Author: Momo Chan

My girlfriend had been missing for three whole years. I had searched every corner of the city, followed every lead, but found absolutely nothing. Until last Wednesday, when she suddenly showed up at my doorstep, covered in bruises and cuts. She told me she had been kidnapped and forced to work in an illegal sweatshop, and that it had taken her three agonizing years to finally escape. My heart broke just looking at her. Shaking, I brewed herbal remedies for her, applied ointment to her wounds, and took care of her day and night for seven straight days. But this morning, the police knocked on my door. “Last night, we found a body in an abandoned sweatshop on the outskirts of town. Time of death was estimated to be about a week ago.” “The victim has been identified as your girlfriend.” I froze. “That’s impossible. She’s been staying with me all week.” “It’s not impossible.” The officer opposite me frowned, pushing the file folder on the desk closer to me. “Mr. Lucas Hunt, we’ve already verified the identity. The deceased had her ID on her, and our system database confirmed her fingerprint match. It’s Chloe Vance, the girl you reported missing three years ago.” I heard my own voice trembling. “But she’s been staying with me this entire week. In my apartment. She hasn’t left at all.” The two officers exchanged a look. The older one was Officer Miller. I had met him several times before. Three years ago, I used to report to the station almost every week, then it became once a month, and eventually, I thought I’d never have to come back here again. Officer Miller pulled a photo from the folder and placed it in front of me. I looked down, and my stomach instantly churned with a wave of intense nausea. It felt like a physical blow to my chest. The photo showed a person lying on a metal table, eyes closed, skin a sickly grayish-white. The background was dark, likely taken at the crime scene. The camera flash hit her face, making every brutal detail blindingly clear. It was Chloe. No, wait. It was that face. It was Chloe’s face. I stared at the photo for a long time, so long that Officer Miller had to call my name softly. “Lucas?” I looked up. “This isn’t her.” “We’ve already run a facial recognition scan. It’s over a ninety-eight percent match.” Officer Miller’s tone was flat, stating a fact that left no room for doubt. “Plus, she had her ID on her. The name, the social security number, everything matches. We pulled your old missing person report, too. All the details are identical.” “But—” “Lucas.” He cut me off. “The victim’s immediate family members have all passed away. Her parents died in a car crash shortly after she went missing three years ago. You knew about that, right?” I knew. Of course I knew. Four months after Chloe vanished, her parents had driven out of state to look for her. They crashed on the highway. I was completely numb during that period. When I got the call, I didn’t even know how to react. Later, I was the one who handled their funeral and sorted through their things, thinking that if Chloe ever came back, at least she’d have something left of them. But she never came back. “So, the only legal contact we can find right now is you,” Officer Miller said. “We need you to come to the morgue, identify the body, and sign the release papers.” I opened my mouth, trying to say something, but the words died in my throat. “She’s sleeping in my bedroom right now,” I said, pointing toward the hallway of my apartment. “If you don’t believe me, I can go call her out right now.” I stood up immediately and walked toward the bedroom. I knew I was walking too fast, even stumbling a little, but I didn’t care. I pushed the bedroom door open. The bed was empty.

The blanket was tossed to one side, as if someone had just gotten up. I walked over and touched the sheets. They were cold. “Chloe?” I called out, my voice quiet, as if I was afraid of waking someone. No response. I called her name again, louder this time. Still, silence. I turned and checked the bathroom. Empty. The kitchen. Empty. The balcony. Empty. My apartment was tiny—barely six hundred square feet. You could see the whole place in one glance. I stood in the middle of the living room, looking at the two officers who had followed me in. Seeing the expressions on their faces, I suddenly felt like an absolute idiot. “She… she probably went out to buy some groceries,” I muttered. Officer Miller didn’t say anything. He just watched me. I looked down at the coffee table. Last night, I had brewed a hot remedy for Chloe. It was a dark, bitter liquid. She had only drank half of it, complaining it was too bitter, and left the rest on the table. I had told her she could finish it tomorrow, that I’d make her a fresh batch. Now, the mug was gone. No, it wasn’t just the mug. I suddenly realized that all the medical supplies I’d been using—the ointment jars, the gauze, the antiseptic, the cotton swabs—which had been piled messily next to the coffee table, were gone. Chloe’s wounds needed daily dressing. Every time I changed her bandages, I would put the blood-stained gauze into a trash bag by the door, planning to take it down later. Now, everything was gone. The coffee table was completely clean. The half-empty mug was gone, the gauze was gone, the medicine jars were gone. This wasn’t right. None of this made sense. I stood there, my head buzzing. Something dark was clawing its way up my throat, but I forced myself to swallow it down. Officer Miller walked up to me and put a hand on my shoulder. “Lucas, are you okay?” “She came back,” I said, turning to look at him, emphasizing every single word. “She really came back. Last Wednesday night, she knocked on my door. She was covered in cuts, her face was bloody, and I barely recognized her. She told me she had been kidnapped and trafficked to a sweatshop, and she’d been running for three years to escape. I cooked for her, bandaged her wounds, and took care of her for seven days. I didn’t dream this. I didn’t make this up. She was here.” Officer Miller was silent for a moment. “Then why didn’t you call the police?” I froze. Why didn’t I call the police? Because Chloe begged me not to. “She said…” I tried desperately to recall that night. “She said the people running the sweatshop had powerful connections. She said the police wouldn’t help and would just send her back. She told me she wanted to lay low for a while until things blew over. She said having me was enough, that she didn’t want anyone else to know.” Officer Miller looked at me, his eyes filled with something I couldn’t quite read. “During these seven days, did anyone else see her?” I thought about it. “No. She never left the apartment. Other than running down to get groceries and medicine, I was with her the entire time.” “What about security cameras? Did the cameras at your building entrance catch her?” “My building is old. The security cameras have been broken for years. Management never fixed them.” Officer Miller nodded slowly but didn’t say anything else. The younger officer beside him whispered, “Sir, this is getting a bit too…” Officer Miller raised a hand to silence him. “Lucas, come back to the station with us first. Identify the body.”

His voice softened slightly. “We’ll figure out the rest later.” I looked at him, then at the empty coffee table, and finally nodded. All the way to the station in the back of the police cruiser, my mind was racing, trying to figure out where things had gone wrong. The night Chloe came back was last Wednesday. I remembered it clearly because I had worked late that night. I had grabbed a cup of instant ramen from the convenience store downstairs, thinking I’d just have a quick dinner. As I walked up to my building entrance, I saw a shadow slumped against the wall. I startled, instinctively taking a step back. The shadow moved, and a voice, raspy and incredibly hoarse, called out, “Lucas.” It was Chloe. I froze on the spot. The cup of ramen dropped from my hands, rolling on the concrete before stopping at her feet. She took two steps forward, and only then did the dim streetlamp illuminate her face. She was covered in bruises. Her lip was split, her eyes were swollen almost shut, and her clothes were completely tattered, revealing arms covered in layers of old and fresh scars. She limped heavily, as if one of her legs was badly injured. “Chloe?” my voice shook. She nodded. I rushed over, wanting to hold her, but I didn’t even know where to touch. She was so battered I was terrified of hurting her more. In the end, I just stood there, tears streaming down my face. “How did you…” I couldn’t even finish the sentence. She looked at me, and through her swollen eyelids, I saw tears glistening. “Lucas, I escaped,” she whispered. I didn’t remember much of what happened next. I just remembered helping her upstairs, setting her down on the sofa, and frantically searching for the first-aid kit. Her injuries were far worse than they looked. Her back was covered in whip scars—some had scabbed over, others were still oozing blood. Her feet were covered in blisters that had popped and healed over and over again, leaving thick calluses. I cried the entire time I applied antiseptic to her wounds. She remained incredibly quiet, only letting out a sharp gasp when it stung, never screaming. Once I finished bandaging her, she leaned back against the sofa, looked at me, and suddenly said, “Lucas, don’t call the cops.” I blinked. “Why?” “The owner of that place has people in high places. Going to the police is useless.” “I saw a girl try to call them once. They just brought her back and beat her twice as hard.” “But we can’t just—” “Lucas.” She grabbed my hand. “Just let me catch my breath first, okay? I’ve been running for three years. I just want a few quiet days with you.” Looking into her eyes, I couldn’t say no. I nodded. For the next week, I took some paid time off and didn’t leave her side. Because she was so badly hurt, she spent most of her time lying down. I made her soup, brewed herbal remedies, cooked, and helped her clean up. She didn’t speak much. Whenever I asked about the sweatshop, she’d just shake her head and say she didn’t want to talk about it. When I asked how she survived those three years, she simply said, “By thinking of you.” Once, while I was brewing some herbal tea for her, she watched me from the kitchen doorway and suddenly said, “You still have the same habit. Bring it to a boil on high heat first, then let it simmer on low.” I smiled. “How did you know?” “You used to make it for me.” “Remember that time I had a terrible cold? You insisted on brewing this fancy herbal remedy. You spent four hours on it, and in the end, it was so bitter I couldn’t even swallow a sip.” Now, sitting in the back of the police car, looking at the streetlights flashing past the window, I desperately replayed every detail of this past week. Her words, her gestures, the way she looked at me. Everything was so normal. She remembered my favorite foods, the places we used to go to, every little promise I had made. Once, I casually mentioned a stray cat we used to feed that eventually got lost, and how I had cried for days over it. She said, “Yeah, it was a ginger cat named Butterscotch. You searched the whole neighborhood for two weeks after he disappeared.” If this person wasn’t the real Chloe, how could she possibly know all these intimate details?

But then… The car stopped in front of the police department. Officer Miller opened the door and looked at me. “We’re here.” The identification process went much faster than I had anticipated. I was led into a cold, sterile room. There was a metal table in the center covered with a white sheet. An assistant walked over and gently pulled back the top half of the sheet. I saw the face. It was clean. The bruises were gone, the dried blood was gone. There was only grayish-white skin and closed eyes. But the features were unmistakably Chloe’s. The brow, the nose, the shape of her jaw—it was all her. I stood there, a cold sweat breaking out across my back. This was Chloe. No, this wasn’t Chloe. Two conflicting voices screamed in my head, tearing at my sanity until I couldn’t tell what was real anymore. “Lucas?” someone whispered beside me. I turned and saw Officer Miller looking at me with a worried expression. “Can you confirm if this is Chloe Vance?” I stepped closer to the table, staring at the face for a long time. Then, I reached out, took the corpse’s left wrist, and flipped it over. There should have been a scar. Chloe had a very deep scar on her left wrist, from a suicide attempt back in high school. She had told me she was severely depressed back then and wanted to end it all. She was saved, but the scar remained. When we were together, I used to gently run my thumb over that scar, asking if it still hurt. She’d smile and say it didn’t hurt anymore, it just looked a bit ugly. But on this wrist, there was nothing. The skin was smooth, pale, and completely unblemished. Not even a faint line. I whipped my head around to look at Officer Miller. “This isn’t Chloe.” Officer Miller stepped forward, glanced at the wrist, and then looked back at me. “Are you sure?” “Chloe has a deep scar on her left wrist.” “It’s very prominent. This person doesn’t have it.” Officer Miller was silent for a few seconds. He pulled out the DNA report and looked at it again. “But the DNA matches.” He handed the report to me. “See for yourself.” I took the paper, my eyes locking onto the bold letters at the bottom. *DNA match probability with Chloe Vance’s parents’ reference samples: 99.97%.* My hands began to shake violently. “This is impossible.” I looked up at him. “If this body is Chloe, then who the hell was staying in my apartment this past week?” Officer Miller stared at me, speechless. “She came back,” my voice cracked. “For seven days, she was with me. I cooked for her, I bandaged her. She called me Lucas. She remembered everything about us. If this is Chloe, then who is she?!” “Lucas, you need to calm down.” “How can I calm down?!” I snapped, interrupting him. “The DNA matches, which means this body is Chloe. But Chloe has a scar on her wrist, and this body doesn’t! It makes no sense!” Officer Miller frowned, looking back at the corpse’s wrist. “Is it possible you misremembered? Maybe the scar wasn’t that deep, or it faded over time?” “I would never forget that scar,” I said, glaring at him. “I touched it a thousand times. It runs from left to right, about two inches long, and the middle is slightly raised and lighter than the surrounding skin. I could draw it with my eyes closed.” Officer Miller remained silent for a moment before turning to the medical examiner standing nearby. “Can you explain this?” The medical examiner walked over, examined the left wrist closely, and then checked the right one. “There is indeed no scar tissue here,” she said. “But DNA doesn’t lie. Unless…”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “443257”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

At the NHL end-of-season gala, the highlight of the night was an improv game. Players and their dates drew random prompts to act out. I was the secret girlfriend of the team’s star,Ethan Campbell. And also a student living in the practice rooms at Juilliard. Fittingly,I drew the prompt to play Ethan’s devoted girlfriend. Fueled by liquid courage, I poured out three years of bottled-up emotions into a heartfelt confession. He kept a poker face,and the room lost it. His teammates chirped: “Hey,Ethan,your acting is even worse than your save percentage!” The laughter felt like an actual slap. My cheeks burned with humiliation. In the next round,Ethan drew Hailey—the sports influencer tied to his name on every gossip blog. One look between them was all it took to spark undeniable chemistry. They improvised a steamy tango. It ended with a deep kiss straight off a Sports Illustrated cover. The room erupted. Cheers practically blew the roof off the hotel. Of course,they won the grand prize—an exclusive seven-day ski getaway for two in Aspen. Ethan texted me: [Babe,it’s PR for the team.Playing to the crowd,you know? I had to take it.Otherwise she totally outshines me? We both need to cool off.] I locked my screen and dialed another number. On the other end of the line was a highly respected conductor in Europe. “Hi,Maestro. That Young Composer Fellowship you offered me… I’m in.” … “Maestro Julian,about the commission for the original symphony movement… I’ve made up my mind.” I stood on the balcony outside the banquet hall,keeping my voice low. The night breeze swept past,clearing my head. Maestro Julian sounded surprised. “Ava?Didn’t you say you were keeping your schedule clear to support your boyfriend during the playoffs?” I looked at the luxurious lights and rowdy silhouettes spilling through the crack in the banquet hall doors. Letting out a bitter smile,I answered. “That won’t be necessary,Maestro.” “I finally figured out my priorities. Next Monday at 10 AM,I’ll be at your studio for the first rehearsal.” Maestro Julian’s voice filled with admiration and excitement. “Wonderful.I knew you had your head on straight. The emotional depth and inner strength that piece requires… I can’t think of another young talent who can do it justice.” “See you next week,then. I’ll have my assistant email you the final score.” I hung up the phone and took a deep breath. Deafening cheers bled through the heavy doors,crashing into my ears. “Kiss her!Kiss her!”

The chant was familiar,yet grating. I pushed open the doors. A wave of heat hit me,thick with the scent of perfume and alcohol. Ethan was standing right in the middle,surrounded by a swarm of teammates and the press. A glass of champagne in hand,his custom suit unbuttoned at the collar, he looked down at Hailey with a smoldering gaze. Hailey’s face was flushed. Playing the part of a startled doe,she nestled coyly against his chest. “Oh,you guys,stop.Ethan has a girlfriend,remember?” Her voice was sickeningly sweet,dripping with phony fragility. Someone in the crowd quickly chimed in. “Who cares about a girlfriend? An athlete’s love life changes faster than the weather.” “For real.Watching Ava and Ethan earlier was so cringe it physically hurt.” “Hailey and Ethan are the ones with real sparks. That kiss?Goal of the Year!” I stood by the doors,watching this pathetic little circus play out. At the mention of my name,Ethan’s jaw tightened. But he didn’t push Hailey away. Instead,he slipped his arm around her shoulder. “Knock it off,guys.Ava and I are just friends.” His tone was flat—like he was announcing a minor roster change. “It was just a game.Don’t read into it.”

I looked at the face I was madly in love with, and suddenly,he felt like a stranger. Three years. We had been together for three whole years. To protect his image as hockey’s’most eligible bachelor,’ I willingly stayed in the shadows. I threw away countless recitals and competitions, only to be the one waiting outside the locker room after his games. And now,in front of everyone, he erased three years with two words:”just friends.” Hailey peeked out from his chest,her eyes locking onto me by the doors. Grabbing two drinks,she strutted over like a runway model,her hips swaying with every step. “Ava,why are you standing by the door?Come join the fun.” She held out one of the glasses to me,flashing an innocent smile. “Don’t take that little game earlier too personally.” “I’ve always been a guy’s girl.Ethan and I are basically bros.” “You’re not going to be mad at him over a silly game,right?” The second the words left her mouth,the rowdy banquet hall fell silent. Everyone’s eyes darted back and forth between us, waiting to watch his”secret girlfriend”become the punchline of the night. I didn’t take the drink. I took in her carefully crafted’natural’look,keeping my voice deadpan. “If it’s just a game,why would I be mad?”

Hailey’s hand froze in mid-air,her innocent smile faltering. Ethan strode over,snatched the glass from her hand,and slammed it onto the table. “Ava Thorne,what’s with the sour face?” His voice wasn’t loud,but it carried the heavy,dull thud of a puck smashing against the boards. “Hailey was nice enough to offer you a drink.What’s your problem?” I looked up at him. “I’m allergic to alcohol.Since when is that news to you?” Ethan stiffened. A flash of panic crossed his eyes,but it was quickly masked by impatience. “So just take a small sip.Is one drop going to kill you?” “You always act so high and mighty,even here. No wonder you’re still a nobody at Juilliard.” He humiliated me in front of the whole room. A few muffled snickers rippled through the crowd. The team’s PR manager,Max,stepped up and tugged at my sleeve. “Ava,don’t be difficult. Ethan is the face of the franchise now. He’s the future of the league. Don’t make a scene and ruin this for him.” Max was also Ethan’s agent. In this industry,the superstar makes the rules. I looked at Max’s kiss-ass expression,then at Ethan’s self-righteous glare. The whole thing felt pointless. “Max is right.I shouldn’t make a scene.” I took a step back,putting some distance between us. “It’s getting late.I have an early class tomorrow,so I’m heading out.” Ethan’s face darkened. “Ava Thorne,if you walk out that door tonight,don’t ever come crawling back to me.” He was used to threatening me with that condescending tone. Because he knew how much I cared about him. Every time we fought,I was always the one who caved. But this time,he was dead wrong. I looked at him,a faint smile touching my lips. “Ethan,I hope you two have fun in Aspen.”

“What the hell was your problem last night? You couldn’t even take a drink from Hailey?” Early the next morning,Ethan’s voice came through the phone,rough with a hangover. I shoved a few everyday outfits into a suitcase,without missing a beat. “I told you.I’m allergic to alcohol.” Ethan scoffed. “Stop using your allergy as an excuse. You’re just jealous Hailey gets to go to Aspen with me.” “Ava,since when did you become so petty?” I zipped the suitcase shut and stood it up in the corner. “Ethan,if you called only to lecture me,you can hang up now.” The line went silent for a second. Ethan hadn’t expected that tone from me. “Are you out of your mind? Don’t you dare talk to me like that.” His voice spiked,sharp with anger. “Listen to me.I am going to Aspen. It’s a brand trip,and I need it for my image.” “Stay home and behave. And no passive-aggressive crap online.” I looked out the window at the dreary New York sky. “Don’t worry.I don’t have time for that.” I hung up the phone,grabbed my suitcase, and walked out of the apartment we had shared for the last three years.

A week later,I arrived on time at Maestro Julian’s studio—the mecca of classical music in Europe. The Maestro pushed a thick score across the table,his eyes filled with admiration. “Ava,I spent three years conceptualizing this symphony. The protagonist is a woman who rises like a phoenix from the ashes of despair.” “I’ve looked at your past student pieces. Your technique may still be raw,but your melodies have soul.” I carefully took the score. “Thank you for believing in me,Maestro. I won’t let you down.” The rehearsal was flawless,and Maestro Julian was thrilled with my performance. After I signed the NDA,I got a call from Max. “Ava,get back to the New York office right now. We’re having a quick meeting.” Max’s tone left no room for argument. By the time I rushed back to the agency’s office, Ethan and Hailey were already sitting in the conference room. Hailey was busy showing off her new manicure. Ethan was looking down at his phone,a smirk playing on his lips. Seeing me walk in,Max tapped on the table. “Now that everyone’s here,I have two things to announce.” “First,the agency just landed Hailey a global endorsement deal with a premium sports brand. This is her first major contract,and I need everyone to get behind the rollout.” Hailey looked up and flashed me a sweet smile. “Thanks,Max.And thank you,Ethan,for pulling strings for me.” Ethan didn’t even look up,his tone casual. “It’s nothing.You deserve the best.” I found a corner seat and sat down,my face blank. Max shot me a look and kept going. “Second thing. Ava,that composing gig you booked for the local team’s promo video? Hand it over to Hailey’s musician friend.” My head snapped up,my eyes locking onto Max. I had hustled for two weeks just to land that composing gig. The pay wasn’t much,but it was a great opportunity to build my resume. “Why?” I stared at Max,my voice ice-cold.

