Author: Momo Chan

1 A deafening roar tore through the cabin as the plane spiraled out of control, plunging from thirty thousand feet. Amid the chaos and absolute despair, my phone screen suddenly flashed to life. To my disbelief, the incoming video call was from myself, eight years ago. On the screen, a younger, radiant version of me smiled, her eyes sparkling with hope. “Charlie is about to propose to me!” “He promised that no matter how late it gets, he will always come to bring me home. He said he would never make me wait a single minute!” Watching my past self while surrounded by the blood-curdling screams of doomed passengers, I felt a crushing weight in my chest. The words do not marry him remained choked in my throat. For eight years, I had landed three hundred times, and not once did he show up to meet me. Yet, he had gone to the airport three hundred times just to pick up Cynthia, his precious childhood friend. On the screen, my younger self eagerly pressed, “In eight years, Charlie must have completely spoiled me like a princess, right?” I let out a bitter, hollow laugh and cut the connection. The screen reverted to the last text message from Charlie. “Just wait at the airport for another two hours. I will come get you right after I drop Cynthia off.” Staring out the window at the dark, swallowing ocean rushing toward us, I let my tears fall freely onto the glass screen. Eight years, and you finally agreed to pick me up. But Charlie, I am never landing again. The screens at the maritime search and rescue center glowed through the long night. I drifted invisibly at the front of the room, watching the familiar flight number on the monitor flicker from yellow to a lifeless gray. The operators worked in a frenzy, checking and rechecking the passenger manifest. “Hurry! Have we contacted Norah’s family yet?” The heavy sound of Charlie’s footsteps suddenly echoed from the corridor. Seeing the weeping, panicked crowd, he knit his brows in annoyance. On the screen, the flight status had officially updated from Delayed to Signal Lost. Frustrated, he dialed my number. “Norah, what kind of drama are you pulling now?” Floating in mid-air, I looked down at my translucent, spectral body. Then I looked at the milkshake in his hand, which happened to be Cynthia’s favorite flavor. I smiled sadly. He was always like this, even his half-hearted attempts to appease me carried the traces of another woman. I touched my chest, surprised that a ghost could still feel such a dull, aching throb. “Charlie, wait up.” Cynthia, wrapped snugly in Charlie’s designer jacket, jogged in to catch up with him. “I am so sorry. This is all my fault.” She bit her lower lip, her voice trembling as if she were on the verge of tears. “If you had not insisted on driving me back to the city first, Norah would not have had to wait at the airport.” “Do you think she got so angry waiting for me that she deliberately changed her flight to make a point?” Charlie stopped and instinctively pulled her closer to protect her from the bustling crowd. “It has nothing to do with you, Cynthia,” he said, his tone softening instantly. “She is just naturally jealous. I already texted her that I was on my way.” “Now she is playing hard to get by turning off her phone. She is really pushing it this time.” For eight years, it had always been like this. The moment Cynthia shed a single tear, all my genuine hurt was dismissed as childish tantrums. On the rescue center’s main display, the red flight number had turned completely gray. Around us, family members sobbed in agony. Charlie stood in the middle of the room, looking slightly unsettled. An anxious official walked over, clutching a tablet. “Excuse me, are you the family of Ms. Norah?” Charlie nodded quickly. “Yes, I am her fiancé.” He hesitated for a second, then added, “Her phone is off. Why is her flight showing as missing?” The official looked up, meeting his eyes with gravity. “Sir, the aircraft encountered severe turbulence while passing through a thunderstorm. We have confirmed that the plane crashed into the ocean.” The entire hall fell deathly quiet. The annoyance on Charlie’s face froze solid. “Crashed?” he repeated, unable to comprehend. He shook his head and took a deep breath. “Are you kidding me? Would she really go this far and fabricate a plane crash just to get me to apologize?” “I have the right to see her flight records. I am her primary emergency contact.” The official frowned, scrolling through the screen. “Sir, you are not listed as her emergency contact.” “Therefore, we cannot release any details to you without legal proof of relationship.” Charlie’s pupils dilated. “What did you say?” He took a sudden step forward, his voice rising in anger. “I have been her fiancé for eight years! I have always been her emergency contact!” Cynthia peeked out from behind him, timidly tugging at his sleeve. “Charlie, Norah must have been truly furious this time.” She looked around, making sure her voice was just loud enough for the nearby families to hear. “But even if she is mad at me, she should not play with her life like this. We do not even know if she was actually on that plane, and now she is causing all this unnecessary panic.” A mother nearby, who had just lost her daughter, whipped around with bloodshot eyes, glaring at Cynthia. “Are you trying to say she faked being on a crashed plane just to throw a tantrum?” A wave of collective fury rippled through the grieving crowd. Several people closed in, casting accusing glares at Charlie and Cynthia. Charlie instinctively stepped in front of Cynthia to shield her. “Everyone, please calm down. This is not Cynthia’s fault.” He frowned, his voice growing cold and hard. “Norah made the decision to change her flight on her own. She has to take responsibility for her own choices.” Watching him, I found it almost tragic. Before my death was even officially confirmed, he was desperate to absolve Cynthia of any guilt. He would not even offer a simple defense of my character, like mentioning how professional I had always been, or that I would never use my job to throw a tantrum. Static crackled from the radio at the front of the hall. The live feed from the search and rescue team filled the main screen. Out on the dark ocean, a massive spotlight cut through the mist. The official’s expression changed instantly, and he rushed toward the screen. He looked past the crowd, his eyes locking onto Charlie. “The maritime search team has just recovered the first batch of floating debris.” His voice was quiet, yet it carried clearly to every corner of the room. “Is this charred crew luggage tag belonging to Ms. Norah?” Everyone froze. A metal tray, damp and salt-stained from the ocean, was brought into the hall. At the center lay a burnt leather luggage tag. The name Norah was still faintly legible, resting beside a half-charred white rose brooch. Charlie stared blankly at the brooch. It was the very ornament he had pinned onto my uniform during our engagement party eight years ago. “Wait… that is impossible.” He took a step back, his voice cracked. “It cannot be her. She was not wearing that when she left the house.” The gloved officer pulled items from a sealed waterproof bag. “Sir, we retrieved this from her flight bag found floating on the water.” A waterlogged planner was opened, and a stack of small slips of paper fell out onto the table. Charlie bent down and picked one up. It was a receipt from the airport parking garage. On the back, a neat hand had written: Charlie went to pick up Cynthia first again today. I waited at Terminal 2 for three hours. The officer knelt, gathering the scattered slips of paper. There were exactly three hundred of them. On the back of every single receipt, there was a similar note. New Year’s Eve. Flight delayed. Charlie said Cynthia was terrified of the fireworks, so he went to be with her instead. My birthday. Just flew a long haul, landed with a high fever. Charlie was busy organizing a funeral for Cynthia’s pet dog. Promoted to Chief Flight Attendant. Charlie did not show. Cynthia said she cut her finger slicing fruit. Charlie clutched the receipts, his eyes rimmed with red. He stared at the mountain of records scattered on the floor, unable to believe what he was seeing. Three hundred times. Eight years of broken promises and cold abandonment, laid bare beneath his feet. Floating above, I watched the painful, quiet realization cross his face. I had wept while writing the first few notes. By the end, I had felt absolutely nothing. Cynthia’s expression shifted. She stepped forward to wrap her arm around Charlie’s, but he instinctively flinched away, completely unaware of his own movement. “Why would Norah keep track of things like this?” A flicker of panic crossed Cynthia’s eyes, quickly replaced by a pout. “Charlie, has she been harboring a grudge against me all this time?” She lowered her voice, her tone fragile. “She kept score of every single little thing just to force you to apologize later. I had no idea she was so calculating…” Charlie’s shoulders tensed. Looking at the sea of accusations at his feet, his irritation flared up again. “Yeah, she never used to be this petty,” he muttered, crumpling the receipt in his fist. “Maybe one of her colleagues picked up her flight bag by mistake. There is still no proof she was on that plane.” I watched him, a bitter smile gracing my lips. His prejudice against me was so deeply rooted that even evidence of my death could not shake it. Ignoring their bickering, the officer unzipped the innermost compartment of the flight bag and pulled out a numbered brass key. “Mr. Harrington, this is Ms. Norah’s locker key for the airport crew lounge. According to standard procedure, her personal belongings must be inventoried in the presence of her family.” Half an hour later, the airport manager escorted Charlie to the Terminal 3 crew lounge. The locker door clicked open. Charlie reached in and pulled out a small tin box. Inside was a stack of about a dozen letters. None of them had stamps, but they all bore the same title: Termination of Engagement. Charlie’s breath hitched. He slipped the top letter out of its envelope and unfolded it. The paper had yellowed with age, but the handwriting was elegant and clear. Charlie, after I complete this flight, let us call off our engagement. I am tired of waiting for a man who always puts someone else first. The date at the bottom was from eight years ago, the morning after our engagement party. Charlie’s fingers trembled, letting the letter slip to the floor. “She wanted to leave me eight years ago?” he whispered, his eyes vacant. The airport manager pushed up his glasses. “Mr. Harrington, Norah was our most outstanding Purser.” “She had a flawless, complaint-free record for eight consecutive years. She was a professional. She would never compromise her work over a personal spat.” “She only changed her flight because another flight attendant fell suddenly ill, and she volunteered to cover the shift.” Charlie clenched his fists. “She just wrote these to scare me,” he insisted, staring at the letters as if trying to force himself to believe it. “If she really wanted to leave, why did she keep these letters hidden for eight years? She would never actually leave me.” Standing by the door, Cynthia watched Charlie unravel, her fingernails digging deep into her palms. The manager reached into the very back of the locker and pulled out a small piece of cardstock. It was a faded table card from our engagement party. There was a line of writing on the back. The manager read it aloud in a quiet voice: If my eight-years-ago self can hear this, do not accept his proposal. Walk away from Charlie. The room went dead silent. Charlie snatched the card from the manager’s hand. The red ink burned his eyes. If my eight-years-ago self can hear this… He repeated the words, a sudden memory flashing in his mind. Two hours before the crash, he had indeed received a call from my number. But there had been no words, only the terrifying roar of rushing wind and distant weeping. He had been in such a rush to take Cynthia to the hospital for her supposed panic attack that he had snapped, “Stop playing games,” and hung up. He sprinted out of the lounge and back to his car parked outside. Flinging the door open, he grabbed his phone from the passenger seat. He unlocked the screen and opened his photo gallery, searching desperately for a photo of our engagement eight years ago to prove his reality. The moment the photo loaded, Charlie’s eyes widened in sheer terror. The image of me wearing the diamond ring, leaning happily against his shoulder, began to blur at the edges. The pixels were actively erasing themselves before his eyes. He rubbed them in disbelief. A few seconds later, the image snapped back into focus. I was still wearing the engagement dress. But there was no ring on my finger. I stood entirely alone at the entrance of the banquet hall, clutching a bouquet, my expression cold and distant. And Charlie was nowhere to be seen. The timestamp at the bottom of the screen flickered rapidly before locking onto the date: eight years ago, today. “What is happening…” Charlie tapped the screen furiously. “Is this a software glitch? How can a photo change?” Standing just outside the car window, I watched him with utter detachment. The rewrite of reality had finally begun. Cynthia opened the passenger door and slid in, bringing a heavy cloud of perfume with her. She glanced at his screen, her eyes flickering. “Charlie, stop doing this to yourself.” She reached over to cover the screen, her voice soft but venomous. “Norah never really loved you that much anyway.” “Did you forget? On the night of your engagement party eight years ago, the media photographed you helping me into your car.” Charlie whipped his head around to face her. “At the rescue center, you just said Norah changed her flight because she was angry at you!” “I lived with her for eight years! Now you are telling me she stopped loving me eight years ago?” Cynthia unlocked her own phone and held it in front of him. The headline screamed: Harrington Group Heir Abandons Bride at Engagement Party to Escort Childhood Friend to Hospital. Cynthia sighed, but a smug satisfaction lingered in her eyes. “If I had not had that sudden breathing fit, maybe things would not have ended like that.” “Norah always held a grudge against you for choosing me first. How could you forget?” Charlie stared at Cynthia’s self-righteous expression, his breathing turning shallow and fast. Eight years ago, he had left me standing alone in front of hundreds of guests. He had simply said, “Cynthia is having an attack. I will be right back.” I had waited for three hours, only to be greeted by that trending headline. The space around my spectral form began to warp. The timeline was closing its loops. I found myself back in the dressing room behind the banquet hall eight years ago. My younger self had just disconnected that impossible video call from the future. The flush of excitement on her cheeks vanished, replaced by a devastating chill. The heavy wooden door was pushed open. A twenty-two-year-old Charlie walked in, sweat glistening on his forehead. “Norah, I am so sorry. Cynthia is in bad shape.” He fished the velvet box from his pocket and went down on one knee. “Let us finish this. The guests are still waiting outside.” My younger self looked down at him. “If Cynthia calls right now saying she is in pain, would you leave again?” Charlie froze. He parted his lips, trying to explain, “She has panic disorder, she cannot be left alone…” He could not even manage a lie to reassure me. I stared at him for a few seconds and smiled. I unpinned the white rose corsage from my dress and tossed it into the trash can. “Then you do not need to kneel.” I turned around, pushed open the heavy double doors of the banquet hall, and walked out past the stunned stares of the guests. Reality snapped back to the car. Charlie stared at his phone. He realized that it was not just that one photo. Every single couple’s photo from our eight years together was actively disappearing from his digital albums. The tropical beach vacation photos transformed into images of him accompanying Cynthia to an aquarium. The pictures of me celebrating his birthday with him dissolved into shots of him working late alone in his office. “No… this is wrong!” Charlie roared. He shoved Cynthia aside and slammed his foot on the gas. “I am going to the hotel! I need to see the security footage from that night!” Cynthia was thrown back against the passenger seat, her face pale with shock. Half an hour later, Charlie burst into the hotel lobby. He grabbed the manager by his lapels, his eyes wild and bloodshot. “Show me the records from November twelfth, eight years ago! Find the security footage from Norah’s engagement party!” Terrified, the manager scrambled to pull up the files. A few minutes later, he handed a printed ledger to Charlie. “Mr. Harrington, are you sure you have the right date?” the manager whispered. “On that day, Ms. Norah did not accept your proposal. By the time you ran after her, she had already left alone. The engagement was never finalized.” A loud ringing filled Charlie’s ears. He snatched the paper, crumpling it into a tight ball. “Impossible! She loved me, she agreed to marry me!” He gritted his teeth. “We were engaged! We lived together for eight years! Have you all lost your minds?” He bolted out of the hotel and drove straight to our downtown apartment. The moment he pushed the door open, he froze at the entryway. The slippers that had always belonged to me were gone. He strode into the living room. The dried flowers on the coffee table had been replaced by a glass ashtray. The flight plaques hanging on the wall had vanished without a trace. He ran into the walk-in closet and flung open the left wardrobe door. It was completely empty. My uniforms, dresses, and coats had been entirely erased. Charlie slumped against the closet door, staring down at his ring finger. “It is still here… the ring is still here.” He clutched his fist so hard the metal bit into his skin. It was his last saving grace. “As long as the ring exists, I have not lost my mind.” Cynthia rushed through the front door, panting. Seeing him in such a state, a flash of possessiveness masked as worry appeared in her eyes. She stepped forward, unwrapped her scarf, and hung it on the hook that used to hold my winter coat. “Charlie, stop searching.” She wrapped her arms around him from behind, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “I am the one who has been by your side for the last eight years. Have you forgotten?” “I took care of you when you were sick. I brought you meals when you worked late. Norah was never even here. Why are you tormenting yourself over a ghost?” Charlie whipped around, violently shaking off her grip. “Enough! Shut up!” He glared at Cynthia with bloodshot eyes. “Norah existed! She was my fiancée!” Just then, his phone vibrated. It was an urgent alert from the airline, requesting all immediate family members of Flight 79 passengers to gather at headquarters for a briefing. Like a man waking from a nightmare, Charlie grabbed his car keys and bolted out. The atmosphere inside the airline headquarters’ assembly hall was suffocatingly tense. An official stood at the podium holding a printed list. “After forty-eight hours of non-stop search and rescue operations, we regret to inform you that there are no survivors from Flight 79.” The room erupted into heart-wrenching screams and weeping. Charlie stood frozen, feeling the warmth completely drain from his body. He pushed through the grieving crowd and stumbled toward the check-in desk. “I am Norah’s fiancé.” He slammed his palms onto the desk, his knuckles white. “Give me her belongings. I want to take her home for the burial.” The receptionist looked up, verifying the database. A strange expression crossed her face. “I am sorry, Mr. Harrington,” the receptionist said, her tone professional but devastatingly blunt. “You are not listed as an authorized contact for Ms. Norah.” “Under company and legal policies, we cannot release any of her personal items to you.” Charlie froze. “What are you talking about? That is not what you said earlier!” He slammed his fist down. “I am her fiancé! We got engaged eight years ago!” A man wearing glasses sitting nearby turned around to inspect him. “Are you Charlie Harrington?” The man knit his brows, looking thoroughly confused. “Did the grief scramble your memory? I was Norah’s classmate in college.” “She turned you down flat at her engagement party eight years ago. She has lived alone ever since. She never dated you, let alone for eight years.” “Your name was never on her emergency contacts, not even once.” It was as if a bolt of lightning had struck him. He stood paralyzed, the wails and whispers of the hall fading into white noise. He looked down at his right hand, panic seizing him. The heavy band that had sat on his ring finger just minutes ago was gone. His finger was completely bare. “You are lying to me! She loved me! She couldn’t just vanish!