were Irene’s things. Two matching, pastel-colored toothbrushes sat in a single ceramic cup. A couple’s set. From outside the door, soft voices drifted in. “Lewis, don’t be so harsh on Grace. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have stayed; I didn’t think about how it would look.” At the mention of my name, Lewis sighed, his tone laced with irritation. “It’s not your fault, Irene. She’s just being insecure. She always blows things out of proportion.” I turned the shower on full blast, letting the sound of rushing water drown out my muffled, breaking sobs. When I finally stepped out, Lewis and Irene were huddled over a laptop at the dining table, working on her thesis. They were sitting so close their shoulders brushed, their faces inches apart under the warm glow of the lamp. Lewis’s voice was gentler than I had heard it in months. “The transition in this paragraph is a bit weak. Let me smooth it out for you, and we should check these data points…” He was entirely focused on her screen, never once looking up to see if I was okay. I was a ghost in my own future home. I retreated to the bedroom and closed the door behind me. My suitcase sat untouched in the corner. When I opened the closet, half of the hanger space was filled with Irene’s cardigans and dresses. The vanity was covered in high-end makeup brands I didn’t recognize. This wasn’t a temporary guest staying over. Irene had moved in. She had claimed this space as her own, and suddenly, I was the intruder. I had absolutely no right to be here. As I pulled up my phone to book a train ticket back home, a text from Irene popped up. “Grace, please don’t take today the wrong way. Lewis and I are just friends.” But a few minutes later, my burner account refreshed to show a new post on her profile. It was a candid photo of Lewis, his brow furrowed in concentration as he edited her paper. The image was softly lit, capturing a quiet, intimate warmth. The caption read: “It’s official. I think my childhood best friend likes me back. Should I confess?” Within sixty seconds, the post was flooded with comments. “Do it! We need a happy ending!” “He’s so gorgeous, honestly, I would have fallen for him too!” With a numb hand, I typed three words under the post: “Have some shame.” Almost instantly, defensive replies came pouring in. “Someone’s bitter.” “Why are you hating on true love? Get a life.” The notifications piled up, filled with venom. Within minutes, my comment was deleted, and my burner account was blocked from commenting further. At 1:00 AM, Irene updated her caption: “I’ve decided! If this gets 100k likes, I’m going to tell him how I feel. I don’t want to lose him.” The likes surged rapidly, hitting tens of thousands in minutes. Sitting in the dark bedroom, I tapped the heart icon myself. If they were so desperate to be together, I would get out of their way. I didn’t hear Lewis come to bed. When I woke up the next morning, his arm was draped over my waist, pulling me against his chest. But the scent that clung to him wasn’t his—it was the sweet, floral perfume Irene wore. It was beautiful, and it made me feel physically sick. I tried to push his arm away, but he only tightened his grip, burying his face in my neck. There were dark circles under his eyes, proof of another sleepless night dedicated to Irene. “Stop it, Grace,” he mumbled. “Let me sleep a little longer.” I slid out of his embrace, went to the bathroom to wash my face, and began quietly packing my suitcase. The rustle of the zipper woke him. He sat up instantly, catching my wrist. “Grace? What are you doing?” “I’m going back to Philly.” “You said you were going to look for a job here in Boston. Why are you going back?” I looked him dead in the eye, my voice remarkably steady. “Lewis, we’re done. Let’s break up.” He stared at me for a beat, then let out a dry, incredulous laugh. “Are you seriously doing this because I couldn’t pick you up from the station? Grace, do you hear yourself? How childish can you get?” Childish. That was his word for me every time I expressed hurt. It was always easier to dismiss my feelings as immaturity. But I was done arguing. When I kept silent, Lewis reached into the nightstand drawer and tossed a folder onto the bed. “Look, Irene and I pulled some major strings to get you an internship at a tech firm downtown. You start next week. We had to cash in a lot of favors for this, Grace. Grow up and stop making everything so difficult.” I glanced down at the folder. It was an entry-level internship with a small tech agency, paying barely enough to cover groceries, working six days a week. The offer I had declined this morning paid more than double that, with full benefits. I slammed the folder back onto the nightstand, my eyes burning. “Is that what you think of me, Lewis? That I’m some charity case who can’t even get a job on her own?” Lewis stood up, looking down at me with a cold, exasperated sigh. “Grace, let’s be realistic. What credentials do you actually have? Irene and I graduated from Ivy League institutions. You went to a decent state school. Without our help, a resume like yours wouldn’t even pass their automated screening!” His words cut straight through me, sharp and precise. All our lives, Lewis and Irene had been the golden children, while I was just… ordinary. When we were younger and Lewis tutored me, he’d playfully knock my forehead and tease me for being slow. I had laughed it off then, thinking it was affection. Everyone in our hometown had always assumed Lewis and Irene would end up together; they were the perfect match on paper. When Lewis and I started dating, his parents made no secret of their disappointment. Every family dinner was an exercise in passive-aggressive remarks about how I wasn’t “intellectually compatible” with their son, how Irene would have been a much better fit. I had cried myself to sleep so many nights over those comments. Back then, Lewis would wrap his arms around me and whisper, “Don’t listen to them, Grace. You’re perfect for me. I love you for who you are.” But now, he was saying the exact same things. “So you agree with them,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “You think I’m not smart enough for you. You think my degree makes you look bad.” Lewis blinked, a sudden flash of panic breaking through his arrogance. “No, Grace, that’s not what I meant. I just—” I pushed past him, refusing to listen. As I threw open the bedroom