Max frowned,annoyed that I had even asked. “Hailey thinks her friend’s style is a better fit. The sound is more…commercial.More pop.” “Plus,the target audience for this promo is young. They need an explosive beat.Your classical stuff is too dull.” I turned to Ethan. “Is this your call,too?” Ethan finally put his phone down,shooting me an impatient glare. “Ava,your music is bland.It has zero hook.” “They want a track people can jump to. Not some lullaby that puts people to sleep in a concert hall.” “It’s just a stupid promo video. Do you really need to be this petty over it?” Hailey bit her lip,playing the victim. “Ava,if you really can’t bear to let it go,we can forget about it.” “I thought it was a huge opportunity for my friend. I only wanted to help him out.” “Ethan,please don’t fight with Ava over me.” Ethan softened his voice,patting Hailey’s hand to comfort her. “Just ignore her.She always has this nasty attitude. She can’t stand to see other people win.” He turned back to me with a warning look. “The decision is final. You don’t have anything important going on anyway,so focus on your classes.” I watched them put on their little tag-team routine,finding the whole thing laughable. For three years,it was always like this. Claiming it was”for my own good,” he constantly belittled my craft and my dreams,keeping me trapped in his shadow. All while taking my sacrifices for granted. I stood up and smoothed out my clothes. “Fine.You can have the gig.” Ethan’s face relaxed into a smug,”know your place”look. “Glad you’re finally being reasonable.” I looked at him,my voice steady. “Ethan,I hope you don’t regret this.” With that,I ignored his stunned expression and walked out of the conference room.

“Did you catch Hailey’s new IG post? The snow in Aspen is stunning. Ethan totally spoils her.” In the break room,two interns were huddled together,whispering. As I walked over with my coffee mug,they clammed up,scattering in awkward silence. Back at my desk,I unlocked my phone. Hailey had just dropped a massive photo dump on IG. It featured a luxury ski chalet, a candlelit dinner by the fireplace, and two hands intertwined—wearing matching ski gloves. The caption read: [Sun,snow,and a man who truly gets me.] Ethan had liked the post and dropped a heart emoji in the comments. She hid the post from my main account. I knew because the team manager and several execs had already liked it. They thought I was blocked. But my academic alt account still followed her. Face blank,I swiped past her post and went back to reading the score revisions from Maestro Julian. My phone buzzed.It was a text from Ethan. [Left in a rush.Buster needs feeding.Handle it.] No greeting.It was a command. I stared at the text,my finger hovering over the screen. Finally,I typed:[Okay]. We adopted Buster,a golden retriever from a local shelter,right after we started dating. I always saw that dog as the living proof of us.

That afternoon,I took a cab to Ethan’s apartment. I punched in the passcode and pushed the door open. The place was a wreck. Hailey’s scarf was tossed on the couch,and half-empty wine glasses sat on the coffee table. The air reeked of a strange,sickly-sweet perfume. I walked out to the balcony and refilled Buster’s food and water bowls. The dog nuzzled against my leg,letting out happy little whimpers. I crouched down and patted his head. Out of the corner of my eye,I spotted a gleaming metal object lying next to the dog bowl. I reached out and picked it up,wiping off the dog food crumbs. It was a white gold pendant,specially designed to blend the letter”A”for Ava with an eighth note. Our initials were engraved on the back. I had custom-ordered this matching set for our one-year anniversary, using the scholarship money I had worked so hard to earn. I never took mine off. But he claimed his got in the way on the ice,so he shoved it in a drawer. And now,here it was. Tossed aside like a piece of trash by the dog bowl,reduced to a chew toy. The sharp edge of the metal bit into my palm. I dialed Ethan’s number. It rang for a long time before he finally picked up. In the background,I could hear the roar of snowmobiles and Hailey squealing. “What do you want?I’m busy.” His voice dripped with annoyance. “Why is your pendant in the dog bowl?” I tried my best to keep my voice steady. The line went quiet for a second. Then Ethan replied,his voice completely indifferent. “Oh,you mean that thing.” “Hailey came over yesterday and thought that little trinket looked cute. Buster likes chasing shiny things,so she tossed it to him to play with.” “It’s just some cheap pendant. Do you really need to make such a big deal out of it? I’ll buy you a Cartier one when I get back to New York.” His tone was unapologetic—like I was the one being unreasonable. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Ethan,that was our anniversary pendant.”

“What’s the big deal about a matching pendant?” Ethan’s patience had officially hit zero. “Ava Thorne,can you stop being so damn petty for once?” “Hailey just doesn’t overthink things. She doesn’t play mind games. You’re the one taking everything so personally.” “If you’re going to keep being this unreasonable,we’re done talking.” With that,he hung up. Listening to the dead line,I let out a laugh. At my own stupidity. At three years of wasted devotion. I threw the pendant into the trash. In the bedroom,I pulled out a large duffel bag. My toothbrush,a towel,a few changes of clothes—the last of my things went straight inside. I moved fast.No hesitation. After all is done,I took one last look at the apartment. This place used to hold every fantasy I had for our future. Now,there was nothing left but a pathetic mess. I closed the door and chucked my keys into the fire hose cabinet out in the hallway. My phone buzzed again. Another text from Ethan. [My birthday is the day after tomorrow. I’m throwing a party at the Four Seasons penthouse. Be there on time.] [Drop the attitude. Dress to impress,and don’t embarrass me.] I stared at the words on the screen and typed. [Okay.] There was no need for a Cartier. Because trash belongs in the garbage.

“My birthday party is tonight at the Four Seasons. You need to be there,and drop the attitude.” That was the first voice message Ethan sent me after he got back to New York. Arrogant as ever,treating the invite like charity. Wearing a plain black cashmere coat, I pushed open the heavy doors to the Four Seasons penthouse at eight. The room was ablaze with crystal chandeliers and buzzing with loud chatter. Ethan sat at the center in a custom suit,basking in the glory,surrounded by A-listers and the press. Hailey sat beside him,flashing a flawless smile. The second I walked in,the air in the penthouse froze. All eyes landed on me. Or more accurately—on Hailey. She was wearing an Elie Saab haute couture gown. The dress was encrusted with diamonds,shimmering under the lights. I recognized that dress. Two years ago,Ethan had pointed to the cover of a fashion magazine and sworn that once he won his first MVP,he would buy that gown as my engagement gift. He told me that a starry sky like that was the only thing worthy of the music I played. And now,that starry sky was draped over another woman. “Ava,you made it!” Hailey stood up,lifted her skirt,and strutted over to me,doing a graceful little twirl. “Do you like the gown?Ethan had it flown in from Paris.” “He said my vibe is perfect for this kind of glamorous look.” Her smile was innocent,but her eyes gleamed with undeniable smugness. I looked at her,my expression unchanged. “It really suits you.”

Ethan leaned back in his chair,his brow furrowing at my unfazed expression. “Ava Thorne,didn’t I tell you to dress to impress? Who are you wearing that funeral getup for?” His voice cut through the quiet room. Whispers broke out. “Seriously.It’s Ethan’s birthday,and she shows up looking like that? What a total buzzkill.” “She’s definitely doing this on purpose just to ruin the vibe.” “Being the official girlfriend looks miserable. She doesn’t even own a decent dress.” I ignored the sneers,walked straight to the bar,and poured myself a glass of club soda. “This is all I have.If I’m such an embarrassment,you shouldn’t have invited me.” Ethan shot up from his seat,his face livid. “What’s your problem? I was nice enough to invite you to celebrate, and you have to ruin it for everyone,don’t you?” Hailey quickly grabbed Ethan’s arm,giving it a gentle tug. “Ethan,please don’t be mad. Ava’s probably just in a bad mood because she’s struggling with her classes.” “Let me offer Ava a toast to smooth things over.” With that,she picked up a glass of red wine and walked over to me. As she was about to drink,she suddenly stumbled. The entire glass of red wine splashed onto her starry-blue couture gown. The dark red liquid bled into the expensive fabric,leaving a shocking stain. “Ah!” Hailey shrieked,tears springing to her eyes. “My dress!”

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It was our bonding ceremony,witnessed by the Moon Goddess. I had just fixed my laurel wreath.But my fiancé,the Alpha,Kyle,was gone. My mother was a pack elder. She came to me with red eyes and told me: “Kyle went to the Sacred Stone Altar in the east… The Alpha of the Cliffrock Pack abandoned Elara at their ceremony. Kyle went to finish the ritual for him.” Elara.The she-wolf who supposedly shared a fated bond with Kyle. She had been missing for years and was recently found. Of all days,she chose today to hold her bonding ceremony at the Cliffrock Pack. My mind went totally blank.I sprinted toward the Sacred Stone Altar. I peered through cracks in the ancient stone pillars. I saw Kyle. He gazed tenderly at Elara,holding the moonlight stone that sealed their vows. His eyes softened as he looked at Elara.”I do.” Those were the vows meant for me. I pushed past the guards. I demanded to know who he was actually bonding with today. He showed no panic. Right in front of both packs,he spoke with calm confidence. “Selene,don’t get mad.Let me explain.” “Elara almost had a mental breakdown just now. If she is left alone on the altar today,her wolf soul will shatter.” “The ceremony was already rehearsed—and flawless. Once I’m done here,I will come right back. We will finish our final moon kiss then,okay?” I looked at the two of them on the altar. They were gazing into each other’s eyes,radiating the scent of true mates. And suddenly,I couldn’t help but laugh. My seven years of support and companionship meant nothing. Less than a single tear from his fated mate. I tore the laurel wreath from my head. It was the symbol of Luna’s power. I tossed it into the dead ashes beside the altar. I’d rather have nothing at all than this…. “Selene,what are you doing?” Kyle’s voice echoed through the pack’s mind-link,bouncing off the empty altar walls. I stared at the holy leaves in the ashes. I didn’t look back. Up on the platform,Elara flinched. She tugged at the hem of Kyle’s suit. Kyle patted the back of her hand. He stepped down from the platform and stopped in front of me. “Today is witnessed by the moon goddess.Do you really have to make things so ugly?” “This is just a formality.Our rehearsal was perfect.What more do you want?” I looked at his expectant face. I had loved that face for seven years. Right now,it looked so foreign it made me sick. “Kyle,the ceremony ends here.” My tone was calm. His eyebrows locked together. He seemed annoyed that I was challenging his Alpha authority. “I will still pay for our pack’s celebration. Let the pack members enjoy the feast first. I won’t make things difficult for you.” “But I have to stay here to help Elara calm down. I’m here to keep her steady.” “Go back to the den and cool off. Don’t cause a scene here.You’ll make us a joke in front of both packs.” He reached out to touch my forehead. I turned away,dodging his touch. His hand froze in midair.His eyes darkened. “Selene,enough.”

I didn’t look at him again. I turned and walked deep into the forest. “That’s right.Go back and rest. Tomorrow I’ll bring you the freshest deer heart from the Blood Moon Forest.” His voice softened again.Like landing a punch,then smoothly holding out a piece of candy. I walked into the freezing forest.The cold wind bit at the back of my neck. I took out my communication crystal. I pulled up our appointment at the Elders’Council—the one to register our mate bond. I canceled it.Without a word. I went back to the Alpha packhouse.We had lived there for five years. I pushed open the door. A brand-new pair of snow fox fur boots gleamed in the entryway. Elara had arrived two days ago as a guest. She complained the stone floor was too cold for her feet. Kyle sent his men to hunt a snow fox just for her. My old gray wolf fur boots—three years worn—had been kicked into a corner. I didn’t change my shoes.I walked straight in,heels clicking against the stone. Let them hear me. Two ferry tickets to the Isle of Eternity lay on the stone table in the living room. Our planned retreat—meant to strengthen our mate bond. I picked them up. Kyle had used enchanted ink to overwrite the names—replacing mine with Elara’s. He’d told me about it yesterday. Elara had just escaped a nightmare of a past.Her wolf was unstable.She needed an island to recover. “Selene,we can go on our honeymoon anytime. Elara’s wolf is unstable.I need to be with her.”

How did I answer him? My eyes were probably red. I asked him what I meant to him. He sighed and pulled me into his arms. “You are my future Luna. She is just a sick little sister who needs care.” “How can you be jealous of a patient?” I took a deep breath. I tore the tickets to pieces and threw them into the fireplace. I walked into the bedroom. I pulled out my largest suitcase. No hysteria.No tears.I was perfectly calm. I packed the things that belonged to me,one by one. A set of men’s light combat armor hung at the back of the closet. It was the year Kyle became Alpha. I leveraged my status as a Moon Priestess. I begged the elders for three months to get this protective light armor for him. His eyes had turned red with emotion back then. He promised he’d wear it forever.But now,the armor reeked of Elara’s sickly sweet pheromones. I took the armor down. He had also given me wolf fang pendants as symbols of his cheap love. I tossed the armor and pendants into a trash bag. My communication crystal pulsed with light,interrupting my packing. It was a mind-link message from Kyle. “Elara drank a healing potion and fell asleep. I’m staying at the Sacred Stone Altar with her tonight.I’m not coming back.” “Change the bedding in the master bedroom. I’ll bring her back tomorrow.She likes it clean.” I stared at those two lines for a long time. I didn’t reply.I closed the message and contacted a broker about a territory trade. “Mr.Grey,I inherited a woodland with a Moon Spring from my mother. It belongs to me.I need to sell it fast.I’m willing to drop the price by 30 percent. If the buyers are from neighboring packs,it should be a hot sale.” I hit send and placed the crystal face down on the table. The sky was gradually turning bright. I zipped up my suitcase,the zipper clicking crisply.

It was broad daylight when Kyle pushed the door open. Elara followed closely behind him,looking pale. She was still wearing her ceremonial dress from last night,draped in Kyle’s Alpha cloak. Seeing me on the sofa,Elara flinched and shrank back,hiding behind Kyle. “Selene…I’m so sorry.I was too selfish last night,keeping your Alpha all to myself.” Her voice was fragile,her eyes red and puffy. Kyle patted her shoulder comfortingly. When he turned to look at me,his brows furrowed. “You’re up early.Did you change the sheets?” I stared at his entitled,matter-of-fact expression and pointed toward the master bedroom. “I did.” His expression softened.He placed a leather pouch on the stone table. “I brought you a deer heart from the Blood Moon Forest.It’s still warm.” His tone held a hint of condescending placation. “Don’t be mad.Elara was emotionally unstable last night. I only stayed because I was worried something might happen to her wolf.” I didn’t even glance at the pouch. Kyle had forgotten—or never cared to remember—that my Moon Priestess blood violently rejected raw meat. It caused excruciating stomach cramps. Three years ago,I took one bite of the raw meat he brought back. I ended up writhing on the floor in agony,my spiritual energy nearly spiraling out of control. He’d been in a cold sweat back then,swearing he would never forget again.But now,he couldn’t even be bothered to make his apologies believable. “Kyle…”Elara bit her lower lip. “Is Selene still mad at me?Maybe I should just leave. I don’t want to ruin your relationship.” “Don’t be ridiculous,”Kyle said,grabbing her wrist. “This is your home too.You’re staying.” He turned to me,his tone sharpening. “Selene,Elara’s heart was shattered by that bastard. She’s going to stay here for a while.” “You’re the Luna.You need to look after her.” “And about yesterday—you throwing the laurel wreath at the altar really humiliated Elara.Apologize,and we can move on.”

I looked at him quietly.Seven years of love meant nothing compared to a single grievance from his”fated mate.” He actually believed I should apologize to the woman who ruined my bonding ceremony. “Alright.” I stood up and walked over to Elara. Elara jumped,instinctively stepping back. “S-Selene,you don’t have to do this.I don’t need an apology…” “I’m sorry.” I looked directly into her eyes,my tone completely void of emotion. Elara froze. Kyle did,too. He clearly hadn’t expected me to be so compliant. A flash of surprise crossed his expression,quickly replaced by a satisfied smile. “I knew it.You’ve always been so understanding,Selene.” He reached out to pull me into a half-hug,but I sidestepped.”I need to go to the Alliance Trade Council.I’m leaving.” I picked up the suitcase I had left by the entryway. Kyle stared at the silver suitcase,his brow furrowing again. “Why do you need luggage for the Council?” “There’s a cross-territory trade project.I need to travel,”I lied casually. “For how many days?Why haven’t you mentioned this to me?” Displeasure crept into his voice. “Probably…a long time.” I pushed the front door open. “Alright,well,be safe out there.” Kyle didn’t press the matter.He had already turned away to pour Elara a glass of water. “Here,Elara.The water is warm.Drink some.” His gentle voice drifted through the crack in the door. Without looking back,I closed it quietly behind me. I took one last look at the home I’d lived in for five years. Dragging my suitcase behind me,I walked right out of the pack’s territory.

The early winter wind bit into my face with icy fingers. I flagged down a carriage heading toward the human city. “To Central Hospital.” Last month’s test results had come back. The doctor wanted a follow-up today. It wasn’t serious—just severe nervous gastritis caused by burnout and chronic anxiety. Sitting in the backseat,I watched the scenery blur past the window. My communication crystal vibrated.A message from Kyle. “Why didn’t you make me breakfast before leaving for your trip? Elara has a weak stomach;she can’t eat the food from the main kitchen.” “Use your spiritual link to tell the chef to make her a mild meat porridge and bring it over.” Staring at the screen,I found it suddenly ridiculous. He knew Elara had a weak stomach, yet he had no idea I hadn’t slept a wink last night,writhing in pain. I didn’t reply. I simply severed my spiritual link with him. Closing my eyes,I leaned back against the seat,feeling the waves of cramps pulsing through my stomach.

The heavy scent of disinfectant hung in the hospital corridor. The doctor studied my follow-up report. “Miss Selene,your stomach ulcer is very severe. If you don’t eat regularly and manage your stress,you risk a perforation.” “I’ll prescribe you some medication. You need to rest and take care of yourself during this time.” I took the prescription slip and thanked him. Walking out of the hospital with my medicine, I passed a high-end custom dress boutique. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows,I spotted two familiar figures. Kyle was sitting on a sofa,flipping through a weapons magazine. Elara stood before the mirror in a mermaid-style gown adorned with moonstone fragments,slowly twirling,her face glowing with quiet delight. That was my dress. The ceremonial gown I had custom-ordered from the Elven Realm six months ago. It had only just arrived last week. The sizing was a bit loose. Kyle had offered to bring it in for alterations so I could wear it for the official ceremony. As it turned out,it was being adjusted to fit Elara. “Kyle,does it look good?” Elara lifted the hem of the dress,smiling shyly. Kyle looked up,his eyes full of undisguised amazement. “It’s beautiful.It suits you perfectly.” “But…this is Selene’s dress.Won’t she be upset if I wear it?” Elara bit her lip,looking conflicted.

Kyle set down the magazine and walked over to help her adjust the veil. “It’s just a dress.She’s away on a business trip.She won’t find out.” “Besides,the ceremony didn’t even happen yesterday. There’s no use keeping this dress anyway.” “If you like it,wear it. I’ll have the staff alter the measurements to yours right now.” I stood outside the glass window,watching this scene quietly. The cramping in my stomach grew more intense,but I didn’t even furrow my brow. I pushed the boutique door open,the wind chimes above ringing out a crisp melody. A staff member came forward to greet me,and Kyle turned his head at the sound. The moment he saw me,the smile froze on his face. Elara turned pale with fright,instinctively clutching the fabric at her chest. “S-Selene…what are you doing here?” Kyle quickly regained his composure and closed the distance between us in a few strides. “Weren’t you leaving for your trip?What are you doing near the hospital?” He glanced at the pharmacy bag in my hand,frowning slightly. “Are you sick?” “No,just picking up some medicine for a colleague.” I hid the bag behind my back. “Oh.” He didn’t question it.He glanced back at Elara,his tone turning somewhat unnatural. “Elara said she wanted to see what wearing a gown felt like,so I brought her to take a look.” “You’re not going to wear this dress anyway,so what’s the big deal if she borrows it?” His tone was defensive,as if he feared I might suddenly snatch the dress away. I looked at the dress stretching out of shape on her and nodded calmly. “Sure.She can keep it.”

