Author: Momo Chan

Even when my fiancé was picking out my wedding jewelry, he still bought two pieces and let my sister choose first. One was a pink diamond necklace he had tracked across three cities, paying a fortune for it at a luxury auction. The other was a cheap black onyx brooch that came as a free promotional gift. It didn’t match a wedding dress at all. For the first time in my life, I pointed to the necklace before she could. “Can I choose first this time?” Ryan ruffled my hair, his tone patronizing. “Victoria is competitive, Gina. If she isn’t the first choice, she’d rather have nothing. You’ve never been picky, and the other piece isn’t bad.” I didn’t say anything, but my chest felt completely hollow. Growing up with Ryan for twenty years meant I was always the one picking up Victoria’s scraps. Every summer, when the watermelon was sliced, Ryan would hand the platter to Victoria first. She would take the center piece—seedless, sweet, and vibrant red. Then, Ryan would push the remaining pale, seed-filled rind toward me. “This one is ripe too, just a little less sweet. It’ll do.” When he got a new car, he let Victoria claim her spot. She picked shotgun, claiming she was prone to car sickness. Ryan pointed to the back. “The back seat is a little cramped, but either side is fine for you.” Later, it was the same with love. He had loved Victoria, but she chose to chase her PhD and her academic ambitions abroad. Left behind and heartbroken, Ryan turned around and proposed to me. To Ryan, Victoria was always the first choice. I looked at the cheap black brooch and gently pushed it back. “Give both to Victoria, Ryan. I don’t want to choose anymore.” I didn’t want to choose from the leftovers. … Ryan let out an exasperated sigh. “Gina, a cheap promotional piece like this doesn’t suit your sister.” I looked him dead in the eye. “Then why does it suit me?” Ryan froze, then laughed it off. “Come on. When you two stood together as kids, everyone said you looked like her little shadow. You can’t carry off a loud color like pink diamonds. Black is low-key. It doesn’t demand attention.” The little shadow. Victoria and I are twins, but I never measured up. In school, she was always straight-A, while I pulled all-nighters only to scrape Bs. My mother would pinch my temple and sigh, “You came out of the same womb, how are you so slow? Whatever, we only need one genius in the family.” I followed Victoria around, carrying her bag, peeling her apples. I was the shadow for ten years. I had told Ryan more than once how much I hated that label. He would always promise, “Okay, I won’t say it again.” But the second Victoria was in the room, those words slipped out of his mouth anyway. I looked at him, my voice flat. “Ryan, we’re over. Let’s call off the wedding.” Ryan stared at me, smiling like I was a child throwing a tantrum. “Alright, if you don’t like the brooch, we’ll get you something else. No need to say things like that. We’ll go to the mall right now, and you can pick whatever you want, okay?” Victoria slid the pink diamond necklace toward me. “Gina, take it. You’re getting married, don’t act like a child.” But Ryan stopped her hand. “I bought that specifically for you, Victoria. Gina can’t pull it off anyway. It’d be wasted on her.” So much for letting me “choose” first. It was always meant for her. Ryan pulled me by the shoulder toward the door. But at the mall entrance, Victoria mentioned she wanted to check out a new designer perfume. Ryan immediately nodded. “We’ll look at Victoria’s perfume first, then get your gift. No rush.” Always the same. Victoria spent forever at the counter, torn between two scents. Ryan noticed her hesitation. “Just get both. Use one now, and give the other to Gina. You two can swap whenever you want.” He paid and handed me the extra bottle. “There, gift solved. Your sister has great taste, you should be happy.” I didn’t take it. I looked at the bottle, finding it almost funny. Didn’t he say we came here to let me choose? “I’m packing my things from your apartment tonight. I’m not coming back.” Ryan’s hand froze mid-air. His face hardens. “Gina, stop playing games.” That night, he called my parents over. The moment my mother walked in, she jabbed my temple. “Have you lost your mind, calling off a wedding? Do you know how lucky you are to have Ryan? You’re average-looking and slow. If your sister wasn’t so focused on her career, do you honestly think he’d look at you?” My head throbbed. I had heard this my entire life. I was slow, I was plain, I was not Victoria. Ryan stepped in front of me, smiling to smooth things over. “Don’t say that, Mrs. Miller. Gina is sweet. She’s not unworthy of me.” My mother beamed at him. “Look how he defends you! Where else will you find a man this good? If you break up with him, don’t bother calling me your mother.” Yes, such a good man. I should be deeply grateful. I sniffled. “Okay.” Everyone sighed in relief, like a petulant child finally behaving. I went to my room, locked the door, and called Beth. The tears fell silently. “Beth, is that spot still open at your pottery studio in Asheville?” Beth’s voice was cautious. “Aren’t you getting married next week? Will your family let you go?” I looked out into the dark night. “Beth, what would you say if I left him at the altar?” She gasped. To her, I had always been the quiet, obedient, non-confrontational girl. But being good never got me loved. I spent my life on tiptoe, trying to get Ryan and my parents to look at me, but I didn’t want to be the “good girl” anymore. The next day, Ryan took me to see the house renovations. I walked toward the passenger seat, but he pulled me back. “Silly girl, that’s Victoria’s seat.” Victoria walked up, and Ryan opened the door for her. “Victoria wants to buy a house soon too, so she’s coming to take a look.” I quietly slid into the back seat. “Okay.” At the beautiful townhouse, Victoria’s eyes lit up when she saw the master suite. “The light here is perfect, and the humidity is just right for my lab samples.” Ryan stood beside her. “If you like it, this room is yours whenever you visit. I’ll get my best designer to remodel it for your equipment.” I stood in the doorway. During the entire buying process, Ryan had never cared about the house. “A house is just a place to sleep,” he’d say. But now, he and Victoria stood side-by-side by the window, discussing blueprints like newlyweds. Victoria turned to me with a playful smile. “Gina, you don’t mind if I take this room, do you?” I looked at Ryan. “You know this was supposed to be our master bedroom, right?” Ryan’s gaze was perfectly calm. “It’s just a label, Gina. You don’t need scientific humidity levels. Just pick one of the other rooms.” I loosened my clenched fists. “She’s my sister. Let her have it.” Ryan patted my head. “Good girl, Gina.” Next was the bridal salon. My three custom dresses were ready. Victoria linked her arm through mine warmly. “Let me help you check them, baby sis.” She seemed like a caring sister. But while I was trying them on, she got a phone call and looked distressed. “The gown for my award ceremony gala got ruined, and I can’t find a replacement in time…” Ryan scanned the salon, his eyes landing on my reception dress. “Victoria has pale skin, this ivory gown would look stunning on her. Let her have this one.” The stylist can’t help but speak up. “Sir, Miss Gina came here thirty times to sketch and adjust the details for this custom dress. And… who wears a secondhand dress for their own wedding?” Ryan looked at me, taking my compliance for granted. To him, if Victoria needed it, I should give it. I clutched my chest. Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt as much anymore. I changed out of the dress and handed it to Victoria. “It’s fine. It’ll look beautiful on you, Victoria.” Ryan looked surprised for a second, then softened. “Thank you, Gina. I’ll help you pick an even better one.” But his eyes remained glued to Victoria in the gown. He knelt down, personally smoothing out the creases in her train. I used to dream of him doing that for me. Out of thirty visits, he only came once. When the stylist suggested he help adjust my train because “it’s romantic,” he hadn’t even looked up from his phone. “That’s dramatic, not romantic. We pay them to do that.” Watching him kneel at Victoria’s feet, I finally understood the price of my illusions. Everyone always preferred Victoria. My parents, Ryan. But I couldn’t help loving him because when my parents screamed at me for being stupid, Ryan was the one who slipped me a strawberry candy and said, “Being silly is cute, too.” I hid that love for years. Even when he proposed to Victoria and she rejected him for her career, and he proposed to me in a rebound haze, I said yes. I gave up my art to work as his assistant, forcing myself to read dry data sheets to be more like her. But I could never be Victoria, and he could never love me. My phone buzzed. Beth: The studio is ready. When are you coming? Victoria had changed out of the dress. Ryan handed me a simple black gown. “Just take this one, Gina. Victoria has to run, let’s not keep her. This one is simple and elegant. Fits you.” Black again. The color I hated. I looked down and replied to Beth: On the wedding day. I’m leaving. That evening, we went to my parents’ house for dinner. I realized it was my and Victoria’s joint birthday. Ryan bought the cake. “You two share a birthday, so one cake is easier.” The cake was beautiful, but it was layered with thick mango cream. Victoria loves mango; I am severely allergic. But no one seemed to notice. Ryan inserted the candles, placing the birthday crown on Victoria’s head. “Make a wish, Victoria.” I looked at the mango cake, the crown, and Ryan’s warm smile. “Ryan,” I said quietly. “You always buy two of everything, but we only have one cake. And why am I always the last one to choose?” The room went dead silent. Ryan frowned. “It’s always been this way, Gina. What is wrong with you lately?” My mother glared at me. “She’s your older sister, and she’s accomplished. Of course she goes first. If you were half as smart as her, I’d let you blow the candles first!” The words died in my throat. Victoria made her wish, and they sang to her. By the time it was my turn, the candles had melted down to the wax. Ryan shrugged. “No more candles left. A wish is just a wish anyway. You can make one next year, Gina.” Twenty years. Every year is “next year,” but next year never comes. Does an ordinary child not deserve to be loved? I watched them eat the cake, my mind drifting far away. The conversation shifted to the wedding. Mom asked me, “How are the banquet preparations?” Before I could speak, she turned to Ryan. “Oh, Ryan, since your business partners are coming, Victoria can present her new research product at the reception as a promotion!” Ryan nodded instantly. “Great idea. We can cancel the slide show of our memories and let Victoria take that slot.” Victoria smiled. “We don’t have to cancel it, I’ll just speak briefly. I don’t want to ruin Gina’s wedding.” Ryan looked at her earnestly. “Nonsense, if you do it, do it right. Don’t worry, I’ll handle the schedule.” The three of them excitedly planned the display stands, the stage timing, the banners. My wedding was being turned into a corporate product launch, and not one person asked for my opinion. But it didn’t matter. There wouldn’t be a wedding anyway. Feeling suffocated, I retreated to my room. Outside, they were waiting for the live broadcast of Victoria’s national science competition results. I packed my things in my old bedroom. There wasn’t much—just an old sketchbook of my childhood drawings hidden at the bottom of a drawer. Suddenly, a cheer erupted from the living room. Victoria had won first place. Laughter, applause, and excitement filled the house. Then I heard Victoria’s sweet, whining voice: “But the award ceremony is the same day as Gina’s wedding. None of you can come with me. It’s such an important moment, and I’ll be all alone.” Silence fell over the living room. Then I heard Ryan’s voice: “You won’t be alone.” A knock on my door. Ryan stood there, his tone pleading. “Gina, Victoria’s award is a once-in-a-lifetime achievement. Can we move our wedding to the evening?” I wanted to laugh. Is a wedding not a once-in-a-lifetime event? The housekeeper muttered, “An evening wedding? People only do that for rushed shotgun weddings or quick elopements.” My mother snapped at her. “Nonsense! Don’t fill her head with superstitious garbage!” Ryan looked at me with soft, pleading eyes. “Please, Gina? You’re always the understanding one.” I looked at him, remembering when I won a minor art contest as a kid. I begged my parents to come, but they said Victoria’s debate tournament was more important. Ryan saw me crying and promised, “Don’t worry, I’ll be there to watch you get your trophy.” But he ended up at Victoria’s debate tournament too. I stood on that stage alone, watching other parents hug their children. And now, I was still alone. “Sure. Move it to the evening.” A wedding without a bride could be held whenever they wanted. They celebrated, and Ryan got drunk. Looking at his hazy eyes, I asked, “Ryan, are you looking forward to our wedding?” He didn’t answer. The cold wind drafted between us. “Then why did you propose to me in the first place?” I knew it was a rebound, but I wanted to hear him say it. He muttered, slurring his words. “In life… you settle. Finding someone fifty percent similar to her… is the best I could do. And you’re her sister. Being with you… means I still get to see her…” The wind stung my eyes, but the tears had dried up. The truth was cruder than I had ever imagined. On the wedding day, before dawn, the house was bustling—not for my wedding, but for Victoria’s ceremony. Everyone was picking outfits, doing makeup, and coordinating routes for her big day. I walked out of my room, fully dressed. “I’ll head out first. There are things to prep at the venue.” Ryan didn’t even look up as he helped Victoria double-check her luggage. “Alright, go ahead. Don’t keep the guests waiting later.” I grabbed my small purse and walked out. I headed straight to the airport. As the Uber pulled away, I saw Ryan’s car in the rearview mirror. My family happily piled into it, driving toward Victoria’s triumph. The ceremony lasted four hours. By the time it ended, I had landed in Asheville. My phone buzzed. Ryan: Gina, since the wedding is in the evening, let’s skip the family tea ceremony and photos. I’ll be late. Victoria gets overwhelmed by these crowds, you go to the venue first. Be a good girl. I stared at the text, blocked his number, and turned off the phone. Beth hugged me at the terminal. “Let’s go.” Meanwhile, Ryan and my family finally arrived at the wedding venue, only to find chaos. A friend grabbed him. “I thought the bride was arriving early? Where is she?” Ryan froze. The wedding planner ran over, sweating. “Mr. Miller, we can’t reach the bride. Her phone is off.”

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My father’s life-or-death surgery was only an hour away. I was practically running down the sterile, fluorescent-lit corridors of the hospital when a bizarre, glitch-like hallucination flickered in my peripheral vision—a scrolling stream of glowing text, resembling a live-chat feed, bleeding into reality. [Oh god, the NPC dad’s donor heart is about to be completely ruined by the sweet little darling. Without a matching heart, the NPC dad is as good as dead.] [So what? The girl lost her mother years ago anyway. Losing her dad now just makes it a matching set.] The “NPC” they were talking about was me. And the one whose death was guaranteed was my father. I pushed through the double doors of the surgical wing, my breath catching in my throat. There, standing by the nurse’s station, was my husband, Luke, and his childhood friend, Sadie. Sadie was holding a specialized surgical cooler—the kind used to transport transplant organs. As I approached, Sadie let out a soft, delicate gasp, her eyes instantly pooling with theatrical tears. “Oh, Bella… I am so, so incredibly sorry,” she whimpered, her voice dripping with sweet, faux-innocence. “I honestly thought this was just medical waste. I… I threw it down the incinerator chute. I completely ruined your dad’s donor heart, didn’t I? You won’t hate me, will you?” Luke stood right beside her. He didn’t even look at me, only offering a dismissive, impatient sigh. “Sadie just started her nursing rotation, Bella. A little oversight is completely normal. Stop making a mountain out of a molehill.” A blinding rage surged through me. I was ready to tear them both apart, to scream until my lungs bled. But before I could take a step, my phone buzzed in my palm. It was an automated alert from the surgical coordinator. Dear Bella, your father’s heart transplant is scheduled to begin in thirty minutes. The donor organ has been successfully prepped and delivered to Operating Room 4. Thank you. The suffocating weight on my chest suddenly lifted, leaving behind a cold, clarifying silence. I stared at the empty surgical cooler in Sadie’s manicured hands. My dad’s donor heart was already in the operating room. If that was the case… whose heart did Sadie just destroy? … I quickly typed a reply to the surgical coordinator, my fingers trembling slightly. Is it confirmed that my father’s surgery will proceed as scheduled? The response was almost instantaneous. Yes, ma’am. The organ is in the OR. We are on track for a 4:00 PM start. I let out a long, quiet breath, letting the cool hospital air ground me. Then, I turned a cold, level gaze onto Sadie. Sensing the shift in my demeanor, Sadie immediately shrank back into Luke’s space, wrapping both of her arms tightly around his elbow. She practically hung off him, her shoulders trembling with practiced vulnerability. She looked up at me with wide, watery eyes, her voice taking on a sickeningly sweet, childish whine. “Bella, why are you looking at me like that? You’re scaring me.” “I just started this rotation. I don’t know how things work yet,” she continued, her lower lip quivering as she swayed slightly against Luke. “I really thought that box was garbage. I didn’t know there was something inside.” Before I could even open my mouth, Luke stepped forward, physically shielding Sadie from my sight. He frowned, his eyes hardening with irritation. “Bella, drop it.” “It’s Sadie’s first day on the floor. It’s completely understandable that she can’t distinguish between medical equipment yet. She already apologized. What more do you want?” Tucked safely against Luke’s chest, Sadie peeked out. She stomped her foot lightly, her nose turning a delicate shade of pink. “Luke, I tried to apologize nicely… but Bella just keeps staring at me like she wants to kill me.” She began playing with the hem of her scrub top, tilting her head in a display of pathetic helplessness. “You know how bad my learning curve is. I can’t keep track of all these different coolers. Getting yelled at by Bella makes my chest hurt so badly.” She clutched her heart, letting out a series of quiet, pathetic sniffles. A couple of passing nurses slowed down, casting disapproving glances in my direction. It was infuriating. With nothing but a pout and a childish act, Sadie was attempting to brush off what she believed was the destruction of a human life. I clenched my fists, forcing my rising temper down, and forced a look of panicked distress onto my face. “Do you have any idea what was in that cooler? It was a transplant organ! Without it, the surgery cannot happen!” A flicker of genuine panic crossed Sadie’s eyes, but she masked it instantly with another petulant pout. “But I genuinely didn’t know!” she argued, her tone turning defensive. “If the hospital didn’t label it clearly, that’s on them. It’s not my fault, Bella. You can’t just take your anger out on me.” She sighed, crossing her arms. “Fine. I’ll pray for your dad’s soul, okay? That’s the most I can do.” I rubbed my temples, pretending to be on the verge of tears. “Who said that was my dad’s donor heart? Look at the label on the side of that cooler. It clearly says—” Luke reached over, smoothing a hand over Sadie’s hair, murmuring sweet reassurances. Then he looked up and cut me off, his voice dripping with condescension. “Bella, stop being so hysterical.” “The damage is done. Blaming Sadie won’t change anything. Organs are rare, and throwing a tantrum won’t magically produce another one.” “Can you try to be the mature one for once?” Sadie leaned heavily into Luke’s embrace, casting a sly, triumphant smirk in my direction when she thought Luke wasn’t looking. “Do you really not know whose…” I began, but the words caught in my throat as I stared at the empty cooler. Luke’s mother, Martha, had always been incredibly kind to me. She treated me like her own daughter. I couldn’t let her die because of Sadie’s malicious stupidity. “I don’t have time for this,” I said, my voice hardening. “I’m going to the administrative office to request an emergency search for a backup donor.” The moment the words left my mouth, Sadie’s face fell. “No, don’t!” she squeaked, grabbing Luke’s arm again. “Luke, my stomach is hurting so much from all this stress. Can we please just go get lunch?” Luke immediately agreed, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Do what Sadie says, Bella. Stop running around like a headless chicken. Just sit down, wait, and accept the situation instead of causing unnecessary trouble.” I didn’t waste another breath on them. I turned on my heel and walked straight toward the medical records and administration office. Behind me, I could hear Sadie’s high-pitched complaints, quickly followed by Luke’s soothing, patient murmurs. I didn’t slow down. I found the charge nurse on duty and immediately asked about the protocol for securing a backup transplant coordinator. The nurse opened her terminal, pulling up the regional database, and began explaining the matching criteria. Suddenly, the door burst open. “Bella! Why did you run off like that?” Sadie rushed in, dragging Luke behind her. She scurried to my side and grabbed my arm, shaking it with frustrating force. I tried to wrench myself free, but her grip was surprisingly tight. With tears welling in her eyes, Sadie pouted. “We told you it’s pointless to look for another heart. Why do you have to be so difficult and exhaust yourself?” “You’re making my heart palpitate. It hurts so much.” She leaned her weight against me, pretending to be on the verge of fainting. The charge nurse stopped typing, her eyebrows knitting together in frustration. Before I could speak, Luke stepped forward and forcefully pried Sadie’s hands off my arm. He pulled Sadie behind his back, glaring at me with utter disgust. “Bella, get a grip!” he snapped. “Sadie is only trying to look out for you, and you’re just getting more erratic. Are you trying to force everyone in this hospital to cater to your drama?” Sadie peeked from behind his shoulder, her lower lip trembling. “Exactly, Bella… I just didn’t want you to tire yourself out over nothing. You’re acting so scary.” She gripped Luke’s waist tightly, adding in a soft, mocking whisper, “Besides, if your dad passes away, he gets to go to heaven and be an angel. Don’t you want him to be an angel?” I ignored them entirely, turning my back to address the charge nurse again. In that brief window of silence, Sadie’s eyes darted around. She slipped out from behind Luke, stepping up to the desk. With an air of childish curiosity, she began flipping through the physical registration logs lying on the counter. “Don’t touch those, please,” the charge nurse warned sharply. “Those are confidential patient files.” But before the nurse could finish her sentence, Sadie’s wrist swept outward. With a loud clatter, a massive stack of matching logs and patient records was sent flying. Papers scattered across the floor, and pens rolled into the corners of the room. The entire office fell dead silent. Every eye in the room locked onto her. My face went entirely cold. Sadie didn’t look remotely sorry. Instead, she sucked in her breath, widening her eyes in a display of childlike shock. Her lower lip wobbled, and she began to sniffle. “Oh… I’m so, so sorry.” “I didn’t mean to. My hand just slipped. I’ve always been so clumsy. Please don’t yell at me…” She grabbed the hem of Luke’s shirt, her shoulders shaking as if she were a terrified child. The charge nurse’s face was livid. “Those are the active donor match registries for the entire surgical wing. Do you have any idea how much chaos you’ve just caused?” Luke stepped in front of Sadie, completely shielding her from the nurse’s wrath. “I’m incredibly sorry, nurse. I apologize on her behalf.” “She’s young, and she’s a bit sheltered. She doesn’t always understand the weight of her actions. But it’s really not a national emergency. We can just pick the papers up. There’s no need to be so hostile.” With a few dismissive words, Luke completely erased her deliberate act of sabotage. With Luke defending her, Sadie grew bolder. She peeked out, whispering loudly to the nurse, “I really didn’t mean to… why is everyone always so mean to me? I’m practically still a baby.” Then, she shot me a quick, venomous look of pure triumph. My hands clenched so tightly my knuckles turned white. Luke glared at me. “Are you happy now? You insisted on dragging this out just to make Sadie miserable. Bella, when did you become so vicious?” