Author: Momo Chan

On our fifth anniversary, I gifted my boyfriend of five years a brand-new Porsche 91 I thought my generosity would buy his loyalty. Instead, the very next day, he went on a TikTok live stream to drag my name through the mud. In front of the camera, his eyes were bloodshot, his voice dripping with bitter resentment. “What I wanted was real, pure love, not a relationship built on a pile of cash!” “She doesn’t get me at all. She loves humiliating my heart with her stupid money!” His best bros chimed in to support him, and the comment section immediately turned into a toxic wasteland, everyone calling me a soulless sugar mommy. Watching them twist the truth so effortlessly, I only felt a cold, deep irony. Fine. Since he wanted a love untainted by the smell of money so badly, I decided to grant him his wish. Not long after, Carter Miller found himself drowning in millions of dollars of debt, with breach-of-contract lawsuits piling up like mountains on his desk. He ended up on his knees in front of me, looking like a wet, dirty dog, desperately grabbing the hem of my pants, sobbing and begging: “Vivian, I was wrong! I don’t want that bullshit pure love anymore!” “Please, help me. Give me back my resources, my money… I really can’t take this anymore!” 1. The buzz of my phone felt exceptionally sharp in my empty luxury penthouse. It was 3:00 AM, and my screen was flashing with countless notifications. It wasn’t work emails on WhatsApp, but rather hundreds of wild tags and mentions on Snapchat and TikTok. I rubbed my throbbing temples and unlocked the screen. What caught my eye was a video that had already surpassed a hundred thousand likes. The creator: “Carter’s Late-Night Radio.” My boyfriend of five years, Carter Miller. The cover of the video was a close-up of his face—red-rimmed eyes, a broken expression, and a line of shocking text overlay: [On our 5th anniversary, I received the most devastating gift of my life.] I clicked on it. In the video, Carter was sitting in the driver’s seat of a pristine, shiny Porsche 911, twirling the key fob. It was the car I had taken him to pick up just yesterday, worth nearly two hundred thousand dollars. But he wasn’t smiling. He took a deep, shaky breath for the camera, his voice heavy with suppressed sorrow. “Today is the fifth anniversary of my relationship with my girlfriend.” “I thought, on such an important milestone, she would have prepared a surprise full of memories.” “Even if it was just a handwritten letter, or taking me back to the diner where we had our first date.” “But no. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing.” He raised the key fob with the Porsche crest, his eyes filled with disgust and hurt. “She just took me to the dealership, got this new car, and said: ‘Like it? Drive it home yourself.’” “At that moment, my heart completely froze.” “A two-hundred-thousand-dollar car sounds amazing, right? But in my eyes, it’s just a heap of cold, lifeless metal!” “It has no warmth, no soul, and absolutely no love!” “I asked her if she had anything else to say to me. No gift prepared with actual thought?” “And she actually rolled her eyes and said, ‘Isn’t this car good enough? Other guys would kill for this. Stop making a scene.’” In the video, Carter gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. “I was speechless. In her eyes, what am I? A pet she can just throw money at?” “I never wanted her money!” “I wanted the little things. I wanted the effort. I wanted the romance of being chosen over everything else!” “Am I wrong? I just wanted a pure love. Why is that so hard?” “This transactional relationship is literally driving me insane…” The video cut off there. I stared at the screen. My chest didn’t ache with pity for him like it usually did. Instead, a wave of pure, unfiltered disgust washed over me. In his little monologue, he conveniently forgot to mention that this car was his “Dream Car.” He had seen someone else driving it two weeks ago and had been whining about it in my ear every single day since. He also didn’t mention how many strings I had to pull, and how much extra cash I had to pay under the table, just to get this exact model delivered in time for our anniversary. And he definitely didn’t mention the context of my line, “Stop making a scene.” We were at the dealership, and he had thrown a massive tantrum in front of everyone because the staff didn’t set up a red carpet and a giant bow for his “delivery ceremony,” making me look like an idiot. In his video, I was the heartless, newly-rich b”ch who thought money solved everything. And he was the noble, poetic prince who refused to bow to wealth. I tapped open the comments. The internet had gone completely wild, and the screen was flooded with insults directed at me. [Oh my god! Carter, don’t cry! That classless rich girl doesn’t deserve you at all!] [Two hundred thousand dollars to buy off five years of youth? What does she think love is? A business transaction? Disgusting!] [So gross! She