Kyle froze,surprised I was being so agreeable. “You…really don’t mind?” “Someone else has been wearing it.I don’t want it anymore.” I walked to the front desk and tapped the counter. “Charge the remaining balance to this gentleman’s card.” The clerk reached for Kyle’s black card without a word. Kyle’s expression darkened. “Selene,do you have to be so hostile?” “Elara only tried it on.How is it dirty?” I ignored him,waiting for the clerk to hand me the receipt. “Kyle.I put down 150,000 gold on that dress.I want it back.” Kyle stared at me in disbelief. “Are you really going to nickel-and-dime me right now?” “We’re about to be bonded. What’s mine is yours—and you’re coming after 150,000 gold?” I looked at his face,slightly twisted with anger,and laughed. “Right.We’re about to be bonded.” “But you already completed the bonding ceremony with someone else last night,didn’t you?” Kyle’s breath caught,his gaze sliding away from mine. “I told you,it was a necessary compromise!How long are you going to keep throwing this in my face?” “I’m not.”I pulled out my crystal and brought up the transfer screen. “150,000 gold.Transfer it.”

Scowling,Kyle transferred the money. “Money.That’s all you care about anymore.” He scoffed,turning to pull a teary-eyed Elara close. I pocketed the crystal and walked out of the boutique—never once looking back. The winter sun held no warmth. I took a cab to the Territory Trading Center. Mr.Gray,the broker,was already waiting. “Miss Selene,I’ve secured the buyer.The Solar Pack. They’re paying in full,but the offer is way below market. Are you sure about this?That Moon Spring is everything to the pups of Blackwood Pack…” “Sell it.” I pressed my mark into the contract. This land had been saved with everything my mother left me—and his collateral—after his failed expansion.Both our names were on the deed. Now,I was selling my half for pennies to the rival Solar Pack. Paperwork finished,Mr.Gray looked at me,hesitating. “Miss Selene,does your Alpha know about this?Because once he finds out—” “Soon enough,”I said,with just the ghost of a smile.

In the afternoon,I went to the Alliance Chamber of Commerce and resigned. The President begged me to stay.I told him I needed a fresh start—nothing more. I packed up my things,picked up my box,and walked out. My crystal buzzed—a message from Kyle. “We’re gathering at the Howling Abyss tonight. The guys are throwing Elara a rebirth party—a fresh start,new chapter,all that.” “Come straight after work.And don’t make it weird—we’re all friends here.” “Oh,and Elara loves their Frostberry juice.Pick up two cups on your way.” I read it.Typed back one word:’Okay.’ At eight o’clock,I pushed open the door to the top VIP room at the Howling Abyss. The room was thick with smoke,the music rattling the walls. Kyle was sprawled in the center seat,Elara tucked into his side. Seeing me walk in,the room went quiet for a second. A few of Kyle’s usual Alpha crew exchanged smirks. “Well,well,our Luna is here.” “Look at that—she’s here tonight at her rival’s party.” Kyle frowned and snapped at them.”Cut it out.Selene’s not like that.” He waved me over. “Come sit.”

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Tomorrow is my wedding day. But tonight? I found Julian Thorne in bed with Ava Maxwell. Again. My billionaire fiancé. And my college bully. I pushed open the penthouse door. Julian didn’t even flinch. He just leaned back, lit a cigarette, and pulled Ava closer. “Yeah. We did it again.” Julian smirked. He blew out a cloud of smoke. His voice was almost cruel in its honesty. “What can I say, Nora? Old habits die hard.” “But don’t worry. You still get the ring. Tomorrow’s wedding is on.” He traced a finger down Ava’s spine. His cold eyes locked on me. “Think of it as a gift, Nora. Watching your Ivy League queen crawl into my bed and stay hidden — doesn’t that feel like sweet payback?” “Be a good girl. Get out. Tomorrow, you’ll still be my perfect bride.” From the bed, Ava shot me a smug, wicked smile. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I just smiled back. Turned on my heel and walked out. And gently clicked the door shut. Julian didn’t know the truth. I wasn’t here to catch him cheating. I came to the St. Regis for a thrill of my own — with tomorrow’s groom. … Five years. Julian and I were Wall Street’s power couple. He was cold. Ruthless. A total control freak. But once… he was actually good to me. At least… until Ava walked back into his life. Sophomore year at Columbia. Ava and her sorority girls cornered me. They ruined my dress. Shredded my final project. I was left freezing in the New York rain. Pathetic. Broken. Like a stray cat. Then came Julian. The Wharton prodigy. We only knew each other from a college investment competition. End of story. Yet he took off his expensive coat. Draped it over my shaking shoulders. He crouched down right there. Picked up my ruined papers, piece by piece. “Who did this?”

I didn’t say a word. He didn’t push it. Just turned and walked toward the girls still laughing nearby. I didn’t catch exactly what happened next. I only remember the smiles instantly dropping from their faces. Replaced by pure panic. Soon after, every anonymous post targeting me disappeared from the campus forum. Then, a hedge fund under the Maxwell empire was hit by an SEC probe, left reeling. The fallout left Ava’s father scrambling to contain the damage. And she was forced to lay low. It wasn’t until right before graduation that I learned the truth. Julian orchestrated the whole thing. He couldn’t tear down the Maxwell empire, but he knew exactly where to hit. A warning to Ava — she crossed the wrong person. The day he finally sought me out, he was waiting by the Columbia library steps. Hot latte in hand. That careless, expensive ease only someone like him could carry. “Heard you got the Goldman internship?” I nodded. A low hum. “So… would dating get in the way of your Wall Street career?” I froze. Something shifted in his expression — then came the smile. “Nora, let me take a shot at this. At us.” For a long time after, I thought that was the closest thing to redemption I’d ever known. In my most vulnerable moments, his voice was always there. “Don’t be afraid of them.” “I’ve got you.” That’s why, even as he got increasingly busy, his temper growing short, his texts turning into cold, clipped replies — I could never see him as the villain. At least… Until Ava came back.

Two years ago, Ava resurfaced in the New York social scene. By then, her name was already mud. After graduation, all her dirty laundry had been leaked. The bullying. The messy private life. Sent straight to the New York Post gossip column, complete with videos and chat logs. The Maxwell family moved quickly, but the damage was already done. They shipped her off to Europe to lay low. But the internet never forgets. When she came back, the Upper East Side parties didn’t worship her anymore. It probably didn’t take her long to trace the leak. To find out the original source was me. Strictly speaking, she wasn’t wronged. I was never a saint who repaid malice with kindness. Whatever she threw at me, I gave back ten times over. So, she hated me. But I never expected her to set her sights on Julian. The first time was at the Thorne Group’s anniversary gala. I arrived late because of a meeting. As soon as I walked in, I saw Ava. She was in a striking red gown, champagne flute in hand, standing right in front of Julian — a bright, almost innocent smile on her face. Julian looked entirely indifferent. He turned to his assistant. “Tell Legal to terminate all partnerships with the Maxwells.” Ava’s face stiffened. But she quickly recovered, asking softly, “Julian, are you taking this out on me for Nora?” Julian gave her a cold glance. “You already know the answer. Stay away from me.” I won’t deny it. In that moment, I felt relieved, even quietly, guiltily glad. After all these years, he still remembered. But later, things began to shift.

Ava pulled some strings. She managed to get hired by one of Thorne Group’s downstream partners. With constant workplace encounters, she always found a way to make her presence known. Deliberately delivering the wrong files, just to apologize with red-rimmed eyes. Sending him late-night messages in the group chat. “Long day, Julian. You okay?” Grabbing his drinks at business dinners, casually bringing up old college memories. At first, Julian genuinely didn’t care. He would even frown in front of me. “Is she psychotic?” I told him, “Just stay away from her.” He pulled me into his arms. Kissed my forehead. He sounded annoyed, but certain. Safe. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t touch her.” Back then, I really believed him. Until one day. I accidentally caught a glimpse of his phone lighting up. It was a message from Ava. I didn’t catch the content. But I saw the contact name plain as day. The cold, formal “Ava Maxwell” was gone. Replaced by a single letter. “A”. That night, I asked him. “Why did you change her contact name?” Julian was reviewing financial reports. He didn’t even look up. “Work purposes. Easier to find.” “Easy enough to need a single letter?” He finally looked up, his brows furrowing deeply. “Nora, why are you being so sensitive lately?” I froze. Because since Ava’s return, that was the first time he had spoken to me like that. Laced with accusation. “I just asked a question.” “And I just changed a name.” He slammed his phone face-down on the desk, visibly irritated. “Do you have to spin everything into the worst-case scenario? Is that fun for you?” “What is the worst-case scenario?” I stared at him. “Julian, can you honestly say nothing has changed between you two?” He fell silent for a second. Then, a cold scoff. “So what? How do you want me to prove it?” The argument ended in bitter silence. Later, he tried to coax me. Blamed his temper on the pressure of a recent merger. Told me to stop overthinking. I tried to convince myself. Maybe it really was just a contact name. But more often than not, a woman’s intuition is terrifyingly accurate.

Julian and Ava went on a business trip to Chicago. They were supposed to be back in three days. I FaceTimed him, but he didn’t pick up. A sudden, inexplicable panic gripped me. I booked the earliest flight to Chicago the next morning. At the Peninsula Hotel, the front desk refused to give out his room number. I had to call Julian’s assistant. Lied about an urgent contract left in his room. Just to get the information. The moment I swiped the keycard and pushed the door open… I saw men’s and women’s clothes scattered across the floor. Julian had just stepped out of the bathroom. His dark hair still wet. Only a towel wrapped around his waist. And on the bed… Ava. Wrapped in silk sheets, a snow-white shoulder exposed. She tilted her head to look at me. The smugness was plain to see. In that instant, the world went dead silent. Julian froze. The next second, he was walking quickly toward me. “Nora, let me explain—” I stared at him. My voice trembling uncontrollably. “Explain what?” “Something happened at the reception last night. I drank too much.” He reached out to touch me, but I dodged. His arm hung stiffly in the air. His tone was frantic, like never before. “When I woke up, she was just here. I swear…” “You swear what?” I looked at him, the tears finally breaking through. “Julian, do you think I’m an idiot?” Ava let out a light, mocking laugh. She spoke slowly, dragging out her words. “Julian, why try so hard to explain? Two consenting adults. A little alcohol. Isn’t it perfectly normal?” “Shut up!” Julian snapped his head back, his glare murderous. Ava shrugged. And said no more. Later, Julian chased me. He chased me all the way from the airport to my Manhattan apartment. He tried everything to beg for my forgiveness. He swore that night was truly an accident, promising to cut Ava off completely. I was the only woman he would ever want to marry, he insisted. To prove it, he even offered to take me to City Hall right then and there. Did I believe him? Not really. But in the end, I still nodded. Not because I still loved him enough to forgive the betrayal. But because right around that time… I had just found out Ethan Hayes was coming back to the States.

My phone buzzed. The screen lit up with a brief message. 1208. I turned around. Walked toward the other side of the elevator hall. I stopped in front of room 1208. Before I could even raise my hand, the door opened from the inside. The man looked down at me. His gaze lingered on my slightly red eyes for a second. Then he stepped aside. “Come in.” Only a single wall lamp was on. The lighting was dim, intimate. On the coffee table sat an open velvet box. Inside, resting quietly, was a men’s wedding band. I glanced at it. “For tomorrow?” I asked softly. “Yeah,” Ethan replied lightly. “Didn’t want to lose it. Just took it out to check the size.” He looked entirely calm. As if tomorrow we were attending an academic seminar, not our own wedding. Suddenly, a wave of irritation hit me. “Ethan, I just came from Julian’s room.” Ethan gave a faint “Hmm,” his expression unchanged. “He was with Ava,” I pressed on. “The second time. No, to be precise, the second time I’ve caught them with my own eyes.” “You already guessed it,” he said. “But guessing is one thing.” He looked at me, his voice low and steady. “Hearing it for yourself is another.” I managed a bitter smile. “You really do know me.” “Nora Hoffman.” He cut me off. “You didn’t come to me tonight to dissect your ex-boyfriend’s infidelity.” I looked up at him. He stood at the boundary between light and shadow. His features were clean and sharp. But his eyes were deep, unreadable — like looking into still water with no bottom. “You came to make one final confirmation. Whether or not you’re actually going to marry me tomorrow.”

The room was dead silent. I didn’t deny it. Because everything he said was right. After the Chicago incident, Julian did seem to behave. On the surface, at least. He kicked Ava out of all collaborative projects. Deleted her contact information. He even went house-hunting with me, finalized our wedding date. He practically wore “making it up to you” on his face. I almost believed he was really going to settle down. Until three months before the wedding. I found a lipstick in his car’s glove compartment. One that didn’t belong to me. The shade was a bold “Blood Rose.” And that exact night, Ava posted a selfie on Instagram. Wearing a bold red lip. The caption read: It’s always more fun when you have to fight for it. Julian started coming home late. Not just once or twice, but constantly. He never took a shower without his phone. Sometimes I’d wake up in the middle of the night. I’d see him standing on the balcony. A cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers. The moment I walked over, he would put it out. Brushing it off as a work call. If I asked too much, he got annoyed. “Nora, why are you so sensitive lately?” “I run a massive corporation every day. I can’t revolve my whole life around you.” “The wedding is right around the corner. What are you still so insecure about?”

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After seven years of marriage, I was his collateral for a debt, the ATM in my mother-in-law’s eyes. I had boiled all my love and hope into a bitter medicine made from my trampled dignity. Until forced kneeling in the chapel shattered my knee, until the call from my dying father was cut off without mercy— I finally saw clearly that the man who kept saying he loved me had never truly cared whether I lived or died. This debt settlement called marriage was due to end. Grace Gardner’s POV “Grace Gardner, this is your seventh year in the Foster family as collateral for a debt, isn’t it?” At the Christmas family dinner, Mrs. Foster placed an promissory note on the table in front of a full table of relatives, her eyes fixed on me. The once-lively long dining table fell silent in an instant. No one responded. One gaze after another stabbed toward me, sitting at the very end of the long dining table, as if they were watching a joke. Seven years ago, my biological father had pressed my finger down to sign and fingerprint, sending me into the Foster family like a piece of collateral. From that day on, in the Foster family, I was a debt first, and only then Mrs. Foster. Ever since then, at every Christmas family dinner, this promissory note would appear on the dining table right on time, becoming the blade Mrs. Foster used to humiliate me in public. I lowered my eyes, both hands clenching a piece of paper in my pocket. It was a bank statement, one I had found three days ago in an old box in the storage room. The transfer records from the past six years matched up, entry by entry. In the note field of the final transfer, one sentence was written in black and white—Loan Repaid in Full. The debt had been paid off long ago. The promissory note Mrs. Foster was holding was nothing more than a scrap of paper meant to disgust me. “Lost your voice? I asked you how many years are left.” Mrs. Foster pressed harder. I lifted my reddened eyes. I did not take out that bank statement. Instead, I cast a pleading look toward my husband, Zachary Foster, who was sitting in the head seat. Six years ago, also on Christmas, Mrs. Foster had called me a debt-repayment servant. Back then, Zachary had overturned the table in front of all the elders, eyes red as he pointed at everyone and roared, “She is the wife I married into this family, not a debt-repayment tool!” Those words became the only obsession that carried me through seven years of humiliation in the Foster family. Every time Mrs. Foster humiliated me with that promissory note, I desperately found excuses for him in my heart. Mother was an elder. It was hard for him to contradict her in public. He was too busy. The timing was wrong. He would definitely handle it privately… But today, the irrefutable evidence that the debt was paid was right in my pocket! As long as he was willing to say one word, even if it was only to shield me for a moment, Mrs. Foster would shut up. I stared at him, my eyes stinging. And yet Zachary only leaned against the back of his chair, his long fingers lazily turning a stemmed glass. Faced with my nearly pleading gaze, his expression did not change. He did not even lift his eyelids. A few seconds later, he unhurriedly picked up his coffee and took a sip. As if the woman being trampled underfoot and ground into the dirt in front of everyone was not his wife at all. Faint laughter rose around the table. Mrs. Foster sneered smugly. “A debtor with three years left unpaid thinks she’s qualified to sit here and vote? Mr. Walter, remove Grace Gardner from the family council roster.” This year, Mrs. Foster wanted to stomp me into the mud completely. My nails dug deep into my palms until they broke the skin. I did not argue back. Without a word, I endured it until the banquet ended, then stopped Zachary at the second-floor stairwell. “I have something to tell you.” My voice was trembling. Zachary lowered his head, scrolling on his phone, not even sparing me a glance from the corner of his eye. His tone was cold and impatient. “I’m tired today. Another time.” With that, he walked around me without the slightest mercy and went straight back to the study. Late that night, I sat alone in the cold bedroom. I smoothed out that crumpled bank statement bit by bit and spread it on the desk. Then I picked up a pen and wrote, stroke by stroke, in the blank space on page four: Debt Paid in Full. After a pause, I wrote another line: Zachary Foster was present and did not speak. The pen had just stopped when Zachary’s voice suddenly came from the hallway. The study door had not been fully closed. He was on the phone with a friend, his tone carrying a casual chuckle. “It’s not like you don’t know how my mother is. She’s old, so she likes dredging up old grievances. Every Christmas, it’s just going through the motions. Everyone laughs it off and moves on.” Whatever the person on the other end said, Zachary gave a dismissive scoff. “She can’t even take that little bit of grievance? There’s nothing worth being serious about. Let her be.” With a boom, all the blood in my body turned cold. The knuckles gripping the pen slowly went white. It felt as if a huge gash had been torn open in my chest, and freezing wind was howling straight in. So it wasn’t that he couldn’t protect me. It was only that, in this man’s heart, the humiliation I suffered and the dignity that had been ground to pieces were simply not worth him getting serious over. Plop. A tear fell onto the bank statement, blurring the writing. I raised my hand and wiped the tears away hard, my gaze cooling little by little.

Grace Gardner’s POV After wiping away my tears, I did not wait for Zachary to return to the bedroom like I usually did. Since this man could not be relied on, I could only rely on myself. That night, I sat under the cold desk lamp and went through the daily reimbursement records from my seven years in the Foster family all over again. The principal Mrs. Foster claimed could never be paid off had long since been settled in my bank statement. The so-called difference was a dead debt that the finance manager had forcibly squeezed out by cutting off the beginning and end of items I had already repaid, then piling on compound interest like they were sucking blood! Early the next morning, as expected, word came from the old family estate again, telling me to go over and reconcile the accounts. The finance manager held a tablet, his voice cold as he checked the accounts entry by entry. Mrs. Foster sat high and mighty on the main mahogany sofa, then slapped that photocopied fake promissory note down in front of me. “Take it back and look at it carefully! Look at exactly how much that father of yours still owes our Foster family!” I lowered my eyes and did not argue a single word. I picked up that photocopy, folded it, and put it into my pocket. And in that same pocket, pressed tightly beneath it, was the bank statement that showed the debt had already been paid in full. When I left the old family estate, I deliberately stopped Walter, the butler, and tentatively brought up the accounts. Walter paused for half a beat, his gaze contemptuous. “Mrs. Foster has the original promissory note in her hands. Naturally, what Mrs. Foster says is what counts. Besides, Mr. Foster is so busy. How would he have time to interfere with household accounts?” My heart could not have died any more thoroughly. Late at night, I hid in the cramped storage room. I tried calling to consult about a small loan, wanting to leave myself some escape money that would not go through the Foster family accounts. The customer service representative’s voice was cold and mechanical. “Ma’am, you have no proof of income. Your spouse would need to sign a consent form.” The hand holding my phone fell limply. A spouse’s signature? That would be the same as telling Zachary I was checking the accounts and preparing to run away! I stuffed the original bank statement and that photocopy of the fake promissory note into the most hidden compartment of an old suitcase, then covered them tightly with worn-out curtains. In this man-eating mansion, money, accounts, and status were all locks, one after another. But this time, the evidence belonged only to me.