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Luke, that donor organ was for your mother.” “If you and your little side-chick want to play daycare in a hospital corridor, do it somewhere else. Get out of my way before you cost someone their life.” Luke’s expression darkened instantly. He stepped closer, his jaw clenched. “What the hell are you talking about?” Sadie whimpered, shrinking back. “Why is Bella saying things like that? It’s creepy.” I didn’t want to waste another second. “The cooler you threw away didn’t contain my father’s heart. It contained the donor heart matched for your mother, Martha.” Luke’s temper flared violently. He raised his voice, drawing stares from the hallway. “Bella, that is sick!” “Just because you’re throwing a tantrum over Sadie’s mistake, you’re going to use my mother’s life to hurt us? You’re actually wishing death on my mom just to spite a girl who made an honest mistake?” Sadie’s eyes welled with fresh tears. “Luke… Bella shouldn’t use your mom’s health to punish me, even if she hates me.” On the floor, the scattered patient records still lay in a messy heap. Sadie knelt down, mumbling about helping to clean up. But as she reached out, her arm made a sudden, sharp motion. A rack of sealed glass vials containing pre-op cross-match blood samples was knocked off the edge of the desk. They shattered on the hard tile floor, thick red liquid pooling rapidly amid the shards of glass. A surge of pure adrenaline hit me. I lunged forward to grab her. Seeing my movement, Luke stepped in and shoved me back with brutal force. The impact sent me stumbling backward. My lower back slammed hard into the sharp corner of the wooden desk, and my forearm scraped against a metal bracket, tearing the skin. A sharp, burning pain shot up my arm. “You’re completely out of control!” Luke yelled, pointing a finger at me. “You lunged at Sadie, knocked over the blood samples, and now you’re going to blame her for that too?” He looked at me with deep, bitter disgust. “You’re lying about my mother, and now you’re destroying her actual medical samples. I can’t believe how malicious you are.” Sadie slumped against Luke, clutching her forehead and groaning softly. The charge nurse knelt by the ruined blood, her forehead creased in deep worry. “These were the urgent pre-op compatibility samples. With these destroyed, we have to draw new blood and run the labs all over again. That takes at least twelve hours. We will miss the surgical window.” Ignoring the throbbing pain in my arm and back, I reached into my pocket for my phone. If I called the regional blood bank immediately, we might be able to expedite a backup courier. But before my fingers could grasp the device, Luke snatched it from my hand and shoved it into his own pocket. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like a vise, and began dragging me out of the office. “Stop making a scene.” His voice was like ice. “You’ve done nothing but lie and manipulate my mother’s health to bully Sadie. I’m not letting you ruin this hospital’s peace any longer.” I thrashed against his grip, trying to pull away. “Luke, you idiot! That is your mother! Go check the patient log yourself before you accuse me of lying!” Luke sneered, but before he could speak, a nurse came running down the hall. “Mrs. Bella! There’s hope for the donor heart you inquired about. We have a patient who—” Luke cut her off immediately. “Don’t bother. Give the backup heart to someone else. We don’t need it.” I stared at him, my heart stopping. “Luke, that is your mother’s life! If you reject the backup, what is she going to do?!” The nurse looked highly uncomfortable, her eyes darting to Luke’s tight grip on my bruised wrist. Luke offered the nurse a polite, chilling smile. “We’re fine. Thank you.” He turned back to me, a cruel, satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “Let this be a lesson to you, Bella. This is what you get for falsely accusing Sadie.” The sheer absurdity of it left me speechless. Sadie giggled, wrapping her arms around Luke’s bicep. “Luke, you’re the best. It was just a tiny mistake. Why is Bella being so obsessive? I’m practically still a baby!” I yanked my hand back with all my strength, finally breaking his grip. “Luke, I truly hope you don’t regret this day.” Luke sneered. “I never regret anything.” “If you get on your knees right now and beg Sadie for forgiveness, maybe I’ll consider calling that nurse back and letting your dad have the backup heart.” I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Why would I apologize? I’ve told you three times: that first cooler was your mother’s heart. If you had half a brain, you’d look at the tag.” Seeing the cold conviction in my eyes, a shadow of doubt finally crossed Luke’s face. He looked down at the cooler in Sadie’s hand. “Sadie, let me see that…” Sadie’s eyes widened in temporary panic, but she quickly recovered, pouting sweetly. “Luke, I might be silly, but I can read! The tag says Room 305!” Room 305. My father’s room. She claimed it was an accident, but she had been targeting my father from the very beginning. Relief washed over Luke’s face, and his glare returned, colder than before. “Bella, you are pathologically unrepentant.” “Remember this: whatever happens to your father today is entirely your fault.” My father’s surgery was starting, and I had no interest in wasting another second on them. I turned to walk away. But Luke grabbed my shoulder, forcing me back. “Apologize to Sadie!” When I didn’t move, Luke stepped forward and kicked the back of my knee. A sharp, white-hot pain shot through my leg, and I collapsed onto the hard tile floor. My knees hit the ground with a sickening crack. Sadie gasped dramatically, covering her mouth with her hands. “Oh my gosh, Luke! Is she going to be okay?” Then, she looked down at me, her voice dripping with venomous sweetness. “I told her it was an accident, but she just wouldn’t let it go. She must be so jealous of how much you love me.” I stared up at Luke, my vision blurring from pain. I tried to push myself up using the wall, but Luke kept a heavy, crushing hand on my shoulder. “Apologize!” I opened my mouth to speak, but a nurse with a clipboard appeared at the end of the hall. She smiled warmly when she saw me and handed over a packet of papers. “Mrs. Bella, your father’s surgery is complete. It was a total success! He’s being moved to a recovery room now. Two weeks of observation and he can go home.” My heart soared. But then, the nurse turned her gaze to Luke, her expression turning into one of utter confusion. “Mr. Luke? What are you doing here?” “Your mother’s donor heart was severely compromised, and the hospital couldn’t reach you. Her surgery has been officially canceled.”

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During the years Chase pursued me, his greatest trigger was when anyone brought up our six-year age gap. Someone would tease him at a bar, laughing about how he’d bagged himself an “older woman.” His face would instantly turn to stone. “I don’t care that she’s older,” he’d snap, his voice tight. “I only hate that I wasn’t born a few years earlier so I could have had more time with her.” But then his company started growing, and a new, young assistant came along. He began taking her to galas, drinking the cocktails meant for her, and teaching her how to close deals. When I asked him why he wasn’t taking me anymore, he didn’t even look up from his phone. “Georgia, you’re thirty-six. Staying up late at those events is hell on your skin. Besides, Piper is young. She has this energy, this vibrancy. She looks right standing next to me.” Then he added, “Don’t overthink it. No matter how young she is, she could never touch your place as my wife.” But that girl—the one who supposedly couldn’t touch my place—wore my custom couture, lived in my apartment, and handed me my own positive pregnancy test with a sweet, mocking smile: “Georgia, isn’t pregnancy incredibly risky at your age?” Later, she pushed me down the stairs. Lying in a pool of blood, I heard her call Chase. “Chase, Georgia is throwing another tantrum. I’m so scared.” That day, the baby Chase and I had spent three painful years trying for… was gone. I mailed him the pathology report and the divorce papers, then vanished the night before his company’s IPO bell-ringing ceremony. … The courier arrived to pick up the package while it was pouring outside. I handed him the heavy manila envelope. He glanced at the recipient’s name. “Chase Jenson?” “Yes.” “Do you want to declare a value for insurance?” “No need.” There were only three sheets of paper inside. A miscarriage report. A signed divorce petition. And a short, handwritten note from me. Chase, you don’t have to worry about naming this baby anymore. After the courier left, I stood by the door for a long time. The rain dripped steadily against the iron grates of the stairwell window. Drip. Drip. It sounded exactly like the sterile, icy beat of the IV drip in the hospital room. My phone vibrated in my hand. It was my sister, Gwen. “Georgia, are you packed?” “Yes.” “I’m on my way. Don’t touch anything heavy, do you hear me?” “I won’t.” Her voice went tight over the line. “Chase called me.” I paused, my fingers tightening around the phone. “What did he say?” “He told me to tell you to go home when you’re done throwing your tantrum, and to stop playing games with your health.” Gwen let out a sharp, disbelieving scoff. “He actually asked me if you were going through early menopause. If that was why your emotions are so ‘unstable’ lately.” I closed my eyes. Menopause. That was a word Chase would have never used to describe me before. When I was twenty-nine and he was twenty-three, he was just a fresh graduate standing under my apartment building with a massive bouquet of white roses. My mother had warned him back then: “You’re so much younger than her. You’ll get tired of her when she starts showing her age.” His ears had flared bright red with earnest desperation. “Mrs. Welles, I won’t. When she’s thirty, I’ll be twenty-four. When she’s forty, I’ll be thirty-four. I’ll always be chasing her. I’ll spend my whole life trying to cherish her.” He was so sincere back then. So sincere I believed him for eight years. “Georgia?” Gwen called out, pulling me back to the present. “I’m here.” “Don’t let him get to you.” “I’m fine.” My eyes drifted to the tiny pair of baby booties sitting by the entryway. Chase had bought them. Two months ago, when the test finally turned positive, he had spun me around the living room three times. “Georgia, we finally did it,” he’d whispered, burying his face in my neck. “I’m going to buy the best crib money can buy. If it’s a girl, we’ll name her Maisie. If it’s a boy, Henry.” I had laughed, telling him it was too soon to decide. “It’s not,” he’d insisted. “I’ve waited three years for this. Every night I dream of a little voice calling me Daddy.” Now, the little booties were still here. But the baby was gone. I picked them up and packed them at the very bottom of the cardboard box. The buzzer rang. Gwen burst through the door, her hair soaked from the rain. Seeing how pale I was, she immediately softened her voice. “Georgia, does it still hurt?” “Not anymore.” “Liar.” She knelt down to help me tape up the boxes. “The doctor said you need bed rest. Why are you moving heavy boxes?” “Because this isn’t my home anymore.” Gwen grit her teeth. “He’s going to regret this.” I offered a faint, tired smile. “What good is regret?” She didn’t answer, pulling the packing tape so hard it shrieked through the quiet room. Just as we hauled the last box to the door, the elevator chimed. The doors slid open, and Chase stepped out. He was wearing his tailored black suit, his tie slightly loosened. Standing right behind him was Piper. She was holding a clear umbrella, wearing the designer wool coat Chase had flown all the way to Milan to bid on for me at a private auction last winter. He had skipped a major client dinner for it, enduring weeks of teasing from his friends about how he’d lose his shirt just to keep his wife smiling. I had kept that coat in the center of our master closet, thinking it was sacred. Piper spoke first. “Georgia, please don’t be mad. It was pouring, and Mr. Jenson was worried I’d catch a cold. He just grabbed whatever was in the car.” Gwen snapped instantly. “Grabbed whatever was in the car? Chase, do you even remember what that coat represents?” Piper shrank behind Chase’s shoulder. “Oh… is this the coat from that auction last year? The one where you lost that massive account just to get it for Georgia?” Her eyes well up with performative tears. “I’m so sorry, Chase. I just… I liked the style. I didn’t know.” Chase frowned. “Gwen, it’s just a coat. Don’t scare Piper. She’s two years younger than you—why are you picking a fight with a kid?” Gwen let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. “Oh, so being young means she gets a free pass? Is that why you think you can treat my sister like trash?” Chase’s face darkened. “This is between Georgia and me. It’s none of your business.” I braced myself against the doorframe, slowly standing tall. “Why are you here, Chase?” His eyes dropped to the boxes. “Are you actually leaving?” “Yes.” He took a step forward, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “Georgia, I don’t have time for this drama. The IPO is tomorrow morning, and I have a board meeting tonight. Yes, I couldn’t make it to the hospital immediately, but you’re fine now, aren’t you? You’re not a teenager anymore. Stop being so dramatic. I am incredibly busy.” “Busy?” I said, my voice dangerously quiet. “Busy celebrating Piper’s birthday? Busy cleaning up after your little assistant?” His jaw tightened. That was the look he used to give his friends when they made jokes about my age. Now, he was directing it at me. I didn’t argue. I just smiled, a cold, empty feeling spreading through my chest. “Fine? You think I’m fine? Our ba—” Before I could finish, Piper began frantically peeling off the coat, sobbing. “I’m so sorry, Georgia! I shouldn’t have been so thoughtless. I didn’t mean to come between you and Chase… Here, take it back.” She shoved the heavy wool coat into Gwen’s arms, shivering in her thin blouse, her shoulders hunched up to make herself look as fragile as possible. She looked up at Chase with wide, watery eyes. “Chase, I’m freezing. Can you please take me home?” Chase scowled, immediately slipping off his suit jacket and draping it over her shoulders. Then he looked at me, exhaling a long, weary sigh. “Georgia, if you’re determined to throw a fit, go stay at Gwen’s for a couple of days. I’ll take Piper home first. Once the IPO is behind me, we’ll talk.” I watched his back as he walked away, guiding her toward the elevator. The last shred of hope I didn’t know I was holding onto finally snapped. “Chase,” I whispered to the empty hallway. “There’s nothing left for us to talk about.” Gwen brought me to her two-bedroom apartment. The space was small but cozy, the balcony piled with her canvases and old art history books. She insisted I take the master bedroom. “Georgia, you sleep here. I’ll take the couch.” “No, Gwen. I’ll sleep on the couch.” “You just had surgery,” she said, her voice cracking. “If you sleep on the couch, I’ll go protest in front of Chase’s office building with a banner. I swear to God I will.” Looking at her fierce, protective expression, I couldn’t help but smile faintly. Gwen set a mug of hot water by my hand. “You’re still laughing.” “I’m just remembering how you were in high school.” “I was more mature in high school than Chase is right now.” A heavy silence fell over the room. Gwen and Chase had been college classmates. That was how Chase had met me. He used to pump Gwen for information: what tea I liked, what flowers I hated, when my birthday was, and the fact that my stomach was sensitive and couldn’t handle spicy food. “I really regret helping him pursue you,” Gwen whispered, tears finally filling her eyes. “Georgia, do you know what his classmates were saying in the alumni group chat today? Someone posted a photo of Piper at the pre-IPO dinner, saying she’s so young and gorgeous, that they look like a couple from a movie poster.” I sat back on the sofa. “What did Chase say?” Gwen hesitated. “He said, ‘Well, you know how it is. Youth brings its own energy.’ And then he said you didn’t like crowded events anyway, which is why he left you at home.” Suddenly, my phone rang. It was a landline from Chase’s office. I picked it up. “Georgia,” Piper’s voice giggled over the line. “Guess what I just found?” I heard the rustle of paper. “Let’s see,” she read aloud, mockingly. “‘Chase, you don’t have to worry about naming this baby anymore.’ Wow. You’re cold, aren’t you? The baby is gone, and you’re still trying to use it to guilt-trip him?” My grip on the phone tightened. “Piper. Give that package to him.” “What package?” she asked innocently. “Oh, the one I signed for? I threw it in the trash. Trash belongs in the bin, after all.” Gwen heard her voice and lunged to grab the phone, but I held her back. “Piper,” I said, my voice steady. “Are you scared?” A beat of silence. “Scared of what?” “Scared of Chase seeing the pathology report. Scared of him realizing I was actually in the operating room while you were sending him tearful selfies to get his attention. Scared he’ll realize a dead child outweighs a petty tantrum.” Her voice went cold. “Georgia, don’t act so high and mighty just because you managed to get pregnant. Do you think Chase actually wanted that baby? He only wanted it because he knew you were pushing forty and it was your last shot. He told me himself that having a baby at thirty-six is dangerous, and that you’d look like an old grandmother dropping the kid off at school anyway.” A sharp, physical pang hit my chest. Not because of Piper’s words, but because the man who used to scream at anyone who mentioned my age was now the one using it as a punchline. He had joked about it with his friends at dinner parties. “My wife has a strict eleven p.m. bedtime now. She can’t keep up with you young girls. I have to cut her some slack—she is six years older than me, after all.” They had laughed. He had laughed. And I had laughed too, pretending I couldn’t hear the humiliation baked into every syllable. “Georgia,” Piper added, “honestly, you should just stay quiet and keep your title as Mrs. Jenson. Don’t make a scene. A divorced woman your age isn’t exactly a hot commodity on the market.” I didn’t say a word. Gwen was practically vibrating with rage. “Georgia, don’t hold it in. Scream at him, cry, do something! You’re terrifying me.” I gently touched my abdomen. It was flat again. Empty. “Gwen,” I said softly. “I can’t cry. I used to think that as long as he loved me, I could bear anything. But now I realize it’s not that he stopped loving me. He just took his patience—the very best part of himself—and gave it to someone younger.” Gwen’s eyes brimmed with tears. “He wasn’t like this. Do you remember our graduation dinner? Someone made a joke about you being a ‘hot older woman’ and Chase literally smashed his glass on the floor.” I remembered. That night, he had gotten so drunk, wrapping his arms around my waist and refusing to let go. Georgia, don’t listen to them. You’re not my ‘older woman.’ You’re just the person I love. I love you at twenty-nine, and I’ll love you at ninety. Every year you get older is just another year I get to love you. My heart had melted completely. But now, he told Piper: Georgia’s too old for late nights. He told his board: She’s the wife, but you’re the face of the company. There’s no conflict. No conflict. I was tucked away in a drawer like a coat out of season, while Piper wore my actual coat and stood in his spotlight. Gwen poured the soup she had made into the sink. “If he comes here tomorrow, I’m not letting him in.” “Okay.” My phone buzzed. It was Chase. I’ll pick you up at nine tomorrow for your follow-up appointment. Don’t be stubborn. At your age, your body heals slower. You need to listen to the doctors. I stared at the phrase at your age. I flipped the phone face down. Gwen snatched it up and blocked his number. “He doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.” I didn’t stop her. I slept fitfully that night. In my dreams, Chase was kneeling before me, his hand resting on my stomach. Hey, little one. Daddy’s been waiting for you. When I woke up, the sky was still grey, and my pillow was soaked. I can still cry, it seems. I just do it silently now. At nine the next morning, the buzzer rang. Gwen blocked the doorway. “Can’t you take a hint?” Chase was standing in the hall, holding a bouquet. Not white roses. Pink carnations. I remembered Piper posting a photo of them once, saying they were her favorite. Gwen spotted them and laughed coldly. “Brought flowers for the wrong girl, Chase?” He looked down at the bouquet, his brow furrowing. “My assistant bought them.” “Your assistant knows what Piper likes, but has no idea what my sister likes?” Chase didn’t answer. He looked past her into the apartment. “Georgia, I want to see you.” I sat at the dining table, unmoving. “Let him in, Gwen.” Gwen stepped aside, glaring. Chase walked in, his eyes immediately searching my face. A flash of guilt passed over his features. “You’ve lost weight.” “Say what you came to say,” I replied. He set the flowers on the table. “I thought about what you said all night. Georgia, I’ve been so overwhelmed with the IPO. I didn’t mean to neglect you. And I didn’t skip the hospital on purpose. Piper had a sudden panic attack at the press conference, and I thought… I thought you were just trying to pick a fight to get my attention.” Gwen slammed her hand on the table. “She called you six times! The nurses called you! You didn’t answer a single one!” “My phone was with my assistant,” Chase said, his voice rising slightly. “Then how did Piper get through to you?” His expression hardens. “Gwen, stop turning everything into a conspiracy about her. She’s a kid. She doesn’t know any better.” I let out a soft laugh. “She doesn’t know any better? Is that why she wears my clothes? Takes my jewelry? Is that why she sent you crying selfies the exact hour of my ultrasound, claiming her blood sugar crashed?” Chase went quiet. I opened the drawer, pulled out a stack of photos, and tossed them onto the table. In one, Piper was wearing the diamond necklace Chase gave me for our fifth anniversary, sitting in the passenger seat of his car. In another, she was using our spare keycard to enter our apartment. Chase stared at the photos, his face pale. “You hired someone to follow me?” “My neighbor sent them to me,” I said calmly. “She wanted to know if we’d hired a new maid.” “Even a maid knows not to wear the mistress’s jewelry,” Gwen spat. Chase’s voice dropped. “I gave her the keycard because she had to drop off some urgent files. I didn’t know about the necklace.” “And the coat?” “She spilled coffee on her dress right before a gala. I told her to grab something from the closet.” “Why didn’t you ask me?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper. He frowned. “You never used to care about things like this.” “Because you never used to give me a reason to care, Chase. Your devotion used to belong entirely to me. Now, you’ve handed it to someone else.” His lips parted, but no sound came out. “Georgia… Piper is just a kid starting out. I didn’t think you’d lower yourself to compete with an assistant.” I stood up. “You keep calling her a kid. Because she’s young, her mistakes are just innocent slips. Because I’m older, I’m expected to be the bigger person and swallow my humiliation. Is that the logic here?” He looked stumped. After a long pause, he sighed. “That’s not what I mean. I just… I expected you to be more mature. You have ten years of life experience on her. You should be above this.” Gwen lunged forward, but I held her back. “Gwen, don’t.” Chase looked at me. “Georgia, I didn’t come here to fight. We’ve been together for eight years. Let’s not throw everything away over a misunderstanding. I’m exhausted too.” “A misunderstanding?” I repeated. “Chase, our baby is dead. Is that a misunderstanding?” He froze. “What?” The color drained from his face. “Don’t say things like that just to hurt me.” “It’s not a joke. I mailed you the divorce papers and the pathology report yesterday.” He shook his head, his chest heaving. “No. No, Georgia, don’t play with me. We’ve wanted this child for years.” I walked to the door and opened it. “The package went out last night. Sign the papers. I don’t want a dime of your money.” “Georgia…” Before he could finish, his phone rang. It was his chief of staff. He answered, his expression gradually shifting from confusion to horror. “What do you mean, Piper took it? Why would she sign for my personal mail?” The caller’s voice was faint, but in the quiet room, the words slipped through: “Ms. Piper said it was just junk mail from a disgruntled neighbor, and she threw it out so it wouldn’t ruin your focus before the IPO…” Chase looked at me through the doorway, his eyes wild with sudden panic. “Georgia, I will handle this. I swear to you. Just… wait for me.”