door, I found Irene standing in the hallway. She reached out, grabbing my forearm with a look of wide-eyed innocence. “Grace, please, you’re misunderstanding. We were just trying to help you get a foot in the door…” Something inside me snapped. I yanked my arm away with all my strength. “Get away from me!” I snapped. The force of my movement sent her stumbling backward. She let out a soft cry and fell hard onto the polished floor. From behind me, Lewis roared. He shoved past me, kneeling to scoop Irene into his arms. “Grace! What the hell is wrong with you? Don’t take your frustrations out on her!” It was the first time he had ever raised his voice at me like that. A cold, suffocating pain radiated from my chest. I grabbed my purse, slammed the front door, and walked out into the rain. I didn’t look back. And he didn’t run after me. The storm showed no signs of letting up. I walked aimlessly down the slick sidewalks, the rain washing away the tears on my face. I remembered the night we got our college acceptance letters. Lewis and Irene were both headed to their elite Boston schools. They had begged me to go to a lower-tier college nearby just so we wouldn’t have to be apart. I had stared at my laptop screen all night, torn. In the end, I chose to go to the reputable state university in Philadelphia. I wanted to build something of my own. When Lewis found out, he was furious. He tried to convince me to transfer, saying, “Grace, I just want us to be together. I don’t care about the prestige of your school.” But I cared. I wanted to close the gap between us, even if only by a fraction. We hadn’t spoken for a month after that decision. In college, Lewis continued to shine. His social media was a constant stream of photos from international competitions and academic conferences—almost always alongside Irene. When we hung out during holidays, they talked about research grants and professors I’d never heard of, leaving me sitting in silence, smiling politely at a conversation I couldn’t join. There was no shortage of girls chasing him at school. Irene would always call to keep me “updated”—giggling as she told me about the freshman who confessed to him, or the department beauty trying to get his number. I had lived in constant, quiet terror during those years. I’d call him multiple times a day, even asking Irene to keep an eye on him. At first, Lewis was patient, reassuring me. But as the semesters dragged on, his patience wore thin. We began to fight constantly. Eventually, he started comparing us, hinting that Irene was much more understanding of his busy schedule. Terrified of losing him, I was always the one to apologize first. And with every fight we had, Irene moved a step closer to him. The warning signs had been there all along; I had just chosen to be blind. By afternoon, the rain had slowed to a drizzle. I walked back to the apartment to gather my things. Standing before the door, I stared at the keypad. I hesitated, then pressed the keys corresponding to Irene’s birthday. With a soft, melodic beep, the lock clicked open. I let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-sob. The tears flowed freely now. The living room was quiet, but a warm light spilled from the cracked bedroom door. I stepped closer and peered in. Irene was leaning over Lewis on the bed. Their foreheads were pressed together, their noses almost touching, close enough that they were breathing the same air. Irene wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing a soft kiss to his jawline. “I love you, Lewis,” she whispered, her face flushed. Lewis looked stunned, but he didn’t push her away. She smiled, leaning closer, her lips hovering just millimeters from his. Every ounce of pain and restraint I had built up over seven years shattered. I threw the door open, grabbed Irene by her collar, yanked her off him, and delivered a sharp, stinging slap across her face. “Are you seriously this pathetic, Irene? Sleeping with your best friend’s boyfriend?” She shrieked, trying to scramble away, but I caught her by the hair, dragging her back. In the chaotic scuffle, she fell onto the floor, sobbing as her cheek began to swell. Lewis finally broke out of his stupor. He shoved me back forcefully and knelt beside Irene, his eyes filled with absolute panic as he examined her face. “Irene! Are you okay? Does it hurt?” He whipped his head around to face me, his eyes colder than ice. “Grace, have you lost your mind? Apologize to her right now!” I stared at his furious expression. I wanted to scream, to ask him how he could look at me like that, but I realized there was nothing left to say. I turned, grabbed my suitcase, and walked out. The elevator doors were just about to slide shut when Irene rushed in, catching the door. She grabbed my sleeve, her eyes red and tearful. “Grace, please, wait! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to cross the line, I didn’t want to hurt you…” I unlocked my phone and held her viral post directly in front of her face. “Don’t you get tired of playing the victim, Irene?” The moment her eyes scanned the screen, the tears vanished from her face. She let out a quiet sigh. “Grace,” she said, her voice turning remarkably cold. “You and Lewis are too different. You were always going to break up. He’s surrounded by brilliant women every day. Even if it wasn’t me, it would have been someone else eventually.” We stepped out of the lobby. I tried to walk to the curb to hail a cab, but Irene grabbed my wrist, her grip surprisingly tight. “You can’t keep him, Grace. Just break up with him. Let him go.” “You are disgusting, Irene.” I pried her fingers off my wrist, but she lunged and grabbed the handle of my suitcase, refusing to let go. We struggled back and forth, stepping off the curb and onto the rain-slicked asphalt of the narrow street. A car suddenly rounded the corner, its headlights cutting through the heavy rain. The vehicle was moving too fast on the wet road, its high beams blinding us. Both of us froze in the middle of the street, our legs turning to lead. Through the glare, I saw Lewis sprinting toward us, screaming Irene’s name. He reached out and, without a single second of hesitation, shoved me hard to the side, throwing his entire body over Irene to shield her. I stumbled backward from the force of his push, falling directly into the path of the oncoming headlights…

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