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “515803”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I was the true heiress to the Sinclair empire, New York’s wealthiest family. When they finally found me, my parents were consumed by guilt. They threw a massive gala, inviting the city’s entire elite class just to welcome me home. The ballroom was packed with the handsome heirs of old money, each one a perfect match on paper. “Helena, darling, you are the sole heir to the Sinclair fortune,” my mother whispered, gesturing to the crowd. “You can have any man in this room.” My gaze swept past the sea of desperate bachelors and settled on a man standing near the terrace. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and effortlessly handsome, exuding a quiet, refined elegance. My parents winced. “Richard Bennett?” my father muttered, his brow furrowing. “He was widowed not long ago. And he has a twenty-year-old son.” Eleanor shook her head. “They’re small-time, Helena. He’s beneath you.” The words tasted like ash, dragging me back twenty years. An eighteen-year-old boy had stood before me, his expression cold and unyielding. “Hannah, thank you for saving my life,” he had said, tossing a check onto the worn wooden table. “But I am the heir to the Bennett legacy, and I already have a fiancée. You’re just a girl from a backwater town, and you don’t belong in my world. Here is fifty thousand dollars. Don’t ever look for me again.” I snapped back to the present, shaking my head with a slow smile. I tilted my chin toward the young man standing next to Richard. “He’s too old. I don’t want him.” I paused, letting my smile widen. “But his son looks promising.” The boy was lean and tall, dressed in a crisp black shirt. His features were a striking seventy percent replica of Richard’s, but carved with sharper, more defiant angles. My mother gasped, her hand instantly snapping around my wrist. “Helena, that boy is only twenty. You… there is a generation gap between you two!” I tilted my head, offering her a sweet, innocent smile. “But Mom, didn’t you just say I could have anyone I wanted?” She stammered, turning to my father for backup. “She’s not wrong,” Thomas Sinclair chuckled. “A Sinclair heiress taking a younger husband is hardly a scandal. Besides, the Bennetts are struggling. They won’t dare say no to a lifeline.” I let out a silent, bitter laugh. Twenty years ago, those exact words had been hurled at my face. It felt like a physical blow, drawing no blood but leaving an ache that had throbbed for two decades. My father began walking toward Richard. Along the way, wealthy guests bowed and nodded in deference. Richard was no exception, offering a polite, almost eager nod. The arrogant, untouchable boy who once threw cruel words around so easily had finally aged. He was mature now, humbled by the world, and he had finally learned how to bow his head. My father spoke to him in hushed tones. I watched Richard’s face morph from polite pleasantry to sheer shock, then to a pale, stricken mask. “Mr. Sinclair, Jude is only twenty,” Richard stammered, his voice carrying slightly. “He hasn’t even finished college. Your daughter… she is old enough to be his mother!” The surrounding chatter died down instantly. Whispers began to ripple through the ballroom. “Wait, is the Sinclair heiress targeting Bennett’s son?” “Isn’t she nearly forty? The boy is barely out of his teens. That’s practically cradle-robbing.” I took a slow sip of my champagne, my eyes locked onto Richard. He looked lost, disbelieving, his hands trembling slightly as his face paled. He looked exactly the way I had felt twenty years ago. “Richard,” my father said, his tone smooth but unyielding. “I spent twenty years searching for my daughter. I will give her whatever she wants. If you agree to this marriage, the Sinclair Group will guarantee a highly lucrative partnership.” My father named a figure. A collective gasp echoed through the room. Richard’s pupils shrank. He was visibly shaken. Before returning to the Sinclairs, I had clawed my way up the corporate ladder on my own, and I knew all the dirty secrets of high society. When Richard inherited the Bennett Group, it was already a rotting apple, polished on the outside but hollowed out by debt. No matter how brilliant a businessman he was, he couldn’t save a sinking ship without capital. The deal my father offered was enough to resurrect his entire empire. Twenty years ago, he abandoned me to save his family business. Now, would he sacrifice his own son for that same business? “No, I won’t let my son…” Richard began. Before he could finish, Jude stepped forward. “Dad, I’ll do it. I’ll marry into the Sinclair family.” The young man’s voice was clear and steady, devoid of the panic you would expect from a college student. But his tightly clenched fists betrayed his nerves. Richard’s face went completely white. He grabbed Jude’s arm. “Are you insane, Jude? You are so young. How could you marry that old…” My father cleared his throat right on cue. The venomous word was choked back down Richard’s throat. Jude gently pried his father’s hand away. “Dad, let me help the family. A prestigious family like the Sinclairs won’t mistreat me.” My father laughed, clapping Richard on the shoulder. “You’ve raised a sensible boy, Richard. I like him.” Richard stood frozen, his knuckles white as he stared at his son with agonizing pain. Yet, he didn’t say another word of protest. “I have one condition,” Jude suddenly spoke up, his gaze cutting directly through the crowd to lock onto me. I raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised. My father hadn’t even introduced me yet, but the boy had targeted me with laser precision. “I will agree to the marriage, but I want us to spend time together first.” The tips of his ears flushed a light pink, but his expression remained dead serious. There was nervousness in his eyes, but also a faint glint of… anticipation? “I don’t want my marriage to Ms. Sinclair to be nothing but a business transaction.” Did he know me? Well, this was getting interesting. I spoke up, my voice carrying across the silent hall. “I accept your condition.” My father walked over to my side, beaming with pride. “Perfect. Everyone, let me officially introduce my daughter, Helena Sinclair!” The room erupted. “That’s the Sinclair heiress? She’s forty? She looks like she’s in her twenties! How is that even possible?” Richard stared at me, his eyes swirling with confusion, shock, and a hint of anger. He didn’t recognize me. It made sense; twenty years ago, I wore my hair in simple braids and spent my days working under the scorching sun on a dusty farm. I was tanned and plain back then. It was only natural he couldn’t connect me to the polished woman standing before him now. “Wait, is she Hannah Sinclair?” someone whispered. “As in the founder of Apex Drone Tech? The startup that got bought out by the government three years ago? That was her!” “The Bennetts just hit the absolute jackpot.” Hannah had been my name back then. Ironically, it was the fifty thousand dollars Richard threw at me that became my seed money. I had used it to build a tech empire, climbing to a height where men like him could only look up. At the mention of my old name, Richard’s face contorted. “Hannah? You’re Hannah from Oakhaven?” Twenty years, and he still remembered that tiny town? I tilted my head, feigning ignorance. “I grew up in Blue Ridge, Mr. Bennett. I’ve never heard of Oakhaven.” Ignoring his frantic expression, I shifted my gaze back to the quiet boy beside him. My voice took on a playful, teasing edge. “Would you like to go for a drive after the party, my soon-to-be fiancé?” Jude agreed without a second thought. Once it was settled, I turned on my heel, leaving the father and son behind. I spent the rest of the evening playing the dutiful daughter, greeting my parents’ high-profile business associates. Yet, throughout the night, I felt a heavy gaze burning into my back. When I finally turned, I caught Jude staring. He immediately looked away, flushing like a startled rabbit. A soft smile tugged at my lips. How could this boy be so completely different from his father? Twenty years ago, when I dragged a half-dead Richard out of a muddy ditch, it took him only a few days to recover and start tailing me like a loyal puppy. “Hannah, you saved my life, let me marry you!” “Hannah, you’re so beautiful, I want you to be my wife!” He had been so sweet back then, his eyes full of devotion, ready to hand me his entire world. Now, looking back, it felt like a lifetime ago. When did he change? It had been too long, and the memory was too faded to care. I lingered for an extra five minutes before heading down to the parking garage. Beside my black luxury SUV, the boy was waiting patiently, leaning against the concrete pillar. When he saw me approach, he nervously scuffed the toe of his shoe against the floor. “Ms. Sinclair.” “I thought you’d run away,” I teased. His eyes darted away, but his voice remained steady. “I keep my promises.” I unlocked the car and gestured with my head. “Get in. I’m taking you somewhere fun.” He hesitated for a fraction of a second before climbing into the passenger seat, sitting as stiff as a board. Whether from nerves or forgetfulness, he didn’t put on his seatbelt. I leaned across the console, my body brushing close to his as I pulled the strap over him. The buckle clicked into place. He froze instantly, his muscles hardening like stone as he held his breath. “What are you so scared of? I don’t bite,” I murmured, starting the engine. His lips parted, but it took him a long moment to speak. “You knew my father before tonight, didn’t you?” It wasn’t a question. My fingers tapped against the steering wheel. I didn’t deny it. “You’re sharp.” He turned his face toward the window, watching the neon lights of the city blur past. “When he heard your name, he looked like he’d seen a ghost. I’ve never seen him like that.” “Your father owed me an apology,” I said coldly. “Tonight, I used his son to collect the debt right in front of him.” Jude’s eyelashes fluttered, but he didn’t look away. “So marrying me is just a game of revenge?” “Partially,” I admitted without hesitation. “But I gave you a chance to walk away, and you chose to stay.” His ears burned red again. He opened his mouth to ask more, but I cut him off. “Save the questions for later, kid.” I stepped on the gas, and the car roared out of the garage. We drove in silence. Jude leaned against the window, his thumbs flying across his screen. Suddenly, a loud, obnoxious male voice blasted from his phone speakers. “No way, man! Your dad is actually making you marry that old lady? She’s forty! Doesn’t she smell like a nursing home already?!” Jude gasped, dropping his phone in a panic. By the time he scrambled to retrieve it, the voice message had finished playing. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. “Your friends seem very concerned about you.” This time, his entire face turned crimson. The kid blushed way too easily. “I… I’m so sorry. My friend is an idiot. I apologize for him.” I spun the wheel smoothly. “It’s fine. I don’t hold grudges against kids. But his little insult goes on your tab. You’ll have to make it up to me in a bit.” He nodded quickly. I smirked, hoping he wouldn’t regret that promise. Half an hour later, we pulled up to an airfield on the outskirts of the city. Jude stared at the helicopter waiting on the tarmac, his face losing color by the second. “We… we’re doing this?” “What? Are you scared?” I climbed into the chopper and reached out a hand. No twenty-year-old boy could resist a blow to his pride. He took my hand and hopped in. “Who said I was scared? Let’s do it!” I didn’t give him a chance to back out. Once the tandem harness was secured, I gave him a playful nudge with my knee, sending us plunging out of the open door. He let out a bloodcurdling scream as we fell through the sky. The wind roared in our ears. I leaned close to his ear, my voice calm and steady. “Don’t panic! I’ve got my license, and I’m a certified instructor. Just trust me and enjoy the ride.” When we hit the ground, Jude’s legs were shaking like jelly, but he wrapped his arms around me so tight I could barely breathe. “Helena! That was insane! I’ve never felt anything like that!” That night, I took him to an underground street race. We caught a midnight thriller at an indie theater, and finally wound up in a quiet, dim bar where I mixed him a proper Long Island Iced Tea. By 2:00 AM, he was completely wasted, slurring something about how he had wanted to meet me for a long time. Half-amused and half-indulgent, I took him back to my penthouse. When I woke up the next morning, a soft, sleepy voice mumbled from behind me. “You… you have to take responsibility for this.” I laughed softly. “We’re literally engaged. Of course I will.” He jolted awake, staring at the ceiling. “My dad is going to kill me if he finds out…” “Is he really that strict?” I asked. “Yeah. I used to have a crush on someone, and before he even knew her name, he accused her of being a gold-digger,” Jude muttered, his eyes searching my face as if looking for a reaction. “But look at him. When my mother was alive, they fought constantly because he kept saying she couldn’t compare to the woman he loved in his youth.” I looked away, maintaining my mask of indifference. “How hypocritical of him.” The woman from his youth? I had run a background check on Richard. Aside from Jude’s late mother, I was the only woman he had ever been with. It was hilarious. Twenty years ago, he threw me away because of my background to marry a wealthy socialite. Yet, once married, he spent his years pining for me and making his wife miserable. What a pathetic, twisted man. “Ms. Sinclair, there is a Mr. Bennett at the door,” my housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, called out, knocking gently on the bedroom door. Jude wanted to say more, but I used the interruption to slip into a silk robe and head out. Richard stood in the foyer, dressed in a sharp suit, his face like a thundercloud. The moment I walked in, his eyes locked onto my neck, his brow furrowing deeply. I glanced at the mirror in the hallway. A faint, dark mark sat right above my collarbone. Well, the kid certainly didn’t hold back. “Helena,” Richard growled, his voice trembling with anger. “Who is in there? Are you keeping a boy toy? A college student? A gigolo?” I crossed my arms, leaning lazily against the doorframe. “Why are you so sure it’s not your son?” His voice cracked. “Impossible! Jude is a good boy. He would never sleep with an… an older woman like you before marriage!” I recalled Jude’s breathless whispers from the night before, letting out a quiet chuckle but offering no reply. Richard took a ragged breath. “Get rid of him before the wedding. Even if Jude marries into your family, I won’t let him be with a woman who keeps playthings on the side.” I looked him up and down. “Don’t worry. Whether he’s a college kid or a gigolo, he’s from a small-time background. How could he possibly compete with your son?” Richard’s face burned with humiliation. “Watch your tongue!” My expression remained ice-cold as I stared him down until his bravado crumbled. “Are you… are you really not Hannah from Oakhaven?” he whispered. A wave of disgust washed over me. “Get out.” I slammed the door in his face. After a few seconds of silence, I heard a muffled curse, followed by his retreating footsteps. He was still the same hypocritical coward. Over the next few weeks, I kept hanging out with Jude. I picked him up from campus and met his friends, bringing them gifts they actually liked. The kids quickly warmed up to me, no longer whispering insults behind my back. Instead, they swarmed around me, calling me Helena with pure, unadulterated admiration in their eyes. When Jude mentioned his team was entering a national tech innovation competition, I didn’t hesitate to write a personal check for two hundred thousand dollars. I even pulled a few strings to hire a retired MIT professor to mentor them. One afternoon, I stood outside the campus lab, watching Jude focus intensely on his work. As I admired his profile, a young woman with a high ponytail stepped in front of me. It was Sienna, one of Jude’s teammates. “Ms. Sinclair,” she said, her voice hushed. I figured she wanted a favor, but her opening line caught me off guard. “Why are you forcing Jude to marry you?” I blinked, thoroughly amused. Force him? Anyone with eyes could see Jude was thrilled about the arrangement. If anything, I felt like he had played me into this engagement. “Let’s set the record straight,” I replied calmly. “He volunteered.” Sienna glared at me. “Impossible! You must have blackmailed him! You’re so much older than him. How could he choose you over someone young and beautiful like me?” I couldn’t help but laugh. Kids. Their world was so delightfully simple. “Listen, sweetie,” I said, tilting my head. “I can pave his path to the absolute top of the corporate world. And if I happen to die early, he inherits everything. Aside from your youth, what can you actually offer him?” Her jaw clenched, and her face flushed with anger. I patted her head gently. “At least I had the guts to claim him in public. How about you? If you’ve got so much pride, why don’t you leave Jude’s team and refuse to use my funding?” Sienna stamped her foot. “Don’t get cocky. I will take Jude back from you!” She turned and stormed off, though she conveniently forgot to mention actually leaving the team. I stroked my chin. It seemed Jude was far more popular than I realized. It was time to put the wedding on the fast track. Jude didn’t object. In fact, he was far more enthusiastic than I was. He spent hours researching venues, visiting florists, and studying the meanings behind different flowers. When I asked what theme he preferred, he didn’t even look up from his notes. “The wedding should be all about you, Helena. Whatever makes you happy.” During my gown fitting, his cheeks burned crimson, his eyes practically glued to me. “You look beautiful, Helena.” On the night before the wedding, he cooked a romantic candlelit dinner to celebrate. After a few glasses of wine, my mind grew pleasantly hazy. His eyes shone with a bright intensity as he cradled my face in his hands. “Helena, I’ve been such a good boy. Don’t I deserve a reward?” The rest of the night was a blur. When I woke up the next morning, Jude was gone. I stood in the bridal suite, staring at an anonymous text on my phone, my brow furrowing. He ran away with me, old lady. Enjoy being left at the altar! Eloped? I didn’t buy it. Jude wasn’t like Richard. He was honest, passionate, and wore his heart on his sleeve. He had even convinced his best friends to dress up as his favorite sci-fi characters to perform a surprise dance for me. A boy who cared that much wouldn’t just vanish with another woman. Did he find out something he shouldn’t have during my blackout? I didn’t have time to dwell on it. A Sinclair wedding was a massive public affair, packed with the city’s elite. A little youthful fun on stage was fine, but a canceled ceremony was out of the question. I refused to let our family become the laughingstock of New York. “Tell the coordinator to proceed as planned,” I instructed my assistant. “And pull the security footage. Find out where Jude is.” The wedding march began to play, and the coordinator signaled for the groom to take his place. The massive doors of the chapel slowly swung open. Beneath the spotlight stood a tall, striking figure in a pristine white tuxedo. I breathed a sigh of relief, lifting my gown to walk down the aisle. But as the doors opened fully, the man on stage turned around and smiled at me. He was elegant and composed, but his eyes burned with a dark, obsessive longing. “Hannah, you can’t lie to me.” My smile froze on my face. It was Richard.