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Whenever Victoria and I were intimate, the ghost of a man with wildly unkempt hair would suddenly materialize, his broken form lurking in the shadows of our bedroom, terrifying me to my core. Victoria would patiently comfort me, holding me until the trembling stopped. Still, my nerves were completely frayed. For a long time, I genuinely believed I had developed some severe psychological intimacy disorder. Driven to the brink, I finally went to the hospital for a full neurological evaluation. Instead of a diagnosis for myself, I received entirely different news: Victoria was pregnant. After that, the male ghost still appeared from time to time, but he stopped trying to scare me. He would just stand there, an observer in the dark. Until the day our baby was born. He didn’t just appear; he hovered over me, his head lowered, whispering through cracked, bleeding lips. “The baby is going to be taken away by Victoria…” Doubt clawed at my chest. I refused to believe the ramblings of this hallucination. Victoria cherished this pregnancy—cherished me—more than anything. Why on earth would she swap our biological daughter? But later, fighting through a haze of severe hypoglycemia, I forced myself to walk to the nursery. I looked down at the bassinet. The baby sleeping peacefully beneath the pink blanket was flawless. My daughter had a distinct birthmark on her neck. This baby had none. It felt as though I had been struck by lightning. Panic seizing my throat, I frantically scoured every single crib in the maternity ward. Finally, I found her. My real daughter. My eyes dropped to the small, typed card slotted at the foot of the bassinet. Father: Donovan. The blood in my veins turned to ice, rushing backward to my heart. Donovan. My best friend. The man who had been in the delivery room next door, whose child was born on the exact same day as mine. Forcing down the violent hammering of my heart, operating on pure, adrenaline-fueled instinct, I silently swapped the two infants back. When I returned to my hospital room, the ghost was waiting. But this time, I wasn’t afraid. I walked right up to him and gently brushed the tangled, filthy hair away from his face. I stared at him, and the floor seemed to drop out from beneath me. His face… was my own. … The ghost opened his mouth, his chapped, bleeding lips parting as if to speak. Before he could, the door swung open. Victoria stepped in, bringing the scent of expensive perfume and hospital antiseptic. “Just checking in to see if my sweet Oliver is behaving and taking his IV fluids?” She walked over, her eyes entirely focused on me, and affectionately tapped my nose. “You’re a father now, darling. How are you still so afraid of needles? If you don’t take your medicine like a good boy, I’m going to ignore you.” I looked at her. My throat felt like it was coated in glue. Not a single syllable could force its way out. Years ago, when we first fell in love, Victoria had willingly offered to be the kept woman, the secret behind my wealthy family’s curtain. Later, terrified that society’s gossip would ruin my reputation, she took a meager five hundred dollars and moved overseas to build her empire from scratch. Whenever we FaceTimed, I would see the bruises and cuts on her face and legs from the volatile, war-torn regions where she negotiated her first supply deals. Once, an explosion nearly went off right through the screen of my phone. Even a moment ago, I could have dismissed the ghost’s whisper as a fever dream. But the swapped babies were real. Which meant the ghost’s words were real, too. A dark, suffocating fire of pure rage ignited in my chest. I dug my fingernails into my palms, desperately searching her face for even a flicker of guilt. She seemed completely oblivious, wrapping her arms around me intimately. “You know, honey,” she murmured against my shoulder, “Donovan had a baby today too. But he just doesn’t have my husband’s luck.” A cruel little smile played on her lips. “He doesn’t even know who the mother of his kid is. Poor bastard.” I heard the disdain in her tone, yet looking closely, the depths of her eyes were swimming with a sickly, profound tenderness. My heart seized. I managed a seamless, careless laugh. “If your heart bleeds for him so much, why don’t you go be his baby’s mother?” “Only if you want me to,” she replied without missing a beat, then immediately pivoted. “Alright, alright, I’m just joking. Be a good boy and rest. I’m going to go check on the soup I had them make for you.” I watched her figure hurry out the door. It felt as though my heart had been encased in a block of solid ice; every beat pumped freezing water through my veins. The ghost still stood there, looking erratic, broken. I forced my mouth into an ugly, trembling smile. “Are you going to tell me what happened now?” He didn’t speak, but suddenly, the truth crashed over me in a wave of visceral visions. I looked at him—at me. His hair was dry as dead grass, his skin ulcerated and weeping. One pupil was clouded over with a milky white film, entirely blind. All ten of his fingers hung limply, bent at grotesque, unnatural angles, like a monster from a cheap horror flick. Yet, I knew him. He was me. The future me. A tremor started deep in my core. As he finally began to speak, with every word that scraped from his ruined throat, the color drained further from my face. By the end, he threw his head back and let out a manic, despairing laugh. And I understood everything. Two years ago, just days after Victoria went overseas, I casually complained about having a “lack of architectural design inspiration.” Donovan, my closest friend, secretly flew out to help me find it. Eventually, he ended up in the same city as Victoria. Every day, he sent me photos, claiming he was keeping an eye on her for me. “Don’t worry, Ollie,” he’d text. “With me around, your wife won’t even make eye contact with another guy!” Every Valentine’s Day, every birthday, every Thanksgiving, Donovan would set up a video call to celebrate. At the center of their dining table, they always placed a framed photo of me. Back then, I had been blissfully, sickeningly sweet on the idea that I was the luckiest man alive to have such a devoted wife and such a loyal best friend. But the ghost’s words stripped the flesh from my bones. A year ago, they were already sleeping together. No wonder I had occasionally spotted the faint outline of condoms or men’s underwear in the background of those daily photos. I had spent nights wide awake, consumed by anxiety that Victoria had found someone else. It was Donovan who had played the hero. He had held a knife to Victoria’s throat in one of our calls. “Oliver, if she ever dares betray you, I’ll trade my life to get you justice!” Victoria had wept, looking so terribly wronged. “Oliver, do you not love me anymore?” I had let my guard down completely. I gave them the breathing room they needed to destroy me. According to the ghost, my biological daughter was destined to be taken by human traffickers and sold into indentured servitude. Meanwhile, I would raise Donovan’s child as my own precious princess for fifteen years. In the end, my relentless search for my missing daughter would cost me an eye and the use of my hands. I would be framed by Donovan and his mother, and an enraged Victoria would lock me in a basement. My mother and sister, in a desperate attempt to save me, would be blown to pieces, their bodies left in the wilderness. At the thought of it, my teeth began to chatter violently. The fury inside me threatened to burn through my skull. Victoria. You ruthless, cold-blooded monster. I had been with her since I was eighteen, and this was how she repaid me. While I sat there frozen in shock, Donovan walked into the room. I hadn’t even heard the door open. He reached out and affectionately grabbed my hand. “Ollie, I’m so jealous of you,” he cooed. “Having a wife like Victoria, a beautiful little princess. You have no idea—the night you went into labor, it was the first time I’ve ever seen her cry from fear.” Seeing him, the ghost beside me shrieked with absolute malice, lunging forward, only to pass powerlessly right through Donovan’s body. “Sigh,” Donovan continued, his voice dripping with faux self-pity. “Unlike me. I don’t even know who the mother of my little bastard is.” Before I could respond, Victoria stepped back into the room. She scoffed, slapping his hand away from me. “That’s what happens when you sleep around. You make your bed, you lie in it.” “But don’t worry,” she added smoothly, her eyes darting to me. “Our Oliver is so kind-hearted. Maybe he’ll do you a favor and adopt the child for you!” Donovan’s eyes lit up with practiced innocence. “Oliver! Really? Would you?” They both leaned in, waiting with bated breath for my reaction. I kept my head down, utterly silent. A self-deprecating smile pulled at the corner of my mouth. It was such an obvious, absurd setup. Yet, the future me hadn’t seen through it. “No. I don’t agree to that.” My tone left absolutely no room for negotiation. Both of them froze. Instantly, Donovan’s eyes welled with tears. “Oliver… do even you think my baby is dirty?” Victoria’s brow furrowed tightly. “Ollie, you’ve always been the most compassionate person I know. Did someone say something to you? Did you hear some rumor?” I slowly lifted my eyelids. I glanced at the ghost standing beside them, listening to his hoarse, weeping sobs. A sudden, inexplicable ache pierced my chest. Seeing my continued silence, Victoria quickly tried to smooth things over. “Alright, enough crying, Donovan. Oliver isn’t the kind of person you think he is. Go on, get out of here. Let my husband rest!” After they left, I slid out of bed and walked silently to the door. Looking through the crack, I saw Victoria frantically wiping the tears from Donovan’s face. “Alright, my little brat, I was just saying that for his benefit. I could never think you were dirty.” “Victoria, remember this,” Donovan hissed, his voice entirely different now—petulant, demanding. “You begged me to get into your bed! I’ve been called every name in the book for you. If you regret it, just walk away! I don’t care about my pride anymore; I just happen to be in love with my best friend’s wife!” Victoria’s expression darkened. She grabbed him roughly by the back of the neck and kissed him fiercely. “Don’t you dare! Donovan, in this life, you belong to me. Only me.” Bile rose hot and bitter in my throat. My hands trembled as I wiped away a stray tear. Victoria. When you were forcefully claiming another man… did you ever stop to think that back then, I had my pick of the most elite, wealthy women in New York? The line to date me wrapped around the block. You were the one who used every manipulative tactic in the book to beg for my love. A short while later, my mother and my sister, Caroline, came to visit. When the ghost saw them, his silent tears flowed even harder. My own eyes reddened uncontrollably. Remembering the gruesome fate that awaited them, I pulled Caroline into the corner of the room. “Care,” I whispered, keeping my voice dead steady. “I need you to start drafting divorce papers for me and Victoria.” Before she could process that, I pressed on. “Also, secretly transfer all of the Winthrop family’s shares and capital out of her company. Move the assets. It has to be done quietly, and it needs to be finished within a month. We’re relocating to Seattle.” Caroline looked at me with deep suspicion, her mouth opening to question me. I gave her a brief, heavily sanitized version of the betrayal. Her expression instantly turned to frost. “I understand,” she said simply. Over the next few days, Victoria didn’t bring up the idea of adopting Donovan’s child again. While a nurse was changing my IV, she leaned in to gossip. “The father of the baby next door… I walked past earlier and saw him hitting and cursing at his own newborn. Poor little thing was covered in bruises.” Hearing that, my arms instinctively tightened around my daughter. It was karma. The suffering my daughter would have endured in the original timeline was a hundred times worse than what he was dishing out to his own flesh and blood. Half a month passed quietly, leading up to the night before our daughter’s one-month milestone celebration. Victoria sat on the edge of my bed, looking hesitant. “Ollie… Donovan has been diagnosed with severe postpartum depression. I know you two haven’t been as close lately, but he really is quite pitiful right now.” “He asked me to ask you if tomorrow…” I furrowed my brow in feigned concern. “Why are you just telling me this now? Of course, let’s have him join the party tomorrow!” A flash of joy passed through Victoria’s eyes, quickly masked. “What did Donovan do to deserve a friend as incredible as my husband?” My gaze shifted to the ghost’s eyes in the corner. My fists clenched so tightly they trembled. The future me. The exact moment he went blind was at this very party, when Donovan threw a tantrum and drove a knife straight into my eye. The banquet hall was dripping in crystal. Victoria had invited every major power player and socialite in New York. Everything went smoothly until the emcee announced the final event of the evening. “We would now like to invite Ms. Astor and her husband to the stage for a toast.” Just as I stepped up to the microphone, down on the floor, Donovan intentionally stumbled, spilling his champagne and leaning heavily into the chest of an older, notoriously lecherous female executive. “Ms. Carmichael,” Donovan slurred loudly. “I hear you’re single. What do you think of me?” The older woman’s predatory eyes swept down his torso, her hands shamelessly wandering south. Right as they were getting cozy, Victoria snapped. Her face turned stormy black. She stormed off the stage, grabbed Donovan’s wrist, and yanked him back. “You’re coming with me!” Donovan feigned drunkenness, pouting like a petulant child. “Oh! It’s CEO Astor. What, do you want to get into my bed too?” Interrupted, Ms. Carmichael stomped her foot in irritation. “Victoria, he came onto me first!” Victoria’s expression turned murderous. Without a word, she kicked the older executive squarely in the stomach, knocking her to the floor. When Victoria spoke, her voice was chilling. “He is my man.” But Donovan wasn’t satisfied. He began thrashing wildly, screaming at Victoria. “You bastard! You should be up there taking pictures with your precious husband!” “And what about you, Donovan?!” Victoria screamed back. “Who else do you want to take scandalous photos with?! Last time, Oliver’s reputation was dragged through the mud because of you!” I stood on the stage like a stone statue. Dragged through the mud? The ghost’s words from yesterday echoed freshly in my mind. He had told me that when Donovan’s chaotic, promiscuous lifestyle was exposed by the tabloids, Victoria needed a distraction to clear the trending topics. In the dead of night, she had taken intimate photos of me and leaked them to the paparazzi. My face had been splashed across every screen in the city. For days, Donovan’s name was cleared, while the Winthrop family stock plummeted. My brother’s hair had turned gray overnight from the stress. I had been harassed and blackmailed by shareholders until I thought I would lose my mind. Back in the present, Victoria hoisted Donovan over her shoulder, turning to storm out. But in the next second, Donovan let out a hysterical scream, grabbed a heavy steak knife from a nearby table, and aimed it at his own chest. “Don’t touch me! I’m ruined! Just let me die!” The moment the blade descended, I sprinted off the stage and threw my body in front of his. Agony ripped through my torso. I looked down. The knife was buried halfway into my abdomen, warm blood pulsing rapidly through my shirt. “Oliver—!” Victoria’s face drained of color. She dropped to her knees, clutching me, her hands shaking like leaves in a storm. The hall erupted into chaos. The flashbulbs of a dozen reporters went off like a strobe light, all pointed at Donovan. As the darkness edged into my vision, right before I passed out, I saw Victoria. One hand was pressing against my bleeding wound. Her other hand was tightly gripping Donovan, dragging him to safety. When I woke up, two people were kneeling beside my hospital bed. Victoria and Donovan. Donovan’s face was streaked with tears. “I’m so sorry, Oliver. I was completely drunk. I almost killed you!” He slapped himself hard across the face, a sharp, echoing crack. “I’m a worthless piece of trash. The things I said… I didn’t mean any of it!” Victoria’s hands were shaking as she looked at me with what appeared to be genuine heartbreak. Slowly, she picked up a silver fruit knife from the bedside table. “Ollie, I lost complete control of myself today. Please, don’t take what I said out there seriously.” “Let this knife be my penance to you.” Without a second of hesitation, she sliced the blade deep into her own forearm. Drops of blood splattered against the sterile floor, quickly pooling into a vibrant crimson puddle. I laid there, watching their display of unshakeable solidarity. This tragic, star-crossed love. My heart ached worse than the stab wound in my gut. Years ago, Victoria was willing to be blown up in a war zone just to protect my reputation. Now, she was willing to mutilate herself to protect another man. In the end, I offered a weak smile and “forgave” them. I watched as they supported each other out the door to get her arm bandaged. Turning my head, I looked at the ghost beside me. Suddenly, the milky white film over his eye cleared. His pupil became dark, sharp, and brilliant. Thank you, he mouthed. My eyes grew dark and unreadable. “I’m only helping myself.” According to the original timeline, that banquet was supposed to cost me my eye. But by taking the initiative, I had actually rewritten the future. I stared at the ghost’s mangled hands, falling deep into thought. Over the next few weeks, I recovered from the surgery while simultaneously putting the finishing touches on my portfolio for a prestigious international architectural design competition. On the day the finalists were announced, the ghost and I both cheered. I had made the top tier. I was just picking up my phone to call my mother when the door banged open. Donovan stormed in, holding a dozen of my master sketches—torn to shreds. He threw them aggressively into my face. “Oliver, you still hate me, don’t you? Is that why you destroyed my entry portfolio?!” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Victoria isn’t here. Who exactly are you performing for?” Instantly, his entire demeanor shifted. The aggressive facade melted into a mask of pure terror. “W-what do you mean, Ollie? Please, don’t touch me! I’m begging you!” Out of nowhere, he grabbed a heavy glass vase from the table and brought it crashing down onto his own hands. “Aaaaaah!” he shrieked. Right on cue, Victoria rushed into the room. Seeing Donovan’s bruised, bloodied hands, her eyes locked onto me. The look in them was lethal. “Oliver. What is the meaning of this?” I heard the repressed hatred in her voice. If I tried to defend myself, she would tear me to pieces on the spot. A numb, dull ache spread through my chest. Keeping my face entirely blank, I replied, “I was angry. I accidentally hit him.” Donovan peered at me through his fingers, continuing to sob pitifully. “Ollie, I don’t blame you. I just want the truth about the competition! Why did you tear up my work?” It was almost funny. He was a photographer. I was an architect. Why would I ever tear up his work? The lie was so painfully hollow, utterly lacking in logic. But it didn’t matter. When someone favors you, you have the absolute audacity to do whatever you want. I stared at the tight knot between Victoria’s brows. And then, I smiled. I reached down beneath the hospital bed and pulled out the heavy steel emergency hammer kept by the window. Without a flicker of hesitation, I slammed it down onto my right hand. The agonizing pain tore a scream from my throat, but I bit down on my lip until it bled. Grabbing the hammer with my mangled right hand, I lifted it and smashed it down onto my left. The sharp, sickening sound of bones fracturing echoed loudly in the silent room. Both of them stared at me, paralyzed by the sheer brutality of what I had just done to myself. Robbed of her righteous fury, Victoria could do nothing but scoop up the weeping Donovan and flee the room. The moment they were gone, Caroline’s private medical team—who had been on standby—rushed in and surrounded me. My sister’s eyes were bloodshot with tears. “Ollie, why? Why would you do this to yourself?!” Gritting my teeth against the blinding pain, tears streaming down my face, I looked past her to the ghost. His hands—the hands that had been twisted and broken in the future timeline—slowly flexed, whole and perfectly healthy. Pale and trembling, I smiled in satisfaction, and finally let the darkness take me. After three days of intense medical care, my hands were stabilized. My brother sent me a single text: Everything is in place. We leave today. I carefully picked up my daughter and walked out the back entrance of the hospital. As I approached the street, a nondescript van idled suspiciously by the curb. A sharp spike of anxiety pierced my chest. I tried to ignore it, but suddenly, someone down the block screamed. “That’s the van from the news! They’re traffickers! Call the police!” Traffickers! Alarm bells shrieked in my head. I whipped around. Donovan was standing a few feet behind me, a serene, chilling smile on his face. He had heard the screams, yet he just watched me. Suddenly, I realized something was wrong. I ripped open the swaddle in my arms. The baby’s neck was bare. The birthmark was gone. This wasn’t my child! My mouth fell open in a silent scream. Like a madman, I sprinted toward the van as it screeched away from the curb. The ghost floated beside me, his hoarse weeping overlapping with my own ragged breaths. I couldn’t tell if the cries were mine or his. If I didn’t catch that van today, the horrific destiny I had tried so hard to avoid would replay itself flawlessly. Extreme terror and adrenaline pushed my body to its absolute limits. I roared in pure agony. The van suddenly slammed on its brakes. A surge of hope lit up my eyes. Then, a heavy blow struck the back of my head. The world went black. When I regained consciousness, the familiar voices of the two of them drifted through the doorway. “Victoria, is it really a good idea? Making Oliver raise our daughter, while we send his away?” Victoria’s voice was as cold