Grace Gardner’s POV The night I hid the evidence, I lay awake in the darkness until dawn. I was clearly aware that if I wanted to escape this hellhole, evidence alone was not enough. I had to have money I could control myself. But this was an impossible dead end. Because in the Foster family, I did not even have the freedom to buy a packet of salt. Every month, all of my living expenses had to be attached to receipts, reviewed by the butler, and then reported to Mrs. Foster. Once, I took four extra bags of salt at the supermarket, and Mrs. Foster’s voice message smashed into my phone that same night like a death summons: “Why did you buy so much salt? Didn’t you just buy some last month? Mom isn’t trying to control you, but even if it’s only two dollars, as an outsider, you should still know your place.” If I wanted to break free from this humiliation, I had to go out and work. The next day, I went behind the Foster family’s backs and interviewed at a company. I passed both the written test and the interview, but when HR handed me the onboarding form and saw Zachary Foster’s name filled in under the spouse section, their expression changed immediately. “Ms. Gardner, I’m sorry. According to policy, because of your identity, you need Mr. Foster’s personal signature and consent before you can be employed.” I froze where I stood. I did not argue. I got up and left that building. The fluorescent lights in the corridor made my eyes sting. I did not even have the right to want independence. At dinner, Mrs. Foster was not there. For once, it was only Zachary and me. As if tossing me charity, Zachary said casually, “Next month, I’ll take you to the annex villa for two days. I’ll talk to my mother.” My motion of eating paused. Borrowing this last faint trace of warmth between husband and wife, I spoke hoarsely. “Zachary, if I want to go out and work in the future, do you think that would be okay?” Zachary put down his fork, his brows drawing together slightly. “This family doesn’t need the little bit of money you’d earn.” “I just feel that staying home every day…” “What?” He cut me off without mercy, his gaze filled with condescending scrutiny. “You don’t like your life now? Being Mrs. Foster is such a hardship for you?” One question nailed me straight onto the pillar of shame labeled ungrateful. Just as those words stabbed me so deeply that my whole body went cold, Mrs. Carter came over with a cold expression: “Mrs. Foster said that since Grace still hasn’t paid off her debt, she is to go to the chapel tonight and keep vigil overnight. She’s the eldest daughter-in-law of the Foster household. She is to kneel there and reflect properly!” Zachary was sitting on the living room sofa, the glow of his phone screen falling across his handsome face. He heard every word clearly. He knew perfectly well how hard the hardwood floor in the chapel was. He also knew perfectly well that I had a serious old injury in my knee, and that kneeling too long would leave me in unbearable agony. But he did not even raise his head. His finger even slid calmly across the screen again. I looked steadily at him, then forced one word out to Mrs. Carter: “Okay.” That night, I knelt on the chapel’s icy floor, the cold drilling from my knee into the cracks of my bones like knives. In the latter half of the night, when I tried to stand, my left leg could no longer straighten at all. I braced myself against the wall and dragged my body back to the bedroom step by step. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I clutched my knee, which hurt so badly it was spasming, and the last trace of light in my eyes went out completely.

Grace Gardner’s POV The excruciating pain tortured me for three days. During those three days, Zachary went out early and came home late as usual. He did not even ask one word of concern. And Mrs. Foster’s mental torment of me gave me no chance to breathe at all. Before the family’s month-end tea gathering, Walter, the butler, arrived at the annex villa right on schedule. “Mrs. Foster said there will be a meeting in the main hall in three days. All the women of the family are to attend.” Walter paused, his gaze mocking. “You only need to bring your ears.” I held on to the doorframe, my left knee still aching as if needles were stabbing into it. Only bring my ears meant depriving me of the right to speak. Like a servant, I was arranged at the very end of the long dining table, in the seat closest to the door. Mrs. Foster tapped the tabletop and raised her voice. “Starting this year, seats will be adjusted. Some people still have outstanding debts, so it is unsuitable for them to participate in internal family affairs!” The women around the table whispered among themselves, their contemptuous gazes sweeping toward me. I shot to my feet. Mrs. Foster immediately raised her hand and snapped sharply, “Today, you only brought your ears!” I did not sit down. I looked past the long dining table, straight at Zachary on the other side. Zachary sat there, his screen lit. With my own eyes, I watched his thumb swipe once, twice, three times. On the fourth time, he finally stopped. But he still did not raise his head to look at me even once. With a cold smile, Mrs. Foster had the butler remove the nameplate marking her as the Foster family’s eldest daughter-in-law in front of everyone. The metal plate struck the tabletop with a piercing, muffled thud. In the entire room, not a single person said even half a word for me. After the meeting ended, I stopped Zachary in the corridor and held that removed nameplate in my palm. “Your mother took down my nameplate in front of everyone.” My voice trembled slightly. Zachary only swept it a bland glance, his brows faintly furrowing. “Things like that are only formalities. Don’t take them too seriously.” “Formalities?” I stared at him. “Mother only wants to reassure the elders. Stop making a scene.” He lifted his hand, making the exact same impatient gesture Mrs. Foster had used just now to stop me. “Go back and rest.” I shut my mouth instantly. Back in the room, I opened the drawer. The photocopy claiming I owed a debt lay side by side with this nameplate symbolizing the Foster family’s eldest daughter-in-law. The two things were like two lies so disgusting they made me sick.

Grace Gardner’s POV I had thought that after the nameplate was removed, I would become completely invisible in the Foster family, and at least earn a moment of peace. But I had underestimated Mrs. Foster’s methods of tormenting people. Humiliation in the Foster family had always been a slow slicing, inch by inch. Before lunch on the day after the nameplate was taken down, eight people were seated in the small reception room. Mrs. Foster sat high in the head seat, with Zachary beside her. On the table lay the documents for the Foster Group Charitable Foundation’s spring allocation. In previous years, I had always personally signed for this fund and followed up on the process. “Starting this year, I will review this fund,” Mrs. Foster announced coldly. “For the household accounts, it is always more reassuring when an elder personally checks things over.” The butler handed the folder directly to Mrs. Foster. This year, my signature field was completely empty. But when the previous page was flipped open, my notes and signature from last year, earned through so much hard work, were still pressed beneath it. An elder from a side branch immediately smiled ingratiatingly. “With you personally managing it, of course it will be more reliable. it will prevent certain people with dirty hands from messing with it, the elder Mrs. Foster sighed hypocritically.” After Mrs. Foster signed, she sighed hypocritically. “I’m also helping Grace share the burden. That girl hasn’t had it easy.” Only then did Zachary finally deign to look at me across from him. “Mother is only afraid you’re too tired. Don’t take it to heart.” His voice was warm and gentle. Listening to those high-sounding words, I suddenly felt a wave of nausea. I finally saw through this man’s fixed, disgusting pattern— Using an old debt to humiliate me in public was called dredging up old grievances. Taking down my nameplate in public was called reassuring the elders. Stripping away my last bit of signing authority was called being afraid I was too tired. In Zachary’s mouth, every single flaying, tendon-stripping thing Mrs. Foster did to me could be whitewashed with a decent, affectionate reason! After lunch ended, I returned to my room. I pulled out a blank envelope and took out every out-of-pocket receipt and transportation invoice related to the charitable foundation from the past nearly three months, one by one, then placed them neatly inside. On the front of the envelope, I wrote today’s date with heavy strokes. At dusk, Zachary unusually came to my room carrying a box of expensive desserts and casually asked whether my knee was doing better. Without even looking at that box of desserts, I pushed the envelope full of out-of-pocket receipts directly in front of him. I said nothing. Zachary glanced at the date on the front of the envelope. He had no interest at all in opening it. I turned around and walked toward the kitchen to heat the herbal pack for my knee. The boiling water churned, and scalding steam rushed up, burning my fingers so sharply that they jerked back. That piercing pain in my left knee began to surge upward again, endless and unrelenting.

Grace Gardner’s POV That night, the scalding herbal pack ultimately failed to warm my ice-cold heart, and it also failed to ease the piercing pain in my knee. Yet first thing the next morning, Mrs. Foster issued a new order of torment. “Go to the chapel and recheck all the old ledgers and photocopies of promissory notes from the years of debt collection, one by one.” Walter, the butler, stood in the doorway, delivering the message from above. “Mrs. Foster said that since you are the Foster family’s eldest daughter-in-law, you should set a good example of repaying debts before God.” The chapel was bone-chillingly cold. There was only a low table, a cold cushion, and a table full of scattered account pages. Walter locked the heavy wooden door from the outside with a backhand motion. “You are not allowed to get up or drink water until you finish checking everything. Those are the rules.” The instant I knelt down, my left knee made a teeth-grating click. Agony swept through my entire body in an instant. I bit down hard on my lower lip, my face as pale as paper, yet I did not make a single sound. With trembling hands, I began checking the papers one by one. Those old files had no numbering at all, and the dates were completely out of order. The only thing that was perfectly clear was the record of Mrs. Foster’s humiliation of me over these seven years: public questioning, reprimands in the side hall, forced kneeling, compound interest… Half an hour later, Walter pushed the door open a crack and asked with a sneer, “Mrs. Foster asks, how many years are left on your debt?” My fingers turning the pages were already frozen stiff. Without raising my head, I said, “However many years she says are left.” Walter snorted coldly and slammed the door shut again. Time passed, minute by minute. The ache in my knee bloomed into a throbbing swell, burrowing deep within my bone tissue. I broke out in cold sweats and my vision blurred repeatedly. I attempted to shift my weight to ease the strain, yet I crumpled back to my knees after barely ten seconds. After that, my knee was not just in pain anymore. It had lost all feeling completely. When Walter pushed the door open again two hours later, I was digging my fingers hard into the floor tiles with both hands, trying to stand. But my left leg was like a useless piece of wood, dragging behind me without the slightest response. Walter frowned, took out his phone, and called Zachary Foster. He even deliberately put it on speaker. “Mr. Foster, Grace doesn’t seem to be able to stand up.” The other end of the line was quiet for two seconds. Then Zachary Foster’s careless, faintly irritated voice rang out clearly in the empty chapel. “Mother is just following the rules. It’s not like she physically punished her. Once she’s done checking the old files, it’ll be over. Tell her not to overthink things just because of a little pain and make everyone look bad.” The call was cut off without mercy. Half-sprawled on the cold floor tiles, I listened to that icy busy tone, and my tears finally fell silently onto the dust-covered floor. I did not cry out in pain again. I only reached out with a trembling hand and silently pulled over the next loose sheet. Two hours later, Walter half-dragged, half-pulled me into the hospital. The ER doctor looked at the scans, his brows tightly furrowed. Pointing at the lower edge of the patella, he said sternly, “What happened?! The old injury has worsened, and the cartilage wear is irreversible! From now on, this knee of yours can only be maintained through long-term rehabilitation. It will never fully return to normal!” The cartilage damage was permanent; full recovery would never be possible. I numbly took the medical record, my gaze fixed on the doctor’s signature and the date. After returning to the annex villa, I locked the door behind me and took out the real bank statement from the hidden compartment of my old leather suitcase. In the blank space beside the final paid-off record, my hand trembling, I wrote stroke by stroke with such force that the pen nearly cut through the paper: [March 7 of the sixth year, Debt Paid in Full. In the seventh year, I was forced to kneel until I was crippled.] [And he knew all of it.]

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I once thought loving someone enough to lay down my life for them was the purest, unbreakable love there was. Until, in the wind and snow, I heard the “late husband” I had tried to die for eight times carefully holding another woman in his arms while pretending to be someone else. He said, “Once I stabilize the situation, she’ll understand.” It hit me then—my wholehearted love was just an inconvenience he could put off sorting out for later. And so, I finally learned to live for myself. Bella Hayes POV To die for my husband, Evan Foster, who had “died” in a car accident, I almost jumped off the cliff edge at Snowridge for the eighth time. But only now did I realize that the kind of love I had been willing to throw my life away for was the biggest joke in the world! My husband, Evan Foster, who should have been burned to a charred corpse in that car accident, wasn’t dead at all. He was living under the identity of his half-brother, “Eric Foster,” carefully holding another pregnant woman in his arms. At that moment, wrapped in an emergency blanket, I stood stiffly outside the lounge at the rescue station, listening to the suppressed sobbing and angry scolding of Evan Foster’s mother, Anna Clark, coming from inside. “Evan! How much longer are you going to keep lying to her?! Bella Hayes climbed over the guardrail at the accident site eight whole times for you! Are you really going to watch her die for love, right in front of you?!” Inside the room, the man I had loved deeply for three years was silent for a long time. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse yet cruel. “Mom, the real Eric died saving me. Grace Carter is still carrying his child. She can’t handle the shock of her fiancé’s tragic death. Right now, I can only be Eric Foster.” “And what about Bella Hayes?! She’s your legally wedded wife!” “Once Grace safely gives birth, and once the situation at Foster Group stabilizes, I’ll tell Bella Hayes the truth.” His tone carried a certainty so self-righteous it sounded natural. “She loves me that much. She’ll understand.” “She’ll understand.” Those words were like a rusty, blunt knife, grinding my heart to pieces while it was still alive. For Evan, I had tried to die eight times. I had tormented myself until I looked neither human nor ghost, and I had nearly built up a tolerance to sedatives. And Evan, to protect another woman’s pregnancy, had personally faked his own death. He had watched me fall apart in agony, yet from his lofty position, he was certain that in the end, I would generously forgive him?! The door to the lounge was suddenly pushed open. “Eric Foster” looked up, met my dead, hollow eyes, and his face went deathly pale in an instant. He blurted out, “Bella!” Not Bella Hayes. Not Ms. Hayes. But “Bella,” the name he would only murmur in a low, lingering voice between the sheets, in the depths of passionate nights. I looked at that face, my stomach churning violently. All I felt was overwhelming disgust. The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed hard. Then he abruptly came back to himself and put on that restrained, compassionate expression. “Bella Hayes, why are you standing here? The doctor said you can’t be out in the wind.” I didn’t expose him. I only tucked my wind-tangled hair behind my ear, my voice as light as a weightless flake of snow. “Eric Foster, is your brother really dead?” A flash of extreme humiliation passed through “Eric Foster’s” eyes, but he still gritted his teeth and said, “Bella Hayes, my condolences.” I nodded. With that nod, I completely severed the obsession I had held for Evan Foster for three years. I turned and walked into the wind and snow. No matter how the man behind me called out, I never looked back again. The Evan Foster I had loved had already died in that car accident. The one still alive was a vile man who had played me for a fool for another woman’s sake.

Bella Hayes POV When I returned to the Foster villa, four bodyguards stood guard outside the master bedroom, and they had even installed two surveillance cameras. “Eric Foster” walked in with a glass of water and a pillbox, impatience pressed between his brows. “Bella Hayes, take the sedatives first. The doctor said you’re emotionally unstable. Be good.” Be good. Those were the two words Evan loved saying to me most. I used to think they were indulgent and affectionate. Only now did I understand that they were just convenient tools for training me. I suspected I’d never been his wife or lover, just someone he could keep under his thumb. I glanced at the pillbox and pushed it away coldly. “I don’t want to take them.” “You haven’t slept in two days!” His tone grew heavier, faintly carrying the pressure of someone used to standing above others. I lifted my head and stared him down. “What? Afraid that if I’m awake, I’ll get in the way of you taking care of Grace Carter?” “Eric Foster’s” heart gave a violent jump. He instinctively avoided my gaze. “Grace Carter is carrying the Foster family’s child. My brother is gone. It’s only right that I take care of Grace in his place.” I watched him act, without even the strength left to laugh at him. “Fine. Take good care of her, then.” I took the pills and swallowed them in one gulp. The look in “Eric Foster’s” eyes as he watched me was dark and unreadable, but in the end, he said nothing. As soon as “Eric Foster” left, I immediately locked the bathroom door. From the hidden compartment at the very bottom of the sink cabinet, I pulled out an old backup phone. I didn’t cry or make a scene the way I used to whenever I felt wronged. Instead, I calmly dialed the number of Ethan Cole, the assistant my father, Charles Hayes, trusted most. “Ethan Cole, I want to leave the Foster family. Tomorrow morning, bring people to pick me up.” Ethan Cole sounded a little surprised on the other end, but he immediately said, “Of course, Ms. Hayes. I’ll be there on time tomorrow morning.” After hanging up, I let out a breath of relief. I walked out of the bathroom and pulled open the drawer of my vanity. Inside were all the memories Evan and I had shared. But as expected, every photo, letter, ticket stub related to Evan—even our marriage certificate—had been taken away. They wanted to erase every trace of Evan’s existence because they were afraid I would go insane. But he had never considered that I no longer cared about Evan. For Grace Carter, he could turn from Evan Foster into Eric Foster. And for myself, I could also turn from Mrs. Foster back into Bella Hayes. I let out a cold laugh and neatly pulled the wedding ring off my ring finger. That diamond ring, engraved on the inside with both our names, had once been something I treasured like my own life. But now, it felt like a disgusting dog collar. I casually tossed the ring into the trash can. Then I began packing the things that belonged to me. My ID documents, passport, bank cards, and the bracelet my mother, Mia Hayes, had left me. My hands shook slightly, my heart hammering away in my chest. But with every item I took away, my love for Evan Foster died a little more thoroughly. I knew very clearly that this time, I wasn’t acting out of anger. I was saving myself.

Bella Hayes POV Early the next morning, Grace Carter came to the villa with her slightly visible baby bump. She wore a pitiful white dress, and the moment she came in and saw me, her eyes reddened. “I came to see Bella Hayes. If Eric Foster hadn’t gotten into that accident trying to save Evan, the Foster family wouldn’t have ended up like this…” With a single sentence, she put all the blame for Evan’s “death” on me. “Eric Foster” walked out of the study. The first thing he looked at wasn’t me, but Grace Carter’s belly. “Didn’t I tell you to stay home and rest during the pregnancy? Why did you come all the way here?” Grace Carter bit her lip and leaned weakly against him, as if she had no bones. “I dreamed about Eric Foster… I was afraid Bella Hayes might do something reckless, and I was also afraid that once the baby is born, there won’t be a father to love them. I’m scared…” “Eric Foster” held her and comforted her gently. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.” “Grace Carter, don’t worry. I won’t let anyone hurt you, and I won’t let anyone hurt the child.” Grace Carter leaned softly in his arms, her eyes filled with dependence and trust. “You’re so good to me. I want to be with you forever.” I stood on the staircase, coldly watching this adulterous pair compete in their acting. All I felt was a wave of nausea rising in my throat. If, before today, I had still held even the tiniest expectation for Evan, then today, every last bit of that expectation had been ground into sand. I had completely, utterly given up. I would never have the slightest fantasy about him again. This person was no longer the Evan Foster who had once loved me. Or perhaps I couldn’t even be sure whether Evan Foster had ever felt even the slightest love for me back then. “You call him Eric Foster so smoothly,” I said, slowly walking down the stairs and looking at Grace Carter with a half-smile. Grace Carter’s face went pale. In panic, she grabbed “Eric Foster’s” sleeve. “Bella Hayes, what do you mean by that?” “Eric Foster” immediately frowned and stepped in front of Grace Carter. “Bella Hayes, Grace can’t handle any shock. Watch what you say.” I looked at his protective stance and only found it absurd. “It was just an offhand comment. Why are you two so nervous?” Grace Carter lowered her eyes and timidly changed the subject. “Bella Hayes, tonight is the anniversary of the day Eric Foster and I originally set our wedding date. I want to ask you for one thing. At tonight’s family dinner with the elders, could you please not mention trying to jump off the cliff again? Grandpa and Grandma can’t handle the shock.” “Eric Foster” immediately chimed in as well. “That’s right, Bella Hayes. You should come sit with everyone tonight too. This family can’t keep being weighed down by your depression.” Depression. He faked his death, and I was destroyed by grief for him. In the end, it somehow became my sin in this family? I looked at Grace Carter’s face, wearing that manipulative innocent act to the extreme, and suddenly laughed. “Sure. I’ll be at tonight’s anniversary dinner on time.” I wanted to see with my own eyes just how far Evan Foster would trample the Foster family’s dignity into the mud for this woman.