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The popular girl at school got her period and stained her dress. Without a second thought, I swapped clothes with her. But when I went to buy her some pads, the cold, aloof top student who had always ignored me suddenly approached me in the aisle. “Did you find what you need? Give it to me, I’ll pay.” Even my sharp-tongued childhood friend, the one who loved mocking me more than anyone, looked incredibly gentle and soft in that moment. “You, you look really pretty today.” I froze in place. I actually believed my quiet kindness had finally been noticed by the people around me. Until I turned around to say thank you. The two handsome boys frowned, their expressions instantly hardening as they spoke in unison: “Why is it you?” 1 The first to react was my childhood friend, Ryder. He was leaning lazily against the metal shelves, but the moment he realized who I was, he shoved my shoulder with a careless hand. An arrogant smirk crawled back onto his face. “What the hell? “What kind of phase are you going through today, trying to wear a dress like everyone else?” Ryder let out a sharp scoff, letting his eyes wander over me with blatant amusement before laughing out loud. “Are you out of your mind? You look like you’re wearing a white potato sack. “What kind of trash style is this? It looks hideous. “Look, if you seriously don’t know how to pick out a dress, just throw on a black garbage bag next time. At least that way…” He leaned down slightly, lowering his face to mine. Slowly, mockingly, he whispered, “It might actually hide the ugly.” My fingers tightened around the boxes of pads and heating patches in my arms. The plastic packaging crinkled loudly in the quiet aisle. Just then, a soft chuckle floated from above. It was a quiet sound, the kind of polite laugh someone lets out when they hear a stupid joke but want to keep the conversation from dying. But to me, that soft chuckle sounded like a thunderclap. It came from Wood, the boy I had spent the last three months desperately trying to get to notice me. I lowered my eyes, biting my lip so hard it hurt. I forced myself not to scream at Ryder, terrified that if I lost my temper like I usually did, any tiny shred of respect Wood had for me would vanish forever. But my silence only made Ryder push harder. 2 “Wow, look at our resident drama queen. What is wrong with you today? You’re actually keeping your mouth shut?” He reached out, mockingly tapping his knuckles against my forehead. “Well, you don’t have a fever.” His eyes drifted downward, landing on the items clutched tightly against my chest. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. “Oh, I get it. You’re on your period. “I almost forgot you’re actually a girl. “Though, honestly, I always thought girls were supposed to look more like your desk-mate to count as the real deal.” I trembled with a mixture of rage and humiliation. Tears blurred my vision, turning the brightly lit store into a smear of colors. The only clear thing left was a pastel pink thermal flask suddenly thrust into my field of vision. I stared at the pale, elegant hand holding the flask. Slowly raising my head, I realized it belonged to Wood, the guy who usually treated me like I was invisible. I was too stunned to move. It took me several seconds of staring before I reached out and took the flask, my voice trembling. “Is this for me?” Wood looked down at me from his height. His eyes lingered on my red, tear-stained eyes for a fraction of a second. His throat bobbed. He looked away, his expression returning to its usual cold indifference. “Give it to Genevieve. “Her cycle is coming up, and I know she gets bad cramps. “Inside is…” “I’ll give it to her,” I interrupted, my heart sinking into my stomach. I clutched the flask and ran toward the registers like a coward trying to escape a battlefield. But as I stood in line to pay, I could still hear Ryder’s lazy voice echoing from the back of the store, talking to Wood. “Seriously, didn’t she look ridiculous in that dress? “You should have seen her when we did track together as kids. She ran like a burly lumberjack. “I never thought I’d see the day Paige actually squeezed herself into a skirt.” I didn’t turn around to see if Wood was looking at me. But I heard his quiet, dismissive reply. “Yeah.” 3 I walked back to the classroom with my head down, feeling completely hollow. When I pushed the door open, I didn’t announce my arrival with a cheerful shout like I usually did. I didn’t call out, Hey, Genevieve! I got your stuff! I just walked quietly toward my seat. As usual, Genevieve’s desk was surrounded by a crowd of popular kids. They were spilled over onto my chair, completely blocking my way. I heard one of the girls ask her, “So, Genevieve, who is it going to be? Wood, the star student, or Ryder, the varsity captain?” It was a question Genevieve got asked almost every single day. She always avoided giving a straight answer. But whenever the crowd dispersed, she would hold my hand with a sweet, reassuring smile and whisper, Don’t listen to them, Paige. Wood and I just take prep classes together. We’re just friends. If you like him, you should totally go for it! But today, for some reason, my feet glued themselves to the floor. I stayed back, wanting to hear what she really thought. Genevieve offered a bright, dimpled smile, her voice dripping with playful sweetness. “Ugh, why do you guys have to ask such hard questions? “Wood is amazing, but Ryder is so sweet too. It’s impossible to choose.” Someone laughed, nudging her shoulder. “Just pick the one who treats you best. One of those handsome boys is going to end up heartbroken anyway.” I stood frozen in the shadow of the doorway. I watched Genevieve twirl a lock of her hair around her finger, looking utterly helpless. “But they both treat me so well. “I mean, look at Ryder. He’s so incredibly rude to Paige, and they’ve literally grown up together. But he’s always so gentle and attentive with me. “And Wood? Paige has been throwing herself at him for three months, and he won’t even look her in the eye. But he treats me so differently.” She let out a heavy, dramatic sigh, as if carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. “There’s only one of me, you know? “I don’t want to make a reckless decision and hurt either of them. “So I guess I’ll just have to wait and see how they behave.” The warning bell for the next class rang right on cue. Genevieve shrugged playfully, telling everyone to get back to their seats. When her eyes finally landed on me standing in the doorway, she pouted with slight irritation. “What took you so long to buy some simple pads? “The break is almost over, and now I don’t even have time to go to the bathroom. “I was actually planning to go find…” “That’ll be twenty dollars,” I said, tossing the plastic bag onto her desk. I kept my eyes fixed forward, my voice completely flat. “Venmo me.” 4 She didn’t notice the coldness in my voice. Assuming I had simply been rejected by Wood again, she offered a few empty, rehearsed words of comfort. I ignored her. When the final bell rang at the end of the day, she tapped my shoulder with the eraser end of her pencil. “Paige, I’m going out to dinner with my parents tonight, so I won’t have time to finish the history essay. “The usual deal. You do mine, and I’ll give you a choice. Either I convince Wood to tutor you tomorrow, or I’ll give Ryder a piece of my mind so he behaves himself around you.” Genevieve smiled, sliding her notebook onto my desk. “Make sure you copy my handwriting carefully. The teacher almost noticed last time.” I didn’t reach for the notebook. Instead, I stood up, swung my backpack over my shoulder, and looked her in the eye. “No. “There’s too much homework tonight, and I need to study. I have to stay up late to finish my own work.” Genevieve snapped upright, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Ryder hasn’t been bothering you lately, so forget about him. “But this is a private tutoring session with Wood we’re talking about! “Paige, don’t tell me you don’t like him anymore?” The memory of Wood’s momentary gentleness in the store flashed through my mind, leaving a dull, aching pain in my chest. But the harsh reality of why he had been gentle woke me up. “Yeah,” I said quietly. I walked toward the classroom door, speaking loud enough for the remaining students to hear. “I don’t like Wood anymore. “And I don’t need Ryder’s fake apologies.” Just as I reached the hallway, Ryder’s sarcastic voice cut through the air. “Wow, Paige. Look at you, talking big. “Who gave you permission to act so tough? What’s next, are you going to say you’re cutting ties with me? “Come on, let’s go. My mom made your favorite dinner tonight…” “Great idea,” I interrupted, staring straight at him. Every word was sharp and deliberate. “Cutting ties sounds perfect.” Without looking at his stunned, turning-pale face, I pushed past him and walked away. I didn’t look at Wood once. Behind me, I heard Genevieve call out in an irritated tone, “Wood! I’ve called your name three times. What are you staring at?” 5 On the walk home, I realized it had been a very long time since I had experienced such silence. Usually, my afternoons were spent either trying to find excuses to linger near Wood, or dealing with Ryder walking beside me, bickering and arguing all the way to my front door. But today, the air was peaceful. It felt as though the noisy world had shrunk, leaving only me. A thought slowly bloomed in my mind: Is it possible that my value as a person doesn’t need to be validated by anyone else? The thought made my steps feel lighter. I stopped to feed a stray kitten near the alley. I helped an elderly lady pick up the oranges that had rolled out of her torn grocery bag after a passing car startled her. I even guided a visually impaired woman to the entrance of the subway station. By the time I finally reached my porch, Ryder was leaning against the railing, waiting for me. 6 Ryder looked at the dirty white dress I was still wearing. He opened his mouth, clearly wanting to make some biting remark, but he forced himself to swallow the words. He cleared his throat, holding out a brown paper bag toward me. “I got you those loaded garlic fries you love. The ones from the food truck downtown. “The line was insanely long. “Eat them before they get cold.” The rich, savory scent of garlic and melted cheese drifted into the cool air. Ryder shoved his hands into his pockets, chewing his gum nervously, watching me out of the corner of his eye. I knew this was his way of apologizing. He was offering a bridge. Usually, I would take it, and everything would go back to normal. But this time, I didn’t want to. Before I could figure out how to tell him, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a call from Genevieve. Her voice was bright and bubbling. “Paige! Did Ryder apologize to you yet?” I remained silent. She let out a dramatic, giggling sigh on the other end. “Oh my god, he’s so ridiculous. I casually mentioned in our group chat that I was craving those garlic fries, and he literally went and stood in that massive line to buy them. He even brought them to the restaurant where I was having dinner with my parents! I couldn’t exactly take them in front of my parents, so I told him to take them to you instead! “Tell me, did he look sorry? If he wasn’t nice about it, let me know. I’ll stop talking to him until he learns how to behave!” I didn’t care about her warning. Only one word stuck in my mind. “Group chat?” I asked, my voice flat. “What group chat? Do the three of you have a chat?” 7 There was a sudden, awkward silence on the other end. “Oh… oops,” Genevieve muttered, her tone turning defensive. “I wasn’t supposed to say that. “But Paige, don’t be mad. Wood was the one who—” “It’s fine,” I said quietly, and hung up the phone. Before Ryder could speak, before he could offer whatever excuse he was preparing, I snatched the bag of fries from his hands and threw them directly into the trash can next to the porch. Then, I slammed the front door shut, locking it with a heavy click.

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I have always detested Madeline. Even though our mother reminded me a thousand times that she was my sister, I remained entirely indifferent. My brother, Beckett, had always insisted that I was his one and only sister. So when the floating comments first appeared in my vision, claiming that his cold exterior was a facade and that he was actually madly in love with Madeline, I did not believe a single word. Until the day we graduated. We went on a celebratory road trip and ended up in a horrific car crash. Beckett’s very first instinct was to throw his body over Madeline, shielding her from the impact. When the onlookers shattered the glass to drag us out of the wreckage, he only cared about getting her to safety first. He completely forgot that his own biological sister was still trapped in the crumpled back seat. Even as blood poured down my face and I screamed his name, he never once looked back. Right then, a line of white text floated across my vision: Oh my god, the chemistry is insane! He will always choose her first. 01 After the paramedics finally pulled me out of the crushed metal, the pain in my leg was blinding. Lying on the hard asphalt, my face covered in blood, I kept my eyes locked on the space ahead of me. I watched Beckett fussing over Madeline, so consumed by panic that he didn’t even notice the deep gash on his own arm. He kept cradling her face, asking, “Does your head hurt? Is anything broken?” “Where are the paramedics? Why aren’t they here yet?” “Don’t worry, Maddy. I’m right here.” The floating comments surged across my field of vision like a live stream chat: The male lead finally stopped hiding how much he cares about her! Look at him, he looks like he’s going out of his mind with worry. He’s terrified she might be hurt. Only then did I realize that the floating comments had been telling the truth all along. Beckett knew exactly how much I loathed Madeline. Yet, when faced with life and death, my own brother chose to save the person I despised most. A wave of intense, suffocating nausea washed over me. I dug my fingernails deep into my palms and used the last of my strength to scream his name. “Beckett!” He didn’t turn around. Before I could see if he ever would, the darkness swallowed me whole. When I finally woke up in the hospital, my head had four stitches, and my right leg was secured in a heavy plaster cast. Beckett was sitting by my bed, letting out a long sigh of relief when he saw my eyes flutter open. “Thank God you’re awake. Mom was worried sick.” “She’s over in Madeline’s room right now. I’ll go let her know you’re up.” I stared at him, keeping my mouth shut. Beckett raised an eyebrow. “What’s with the look?” My eyes drifted to the clean white bandage wrapped around his arm. “Does it hurt?” He let out a soft laugh. “Come on, Penny. You worry too much. It’s just a scratch, nothing to cry about.” The comments flashed before my eyes again: That’s his badge of honor for protecting the female lead. He finally confessed his feelings, didn’t he? Why is the annoying sister awake already? He needs to go check on Maddy. Looking at his handsome, familiar face, the nausea returned, stronger than before. He knew. He knew how much I hated her, yet he had fallen in love with her anyway. He had abandoned me in a burning car to save her. A slow, hot anger began to burn through my veins. Even though the comments had spelled out the reality for me, I still wanted to hear it from him. I wanted to hear the excuse he would make. I gripped the bedsheets tightly, my knuckles turning white. “Beckett, why did you save Madeline first?” “I screamed your name. Did you hear me?” “You always told me I was your only sister.” My voice was quiet, but every word was heavy. “So why did you leave me behind? Weren’t you afraid I would die?” Beckett stiffened, a look of mild irritation crossing his face. “Penny, seriously? Are you really being this petty over who got carried out of the car first?” “It was a chaotic accident. Nobody had time to think.” More text slid across the air: Here we go, the jealous sister trying to compete with the female lead. She always has to make it about herself. Can she please realize she’s just a sibling? He has the right to save whoever he wants. Why does she keep embarrassing herself? She can’t compete with the female lead anyway. She’s completely invisible to him now. I stared at him, my heart turning cold. Beckett sighed, reaching out to pat my shoulder. “Look, if it makes you feel better, I’m sorry. I apologize, okay?” “Just stop being angry.” “I’ll go tell Mom you’re awake.” My throat tightened, a stinging warmth rising behind my eyes. I watched him walk out of the room, his shadow stretching long and distant across the linoleum floor. I had never felt more pathetic. The comments floated by once more: Honestly, I’d be exhausted dealing with a sister like her too. But to be fair, she got absolutely wrecked. A broken leg and stitches on her head. Meanwhile, the brother only has a scratch, and the female lead was protected so well she doesn’t have a single mark. Well, she’s the female lead. Of course she’s fine. Mom and Beckett insisted on keeping her in the hospital for observation anyway, just to be safe. Otherwise, she could have been discharged yesterday. I closed my eyes, refusing to look at the text any longer. I had always known that my mother loved Madeline more than she loved me. But I had foolishly believed that to my brother, I was the one who mattered. Now I understood. A person’s split-second instinct is the truest reflection of their heart. I just didn’t understand why everyone in my life preferred Madeline over me. They were my family, weren’t they? 02 My mother had loved Madeline long before she ever set foot in our house. I remembered the day Mom sat me down, her face solemn as she spoke. “Penny, I’m bringing your cousin to live with us. You must treat her like your own sister, understand?” “She is the only piece of my sister I have left in this world.” “You must never, ever be mean to her.” As a young girl, I had nodded eagerly. “I promise, Mom.” My mother had been incredibly close to her older sister, Catherine. During the years my mother was lost, before the wealthy Caldwell family finally tracked her down, Catherine had been the only person who showed her any kindness. Even after the Caldwells brought my mother back to their estate, they continued to favor the fake daughter they had raised. Love is a strange thing; it doesn’t always care about bloodlines. People tend to cherish what they have nurtured with their own hands, the ones they have watched grow day by day. Eventually, my mother cut ties with the Caldwells. But after Aunt Catherine passed away, my mother’s first instinct was to bring Madeline into our home. To Mom, Madeline was a reflection of her younger self: orphaned, abandoned, with no one to rely on but her aunt. Once Madeline arrived, my mother’s world began to revolve entirely around her. I tried everything to get my mother to look at me. I tried getting perfect grades, scraping my knees, standing quietly in corners. But the moment Madeline shed a single tear, my mother forgot everything else. She forgot about my scraped knees, forgot about the things I couldn’t reach, forgot about me standing under the rain waiting for her. But before Madeline came, my mother hadn’t been like that. She used to see me the moment I entered a room. She used to hold me when I cried, and when I fell ill, she would stay up all night weeping quietly by my side. I used to love her hugs. But she hadn’t held me in years. Whenever I tried to wrap my arms around her, she would gently push me away, telling me she had to tend to Madeline first. Slowly, the love I had for my new sister curdled into resentment. I hated her. She had stolen my mother. And whenever we had a disagreement, my mother always took her side. “Penny, you’re the older one. You have to accommodate your sister.” “She lost her mother. Are you really going to bully her too?” Those words carved deep, silent wounds into my heart. When I was nine, Madeline and I got into a fight, and she shoved me hard against the corner of my wooden desk. The pain was sharp and sudden. Tears springing to my eyes, I lunged forward and knocked her to the ground. When our mother came into the room, she didn’t look at the dark bruise forming on my back. She only saw Madeline crying on the floor. “Mom, she pushed me first!” I cried out, my voice trembling. “My back hurts so bad…” My mother looked at me, her eyes filled with cold disappointment. “Madeline is your guest, Penny! Why can’t you be the mature one for once?” “I asked you to get along with her, and this is how you behave?” “Do you ever listen to a single thing I tell you?” In that moment, a violent chill swept through my body. I couldn’t stop shaking. “I hate her!” I screamed, the tears spilling over. “She’s not my sister! Why does she have to live in our house?” “Aren’t you my mom?” “Aren’t I your actual child?” “Why do you only care about her?” The next sound was the sharp crack of my mother’s palm against my cheek. I stood there, my hand pressed against my stinging face, utterly numb. I didn’t even notice when she picked Madeline up and left the room. 03 That night, after finding out what had happened, Beckett came into my room with a handful of candies hidden in his pocket. I clung to him, sobbing until I could barely breathe. He stroked my hair gently. “Crybaby.” “Don’t worry. You’ll always be my only sister.” Years later, when Beckett repeated those words in the kitchen, our mother overheard him. She reprimanded him severely. “Madeline is your sister too! How can you say something so heartless?” “And you, Penny. I told you to get along with her, and you go running to your brother to tattle on her?” And now, the same dismissive tone echoed in my hospital room. “Penny, can you stop being so dramatic? Just because your brother saved Madeline first, you’re going to hold a grudge?” “Are you still acting like a child?” I opened my eyes. My mother was standing at the foot of my bed. I didn’t say a word. I just looked down at my heavy plaster cast. A wave of bitter, pathetic sorrow washed over me. “Mom, it hurts so much.” Why didn’t you come to see me first? Madeline is completely unharmed. I’m the one with the broken leg. I’m the one with the stitches. Why can’t you look at my injuries? Why do you only have eyes for her? My mother gave me a brief, unsympathetic look. “If it hurts, then lie still and rest.” “You still have the energy to argue with your brother over nonsense.” “Clearly, you aren’t hurting that much.” The desire to speak vanished instantly. It was always like this. No matter the circumstances, it was always my fault. A few sympathetic comments drifted across the screen: Am I the only one who feels terrible for her? Her leg is literally broken and she has stitches. And the first thing her mother does is scold her instead of asking how she feels. That’s cold. Well, she brought it on herself. The moment she woke up, she started complaining that her brother didn’t save her first. Does she not know her place in his heart? It’s honestly embarrassing. But from her perspective, it’s completely valid. The brother who promised to protect her abandoned her in a bloody wreck. She was covered in blood, screaming his name, and he didn’t even look back. Please, he wasn’t obligated to save her. It’s his choice. When the person you love is in danger, your body moves on instinct. That’s just how it is. I get why she’s upset, but he still had the right to choose. I stared at the last comment, feeling a strange numbness settle over me. My mother opened her phone and sent a transaction to my account. “You’ll be recovering in the hospital for a while. I’ve spoken with Mrs. Gable, and she’ll bring you three meals a day.” “Madeline even suggested hiring a private nurse for you. Your brother went to look into it.” I felt a sudden shift in her tone. Sure enough, she continued, “If the doctors clear Madeline tomorrow, we’re going to Paris. Your father is already there on business.” I felt my chest tighten. “What about me? You’re going to leave me here alone?” My mother sighed, looking exasperated. “Penny, look at yourself. Can you travel like this?” “This summer is your only chance to relax before college starts. You can’t expect the entire family to sit in a hospital room just because you’re injured.” “Why can’t you be more understanding? Stop comparing yourself to Madeline.” “Madeline felt so guilty about your brother saving her first that she wanted to come and apologize to you.” “Luckily, Beckett and I managed to stop her.” I listened to her words, waiting for the familiar rise of anger, the urge to fight back. But instead, a deep, hollow silence settled within me. The fire was gone. “I understand,” I said quietly. My mother blinked, surprised by my sudden compliance. I looked at her, my voice entirely steady. “Since I can’t go to Paris with you, send me my portion of the travel budget. I’ll buy myself something nice instead.” She hesitated for a second, then pulled out her phone and transferred the money. When she finally left the room, I lay back against the pillows, closing my eyes, letting the silence wrap around me. My family’s harmony was built entirely on my silent endurance. If I didn’t back down, I was labeled difficult. None of them cared. And now, my brother didn’t even hide his devotion to Maddy anymore. I was utterly alone. 04 My private nurse was delivered to my room the following afternoon, escorted by Beckett and Madeline. When Madeline saw the white bandages around my head and the heavy cast on my leg, her eyes widened in a display of shocked pity. I hated that look. It made me feel like some pathetic, wounded animal she could look down upon. What right did she have to pity me? I wanted to tell her to wipe that fake look off her face, but I was simply too exhausted to speak. Madeline stepped forward, her face clouded with worry. “Penny, are you okay?” “I didn’t know your leg was hurt this badly. If I had known, I would have told Beckett to pull you out first.” “I’m so sorry. Please don’t be mad at him.” I kept my mouth shut, letting my eyes sweep over her. Beckett had indeed protected her perfectly. There wasn’t a single scratch on her fair skin. And then there was me: stitches, a broken bone, and a heart turned to ash. Seeing my silence, Beckett’s brow furrowed. “Penny, don’t start.” “Have some manners.” I looked up at him, meeting his eyes. “You’re a dumbass.” Beckett froze, a look of sheer disbelief crossing his face before he let out a sharp, angry laugh. “Your attitude is unbelievable, Penny.” “No wonder Mom didn’t want Madeline visiting you. She knew you’d just take your frustration out on her.” I blinked slowly. “I was talking to you.” His eyes narrowed, a dangerous edge creeping into his voice. “Penny, you’re really pushing it.” Comments began to stream: Wow, the sister is savage. The brother looks like he’s about to lose his mind. She’s so childish, she doesn’t even know how to speak to people. Madeline is trying to be nice, and she gets treated like trash. Wait, is it just me, or does Madeline sound incredibly passive-aggressive? ‘If I had known, I would have told him to save you first’—her leg is literally broken, that’s just rubbing salt in the wound! Exactly, it’s totally toxic. You guys are being way too sensitive. I ignored the comments, keeping my voice cool. “Have you booked your tickets to France?” Beckett seemed to remember my injury, glancing down at my leg. “You can’t even walk. Is that why you’re throwing a tantrum?” Madeline gently touched his arm, gesturing for him to stop. She turned back to me. “Penny, we can stay. We can wait until you’re discharged before we go to France. I’ll talk to Auntie.” “No way,” Beckett countered immediately. “That will take weeks.” “Don’t let her guilt-trip you, Maddy. We already planned this trip.” “Even if you stay, she won’t appreciate it.” Watching him jump to her defense once again, I felt the last of my energy drain away. I closed my eyes. “Dumbass.” They were doing this on purpose, surely. They wanted to see me break. I took a breath, keeping my voice even. “Since you’re going to France and I’m staying here, transfer me my share of the trip expenses. The money Beckett promised to cover.” If I couldn’t go, I was at least taking what was mine. Every single cent. Once the notification of his transfer popped up on my phone, I waved them away, signaling for them to get out. As they walked out, Madeline cast one last look over her shoulder. It was that same pitying, superior look. I wondered if Beckett was truly blind. How could he look at her and see nothing but innocence? It was pathetic.