as dry ice. “He ruined your competition. He permanently damaged your hands. Doesn’t he deserve to be punished?” “Besides,” she added dismissively. “I only sent his kid to a normal, working-class family. She won’t starve.” No… Rage detonated in my chest. My eyes burning crimson, I charged out of the room and tackled Donovan to the floor, my hands wrapping violently around his throat. I slapped him across the face, again and again. “Give me back my daughter!” Donovan shrieked, and the ghost beside me begged me to stop. But I was feral. I drove my fists into his face, his eyes, wanting nothing more than to crush the life out of him. But Victoria grabbed me from behind, hurling me violently to the floor. She wrapped her arms protectively around Donovan, finally unleashing a furious scream. “Oliver Winthrop! Have you completely lost your mind?!” “Give me back my daughter!” I screamed back. Victoria stared at me, a cruel, heartless smirk playing on her lips. “Sure. As soon as you pay back every single blow you just gave Donovan.” She snapped her fingers. A dozen of her personal security guards stepped out of the shadows, pinning my limbs to the floor. One. Two. Three… They slapped me until my teeth loosened, until the coppery taste of blood flooded my mouth. One hundred times. She still wasn’t satisfied. “You nearly blinded him,” she whispered. “Did you think I’d just let that go?” The guards approached, holding long, industrial steel needles. I thrashed in sheer terror, scrambling backward as the horrific image of the ghost’s ruined body flashed violently through my mind. They grabbed me. The needles pierced my hands. They drove them toward my eyes. I couldn’t see. My hands were shattered. Why… Despair swallowed me like a tidal wave. I was dragged down into the darkness of the basement. Just like the future me. Except that was supposed to be fifteen years from now. For three days in the dark, Donovan came down to gloat. He bragged that Victoria had moved him into the Astor family estate. He bragged that she had publicly named him her partner. Everything she had ever built with my family’s backing, she handed over to him on a silver platter. I struggled against my restraints, roaring like a wounded animal, but the heavy chain around my neck choked me into submission. When Victoria came to see me, she looked at me with a twisted, helpless affection. “I love you, Ollie. I do. But you need to learn to behave. You and Donovan are on equal footing now. We’ll live together, the three of us. Doesn’t that sound nice?” “I’d rather burn!” I spat blood at her feet. “Victoria, you make me sick!” All these years, the Winthrop family had elevated her, turning her into the city’s most powerful woman. And she was nothing but an ungrateful parasite. Finally, my mother and Caroline found me. They breached the basement and dragged my broken body to a waiting SUV. But halfway to the safe house, Victoria’s convoy intercepted us, boxing us in. “Oliver Winthrop,” Victoria shouted, stepping out of her car. “Your mother and sister drove Donovan to attempt suicide! He’s in a coma! And you think you can just run away?!” My teeth ground together in fury. “Check the cameras! He faked it!” Victoria didn’t believe me. She clapped her hands, and her men easily dragged my mother and sister out of the SUV. And then, they strapped heavy, ticking vests to their chests. Explosives. My breath stopped entirely. Victoria just smiled. “Don’t panic. I’m just taking a video to show Donovan when he wakes up. The bombs are fake. Nobody’s going to die.” But I looked at the men holding the detonators. I recognized them instantly. They weren’t Victoria’s men. They were Donovan’s. The countdown started at five seconds. “No!” I shrieked, a sound of absolute, soul-tearing despair. “No!” … At the last second, I sprinted away from the guards, throwing my body over my mother and sister. A deafening, earth-shattering BOOM ripped through the air. Victoria’s pupils dilated in pure horror as the shockwave hit. She screamed at the guards, her voice cracking in disbelief. “Wait! Turn off the timer! Turn it off!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “518511”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On the day my parents traveled over a thousand miles to settle the details of our wedding, Caroline’s family didn’t show up. After her phone declined my third call, my mother offered a gentle, strained smile, trying to soothe the quiet panic rising in my chest. “It’s probably just traffic, Ollie. Don’t worry. Your dad and I can wait.” So, we waited. For three hours. In that time, the eager, hopeful light in my parents’ eyes slowly curdled into a quiet, heavy sorrow. My father tugged at the collar of his stiff, cheap suit—bought off a clearance rack in our small Georgia town just for this trip. He couldn’t help himself anymore. His eyes rimmed with red, and his voice trembled when he finally spoke. “Ollie… is it really… does it have to be her?” “We’re country folks. We know we don’t match up to these high-society city people. When they asked you to sign that pre-nuptial agreement and basically live under their thumb, we agreed. We just wanted you to be happy.” “I’m not trying to break you two up, son. I’m just worried. This place is so far from home.” “If you ever get hurt out here, your mother and I… we won’t be close enough to run to you.” My fingernails bit deep into my palms, drawing a sharp, grounding pain. I forced a smile, reached out to steady them, and said, “Dad, Mom, let’s pack up. I don’t want this wedding anymore.” … I brought my parents back to my apartment and got them settled. Only then did Caroline’s call finally come through. The moment I answered, her voice cut in, sharp and defensive. “We’re at the restaurant. Why is the private room empty?” “This is our wedding we’re talking about. Do your parents always show this much disrespect? How could they be late?” I let the silence hang between us for a long, heavy beat before I replied. My voice was entirely flat. “Caroline, my parents and I sat in that room for three hours. You never showed.” “It’s not that my parents don’t care. It’s that you never cared about them to begin with.” A brief, startled pause on her end. Then, her tone softened, shifting into that familiar, reasonable cadence she used whenever she wanted to smooth things over. “Tyler got accepted into his master’s program today with a full fellowship. His parents flew in from upstate to celebrate.” “They don’t know the city, and Tyler is just a student—he couldn’t handle navigating everything on his own. I had to go to the station to help them. You know my family has sponsored Tyler for thirteen years. He’s like a younger brother to me. I couldn’t just leave his parents stranded.” Caroline rarely excused herself, but hearing her reasons now only made the ache in my chest tighten. Yesterday, when my own parents arrived at Penn Station, I was trapped in an all-hands corporate meeting I couldn’t escape. Desperate, I had called Caroline, begging her to pick them up. I still remembered how quickly she had dismissed me: “They’re grown adults, Ollie, not toddlers. They can call an Uber. It’s not like they’re going to vanish into thin air.” “They’ve never left the South,” I had pleaded, my voice tight with anxiety. “They don’t know how to use ride-sharing apps. I had to buy their physical train tickets for them. The station isn’t even far from our place. If you could just drive over…” “I’ve been working all day and I’m exhausted,” she snapped, cutting me off. “Now you’re trying to micromanage my evening. Your parents are your responsibility. Figure it out.” The line went dead before I could say another word. In the end, it was a coworker of mine who drove to the station without a second thought. The woman who was supposed to become my wife had proven less dependable than a casual office friend. The sheer, absurd irony of it hit me, and a dry, humorless laugh escaped my throat. On the other end of the line, Caroline let out a sigh of relief, assuming the sound meant I was softening. “Good, you’re laughing. That means we’re good.” “Ollie, don’t throw these tantrums next time. You know our backgrounds are very different, and my parents were already hesitant about us. I’ll find another date. We’ll have your parents apologize to mine for today, and then we can finally get the wedding details sorted out.” The casual superiority in her voice was breathtaking. It was a command wrapped in a compromise. I gripped the phone tightly, my knuckles turning white. “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “My parents are leaving.” Caroline hummed thoughtfully, entirely unbothered. “Probably for the best. The wedding is going to be done exactly how my parents want it anyway, so your parents wouldn’t really have much to contribute.” In the background, Tyler’s bright, youthful voice drifted through the receiver. “Care! My parents ordered the food. It looks amazing—thanks for treating us. Come inside and eat!” “Coming!” Caroline called out. Then, with the practiced ease of someone who had done it a thousand times, she hung up on me. In the living room, my mother walked over, her movements hesitant and careful. She wrapped her warm, calloused hands around mine. “Ollie,” she said softly, her eyes filled with gentle concern. “Your father and I are fine. Don’t say things you’ll regret just because you’re angry on our behalf.” “As long as that girl treats you right, that’s all that matters. We’ll stay for the ceremony and head straight back. We won’t get in your way.” A lump caught in my throat. I turned, gently squeezing her hands. “Mom, the firm just opened a new branch back home. My transfer request was approved this morning.” “In three days, I’m going back to Georgia with you.” My mother’s eyes widened, a sudden, joyful hope lighting up her tired face. “Really? You’re coming home?” I managed a small, genuine smile. “Really. It’s a done deal.” My parents immediately set to work, quietly packing up the things they had brought—hand-stitched quilts, jars of homemade preserves, gifts they had hoped to give us for our new life. Now, they were packing them away to take right back. Caroline didn’t come home until well past midnight. I was drifting off when I felt her arms wrap around me from behind, her perfume thick and cloying in the quiet room. “Hey,” she murmured, her voice sleepy. “Why didn’t you wait up for me tonight?” I rolled over, pulling myself out of her embrace. “I figured you’d want to spend the night celebrating with Tyler. After all, he’s just a student. He clearly needs you.” The bedroom light clicked on instantly, the sudden, harsh glare stabbing at my eyes. Caroline sat up, throwing the covers aside, her face tight with irritation. “Ollie, do you have to be so incredibly passive-aggressive?” “I’ve explained this to you a million times. Tyler is like a brother to me. There is absolutely nothing going on between us.” Without a word, I unlocked my phone and held up the screen, showing her the post Tyler had uploaded to Instagram an hour ago. It was a photo taken in the exclusive private dining room I had spent a week pulling favors to reserve. Caroline’s parents and Tyler’s parents sat side-by-side, looking like one big, happy family. In the frame, Caroline was leaning in, peeling a shrimp for Tyler, while his hand hovered near her cheek, brushing away a stray lock of hair. They were so close their shoulders overlapped. The caption read: The parents finally met! The gorgeous woman who sponsored my dreams for years is finally going to be my little wife! I stared at her over the glow of the screen. “You really know how to maximize resources, don’t you? I spent weeks scouting locations and planning a menu, only for you to turn it into your own family dinner.” Caroline’s expression flickered, a trace of unease crossing her features before she frowned. “I didn’t know he posted that. I’ll call him right now and tell him to take it down.” “Besides, Tyler probably just heard we were planning our wedding and got excited. He was just playing around. He’s a kid, Ollie. He doesn’t understand how things look. You’re the older one here. Can’t you just be the bigger person instead of keeping score over every little thing?” I let out a soft, tired laugh. “A twenty-three-year-old kid? Why don’t you just buy him a stroller and call him a toddler?” Caroline ran a frustrated hand through her hair, her patience wearing thin. “We are getting married in a few weeks, and I refuse to have this fight again.” “I’m sleeping in the study tonight. When you’re ready to stop acting like a child, let me know.” The heavy oak door slammed shut behind her, the force of it rattling the frames on the wall. A moment later, I heard my parents’ quiet, anxious footsteps in the hallway. I went out to reassure them, telling them everything was fine and coaxing them back to bed. The next morning, I woke up early. As expected, my parents were already in the kitchen, a modest breakfast laid out on the table. At the center sat a small jar of pickled okra—something my mother had put up herself, knowing it was my favorite since childhood. Caroline walked out of the study, her face pale and drawn. My parents hesitated, but my mother still offered a warm, hopeful smile, gesturing to the table. “Good morning, Caroline. Come eat. We made plenty.” Caroline stopped in her tracks. Her brow furrowed instantly. “What are you guys still doing here?” Her eyes drifted to the jar of pickled okra, and she visibly winced, covering her nose with her sleeve. “And what is that awful smell? The whole apartment reeks of vinegar and garlic.” “This is Manhattan, not some backwoods trailer park. Have some decency and stop bringing your country garbage into my home.” The words hung in the air, heavy and cruel. My parents froze, looking utterly small and humiliated, their hands hovering in midair. My mother scrambled frantically to pull the jar away, her voice trembling with panic. “I-I’m so sorry, Caroline. Ollie loved these when he was little, so I just thought… I didn’t think. I’ll put them away right now. Please don’t be angry…” In her haste, her hand slipped. The glass jar slid off the table, shattering against the hardwood floor. My mother flinched, her shoulders hunching as she stole a terrified look at Caroline, completely frozen. My father, silent and weathered, slowly bent his stiff, aching back to pick up the broken glass. A sudden, sharp ache bloomed in my chest, hot and suffocating. Back in Georgia, my parents held their heads high. When neighbors praised my achievements, my father would beam with quiet pride, always humble but standing tall. But ever since I fell in love with Caroline, they had shrunk. They had spent years walking on eggshells, terrified of doing or saying the wrong thing. They refused the money I tried to send home, telling me to save it to buy nice things for Caroline’s family so they wouldn’t look down on me. During holidays, they wouldn’t let me bring gifts home; instead, they packed heavy crates of Southern preserves for me to carry back to her parents. Even yesterday, after being stood up for three hours, they hadn’t uttered a single word of complaint, solely terrified that their anger might make my life harder. I walked over, gently but firmly pulling my father up, my voice thick with unshed tears. “Dad, Mom, sit down and eat. I’ll clean this up.” “And don’t hide the okra. I like it.” They tried to protest, but I gently pressed them back into their chairs. Caroline watched me, her expression hardening before she offered a defensive, muttered explanation. “I didn’t mean it like that. I have allergies, Ollie. You know how sensitive my nose is to strong smells.” I didn’t answer. I simply swept up the broken glass, threw it in the trash, and wiped down the floor in silence. Caroline hovered nearby, watching me, her mouth opening and closing as if she wanted to say something, but I refused to give her my eyes. After breakfast, I planned to take my parents to see some of the city, but my phone rang. A critical issue had cropped up with the software deployment I was managing, and I had to go into the office immediately. Caroline stepped forward, her tone surprisingly soft. “Go handle your project. I’ll take your parents out. I don’t have much going on at the office today anyway.” I looked at her, searching her face. She looked away, a rare touch of awkwardness in her posture. “Look, I’m sorry about earlier. I was still annoyed about last night.” “Once we’re married, your parents are my parents. I’ll take good care of them. I promise.” Knowing my parents were leaving in three days and deserved to see some of the city, I finally nodded. By the time the deployment was resolved, the moon was high in the night sky. I was about to call my mother to check on them when my phone began to vibrate. I picked up, and my mother’s frantic, weeping voice filled the line. “Ollie… Ollie, you need to get to the hospital… Your father… he’s hurt, he’s unconscious…” A cold dread seized my chest. My legs nearly gave out as I rushed out of the office. When I arrived at the emergency room, I found my mother huddled on a plastic chair in the hallway, weeping silently. I ran to her side and saw my father lying on a gurney nearby, a bloody bandage wrapped around his head. The wound was still actively weeping red. “Where’s the doctor?” I demanded, my voice shaking with fury. “Why isn’t anyone treating him?” My mother choked back a sob, her voice barely a whisper. “There was only one doctor on duty in the ER, and only one trauma bed left… Caroline… Caroline told them to treat someone else first.” My blood ran cold. Before I could process her words, the door to the adjacent private room pushed open. Tyler stepped out, his arms wrapped tightly around Caroline. His eyes were red, his voice thick with tears. “Care, thank you so much. If you hadn’t left Ollie’s parents to come find me, I don’t know what I would’ve done.” Caroline gently stroked his back, her voice a soothing murmur. “Your parents are my parents, Tyler. Don’t say things like that. Don’t cry, your eyes are all swollen.” The sheer, monstrous absurdity of the scene snapped something inside me. I strode forward, grabbing Caroline’s wrist with a force that made her gasp. My entire body was shaking. “Caroline, you swore you’d take care of them. Is this your idea of taking care of my family?” Caroline winced, and Tyler immediately stepped between us, pushing my hand away to shield her. He looked at me, a subtle, challenging glint in his eyes. “Ollie, my mom sprained her ankle. Care was terrified she’d have permanent joint damage, so she asked the doctor to treat her first.” “If you’re angry, blame me. Don’t take it out on Care.” “She was just so frantic to help my mother that she didn’t realize your dad’s coat was caught in her car door. She drove off and… and he was dragged along the asphalt. It was an accident.” Caroline stepped out from behind him, her eyes turning cold as she looked at me. “Ollie, I know you’re upset, so I’m going to let your tone slide.” “But you need to be reasonable. Don’t start acting like a hysterical country bumpkin.” “The doctor looked at your father’s head and said it was just a superficial laceration. That’s why I left him out here. But Tyler’s mother’s ankle was a serious emergency. If we didn’t get it treated immediately, she could have been crippled.” Behind me, my father’s weak, raspy voice broke the tension. “Ollie… son, I’m okay. Don’t… don’t fight with Caroline because of me.” “We’re tough country folks. We heal fast. We aren’t delicate like these city people.” Caroline’s expression softened slightly. She took a step toward me, reaching out to touch my arm. “See? Your dad says he’s fine. It’s really not a big deal.” “Stop throwing a fit. Once the morning shift starts, I’ll pull some strings and get him a private room.” I took a step back, letting her hand fall through empty air. I didn’t say another word to her. I pulled out my phone, called a private transport service, and had my father transferred to another hospital immediately. I stayed by my father’s bedside all night. The next afternoon, I returned to the apartment to pack our things. As I unlocked the door, the sound of bright, easy laughter drifted from the living room, accompanied by the sour, pungent smell of pickled cabbage. Caroline—the woman who had claimed she had a medical sensitivity to strong odors—was sitting at the dining table, happily eating a bowl of homemade sauerkraut that Tyler’s parents had brought. Near the trash can by the entryway sat two battered duffel bags. They were my parents’ luggage. I stared at the bags, then looked up at Caroline. “What is this?” Seeing me, the laughter at the table died down. Caroline stood up, a brief shadow of hesitation crossing her face before she spoke with casual ease. “Tyler’s parents are going to stay with us for a while.” “Since your parents are leaving soon anyway, I had the building staff pack their bags and bring them down here to clear up some space.” I let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Caroline, I never realized what a perfect, accommodating daughter-in-law you could be.” Ignoring the tense, defensive stares of Tyler and his parents, I walked straight past them and into the master bedroom. Caroline followed me inside, her voice dropping into the sweet, coaxing tone she always used when she wanted to play nice. “Ollie, don’t be like this. I already booked your parents a room at a five-star hotel downtown. I’ll drive their bags over myself later.” “Tyler’s family are our guests, after all. We have to show some hospitality.” I didn’t answer. I kept pulling my clothes out of the closet and packing them into my suitcase. Caroline stepped closer, attempting to fold a shirt for me. “Ollie, seriously. You’ve been so distant lately.” “Tyler’s already got his graduate placement. If it really bothers you that much, I promise I’ll limit my time with him from now on, okay?” She reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out a small black velvet box, holding it out to me like a peace offering. “Look. I bought the wedding ring you kept in your online shopping cart for months. Consider it an apology.” “And I went ahead and finalized the venue for tomorrow’s rehearsal and the welcome dinner. I’ve sent out all the invitations.” “Tomorrow, all you have to do is show up and look handsome.” I froze, slowly turning to look at her. “You finalized the venue? When? Why wasn’t I consulted?” She shrugged, completely dismissive. “You were busy with your project. I figured all guys like the same basic things, so I just had Tyler help me pick everything out.” I repeated her words slowly, letting the weight of them settle in the air. “You had Tyler help you?” “So the location, the aesthetic, the favors, the guest list—you and Tyler handled all of it?” “Caroline, do you have any idea how pathetic this is?” Her face darkened with familiar annoyance, but she forced a tight smile, holding up the ring. “Ollie, I’m not going to argue about this. I love you, and that’s never going to change. Can we just leave it at that?” She took the ring out of the box, reaching for my hand. “Come on, Ollie. Stop playing games.” “I couldn’t even sleep last night without you next to me. Haven’t I been punished enough?” I pulled my hand back, out of her reach. Her smile faded completely. I stared at her for a long moment. “Send me the address of the venue.” A wave of relief washed over her face, and her confident, effortless smile returned. “I knew it. I knew you’d never actually leave me, Ollie. No matter how mad you get, you love me too much to walk away.” She glanced at my packed suitcase, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Alright, now that you’ve got your reassurance, you can stop the packing act. You do this every time we fight, and you never actually go anywhere.” “Besides, Georgia is a long, long way from here. You aren’t going to run back to your parents over a little spat.” I zipped my suitcase, gripped the handle, and walked past her toward the door. She leaned against the doorframe, watching me with absolute certainty, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Get your anger out tonight. Just make sure you’re on time for the dinner tomorrow.” I paused, looking back at her with a quiet smile of my own. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure it’s unforgettable.” The next morning, I stood on the platform at Penn Station, helping my parents load their heavy bags onto the southbound train. As the warning chimes began to echo through the station, signaling the closing doors, my phone began to vibrate violently in my pocket. It rang three times and went to voicemail. When it began to ring a fourth time, I finally slid the screen to answer. On the other end, Caroline’s mother’s voice broke through—frantic, weeping, and entirely stripped of her usual cold poise. “Ollie! Where are you? Caroline… Caroline’s had an accident, you need to get to the hospital right now…”