Bella Hayes POV At the dinner in the villa’s east hall, the seats were filled with relatives from the Foster family. Grace Carter sat beside “Eric Foster,” every bit like the lady of the Foster family, as the elders surrounded her with concern and questions. One drunken older relative patted “Eric Foster” on the shoulder and sighed. “Eric, your brother is gone, and Bella Hayes is pitiful too. In the future, if she needs to be sent away, just send her away. Don’t let a widow like her wail at home every day. It’s bad for the family!” “Eric Foster’s” hand tightened abruptly around his wineglass. Grace Carter immediately tried to smooth things over with reddened eyes. “Please don’t say that. Bella Hayes just loved Evan too much.” “Love or not, she can’t keep trying to kill herself every day! She’s completely disgraced the Foster family!” “The Foster family’s dignity?” I, who had been silent the entire time, suddenly stood. My cool voice instantly cut through the noise in the room. My gaze was like a blade as it pierced straight toward “Eric Foster.” “You stripped my room bare, took all my phones, and posted guards to lock me up like a prisoner. Tell me, Eric—was all that for the Fosters’ precious reputation?” The entire room fell deathly silent. Anna Clark’s expression changed drastically. “Bella Hayes, what nonsense are you saying?!” “Eric Foster” shot to his feet, his eyes panicked yet cold. “Bella Hayes, you’ve had too much to drink. I’ll take you back to your room.” “Don’t touch me!” I violently flung off his hand. I pulled a document from my bag and threw it directly onto the center of the table. “Since all the elders are here today, I’ll make myself clear. I’ve already entrusted a lawyer to conduct a full investigation and freeze all marital assets under Evan Foster’s name! If Foster Group has any documents that require my signature, contact my lawyer directly. Don’t let ‘Eric Foster’ bring them in front of me and disgust me again!” Everyone in the room sucked in a sharp breath. “Bella Hayes! Are you insane? Your husband is barely cold in the grave, and you’re already thinking about fighting over the family fortune?!” Grace Carter’s tears instantly burst free. Clutching her stomach, she collapsed crying into “Eric Foster’s” arms. “Bella Hayes, do you blame me? If you think the baby and I are in your way, I’ll leave right now. I would never fight you for your money…” I looked down at her nauseating display from above and let out a cold laugh. “Don’t bother going. If you’re so fond of hand-me-down garbage other people cast aside, you’re welcome to cling to it.” “Bella Hayes! Are you done making a scene?!” “Eric Foster” erupted in rage, the veins on his forehead throbbing. I looked at the face I had once loved so deeply. There was no warmth left in my eyes. “Evan Foster, I’ve already died for you eight times. From now on, whether the Foster family lives or dies has nothing to do with me.” The moment those words came out, the hall instantly plunged into deathly silence! What had she called him?! Evan Foster?! “Eric Foster’s” face turned as white as paper in an instant, his pupils contracting violently. He instinctively tried to pull me back, but I avoided him without mercy. I didn’t spare him another glance. I turned and strode out of the brightly lit hall. Outside, Ethan Cole’s car was already waiting in the wind and snow. I opened the car door and left behind all of the Foster family’s hypocrisy, schemes, and that sickening so-called devotion forever.

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“Fiona, the baby’s condition is unstable. We need you, as the temporary guardian, to sign off on the subsequent treatment.” I put down my pen and looked across the conference table. Opposite me stood Sean. He was holding a newborn, his eyes bloodshot. “Sean,” I said, my voice incredibly calm. “This baby is the biological son of you and Hailey, isn’t it?” The conference room fell dead silent. Sean’s face turned paper-white. “What are you talking about?” I turned my phone screen toward him. On it, the barcode from the luxury maternity retreat, Hailey’s payment records, and the timestamps of his car entering and leaving the retreat’s garage were neatly lined up. “Do you want me to call the police so they can verify the parents’ identities?” The baby started crying. Sean took a step back, looking as if the ground had been swept from beneath his feet. As for me, I simply picked up the European clinical fellowship offer, an opportunity that had taken me two long years to secure, and slipped it back into my folder. In this life, I was done raising anyone else’s child.

Fiona’s POV I never could have imagined that while I was signing my final departure paperwork at the university, Sean would burst in holding a baby. My advisor and several other classmates who were also heading abroad were sitting in the conference room. In just a few days, I was supposed to leave for a prestigious medical fellowship in Europe. It was an opportunity I had spent two grueling years preparing for. In my past life, I never made that flight. It was Sean back then, too, showing up with a sudden infant. He claimed the baby had been abandoned in the alley behind his family’s clinic. He told me his health was poor and that he might never have biological children. He said since we were getting married anyway, we should just take the baby in. I loved him so much then, pitied him so much, that I actually canceled my plane ticket, gave up my fellowship, and brought that baby home. We named the boy Caleb. I raised Caleb, slaved away for Sean’s family, and took care of his “paralyzed” mother, until I eventually worked myself into a terminal illness. When I begged for treatment, Sean and Caleb complained it was too expensive. They brought me home and gave me nothing but cheap painkillers. On the day I died, I heard Caleb crying in Hailey’s arms. “Mom, I can finally call you Mom open and honest now.” Only then did I realize that the child I had spent my entire life raising was the biological son of Sean and Hailey. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of my departure. The baby in Sean’s arms was wrapped in a light blue blanket, his cries weak. Sean stood at the door, his eyes red, looking like the victim. “Fiona, I know you’re busy today, but I had nowhere else to turn. Someone left this baby in the alley behind our old clinic. Social Services needs a temporary guardian to sign off immediately. Can you please just help me watch him for a bit?” My professors sat beside me, keeping quiet. I didn’t even stand up. I just asked, “Why are you looking for me?” Sean was visibly taken aback. After all, the old Fiona would never ask “why.” Whenever he said he needed me, I would always worry about his struggles first, completely ignoring my own limits. Sean lowered his voice. “You’re a medical student, and you’re so detail-oriented. We’re getting married soon anyway. Helping me is helping our future family.” I smiled. Family. In my past life, everyone in Sean’s family had that word glued to their lips. Giving up my fellowship was “for the family.” Quitting my job was “for the family.” Using my mother’s retirement money to buy Caleb an apartment was “for the family.” Even when I was dying and my bones ached, they said the family couldn’t let a sick patient drag them down. I looked at the folder in Sean’s hands. “What do you want me to sign?” Sean quickly handed the papers over. “Just a temporary foster intake form. CPS said we can do a transitional placement with a familiar family first before they find a permanent home.” I flipped to the first page. On the form, my name, home address, and future family plans were already filled out. Only the signature line was blank. What disgusted me even more was the background section. It was written as if I had already enthusiastically agreed. To be married soon. Female applicant has a medical background, stable household, and a long-term desire to provide care. These words hit me like a slap in the face. They were exactly like the praise Sean’s family used to shower me with in my past life. Fiona is so patient. Fiona is so caring. Fiona is the perfect mother. They praised me so much that eventually, saying “no” felt like a crime. The department head noticed something was off and frowned slightly. “Fiona, did you clear this placement with the university’s travel board beforehand?” “No,” I answered instantly. “I am here today to confirm my flight to Europe, not to sign up for motherhood.” Someone in the room let out a soft gasp. Sean’s expression turned incredibly dark. He probably hadn’t expected me to be so blunt in front of my peers. In the past, I always protected his fragile ego. Even if I felt wronged, I would wait until we got home to ask him quietly about it. But I had cared about his feelings for an entire lifetime already. That was enough. I looked up. “Where did you get my ID copies?” Sean stiffened. “From when I helped you organize your licensing exam materials last month. Fiona, don’t sweat the small stuff. The baby can’t wait.” “Small stuff?” I slammed the folder shut. “You took my personal documents, filled out a foster form without my consent, and crashed my academic meeting to force me to sign it. You really know how to pick your moments, Sean.” Sean’s voice dropped. “Do you really have to embarrass me in front of everyone?” I pulled out my phone. Panic flashed in his eyes. “What are you doing?” “Calling 911,” I said calmly. “An abandoned baby is a matter for the police, the hospital, and Child Protective Services. It is not the job of an unmarried medical student.” The baby started crying again. Sean hugged the infant closer, his eyes turning cold. “Fiona, when did you become so heartless?” I stood up and took my passport and visa documents back. “Since the day I died once.” Sean froze. He obviously couldn’t understand what I meant. He probably just thought I was talking nonsense out of anger. But I was completely sober. I could clearly see the familiar designer watch on his wrist, the loose threads on the baby’s blanket, and the light blue hair tie, the exact brand Hailey always used, wrapped around the baby’s bottle bag. I hadn’t noticed these details in my past life. Back then, my mind had been filled with Sean’s tearful eyes and his heartbreaking lie: “I might never have my own kids.” I had valued his pain too much and my own future too little. In this life, I wouldn’t fall for the same trap twice.

Fiona’s POV By the time the police arrived at the university building, Sean was still standing in the hallway, holding the baby. He kept trying to explain himself, claiming he was just panicking, that I was his fiancée, and that we were going to build a life together anyway. But when the officers asked him for the exact time and location he found the baby, and why there was no initial police report, his answers became incredibly vague. “In the alley behind our closed family clinic,” Sean stammered. “I went there this morning to pick up some old boxes, and the baby was just… there.” The officer asked, “Why didn’t you call 911 immediately?” Sean looked at me. “I was afraid the baby would suffer in a state facility. Fiona has a medical background. I thought she could care for him first.” I spoke up. “I never consented to this.” Sean snapped at me, frustrated. “I know you’re mad at me, but the baby is innocent!” “If he’s innocent, he deserves to go through the proper legal channels.” I looked at the officer. “I suspect this man of identity fraud. He used my personal documents to forge a foster application and tried to sabotage my career.” Hearing this, the department head’s face turned dead serious. Sean panicked. “Fiona! Do you really have to take it this far?” I handed my document folder to the officer. “I never authorized any agency to use my ID. The signature is blank because he came here to coerce me into signing it on the spot.” The officer took the file, reviewed it, and looked at Sean. “Who gave you these forms?” Sean’s lips trembled. “A local community volunteer.” Suddenly, I pointed to the edge of the baby’s blanket. “The baby has a hospital band on.” Everyone looked. Tucked inside the soft blanket was a tiny pink hospital identification band, printed with a serial number and the initials of a luxury private maternity retreat. Sean instinctively tried to shield the baby, but it was too late. The officer saw the motion. “We are taking the baby to the hospital for an evaluation, and we will run a trace on the hospital ID. Mr. Sean, as the person who ‘found’ the infant, you need to come with us to give a formal statement.” Sean’s face drained of color. I went to the hospital to give my statement. My dad, Arthur, and my mom, Helen, rushed over as soon as they got my call. My mom grabbed my hands immediately. “You didn’t sign anything, did you?” “No, Mom.” My dad glared at Sean, his voice dripping with anger. “What the hell were you doing with my daughter’s ID?” Sean still tried to defend himself. “Sir, I was only doing it for the baby.” My dad let out a harsh laugh. “For the baby? So you decided to exploit my daughter?” My dad was usually a mild-tempered man. He had always viewed Sean as the sweet boy next door. Not wealthy, but stable and hardworking. In my past life, when I insisted on staying, my dad had opposed it. But he ultimately gave in because I cried and said I loved Sean. Living this life again, I finally saw the deep disappointment and fear in my father’s eyes. He didn’t look down on Sean for being poor. He was just a father who finally realized someone was trying to turn his precious daughter into a stepping stone for another family. The baby was taken into the ER. The doctor explained they would treat him under the safe-haven protocol and contact CPS. When Sean heard “CPS,” his expression grew even worse. Not long after, Hailey rushed in. She was still in her nurse’s uniform, her eyes puffy. Her first words weren’t about the baby’s health, but: “Sean, why are the police involved?” I stood by the wall, raising an eyebrow. Hailey acted as if she had just noticed me, squeezing out a fragile, apologetic smile. “Fiona, you’re here too. Please don’t misunderstand… Sean just has a heart of gold.” In my past life, Hailey was always like this. Fragile, sweet, always playing the victim. She cried when she took my scholarship, saying she would study hard on my behalf. She cried when she claimed Caleb back, saying her years away from him were her life’s greatest regret. I stared at her. “You got here incredibly fast.” Hailey’s eyelashes fluttered. “The hospital group chat was talking about an ER intake.” I replied flatly, “The baby literally just entered the ER. The news traveled to the inpatient ward that quickly?” Hailey’s face stiffened. Sean immediately stepped in front of her, blocking my view. “Fiona, Hailey is a nurse. What’s wrong with her caring about a patient?” “Did I say there was something wrong?” I smiled slightly. “I was just curious.” The police officer paused his pen on his notepad, took a long look at them, and continued writing. Watching Sean instinctively shield Hailey, the last trace of affection I had for him evaporated. I had seen this exact protective posture in my past life. Every time Hailey visited our house and her eyes welled up, Sean would stand in front of her. Back then, I had been so drained by housework that I would just turn down the stove in the kitchen, pretending not to hear his soft murmurs of comfort in the living room. I used to lie to myself, thinking Sean was just a loyal, caring friend. Now I knew the real word for it: favoritism.

Fiona’s POV The doctor soon came out with an update. The baby had a minor infection and mild dehydration, but his life wasn’t in danger. He needed to be admitted for observation. Since his identity was unknown, the hospital would proceed with state emergency custody, and the medical bills would be temporarily covered by the state social fund. I listened carefully. In my past life, Sean had sweet-talked me into taking the baby home on day one. After that, every bill, every sleepless night, and every heavy responsibility fell squarely on my shoulders. By the time I wanted to back out, his family had already put me on a pedestal as the “perfect mother.” If I complained about being tired, I was labeled selfish and ungrateful. In this life, I wouldn’t make the first mistake. Sean, however, was getting desperate. “We can’t let him go to state custody. He’s so small. If he keeps moving around facilities, it’ll ruin his health. Fiona, it’s just a temporary signature. No one is asking you to adopt him right now!” My mom was trembling with rage. “Are you out of your mind? My daughter leaves for Europe next week. Why on earth should she sign up to be a foster parent?” Hailey chimed in, her voice soft and timid. “Mrs. Helen, Sean is just worried about the baby. Fiona is a medical student; taking care of him for a few days shouldn’t be that hard, right? Maybe the trip to Europe can be pushed back a bit.” I turned my gaze to her. “If it’s so easy, why don’t you sign the papers?” Hailey turned pale. “I’m a nurse at this hospital. It’s a conflict of interest for me to sign.” “But aren’t you the one who cares about the baby the most?” Hailey’s eyes filled with tears instantly. “Fiona, why are you attacking me? I was just stating a fact. Your family is well-off. Even if you delay your fellowship for a year, you’ll have another chance. But if nobody helps this baby, his life could be ruined.” I actually laughed out loud. My family is well-off, so I should sacrifice. My grades are good, so I should step aside. I have a soft heart, so I should be the one to suffer. In my past life, everyone used these exact arguments to slowly push me into a corner. “I cannot delay,” I said, looking Hailey dead in the eye. “Not even for an hour.” Sean’s face twisted. “Are you seriously going to abandon a baby just for your career?” I countered, “Are you seriously trying to ruin your fiancée’s career for a baby of unknown origin?” Sean choked on his words. Hailey whispered, “Sean, stop pushing Fiona. If she doesn’t want to, forget it. I can come by and check on the baby after my shifts.” Her words sounded like a compromise, but they were designed to make me look incredibly cold and selfish. I refused to play her game. I turned to the doctor. “I am not the baby’s relative, nor am I his guardian. Please do not contact me for any future signatures or payments. Sean is the one who found him, and the police are still investigating the baby’s origin.” The doctor nodded. “Understood.” Sean gritted his teeth. “Fiona, do you have to draw such a harsh line between us?” “Yes,” I said. “There is absolutely no legal or biological relationship between me and this child.” Just as the words left my mouth, the phone in Hailey’s pocket vibrated. She glanced at it, and a look of sheer panic flashed across her face. I caught it. Though she quickly flipped the phone screen-down, I caught a glimpse of a text message from an unsaved number: The hospital band wasn’t removed. Don’t let them trace it back to the retreat. I didn’t expose her right then and there. I just looked out the window. My calm reflection stared back at me in the hospital glass. The prey had already exposed their weakness. There was another reason I didn’t call them out on the spot. I knew Sean and Hailey too well. If I accused them right there, they would have thrown a massive scene. One would cry about her “good intentions,” the other would claim he was “just scared,” and they would use the baby as a shield so no one would dare to press further. I wasn’t going to fall into that circus again. In this life, I wanted hard evidence. Written, undeniable evidence. When I got home, I wrote down every single detail in my notes. Sean’s excuses, Hailey’s arrival time, the baby’s ID band number, the doctor’s statements. I recorded everything chronologically. In my past life, I lost because I believed “family” shouldn’t keep score or keep receipts. But bad people thrive when good people don’t keep receipts. In this life, I would make sure every lie was documented, and every suspicious move had a paper trail.

Fiona’s POV The next morning, I received three emails. The first was from the university’s travel board, notifying me that someone had tried to log into my student portal at 3:00 AM to submit a deferral request. The system had blocked it due to an unrecognized IP address. The second was from a state foster platform, thanking me for submitting an “expression of interest” for emergency foster care, stating they were only waiting for my final e-signature. The third was the most ridiculous. It was an unsubmitted application for my fellowship spot, with Hailey listed as the alternate candidate. The cover letter stated that I was withdrawing due to “unexpected family planning” and highly recommended my classmate, Hailey, to take my place. My mom’s face turned red with anger when she read it. “How dare they!” My dad immediately called our family lawyer. But I remained completely calm. I saved the original emails, took screenshots, and changed all my passwords right in front of the lawyer. After reviewing the files, the lawyer said, “This isn’t just a lover’s spat. Unauthorized access to student accounts, identity theft, and forging legal documents to sabotage your academic standing. We can absolutely file criminal charges.” I nodded. “Then let’s take it all the way.” My mom looked at me, worried. “Fiona, don’t force yourself to be strong if you’re hurting.” “Mom, I’m not forcing anything.” I closed my laptop. “I just finally know where to put my energy.” In my past life, I spent all my energy on enduring. Enduring Sean’s busy schedule, enduring his mother’s fake illnesses, enduring Caleb’s terrible tantrums, and enduring Hailey constantly appearing in my life as a “close friend.” I endured so much that when I got sick, my pain was treated as an inconvenience to them. In this life, I was done enduring. My phone rang. It was Sean. I put it on speaker. “Fiona, don’t blow this out of proportion,” Sean said, his voice hushed. “The deferral application was just a draft; I didn’t submit it. And the foster platform was just an inquiry. No official documents were signed. Calling the police won’t benefit anyone.” I replied, “You mean it won’t benefit you.” There was a pause on the line. “We’ve been together for so many years. Are you really going to ruin my life over a few forms?” “You tried to ruin my life over those exact forms.” His breathing grew heavy. Sean finally lost his temper. “Is going to Europe really that important to you? More important than a baby’s life? More important than me? More important than our future?” I said softly, “Yes, it is more important than you.” Sean gasped. I added, “It is more important than all of you combined.” I hung up. The living room was dead silent for a few seconds. My dad suddenly let out a soft chuckle. “You should have done that a long time ago.” I smiled. It was a small smile, but a massive weight lifted off my shoulders. Saying no to Sean didn’t make my world collapse. Putting myself first didn’t make me a bad person. The lawyer quickly gathered the evidence. That afternoon, I filed an official police report for identity theft and submitted a formal statement to the university about my compromised account. The department head emailed me back quickly: Your fellowship status remains fully secure. Please proceed with your travel plans as scheduled. Looking at the email, my heart finally settled. This time, nobody was going to press the pause button on my life. The department head later sent me a private text. She told me that many students face intense emotional and familial pressure before going abroad. She had seen too many bright young women give up their dreams for guilt-tripping partners. She reminded me that my future was worth protecting. Reading her text, I sat in silence for a long time. I wasn’t the only one who had almost been dragged down. And there were people in this world who would look me in the eye and say: Your future matters. That night, I sat at my desk and checked my travel documents one last time. My passport, my visa, my health clearance, my housing confirmation, my credit cards. They were all real, solid, and sitting right in front of me. No longer stuffed into the back of a drawer because of Sean’s “just wait one more year.” My mom brought in a glass of warm milk. Seeing my straight posture, she gently stroked my hair. “Are you exhausted, sweetie?” I shook my head. Actually, I was. Rebirth didn’t magically erase the trauma. The memory of the physical pain from the hospital bed, Caleb’s hateful glares, and Sean’s tenderness toward Hailey were still wired into my brain. But this time, I didn’t have to swallow the pain and pretend everything was fine. “Mom,” I said suddenly. “If I had made the wrong choice in the past, would you and Dad have hated me?” My mom paused, her eyes tearing up. “You are our daughter, Fiona. If you take a wrong turn, we pull you back. Why would we ever hate you?” I took a sip of the warm milk. The warmth traveled down my throat, and my eyes welled up.