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1 I was the pampered only daughter of the Wright family, guarded by three overprotective brothers until a mysterious notepad app appeared on my phone. It predicted their ruin. Dominic would lose eighty billion dollars on a bad deal. Gideon would be stripped of his shares. Jude would abandon his inheritance. My lifetime security was vanishing. I launched my Save the Wallet plan. I swiped Dominic’s black card and spent thirty million dollars in a single day. He spent all night processing returns and handling complaints. I took Gideon’s private jet to Paris and gutted the custom leather interior under the pretext of a remodel. He was forced into an eight-hour transoceanic video call just to supervise me. I converted Jude’s climate-controlled wine cellar into a karaoke lounge and used eight million dollars worth of vintage Cabernet Sauvignon as bathwater. My brothers were so exhausted they had no time to check their phones. That ended when Seraphina, the new executive secretary, was appointed to Dominic’s office. She cast a cold glance at me, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. Little girl, the executive suite is not a playground. You can run along now. A dead silence fell over the hallway. Everyone knew the fiercely protective CEO of Wright Group was about to walk through those doors. I was only halfway through my gourmet lobster roll, the rich filling still in my mouth. There were five assistants in the lounge, and even the newest among them had been with my brother for six years. Right now, their expressions were identical, a perfect mix of wanting to speak up but fearing they would say the wrong thing, wanting to pull her back but not knowing how. Martha was the first to break the silence, letting out a dry laugh. “Ms. Seraphina, this is Mr. Wright’s…” “I know, his sister,” Seraphina interrupted, not even sparing Martha a glance. When she said the word “sister,” her voice tilted upward with a subtle, dismissive edge. “But even a sister shouldn’t be eating and playing in the executive suite. The scent of lobster is far too strong. What if a client arrives later?” She glanced at the gourmet box in front of me, her brow knitting together. “Besides, today is my first day, and the executive suite needs structure. When Mr. Wright is away, I coordinate the daily operations.” She smiled, tilting her head to look at me as if coaxing a difficult child. “Be a good girl, pack up your things, and I’ll have the receptionist call a car to take you home, alright?” Martha panicked, her voice rising. “Ms. Seraphina, you really don’t understand the situation. This lounge was specifically built by Mr. Wright for—” “It doesn’t matter who it was built for.” Seraphina turned, her tone still soft and gentle, but every word carried a hard, unyielding weight. “Martha, you’ve worked with Mr. Wright for so many years. You should know better than anyone that the executive suite represents the face of the entire conglomerate. A young girl sitting here eating messy lobster rolls, what would the outside world think of Wright Group if word got out?” Philip, the director of operations, set down his coffee cup, finally unable to keep quiet. “Ms. Seraphina, I suggest you wait until Mr. Wright returns before making any—” “Mr. Philip,” Seraphina turned her face, her smile unchanging. “Mr. Wright authorized me to manage the daily administration of this suite. This falls directly under my purview. Or are you suggesting his authorization is flawed?” Philip opened his mouth, then closed it. I grabbed a napkin and wiped my fingers, my movements slow and deliberate. “What did you say just now? Tell me to get lost?” Seraphina’s smile stiffened slightly. “I didn’t use that word,” she said. “I said ‘go play outside’.” “Oh,” I nodded. “So you’re saying you get to decide where I stand?” “Ms. Mariette, everyone in the company knows Mr. Wright spoils you, but work is work—” “By the way,” I interrupted her. “The keypad on the door, the passcode is my birthday, August 16. You can ask anyone in this room. On paper, this lounge belongs to me.” Martha nodded frantically beside me, like a chicken pecking at seeds. Seraphina remained quiet for two seconds. She took a deep breath, smoothing her expression. This time, she didn’t bother to smile. “Ms. Mariette, everything I’ve said today is for the sake of the Wright Group. It is nothing personal.” She turned to Martha, her tone shifting into that of an administrative manager delivering a cold directive. “Martha, inform the reception desk. From today onward, any non-staff entering the executive suite must register and seek pre-approval. Everyone, without exception.” Martha’s face turned pale. “Ms. Seraphina, a rule like this… I’m afraid it requires Mr. Wright’s personal—” “Mr. Wright authorized me,” Seraphina cut her off coldly. “I don’t need to consult him on every minor administrative detail.” Then she turned back to me, her eyes devoid of any gentle pretense. “Ms. Mariette, your behavior today has disrupted our professional working order. As the administrator of the executive suite, I have the authority to handle this.” She walked to the door, opened it, and nodded to the two security guards standing in the hallway. “Please lock this lounge temporarily.” She looked back at me, her voice quiet but clear. “Ms. Mariette can stay here for a bit to clear her head. I’ll let you out once I’ve debriefed Mr. Wright on today’s events. Consider it a lesson.” Martha stood up abruptly. “Seraphina! You!” Seraphina raised her hand, silencing her with a chillingly sweet smile. “Martha, don’t be dramatic. I am doing this for her own good. A spoiled girl needs someone to teach her boundaries, don’t you agree?” The security guards closed the door. The light in the lounge didn’t change, but the atmosphere felt as though it had been plunged underwater. Seraphina stood at the door, clapping her hands lightly as if she had just disposed of some minor nuisance. “Alright,” she turned back to Martha, her voice returning to its soft cadence. “Martha, please organize the meeting minutes from this afternoon and send them to me. Mr. Wright will want to review them later.” Martha didn’t move. “Ms. Seraphina,” she said, her voice dropping low. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” “I do,” Seraphina replied. “I am maintaining order in this office. Martha, I wasn’t asking for your opinion.” Martha bit her lip, her eyes rimmed with red. She had been with Dominic for eleven years, starting back when Wright was just a mid-sized firm. She had never dealt with such arrogance. Before Martha could speak again, Seraphina turned away, pulling out her phone and dialing a number. The call was answered almost immediately. A deep, commanding voice came through the speaker. “Seraphina, what is it?” Seraphina’s tone instantly softened. “Uncle Arthur, I just arrived at the executive suite, and I’ve run into a bit of a situation. I wanted to report it to you.” The name “Uncle Arthur” made the room fall completely silent again. Philip’s eyes shifted, and even Martha looked visibly tense. The “Uncle Arthur” she was speaking to was none other than Arthur Ward, a founding board member of the Wright Group, a close associate of my late father, and the current head of the supervisory board. Seraphina explained the situation, her voice laced with delicate distress, framing herself as the responsible manager and me as the spoiled, disruptive sister. “…I had no choice. Mr. Wright is away, and the suite was in complete disarray. I had to enforce the rules. Uncle Arthur, did I do the right thing?” There was a brief pause on the other line. “You did the right thing, Seraphina. The executive suite must have rules.” Arthur Ward’s voice was clear enough for everyone to hear. “I’ll call Dominic later and tell him to keep his sister in line. A young girl running wild in the office is completely inappropriate.” Seraphina looked at the room, her lips curling into a triumphant smile. “Thank you, Uncle Arthur. I knew you would understand.” She slipped her phone back into her pocket, standing tall. Her entire posture had changed; she no longer needed the gentle facade. She looked at me. “Ms. Mariette, you’re smart, so I won’t beat around the bush. I didn’t come to Wright to make an enemy of you. But rules are rules. If you cooperate with me today, I’ll speak highly of you to your brother, and I’ll turn a blind eye when you visit in the future. Isn’t that a fair deal?” I looked down at the cold lobster roll on my plate. I raised my head, about to speak, when the sound of heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway. “Who authorized locking this door?” It was Miles, my brother’s chief secretary and personal shadow. Miles stood at the entrance, holding a spare key in his hand. He was in his early forties, having been with Dominic for thirteen years. Everyone in the company knew that when Dominic was away, Miles spoke with his authority. His gaze swept from the locked door to the people in the room, finally resting on Seraphina. “I’ll ask one more time,” he said, his voice flat and calm. “Who authorized locking this door?” Seraphina didn’t answer immediately. She studied Miles for a moment, her eyes lingering on his badge: Chief Secretary, Miles. “I did,” she said, her chin lifting slightly. “There was an administrative issue, and I acted within the authorization Mr. Wright gave me.” Miles said nothing. He walked past her, coming straight to my side. He glanced at the cold lobster roll, then looked at me. “Mariette, are you alright?” I shook my head. Miles nodded, then turned to Martha. “Have the kitchen prepare a fresh plate, and bring some mango boba tea. Mr. Wright mentioned she was coming today and left specific instructions.” Martha looked incredibly relieved. “Of course, right away.” “Wait a moment,” Seraphina’s voice cut in. Martha stopped in her tracks. “Mr. Miles,” Seraphina stepped forward, placing herself between Miles and Martha. “As I stated, non-staff are not permitted to dine in the executive suite. This rule is effective immediately. By ordering food now, are you trying to undermine my authority?” Miles looked at her. “Ms. Seraphina, I processed your onboarding paperwork myself. I know the exact boundaries of your authority better than you do. Mr. Wright authorized you to coordinate daily administrative tasks.” He paused. “That does not include personnel, security clearance, or… locking doors.” Seraphina’s expression stiffened, but she quickly recovered, letting out a soft laugh. “Mr. Miles, those are just technicalities on paper. Do you really believe Mr. Wright brought me here just to do basic paperwork? You’ve been with him for thirteen years; you should know better than anyone that he doesn’t hire people just to fit a standard job description.” She tilted her head, her tone carrying an intimate, knowing edge. “My relationship with Mr. Wright cannot be defined by a simple contract. You are a smart man, Mr. Miles. I shouldn’t have to spell it out for you.” At those words, Philip almost spilled his coffee, and Martha stood frozen, her mouth slightly open. Miles simply pushed his glasses up, his expression entirely unchanged. “Ms. Seraphina, regardless of your personal relationship with Mr. Wright, within the Wright Group office, we operate strictly by the rules. That is a boundary Mr. Wright established himself.” He turned back to Martha. “Go on, get the food.” Martha didn’t hesitate this time, quickly disappearing down the hallway. Seraphina watched her leave, the smile fading from her face. She turned to face Miles directly. “Mr. Miles, I respect your seniority, which is why I’ve been polite. But undermining me in front of the entire office makes things very difficult.” Miles remained silent. “I locked the room because Ms. Mariette’s behavior was disrupting the office. Even the head of the supervisory board, Mr. Ward, supported my decision. Are you suggesting a secretary has more authority than a board member?” Miles kept his tablet tucked under his arm, his voice cool. “Ms. Seraphina, Mr. Ward oversees corporate compliance. The personnel and daily administration of the executive suite have never fallen under the supervisory board’s jurisdiction. That is written in our bylaws. It is not my decision, nor is it Mr. Ward’s.” Seraphina’s eyes turned icy. “Miles, do you have any idea who you are talking to?” “I do,” Miles replied smoothly. “Ms. Seraphina, the newly appointed secretary of the executive suite, on her very first day of employment.” The words weren’t loud, but they cut deep. She turned her attention back to me, trying to apply pressure from another angle. “Ms. Mariette, I am giving you one last chance. Cooperate with me regarding today’s incident, and we can pretend nothing happened. You can come to the office, and we won’t interfere with each other. But if you persist…” She paused, her eyes scanning my face. “I won’t hesitate to have Mr. Ward handle this personally. If this escalates, it won’t end well for anyone.” I pushed the cold lobster roll aside, looking up at her. “Ms. Seraphina, how long have you been in this room today?” Seraphina frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?” “Just curious,” I said. “You walked in, locked the door, threatened me with your board connection, argued with the chief secretary, and now you want to make a deal.” I tilted my head. “Do you really think you have any cards left to play?” Seraphina’s expression shifted, a flash of panic crossing her features before she quickly suppressed it. She took a deep breath, her cold smile returning. “You have a sharp tongue, Ms. Mariette.” “I’ve always been like this. My brothers are used to it.” “Your brothers?” Seraphina let out a soft, mocking laugh. “Your brothers aren’t here right now. Even if they adore you, they can’t save you from this.” She took a step closer, pointing toward the door. “So, Ms. Mariette, you had better think carefully. Are you going to leave on your own, or do I need to have security escort you out?” Miles stepped forward. “Ms. Seraphina—” “Miles, if you interfere again,” Seraphina snapped, her voice turning completely cold, “I will call Mr. Ward right now and have him ask you why a secretary is repeatedly obstructing executive administration.” Miles stopped. Seraphina looked back at me, her hand still pointing toward the exit. “After you, Ms. Mariette.” I stared at her outstretched hand for three long seconds. Then, I raised my eyes, looking past her shoulder toward the doorway. Sensing my gaze, Seraphina’s brow furrowed, and she slowly turned around. The sound of heavy, measured footsteps echoed in the hallway. The door opened. My eldest brother, Dominic, stood in the doorway. “What,” he spoke, his voice entirely flat, “is going on here?”