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The fire at the Beckett estate was a roaring, monstrous thing, but I broke past the barricades and ran straight into the blistering heat. Through the choking black smoke, ignoring the fresh burns searing my skin, I searched frantically for Beckett. Then, his voice crackled from somewhere outside the burning mansion. “Cass, Amber’s mother’s keepsake is on the desk in my bedroom. Get it out of there.” Through the dancing sheets of flame licking the windows, I saw Beckett. He had his arm wrapped tightly around Amber, his other hand holding a megaphone. “I know you can hear me!” “Bring my pillow out, too. Otherwise, Amber won’t be able to sleep tonight.” Amber’s soft, whimpering cry floated in, grating against my raw, blistering soul as the fire closed in around me. “Is… is that too hard for Cass? The fire looks so big…” “Don’t worry,” Beckett’s voice boomed back. “Cass is the best bodyguard money can buy. Why do you think I tricked her into going in there?” “She’ll get your things and walk out completely unscathed. It’s child’s play for her.” I wanted to tell Beckett that before I even got here, an unmarked car had rammed into me, leaving me with a broken leg and two fractured ribs. I wasn’t walking out of this one. But my throat was scorched, choked with ash. I couldn’t tell him that just this morning, I had heard our baby’s heartbeat for the first time. Thump-thump, thump-thump. It sounded just like the horse hooves racing across the Montana plains when we were kids. … By the time Beckett’s voice echoed through the megaphone, I was already clawing my way across the floor. Flames rose like tidal waves around me. Plaster and burning wood rained down from the ceiling, and just dragging myself up to the second floor had stripped away every last ounce of my strength. “Cass, hurry up! If Amber’s things get burned, don’t bother coming back home.” The smoke stung my eyes, drawing out a prick of moisture that evaporated the second it touched my burning skin. We had fought yesterday. A terrible, exhausting fight. Today, I had gone alone to the orphanage to visit Zoe. An unmarked car had lost control, careening toward her. To shield her, I took the hit. The impact shattered my leg and cracked two of my ribs. Mrs. Albright had tried to rush me to the emergency room, but then the call came: the family estate was on fire, and Beckett was trapped inside. Blinded by pain, I drove like a madwoman, praying to whatever god was listening, offering my life in exchange for his safety. He was safe. He was completely fine. But was I really about to die? “Beck, Cass has never liked me,” Amber’s tear-strained voice wailed through the speaker. “She won’t help me. But that’s my mother’s keepsake. I can’t lose it.” That trembling, helpless sob of hers was always her ultimate weapon. Beckett had told me more than once. “Cass, can’t you be more like Amber? Call me ‘Beck’ with a little warmth for once.” I had always snapped at him, telling him to go to hell. But in secret, I had stood before the mirror and practiced whispering his name a thousand times. Too bad I would never get to say it to his face. “Don’t worry,” Beckett’s voice boomed back. “Cass always does what I say. I’m the only family she has left. She wouldn’t dare make me angry.” “It’s all my fault. I just wanted to cook you dinner, but I started the fire. And now Cass is caught up in it…” “It’s not your fault, sweetheart. That’s literally her job. She’s a bodyguard. Here, drink some water. Calm your nerves.” Their voices drifted in through the broken window, crackling and distorted through the megaphone. I couldn’t afford the luxury of heartbreak. Water. I needed water infinitely more than Amber did. Steeling myself against the excruciating grind of broken bone against muscle, I dragged myself into Beckett’s master bathroom. Ignoring the bloody blisters bursting across my palms, I grabbed a towel and cranked the faucet. If I could just wet it and cover my face, I might survive long enough for the firefighters to reach me. Drip. One single, pathetic drop fell from the spout. The pipes were dry; it didn’t even dampen the lint on the towel. I gasped for air, a crushing wave of despair hitting me. It was so unfair. Beckett didn’t even know our baby was back. “Connect the hoses to the emergency reservoir! Put the fire out! Hurry!” That was Mr. Garrison, the estate manager. A tiny flicker of hope flared in my chest. If the hoses could knock down the flames blocking the doors and windows, I might survive this, even if I was horribly burned. “No! You can’t!” Amber’s high-pitched scream cut through the din. “You can’t use water, Beck! My mother’s keepsake is a carved bone pendant—it has her ashes inside! If the water ruins it, I’ll have nothing left of her. Please!” “If her ashes get soaked, she’ll be gone forever. I’m begging you!” Those final pleading words seemed to echo in my ears, dripping with theatrical desperation. I felt a bitter surge of self-derision. I had never learned how to play the fragile, pleading victim. Maybe that was why I was destined to burn. And predictably, Beckett yielded. “Shh, don’t cry. We’ll let Cass bring your mother’s ashes out first, then we’ll put the fire out. Okay?” “No one touches the hoses!” “Mr. Beckett…” Mr. Garrison tried to protest, but Beckett shut him down instantly. “Remember who you work for, Garrison. This estate is my personal property. If I want to let it burn for fun, that’s my right. It has nothing to do with you.” The usually deferential manager’s voice shook with sudden, uncharacteristic rage. “But Cass is still trapped inside! Are a dead woman’s ashes really worth more than a living person’s life?” “Mr. Beckett, I remember when the two of you actually cared about each other.” The heat was blistering my flesh, and the internal agony of my fractured ribs made my vision blur. Mr. Garrison had asked the very question that was haunting my dying mind. We used to love each other so fiercely. How did we end up here? “My relationship with Cass is none of your business.” “Amber has already lost her mother, Garrison. Have some basic decency. Tell your men to back off with the hoses.” Maybe the searing heat had dried up the very moisture in my body, because my eyes burned fiercely, yet not a single tear would fall. Losing a mother was devastating. But my own Mama was gone, too. Mama and I used to live in the Montana foothills, living a quiet, peaceful life on our small ranch. That was until the day she found a seven-year-old Beckett wandering near the mountains and brought him home. Back then, Beckett was traumatized. He wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t eat. It was Mama’s quiet warmth that brought him back to life. In my oldest memories, Beckett used to call her “Ma” right alongside me. We had one beautiful, happy year. Wanting us to understand the world beyond our valley, Mama bought an old TV and set up a satellite dish. But the very night the screen flickered to life with news broadcasts of the missing Beckett heir, he panicked and rode off into the dark on his colt. Mama went after him. She found him, but she never came back. She was cornered by a pack of timber wolves in the valley. Her death drew the media, and ultimately, she paid with her life to pave Beckett’s way back to his wealthy family. And I was left with nothing. No home, no Ma. Beckett was right when he said he was my only family after she died. But now, it seemed he didn’t want me anymore. “Cass, stop playing games and get out here!” Beckett’s voice crackled through the megaphone again, sharper and more annoyed. “Because of your stubbornness, people are giving Amber a hard time!” The megaphone magnified his irritation, making it sound deafeningly cruel. Suddenly, the floor beneath me groaned. The structure shuddered, followed by a violent, thunderous collapse. Half of the estate caved in. I curled into a tight ball, clinging to survival in the surviving half of the master suite. Beckett’s voice was cut off, buried under the rumble of falling beams. Silence stretched. It felt like an eternity before the distant, wailing sirens of fire trucks finally pierced the smoke. I bit down hard on the inside of my lip, tasting copper. If there was any way out, I wanted to live. I had only just heard our baby’s heartbeat. It was so beautiful, echoing like the rhythmic thud of horses galloping across the Montana grass. The collapse had kicked up fresh waves of embers and blinding ash. I began the agonizing crawl toward the window. The firefighters would know to breach the windows first. That was my only chance. “All units, listen up! Team One, attack the main fire. Team Two, search and rescue breach. Team Three, set up defensive lines!” My entire body was trembling. Every inch I dragged myself left a smudged trail of dark red on the floorboards. The blistered, blackened skin on my knees and stomach tore open, leaving me a bloody mess. I hadn’t shed a single tear, but outside, Amber had already started crying again. “Beck, please! I only want my mother’s ashes! They’re going to use the water hoses—what do we do? What do we do?” Her tears were her ultimate shield, and they never failed. “Who called the station? Who said we needed your help?” Beckett’s voice rang out again. The warmth I had known for years was entirely gone, replaced by a cold, commanding arrogance that sounded like a death knell. “Sir, it’s our duty to respond to active fires. You have no authority to obstruct us.” “Officer, let’s be clear. That brand-new ladder truck your team is using was donated entirely by the Beckett Group. How it’s used, and when it’s used, is up to me.” Having run the Beckett empire for years, he carried himself with an immense, suffocating authority. “We have reports of a civilian trapped inside. Human life comes before property, sir.” “Cass? She’s tough as nails. Trust me, the world could end, and she’d still be standing.” “Two years ago, during that avalanche in the Rockies, she gave me her winter gear and carried me on her back for three straight days. You think a woman like that needs a rescue from a bunch of amateurs?” I finally reached the window. Hope was just inches away, but the moment my hand touched the frame, my heart sank. The window had been boarded up from the outside with heavy steel plates. Ignoring the agony in my hands, I pounded desperately against the metal, praying the sound would carry through. But the reinforced steel was airtight, sealing off my only exit. Suddenly, a blazing piece of the roof collapsed, striking me squarely across my spine. I coughed up a spray of dark blood, and a sharp, tearing pain ripped through my abdomen. During the avalanche Beckett had just mentioned, when I dragged him out of the snow, I hadn’t realized I was pregnant with our first child. By the time I got him to the hospital, that baby was already gone, buried forever in the freezing mountain pass. And now, my second baby was going to die right here, consumed by flames. My vision faded into absolute darkness, and a low, heavy buzzing filled my ears. I knew the end was here. But if I burned to ash, Mama wouldn’t be able to recognize me when we met again. I refused to become a charred, unrecognizable monster. Even in death, I wanted to hold onto some dignity. I turned and dragged myself toward the corner of the room. It was only about fifteen feet away, but it felt like a journey of a hundred years. At least the one thing I had bought for Beckett would allow me to leave this world with a shred of grace. Beckett, this is the last time we play hide-and-seek. I hope you never find me. “The heat in there is high enough to melt stone! How could anyone possibly survive that?” Mr. Garrison’s angry voice echoed from outside. “Sir, based on our assessment, the person inside has likely perished. Please step aside and let us do our job.” Beckett turned back to look at the partially collapsed mansion. For the very first time, a flicker of genuine panic crossed his face. But before he could speak, Amber gasped dramatically. “Are you saying Cass might be dead? Oh my god… I—I have to go save her!” Before Beckett could stop her, she spun around and took two clumsy steps toward the smoke, immediately tripping over her own feet and tumbling to the grass. “Amber! Are you alright?” Terrified, Beckett scooped her into his arms. “I think I sprained my ankle… I’m so stupid, I can’t do anything right…” Without another word, Beckett lifted Amber off the ground. “I’m taking you to the hospital.” She whimpered, but he shushed her gently. “Don’t worry. Cass will bring your mother’s keepsake out. And if she doesn’t, I’ll make her get on her knees and beg for your forgiveness.” I was afraid Beckett was going to be disappointed. My feet were already hovering inches above the ground, weightless. My knees were stiff, and I would never kneel for anyone again. Beckett drove Amber straight to the hospital. Throughout the drive, he kept one hand on the steering wheel while his other fingers remained tightly laced with Amber’s. Just a few weeks ago, while we were watching a movie at home, I had tried to hold his hand like that. He had pulled away. “Cass, your hands are completely calloused. Look at yourself. Is there a single feminine thing about you?” Ever since that night, I had slathered my hands in Vaseline before going to sleep, hoping to soften them. They had finally gotten softer and lighter. But now, they were charred black and melted out of shape. Beckett would probably find them even more repulsive now. But it didn’t matter. I had hidden myself well. He wouldn’t have to look at them. At the hospital, Beckett applied the soothing ointment to Amber’s ankle himself, cradling her leg as if she were made of the finest, most delicate porcelain. “Beck, if Cass got burned in the fire… would you worry about her? Would you take care of her like this?” “She wouldn’t let herself get hurt.” I wasn’t sure if he meant I was too tough to get hurt, or if he simply wouldn’t care enough to tend to me. But there was a time when he had held me like I was his entire world. It was right after I finished my training. My very first assignment as his personal bodyguard was accompanying him to inspect a newly acquired commercial property. Some local thugs had shown up, looking to intimidate the young heir. I fought off a dozen grown men with my bare fists, taking a heavy wooden club directly across my back to shield him. When we got home, Beckett had sat me down, applying the medicine with hands that trembled with concern. “Cass, I regret letting you train with those fighters. I hate seeing you hurt.” I had smiled through the pain to comfort him. “I like being strong enough to keep you safe.” He had wrapped his arms around me then, holding me so tightly it felt like he wanted to fuse my soul into his own bones. Amber’s ankle was barely a minor sprain—just a tiny scrape—but Beckett insisted she stay overnight for observation anyway. “Beck, do you dislike Cass because she’s so… intense?” Beckett toyed with the TV remote in the VIP suite, his expression aloof. “Of course. Who wants to come home to a warrior? Men like a little princess. Someone soft, like you.” So, he thought I was too harsh. But in the fighting gyms, if you weren’t fierce, you got broken. Everyone else had years of martial arts training; I started from absolute scratch. If I wasn’t ruthless, I lost. If I lost, I didn’t eat. If I didn’t master every strike, I couldn’t protect him. I could never forget the day Beckett returned to the city, only to discover his parents had been killed in a brutal corporate betrayal orchestrated by his own uncles. He had wept in my arms. “Cass, I have no one left. My parents are gone. Ma is gone. My grandfather is too old. There’s no one to protect me.” His tears had burned my skin. That was the day I dropped out of school, packed my bags for the training camps, and became the relentless shield he needed. Beckett accidentally clicked a button, and the television screen flared to life. A local news broadcast flashed on, showing live footage of the smoking ruins of the Beckett estate. “…The historic Beckett manor has been devastated by a massive three-alarm fire. Search and rescue crews clearing the debris have reported…” Beckett’s thumb rubbed against his forefinger—a nervous habit he only displayed when he was deeply anxious. So, he was capable of fear after all. “…While several priceless antiquities were lost in the blaze, officials have confirmed there are no casualties. No bodies have been recovered from the scene.” The tension in Beckett’s brow vanished instantly. “I knew it,” he murmured. “A little fire could never stop her.” He pulled out his phone, opened our chat, and sent a voice note in a relaxed, almost bored tone. “Cass, stop throwin’ a tantrum and bring Amber’s things to the hospital. Don’t push it today. I’m not in the mood.” My phone had exploded in the heat hours ago. Obviously, there was no reply. Lacking patience, he called me two minutes later, only to be met with an automated voicemail recording over and over. “Still not answering?” Amber asked, her voice laced with feigned worry. “Do you think something actually happened to her?” I had once promised him that as long as I breathed, I would never let him lose track of me. Beckett’s face darkened, but he glanced back at the news anchor on the screen and shook his head. “No. Not her.” He said the words, but the muscles in his shoulders slowly locked up. Suddenly, his phone blared with an incoming call. “Cass, have you had your fun yet?” he barked into the receiver without even checking the caller ID. “You arrogant brat! I don’t give a damn about the house burning down, but if you don’t bring my granddaughter-in-law to the family dinner next week, I’ll personally break both your legs!” It was the Beckett patriarch. Hearing his booming, gruff voice made my eyes ache with phantom tears. He had always loved me, wanting to officially welcome me into the family years ago. But I had refused, knowing that once I became his fiancée, I could no longer stand by his side as his protector. But this year, now that Beckett had secured full control of the corporation, I had finally promised his grandfather that I would attend the fall gala as his partner. “Is that your grandfather?” Amber asked, pretending to be clueless. “Yeah. He wants to see his future granddaughter-in-law.” “Oh… I’m not even ready yet,” Amber murmured, blushing and looking down. She was too busy acting bashful to notice Beckett’s fingers flying across his screen, typing out a message to my number. Cass, be good. Bring the pendant here. If you keep acting out like this, I’m taking Amber to the family dinner instead. He knew how much I had looked forward to this evening. I had even ordered a custom gown for it. Now, he was threatening to replace me. For the first time, I felt a quiet wave of relief that I was dead. It saved me from having to feel that heartbreak. A soft knock rattled the hospital door. Mrs. Albright stood in the doorway, holding little Zoe’s small hand. “Beckett,” Zoe piped up, her voice small and trembling. “Cass got hit by a car. Is the baby okay?” Beckett froze. “What car? What baby are you talking about?” Mrs. Albright looked at the hospital bed, her face falling when she realized I wasn’t the one lying there. “Mr. Beckett, Cass took the impact of an out-of-control vehicle to save Zoe. She had a shattered leg and two broken ribs. I was trying to bring her to the emergency room, but she got a call about the fire and insisted on leaving.” “I couldn’t reach her afterward, so I brought Zoe here hoping to find her.” Beckett’s hand jerked, knocking his water glass off the nightstand. It shattered against the tile floor. “She… she ran into that fire with a broken leg and fractured ribs?” His chest heaved as he turned his eyes slowly back to the television screen. The news broadcast was showing footage of the items the firefighters had managed to salvage from the wreckage. A scorched vase, a blackened dining table, and then, a badly warped household appliance. Beckett’s pupils dilated. Without a word, he bolted out the door. I couldn’t help but smile bitterly. Was he finally going to find me? But I had lost this game. And Beckett wasn’t going to win either.