Fiona’s POV Once Sean was called in for questioning, Hailey was the first to crack. She showed up at my apartment building that evening, holding a bag of fruit, her eyes swollen from crying. My mom didn’t even want to let her in, but I told her to let Hailey up. I wanted to see what kind of performance Hailey had prepared this time. Hailey sat on the edge of the sofa, her hands trembling. “Fiona, I know you’re mad at me, but I swear I didn’t know anything. Sean just asked me if I would want the fellowship spot if you decided not to go. I thought you had made the decision yourself.” I poured her a glass of water. “And you were happy to take it?” Hailey bit her lip. “It was an opportunity of a lifetime. My family isn’t wealthy like yours. When an opportunity like that comes around, I have to grab it.” “So because my family is doing well, I should just hand my hard work over to you?” Hailey’s tears began to flow. “That’s not what I meant. Fiona, you’ve had everything since we were kids. Loving parents, supportive teachers, and Sean loved you first. But what about me? I have to fight for every single scrap.” I stared at her. In my past life, I had been deeply moved by this exact speech. I had pitied her, thinking a single sacrifice on my part wouldn’t hurt. But what I handed over wasn’t just a spot in a program; it was my entire life. “You can fight all you want, Hailey. But why did you have to steal from me?” Hailey’s face went white. I unlocked my phone and slid the screenshot of her text message across the table. “Who sent you this?” Hailey’s hand shook so violently she almost dropped her glass. “I… I don’t know,” she stammered, trying to deny it. “Probably just spam.” “Fine. I’ll let the police run a trace on the number.” Hailey finally dropped her act. Her voice turned sharp and desperate. “Are you trying to destroy us? The baby is already sick, and Sean is at his wits’ end because of you. I just wanted a chance at a better life. Why can’t you just let this go?” My mom let out a disgusted laugh. “You stole from my daughter, and now you have the nerve to ask her to let it go?” Hailey suddenly glared at me, her eyes filled with venom. “Do you really think you’ve won? Sean has always loved me. The baby is ours. The only reason he chose you was because your family has money and could help him climb the social ladder!” Her words didn’t hurt me at all. In my past life, a revelation like this would have broken me. Now, it just felt pathetic. “Then you two deserve each other,” I said calmly. “The baby, Sean, and his family’s mess. You can have them all back.” The color drained from Hailey’s face. She wanted Sean’s affection, but she absolutely did not want his family’s financial burden. Her plan was to have me raise the child, pay the bills, and care for his mother, while she could swoop in later as the biological mother, playing the victim. I stood up and opened the door. “Get out.” Hailey snarled, “You’ll regret this, Fiona! Even if you go to Europe, Sean won’t wait for you!” I looked at her. “That is the best news I’ve heard all day.” I shut the door, cutting off her sobbing. My mom hugged me tightly. “Don’t listen to a word she said, sweetie.” “I won’t, Mom.” I finally understood that Hailey’s ultimate cruelty wasn’t stealing Sean. It was her constant attempt to gaslight me into believing that everything stolen from me was just something I “owed” her. After Hailey left, my mom was still furious. “She practically grew up eating at our table! Did I ever treat her poorly? When you had study guides, I made you print copies for her. When you went to competitions, I made extra lunches for her. How can she take so much from us and still feel entitled to steal your life?” I rubbed my mom’s back to soothe her. “Mom, don’t waste your energy on her.” “I’m not angry for her,” my mom said, her eyes red. “I’m just heartbroken for you. You always told us Sean was struggling, Hailey was struggling… but my daughter was struggling too.” Those words hit me hard, and my tears finally broke. In my past life, everyone was struggling except me. I had listened to their complaints for so long that I forgot to ask myself: Fiona, aren’t you tired? In this life, someone was finally asking for me. I didn’t sleep well that night. I dreamed of my past life, standing in Sean’s kitchen washing dishes. The sink was piled high with greasy plates. Caleb was screaming my name from the living room, and Sean’s mother was pounding on her bedroom door for attention. My hands were covered in soap suds, and no matter how hard I scrubbed, I couldn’t get them clean. I woke up before dawn, drenched in sweat. I sat on the edge of my bed for a long time, then turned on my desk lamp. I rechecked my documents. The paper was real. The visa was real. The suitcase was real. I was no longer trapped in that nightmare. I was finally awake.

Fiona’s POV The truth about the baby came to light very quickly. Based on the hospital band serial number, the police traced the birth to a high-end private maternity retreat. The facility initially cited client privacy, but they complied once the police presented a formal warrant. The baby had been born at a private hospital affiliated with the retreat. The mother had registered under a fake name, but the bank account used to pay the bills belonged to Hailey’s aunt. Furthermore, Sean’s license plate had been captured entering the retreat’s garage on the day of the birth. Sean could no longer play innocent. He cornered me at a coffee shop near campus. I had just finalized my departure details with my advisor and was about to head home. Sean stood at the entrance, looking exhausted and significantly thinner. “Fiona, we need to talk.” “My lawyer is right here,” I said, pointing to the man sitting next to me. Sean froze, then let out a bitter laugh. “You won’t even see me without a lawyer now?” “Correct.” My bluntness left him speechless. He slowly sat down, his voice cracking. “The baby is mine. It was an accident. Hailey and I got drunk one night… and then she got pregnant. I panicked. I was terrified you would leave me if you found out, so I came up with this plan.” I stared at him. “Your plan was to package your child as an abandoned baby and dump him on me?” Sean’s eyes turned red. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I just knew how kind-hearted you are. I thought if you raised him for a bit, you would fall in love with him, and even if you found out the truth later, you wouldn’t be able to leave.” “So you gambled on my kindness.” “I gambled on our love!” Sean pleaded, reaching across the table. “Fiona, you’re the one I love. Hailey was just a mistake. If we raise this baby together, we can still have a perfect family.” I wanted to laugh at his audacity. I had heard some disgusting things in my past life, but his ability to spin his betrayal into an act of love still shocked me. “A perfect family?” I asked slowly. “The biological mother watches from the sidelines, the biological father pretends he found the kid in an alley, and the fiancée gives up her career to raise him? You call that a perfect family?” Sean’s face turned ash-gray. “I know I messed up,” he whispered, swallowing his pride. “But please, don’t go to Europe. I can’t handle this on my own. The baby needs medical care, and Hailey is falling apart. If you stay, we can start over.” Looking at him, I felt the memory of my past self slipping away. Why had I ever loved a man like this? Perhaps Sean was never worth it. I had simply projected all my youthful fantasies onto him, refusing to admit I had made a terrible mistake. “Sean,” I said. “You’re not struggling because the situation is hard. You’re struggling because you don’t want to take responsibility.” I stood up to leave. Sean jumped up. “Fiona!” My lawyer stepped in, blocking him. “Mr. Sean, if you continue to harass my client, we will call the police.” I slipped my lawyer’s business card into my bag. I was no longer in the business of cleaning up Sean’s messes. On the ride home, my lawyer warned me, “Sean is extremely unstable right now. He might try to corner you again before your flight. Do not meet him alone.” I nodded. “I know.” I wasn’t afraid of Sean. I had simply learned that putting yourself in danger isn’t “brave.” It’s foolish. In my past life, I believed our years together meant he would never truly hurt me. But I learned the hard way that harm doesn’t always come in the form of physical violence. Sometimes, a coerced signature, a guilt-trip, or a stolen opportunity can destroy your life just as easily. Outside the car window, the city lights blurred past. Looking at my reflection, I realized how young I still was. At this exact age in my past life, I was already learning how to mix baby formula, walking on eggshells around Sean’s mother, and crying quietly into my pillow at night. Now, I had the time to choose differently. And that was worth everything. Sean sent me dozens of messages after that. Sometimes he begged, sometimes he cursed, and sometimes he pretended nothing happened, asking if I had eaten. I didn’t reply to a single one. I realized that ignoring him was a skill, a way of training myself to no longer be controlled by his emotions. In the past, whenever Sean was unhappy, I would immediately analyze what I had done wrong. Now, whether he was happy or falling apart was entirely his own problem. I was completely done with him.

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I died on the night my sister, Natasha, became a legend. It was the finals of the International Youth Dance Championship. The spotlight was blindingly bright, and everyone in the crowd was screaming her name. But the person standing in the center of the stage, wearing her costume and dancing her final piece, was me. My name is Emma. I am Natasha’s twin sister, born three minutes after her. I was also the shadow hidden behind her spotlight. Natasha was supposed to be hidden in the dressing room by Mom and Dad, pretending her old injury had flared up, waiting for me to finish the entire performance in her place. But as I landed the final grand jeté, my starving body finally gave out. My old right ankle injury tore apart, and the back of my head slammed heavily against the edge of the stage. When the blood pooled around me, Mom’s first instinct wasn’t to save my life. She rushed to my side and hissed under her breath: “Get up, Emma! Don’t you dare ruin things for Natasha right now!” I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t make a sound. Before my consciousness faded completely, Natasha rushed into the crowd wearing her hospital gown. She fell to her knees beside me, crying hysterically: “She’s not Natasha!” “Her name is Emma!” “She’s my sister!” “You forced her to do this!” The entire crowd gasped. I thought my name had finally stepped into the light. But only after I died did I realize that the living can tell far more lies than the dead can bleed.

Seven hours after my death, Mom and Dad wheeled my body into the morgue. The next second, they forced Natasha into her award ceremony gown. Natasha sat on the metal bench in the hospital hallway, her hospital gown still draped over her shoulders. Her face was as white as paper. Mom shoved the dress into her arms. “Put it on.” Natasha looked up, her eyes bloodshot. “Emma is still in there.” Mom slapped her hard across the face. “I know she’s in there!” “But the media is waiting outside, and the committee is waiting too!” “Do you want the whole world to know that the prodigy dancer we raised for eighteen years is a fraud?” Natasha’s head snapped to the side from the force of the blow. She didn’t move for a long time. Dad was standing at the end of the hallway making a call, his voice low but every word cutting sharply into my ears. “Yes, Natasha’s old injury flared up. She was resting backstage.” “Emma has always been mentally unstable. She stole Natasha’s costume and snuck onto the stage.” “Natasha was so traumatized by the incident that she started talking nonsense.” “We have the medical records. The PR statement will be released tonight.” I floated in the air, watching him calmly arrange the narrative of my death. So, I wasn’t forced to death by them. I was just a mentally unstable, identity-stealing lunatic who ruined a genius dancer’s night of glory. Natasha suddenly stood up and lunged to grab Dad’s phone. “You can’t say that about her!” Dad grabbed her wrist, twisting it back. His eyes were cold and venomous. “Natasha, you better wake up.” “Emma is already dead.” “Your endorsements, your Ivy League scout offers, your invitations from international dance companies, and our family’s academy franchise contracts—they are all still on the line.” Natasha’s voice shook. “That was Emma’s life!” Dad stared at her, his voice freezing cold. “Her life isn’t worth five million dollars in breach of contract fees.” The silence that followed was suffocating. Mom picked the gown up from the floor and handed it back to Natasha. “Your father mortgaged the entire academy for you.” “If we lose this championship, our whole family is ruined.” Natasha looked at her and suddenly let out a bitter laugh. “So Emma deserved to die?” Mom’s eyes flickered with guilt, but she quickly hardened her face. “She danced in your shadow for so many years. Carrying this for you one last time is the least she can do to repay us for raising her.” I thought ghosts couldn’t feel pain. But at that moment, it felt like a knife was being driven into my chest all over again. Natasha didn’t change into the dress. She threw the expensive white tulle gown straight into the trash can. In the next second, Dad grabbed her by the hair, forcing her face down toward the trash. “Pick it up.” Natasha bit her lip hard. “No.” Dad leaned down and whispered in her ear: “If you dare disobey me, I won’t even buy Emma a niche in the columbarium.” Natasha froze. “What do you mean?” Dad let go of her and slowly adjusted his cuffs. “The dead are the most obedient.” “Once they are turned to ash, where they go and how they are kept is entirely up to the living.” Natasha finally bent her knees and pulled the gown out of the trash. Her tears dripped onto the white fabric, one by one. Standing next to her, I finally understood. They didn’t just want to steal my dancing. They wanted to steal my death.

The next day, videos of the competition were all over YouTube. The top comments under the videos were all expressing pity for Natasha: “A prodigy’s night of glory ruined by her mentally unstable twin sister who stole her costume.” “Natasha’s breakdown on stage was clearly a PTSD response.” “The worst pain is being hurt by your own family.” My face in the videos was heavily blurred, but my name was dragged through the mud in every comment section. “Emma is so evil. Was she so jealous of Natasha that she had to steal her identity?” “I heard she had mental issues since childhood. Her parents did their best raising her. They are saints.” “Natasha is so unlucky. Her injury flared up, and then her sister ruined her career.” Mom scrolled through the comments, letting out a sigh of relief. “The public is sensible after all.” Natasha sat at the dining table. The bowl of oatmeal in front of her had already gone completely cold. She suddenly asked, “Where did those medical records come from?” Dad threw a stack of documents onto the table. “Don’t worry about it.” Natasha picked them up and flipped through them. Age ten: Personality disorder. Age twelve: Aggressive tendencies. Age fifteen: Delusional desire to replace Natasha. Age eighteen: Severe mental instability, long-term custody recommended. Every page was stamped and signed by a doctor. But I had never been to those hospitals. The only clinic I ever visited was orthopedics. Because of fluid in my knees, torn ankle ligaments, back spasms, and my right foot that had never properly healed after the car crash when I was seven. Natasha flipped to the end and suddenly stopped. An old X-ray folder had been removed, leaving only the empty manila envelope. On the cover, it read: Emma, Age 7, Shattered Right Ankle. Natasha stared at those words, her fingers tightening. “Where is this X-ray?” Mom’s expression shifted. “Lost it a long time ago.” Natasha looked up. “Why is this the only one that’s lost?” Dad said coldly, “Natasha, that is none of your concern right now.” Mom shoved a script in front of her. “We are recording a statement video this afternoon. Read exactly what is written here.” Natasha looked at the first line, and her hands began to tremble. “Emma had been mentally unstable for a long time. On the day of the event, she stole my costume and snuck onto the stage, leading to the tragic accident.” She kept reading. “In my state of extreme shock and grief, I mistook her toxic, pathological obsession with me for family coercion.” “Please do not blame my parents. They are the ones hurting the most.” Natasha laughed, though tears streamed down her face. “You two are disgusting.” Dad raised his hand to strike her. This time, Natasha didn’t dodge. Instead, she leaned into his hand. “Do it. Slap me hard. Make sure it’s swollen so the media can get a clear shot of it this afternoon.” Dad’s hand stopped in mid-air. Mom looked incredibly uncomfortable. “Natasha, do you really want to fight us?” Natasha glared at them. “I want to hold a funeral for Emma.” “Absolutely not,” Mom refused instantly. “The media is watching us. If we hold a funeral, everyone will start asking questions.” “Asking what?” Natasha’s voice was freezing. “Asking why the dead one wasn’t me?” Silence fell over the dining room like a tomb. Dad threw a sealed plastic bag onto the table. Inside were my old pointe shoes from the stage. The satin was worn through at the toes, and the ribbons were stained with dried, dark blood. “Emma’s things are all in here,” Dad said. “If you cooperate, we will give her a quiet, clean memorial.” “If you don’t, these things, along with her ashes, will be dumped in the trash.” Natasha reached out to grab the shoes. But Dad pressed his hand flat over the bag. “Record the video first.” At three in the afternoon, the camera turned on. Natasha wore a plain white sweater, her face completely pale. Mom stood behind the camera, holding up the script. Dad stood beside her, clutching my pointe shoes in his hand. Natasha stared at the lens for a long time. So long that Mom muttered impatiently, “Speak.” Natasha finally opened her mouth. “I am Natasha.” “The girl who died on stage last night was my twin sister, Emma.” Our parents’ faces twisted instantly. Natasha continued: “She wasn’t crazy.” “And she didn’t steal my identity.” “She—” Dad slammed the power strip off, and the screen cut to black. What they didn’t know was that before the recording, Natasha had used an old phone hidden in her sleeve to log into my burner account and start a live stream. So, those twelve seconds still made it to the internet. It wasn’t on Natasha’s verified account. It was on a burner account I had helped her register three years ago, linked to an old email our parents knew nothing about. I had once written the password at the very bottom of her notes app, hidden under a childish title: For when you want to tell the truth. Back then, she had asked me why I made it. I told her, “Because one day, you’ll want to run away.” She hadn’t answered me then. But she remembered. Unfortunately, this time, she still didn’t get to finish her sentence.

My parents fought back quickly. They spin-doctored Natasha’s short video, presenting it as “evidence of post-traumatic dissociation.” Mom sat in front of the camera, crying so hard she almost fainted. “We had two daughters. One is gone, and the other has lost her mind.” “Please, stop triggering Natasha.” “Emma had been obsessed with mimicking her sister since she was a child, fantasizing that she was the real Natasha.” “As parents, we did everything we could.” Dad also appeared on screen, his eyes red. “Emma was our child. We don’t blame her.” “She is gone now. Please, let her rest in peace.” Watching the screen, I felt so disgusted I wanted to throw up. They refused to even give me a funeral, yet they preached about letting me rest in peace on camera. The internet quickly turned. “The parents are so tragic.” “Natasha is clearly not mentally stable right now.” “Emma is still torturing her family even after she’s dead. How horrifying.” Natasha was locked in her bedroom. Her phone, laptop, door lock, and window latches were all confiscated. She was trapped in a room, just like I used to be. Except her room had a bed, warm meals, and bright lights. My old room—the basement studio—had nothing but mirrors and a barre. That night, Natasha went down to the basement for the first time. Her hands shook violently as she picked the lock with a hairpin. I followed her down. When the light clicked on, she froze. There were still dried blood stains on the wooden floor from my intense training sessions. My worn-out knee pads were piled in the corner. Next to the mirror, a yellowed training schedule was taped to the wall. 6:00 AM: Cardio. 8:00 AM: Flexibility. 10:00 AM: Routine drills. 2:00 PM: Full run-through. 9:00 PM: Weight check. The last column read: “Three days before the competition: Limit food intake to match Natasha’s weight.” Natasha reached out to touch the paper, her fingers trembling. She suddenly crouched down and pried a tiny SD card out of a crack in the floorboards. I stared in shock. I had hidden that. A long time ago, I knew they would eventually discard me. I didn’t have the courage to run, and I had nowhere to go. So, I secretly recorded every forced training session, every injury, and every time Mom screamed that I was “worthless,” saving them on that card. I had planned to mail it to Christine after the competition. But I never made it. Natasha clutched the SD card in her palm and whispered, “Emma, I found it.” Just as she stood up, the basement light at the top of the stairs suddenly brightened. Mom stood there, her face deathly pale. “What is in your hand?” Natasha hid her hand behind her back. Mom shrieked, “Give it to me!” Natasha turned to run. But Dad rushed down the stairs, catching her in a tight grip. The SD card slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor. Mom instantly stepped on it with a loud crunch. The tiny card was crushed to pieces under her heel. Natasha stared blankly at the shattered plastic. The last bit of light in her eyes died. Mom wasn’t done. She slapped Natasha hard across the face. “You’ve been completely corrupted by that parasite.” Natasha slowly raised her head. “She wasn’t a parasite.” Mom screamed: “Yes, she was!” “Since the day she was born, she dragged you down.” “If it weren’t for her, our family would have had only one perfect, prodigy daughter!” Natasha suddenly asked, “So the car accident when we were seven… did you plan that too?” Mom’s voice cut off instantly. Dad’s face twisted in shock. I froze as well. The car accident? Natasha stared dead into Mom’s eyes. “I saw Emma’s old X-ray records today.” “A shattered right ankle.” “She couldn’t put full pressure on her right foot after that, yet you told her she was naturally unfit for public competitions.” “I always thought it was just an accident.” Mom’s lips turned white. Dad interrupted harshly: “Natasha! Have you lost your mind?” Natasha laughed. “I guess it wasn’t an accident after all.” Standing in the cold basement, I felt my entire world turn to ice. So my life in the shadows wasn’t just bad luck. It was meticulously orchestrated by them from the very beginning.