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Ever since I was a kid, I could hear the whispers of pests. Fresh into my internship with the investigative task force, I tagged along with my mentor to the Lancaster estate. We were looking into the disappearance of the sole heir to the wealthiest family in Harbor Bay. The head consultant sounded dead certain. “The kid was definitely smuggled out of the city. We need to expand the mountain search grid immediately.” The little Lancaster boy was the only male heir in eight generations. Old man Arthur, the family patriarch, had even put a ten million dollar bounty on the table for whoever found him first. Everyone was rushing out of the city limits. I was the only one standing dead in my tracks. Because I heard the rats. I turned my head toward the corner and spoke up. “No need to leave the city.” “The boy is right here.” 1 The moment those words left my mouth, Arthur slammed his walking cane against the marble floor. He stepped forward. “What do you know?” The octogenarian’s voice trembled. “You know where Oliver is?” Every pair of eyes in the room snapped to me, sharp as daggers. “He is in this mansion,” I replied. A split second of dead silence followed, and then the room exploded like water hitting boiling grease. Preston, the head consultant, adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and let out a scoff. “You are just an intern. What proof do you have?” His tone dripped with unconcealed contempt. “We pulled all the security footage and cross-checked every toll booth record. The conclusion is unanimous. The boy has been moved.” “This little girl must be out of her mind for that bounty,” Dexter, the private eye, chimed in. He crossed his arms, intentionally raising his voice. “The whole world is searching outside the city, and you insist he is in the house? Just to play the contrarian and snatch that ten million?” The flicker of hope that had lit up Arthur’s face vanished entirely. “Young lady, the Lancaster bounty is not a game.” Richard, the boy’s father, turned livid. He leaned in to whisper something to his assistant. From the looks of it, I was seconds away from being thrown out by security. Only my mentor, Alistair, hurried over to my side. He leaned down, dropping his voice so only I could hear. “Harper, did you find something again?” His question yanked the room’s attention back to us. Dexter narrowed his eyes. “Alistair, you should know better than to indulge your student. Don’t let her think one lucky guess with that cold case means she is psychic now.” Alistair ignored him. He kept his eyes locked on me. I knew exactly why he believed me. Two years ago, a dismembered body case on the outskirts of Harbor Bay had gone cold for months. I was the one who followed the squeaks of rats all the way into an abandoned bunker, unearthing a skeleton buried for five years. After that, Alistair made an exception and took me on as an intern, even though I hadn’t officially graduated college. Right at this moment, two rats were chattering in the corner behind the baseboards. “The little kid’s blood still smells fresh. Hasn’t faded yet.” “It has been three days. I am starving. Let’s go feast.” I spoke up immediately, terrified of losing precious time. “The boy is injured. He is still in this building. We need to search right now, he might still be saved.” Marcus stood three paces away. He was the tactical captain sent by the police department. He raised a hand. “Hold your positions. Prepare for a full tactical sweep of the estate.” “Absolutely not!” Richard shoved past his bodyguards and marched right up to Marcus. “It has been three days! Every camera, every tire track, every witness statement points out of the city! And you want to tear my house apart?” He whipped around to glare at me. “Do you have any idea what you are delaying? If Oliver really was taken out of the city, and we waste half a day here…” Panic burned in my chest. Just as Richard was about to order the search teams to roll out, a black-shelled roach squeezed through a crack in the molding. “Basement. The little brat with the mole on his butt got shoved down there.” I jerked my head up, ignoring Richard’s roaring entirely, and spoke over him. “The boy has a mole on his right buttock. About the size of a quarter.” “The last person who saw him before he vanished was his mother. Am I right?” 2 Eleanor, the boy’s mother, stood at the top of the second-floor staircase. One hand covered her mouth, and the other gripped the mahogany railing like a lifeline. Arthur stared at me for a long time. His cane slowly lowered back to the floor. “Search the house,” the old man rasped. Marcus personally led the team, tearing through the first-floor living room inch by inch. “Not even a stray hair.” Dexter strolled out of a second-floor guest room, dusting off his slacks. “All this chaos just to entertain an intern’s wild delusion of him being injured?” Preston stood in the center of the living room, frowning at the thermal imaging on his tablet. “The wall structures are completely normal. No irregular heat signatures detected. Captain Marcus, with all due respect…” “Keep looking,” Marcus muttered, not even looking up. Richard paced the foyer, checking his watch at least twenty times. With every passing minute, his face grew darker. He finally snapped at Marcus. “Captain, I already have three private teams sweeping the southern mountains. If you don’t produce results here soon…” I was crouching on the floor tiles at the end of the ground-floor hallway. While the Lancasters were busy arguing, a cluster of rats had gathered by the wall, muttering among themselves. “Crawl east. There is a sweet, sticky smell coming from the bottom of that wall.” “Idiot, you have to squeeze into the hollow parts! The sweet smell is leaking from the brick joints.” They kept repeating the same direction. The basement. I stood up, stumbling slightly because my legs had gone numb. Alistair quickly caught my arm. “Are you sure?” he whispered. I looked down the narrow door leading to the basement and nodded. “Head down to the basement,” Marcus said, putting his tablet away and following my gaze. “Harper says search the east wall. Follow the roaches and rats.” The basement was larger than I imagined. Nothing looked out of place. But when I crouched down, I heard a faint rustling coming from the seams where the wall met the floor. Marcus ordered a tech to tap the drywall. The echo was muffled and hollow, completely different from a solid structure. Benson, the family butler, was summoned. He unrolled the vintage architectural blueprints of the estate. The diagrams showed there should only be a three-foot plumbing cavity behind this wall. Richard stood at the top of the stairs, looking down. His expression was a stormy mix of rage and anxiety. Finally, he gritted his teeth. “Smash it.” When the worker swung the sledgehammer, my heart pounded louder than the impact. The first brick gave way, revealing a pitch-black void. A damp, chilling breeze wafted out. I held my breath. Then the second and third bricks shattered. The hole widened. Marcus shined his tactical flashlight inside. Nothing. Just a few rusted old pipes and a thick layer of dust. Dexter stood less than two feet behind me. His mocking laughter practically pierced my eardrums. “Absolutely nothing. You made the Lancasters demolish their own house just to look at some garbage plumbing?” Preston had wandered downstairs at some point. He took one look, turned on his heel, and spat out a single word. “Absurd.” Richard stood on the steps, his knuckles popping as he clenched his fists. Just then, the butler’s voice echoed from the floor above. “Sir, the housekeeping staff is asking for a word.” 3 The four maids stood in a line in the parlor, their expressions ranging from annoyed to nervous. Martha, a woman in her fifties, took the lead. She had worked for the Lancasters for over a decade and held the most authority. She anxiously twisted the hem of her apron, glancing between Richard and me. Her voice was steady. “Sir, the girls and I talked it over. We need to clear our names.” Martha swallowed hard. “This estate gets a comprehensive pest control sweep twice a day, at six in the morning and nine at night. We use top-tier bait and traps constantly.” “I have worked here for twelve years. Forget rats, I haven’t even seen a stray ant. And this young lady comes in talking about rats leading the way and roaches giving clues.” A younger maid chimed in from behind. “Sir, saying stuff like that makes it sound like we are just getting paid to do absolutely nothing.” Dexter let out a sharp whistle. “Hear that? Professional cleaners are on it every single day. Where exactly are you getting these clues? Straight from your own imagination?” I stood frozen. Cold sweat drenched my back. The combined glare of everyone in the parlor weighed on me like a mountain. Richard turned to look at me, his eyes clouded with pure venom. He closed the distance in three massive strides, his finger nearly poking through my shoulder. “You are a total fraud. You just wasted three hours of our critical search and rescue window. Three hours! Do you have any idea what that means?” “Mr. Lancaster, Harper isn’t…” Alistair tried to step between us, but Richard shoved him aside violently. “Shut your mouth!” Richard’s eyes were bloodshot. “You told the cops to follow the rats to the basement. Because of that one stupid sentence, we wasted three hours in this house. Three hours is enough to sweep half a damn mountain!” He whipped around to face Arthur. “Dad, I told you these people are just grifters after the reward money! But you insisted on bringing in some fringe consultant.” Arthur sat in his antique wingback chair. He closed his eyes and waved a hand dismissively. It was a clear gesture. Throw her out. A young man from the family’s legal team stepped out from the crowd. He wore a sharp suit and held a leather folder. “Miss Harper, we have documented your repeated attempts to intentionally mislead the rescue operation.” “Under civil law, we will be pursuing charges for obstructing an emergency response and malicious misdirection. The financial damages will be…” “That is enough.” Alistair cut him off, a rare edge of fury in his voice. “She is an intern. Every action taken was authorized by the experts on site. You cannot pin the entire blame on a single girl.” “Authorized?” Richard sneered. “Who authorized her? From the very beginning, she has been pointing fingers like a lunatic!” He waved a hand dismissively. Two massive security guards marched toward me. “Drag her out. I never want to see her face again.” When the guards clamped down on my arms, I had zero strength to fight back. Alistair trailed behind us all the way to the door, arguing heatedly, but Richard tuned him out entirely. Dexter followed me with his phone out, recording the whole thing. He shoved the camera right into my face. “Here we go, folks. Let the internet see what people will do for a ten million dollar bounty.” I was dragged through the hallway, across the marble living room. Every step pulled me further away from the basement. Marcus hadn’t moved an inch, but I saw his brow knit together. His gaze kept shifting between the smashed wall and my retreating back. His lips parted, but he didn’t say a word. Richard followed us all the way to the foyer. His voice chased me from behind, cold and absolute. “If anything happens to Oliver, I will make you pay with your life.” The heavy bronze front doors were swinging open, letting in a blinding strip of daylight. Right before the doors parted completely, something caught my peripheral vision. Down by the base of the basement stairs. A gray rat squeezed through the crack in the door. 4 The guards were hauling me outside. One of my feet was already past the threshold, but my entire body locked up as if nailed to the floor. The rat was moving too slowly. Normally, a rat darting from a gap would vanish in a blur. But this one took two steps and froze. Its four tiny legs trembled, struggling to hold up a belly so swollen it practically scraped the tiles. It crawled a few inches, then rested. Another rat popped out from the corner and nudged its head. The gray rat let out two weak, raspy squeaks. “Swallowed it. Swallowed it. Too heavy, can’t crawl.” “Spit it out!” “Can’t. My stomach is totally jammed.” I threw my entire weight backward with a violent jerk. The guard holding me hadn’t expected a young girl to pack that much explosive force, and his grip slipped. My knees slammed into the marble floor. The pain was so sharp my vision went black for a second, but I ignored it, scrambling forward on all fours. Dexter’s camera feed shook as he yelled. “Hey. She is making a run for it!” By the time I lunged, the gray rat was desperately trying to squeeze into a corner seam. I slid across the floor, slamming both hands over its back, pinning it flat against the freezing tiles. The rat twitched twice and gave up. Its belly was bloated like a stuffed walnut, the skin stretched so thin I could see dark, heavy outlines underneath. The entire room went dead silent. Richard charged back from the foyer. He saw me kneeling on the floor, cupping a filthy gray rat in my hands. My face was flushed red, and my voice shook uncontrollably. “You are still pulling this stunt!” Richard screamed. Marcus and Alistair rushed over from the living room. I clutched the rat, spun around, and stayed on my knees. The security guard reached out to grab me, but I fiercely shielded the dusty little creature in my palms. I threw my head back, looking straight at Arthur. The old man had quietly walked to the end of the hall, watching me from a dozen feet away. “Examine it.” My voice tore from my throat, so ragged I barely recognized it. “There is something inside this rat’s stomach. I swear on my life, if I am wrong after you cut it open, I will gladly go to prison!” Dexter burst into laughter from the back of the room. “Are you insane? You want us to perform an endoscopy on a rodent?” He shoved his phone closer. “Look at this, guys. The final meltdown of a scammer. That bounty really drove her crazy.” “Shut up.” Marcus finally spoke. He pushed through the crowd, knelt in front of me, and stared at the rat’s unnaturally bulging stomach. He stayed silent for two seconds before looking up and calling out. “Dr. Simon.” The forensic examiner stepped forward quickly. He took a knee, observed the rat for a few moments, and pulled a pair of forceps and a specimen tray from his kit. Dexter opened his mouth to complain, but a lethal glare from Marcus shut him up instantly. When Dr. Simon took the rat from my hands, I felt it give one last, feeble twitch against my skin. The gray rat squeaked two final times. “I ate so much. So full.” The scalpel sliced through the rat’s belly with practiced speed. The hallway was so quiet you could hear the faint, wet sound of skin parting. Ten seconds later, the forceps reached into the incision and pulled something out. It was a piece of reddish-brown flesh. 5 Everyone instinctively crowded closer, yet simultaneously took a half-step back, as if getting too close might infect them with something vile. Dexter was the first to break the tension. “Are you guys serious?” He pocketed his phone and scoffed. “The kitchen in this mansion is massive. A rat snagging a piece of leftover meat is supposed to be a clue?” He gestured toward the metal tray. “It is just a chunk of pork. Probably dropped on the floor during dinner prep.” Preston adjusted his glasses. He stayed quiet, but didn’t argue. Richard stood two paces away. His eyes darted between me and the dead rat. His mouth was a tight, hard line. Marcus didn’t entertain them. He stared intently at Dr. Simon. The forensic examiner held the tray up to the light, inspecting it for a few heavy seconds. When he looked up, his brow was locked in a deep knot. “The edges are cleanly severed. This wasn’t torn naturally. And look here.” He gently nudged the tissue with his forceps. “The surface shows signs of dehydration, likely from formalin immersion. The rat’s stomach acid couldn’t break this down, which is why it swallowed it whole.” “Formalin?” Preston finally frowned. The temperature in the room plummeted. Arthur stepped forward from the back of the crowd. He ground the tip of his cane into the floor and spoke in a gravelly whisper. “Find every single rat left in this house. Bring them all to me. Dead or alive.” The Lancaster bodyguards and Marcus’s officers immediately scattered like hounds. They tore through the living room, the kitchen, the pantry, the staff quarters. No corner was spared. Fifteen minutes later, a shout rang out from the kitchen. “Got one!” A tidal wave of people rushed in. An officer was kneeling behind the kitchen cabinets, holding up a snap trap. A small, gray rat was caught in the metal jaws. Its belly was slightly distended. The rat was still twitching. It wasn’t completely dead. “Cut it open,” Marcus ordered. Dr. Simon went to work immediately. The hallway descended into an unnatural silence, leaving only the wet slice of the scalpel. Seconds later, the forceps reached inside and extracted something. Half a human fingernail. Eleanor shoved her way to the front. She took one look, and it was as if someone had ripped the spine right out of her back. Her legs buckled, and she collapsed. Richard lunged to catch her. As he looked down at the nail, the blood drained from his face, turning his skin a ghastly, ash-grey. “Oliver’s.” Eleanor gripped Richard’s sleeve, her voice sounding like she was drowning. Nobody in the crowd made a sound. Arthur slowly walked forward. Every step was heavy, dragged out. He stared down at that tiny fragment of a nail for a long time. His lips trembled, but no sound came out. A profound, unbearable grief shattered his eyes. All the strength left his aged body, and he fell rigidly backward. The crowd erupted in panicked shouts, rushing to catch the patriarch and carry him to a recliner in the parlor. Total chaos took over the living room. Richard handed Eleanor over to the maids and stood frozen in the parlor doorway, staring at his collapsed father. His eyes were bloodshot, his lips pressed so tight they were bone-white. I stood on the outskirts of the crowd. The bruises on my knees were throbbing with heat. Alistair walked over and stood beside me. He didn’t say a word, but he placed a warm, reassuring hand on my back. Then, a sound caught my attention. Over by the baseboard radiator, a fly buzzed against the metal casing. “Smells so good behind the fridge. But I can’t find it.” “Can’t find it.” I slowly turned my head toward the kitchen. Arthur regained consciousness ten minutes later. Lying on the recliner, the very first words out of the old man’s mouth were absolute. “Oliver is gone. But I want him found. Alive or dead, bring my boy back!” That single sentence shifted the atmosphere in the estate from a rescue op to a murder investigation. Marcus instantly locked down the property. He called in a full crime scene unit to tear the place apart, room by room. I was the only one standing perfectly still, straining my ears to catch the whispers of the pests. But there was nothing. The rats and roaches had gone completely silent, as if acting on some collective instinct. Even the fly was gone. The mansion was as quiet as a tomb. Alistair crouched next to me, speaking softly. “Think back. When you heard the first rats, which part of the wall were they talking about exactly?” I closed my eyes. The conversation of the gray rat replayed in my mind like a tape recorder. The brick joints. Not behind the wall. Inside the wall. My eyes snapped open. “We shouldn’t just be looking behind the walls. We need to look for gaps small enough for a rat to crawl into.” Marcus glanced back at me. He didn’t ask for an explanation. He just pivoted his orders. “Everyone. Look for hidden compartments.” An hour later, an officer shouted from the bottom corner of the first-floor hallway. “Found a hidden panel behind the wainscoting.” 6 The officer knelt by the corner baseboard, using a screwdriver to pry off a loose piece of wooden paneling. Behind the wood was a square cavity, barely the size of a hand. Marcus shined his flashlight inside, sweeping the beam across the darkness. Curled in the corner was a dead rat. Its stomach was completely flat, entirely desiccated. But right next to the carcass, wedged deep in the crevice, was a piece of rubber. When Marcus pulled it out with his tweezers, everyone stopped breathing. It was the front half of a shoe sole. The edges were gnawed and torn, but the tread pattern was unmistakably clear. A row of jagged teeth grips, and in the center, the faint logo of a cartoon crocodile. Eleanor didn’t come over to look. She sat on the living room sofa, hands clasped over her knees, as rigid as a marble statue. But Benson, the butler, leaned in for a closer look. When he turned his head, his lips were quivering violently. “The young master loved those shoes. The crocodile ones. The Madam bought them for him at the city center last year.” Arthur sat motionless in his wingback chair, but his knuckles gripped the armrests until they turned white. Marcus sealed the evidence bag, handed it to Dr. Simon, and stared at the location of the hidden panel. It was in the hallway corner, less than twelve feet away from the smashed east wall in the basement. Only a load-bearing staircase wall separated them. The secret compartment perfectly aligned with the hollow wall’s trajectory. If the sledgehammer had hit just three feet to the left, it would have cracked this exact compartment open. “Too many coincidences,” Marcus muttered, sounding like he was talking to himself, or maybe to me. He stood up and surveyed the room. “Tear apart every single wainscot panel, baseboard, and ventilation duct in this house. There is more than one compartment.” For the next two hours, the house was methodically gutted. Panels were ripped off, baseboards pried loose, and vent covers completely dismantled. They lined up a table full of random debris, but only one item mattered. Behind the furthest wall of the walk-in closet in the second-floor nursery, they found another hidden cubby. It was empty, but stuck to the inner lining were a few strands of short, dark hair. Eleanor held those strands in the palm of her hand for a long, agonizing moment. Her eyelashes fluttered, but she refused to shed a single tear. Richard stood by the window, his back to the room, shoulders locked as tight as a coiled spring. Arthur walked out of the parlor, glanced at the hair, and returned to his chair. He looked as if he had aged ten years in ten minutes. I crouched by the tiles in the living room corner. Everyone was busy moving. I was the only one listening. Still, I heard nothing. The only sound left in the entire estate was a low buzzing drifting from the back kitchen door. Flies. A small swarm of greenbottle flies circling a specific spot. I got up and walked toward the kitchen. Just past the back door was a small utility room stacked with unopened water cases and cleaning supplies. Tucked all the way in the back, flush against the wall, was a massive stainless-steel double-door refrigerator. The gap between the bottom panel and the floor was barely an inch high. The flies were doing lazy laps right around that gap. “It opens. The panel opens.” I crouched down. The fluorescent light in the utility room was old, casting a sickly yellow glow that reflected blurry shadows on the fridge’s steel surface. I pressed my face near the floor and slipped a finger into the gap. My fingertip brushed against a hard, cold edge. Metal. “Captain Marcus,” I called out over my shoulder. Marcus was there in seconds. He eyed the gap, dropped to a crouch, and shined his light underneath. After two seconds of dead silence, he looked up and yelled for backup. “Pull this fridge out of the wall.” It took four men nearly twenty minutes to haul the heavy built-in unit out of its alcove. When the space behind it was finally exposed, every eye locked onto the floor. The fridge had been resting over a large, iron-gray maintenance hatch. The edges were scratched, bearing fresh marks from being pried open recently. Marcus grabbed a pry bar and wedged it under the lip. With a loud metallic pop, the hatch sprang open. A foul, freezing draft rushed up from the dark. The living room was immediately cleared of civilians. Dr. Simon put on a fresh pair of gloves and a heavy mask. He laid on his stomach and lowered half his body into the hatch. About ten minutes later, he pulled himself out. When he peeled off his gloves, his fingers were shaking. He leaned in and whispered something into Marcus’s ear. Marcus’s face drained of color for a split second before snapping back to a cold, hard mask. “We have recovered the entire right arm.” Marcus turned around. His voice wasn’t loud, but every syllable cut through the room like shattered glass. “Confirmed to be the remains of a young child. Preliminary forensic analysis indicates professional dismemberment. The tool used was likely a bone saw or surgical scalpel. Time of mutilation is estimated at no less than forty-eight hours.”