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My boyfriend, Jimmy, lived his life by a hyper-rigid, minute-by-minute schedule. Every single second of his day had to align with the chronological rulebook he had built for himself. No exceptions. Ever. The night my stomach ulcer flared up, we were driving home from a dinner party. The pain hit me like a physical blow, curling me over in the passenger seat, gasping for air as cold sweat broke out across my forehead. I begged Jimmy to pull over and take me to the nearest emergency room. Instead, he stared straight ahead, his face like carved stone. “I have a mandatory board meeting in exactly twenty minutes,” he said, his voice entirely devoid of warmth. “Deviating from my schedule to take you to the hospital ruins my entire block for the afternoon. Get out and call an Uber.” And now, here I was again, stranded in a sudden, torrential downpour on a desolate mountain road upstate, unable to get a signal for a ride. Shivering and desperate, I called Jimmy, praying that just this once, he would break his precious rules for me. But the voice on the other end of the line was as cold as the freezing rain soaking through my clothes. “It’s 11:00 PM, Diana. You know my wind-down block starts now. I need to sleep. Find someone else.” “But Jimmy—” Before I could finish, the line went dead. Less than five minutes later, a notification popped up on my phone. It was an Instagram story posted by his new assistant, Amber. “So incredibly grateful for a boss who rescued me tonight, otherwise I’d be a drowned rat right now!” The attached photo showed the passenger seat of Jimmy’s Mercedes. Through the dim dashboard glow, you could clearly see the sharp, aloof profile of his face. Jimmy. A suffocating tightness seized my chest, a sharp, bitter ache spreading through every nerve. I huddled under the dripping wooden eaves of a closed tourist cabin, pulled my knees to my chest, and finally let myself sob. I had spent years believing Jimmy was simply incapable of breaking his rules for another human being. But the truth was brutally simple: he just wouldn’t do it for me. He broke them effortlessly for Amber. Fine. If that’s how it is, I’m done. … In the end, I had to hike down the mountain in the freezing rain. By the time I reached the main highway, my body gave out, and everything went black. I woke up to the sterile smell of bleach and the steady beep of an EKG machine in a hospital room. Jimmy was standing by the foot of the bed, checking his designer watch. His expression was completely detached. “Since you’re awake, I’m heading out. I need to be at my desk by ten to draft tomorrow’s project plan.” I looked at him, my gaze entirely hollow. “Okay,” I said softly. “Go ahead.” I turned my face toward the wall, unable to look at him anymore. Jimmy frowned, his voice dropping into a defensive, cold register. “It’s not that I don’t want to stay, Diana. But you know how I feel about disruptions. Every hour of my day is accounted for. If you really need someone, I can hire a private nurse to watch you.” I turned back to him, staring at him blankly. “No need. I don’t need anyone.” His jaw clenched, a vein pulsing at his temple as his temper flared. “Diana, what is with the attitude? This whole situation is your own fault anyway. Who goes upstate without checking the weather forecast? Who doesn’t prepare for rain? You never plan anything, and then you expect everyone else to pay for your mistakes.” It was almost laughably cruel. He seemed to have completely blocked out the reason I was up on that mountain in the middle of the night in the first place. Jimmy was a perfectionist to the point of tyranny. When the resort managers sent in their monthly audits, he decided the numbers weren’t precise enough. He demanded I go up there and manually re-verify every single data point within twenty-four hours. That was why I had been working myself to the bone on that mountain until midnight. Remembering this, I sat up, pulled my backpack onto my lap, and fished out a waterproof folder. I slid it across the bedside table. “Here is the audit data you wanted.” As a flicker of recognition crossed his face, I added, “And by the way, I quit. We’re over, Jimmy.” Jimmy flared up instantly. “Even if it was for work, your lack of time management is still your own fault! Breaking up over something this trivial? You’re being incredibly dramatic.” I looked up at him, a bitter, mocking smile tugging at my lips. “Trivial? Tell me, Jimmy—did you really go to sleep at eleven last night?” Just then, the door clicked open. Amber walked in, her eyes instantly welling with tears the moment she heard my question. “I’m so sorry, Diana,” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “I couldn’t find a ride and I was terrified. I forced Mr. Bradford to come get me. If I had known you needed him too, I would have never asked. I’m so, so sorry.” Jimmy immediately stepped in front of her, shielding her like a protective barrier. He glared at me as if I were his worst enemy. “If you have an issue, take it out on me. Leave Amber out of this.” I looked at the two of them and chose silence. There was no point. It was just exhausting. “Aren’t you going to be late, Mr. Bradford?” I asked, my voice flat. “Don’t let me ruin your precious calendar. It’s almost ten.” He froze, realizing the time. But before he could step toward the door, Amber let out a soft gasp. “Oh no… Mr. Bradford, I left in such a rush this morning that I forgot my daily vitamins. I absolutely have to take them twice a day, or my immune system…” Jimmy gently patted her hair, his voice softening into a tone he had never used with me. “Don’t worry. I’ll drive you back to your place to grab them before we head to the office.” Suddenly, a profound wave of disgust washed over me. “Get the hell out of my room,” I said. “Both of you. You’re making me sick.” “Fine, Diana,” Jimmy snapped, grabbing Amber’s hand. “Let’s see how long you can last on your own.” The door slammed shut behind them. Three days later, I went back to our shared townhouse to pack the rest of my things, only to find the front door wide open. The living room had been completely ransacked, drawers pulled out and papers scattered everywhere. Panicked, I immediately called the police. To my utter shock, the “intruder” the officers caught inside was Amber. At the precinct, she sat in a chair, her eyes red and puffy, sobbing uncontrollably. The moment Jimmy rushed through the doors, she threw herself into his arms. “Jimmy! Thank God you’re here, I was so scared!” she cried. “Please tell Diana I was just trying to grab that dry-cleaned suit you needed for tomorrow. I’m not a thief!” Jimmy held her close, stroking her back with a tenderness I had never witnessed. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here.” I looked up at the wall clock. It was exactly 2:15 PM. My mind slipped backward in time. Six months ago, another car had rear-ended me on a desolate stretch of road. The driver was a massive, aggressive man who kept pounding on my driver-side window, screaming threats at me. Terrified, the very first thing I did was call Jimmy. When he answered and heard my shaky voice, he just let out a heavy, irritated sigh. “If you got rear-ended, call the police and your insurance. Why are you calling me?” Outside, the man shattered my side mirror. I started crying, begging him to come. Jimmy heard the chaos through the phone, but his voice remained entirely unmoved. “It’s 2:15 PM, Diana. You know this is my scheduled thirty-minute power nap. If I miss it, my productivity for the rest of the day is ruined. Don’t disrupt my schedule over minor inconveniences.” He hung up. Seconds later, the man smashed my window, unlocked the door, and dragged me out toward the nearby woods. I screamed, fighting with everything I had. If a highway patrol car hadn’t happened to pass by at that exact moment, I don’t want to think about what would have happened to me. When I confronted Jimmy about it later, hoping he would show even a sliver of remorse or a willingness to adjust his rigid rules for my safety, he just looked up from his laptop, completely unfazed. “Why did he target you and not someone else? If your driving skills are that poor, you shouldn’t be on the road. You brought that on yourself.” I remembered the suffocating silence that had trapped me then. But now, at that exact same hour, the person in trouble was Amber, and Jimmy had abandoned his entire afternoon schedule without a second thought. “Diana, you did this on purpose,” Jimmy hissed, turning his glare to me. “You’re using the police to punish Amber for what happened the other night.” “I told you, she was just trying to help me with my wardrobe. Why do you have to be so malicious? You brought her to a police station—do you have any idea how fragile she is?” “Apologize to her right now, or I swear, I will never forgive you.” Amber sniffled against his chest, looking up with wide, innocent eyes. “No, Jimmy, it’s okay. Diana doesn’t need to apologize. If putting me through this helps her blow off some steam so she stops fighting with you, I can take it. I don’t mind.” Jimmy’s face softened with intense pity, and the look he shot me turned ice-cold. “Look at how mature Amber is. And look at you—jealous of a junior assistant.” I didn’t say a word. I quietly finished signing the police report and walked out. Just as Jimmy was about to speak to me outside, I beat him to it. “It’s almost three, Jimmy. Aren’t you going to miss your afternoon focus block? Can your business survive without it?” His face went pale. Before he could reply, I turned on my heel and walked away. Later that afternoon, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Grace, a coworker who had become a close friend of mine at the firm. “Diana, please help me! Jimmy keeps rejecting my proposal, and I’m at my wits’ end.” She sent a string of begging emojis. “If I don’t get this approved by tomorrow, he’s going to fire me. Please.” Grace was one of the few decent people at that toxic company. My heart softened, and I agreed to take a look. When I walked into the office to meet her, I ran straight into Jimmy. He smirked, his posture oozing smug satisfaction. “And here I thought you actually quit. Couldn’t even last three days, could you?” I ignored him completely, walking right past him to Grace’s desk. I reviewed her proposal. It was actually a very solid, well-thought-out piece of marketing strategy. In any normal firm, it would have been approved instantly. But Jimmy’s pathological need for perfection meant he would tear apart any document that didn’t fit his exact, arbitrary templates. I spent an hour restructuring the data, highlighting the specific metrics Jimmy obsessed over, and handed it back to Grace. “This should pass his test. Go ahead and submit it.” She hugged me, nearly in tears. “Diana, you are a literal lifesaver. Let me buy you dinner tonight.” I smiled gently and shook my head. “Thanks, Grace, but I have to go finish packing my things. And yes, I really did quit. This is the last time I can help you with office work.” Grace gasped, her eyes darting over to Amber, who was currently sitting at her desk applying lip gloss. Grace leaned in and whispered, “Is it because of “her”?” When I didn’t answer, she scoffed. “She is such a manipulative snake. If you leave, you’re playing right into her hands. Aren’t you worried she’ll steal him?” “We broke up, Grace. Jimmy is no longer my concern.” “But you built this company with him! You’re letting her reap all the rewards of your hard work. Don’t do this to yourself, Diana.” I began gathering the last of my personal belongings from my desk. “I don’t care anymore.” I left the building and went straight back to the townhouse to pack. An hour later, my phone rang. It was Grace, her voice shaking and thick with tears. “Diana… the marketing proposal is gone. The entire system file was deleted.” When I rushed back to the office, Grace quickly explained what happened. Amber had been tasked with clearing out old project folders and had “accidentally” wiped the master drive. “Since Amber was the one who deleted it, she should be the one to recreate it,” I said, looking directly at Jimmy. “Why are you taking this out on Grace? I thought you prided yourself on being fair, Jimmy.” My defiance clearly hit a nerve. His voice darkened. “Are you trying to tell me how to run my company?” “This proposal is vital for tomorrow’s pitch. If you didn’t explain the file structure properly to Amber, then it’s your management failure, not Grace’s.” Grace wiped her eyes. “I did explain it to her! I told her specifically—” Amber burst into dramatic tears, cutting Grace off. “It’s all my fault! I thought they were just duplicate junk files, so I deleted them. If Diana wants me gone, Jimmy, just fire me. I’ll leave!” I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a massive headache coming on. “Even if the digital files are wiped, I printed out a hard copy of the final draft before I left.” Amber pointed a trembling finger at the industrial paper shredder in the corner. “I… I thought they were scrap papers. I already ran them through.” Jimmy immediately stepped in front of Amber again, his gaze ice-cold. “Since you were the one who put the proposal together, Diana, you fix it.” “You expect me to piece together shredded paper by hand overnight? Why should I?” Jimmy let out a cold, sharp laugh. “I haven’t officially processed your resignation yet. Even if you don’t care about your own career record, what about Grace? Do you want her fired and blacklisted from the industry with a gross negligence mark on her record?” My hands clenched into tight fists. He was blackmailing me, and he knew exactly which buttons to push. “Fine,” I spat out. “I’ll do it.” By midnight, the office was entirely empty except for Grace and me. She looked at me, her face pale with guilt. “I am so incredibly sorry, Diana. I brought this on you.” “No, Grace,” I said softly, taping two strips of paper back together. “They wanted to hurt me. You were just the collateral damage.” It took us until dawn to piece together the shredded hard copy and manually re-type the entire document into a new digital file. This time, I didn’t leave it on the shared server. I emailed it directly to Jimmy’s personal inbox. If it disappeared again, there would be no denying who did it. When Jimmy arrived at the office the next morning and saw the reconstructed proposal sitting on his desk, a flicker of something complex and unsettling passed through his eyes. “I’ll overlook your attitude this time,” he said, his voice unusually quiet. “Let’s forget about this whole resignation nonsense.” “No,” I said, picking up my purse. “I only did this to save Grace. Don’t ever expect me to clean up your mess again.” “Suit yourself,” he snapped, his pride instantly flaring back up. “Ungrateful as always.” He brushed past me. I said my final goodbyes to Grace and walked out into the crisp morning air. As I walked to my car, a text message popped up on my phone: “Hi Diana, this is a reminder of your VIP reservation at The Hearth tonight at 6:00 PM…” I stared at the screen, a heavy weight sinking in my chest. It was my birthday. I was about to call and cancel the reservation when my phone rang. It was Jimmy. “Diana, I have to hand it to you,” he said, his tone dripping with patronizing amusement. “This whole ‘quitting’ routine, the silent treatment… it was all just a desperate play to get me to crawl back to you for your birthday, wasn’t it?” The reservation system must have sent an automated duplicate notification to his phone since we had booked it under a joint profile months ago. “Actually, that reservation was made months ago—” “Save it,” he interrupted. “I’m not going. You know my schedule. At six o’clock sharp, I start my daily end-of-day business review. I don’t have time for self-indulgent dinners.” Right. Of course. His precious schedule was a sacred boundary when it came to me. I had made that reservation months ago, foolishly hoping that on my birthday, he would finally break his rules for me. I wanted to feel like I mattered more than his calendar. What a pathetic joke. “However,” Jimmy continued, his voice taking on a magnanimous tone, “if you apologize to me and Amber, maybe—just maybe—I can find a thirty-minute window to stop by after my review.” He sounded like a king tossing crumbs to a beggar. It made me want to throw up. “Don’t bother,” I said, and hung up the phone. I texted the restaurant to cancel, but then I stopped. Why should I ruin my own birthday because of him? Instead, I called Grace and invited her to join me. Ten minutes after we sat down at our beautifully candlelit table, the restaurant door opened. I froze. Jimmy was walking toward us, holding a small, elegant bakery box. “Happy birthday, Diana,” he said. For a split second, my heart did a strange, painful flutter. Five years. In five years of dating, this was the first time he had ever disrupted his evening routine for me. Seeing my stunned expression, he let out a smug chuckle. “See? Amber was right. She said you’d be incredibly touched.” “I decided to give you a break today. Consider this a favor on Amber’s behalf.” My body went entirely numb. Before I could even process his words, Amber slid out from behind his shoulder, sporting a sweet, childish grin. “Oh, Mr. Bradford, don’t say it like that! Diana is going to think I’m intruding!” She turned to me, clasping her hands together. “But seriously, Diana, Jimmy told me how much you wanted him to break his schedule for you. Since I managed to convince him, I hope you’ll accept this as my thank-you for staying up all night to fix the proposal. You’re not mad, are you?” The room seemed to spin. The one time he broke his sacred rules for me, it wasn’t because he loved me. It was because his new assistant had playfully asked him to. It was a performance to show how much influence she had over him. My hands began to shake uncontrollably. Grace immediately reached across the table and held my arm. “Diana, are you okay?” Amber stepped closer, reaching out to grab my hand with a look of pure, manufactured innocence. “You must be so happy, Diana! I knew this would be the perfect—” “Get away from me,” I whispered, pulling my hand back. In her haste to recoil, Amber tripped backward over her own heels, letting out a dramatic shriek. Jimmy caught her by the waist just before she hit the floor. He glared at me, his eyes burning with fury. “Diana, enough! Amber came here out of the goodness of her heart to celebrate your birthday, and you immediately lash out at her like a psycho.” I looked at him, and the sheer, absurd comedy of it all made me laugh. Tears of absolute exhaustion spilled over my eyelashes. “Out of the goodness of her heart? She came here to rub it in my face that she can pull your strings whenever she wants.” “You never—not once—broke your schedule for me. But you did it for her without a second thought. Do you even remember who your girlfriend is, Jimmy?” “I don’t need you here. This birthday is going to be infinitely better without you.” I grabbed my purse, stood up, and walked out of the restaurant, Grace close behind me. Jimmy hesitated for a moment, making a move to follow me. But behind him, Amber let out a soft, starry-eyed sigh. “Wow… I’ve always wanted to eat here. I heard the VIP lounge is impossible to book. I’ve never been to a place this beautiful.” Jimmy stopped in his tracks. “Then we’re staying,” he announced loudly, clearly wanting his voice to carry out to the street. “I’m taking you to dinner here tonight.” He wanted to hurt me, to see me look back in jealousy. But as the cool night air hit my face, all I felt was a profound, liberating sense of nothingness. I was finally free. That very night, I packed the rest of my belongings from the townhouse and moved into a quiet, cozy apartment uptown. The next morning, I walked into the lobby of a sleek, glass-fronted skyscraper. “Welcome to the team, Diana,” the director said, offering a warm handshake.