Christine arrived the next day. She didn’t bring flowers. She brought a cease-and-desist letter and a voice recorder. Mom blocked the doorway, forcing a polite smile. “Christine, Natasha is not feeling well lately. She’s not fit to receive visitors.” Christine stared at her coldly. “I’m not here to see Natasha.” “I’m here to ask about Emma.” Mom’s smile instantly stiffened. Christine opened her phone, showing a screenshot of the backstage footage from the night of the competition. Though the video was blurry, it clearly showed the dancer’s right ankle buckling outward upon landing. “Natasha doesn’t have an old injury in her right ankle,” Christine said. “But Emma does.” Mom’s face went cold. “What are you implying?” “I am implying that I suspect you have been running a long-term identity fraud scheme in these competitions.” Dad walked out of the living room. “Christine, watch your mouth.” Christine didn’t back down. “I have already petitioned the committee to retrieve the full backstage security footage.” Dad smiled faintly. “Feel free to try.” “But I heard there was a power surge backstage that night, and most of the video files were corrupted.” Christine’s expression tightened. Dad stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You have your own dance company, and you have students.” “Slandering an international champion won’t do you any good.” Christine glared at him. “Do you really think the dead leave no evidence?” Dad remained silent, but Mom let out a cold sneer. “Of course the dead don’t.” “Only the living have voices. Only the living make evidence.” A muffled banging noise came from upstairs. Natasha was throwing herself against her bedroom door. “Christine!” “The basement! They destroyed the evidence in the basement!” Dad’s face darkened instantly. He turned to head upstairs. Christine suddenly raised her voice: “Natasha! I hear you!” “And I will remember Emma’s name!” Those words made Natasha quiet down, and they made me want to cry. It turned out that having someone remember your name was such a difficult thing. After Christine left, Dad called a crew to tear down the basement that very night. The mirrors were carted away, the barres were unscrewed, and the floorboards were pried up. My blood stains, the training schedules, and my old knee pads were all stuffed into black trash bags. Mom stood by, urging them, “Hurry up.” “The media is coming tomorrow morning to film Natasha’s recovery documentary.” Dad frowned. “We can’t keep the ashes either.” Natasha stood at the top of the stairs, her face losing all color. “You promised you would let her have a proper burial.” Mom avoided her gaze. Dad said: “Keeping them is a liability.” “Scatter them. Keep it clean.” Natasha rushed down the stairs to grab the urn. Dad shoved her away. She crashed against the wall, wincing in pain, but she desperately locked her hands around the cuff of his pants. “Don’t touch her.” Dad looked down at her. There was no fatherly affection in his eyes—only disgust. “If you keep fighting me, I will make sure she doesn’t even have a place to rest.” Natasha’s grip slowly loosened. She watched Dad lock my cremation urn inside the wall safe. The electronic lock clicked shut. Dad said, “We will dispose of it after the award ceremony.” My ashes had become their final hostage. Late that night, Natasha quietly opened the sealed bag containing my pointe shoes. She clutched them to her chest, sobbing for hours. Then, she suddenly stopped. When her fingers brushed the heel of the left shoe, she paused. Those shoes were never used on stage again; I had hidden them in the deepest corner of the basement. I had gathered all my secret videos from my old phone, camera cards, and the basement computer. Before the finals, I had copied everything onto a micro SD card, sealed it in a waterproof capsule, stuffed it into the hollow heel of my left pointe shoe, and hand-stitched it shut with thick thread. Because I knew those shoes were the only things my parents would never try to sell, exhibit, or use to promote Natasha’s glory. Natasha used to help me mend my shoes when we were kids. She could feel the difference immediately. At that moment, her eyes turned fiercely red. “Emma… you left a way out after all.”

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I had been with Christopher for seven years. Seven years of a long-distance relationship. He came from a dirt-poor background but had a sky-high ego. I walked on eggshells to protect his precious self-esteem. Not only did I pay cash to buy him a ten-million-dollar luxury penthouse in Manhattan, but I also used my family’s massive connections to slide him into a high-paying executive role at a top investment bank. He always told me, “Once I save up enough money, Chloe, I’m going to give you the wedding of your dreams.” To surprise him, I secretly flew to New York to custom-order my wedding dress. But in the bridal boutique, I ended up helping a pregnant woman who was being looked down upon by the staff. Clutching my hand, she gushed with blushing pride about her multi-millionaire, incredibly sweet, investment-bank-VP fiancé. Until she pulled out his photo. I stared at the man on her phone screen—the man I had loved with all my heart for seven years. It felt like my entire world had frozen over.

Early autumn in New York brought a chilly breeze. I pushed open the glass doors of HAPPY Bridal Boutique. The store manager immediately rushed over, her face practically glowing with a welcoming smile. “Miss Nathaniel! You’re here! The designer made some minor adjustments to the sketches you liked based on your measurements. Please, follow me to the VIP lounge.” I nodded and followed her inside. Actually, Christopher had no idea I was in New York today. We had been together for seven years. From college to our careers, it was seven years of flying back and forth between coasts. While he was grinding in New York, I was back in Los Angeles helping my family run our venture capital firm. Over these seven years, I watched him go from a broke student who hesitated to buy a Starbucks latte to a VP at a prestigious investment bank. Of course, none of that would have happened without me pulling strings behind the scenes, securing deals for him, and cleaning up his messes. But I never told him. His pride was too fragile, almost painfully sensitive. Last month, he finally got promoted. He choked up over FaceTime, saying, “Chloe, I finally made it. I finally feel like I’m worthy of standing by your side.” “When I get my year-end bonus, let’s get married, okay?” At that moment, I cried like a total fool. So, I secretly booked a flight to New York today, wanting to get my dress secured first. I wanted to give him the ultimate surprise. While I was sitting on the leather sofa flipping through the catalog, a loud argument broke out in the main lobby. “Is this how you run a business? I told you, my wedding is early next month! I need to secure this dress today!” “Can’t I just pay extra?” A young, high-pitched, and slightly spoiled female voice echoed through the lounge. The store manager looked embarrassed and gave me an apologetic smile. “Miss Nathaniel, please excuse me for a moment. I’ll go handle this.” I had nothing else to do, so I followed her out. In the lobby, a young woman wearing a Chanel dress from the latest fall collection was sitting on the sofa, puffing with anger. She was gorgeous, with a sweet face and baby-soft features. What caught my eye was her slightly round belly. She looked about four or five months pregnant. The manager was desperately trying to explain, “Miss Aurora, it’s really not about the money.” “The gown you want is a hand-made haute couture piece by our chief designer. From measuring to the final embroidery, it takes at least three months.” “Next month is simply impossible.” “I don’t care!” Aurora touched her belly, her eyes welling with tears. “My baby can’t wait!” “My husband said I must wear the most beautiful gown and have the grandest wedding.” “Are you guys looking down on me?” Aurora got so worked up that her face suddenly went pale. She swayed, nearly tumbling off the sofa. “Miss Aurora!” The manager panicked. Quick on my feet, I lunged forward and caught her. I reached into my bag, pulled out an imported fruit candy I always kept on me, unwrapped it, and popped it into her mouth. “Low blood sugar?” I asked gently, helping her lean back onto the sofa. Aurora sucked on the candy. After a long minute, the color slowly returned to her face. She looked at me with teary eyes, like a startled little deer. “Thank you so much. Everything went black for a second. I thought something was going to happen to my baby.” “You shouldn’t get this stressed while pregnant.” I handed her a tissue and turned to the manager. “Betty, didn’t the Milan headquarters just send over a ready-to-wear runway piece last month?” “The measurements should be close to this lady’s. With some minor alterations, we can have it ready in two weeks, right?” The manager blinked, then nodded respectfully. “Yes, Miss Nathaniel. But that was reserved as your backup option…” “It’s fine. I’m not in a rush. Let her have it,” I said with a faint smile. Hearing this, Aurora’s eyes lit up instantly. She grabbed my hand. “Really? You’re letting me have your dress?” “Oh my god, you are literally my savior!” Her name was Aurora, a fairly popular beauty influencer on Instagram. Because I had done her a huge favor, she insisted on taking me to the Rosewood Hotel next door for high tea to thank me. Seeing that she was heavily pregnant and alone, I agreed. Stirring her black tea, the happiness radiating from Aurora’s face was almost suffocating. “You have no idea. I originally wanted to have the wedding after the baby was born.” “But my husband refused. He said he couldn’t let me feel neglected. He insisted that our baby must witness our love from inside my belly.” She rested her chin on her hands, smiling as if she were drowning in honey. I smiled along. “Your husband must love you very much.” “Of course he does!” Aurora raised her chin proudly. “Even though he came from some poor rural town and couldn’t even afford tuition back then.” “He’s incredibly ambitious. He’s already an investment bank VP! And he is absolutely gorgeous!” The hand holding my teacup froze. Born in a poor town. Investment bank VP. Putting those details together made something click in my mind. But I brushed it off. New York was huge, after all. There were plenty of investment banks and young, successful men. Aurora continued to brag endlessly. “And he is so generous to me. He gave me his credit card and lets me spend tens of thousands every month.” “Not long ago, he bought a three-hundred-square-meter luxury penthouse in Manhattan with cash. Even though only his name is on the deed right now, he said he’d add mine once we get married.” Hearing the words “Manhattan penthouse” and “cash,” my heart skipped a beat. A luxury penthouse in Manhattan cost tens of millions. How could a newly promoted VP afford that in cash, no matter how much he made? Unless… A wild, utterly absurd thought began to take root in my mind like a thorny vine, wrapping tightly around my chest. “What… what is your husband’s last name?” I forced my voice to sound calm, but only I knew that my fingertips were trembling. Unaware, Aurora smiled and pulled a gold-embossed wedding invitation from her bag, sliding it over to me. “Christopher Vance. You have to come visit me when you’re in New York!” Christopher Vance. The name felt like a dagger piercing straight through my eyes. I stared at the name I knew all too well. My mind went completely blank. A deafening buzz filled my ears, making me dizzy.

“Are you okay? You look so pale.” Seeing my silence, Aurora leaned in with concern. I snapped back to reality, took a deep breath, and forced down the rising nausea in my throat. “I’m… I’m fine.” I squeezed out a smile that probably looked worse than crying. “I just… the name sounds familiar.” “Really?” Aurora’s eyes lit up with pride. “He’s quite famous in the finance circle! To become a VP at his age, so many people are jealous.” “You’re in business too, so it makes sense you’ve heard of him.” Looking at her innocent, boasting face, the blood in my veins turned to ice. How could I not have heard of him? Christopher. The man I had loved and financially supported for seven long years. The shy boy on the college campus who once blushed while handing me a bottle of water, unable to even look me in the eye. The man who once cried through my phone screen when I was sick, swearing he would make it big just to treat me like a princess. And now, he was someone else’s Christopher. He was even having a child with her? I gripped my porcelain teacup so hard my knuckles turned white. My nails dug into my palms. “How long… have you two been together?” My voice sounded raspy, like sandpaper. “Almost a year,” Aurora recalled, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. “We met at a gala.” “He was wearing a custom designer suit, looking so cold and distant. Other women tried to hit on him, but he completely ignored them.” “Then I accidentally spilled my wine on him. Instead of getting mad, he took off his jacket and put it over my shoulders so I wouldn’t feel embarrassed in my stained dress.” “Don’t you think that’s just fate?” A year. I closed my eyes, my chest aching so bad I couldn’t breathe. A year ago was exactly when Christopher’s career hit a massive bottleneck. He was depressed and miserable. Back then, worried about his stress levels, I flew to New York every single weekend to be with him. I cooked for him, massaged his shoulders, and stayed up all night listening to him vent about work. I even went behind his back to beg my father to hand over a multi-million-dollar, guaranteed-profit project to Christopher’s team. That was the only reason he overcame his crisis and got promoted. But what did he do? During the days and nights I wasn’t in New York, he wore the designer suits I bought him, playing the role of a cold, brooding billionaire at galas to charm other women. “Look, we just took our wedding photos last week.” Aurora eagerly pushed her phone screen in front of my face. In the photo, Christopher wore a crisp white tuxedo, wrapping his arms tenderly around Aurora from behind. His hand rested gently on her baby bump. He was leaning down, kissing her cheek. The look in his eyes was filled with a tenderness and devotion I had never seen before. In our seven years together, Christopher rarely took photos. He always claimed he wasn’t photogenic, saying it was too cheesy for men to take photos all the time. We didn’t even have a decent couple’s photo. The only one we had was one I forced him to take at our college graduation. In that photo, his brow was furrowed, looking entirely annoyed. It turned out he didn’t hate photos. He just hated taking them with me. “Handsome, right?” Aurora giggled as she took her phone back. “Honestly, at first, I felt pretty insecure.” “He’s so successful, and there are always trashy girls throwing themselves at him.” “Especially his crazy ex-girlfriend. She’s an absolute nightmare!” Hearing “ex-girlfriend,” my nerves spiked. “An ex-girlfriend?” I asked, pretending to be casual. “Yeah!” Aurora rolled her eyes in disgust. “Christopher said she was a gold-digging parasite. Her family was dirt poor, and she relied entirely on him for money.” “Later, Christopher found out she was sleeping around behind his back, so he dumped her.” “But she wouldn’t let go. She kept texting him for money every other day.” “Christopher is too soft-hearted. He felt bad for her, so he’d occasionally throw her a few bucks to get her to go away.” I wanted to laugh out loud at the sheer absurdity. A dirt-poor gold digger? Sleeping around? Soft-hearted charity? Christopher, you really are something else. You spent the hundreds of thousands of dollars of allowance I gave you every month, lived in the penthouse I paid for in full, and drove the Porsche I bought you. Yet, in front of your new girl, you turned me into a pathetic, desperate, gold-digging ex? For seven years, I was a fool, played like a toy in his hands. To protect his ego, I never let him spend a single dime on me. I secretly settled the bill whenever we ate out. I always bought him the most expensive gifts for holidays. Meanwhile, he only got me cheap, twenty-dollar trinkets, which I cherished like priceless treasures. I thought that was love. I thought it was mutual respect. In reality, it was just a one-woman show. And he sat in the audience, watching me perform like a clown, probably laughing his head off. “Women like that deserve to be put in their place!” Aurora balled her hand into a fist, then smiled again. “But it’s fine now. Christopher blocked her on everything.” “He told me he only cares about me and our baby now.” My ears buzzed. Nausea washed over me again. I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood up abruptly. “What’s wrong?” Aurora gasped, startled. “I need to use the restroom.” I practically fled to the bathroom. Clinging to the sink, I dry-heaved for several minutes, but nothing came out. Staring at the pale, red-eyed woman in the mirror, I felt entirely detached. Chloe, you are pathetic. All the business logic and intelligence you took pride in shattered into worthless dust the moment love was involved. I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water onto my face. The freezing water dripped down my cheeks, completely washing away the last shred of my foolish illusions. Christopher, since you had the balls to do this, don’t blame me for what comes next. You want to step on my back, use my money, and give another woman the wedding of the century? Keep dreaming.

I dried my face, touched up my makeup, and replaced the vulnerability in my eyes with cold, calculated steel. When I walked back, Aurora was on her phone, leaving a sweet voice message. “Chris, what do you want for dinner tonight?” “I met an amazing lady today. She actually let me have her custom wedding gown!” “Can I invite her over to our place for dinner tonight?” I walked up just in time to hear this. Have dinner at their place? At the twenty-million-dollar penthouse I paid for in full, where I hadn’t even spent a single night? A cold smirk tugged at the corner of my lips. I was just wondering how to confront this trash. She was handing me the opportunity on a silver platter. “Sure,” I said smoothly as I sat down, offering a warm smile. “Actually, my hotel reservation had some issues, and I don’t have a place to stay tonight.” “I hope I won’t be intruding?” “No way!” Aurora grabbed my hand excitedly. “It’s an honor to have you!” “Christopher is always busy with work, and I get so bored alone at home.” “Isn’t your boyfriend in New York too? Why don’t you call him to join us?” I lowered my gaze to hide the mockery in my eyes. “No need. He’s… ‘working late.’” I put extra emphasis on “working late.” Over the past seven years, Christopher had used this excuse to brush me off countless times. “Ah, that’s too bad. Long-distance is so hard. You have to be understanding.” Aurora comforted me like an experienced wife, then happily pulled me along. “Let’s go. We can take my car!” In the parking garage, a brand-new, metallic pink Porsche Panamera pulled up in front of us. My pupils dilated when I saw the car. This was the gift I bought Christopher for his thirtieth birthday last year. Because he said people in investment banking looked down on you if you didn’t drive a good car, I ordered the top-tier trim, which cost me nearly three hundred thousand dollars. But now, the car was wrapped in hot pink, serving as Aurora’s ride. “Pretty, right?” Aurora tapped the car door, beaming. “It’s a pregnancy gift from Christopher!” “He said pink suits me perfectly. Get in, what are you waiting for?” I took a deep breath, fighting the urge to key the car, and climbed into the passenger seat. The interior smelled of sweet, cloying perfume. A photo of the two of them hung from the rearview mirror. The back seat was piled high with luxury shopping bags. Every single detail in this car felt like a slap to my face. As we drove out, Aurora’s phone rang. It was a FaceTime call from Christopher. Aurora mounted her phone on the dashboard and answered it. On the screen, the face I knew down to the bone appeared. Christopher was wearing the Armani custom shirt I bought him, his tie slightly loosened, his brow furrowed in his classic “busy executive” look. But the moment he saw Aurora, his expression softened instantly. His eyes filled with warmth, even a hint of subservience. “Hey babe. Did the baby behave today? Are you tired from trying on dresses?” His deep, smooth voice was once my favorite sound. Now, it just made me sick. “Not tired at all! I met an amazing person who helped me today!” Aurora chirped. “Chris, when are you getting off work?” “I invited her over for dinner. Hurry home and cook for us!” Christopher on the screen paused, then smiled dotingly. “You always make decisions on a whim.” “Fine, I’ll head back now. What do you want to eat? I’ll stop by the grocery store.” “I want steak!” “Sure, whatever you want. Wait for me at home.” Christopher blew a kiss to the camera and hung up. Sitting in the passenger seat, I was out of the camera’s angle, so Christopher didn’t see me. But I saw his loving, attentive face clearly. For seven years, he had never spoken to me in that tone. He was always cold, always saying, “I’m busy,” “Don’t start,” or “Be mature.” I thought he was just naturally distant and bad with words. It turned out he knew exactly how to love someone. He just didn’t love me. He gave all his warmth, patience, and emotional care to another woman. And left the coldness, excuses, and financial demands for me. “Isn’t my husband literally the best?” Aurora turned to me, smiling. I stared at the traffic ahead, my lips curling into a cold line. “Yeah. He’s quite the ‘husband.’”