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I am a simple, hardworking corporate drone. After a long, agonizing, and entirely unrequited crush on my boss, I had a mild, petty meltdown. So, I stole his beloved pet snake. Surprisingly, the little thing was incredibly affectionate. It wasn’t shy at all. I kept it for a few days. Then, strange glowing text suddenly floated right in front of my eyes, like live-stream chat comments: [Where did this random background character come from? That little snake he’s holding is actually the Snake King, capable of taking human form.] [Once the Snake King gets through his mating cycle, he’s probably going to eat this nobody alive, leaving nothing but bones.] A cold sweat broke out across my back. I immediately tied the little snake into a neat, firm knot. That very night, I drove three hours into the countryside and dumped it in the middle of nowhere. The next morning. My boss, who was always impeccably dressed and intensely serious, walked into the office looking like a total wreck. His hair was a bird’s nest, and dark circles bruised the skin under his eyes. When someone asked him what happened, he gritted his teeth and growled: “I fell asleep, and when I woke up, I realized someone had dumped me in the woods.” 01 When Gary said those words, the entire conference room fell into a dead, suffocating silence. No one dared to breathe. “Ha, haha, Mr. Ford, you sure have a wild sense of humor,” someone finally piped up, desperately trying to break the ice. “Luke, did you sleep well last night?” Gary turned his gaze toward me, his voice cutting through the room like a sudden chill. My heart leaped into my throat, and my mouth hung open. “Huh?” Gary let out a cold snort and looked away, completely ignoring me from that moment on. I blinked, utterly baffled. Beside me, a coworker nudged my arm with his elbow. “Did you piss off Mr. Ford?” I gave him my most innocent look. “No way.” Could he have found out that I was the one who swiped his snake? But according to those floating comments, that gorgeous little serpent was dangerous. Gary should honestly be thanking me for saving his life. “And here I thought you finally grew some balls and snuck into Mr. Ford’s bed,” my coworker whispered, a sleazy grin spreading across his face. I stomped on his foot with all my might. “Shut up. If I ever decide I’m tired of living, maybe I’ll consider it.” Suddenly, a freezing glare locked onto the two of us. I looked up, meeting a pair of breathtakingly beautiful, icy eyes. Gary spoke, his voice dropping to a low, commanding register: “Everyone else is dismissed. Luke, stay behind.” 02 Dozens of suggestive, knowing looks shot toward me, making me feel like I was sitting on a bed of nails. I squirmed as the room slowly emptied. Once the last person left, I stood up on trembling legs. Hoping a smile might soften whatever blow was coming, I forced my lips into a polite curve: “Mr. Ford, is there something you need?” Gary walked slowly to the massive floor-to-ceiling window, turning his back to me as he stared out at the sprawling city skyline. My chest thundered with anxiety. I didn’t dare utter a single sound. After what felt like an eternity, Gary spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “Do you hate me?” “Um, what?” I choked on my own spit, coughing slightly. What kind of bizarre, loaded question was that? Gary’s shoulders trembled slightly, but he composed himself almost instantly. I took a cautious step forward. “Mr. Ford, are you alright?” He still didn’t turn around, keeping his aloof, aristocratic back to me. When he spoke, there was a faint, fragile crack in his stubborn tone: “It is nothing. You may leave.” I scratched my head, completely lost. “Oh, alright. Let me know if you need anything else, sir.” “Mhm.” I turned and walked toward the heavy mahogany door. Just as I turned, I caught his reflection in the glass of the window. For a split second, it looked like a single, quiet tear was sliding down Gary’s cheek. But he wiped it away so quickly, his face returning to its usual stoic mask, that I doubted my own eyes. What on earth? Jesus. I must be getting old. Pulling all-nighters was starting to make me hallucinate. I walked out of the office. Before I could take more than a few steps down the hallway, a sharp, high-pitched whistling sound echoed from inside, sounding exactly like an old-fashioned kettle coming to a boil. I rubbed my nose and mumbled to myself. What year was it anyway? Who still used an ancient, whistling kettle in a luxury high-rise office? Did my billionaire boss have some incredibly bizarre retro fetish? 03 It was another grueling day of being a corporate slave. Work was already exhausting enough, but Gary kept watching me with the most unsettling, eerie looks. I had to admit, a pet really did take after its owner. When Gary stared at me, he had that exact same damp, chilly, and hypnotic intensity that the beautiful little snake had. Suddenly, a heavy wave of guilt washed over me. The moment the clock struck five, I bolted out of the office, eager to drive back and retrieve the poor thing. But before I could reach the elevator, a firm, warm hand pressed down on my shoulder. “Where are you going?” A low, heated breath brushed against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. I forced a dry laugh and stepped back, subtly breaking his grip. “Mr. Ford, this is personal business.” With that, I took advantage of his brief moment of hesitation and hurried away. I had no idea what was wrong with him lately. He was acting completely out of character. … After a few hours of navigating traffic, I finally made it back to the wooded outskirts where I had abandoned the snake the previous night. Because I had been worried about it getting hurt, I had actually put it in a small wire cage and hidden it safely under some bushes. But now, the wire door was wide open, and the cage was completely empty. I spent hours searching, digging through the dirt with my bare hands. By the time I stopped, I was covered in dust, and my shirt was soaked through with sweat. It wasn’t until the sky turned pitch black that I finally gave up. Smelling like a swamp, I checked into a cheap, sketchy motel nearby just to take a quick shower before heading home. By the time I finally unlocked my apartment door, it was almost midnight. The moment the door swung open, I froze. Two glowing, glassy spheres stared back at me from the darkness. My heart nearly stopped. I fumbled for the light switch and flipped it on. There, coiled proudly right in the middle of my living room, was the very snake I had thrown away. It was a gorgeous Beauty Snake, its scales a striking pattern of brownish-gray with delicate black bands running down its spine. It sat there, coiled tightly like a tiny king, holding its head high and staring at me with undeniable authority. I rubbed my eyes, convinced I was dreaming. “Nox!” Nox didn’t move. He just stared at me with those massive, round eyes, looking incredibly pathetic. I took a tentative step forward. Only then did Nox begin to slither toward me. He still looked visibly annoyed, his little body tense, but he slowly began to climb up my leg, wrapping himself around me. Since I had just showered, I smelled faintly of cheap drugstore body wash, and damp droplets of water still clung to my hair, occasionally dripping down onto his scales. The moment a droplet hit him, his entire body went rigid. He even stopped flicking his tongue. I didn’t know if I was imagining things, but he looked like he was about to burst into tears. I scooped him up, completely disregarding my fears, and showered his little scaly head with kisses. “I’m so sorry, Nox! You went through so much because of me. I don’t know what possessed me to dump you. Can you ever forgive me?” 04 Nox looked utterly dizzy from my sudden onslaught of affection. His vertical pupils locked onto mine, and his cool body coiled tightly around my arm, clinging to me as if his life depended on it. In an instant, all the tension left my body. I finally understood the sheer, intoxicating relief a toxic partner feels when they successfully win back their ex. I seriously wanted to slap myself for being so heartless. After a quick rinse, I took Nox into the bedroom to sleep, just like I used to. I always ran hot at night, so having his cool, smooth body draped over me felt like heaven. The moment my head hit the pillow, I drifted into a deep sleep. During the night, I had a vivid, strange dream. I dreamed a man had broken into my room. He stood right beside my bed, watching me. The moonlight filtering through the blinds was too faint for me to make out his face. “Luke, I don’t care if you have someone else out there,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I don’t even care that you threw me away. Just, as long as you still let me come home, it is fine.” With that, he leaned down, burying his face in the crook of my neck, his entire frame shaking. Warm, wet tears soaked into my t-shirt, leaving a damp, heavy sensation against my skin. I felt a bit annoyed by the clinginess. In my half-asleep state, I tried to push him away. The figure stiffened instantly. He didn’t make a sound, nor did he pull away. He just stayed there, his tears flowing even faster, weeping with the tragic intensity of a melodrama hero. … The next morning, when I opened my eyes, the dream was still vivid. I rubbed my aching neck, my mind filled with the absurdity of the nightmare. While brushing my teeth, I caught sight of myself in the mirror and froze. There were several dark, purplish-red marks scattered across my collarbone. I pulled my collar down. The marks traced a path down my chest, disappearing beneath the waistband of my underwear. I stared at them, completely numb. Suddenly, the floating chat comments began to scroll frantically across my vision again: [Those marks were left by the Snake King! How can you still keep that thing in your house?] [This snake literally crawled all the way back from the outskirts of the city. Doesn’t that terrify you?] My body went rigid, and my hands began to tremble. From the hallway, I heard a faint, soft rustling sound. Nox poked his little head through the crack of the bathroom door, looking up at me with the most adorable, innocent expression. I stared back at him. The next second, I let out a squeal, scooped Nox into my arms, and began kissing him all over again. Stupid comments. How dare they call my precious, sweet Nox a terrifying monster? I couldn’t even begin to fathom the sheer struggle and pain my poor baby must have gone through just to find his way back to me. After cuddling him for what felt like hours, I finally set him down reluctantly. “Baby, I have to go to work to buy your food. Wait for me at home, okay?” Nox coiled into a neat circle, tilting his head as if he understood perfectly. The chat comments flashed violently: [Oh my god, this idiot has been completely hypnotized by the Snake King. He’s totally lost his mind.] [We warned you. When the Snake King gets bored of him and swallows him whole, he’s going to regret everything.] I completely ignored them. Humming a cheerful tune, I walked out the door and headed to work. 05 As I sat at my desk, my mind was entirely consumed by thoughts of Nox. To be honest, I used to be terrified of snakes. I always thought of them as cold-blooded, creepy monsters. The mere thought of their slick, cold bodies sliding against my skin used to give me goosebumps. But then, after several failed attempts to flirt with Gary, I had to accept the brutal reality. He was a straight-laced, utterly unreachable heterosexual man. That realization had triggered a brief, petty wave of madness in me. During a visit to his penthouse to retrieve a document he had left behind, I happened to spot Nox. He was resting elegantly in a custom-built terrarium, flicking his dark tongue as he stared at me. In that moment, a sudden rush of sheer audacity took over. I reached in, grabbed the snake, and stuffed him straight into my jacket pocket. The little guy had looked at me in shock, trying to squirm free, but he couldn’t break my grip. Ultimately, he just poked his tiny nose out of my pocket, looking at me with utter helplessness. Well, if I couldn’t have Gary, then I would take his, snake! But after keeping Nox for a few days, I quickly realized that snakes were actually incredibly sweet. He had an unbelievably gentle temperament. Even when I annoyed him, the worst he would do was sulk in the corner. Within an hour, he’d be slithering back, wrapping himself comfortably around my wrist. Thinking about it made my lips curl into a smile, and I started humming softly. My coworker turned to me, curious. “Luke, you’re in a great mood today.” Before I could answer, he scratched his head and muttered to himself, “Weird. Mr. Ford seems to be in a fantastic mood too. I could’ve sworn he looked ready to murder someone last night.” I shrugged. “Who knows.” Suddenly, my coworker went dead silent and sat up straight, instantly looking incredibly busy. Puzzled, I felt a familiar, rich scent wash over me, a deep, luxurious note of sandalwood and cedar. Gary’s smooth, velvety voice echoed from behind me: “Luke, come with me to my office.” 06 My entire body froze. I slowly turned around to face Gary. He was immaculately put together today, wearing his usual polite, slightly detached smile. I followed him up to the top floor, my mind racing. This was highly unusual. Why did he need to see me? And why didn’t he just have his assistant call me? Why did the CEO personally come down to fetch a low-level designer? Are billionaires really this free? Gary sat behind his massive mahogany desk, clasping his hands together in a formal gesture. “There is an industry dinner tonight. You are coming with me.” A massive question mark popped up in my head. Putting aside the fact that this was a secretary’s job, even if they needed a designer, it shouldn’t fall on a low-level draft technician like me. Seeing my silence, Gary’s brow furrowed slightly. “Why? Do you have other plans tonight?” “Well, actually,” I dragged out my words, clearly reluctant. Gary blinked. “Good. If it is nothing urgent, cancel it.” I looked at him with a miserable expression. “Mr. Ford, I don’t have any experience with these high-profile dinners. What if I mess up?” Gary completely ignored my protest, continuing smoothly, “Excellent. I will have someone send over a suit for you shortly. It’s a formal event, so you need to look the part.” … I lost track of how long I sat in front of the vanity mirror. My ass was practically numb by the time the stylist, who was working with extremely dramatic hand gestures, finally stepped back with a satisfied nod. “There. Now you actually look like you belong by Mr. Ford’s side.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m just accompanying him as an assistant, not his date. What do you mean by belonging?” The stylist gave me a thoroughly confused look. “An assistant?” “Yeah. He’s probably just bringing me along to drink on his behalf. I get how these things work.” “You don’t know shit about,” Before the stylist could finish his sentence, the door swung open. Gary stepped into the room, his sharp eyes instantly locking onto me. “Is he ready?” The stylist offered a quick, nervous smile. “All done, Mr. Ford. Are you pleased?” Gary stared at me, his gaze intense, raw, and incredibly hot. I watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down. After a long, breathless pause, he spoke softly: “I am, highly pleased.” 07 By evening, I was standing beside Gary, stepping into a grand ballroom filled with clinking crystal glasses and murmuring elites. Every other guest seemed to be paired up. If I were straight, I could easily lie to myself and pretend I was just there to be his shield against free drinks. But the problem was, I was very gay, and I actually harbored highly inappropriate feelings for my boss. Standing next to him under the warm, glittering chandeliers made me feel incredibly self-conscious. Gary gently patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry. Just stay close to me. Don’t wander off, and let me handle the rest.” “You got it, boss.” As it turned out, I had vastly overestimated my duties. Given Gary’s terrifyingly high status in the business world, absolutely no one dared to pressure him into drinking. My sole purpose seemed to be standing next to him like a piece of handsome arm candy, listening to people flatter him endlessly. I felt more like a bodyguard than an assistant. I let out a quiet yawn, thoroughly bored. Suddenly, Gary leaned in. “Luke, could you fetch me a glass of juice?” I snapped out of my daze, looking into his pale, striking eyes. “Right away, sir.” I wandered over to the drinks table and picked up a vibrant, beautifully colored cocktail that smelled sweet and fruity. When I brought it back, Gary didn’t take the glass. Instead, he leaned forward and took a sip directly from my hand. His cold fingertips brushed against my wrist, sending a jolt of electricity straight up my arm. I flinched, nearly dropping the glass. Gary suddenly choked, coughing as his brow knit in immediate disgust. “That is alcohol.” My eyes went wide. “What?” Within three seconds, a deep crimson flush crept up his neck to his ears. His gaze grew glassy and unfocused, and he slumped forward, resting his heavy forehead against my shoulder. “I, I don’t feel well.” Oh, great. I had heard rumors that Gary never touched a drop of alcohol, but I had no idea his tolerance was practically non-existent. Using every ounce of strength I possessed, I managed to drag his dead weight out to the parking lot and heave him into the back of his car. I patted his cheek gently. “Mr. Ford, where do you live?” Gary blinked lazily, murmuring a string of street names and numbers. The address sounded incredibly familiar. Wait, that was my apartment address. “Mr. Ford, that’s my place. Where is your actual home? Or can you give me your phone so I can call someone to pick you up?” Gary looked deeply offended, correcting me with absolute, drunken gravity: “That is my home.” “…” 08 There was absolutely no reasoning with a drunk. Left with no other option, I had to bring him back to my tiny apartment. I dragged him into the guest room and tossed him onto the bed, then immediately rushed out to find Nox. But no matter where I looked, under the sofa, behind the curtains, inside the cabinets, there was no sign of him. Panic seized me, and cold sweat broke out across my forehead. What if someone had broken in and stolen him? Suddenly, a heavy, dull thud echoed from the guest bedroom. I rushed back toward the sound. Gary was no longer on the bed. Instead, slithering awkwardly across the hardwood floor, was Nox. … Nox wobbled unsteadily as he made his way toward me. His massive eyes looked completely dazed. He climbed up my side, winding his way up to my shoulders, and began rubbing his little head affectionately against my neck. I stood frozen, completely paralyzed. A cold sweat drenched my shirt. Yes, Nox was still adorable. But could someone please explain to me where my six-foot-two boss had gone? As if to answer my silent question, the weight around my neck began to shift. Within seconds, the cool, scaly coils transformed, expanding until they became the solid, warm form of Gary once again. He mumbled incoherent complaints about feeling hot, his hands sliding down to wrap tightly around my waist, his fingers tugging at the belt of my trousers. I grabbed my pants with one hand and held him back by his chest with the other, my mind completely fracturing under the sheer absurdity of the situation. This couldn’t be real. “Luke, it hurts, I feel so hot.” Gary looked up at me with tear-filled, misty eyes, looking entirely defenseless. “I think, I think I’m in heat.” Right then and there, I officially confirmed that my boss was not human. Because no normal human being would ever say something like that. I tried to push him away. “Mr. Ford, I can’t help you with this. Why don’t I go find you a nice female snake?” Gary’s hand slid lower, his voice entirely too certain. “You can help me. Only you.” I blocked his wandering hands with one arm while wrapping my other arm around his waist to keep him from collapsing. But wait, if he was a snake, did that mean he had, two of, I couldn’t control my eyes. My gaze flicked downward. Before my rational mind could stop me, I swallowed hard, trying to convince myself that I was just curious. Just a little peek. It was a once-in-a-lifetime scientific inquiry. But the moment my fingers brushed against him, Gary shuddered violently. The last shred of his sanity seemed to snap, his eyes flashing a dangerous crimson as he pinned me flat against the mattress.