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Hudson’s first love, Celine, had returned to the country. She was so broke that her family’s historic estate was going up for foreclosure auction. When I asked him if he still loved her, he frowned and told me to stop being ridiculous—he wasn’t that fickle. And I believed him. Until his phone lit up in the middle of the night, showing a wire transfer of two million dollars. I recognized the amount instantly. It was the starting bid for Celine’s family estate. He hadn’t cheated on me. Not technically. He had simply used our joint marital funds to buy back another woman’s childhood home. As I sat in the dark holding his phone, waiting for him to wake up, I saw Celine’s latest social media post pop up: “Some people say goodbye with their lips, but shield you from the storm with their hands.” The photo was of the estate’s sprawling garden. A memory flashed through my mind. The night Hudson proposed, he looked into my eyes and said, “I’m the kind of man who only loves once in a lifetime.” Turns out, he was telling the truth. … His phone lit up again. Another post from Celine. This one was a close-up of a hand-carved mahogany door. Her caption: “Back home.” I stared at that door. Hudson had taken me to see that estate last summer. It was a stunning mid-century colonial passed down through Celine’s family, sitting on three acres of pristine land. He had told me the house had a rich history, expressing regret over how her family had fallen into ruin. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Now I understood why he knew every detail so well. The living room was pitch black, the glow from the screen casting a cold blue light over my face. I scrolled through the transfer details. Exactly two million dollars, wired to a commercial auction house. The memo line read: “Celine’s House – Final Payment.” Celine’s House. He hadn’t even been this meticulous when we bought our own home. A rustling sound came from the bedroom. Hudson was awake. I heard his soft footsteps as he walked out into the living room. He froze when he saw me sitting on the sofa. “Why are you still up?” he asked, rubbing his eyes. I turned the screen toward him. Hudson went completely still. He stepped closer, reaching for the phone, but I pulled it back. “Did you buy Celine’s house?” Silence stretched between us. “Answer me, Hudson.” “I did,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “It was going into foreclosure. I just helped her buy it back. Don’t worry, I’ll transfer money from my personal accounts to cover it. It won’t affect our household finances.” A dry laugh escaped my throat. Our household? We had been married for three years; our lives and accounts had become so tangled that there was no “his” or “hers” anymore. For him to say it “won’t affect us” was a joke. Two million dollars, moved with the click of a button, and he hadn’t even bothered to mention it to his wife. “When did you decide this?” “Just… recently.” “Recently?” I glanced at the date of the transfer. “Ten days ago. For ten days, you’ve eaten dinner with me, slept beside me, and never breathed a single word.” Hudson frowned, a shadow of irritation crossing his face. “I didn’t want you to overthink it.” “Overthink what?” He stared at me for a long moment, then let out a heavy sigh. “Talia, Celine and I are ancient history. She hit rock bottom, and I lent her a hand. That’s all this is. Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill.” That’s all this is. Then why put her name in the memo? Why were you the very first person to like her post? How did you even know her house was up for auction the second she stepped back into the country? None of this happened by accident. It took effort. It took devotion. I didn’t say any of that. Instead, I kept my voice flat. “I don’t care if you want to be a savior, Hudson. But using our joint money to do it without even consulting me? Do you honestly think that’s okay?” Hudson looked uncomfortable. He sat on the coffee table opposite me, leaning forward with his hands clasped between his knees, softening his tone. “I was wrong. I should have talked to you first. I was just in a rush to secure the bid before someone else snatched it up. That house means everything to her family.” “It means a lot to you, too, doesn’t it?” He didn’t answer. Celine posted again—a photo dump this time. The grand living room, the library, the sunlit gardens, and finally, a picture of herself. She wore a simple white sundress, completely makeup-free, looking fragile and poetic in front of that carved door. Her caption read: “Thank you for staying when everyone else walked away.” I almost laughed out loud. That post had an audience of one. “What are the two of you now?” “We are nothing,” Hudson said, looking me dead in the eye. “I told you, I’m just helping her out.” “Then what does her caption mean?” “How should I know what she means?” His patience was wearing thin. “Talia, can you stop being so paranoid?” Paranoid. The first time he called me paranoid was the day Celine left the country years ago. He had drowned himself in whiskey. When I asked him what was wrong, he said nothing. When I asked if it was about Celine, he told me I was being overly sensitive. The second time was when we ran into one of Celine’s friends at a downtown restaurant. The friend had smiled and said, “You know Celine is back, right?” and Hudson had simply nodded. When we got home and I asked him how long they’d been in touch, he shut me down with the same word. This was the third time. I stood up from the sofa and tossed his phone back onto the cushions. “If you want to play her white knight so badly, maybe I should just get out of your way.” Hudson snapped his head up. “What is that supposed to mean?” “Exactly what it sounds like,” I said. “You two were always meant to be. If she hadn’t chosen to move abroad, you never would have married me. Now she’s back, she’s struggling, and you can’t bear to see it. I get it.” “Talia—” “I’m tired, Hudson. Let’s talk tomorrow.” I walked into our bedroom and closed the door behind me. My hands were shaking. Not from anger, but from the crushing realization that I was right. On the night Hudson proposed, I asked him why he chose me. He shrugged and said, “You make sense.” At the time, I thought it was just his practical nature, his aversion to cliché romance. Now I realized he meant it literally. I was a sensible, comfortable choice. I wasn’t Celine—the woman who haunted his every thought. My phone buzzed in my hand. It was a text from Hudson. “She’s just a friend. If it bothers you, I won’t contact her again.” I didn’t reply. Another text followed. “I was wrong about the money. I’ll transfer the two million back to our joint account tomorrow. Treat it as a personal loan.” Still, silence. When the third message came through, I turned my phone off entirely. Outside, a gentle rain began to patter against the windowpane. I lay in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling. When we married three years ago, I genuinely believed I was the luckiest woman alive. Hudson was handsome, incredibly successful, and attentive. He kept flowers out of the house because of my allergies, and despite claiming to hate cats, he gladly helped me care for our three strays. He remembered every little detail of my routine. I thought it was love. Now I realized he was just a man who knew how to go through the motions of devotion. It didn’t actually matter who was on the receiving end. I tossed and turned, sleep completely out of reach. Around two in the morning, I got up to get a glass of water. A sliver of light was still escaping from under the living room door. Hudson hadn’t gone to bed. He was slumped on the sofa, clutching his phone. As I drew closer, I could see the glowing screen. It was an open chat window with Celine. The last message was from her, sent just a minute ago: “Thank you so much for today, Hudson. When can I drop off the keys to the estate?” He hadn’t replied yet. I stood behind him in the shadows for a long time, but he was too absorbed to notice. Finally, I broke the silence. “If you want to go see her, just go. You don’t have to sneak around.” Hudson jumped, the phone slipping from his fingers and clattering onto the hardwood floor. “How long have you been standing there?” he asked, scrambling to pick it up. His hands were clumsy, anxious. He immediately hit the power button, plunging the screen into darkness. “I wasn’t planning on seeing her.” “Then why aren’t you replying?” “I was trying to figure out what to say.” “Trying to figure out how to lie to me?” Hudson looked up at me, his eyes bloodshot and weary. “Talia, do you have to be so hostile?” “How do you want me to be?” I set my water glass down on the coffee table with a sharp clink. “You tell me she’s nothing, yet you’re hiding in the dark at 2:00 AM, afraid to reply to her in front of me. You claim the two million dollars was just a favor, but every single thing she posts online is a public tribute to you. What am I supposed to think?” Hudson stood up, keeping his voice low so it wouldn’t carry. “I’ve been married to you for three years, Talia. Have I ever lied to you?” “You’re lying to me right now.” He went silent. I stared deep into his eyes. “Hudson. Do you still love her?” The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. I thought he wasn’t going to answer at all. “I’m not that careless with my heart,” he finally said. I let out a bitter laugh. What a carefully crafted response. Not a simple no, but a defense of his own character. I’m not that careless. It was his way of saying he had loved her, maybe still did, but was too disciplined to act on it fully. Yet, spending two million dollars on a woman you supposedly don’t love, and losing sleep over her texts, was the definition of careless. I didn’t press him. I grabbed my glass and walked back to the bedroom. Lying in the dark, I heard the faint murmur of his voice from the living room. He was making a call, keeping his tone hushed, but the quiet of the night carried his words through the door. “…Keep the keys. I won’t be coming over.” “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” “Get some sleep.” After he hung up, a profound silence settled over the apartment. A few minutes later, I heard his quiet footsteps approach our bedroom door. He paused outside, hovering for a long, agonizing moment, before turning back around. He didn’t come in. I barely slept. Just as the sky was turning a bruised shade of grey, the front door clicked shut. I got up and looked out the window. Hudson’s sedan was gone from the driveway. Where could he possibly be going at this hour? I checked my phone. Celine had updated her story with an audio clip. I tapped it. Her voice was thick with tears, trembling: “Hudson, are you really not coming? Please, I just need to see you.” It had been posted fifteen minutes ago. Hudson had been gone for exactly fifteen minutes. I sat on the edge of the mattress, a wave of pure absurdity washing over me. In three years of marriage, he had never once left the house without kissing me goodbye or leaving a note. Every rule he lived by was broken the moment Celine whistled. A vibration startled me. It wasn’t my phone—it was Hudson’s work phone, left behind on his nightstand. I picked it up. The lock screen was flooded with over twenty unread notifications, all from Celine. The latest was a voice note. I tapped play. “Hudson, I’m so sorry about the past. I never should have left for Europe. I regret it every single day. You still care about me, don’t you? Otherwise, you wouldn’t have saved my home.” As soon as the audio ended, a text popped up: “You told me once that your biggest regret in life was letting me walk away. Well, I’m back now. Can you… give us another chance?” I set the phone down carefully. His biggest regret. On our wedding day, during the toasts, Hudson had raised his glass, looked at me, and smiled. “I have absolutely no regrets,” he’d said. It turned out to be a lie. The doorbell rang. I walked over and opened it. A woman was standing on the porch, wearing a white dress, her long hair slightly damp from the mist, her eyes rimmed with red. Celine. She froze when she saw me, then managed a fragile, watery smile. “Hi, Talia. Is Hudson here?” “No.” “Oh. He promised he’d help me look over some restoration plans this morning, but I couldn’t reach him.” She peered past my shoulder into the foyer. “Do you mind if I wait inside?” I stepped aside, letting her pass. As she walked in, her eyes swept over the entryway, taking in his slippers, his coat, and his spare set of keys. “Did Hudson go out?” “Yes.” “But his keys are right here…” I didn’t offer an explanation. I watched her walk into the living room and sit down on the sofa—in the exact spot Hudson had been sitting just hours ago. Celine seemed to sense the tension. She lowered her head, nervously picking at her cuticles. “Talia, please don’t misunderstand. Hudson and I are just friends. He’s only helping me secure my family’s estate.” “I know.” “It’s just… I’ve been away for so long, and I feel so lost here. He’s the only one I can turn to.” “Mhm.” She looked up, a subtle, unreadable glint in her eyes. “Hudson has always been so good to me. Sometimes I wish I’d never left.” The words were delivered with a soft, wistful sigh, but the underlying message was loud and clear: If I hadn’t left, you wouldn’t be wearing that ring. I kept my expression blank. The sound of the front door opening broke the silence. Hudson walked in. The moment he spotted Celine sitting in our living room, he froze in his tracks. Celine stood up instantly, her eyes welling with fresh tears. “Hudson.” Hudson shot a tense glance at me before looking back at her. “What are you doing here?” “I couldn’t reach you, so I thought I’d stop by,” she said, her voice dropping into a soft pout. “I wanted to look over the restoration blueprints we talked about.” Hudson reached into his leather briefcase and pulled out a thick manila folder, handing it over to her. “Here are the blueprints. You can take them with you.” Celine took the folder but didn’t make a move to leave. She stood between us, looking from Hudson to me, biting her lip. “Did you two… have a fight? Is it because of me?” Before Hudson could find his voice, I spoke up. “No. We don’t fight.” It was the absolute truth. In three years, we had never raised our voices at each other. I used to think it was a sign of a perfect, mature relationship. Now I realized it was simply because he didn’t care enough to argue. After Celine finally left, the silence in the apartment became deafening. Hudson stood by the door, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, motionless. Finally, I broke the silence. “You left your work phone on the nightstand. Celine sent a few messages. I happened to see them.” I saw his knuckles tighten inside his pockets, but he said nothing. “Why did you two break up in the first place?” A long, agonizing pause followed. “Her parents didn’t approve of me back then,” he muttered. “They sent her to Europe.” “Did she say anything before she left?” “Yes,” Hudson’s voice was barely a whisper. “She told me to wait for her.” “But you didn’t.” “I did. I waited two years. She never came back.” So you settled for me. I kept the thought to myself, though the bitterness of it burned in my chest. Hudson looked up, trying to catch my gaze. “Talia, what we had is in the past. I’ll make it clear to her. I won’t contact her again.” “Have you actually thought this through?” I asked, searching his eyes. “Yes. I have.” “Then tell me, when you bought that estate, were you really just helping a friend? Or were you trying to buy back a piece of the past you never let go of?” Hudson opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. That was all the answer I needed. “I want a divorce.” Hudson went rigid. “What did you say?” “I want a divorce.” He stared at me for a few seconds, a disbelieving laugh escaping his lips. “Are you kidding me?” “Do I look like I’m joking?” Hudson tossed his briefcase onto the table and stepped closer, his brow furrowed. “Because of Celine? You’re throwing away our marriage over this?” “It’s not because of her,” I said, looking up to meet his eyes. “It’s because of you.” “What did I do?” “You never let her go.” Hudson scoffed. “I told you, I’ll set boundaries—” “You said that last night,” I interrupted. “And you said it again this morning. But you still stayed up waiting for her texts, you still drove out to see her at dawn, and you still kept her name on a multi-million-dollar wire transfer. How am I supposed to believe a single word you say, Hudson?” His jaw clenched, a muscle feathering under his skin. “I’ll handle it.” “Handle what?” I asked quietly. “Her? Or me?” He had no reply. I turned on my heel, went into the bedroom, and pulled a suitcase out from the back of the closet. In three years of marriage, my footprint in this apartment had remained surprisingly small. A few clothes, my everyday essentials. They barely filled half the bag. Hudson followed me inside, watching in silence as I packed. “Where are you going?” “My mother’s.” “Talia, please. Don’t do this. Don’t be impulsive.” I ignored him and zipped the suitcase shut. He reached out, his hand firmly gripping the handle to stop me. “We need to talk.” “About what?” “About us.” “There is no ‘us’ to talk about,” I said, looking at his hand on my bag. “You don’t love me, Hudson. You love Celine. You married me because she was a ghost across the ocean. Now that she’s back, I’m stepping aside. Isn’t that what you want?” Hudson’s grip tightened, his knuckles turning stark white. “I told you, there is nothing going on between her and me.” “Then prove it. Call her right now, in front of me, and tell her that you love me, and that she needs to stay out of our lives.” He didn’t move. I waited. Ten seconds. Twenty. A full minute of suffocating silence. “That’s what I thought,” I said, peeling his fingers off the suitcase. “Don’t stand in my way.” I wheeled the suitcase toward the front door, but Hudson rushed ahead, blocking the exit. “Talia, listen to me—” “Move, Hudson.” “No. I’m not letting you leave like this.” I looked up at him. His eyes were bloodshot, his voice cracking with emotion. “I know I messed up. I know I should have told you. But you can’t just walk away. We have three years of marriage. You can’t just throw that away.” “For three years of marriage, you’ve kept another woman in your heart, and I never said a word,” I whispered. Hudson opened his mouth, but the words died in his throat. I pushed past him and threw the door open. Celine was standing right outside. She still had the blueprints in her hands. It was obvious she hadn’t left the building at all. She looked at my suitcase, then glanced at Hudson behind me, a look of deep concern washing over her delicate features. “Talia, what’s going on? Where are you going?” I ignored her completely and dragged my suitcase down the hall. Celine turned to Hudson, her voice trembling. “Hudson, did something happen? Is this because of me?” “It has nothing to do with you,” Hudson said. But his eyes betrayed him. I saw the way he looked at her—there was a protective, intense spark in his gaze. It was a look he had never, not once, given to me. The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped inside. Hudson lunged forward, thrusting his hand between the closing doors at the very last second. “Talia, give me three days. Just three days to fix this.” “Don’t bother.”

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Fay had been suffering from severe emotional detachment for seven years, and in all that time, she never once initiated a conversation with me. Whenever I brought up anything—whether it was a major life decision or a minor household chore—she would only text back a “1” for yes, or a “2” for no. Even when I laid my diagnosis of end-stage kidney failure right in front of her, she merely offered a flat, distracted “Oh,” before turning on her heel to leave for work. My best friend, Connor, once tried to talk some sense into me. “That woman has less warmth than an air conditioner. No hot, no cold, just sterile. What are you even doing with her, Luke?” I just rubbed the silver band on my ring finger and forced a small smile. “She’s just sick. She doesn’t know how to express it. But she loves me.” Until a month later, on my birthday. I was running late to the restaurant. From a distance, I saw Fay sitting next to Connor, their shoulders pressed tightly together. The woman who had been cold as ice to me for seven years was laughing, her face radiant. She was gently wiping the rainwater from Connor’s forehead with a napkin. Connor was wearing Fay’s coat over his shoulders. I looked away, my eyes falling to my phone screen. I stared at the text I had sent her just minutes ago. [Fay, it’s pouring out here and I don’t have an umbrella. Can you pick me up?] [2] I stood frozen in the rain. Suddenly, it hit me. I was the one who was sick. Blind, deaf, and hopelessly stupid. … Connor spotted me and waved, a bright grin on his face. I walked over. Fay didn’t even look up. This was a woman who never lifted a finger at home, yet here she was, carefully rinsing Connor’s silverware with hot water. “Man, it’s a monsoon out there!” Connor said excitedly. “Tough drive, huh?” I nodded, my throat tight. He kept rambling, practically beaming. “I didn’t think I’d make it. When I walked out of the office, I was totally stranded. Thank God Fay had an umbrella and gave me a ride, or I would’ve been hopelessly late!” “Oh, really?” I managed a hollow smile, looking down at the woman sitting before me. “Since you had an umbrella, why didn’t you swing by to pick me up?” Fay didn’t stop what she was doing. She neatly set the polished utensils in front of Connor and said flatly, “Only had one umbrella.” Short, clipped, and final. As if that explained everything. One umbrella meant she could save Connor, but not me. But we worked at the same firm. We shared the exact same commute. The server brought out our entrees. The soup was topped with a thick, vibrant layer of chopped cilantro. “Here you go, ma’am. Extra cilantro, just like you requested in the notes.” “Perfect. Thank you,” Fay said, offering the server a rare, genuine smile. Connor took a sip, his eyes lighting up. “Wow, this is amazing! You always know exactly what I like.” Fay’s lips curved upward for a fleeting second. She was in a remarkably good mood. She shot me a silent, pointed look, gesturing for me to eat. I held my spoon, but my hand wouldn’t move. I can’t stand cilantro. Seven years together, and she still couldn’t remember. Or maybe she did, and she just didn’t care. Since my kidneys started failing, my senses had become hyper-sensitive. The pungent smell of the herb hit me, and a wave of nausea forced a dry heave out of my throat. Fay frowned at me. She didn’t say a word, but the cold irritation in her eyes spoke volumes. Connor stared at me. “Hey, Luke, if you don’t want yours, pass it over. I’ll eat it!” He winked, playfully scooping the cilantro out of my bowl and into his own. Fay looked at him with quiet approval, using her own chopsticks to place a tender piece of meat into his bowl. I watched in numb silence. At home, Fay’s germaphobia was so intense we had to use serving utensils for everything. I had no idea she was capable of sharing food so intimately with another man. Even though it was my birthday, not a single person at the table wished me a happy birthday. When the bill came, the restaurant offered a complimentary birthday dessert. Fay accepted it naturally and slid it right over to Connor. On our way out, she held the heavy glass door open for Connor. But the moment he passed through, she let go. The heavy door swung back violently, striking me right in the face. A sharp pain bloomed across my nose, forcing tears to my eyes. By the time I recovered and pushed my way outside, they were already thirty feet ahead, walking shoulder to shoulder, so close their sleeves brushed. It was as if I didn’t exist. They rounded the corner and vanished into the gray sheets of rain. Not once did either of them look back. I stood there in the cold, damp air for a long time, then turned and walked in the opposite direction. I went back to the office and buried myself in work until midnight. A colleague passing by my desk teased, “Still grinding, Luke? You’ve been sick—you should go home. Isn’t Fay worried?” I forced a smile and checked my phone. No missed calls. No texts. Just a single question mark Fay had sent two hours ago. Every time we had a disagreement, she would freeze me out. And every single time, I was the one who broke the silence, crawling back to apologize. I stared at that question mark until my vision blurred. Suddenly, the endless cycle felt incredibly exhausting. I opened the keyboard and typed out six words: [Fay, let’s break up.] Five minutes later, she replied: [2] No questions. No concern. Just a “2,” her standard code for refusal. I let out a dry, hollow laugh. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. If it was over, I needed to cut every remaining tie. I opened the hospital patient portal, my fingers trembling as I clicked the button to schedule my transplant surgery. It was past midnight when I got back to the apartment. The place was pitch-black and silent. Fay was already asleep. I remembered all those nights she worked late. I had always stayed up, waiting for her. Even when my eyes were heavy with sleep, I’d leave the entryway light on so she wouldn’t walk into a dark home. I switched on my phone flashlight and walked quietly toward my bedroom. It was a small room, originally a study. Fay kept the master bedroom to herself, claiming my breathing kept her awake at night. The only times she ever stepped into my room were when she wanted physical intimacy. It was always mechanical, transactional. She would finish, get up, and leave without a single lingering touch. Since my diagnosis, she hadn’t crossed this threshold once. The next morning, I found Fay sitting at the dining table. She had made breakfast—only for herself—while listening to a financial podcast on her iPad. I walked past her, but her gaze remained fixed on the screen. Out on the balcony sat a pot of blue hydrangeas. I had bought them the day I got my diagnosis. After just two days of neglect, the vibrant petals had withered into dry, papery brown spheres. A sudden, sharp ache bloomed in my chest. I grabbed a watering can, carrying it back and forth, desperately soaking the dry soil, praying for a miracle. But the dead leaves simply floated to the top, lifeless and rotting. My strength dissolved. I collapsed onto the cold tile floor, tears streaming down my face. I was crying for the dying plant, but mostly, I was mourning myself—mourning seven years of a love that had rotted from the inside out. From the dining room, Fay didn’t even turn her head. She simply tapped her screen, turning up the volume of her podcast to drown out the sound of my crying. I wiped my face, stood up, and walked over to her. “We need to talk.” She paused the audio. She crossed her arms, her pinky finger tapping rhythmically against her elbow. It was her classic tell. Whenever I tried to talk to her, she would adopt this posture—her eyes unfocused, her mind completely elsewhere. I forced myself to speak anyway. “Did you see my text about breaking up?” She nodded slowly. The quiet pain flared up again. “Don’t you have anything to say to me?” I pleaded. She only stared at me, her brow furrowing slightly. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Her phone alarm chimed. She picked up her bag and walked past me to the door. No hesitation. No second look. I was completely invisible. When she opened the front door, a familiar male voice drifted inside. “Hey, Luke!” Connor waved from the hallway, offering a bright smile. “Fay’s driving me to work today. You want a ride?” We had worked at the same company for seven years. Fay had always insisted on a strict boundary between our professional and personal lives. No matter how hard it rained or how cold it got, she had never once let me carpool with her. But today was Connor’s first day, and she was already playing chauffeur. A draft swept in from the balcony, sending a violent shiver through me. I reached out to close the glass door, but my foot caught on the heavy watering can. It tipped over, soaking my jeans with cold water. I quickly righted the can. By the time I looked up, they were gone. Down in the driveway, the engine roared to life and faded into the distance. An hour later, I dragged myself into the office. The moment I stepped into the bullpen, low whispers rippled through the desks. “Hey, did you see? That new guy got out of Fay’s passenger side. He tripped on his way in, and Fay literally carried him up the stairs on her back!” “Wait, is she finally dumping Luke?” “Has to be. In all these years, have you ever seen her drive Luke to work even once?” “Oof. The difference between who she loves and who she tolerates is brutal.” Seeing me approach, the group quickly scattered, coughing awkwardly. I walked toward my desk, only to find Connor sitting in my chair. “What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice tight. Connor pointed innocently to the brass nameplate on the desk. “Fay told me to sit here.” Underneath my old title, my name had been replaced with “Connor Webb”. Fay handed Connor an employee handbook, turning on her heel to leave. “Fay!” I called out, stepping into her path. “Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?” She didn’t look back. “I’ve told you before, Luke. In the office, you address me by my title.” Connor stood up quickly, his face a mask of concern. “Fay, maybe you should explain. I don’t want Luke getting the wrong idea.” The air went dead silent for a beat. Fay turned to look at me, pointing toward a cramped desk tucked near the restrooms. “Your new station is over there.” Out in the hallway, the crowd of onlookers grew larger. Swallowing the hot lump of humiliation in my throat, I managed to squeeze out, “Why?” Perhaps she just couldn’t be burdened with an explanation. Fay glanced at the department manager, who immediately pushed his way through the crowd, looking anxious. “Luke, let’s not get emotional,” the manager said quickly. “Connor’s portfolio was selected to represent the firm in the international showcase, and he just took home the Grand Prize. You’ve been here a long time, but at the end of the day, this role belongs to the top talent.” What portfolio? A cold dread seized my chest. I snatched the catalog from the manager’s hands and flipped through the pages. It was my work. Every line, every shadow—the result of a grueling month of sleepless nights and endless cups of coffee. But there, printed in clean, crisp lettering in the bottom-right corner, was the name: “Connor Webb”. I stared at Fay, my eyes wide with disbelief. “You did this?” She was the only one who had the keys to my study. The only one who could have taken my sketchbooks. “You took my designs and gave them to Connor? Under his name?” Facing my accusation, Fay stood beside Connor, her expression utterly unchanged. “Does it matter? The outcome is the same.” Her voice was flat, devoid of any warmth or remorse. My anger was a stone dropped into a bottomless well. It didn’t even make a splash, because she simply didn’t care. “But I care!” I screamed, the tears finally spilling over. “That was my life’s work! It matters to me!” The manager looked down, refusing to meet my eyes. Pitiful glances shot toward me from the hallway. Fay remained unfazed. She turned to the manager. “He’s too unstable right now. He’s not fit to work. Place him on administrative leave.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Leave? Don’t bother, Fay. I quit.” I unclipped my ID badge and slammed it onto the desk. Then, I walked out. Outside, the sky was a bruised charcoal grey as I hailed a cab. The humid summer wind felt cold against my damp face. I remembered the day I confessed my feelings to Fay. It had been raining just like this. We had been dancing around each other for months, but she would never make a move. Unable to keep my feelings bottled up, I finally gathered the courage to tell her I loved her. But after my confession, Fay vanished. For three days, her phone was dead. Just as I was preparing to pack up my heart and move on, she showed up at my doorstep, completely drenched. She told me about her childhood, how her parents’ bitter divorce had left her emotionally crippled, terrified of intimacy. But for me, she said, she wanted to try. I would never forget the look in her eyes when she slipped a simple silver band onto my ring finger. “Luke, I don’t know how to say beautiful things,” she had whispered, her eyes shining with tears. “But I will show you every single day how much I love you. One day, I’ll replace this cheap silver with a diamond, and I’ll give you the life you deserve.” Believing every word, I quit my secure job to pour all my energy into helping her start her own firm. Back then, Connor had been outraged on my behalf. “Luke, you have an Ivy League degree and a killer resume. Why are you wasting your potential in her tiny, unestablished startup?” I had just laughed, feeling like the luckiest man alive to have both a fiercely loyal best friend and a devoted partner. I had no idea when, or how, the two of them had started drifting together. A stray drop of rain caught my cheek. I slid the silver band off my finger—the metal worn smooth from years of my anxious touching—and tossed it out the open window of the cab. “Driver, change of plans,” I said quietly. “Take me to St. Jude’s Hospital.” Sitting in the examination room, the doctor reviewed my chart. “Conservative therapy can keep you stable for a while longer, Luke. A transplant is high-risk, especially in your current state. Are you sure you don’t want to discuss this with your family first?” I looked out the window. The storm had finally broken, blurring the city into streaks of grey. I picked up my phone. My thumb hovered over Fay’s contact. Her profile picture sat right next to Connor’s in my recent messages. For the first time, I noticed how matching their profile aesthetics were—like a couple’s set. I clicked on her social media feed. Fay, who only ever posted industry articles and forgot our anniversaries, had actually posted a photo. It was a shot of her and Connor from behind, walking close together. The caption read: “He wanted to take a picture.] I set the phone down. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I swallowed them down. I took a deep breath. “I’ve made up my mind,” I whispered to the doctor. “It’s time to end this.” As they prepped me for the procedure, the cold metal of the instruments felt like a relief. A clean break. On the day of my discharge, the older doctor handed me a bag of supplements. He gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve been coming to this hospital all alone since the day you were diagnosed, Luke,” he said softly. “Just remember—before you can take care of anyone else, you have to take care of yourself.” I nodded, my throat too tight for words. When I unlocked the apartment door, the first thing I saw was Fay and Connor. They were tangled together on the living room sofa, completely naked. The woman who acted like a cold, unresponsive machine around me was suddenly alive, pouring out years of pent-up passion. “Connor, I love you so much…” “How much?” “Enough to bring you the stars. I want you to be the first thing I see when I open my eyes every single day…” She ran her hands hungrily over his bare back, her voice thick with emotion. She said it so effortlessly, as if she had rehearsed those lines a thousand times in her head. Even though I had prepared myself for the worst, the physical sight of it felt like a thousand tiny needles piercing my heart. But I didn’t scream. I didn’t ask for explanations. I simply turned around to walk away. Fay finally reacted. She scrambled to pull up her clothes, running out into the hallway after me. “Luke! Wait! I can explain!” I stopped and looked at her, finding the situation almost comical. “Fine. Explain.” Fay bit her lip, touching the bridge of her nose. She couldn’t look me in the eye. It was her classic nervous tic whenever she lied. “Connor and I… we both grew up in broken homes. I just wanted to look out for him. Are you hungry? Let me make you some dinner.” Deflection. Whenever she faced a question she didn’t want to answer, she pretended nothing had happened. With a dramatic thud, Connor dropped to his knees in front of me, tears welling in his eyes. “Luke, blame me. Don’t blame Fay. I was the one who initiated it. You always told me how cold and distant she was, and I… I guess I just got curious if she was actually incapable of love.” I leaned down, looking closely at the man I had called my brother for twenty years. I had truly believed our friendship was indestructible. “Was it curiosity that made you steal my designs and take my job, too?” “Luke! Watch your mouth!” Fay snapped, stepping defensively in front of Connor. The woman who had frozen me out for seven years was now glaring at me with raw hostility to protect another man. I couldn’t stand the sight of them for another second. I picked up my suitcase and turned toward the door. Fay took a step to follow me, but Connor clung to her leg, sobbing hysterically, pinning her in place. By the time she finally calmed him down, I was gone. She searched every coffee shop, park, and grocery store I frequented, but there was no sign of me. Seeing her look so hollowed out, Connor tried to soothe her. “Don’t sweat it. You guys have been together for seven years. Luke’s not going anywhere. Besides, with his kidney condition, where could he possibly go? Just relax.” A sudden knock on the door made Fay jump. She ran to open it. “Luke, where were—” But it was just a courier holding a sealed plastic bag. “Delivery from St. Jude’s Hospital. They said a Mr. Luke Davis left his discharge papers behind.” Fay opened the packet. Inside, printed in bold black letters, was the cover sheet: “Post-Operative Recovery Guidelines for Kidney Transplant Recipients.] Late that night, I sat in the boarding lounge of the international terminal. Just before the flight crew announced final boarding, my phone buzzed with a text from Fay: [Luke, don’t do anything reckless. Please, let’s just sit down and talk this through.] I stared at the screen, a quiet peace settling over me. I typed a single number back: [2] I hit send, popped the SIM card out of my phone, threw it in the trash, and boarded my flight.