The car pulled into one of New York’s most exclusive residential buildings—the Senna Residences. The security was incredibly tight, but Aurora scanned her face and drove right in. In the underground garage, she parked in a private spot. I glanced at the spot number: A-001. Another thing I paid for. I followed Aurora into the private elevator, riding it straight to the penthouse. The moment the door opened, even though I was prepared, the sight still pierced my chest. I had personally hired a top Italian designer to style this three-hundred-square-meter penthouse. From the Mediterranean-style archways to the million-dollar crystal chandelier in the living room, to the smart home system—every detail had my heart poured into it. Back then, Christopher said he liked a minimalist style, so I had replaced all the furniture with sleek black, white, and gray tones. But now, the spacious living room was covered in a fluffy pink rug. The sofa was piled with cute plushies, and a massive crib sat by the floor-to-ceiling windows. The entire home had been transformed by Aurora into a cozy pink castle. My hard work had been effortlessly wiped out by another woman. “Make yourself at home!” Aurora greeted me warmly, pulling a pair of brand-new pink slippers from the shoe cabinet. I glanced down at the cabinet. The dozens of limited-edition sneakers I had bought him were completely gone. They were replaced by Aurora’s high heels and maternity shoes. “What do you want to drink? Juice or coffee?” Aurora walked toward the open kitchen. “Water is fine, thank you.” I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down at the glittering New York skyline. This was where I had imagined us standing side-by-side, countless times. “Look at this!” Aurora walked over with a glass of water, pointing proudly to a massive oil painting on the wall. It was a portrait of them. Christopher in a tuxedo, Aurora in a wedding gown, staring deeply into each other’s eyes. “Christopher commissioned this. It cost hundreds of thousands!” “He said he wanted to freeze our most beautiful moment forever,” Aurora sighed dreamily. I stared coldly at the painting, my stomach churning again. Hundreds of thousands? Last month, Christopher told me he needed to butter up some clients for a project and was short on cash. I wired him a million dollars without a second thought. So, my money went into painting this disgusting trash. “Aurora,” I turned around, looking at her glowing face. “Do you really know Christopher?” Aurora blinked, confused. “What do you mean?” “Nothing.” I smiled, taking a sip of water. “I just think men nowadays are really good at pretending.” “Especially the ones who suddenly get rich. You should be careful.” Aurora burst out laughing. “You’re overthinking! Christopher is not like that.” “I have his credit cards, and I can check his phone whenever I want.” “He doesn’t even have any female friends. How could he lie to me?” “Really?” I put down my glass, my eyes mocking. “What about that crazy ex-girlfriend? What if she comes back?” At the mention of the ex, Aurora’s face darkened, her teeth clenching. “She wouldn’t dare! If she tries to ruin my family, I’ll tear her face apart!” “A cheap escort trying to steal my man? Please.” “A cheap escort?” I raised an eyebrow, holding back the urge to splash the water in her face. “Yeah! Christopher told me himself,” Aurora said with pure disgust. “He said she worked at some shady gentleman’s club. Who knows what diseases she has.” “Christopher was fooled by her at first, thinking she was some innocent college girl.” “Once he found out the truth, he was so disgusted he packed up and left overnight.” I trembled with pure rage, my nails biting so deep into my palms that they drew blood. Christopher, you have truly set a new low for human trash. To paint yourself as a saint in front of your mistress, you turned me—a partner at a top venture capital firm in LA—into a diseased escort?! I closed my eyes, taking several deep breaths to force down the fury. Fine. Great. Christopher, since you love acting so much, I’ll play along tonight. Just then, the front door beeped as the smart lock scanned a fingerprint. “Chris is back!” Aurora squealed, flying toward the door like a happy bird. The door opened, and Christopher walked in carrying two large grocery bags. As he kicked off his shoes, he caught the throwing-herself-at-him Aurora and kissed her forehead. “Miss me?” “Yes! So much!” Aurora clung to his neck. “Missed you too.” Christopher pinched her nose dotingly, then raised his head. His gaze swept past Aurora’s shoulder and landed on the living room. In that instant, time froze. The smile on Christopher’s face turned into a solid block of ice the moment he saw me. His pupils dilated. Pure terror and disbelief washed over his eyes. The grocery bags slipped from his hands, hitting the floor with a loud thud. Tomatoes rolled out, stopping right at my feet. “You… how are you…” His mouth hung open like a dying fish. He couldn’t even squeeze out a full sentence. Aurora was startled by his reaction. She looked back at me, then laughed, pulling his arm. “Chris, why do you look like that?” “It’s like you’ve seen a ghost. This is the nice lady I told you about!” “She let me have her wedding dress today, or I would’ve cried my eyes out!” Aurora dragged the statue-like Christopher over to me. “Let me introduce you properly. This is my husband, Christopher.” Staring at Christopher’s pale, sweat-slicked face, my lips curved into a freezing smirk. I extended my right hand, my voice clear and sharp. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Vance. I’ve heard so much about you.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “442738”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

Right after the SATs, I went to our senior prom. At the party, I took a single drink and blacked out completely. When I woke up, I was lying naked in Ethan’s bed. And Chloe, our school’s resident mean girl, was holding a camera right in my face, snapping photos. “You have no idea how pathetic and desperate you looked last night!” she sneered. The other classmates gathered in the hotel room burst into a chorus of nasty laughter. Then Ethan, my childhood best friend whom I grew up with, tossed a giant T-shirt at me. “Are you stupid? Didn’t you know that drink was spiked with a roofie?” Tears streamed down my face. I didn’t even dare to ask what had actually happened last night. Ethan looked at me with pure disgust. “Forget it. Chloe was just playing a joke. Don’t look so victimized. With you looking like a fat pig, what guy would actually want to touch you?” At that exact moment, my ten-year-old crush on Ethan died a brutal death. Ethan’s shirt was huge, fitting me like a baggy dress. Chloe held the camera, lightly kicking a husky lying on the floor with her sneaker. “Look at how she was hugging this dog last night. Kissing it and rubbing all over it. It was hilarious. I’ve never seen anyone get horny over a dog before.” A few people laughed along, but their voices quickly quieted down. Some classmates stole glances at me, looking a bit uneasy but saying nothing. Ethan poured a glass of warm water and walked over. I reached out to take it, but he bypassed my hand and handed it directly to Chloe. “Rinse your mouth. You’ve laughed your throat hoarse.” Chloe took the glass and winked at me maliciously. “My bad, April. Maybe the joke went a little too far.” “But seriously, I didn’t think you’d actually drink it. The cup literally had a sticky note that said ‘Don’t drink.’” I kept my mouth shut. There was indeed a cup on the table, and the sticky note on it was now soggy and illegible. But last night, that cup had been handed to me by Ethan. He had grabbed it from the table and shoved it into my hands. “Drink up, your face is super red.” Only after I took two big gulps did he lazily add, “Oh, actually, I think I grabbed the wrong one.” Chloe had led the applause then, and everyone cheered. I hadn’t realized what was happening in my hazy state. And after that, my memory went completely blank. The next morning, my photos spread like wildfire across our school’s Snapchat groups. Me, hugging a husky, clothes disheveled, face twisted in tears. The caption read: “One night for $100. Best deal in town.” There were over three hundred people in that group chat. Ethan was one of them. He didn’t leave the group. He didn’t say a single word to stop them. He only sent me one private message. “Don’t take it too seriously.” I stared at those five words all night. I never replied. On the day we had to go back to school to sign our final college enrollment forms, I wore an oversized black T-shirt. I tried my best to blend into the shadows. But the moment I walked into the classroom, someone let out a loud whistle. “Hey look, the dog-girl is here.” Whispers and giggles erupted, elbows digging into ribs. I walked to my desk. Carved deeply into the wooden surface were four words: “FAT PIG FOR SLAUGHTER.” I didn’t know when they had carved it, but the gashes were deep. I covered it up with a piece of scrap paper. Chloe sat diagonally in front of me. She turned around with a sweet smile. “April, which college are you committing to?” “Ethan and I are both going to Harvard. Why don’t you come with us?” She wrapped her arm around Ethan’s, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Once we’re in college, we can still look out for you.” Ethan kept his head down, flipping through his college paperwork, not looking at me once. A guy sitting nearby scoffed. “Why would she go to Harvard? Does the dining hall need someone to clear out the trash cans?” The classroom burst into laughter. Ethan finally looked up and said quietly, “That’s enough.” His voice wasn’t loud, but the laughter died down instantly. Chloe pouted. “It was just a joke, Ethan. You’re always so protective of her.” Ethan didn’t reply. Instead, he turned around to look at me. “What happened to your leg?” I froze. His eyes fell on my knees. I had tripped on the stairs yesterday, scraping off a patch of skin and leaving a massive, ugly purple bruise. My cropped pants couldn’t hide it. “It’s nothing,” I said flatly. “Did you put ointment on it?” “Yes.” He dug a fresh tube of ointment out of his backpack and tossed it onto my desk. “This is new. Put it on twice a day.” Seeing this, Chloe snatched at it. “I want some too! I scraped my knee yesterday too.” Ethan pinned her hand down. “Like hell you did. Who was the one whining for me to carry them up the stairs last night?” Chloe giggled, her voice dripping with honey. “Then you should carry April too. Her leg is actually hurt.” Ethan stayed silent. Chloe chuckled nastily. “Oh, right. You can’t carry her. She’s too heavy. Haha.” Her laughter was shrill, sounding like nails on a chalkboard. I ripped open the packaging of the ointment, squeezed a bit out, and slowly dabbed it onto my knee. It felt cold, then it began to sting. Ethan turned to me again. “Seriously, which school are you choosing?” “I haven’t decided yet.” “Stop overthinking. Harvard. Have you signed the acceptance form?” “Yes.” “Which choice is it?” “My top choice.” He nodded, looking visibly relieved. “Good.” “Your GPA is just enough to get in. Don’t waste your potential on some local community college.” Chloe chipped in, “Going to community college is fine too. At least she’d be close to home to cook for her mom.” I remained silent. Ethan shot Chloe a warning look, and Chloe stuck her tongue out. “What? Did I say something wrong? Her mom literally runs a cheap little diner.” “Though, honestly, her pork stew is actually pretty good.”

The bell rang. Mrs. Gable walked in to distribute the official, triplicated enrollment confirmation forms. Once we signed the bottom of these printed sheets, our college decisions were legally locked in and unchangeable. The classroom went dead quiet, filled only with the scratching of pens. My fingers gripped my pen so tightly they turned white. Ethan leaned over and whispered, “Let me check yours before you sign. Don’t make a mistake.” I didn’t acknowledge him. He began writing his own name in his signature, messy cursive. Chloe copied his choices, writing slowly, a step behind him. Just then, Chloe’s phone buzzed loudly. She picked it up, her loud voice echoing through the quiet room. “Hey, Mom! Yeah, I’m signing my college forms right now.” “What? Oh, you mean April’s photos?” “That wasn’t me! I don’t know who leaked them to the group chat.” She chuckled into the receiver. “Oh my god, seriously, it has nothing to do with me. I just filmed the video; I didn’t post it.” “I only showed it to Ethan. He was the one laughing his head off at it.” Several classmates turned their heads to look at me, then quickly looked back down. Some were shaking their shoulders, trying desperately to hold in their giggles. Ethan’s hand froze mid-stroke. He shot Chloe a frustrated look, then turned to soothe me. “I need to go to the office for a second. Just ignore her. She’s just acting like a dumb girl. The drama will blow over in a couple of days.” I stopped writing. I stared at the back of Chloe’s head. She was still on the phone, her voice getting louder and more arrogant. “Seriously, Mom, you should have heard her. She was moaning so loud while hugging that husky.” “No guy would ever touch her. No one would take her even if she paid them $100.” “Alright, alright, I’ll stop. I’ll show you the video when I get home tonight. It’s comedy gold.” I stood up. My chair legs scraped against the floor, making a sharp, screeching sound. The classroom fell dead silent. Chloe turned around, her phone still pressed to her ear. “What?” I walked over to her. I stopped right in front of her desk. Then, I raised my hand and slapped her across the face. The loud, crisp crack echoed off the walls. Chloe was completely stunned. Her phone flew out of her hand, the screen shattering as it hit the floor. She clutched her cheek, her eyes wide with shock, her mouth open but unable to make a sound. Everyone was staring. The air in the room froze solid. My voice sounded incredibly calm, even to my own ears. “That first slap is for your parents, since they clearly failed to raise you.” “A mouth is meant for speaking human words, not spewing trash.” Chloe finally snapped out of her shock. She bolted up, knocking her chair backward. She was half a head taller than me, and she shoved me hard. “You slapped me? You bitch, you dare slap me?!” The shove sent me stumbling back, my back slamming painfully into the edge of a desk. A sharp ache flared up, but I took a step forward anyway. I raised my hand again and delivered a second slap. This time she tried to dodge, but my palm caught her hard across the ear, sending her stumbling sideways. Pens and papers on her desk went flying everywhere. “This second slap is for myself.” “You filmed me, posted my photos, and humiliated me for three straight days.” “Did you think it was funny?” I glared at her, my eyes burning, but I refused to let a single tear fall. “Is it still funny now?” Chloe clutched both sides of her face, her eyes welling with tears as she screamed at the top of her lungs: “Ethan!”

The classroom door was pushed open. Ethan walked back in, holding some papers he had just printed from the main office. The moment he saw the chaos, his face darkened completely. “What the hell is going on?” Chloe lunged at him, grabbing his arm desperately. “She hit me! She’s completely insane, Ethan! She hit me!” Ethan looked at the red handprints blooming on her cheeks, then turned his gaze to me. “You slapped her?” I looked him straight in the eyes. “She deserved it.” His expression shifted from disbelief to cold anger. “I told you, Chloe was just joking.” “Why are you making such a big deal out of this? Nothing actually happened to you that night anyway.” Ethan had beautiful eyes and a perfectly straight nose. When he spoke, his Adam’s apple bobbed. I used to think every single part of him was designed perfectly to fit my heart. Now, all I felt was a dull, heavy ache. “A joke? She called me a fat pig for three days, and I ignored it.” “She set me up, and I let it slide.” “She filmed me and put it online, and did you say a single word?” Ethan frowned. “Chloe filmed the video, yes, but she wasn’t the one who posted it to the group chat.” “It was her mom who accidentally forwarded it.” I let out a cold, cynical laugh. “She literally just said on the phone that she only showed it to you.” Ethan’s face went rigid. Chloe gripped his arm even tighter. “Ethan, I didn’t say that! She’s lying…” Ethan glanced at her, then back at me. His lips parted, but all he said was, “Even if she did, you shouldn’t have resorted to violence.” I nodded slowly. “Right. I shouldn’t have hit her.” “I should have kept quiet, kept being your little punching bag and your favorite joke.” “For three years in high school, you guys gave me cruel nicknames, hid my homework, and stuffed trash into my locker.” “On my birthday, she gifted me weight-loss pills while you stood there laughing.” “When I gave my speech on stage, she led the crowd in booing me off, and you stood by doing absolutely nothing.” “Ethan, I used to think you were just bad at expressing yourself.” “I actually believed that deep down, you cared about me.” My voice began to tremble. “When you handed me that drink last night… did you know what was in it?” Ethan didn’t say a word. His silence was my answer. I inhaled deeply and nodded. “I see.” I turned around and walked back to my desk. I picked up the enrollment confirmation form. “Are you finished signing?” Ethan’s voice called out from behind me. I ignored him. He spoke again, his tone carrying that usual, arrogant sense of authority. “Don’t throw a tantrum. Your college choice affects your entire life. If you aren’t with me at Harvard, I worry you won’t…” He sounded so casual, as if the conflict we just had was nothing but a minor lover’s spat. I folded the paper and slipped it into my pocket. Just then, my phone rang. It was my mom. I picked it up and walked to the very end of the hallway to answer. “Hey, Mom.” “April, sweetie, have you signed the form? You’re going to Harvard, right?” My mom’s voice sounded exhausted from her long shift at the diner, but it was incredibly warm. “Don’t worry about the money. I’ll take on extra shifts. We can afford the tuition.” “Ethan is going to Harvard too, right? Since you two grew up together, you can look out for each other.” I leaned against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. Tears fell, hot and heavy, onto the floor. I couldn’t bring myself to answer because I didn’t want her to hear me crying. I quickly hung up. I walked back into the classroom. Ethan was standing right by my desk, holding his signed enrollment sheet. “Here,” he said, handing it to me. I took it and glanced at it. First choice: Harvard University. Major: Computer Science. The second choice line was left blank. He had only filled out one option. “Fill yours out the exact same way. Don’t overthink it. Your GPA is a guaranteed lock for Harvard.” I stared at his handwriting. The ink was barely dry. Chloe was back in her seat, pressing a wet paper towel to her cheek. She glared at me, muttering under her breath, “Psycho. Like a rabid dog.” Ethan turned to her. “Shut up, Chloe.” Chloe went quiet, but rolled her eyes dramatically. Mrs. Gable walked back into the room. “Alright class, listen up. Once you sign this form, it’s final. It cannot be changed.” “We have twenty minutes before the portal closes. Get them to my desk.” She stood at the podium and began collecting the sheets. I walked straight up to the front, grabbed a pen from the teacher’s desk, and laid my paper down flat. The system would lock in five minutes. I raised the pen and drew a heavy, brutal line right through “Harvard University.” I scribbled over it so hard that the paper made a sharp scratching sound. “What are you doing?!” Ethan lunged forward, grabbing my wrist in a tight grip. “Are you insane?!” I ripped my hand away from his grasp. Mrs. Gable stood up immediately. “Ethan, do not interfere with other students’ enrollment forms.” Ethan ignored her, his eyes locked onto mine. “April, where are you committing?!” I didn’t say a word. I kept writing. He reached out to snatch the paper away from me. I dodged, my wrist slamming hard against the sharp corner of the podium. A jolt of pain shot up my arm. “Where the hell are you going?!” he roared. The entire classroom stared at us in shock. Chloe stood up, her face filled with confusion. I finished writing. I slapped the paper down onto Mrs. Gable’s desk. I signed my name. And pressed my thumbprint on the seal. Mrs. Gable looked at the paper, then looked up at me in shock. “Are you sure about this, April?” “Yes.” “Alright. It’s submitted.” The computer let out a soft beep. The enrollment portal was officially closed.

Ethan stood by the podium, his face a mask of absolute disbelief. I walked down the steps, trying to pass him. He grabbed my arm roughly. “April! You…” I looked down at his hand, then up at his face. “Let go of me.” He didn’t budge. I forced his fingers off my arm, one by one. “Is all of this really necessary? Just over a stupid joke?!” he snapped. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and walked toward the exit. Chloe’s mocking voice rang out from behind. “Oh, look at her playing hard to get. Does she seriously think this is going to make you chase her, Ethan?” “Just let her go. She’ll come crawling back in a couple of days anyway…” Before I could even cross the threshold of the door, Ethan took two giant strides, caught up to me, and yanked my wrist back. The force of his pull spun me halfway around. “Where did you commit?!” “April! Answer me!” His eyes were bloodshot, his face contorted in a rage I had never seen before. Chloe swaggered over, standing right behind him with her arms crossed. “Forget it, Ethan. Where else could she possibly go? Probably that cheap state school down south. She’s just putting on a show to scare you.” She laughed nastily. “Look at her legs. She walks like a penguin.” I struggled to free my wrist, but I couldn’t. Ethan’s hand was like an iron shackle. I stopped fighting and stared directly into his eyes. “Ethan, what makes you think I would ever want to go to the same university as you?” He froze. “Because I tutored you?” “Because I vouched for you to the teachers?” “Or because I used to love you?” His entire face went rigid. As I spoke those last words, I felt something that had been built over ten long years finally shatter into pieces. Someone called Ethan’s name from the end of the hallway—it sounded like one of his friends from the other class. Chloe pushed past me, grabbing Ethan’s hand. “Ethan, leave her. Let’s go.” Ethan stood frozen, letting her pull him back a step, his eyes still glued to me. Seeing his hesitation, Chloe decided to twist the knife. “Oh, by the way, her mom just posted a screenshot in the community group chat, asking what those photos were about.” “Want to see? Her mom seems pretty furious.” She held up her phone, showing a Snapchat chat window with my mother’s username. My mom had forwarded the photo Chloe leaked, followed by three question marks. Below it was our home address pinned on the map. My blood ran cold instantly. “You promised you wouldn’t send it to my mom,” I whispered, my voice trembling. Chloe shrugged. “I didn’t send it to her. She saw it in the public group chat herself.” “My mom was the one who posted it there, and I couldn’t stop her.” “Not my fault.” I looked at her face. The left side of her cheek was swollen, but her lips were curled into a smug, victorious grin. She was thoroughly enjoying my terror. It was all just a show to her. Ethan stood right next to her, completely silent. My mouth opened, but no words came out. I turned and walked away. One step at a time, I headed down the concrete stairs. This was the hallway I had walked for three years, yet it had never felt this long. Behind me, Ethan’s voice boomed. “April!” I didn’t stop. Heavy, panicked footsteps chased after me. “Stop right there!” A hand grabbed my shoulder from behind, yanking me backward. I lost my balance. My foot slipped off the edge of the step. The sharp edge of the concrete step slammed hard into my shin bone. An agonizing pain shot up my leg. I let out a choked gasp as my body fell backward. Ethan’s grip on my shoulder vanished. I didn’t know if he had let go out of shock, or if I had simply slipped out of his grasp. All I knew was that I was falling. My head slammed violently against the concrete step with a sickening thud. Then my shoulders, my back, and my hips battered against the stairs, step by step. My body rolled down like a heavy sack of sand, completely out of control. Finally, I came to a stop on the landing of the first floor. The world went dead silent for a few seconds. Then, the screaming started. Someone upstairs screamed at the top of their lungs, “Oh my god! She fell down the stairs!”

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