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When I saved a suffocating kid on the side of the road, I accidentally cracked one of his ribs. Instead of an ounce of gratitude, his mother dragged me to the police, insisting I committed intentional assault and forcing me to pay twenty thousand dollars in damages. When I initially refused, she launched a massive smear campaign online. She painted me as a sadistic medical worker who deliberately harmed children, leading to my termination and a relentless wave of cyberbullying. But karma only took two months to circle back. When her son choked and turned blue a second time, she fell to her knees, sobbing and begging for my help. I just turned and walked away. I told her I couldn’t afford a second assault charge. … After working overtime for two days straight, I was dragging my exhausted feet through the courtyard of my apartment complex. Suddenly, a loud crowd gathered just up ahead, buzzing with panic. I quickened my pace. In the center of the circle, a well-dressed woman was clutching a little boy, screaming her lungs out. “Somebody help! Please, somebody save my baby!” “I am begging you, he is dying!” The little boy in her arms was turning a horrifying shade of violet. His tiny hands and feet thrashed wildly in the air. Crumbly bits of snack food were smeared around his mouth. He was choking. Total airway obstruction. My heart dropped. I sprinted right through the crowd. “Did anyone call 911?” “I did! They are not here yet!” The mother was a frantic mess, her face completely covered in tears and snot. The kid was already fading. His limbs went limp, dropping dead to his sides. He was seconds away from slipping past the point of no return. I gritted my teeth. There was no time to second-guess. I snatched the boy from her arms, flipped him over my thigh, positioned the heel of my palm right between his shoulder blades, and delivered sharp, forceful upward thrusts. “Be gentle! You are hurting him!” I ignored the mother’s hysterical shrieking and thrust four, five times in rapid succession. Finally, a sticky mass of fruit jelly shot out of the boy’s mouth and splattered onto the pavement. The kid immediately broke into a loud, gasping wail. I let out a massive breath of relief. But as my palm rested against the boy’s chest, I felt a very faint, sickening crack beneath the skin. My stomach plummeted. Before I could even open my mouth, the mother lunged forward and snatched him back. “Baby! Mommy is here! You are safe, you are safe!” She held him tight, laughing and crying all at once, kissing his face over and over. Then she looked up at me. “Thank you! Oh my god, thank you so much!” “I am Brenda. If you ever need anything, anything at all, you come find me. You saved his life!” Brenda grabbed my hands, showering me with endless gratitude. The little boy cried for a bit before his wails turned into whimpers of “It hurts.” He was barely three years old. He couldn’t articulate exactly what was wrong. Brenda’s newly settled nerves spiked right back up. She frantically checked him over. “Sapper, baby, what is wrong? Where does it hurt?” She looked up at me with panicked eyes. “Is something else wrong with him?” I looked right at her. “I had to use the Heimlich maneuver, and if you don’t use enough force, the obstruction won’t dislodge.” “You need to take Sapper to the ER for an X-ray right now. I might have fractured one of his ribs.” Brenda’s face instantly went pale. She scooped Sapper up into her arms. “I am taking him to the hospital right now. I will properly thank you when we get back!” Just as she said that, the ambulance sirens blared as the rig pulled into the complex. Brenda rushed Sapper into the back of the ambulance, and they sped off. When I finally got back to my apartment, I felt a warm sense of comfort. I had saved a life today. All those emergency response drills at the clinic had actually paid off. That evening, Brenda and her husband, Gary, showed up at my door with a premium fruit basket and an expensive bottle of wine. “We owe you everything, Sylvia! It was pure chaos yesterday, and we didn’t get to thank you properly!” Brenda was overwhelmingly warm and affectionate. Gary nodded vigorously beside her. “Absolutely! You ever need a favor, you just say the word. I have got your back!” he said, patting his own chest proudly. I smiled and told them it was no problem at all. I thought they were decent, upstanding people who knew how to be grateful. I had no idea that just three days later, my pure act of kindness would result in a nightmare that nearly ruined my life. 1 On the afternoon of the third day, I was at my desk at the clinic, organizing patient charts. Bang. The office door violently swung open. “Sylvia! This is bad, you need to see this!” Sophie, our new intern, rushed in. Her face was flushed bright red with panic. She shoved her phone right into my face. “Look at what is trending locally!” The headline glared back at me in bold letters. Vicious Medical Worker Intentionally Snaps Toddler’s Rib Out of Spite. It was already the top trending post on the city’s local forum. In the post, Brenda had painted herself as the ultimate victim, a helpless mother abused by a heartless, sadistic healthcare worker. Every word dripped with calculated venom. Hordes of self-righteous internet crusaders had flocked to the comments. They had already doxxed my home address and my workplace. The hate was suffocating. “A psycho like this actually works in medicine? Terrifying!” “What an absolute monster. Doing that to a tiny toddler!” The few comments pointing out that CPR often results in broken ribs were instantly buried under a landslide of toxic rage. I stared at the screen in complete disbelief. Just days ago, Brenda was practically kissing my feet in gratitude. Now she was broadcasting my face to the world, dragging my name through the mud. I felt dizzy. Did I hallucinate saving her son’s life? “Sylvia? Are you okay?” Sophie looked at me with wide, worried eyes. I had been mentoring her since she started. She knew exactly what kind of person I was, and she knew I would never do something so malicious. Before I could even formulate a response, someone knocked on the door frame. Dr. Harrison, the clinic director, walked in with a dark expression. “Sylvia, in my office. Now.” In his office, Dr. Harrison rubbed his temples, refusing to meet my eyes. “Sylvia, this situation is a massive PR disaster for the clinic.” “Until this blows over, I need to put you on unpaid leave.” “Dr. Harrison, I saved that boy’s life…” “I don’t need the details right now. Just pack up your desk and go home for the afternoon.” He turned his back to me, signaling the conversation was over. I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ached. I couldn’t force a single word out. After years of breaking my back for this clinic, I wasn’t even given the basic dignity of an explanation. My chest felt like it was trapped in a vise. When I returned to my apartment complex, the lively chatter in the community garden completely died the second I walked in. Mrs. Higgins, my neighbor, grabbed the woman next to her, leaned in, and whispered something. The woman’s eyes immediately darted toward me, filled with undisguised shock and absolute disgust. The hushed whispers followed me all the way to my building. I felt like I was suffocating. I practically ran to my door and locked myself inside. On the second day of my suspension, Brenda and Gary showed up at my apartment. The pounding on the door was so violent the frame rattled. I threw the door open. Gary stood there, his face engorged with rage, jabbing a thick finger right at my nose. “Sylvia! You vicious bitch, what the hell is wrong with you!” Doors down the hallway cracked open as neighbors poked their heads out to watch the drama. My temper instantly spiked. “Excuse me?” “Don’t play dumb with me!” A woman I didn’t recognize shoved her way to the front, slapping a medical X-ray right against my chest. Her voice was shrill and piercing. “The doctor said my nephew’s third rib is completely fractured! You did this on purpose!” I took a deep, steadying breath. “Brenda, breaking a rib during the Heimlich maneuver is incredibly common…” “Bullshit!” Gary slammed his palm against my doorframe. “Common? You think snapping a kid’s bone in half is common? You made it severe on purpose! You were just getting off on hurting us!” I flinched, my own voice rising in defense. “I literally saved your son from choking to death! Why on earth would I want to hurt him?” “Because you are a bitter, jealous psycho!” Brenda lunged forward, grabbing the collar of my shirt. Her manicured nails dug into my neck, leaving a stinging scratch. “You couldn’t stand seeing my son happy! You wanted him dead! You are a murderer!” A couple of neighbors finally rushed over to pry her hands off me. Looking at Brenda and Gary’s rabid, blood-red faces, I felt a chilling wave of absurdity wash over me. The building manager hurried out of the elevator, trying to play peacemaker. “Let’s take this inside, folks. No need to cause a scene in the hallway.” “Take it inside?” Brenda whipped her head around and screamed at the manager. “I want everyone in this building to know exactly what kind of monster Sylvia is!” “Playing the hero in public while secretly torturing my baby! He is three years old, and she broke his ribs!” I clenched my fists. The scratch on my neck burned fiercely. “I used textbook emergency protocols! Go ask literally any ER doctor in this city if rib fractures aren’t legally protected during life-saving CPR!” Gary whipped out his phone and hit play on an audio file. “I had to use the Heimlich maneuver, and if you don’t use enough force, the obstruction won’t dislodge. I might have fractured one of his ribs.” It was my own voice from that night. “You hear that!” Gary spat, the saliva practically hitting my face. “You admitted it yourself! You knew exactly what you were doing, and you pressed down hard anyway! If that isn’t intentional assault, what is it?” My mind went completely blank. I had warned her out of genuine concern for the boy’s safety, and now she had weaponized it as a confession. Before I could even process the absolute madness of the situation, Brenda’s voice dropped into a lethal sneer. “I already called the cops. You can save your excuses for the precinct.” 2 Ten minutes later, two patrol officers arrived. Brenda shoved her phone right into the cops’ faces, playing the recording on a loop. “Look at this, Officer,” she cried. “She openly admits she knew it would break his bones, and she did it anyway. This is textbook intentional assault!” I was shaking with pure rage. I stood there and explained exactly what happened that night to the officers. “It happened right out by the street. There were a dozen witnesses! Everyone saw me save him!” Gary scoffed loudly. “Seeing you out there proves nothing! Who knows if you used the distraction to purposely crush Sapper’s chest?” Brenda squeezed out two crocodile tears, looking pitifully at the cops. “Officers, you have to get justice for my baby.” The cops were clearly exhausted by her theatrics and told us all to head down to the precinct for formal mediation. Once we were in the mediation room, Brenda threw an absolute fit, screaming and demanding financial compensation. “I don’t care about your excuses! You are paying up! Sapper is our only child, our absolute treasure, and you are going to pay for what you did!” Gary chimed in, practically salivating. “That is right! Medical bills, professional care, emotional distress, and lost wages. It comes out to exactly twenty thousand dollars. We won’t take a penny less!” “My son is going to be a CEO one day, and you traumatized him! How is he supposed to focus on his development now!” I explained the Heimlich maneuver to the two precinct mediators, even pulling up medical journals on my phone to prove my point. The mediators understood completely. They spent the next thirty minutes trying to explain the law to Brenda until they were blue in the face. They repeatedly told her this didn’t qualify as intentional assault. Brenda didn’t care. She actually threw herself onto the precinct floor, wailing so loud the walls vibrated. “I don’t want to live anymore! My baby’s ribs are snapped in half, and this murderer gets to just walk away! Is there no justice in this world!” The building manager had followed us to the precinct. All he cared about was making the noise stop. “Sylvia, look… I know you were trying to help. But the fact is, the boy’s bones are broken, and you are going to have to pay something to make this right.” He put on a sickeningly paternal tone. “Sometimes good intentions cause real damage. Just pay the money. Think of it as buying peace of mind for the parents.” I looked around the room. Gary and Brenda’s faces were twisted with undisguised greed and triumph. The manager just wanted to wash his hands of the drama. Not a single person in that room cared that I had literally saved a child from suffocating to death. Suddenly, a wave of profound exhaustion washed over me. I didn’t want to fight these parasites anymore. I just wanted to get out of that room. Under Brenda’s smug, victorious gaze, I took the pen and signed my name on the “Voluntary Compensation Agreement.” I looked up, my voice dropping to a dead, icy calm. “I looked up the law. Good Samaritan protections mean I don’t owe you a single dime for injuries caused during a life-saving rescue.” “But I am done arguing with trash like you. I can afford to lose the money, but I refuse to let you drag my life through the mud any longer.” When I got home, my phone was blowing up. Over ninety-nine unread messages in the complex’s HOA group chat. I opened it. Brenda had posted a massive voice memo. Her voice was shrill and triumphant. “Hey neighbors, I need you all to see this! Sylvia broke my son’s ribs and tried to deny it!” “I was too nice to press criminal charges. If I wasn’t so forgiving, there is no way she would have gotten off just by paying a fine!” A cascade of replies flooded in beneath it. Mrs. Higgins from the fruit stand wrote, “Oh Brenda, you are way too kind-hearted for your own good!” Mr. Franks from the bakery chimed in, “Sylvia went way over the line! What kind of adult uses that much force on a baby?” I typed out a furious explanation. The second I hit send, a notification popped up. You have been removed from this group by the admin. I threw my phone onto the table, tilting my head back to force the tears back down. Well played, Brenda. I stared blankly at the ceiling, my chest feeling like a hollowed-out icebox. Did I really commit a crime by saving a life? But lying there that night, I had no idea that Brenda’s karma would arrive far sooner than I could have ever imagined.