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I pulled three consecutive all-nighters to finish my research project early. I wanted to clear my schedule to celebrate Oliver’s birthday. But instead of a text from him, my sister Zora’s Instagram DM popped up first: “Oh my god, Chicago is so much fun!” The photo showed her and Oliver, heads tilted together, smiling. My smile froze. “You’re in Chicago?” “Yeah! Got here three days ago. Wanted to surprise Oliver for his birthday!” I stared at the screen, then calmly called Oliver. “Isn’t your defense in two days? I thought you said you were drowning in prep work and couldn’t make time for anything?” Oliver’s voice was perfectly level. “It’s not that hard for me, Lydia. But Zora rarely gets to travel. I knew you were buried in your lab work these past few days, so I figured I’d take care of her for you.” My eyes stung. A wave of bone-deep exhaustion finally crashed over me. To keep up with Oliver, I had never allowed myself to stop. What took him a day to master took me five. I thought if I just kept my head down and ran fast enough, I would eventually catch up and find a place in his heart. But the truth is, you don’t have to run for someone who actually wants you. I remembered the way he used to ruffle Zora’s hair, calling her “silly but cute” with a gentle warmth in his eyes that he had never, not once, shown me. I fell silent for a moment. Then, I opened my inbox and replied to the offer letter from Los Angeles that had been sitting there for three days. 01 I turned off my phone and crashed. The research project had been brutal. Starting from scratch, I had poured my heart and soul into getting these results. The deadline wasn’t even until tomorrow, but my lab partners knew I had planned a birthday surprise for Oliver. They had pushed themselves to help me wrap up early. When I finally woke up, my phone was blown up with over a dozen missed calls. From Zora, from Oliver, and from my mother. I only called my mother back. “What is wrong with you?” her voice boomed through the receiver. “Your sister rarely visits Chicago, and you’re throwing a tantrum? Call them back right now.” I blinked rapidly, trying to swallow down the sudden lump of hurt in my throat. “Mom, I didn’t even know Zora was coming. I just pulled three all-nighters. Am I really expected to drop everything and cater to her mood right now?” “She didn’t want to disturb you because she knew you were busy! She told Oliver, didn’t she? Why are you being so difficult today, Lydia?” “Difficult.” Growing up, “easy” and “mature” were the only words anyone used to describe me. I studied hard—I was mature. I got straight A’s—I was mature. I never fought for anything, never demanded attention—I was just so mature… But no one ever stopped to ask me if I actually wanted to be. My mother kept talking, but her words blurred into static. Except for the last sentence—the one I knew by heart. “Zora’s health isn’t great, you know that. Just look after her.” I calmly hung up. “I’ve looked after her enough.” My mom always said Zora was an unexpected miracle. She had been born sick, a constant visitor to hospitals. Naturally, my parents’ entire world revolved around her. And I, very early on, had learned to live in the quiet corners of their neglect. I opened Instagram. It was a photo dump. Nine photos, and Zora looked stunning in every single one. Right in the middle of the grid was her and Oliver. She was radiant, her smile splitting her face; his eyes were filled with soft, indulgent warmth. Underneath, a neighbor had commented: “Zora, your boyfriend is so handsome!” Zora had replied: “Oh stop, Mrs. Davis! That’s my sister’s boyfriend—my future brother-in-law!” To which the neighbor replied: “Ah, my bad… my eyes must be failing me.” I let out a soft, humorless laugh. Her eyes weren’t failing her. Mine were. 02 When did Oliver start looking after Zora like it was his job? Probably around the same time everyone else decided she was the only one who needed taking care of. Her name was Zora—meaning “life”. My mother used to say they didn’t expect Zora to achieve greatness; they just wanted her to stay healthy and be happy by their side. At first, I felt the same way. I worked twice as hard, trying to give her the best of everything. But gradually, everyone forgot that I had needs, too. Our birthdays were only two days apart, but the family always celebrated them as one. When we were kids, I didn’t mind. Until the year Oliver brought over two gifts. Zora immediately grabbed the pink cashmere gloves. “I love these! Thank you, Oliver!” I froze. Oliver had promised me those exact gloves weeks ago. I looked at him. For a second, he seemed taken aback, too. But then he simply smiled, ruffling Zora’s hair. “If you like them, they’re yours, Zora.” I blinked back the sting in my eyes and lowered my head. “That’s fine,” I whispered. “I actually like the blue ones anyway.” A tear slipped down my cheek, splashing onto my phone screen. Just then, my screen lit up with a text. It was from Henry, my senior in the lab. Henry: “I ran that dataset one more time for you. You can use it directly—no errors.” I stared at the message, a bit stunned. It was the set of data I had rushed through without double-checking in my hurry to finish. I hadn’t realized Henry had caught it. I bit my lip, and on a strange, sudden impulse, I typed back: “Thank you, Henry. Can I buy you lunch tomorrow to make up for it?” 03 My screen went quiet. Then, the bubble popped up: “Henry is typing…” It took him a long moment to reply. “Tomorrow? Aren’t you supposed to be celebrating Oliver’s birthday?” I smiled sadly. “No need.” As soon as I sent it, I felt a wave of guilt. It felt cheap, like I was using Henry as some sort of shield. I was about to unsend the message and explain, when his reply flashed on the screen. “Sure.” Now I was the one left speechless. Oh well. It was just a lunch. No big deal. Besides… Oliver probably wouldn’t bother reaching out to me tomorrow anyway. The next morning, I woke up with a bad case of cold feet. I wanted to back out. But before I could text him, Henry beat me to it: “What are we eating? Meet at noon?” Locked in, I had no choice but to get ready. I washed my hair, put on some makeup, and arrived on time. Henry was already there. When he looked up and saw me, he paused. “You look beautiful today.” “Thanks, Henry.” I felt a sudden flutter of awkwardness and avoided his eyes. But he caught me off guard by asking, “Is the look for Oliver?” I opened my mouth, surprised. Henry was our advisor’s star student, the golden boy of the department. He was one of those naturally gifted geniuses I could never hope to compete with. We weren’t particularly close. I honestly hadn’t expected him to accept my invitation, let alone ask such personal questions. Usually, I was too intimidated to even speak to him. “Not really…” I mumbled. Seeing my discomfort, Henry didn’t push. We ate in comfortable silence. But when the dishes arrived, I realized they were all my favorites—spicy, bold flavors. “How did you know…?” Henry smiled gently. “I noticed during our lab dinners. I tend to observe people.” It didn’t feel invasive. Instead, a quiet warmth bloomed in my chest. It had been a very long time since anyone had remembered what I liked. “Thank you,” I said, my voice suddenly thick. Henry noticed my glassy eyes but didn’t pry. He simply placed a piece of chili-seared beef onto my plate. Just then, the restaurant doors opened, and a familiar burst of laughter echoed through the space. I froze. I turned my head. It was Zora and Oliver. They stopped dead in their tracks when they saw me. “Lydia!” Zora squealed, running over to wrap her arms around my shoulder. “What are you doing here? You didn’t answer my calls, I was so worried!” Oliver’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at Henry. A flash of something like hostility crossed his face before vanishing. He stepped closer, his voice cool and measured. “Lydia, what’s going on with your phone?” I forced a small smile. “Must be broken.” It was a terrible excuse, but it was a way out. Zora gasped, looking at Henry. “Wow, hello! You’re gorgeous. Are you my sister’s friend?” Henry ignored her outstretched hand, giving her a polite, distant nod. “Nice to meet you.” Zora looked momentarily embarrassed, but she quickly bounced back, turning to me with a bright smile. “Lydia, isn’t this place amazing? Oliver brought me here specifically! If we’re eating this for lunch, what are the plans for tonight?!” “Specifically.” I looked at Oliver. I knew he hated spicy food. He was highly disciplined, preferred bland, healthy meals, and couldn’t stand Sichuan cuisine. But Zora loved it. And so did I. But what I liked had never really mattered. 04 “I’m treating Henry to thank him for his help,” I said, trying to diffuse the sudden chill in the air. “Since you’re here, why don’t you join us? Henry, do you mind?” Henry smiled warmly at me. “Not at all.” The four of us sat down. Zora immediately took over the conversation, chatting animatedly about her sightseeing over the last few days. She was like a hyperactive puppy. That description wasn’t mine, of course. It was Oliver’s. It’s funny how, once your eyes finally open, all the ignored details of the past start rushing back to hit you. How had Oliver ever described me? “Lydia, you’re always so sensible.” That was it. Nothing more. They ordered more dishes, none of which were things I liked. Actually, I used to like them, but once Zora claimed them as her favorites, I stopped. Maybe it was just a pathetic, unspoken rebellion of mine—declaring I didn’t care for them until I actually believed my own lie. Take the sweet and sour ribs, for instance. I always claimed they were too greasy. But suddenly, a golden-brown rib was placed gently in my bowl. I looked up. It was Henry. As Henry served me, I saw Oliver’s jaw tighten. But why should he care? He had been busy putting food on Zora’s plate the entire time. The lunch ended on an awkward, strained note. I was the one to cut it short. “Thank you for coming, Henry,” I said. My words were polite, but my eyes carried a deep apology. Henry smiled, his gaze soft. “My pleasure. See you around, Lydia.” He didn’t bother saying goodbye to the other two. “Lydia, is he…” As soon as Henry walked out, Zora leaned in with a sly grin, nudging my shoulder. She knew Oliver was standing right there. Oliver, who was supposed to be my boyfriend. But Oliver wouldn’t care. I could see it in his eyes. He had never once lost his composure because of me. That evening, I dragged myself through dinner with them, followed by a walk and a movie. By the end of the night, Zora insisted she wanted a drink. I frowned. Even Oliver said, “Zora, don’t be reckless. Your heart.” “Oh, come on, Oliver! Just a little bit. I’m so happy today!” Oliver glanced at me, then sighed. “Fine. Just a sip.” I turned and walked away without a word. I didn’t touch a drop of alcohol. Zora didn’t have to face the consequences of a hangover, but our master’s defense was tomorrow. I couldn’t afford to mess up, and I assumed Oliver couldn’t either. But he drank with her anyway. And he drank a lot. By the end of the night, my job of “looking after Zora” morphed into dragging both of them back to the hotel. I was angry. I threw Oliver onto his bed, ready to leave. But as I turned toward the door, I heard him mumble. “Zora…” I froze, cold dread seeping into my bones. I didn’t play the part of the tragic heroine who runs away crying. Instead, I marched back to the bed and grabbed Oliver by his collar. “Oliver. Who did you just call?” Oliver was too drunk to answer. I had never checked his phone before. I had always thought it was beneath me. But tonight, I chose to be cheap. His text logs were clean. Everything looked normal. Until— I found a hidden album in his gallery. There were only two photos in it. I recognized the first one instantly. It was from when we were ten, playing in the snow. Zora was wearing a bright orange puffer jacket, looking like a little burst of sunshine against the white winter. The camera was centered entirely on her. I was barely visible, a blurry shoulder in the far corner of the frame. The second photo was a digital note. The top line was written in Zora’s messy, childish handwriting. The line beneath it was in a young Oliver’s sharp, elegant script. The background was decorated with cute, childish doodles. But to me, it looked like a knife. “Zora Loves Oliver.” “Oliver & Zora.” I let out a quiet laugh. It was so incredibly pathetic. But as I laughed, tears began to stream down my face. I didn’t close the album. I dropped his phone onto the mattress beside him. Then, I pulled out my own phone and sent him one last text. “Oliver, let’s break up.” 05 The brutal reality of adulthood is that even if you spend the night crying until your chest aches, you still have to wake up, put on a professional outfit, and deliver a flawless master’s defense the next morning. I channeled all my grief and anger into my presentation. The sheer adrenaline made my delivery sharper than ever, earning a round of thunderous applause from the committee. Down in the auditorium, my lab mates were waiting with a bouquet of flowers. Henry stood near the back, giving me a quiet, reassuring nod. I had never been the star student, but today, I had outdone myself. Oliver, on the other hand—the boy who was supposed to breeze through his defense—faltered. He was visibly unprepared, his voice flat and distracted. When he finished, the applause was sparse and polite. He apologized to the panel, his eyes scanning the crowd until they locked onto me. But I had already turned my back, walking out to get ready for our department’s celebratory dinner. By the time I changed and walked down to the lobby, Oliver was waiting for me. He looked exhausted, a cigarette burning between his fingers—a habit he rarely indulged in. “Can we talk?” I kept my eyes forward. “There’s nothing to say.” Oliver looked down at his shoes. “About the photos… I can explain.” “Explain what? We grew up together, Oliver. Do you think I don’t recognize Zora’s handwriting? Or did you just think I was too stupid to care?” “Lydia, do you have to be so hostile? Zora rarely gets to visit. You’re ruining everything over a tantrum—” “Ruining everything?” I let out a harsh laugh, the dam inside me finally breaking. “I’m throwing a tantrum? Oliver, are you serious? Did Zora even bother to tell me she was coming to Chicago? I pulled three all-nighters just to clear my schedule for your birthday, and you think I’m the one throwing a tantrum? Did you mention to me, even once, that you were spending all your time with her? And those photos—did I hidden-archive them on your phone, or did you?” All the resentment I had buried for years spilled out in a bitter rush. Oliver stared at me, stunned. He had never seen me like this. He didn’t know what to do with a Lydia who wasn’t compliant. Then, he muttered, “She’s your sister. How can you be jealous of her?” “How can I be jealous?” I wiped a tear from my cheek, a cold, empty smile spreading across my face. The years I had spent chasing him suddenly felt like a massive joke. “I am jealous, Oliver. Go ahead and call the cops on me. To be honest, I’ve been jealous for a very long time.” I turned on my heel, ready to walk away. But then I stopped and looked back. “Oh, and don’t lay the blame for your terrible defense today on our breakup. You got cocky and lazy. That’s on you. And one more thing—I used to think you were brilliant. Today? You were mediocre.” I walked away, leaving him standing there in the cold wind. 06 I hurried away, only to collide with someone around the corner. I looked up. It was Henry. The bravado I had shown Oliver crumbled instantly. My mascara was running, and I was a total mess. Embarrassed, I tried to push past him, but his hand gently caught my wrist. “Where are you running? You looked so fierce a second ago.” He pulled out a tissue and gently dabbed at the tears on my cheeks. I stared at him, frozen. “Henry, do I look hideous right now?” I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop them. Henry’s gaze held mine, his expression intensely serious. “No. You’ve always been beautiful. And I don’t just mean your face. You were beautiful during your defense today, you were beautiful when you were angry just now, and the way you work so hard… that’s the most beautiful thing of all.” I stared at him, my mouth slightly open, completely speechless.

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