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My roommate borrowed a quick five bucks from me to buy instant noodles. An hour later, she was flexing her “wealth” and offering to treat our entire drama club to a luxury dinner. I kept my mouth shut and made a single phone call that completely shattered her little fantasy. When the bill arrived, all the color drained from her face. … 1 “Loren, you still have like a thousand bucks on that prepaid card, right?” Vilma leaned over, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered on her face. “Let’s go get a nice dinner this Saturday. My treat.” I didn’t even bother looking up from my laptop. “No.” Her voice spiked an octave. “I am offering to treat you, and you are saying no?” “My tonsils are inflamed.” “So what!” Vilma grabbed my arm. “You can just order something light! Babe, I am finally treating you to a nice meal. Can’t you just give me this one?” I yanked my arm back. “I said no.” “Loren!” Her face darkened instantly. “Are you intentionally disrespecting me?” I finally looked at her. “Are you out of your mind?” Vilma crossed her arms defensively. “I am trying to do something nice for you, and you curse at me?” I stared her down. “Two days ago you were crying about being broke and begged me for five bucks just to buy ramen. Today you are playing sugar daddy? Did you win the lottery?” Vilma let out a cold laugh. “Wow, you are so stuck up. I am taking over a dozen people from the drama club out to dinner. It is going to cost over a thousand bucks.” I narrowed my eyes. “With what money?” As I stared at her, a memory flashed in my head. The last time we were at that high-end restaurant, I caught her pulling a waiter aside. I clearly remembered the greedy glint in her eyes as she whispered, “Can someone use a prepaid account just by giving the phone number?” “Vilma,” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “Are you planning on using my card?” Her face went completely rigid. “What the hell are you talking about?” “I am asking you a direct question!” “Do you have any proof, or do you just like screaming at people!” Vilma yelled, her voice echoing in the dorm. “Are you insane, Loren? I offer to buy you dinner, and you accuse me of stealing?” “Offer to buy me dinner?” I scoffed. “You couldn’t afford a cup of noodles, and now you are suddenly taking fifteen people to a luxury restaurant? Tell me, where is this sudden generosity coming from?” Vilma glared at me. “Did I ever say I was using your card? You are just making up lies to slander me!” “Then why did you ask the waiter if you could charge the account with just a phone number?” “Am I not allowed to be curious?” she shrieked. “If I look up a word in a dictionary, are you gonna accuse me of stealing your vocabulary too?” I actually laughed out loud at the sheer absurdity. Vilma snatched her purse and stormed toward the door, turning around at the last second. “Loren, if you are going to be this paranoid, don’t ever ask to borrow anything from me again.” “When have I ever borrowed anything from you?” I fired back, my voice dripping with ice. “Let’s see… the shampoo, the body wash, the laundry detergent. Which of those didn’t I buy?” “Fine!” Her face flushed a dark, angry red. “I will buy brand new bottles tomorrow and throw them at you! Nobody wants your cheap garbage!” “Oh, you will replace them.” I stared dead into her eyes. “You will go buy them right now. Do not wait until tomorrow.” Vilma froze. “You…” “Go.” I picked up my phone. “Or do I need to walk you down to the convenience store myself?” She shot me a venomous glare, slammed the door, and left. I didn’t hesitate for a second. I immediately dialed the restaurant’s manager. “Hi, this is Loren, I have a VIP account with you. I need to update my security settings immediately. From now on, no one can authorize a charge without my physical ID present. No exceptions.” “Yes. I don’t care if it is my own mother. If my ID isn’t there, decline the charge.” 2 “The electricity bill is $33. The power gets cut at 11:00 PM tonight.” A message popped up in our dorm group chat. Vilma replied instantly. “Everyone send me $11.10. I will collect it and pay.” I glanced at the bill attached to the message and typed back in the group. “The bill is $33. There are four of us. That is $8.25 each. Why are you asking for $11.10?” Vilma popped her head out from her top bunk. “You are rich. What is the big deal if you pay a little more?” “Why should I?” “Because you are the one blasting the AC all day! Me and Sarah hate the cold, we never turn it on! You are the one living in luxury, you should pay the difference!” I laughed. “You hate the cold? It was ninety-five degrees last week, and you spent the entire afternoon practically hugging the AC vent. Do you want me to pull up the photos Sarah took?” Vilma’s face turned bright pink. “That… that was a special circumstance!” “Special how? When you were leeching off my AC, you didn’t volunteer to pay extra, did you?” “You…” She gritted her teeth. “Are you seriously doing this, Loren? Over three dollars? You are going to argue with me over three dollars?” “Three dollars is still money,” I stared right back at her. “Why don’t you cover it for me, since you are so generous?” Vilma choked on her words. Our other two roommates, sensing the tension, quietly transferred exactly $8.25 in the group chat and pretended to be dead asleep. My phone pinged twice with the transfers. I looked at Vilma. “They paid. You are the only one left. Send it.” Vilma’s face was practically glowing red. “I… I will send it later.” “Later when? Didn’t you say you were collecting it to pay now? The power cuts at eleven. It is eight-thirty.” “I said I will do it later! God!” she suddenly yelled. “Why are you rushing me!” I didn’t say a word. I just watched her. She aggressively tapped her phone screen a few times, her face turning even redder. “I… I don’t have enough money right now,” her voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. “You don’t have enough?” I leaned back in my chair. “Aren’t you treating fifteen people from the drama club to a massive luxury dinner this Saturday?” “What, you can’t even afford eight bucks for electricity?” Vilma’s eyes darted around the room. “That… that is totally different.” “Different?” I laughed. “You have money to play big shot at a restaurant, but no money to keep the lights on? That is hilarious.” I stood up and grabbed my shower caddy. “The power cuts at eleven. You have two and a half hours.” When I reached the door, I looked over my shoulder. “Oh, by the way. You don’t have to pay me back that five bucks for the noodles. Consider it a favor.” “What favor?” She looked confused. “I will eat the three-dollar difference on the electric bill.” “But Vilma, that restaurant is going to cost a hell of a lot more than three dollars. You better go secure a bank loan before Saturday.” 3 On Saturday, Vilma had barely been at the restaurant for two hours. Voice calls and text messages started machine-gunning onto my phone screen, blowing it up instantly. “Loren! You did this on purpose, didn’t you!” “Unfreeze the card right now! Or I swear I will make your life a living hell!” I didn’t reply to a single one. A minute later, a call came through. It was the restaurant manager. “Miss Loren, your classmate said you were coming down personally with your ID to unfreeze the account…” “How much did she spend?” “Nine hundred and eighty-six dollars.” I laughed. The audacity of ignorance truly knew no bounds. “Manager, please put her on the phone.” After two seconds of dead silence, Vilma’s sickly-sweet, innocent voice came through the speaker. “Audie, babe, you promised to let me borrow the card…” I cut her off immediately. “Did I promise you in a dream you had?” “Babe, we already ate all the food. What are you gonna do…” Her voice was dripping with manufactured sugar. “You are always so good to me, you wouldn’t make a big deal out of this, right? I will totally buy you dinner next time…” “Next time?” I let out a sharp laugh. “You tried to extort three dollars from me for an electric bill. How exactly are you going to buy me a thousand-dollar dinner?” “With your dazzling personality?” Vilma’s voice started to tremble. “Loren, don’t do this… Everyone is watching me…” “Good.” I said. “Let everyone watch. Let them see exactly what happens when a parasite tries to play host.” Through the phone, I could hear the hushed, panicked whispers of the drama club members. “What is going on? I thought she had a VIP card?” “Vilma, what is the holdup? We finished eating half an hour ago…” “Is it even her card?” Vilma’s voice spiked in sheer panic. “Don’t… don’t worry guys! Loren is my roommate, her family is loaded! She is super sweet, she is fixing it right now!” I burst out laughing. “Vilma, what does my family’s money have to do with you?” “Am I your mother? Or did you mistake me for your personal ATM?” “Loren!” I scoffed coldly. “Let me make this crystal clear. You do not get to use my money to play God. You invited them, you pay the bill. That is how the world works.” “Don’t try to buy popularity with my bank account.” Vilma completely lost it, screaming into the phone. “Can’t you just help me this one time! Are we not friends anymore!” “Friends?” I laughed coldly. “What kind of normal person tries to steal their friend’s credit card to buy a thousand-dollar dinner?” “That is not friendship, Vilma. That is fraud.” The private dining room went completely silent. One of the club members muttered, “Vilma, didn’t you say it was your card?” Vilma was in full meltdown mode. “No! She told me I could use it! She lied to me!” “Right,” I sneered. Vilma exploded. “Loren! You purposely froze the card just to humiliate me! You did this on purpose!” “So what if I did? I am under zero obligation to clean up your mess.” Right on cue, the manager’s calm, professional voice echoed through the dining room, loud enough for everyone—including me—to hear. “Miss, will you be paying with Apple Pay, a physical card… or should I have you wait in my office until the police arrive?” 4 That night, Vilma practically kicked the dorm door off its hinges. She stormed right up to my desk and screamed in my face. “Loren! What the hell is your problem!” My tone was absolute ice. “My problem? I think I should be asking you that.” She immediately launched into a hysterical rant. “In front of twenty people! I lost every shred of dignity I had! I had to beg the manager on my knees and sign a promissory note saying I would bring the cash tomorrow just so he wouldn’t call the cops! You could have easily stopped this! Why didn’t you help me?” I stared at her, completely unfazed. “You attempted to steal my identity to flex on your club, and you think you are the victim?” Vilma resorted to throwing a full-blown tantrum. “It is nearly a thousand dollars! I don’t have that kind of money! What am I supposed to do!” “You can go beg on the street corner for all I care,” I said coldly. “Figure it out yourself.” “We are roommates!” Vilma shrieked, her voice echoing down the hall. “Aren’t roommates supposed to help each other out? Supposed to be forgiving? Do you really have to be this petty and completely ruin my life?” I actually chuckled, shaking my head at her absolute delusion. “You tried to dodge an eight-dollar electric bill. You begged me for five bucks for ramen, which you never paid back.” “You steal the pennies, but you try to hijack the big bucks. Your greed is just getting out of control, Vilma.” “You… you took screenshots of all that!” Vilma’s eyes instantly welled up with tears, flipping the switch back to playing the victim. “I just made a stupid mistake! Just pay the restaurant for me, please! I literally have zero dollars, they are going to have me arrested!” My voice was glacial. “It was an attempted theft. Let them call the cops. The one getting a criminal record is you, not me.” “I wasn’t stealing! I was just borrowing it!” Vilma screamed hysterically. “Taking without asking is stealing.” I stated with absolute finality. “I am not giving you a single cent. You made the mess, you deal with the consequences.” Vilma completely broke down, dropping to the floor and wailing like a child. She honestly thought I would eventually cave, just like I had in the past. I looked down at her with absolute apathy. “Consider this a hard lesson. Next time you think someone’s generosity makes them a pushover, remember today.” Vilma glared up at me, her eyes filled with pure venom. “You forced my hand. I am going to make you the most hated person on this campus!” She scrambled up, slammed the door, and stormed out. A second later, my phone buzzed. It was a text from an unknown number. “Loren, I am a freshman in the drama club.” “Vilma just posted a photo of you in the massive club group chat. She is calling you a ‘filthy rich sociopath who bullies poor students.’” “She also said she is going to the Dean to report you for defamation. Watch your back.” I stared at the messages and smiled. Go ahead. Throw your little tantrum. If she wanted a war, I was going to give her a war of absolute annihilation. I opened a new document on my phone. The title: The Vilma Debt Ledger: From Cup Noodles to Identity Theft. This wasn’t the end. This was just the beginning.

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1 Three years of marriage, and I finally figured it out. Every single way my husband showed his love for me was something Suzie taught him. The flowers I liked? Suzie told him. The foods I couldn’t eat? Suzie reminded him. Even the restaurant for our very first date was booked by Suzie. He knew me only because Suzie knew me. He loved me only because Suzie didn’t love him. Last month, Suzie got a divorce. Suddenly, Gary couldn’t sleep. He spent his nights taking endless, hushed phone calls, constantly murmuring, “Suzie’s having a really hard time lately.” Then his mother stopped by, carrying two bags. One was for me, and the other was “just to drop off at Suzie’s on the way.” The package for Suzie was a fresh, homemade peach cobbler, still warm from the oven. Mine was a box of cheap, store-brand sandwich cookies from the grocery store. That night, as I sat in front of the vanity mirror staring at my reflection, a bitter truth echoed in my mind: “You are the one he married. She is the one he keeps in his heart.” I unlocked my phone, opened the real estate app, and looked at the listing page of our house, which I had bookmarked weeks ago. Before going to bed, I clicked submit to put it up for sale. It was time to cut the ties. Our first spring as husband and wife, Gary brought home a bouquet of white magnolias. Holding the delicate blossoms, a rare warmth bloomed in my chest. Then he took a photo of the flowers and posted it online. Suzie commented almost immediately: “White magnolias. Perfect choice. I knew she’d love them.” I stared at that comment for what felt like hours. So that was it. I quietly arranged the flowers in a vase and said nothing. Later that night, while Gary was in the shower, I picked up his phone. I wasn’t looking for a smoking gun of an affair. I just needed to confirm a nagging suspicion. I scrolled up through his chat history with Suzie, all the way back to when we first started dating. Suzie: “She loves white magnolias. Skip the roses, she thinks they’re too cliché. Got it?” Gary: “Yeah.” Further up, another one: “She’s allergic to seafood, especially shrimp. Do not take her to sushi bars.” “She’s afraid of the dark. Make sure there’s a nightlight.” “Don’t hug her unexpectedly from behind. It startles her.” One by one, they went on. A curated instruction manual written entirely by Suzie. Exactly twenty-three rules on how to love me. I slipped the phone back onto the nightstand, lay down, and stared blankly at the ceiling. Gary stepped out of the bathroom, bringing the damp, warm scent of his shower with him as he slid under the covers. “Tired?” he murmured. “Yeah.” He turned on his side, gently stroking my hair in a slow, rhythmic way he thought I loved. I closed my eyes, silent. Even this gesture, I suspected, was something she had taught him. Our three years of marriage weren’t terrible. Gary didn’t have a bad temper, he didn’t drink, he transferred his paycheck to our shared account on time every month, and he always accompanied me to the grocery store on weekends. My friends constantly told me how lucky I was. But day by day, a cold truth crystallized in my mind. Every ounce of his thoughtfulness had a blueprint. And Suzie was the architect. Once, at a company dinner, a dish with shrimp was placed on the table. The colleague sitting next to me asked, “Can you eat shrimp, Nora?” Before I could even open my mouth, Gary interjected, “No, she can’t. She’s highly allergic.” The colleague beamed at him. “Wow, what a sweet husband.” Gary offered a modest smile and said nothing. I forced a smile of my own and kept sipping my soup. He remembered. But how he came to remember was a secret only the two of us truly held. Suzie was our mutual friend, the matchmaker who had brought us together. She was beautiful, bright, the kind of woman who effortlessly commanded any room she walked into. I had known her for seven years and genuinely believed we were close friends. Until one afternoon, when I accidentally overheard her on the phone with Gary. “You need to treat her right,” she was saying. “Nora’s the type who needs real devotion to feel safe, or she’ll walk away.” Her tone was careful, clinical, like a manager handing off a delicate assignment. I stood frozen in the hallway. A sudden breeze swept through the open window, chilling me to the bone. Last month, Suzie and Brandon finalized their divorce. Gary was the one who broke the news to me. He sat on the couch that evening, his face an unreadable mask of worry and restlessness. After a long silence, he finally spoke. “Suzie and Brandon are done. It’s official.” I was at the kitchen sink, rinsing the dinner dishes. “Oh. Okay.” The clinking of ceramic and silverware echoed loudly in the small kitchen. Gary fell silent, but he tossed and turned all night. I knew, because I lay wide awake beside him. After that, Gary’s phone began to light up constantly. Eleven at night, midnight, sometimes past one in the morning. Whenever I rolled over, I would see her name flashing across the screen. Sometimes he answered. He would slip out of bed, quiet as a ghost, and step out onto the balcony, sliding the glass door shut behind him. I lay there in the dark, listening to the muffled murmur of his voice through the glass. I couldn’t make out the words, but his tone was incredibly soft, incredibly patient. A tone he rarely used with me anymore. His mother visited last week. She walked in carrying two shopping bags. One she tossed onto the coffee table; the other she kept tightly in her grip, explaining she was dropping it off at Suzie’s. “Suzie’s all alone now, poor thing,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I baked her some peach cobbler to cheer her up.” She nodded toward the bag on the table. “Yours is in there. Just some cookies from the supermarket. You young people love that stuff, right?” I peered inside the bag. It was a box of generic, store-brand cream sandwich cookies. The clearance sticker read $1.99. His mother was already heading out the door, cobbler in hand. She turned to Gary before leaving. “Gary, make sure you check in on Suzie. She has no one else right now.” “I will,” Gary replied softly. When the front door clicked shut, I was still sitting on the sofa, clutching that cheap box of cookies. A tiny label on the back caught my eye: Best before: Six months. For some reason, I felt a hysterical urge to laugh. That night, I sat alone in front of the mirror, wiping off my makeup. My eyes looked tired, the corners of my mouth pulling downward. Suddenly, a memory from before our wedding surfaced. Suzie had taken my hands in hers, smiling warmly. “I’m so glad you’re marrying Gary, Nora. He’s a good man. He’ll take such good care of you.” I had been so touched back then, believing she was genuinely happy for us. Now, looking back, the words felt dripping with a different meaning. He will take good care of you… As long as I keep telling him how. The day I officially listed our house, Gary wasn’t home. He had told me he was helping Suzie finalize her divorce paperwork and pack up a few boxes of books. I had simply smiled, said okay, and watched him leave. Then I unlocked my phone, opened the real estate app, and filled out the listing form. My hand didn’t tremble when I pressed submit. The truth was, this wasn’t a snap decision. I hadn’t decided to leave on the day Suzie got divorced, or even the day his mother handed me those cheap cookies. It happened much earlier, on a cold, ordinary Tuesday afternoon. I had a high fever, shivering alone under the blankets with my temperature spiking to 101.3. I texted Gary, asking if he could come home early. His reply was brief: Suzie has a bit of an emergency today. I’m going to be late. Just walk down to the drugstore and grab some ibuprofen. I stared at the screen and never wrote back. Instead, I dragged myself out of bed, threw on a heavy coat, and walked to the pharmacy myself. On the walk back, the freezing wind made my eyes sting. Waiting at the crosswalk among a sea of rushing commuters, surrounded by strangers who didn’t care if I lived or died, the realization washed over me. In this marriage, I had always been entirely on my own. The real estate agent called back quickly, asking a few routine questions and promising to schedule some viewings soon. I hung up and began mentally cataloging my belongings. There wasn’t much to pack. A few changes of clothes, some favorite books, the jade bracelet my mother had given me, and my bank documents. Everything else was noise. Gary returned around nine that night, holding a takeout container of homemade lasagna. He said Suzie had made extra and insisted he bring some back for me. “She knows it’s your favorite,” he said, setting the container on the dining table. I stared at the plastic box, making no move to touch a fork. “I’m not hungry.” Gary frowned, sitting across from me and examining my face. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing. I’m just tired.” He didn’t probe further. He scrolled through his phone for a few minutes before heading to his study. I remained at the table, staring at the lasagna. He didn’t even see the problem with bringing me food cooked by Suzie. Or maybe he just couldn’t comprehend how deeply insulting it was. The potential buyers came on Saturday morning. It was a young couple with a toddler around three or four years old. Gary had left early that morning, claiming he needed to help Suzie move her furniture. I showed the couple around, leading them through the master bedroom, the study, and the kitchen, acting as a polite, detached guide. They loved the place, noting the abundant natural light and the practical layout. They asked why I was selling. “Just looking for a change of scenery,” I said simply. They nodded, satisfied with the answer. As they left, the little boy turned back to wave and smile at me before his mother guided him into the elevator. The metal doors slid shut, plunging the hallway into silence. I stood in the doorway and checked my phone. Gary had texted: Suzie’s place is taking longer than expected. Just grab something for lunch yourself. A second message followed: Oh, by the way, Suzie says there’s a great little bistro near her new apartment. I’ll take you there tonight. I set the phone screen-down on the coffee table. I went back to the bedroom, opened the closet, and began folding my clothes into a suitcase. I only took what was in season, just enough to get by. My mother’s jade bracelet was wrapped carefully in an old sweater and tucked securely at the bottom of the case. Leaving the rest behind didn’t feel like a loss. Gripping the handle of my suitcase, I stood at the threshold and took one last look at the apartment we had shared for three years. The beige walls, the dark mahogany furniture he loved, the dim bedside lamp he had refused to replace despite my complaints. Everything reflected his taste, curated in a style Suzie had picked out for him. There was not a single trace of me in this home. I turned the handle and walked out. Just as I reached the lobby, a notification popped up on my phone. Suzie had posted in our group chat. It was a photo of her new living room, sunlight streaming through sheer white curtains. A fresh start. So grateful to have you both in my life. A string of heart emojis followed. Gary replied instantly: Looks beautiful. Feels like a real home already. Then, he sent me a private message. Nora, can you send Suzie a quick text? If you’re the only one who doesn’t reply, she’s going to feel down. I stared at the screen, a dry, humorless laugh escaping my throat. Within seconds, I left the group chat and blocked both of them. I was done being an afterthought.

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