thinks because she has money, she owns him. She doesn’t respect men at all!] [Support Carter in breaking up! My girlfriend only makes $3,000 a month, but she makes me midnight snacks and hand-knits me beanies. That’s priceless romance! Money is trash!] [Bro, run! This woman looks down on you in her bones. She thinks you’re just after her wallet. You deserve a real girl who actually cares about you!] [I looked her up! Her name is Vivian Vance, founder of a tech startup. Haha, typical. The richer they are, the colder they get.] [@VivianVance, apologize! You owe Carter his youth back!] I scrolled down expressionlessly. Among the top-liked comments, I spotted a few very familiar handles. Hudson and Logan. Carter’s two “ride-or-die” bros. Hudson commented: [As Carter’s best friend, I honestly can’t watch this anymore. Vivian, you boss him around daily, and now you humiliate him like this on your anniversary? Do you even know how many sleepless nights he spent trying to plan a surprise for you?] Logan commented: [Exactly! Carter is a man of spiritual depth. He wants a soulmate! Your dirty money only pollutes his world! Set him free already!] But the most hilarious one was the third-highest comment. It was from Carter’s mother, Evelyn Miller. She had replied to a random user: “Sigh, my Carter was protected too well by me since he was a kid. He’s too pure, too gentle, always dreaming of those idealistic romances.” “I told him long ago that Vivian is too materialistic, too cold. She can’t give him the emotional support he needs. But this stubborn boy just wouldn’t listen to his mother…” “Too pure.” “Too gentle.” I looked at the comment and burst out laughing from sheer anger. I remembered three years ago when Evelyn Miller, claiming she “felt insecure,” forced me to buy Carter a luxury apartment in downtown LA—and demanded only Carter’s name be put on the deed. And two years ago, when Carter’s younger brother wanted a new car, she heavily hinted that as Carter’s girlfriend, I should fund it. Just last month, Evelyn went on a vacation to the Maldives and maxed out the $150,000 limit on the credit card I gave her. And now, she was online calling me materialistic, saying I couldn’t support her son emotionally. I threw my phone onto the sofa and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window. Outside, the glittering night view of the city stretched out before me. Suddenly, these five years felt like a complete farce. I had given everything to pamper him and his family until they took it all for granted. And yet they stood on their high horses, looking down on me, claiming my money was dirty and that I wasn’t worthy of their noble souls. Fine. Since you think my money is so filthy. I will give you exactly what you asked for.

The next morning, my apartment doorbell was rung aggressively. I opened the door to find Carter standing there. He was wearing a white linen shirt, his hair styled to look messy, and his eyes were slightly pink as if he had cried all night. Behind him stood Hudson and Logan, looking like two hired goons. The moment the door opened, Hudson charged forward like a rabid dog protecting its owner. “Vivian! Do you even have a heart? Carter was in tears until dawn, and you didn’t even call him once? You didn’t even text back? Do you want him to die?!” Logan added with a cold sneer, “Vivian, don’t think you can do whatever you want just because you have some cash. Love isn’t a commodity! Your attitude at the dealership yesterday severely crushed Carter’s dignity!” Carter didn’t say a word. He just bit his lip, staring at me with a sullen, wounded expression. If this were the past, seeing him like this would have made me crumble instantly. I would have rushed over, grabbed his hands, apologized repeatedly, and promised to buy him whatever luxury watch or designer toy he wanted just to see him smile. But today, I just stood there, watching their little show. “And?” My voice was flat, without a single ripple of emotion. My calmness caught the three of them off guard. Hudson’s eyes widened, looking at me like I was some kind of alien. “And? You’re asking us ‘and’? Vivian, are you a sociopath? As his girlfriend, shouldn’t you be reflecting on your toxic behavior?” “Reflecting on what?” I looked at Carter. “Reflecting on whether I shouldn’t have bought you a Porsche?” Carter flinched, tears instantly welling up in his eyes. “Vivian! You still don’t get it, do you?!” he yelled, his voice cracking. “I don’t want a Porsche! I don’t want those tacky luxury brands! I just want effort! I want romance that comes from the heart! Why is that so hard for you to understand?!” “Yeah, Vivian,” Logan chimed in sarcastically. “Look at the girls on TikTok. They stay up all night making DIY scrapbooks and setting up fairy lights for their guys. What about you? Besides wire transfers and credit cards, what else do you know how to do? Your lazy attitude is literally a disrespect to love!” I stared at Logan. I remembered vividly that for Logan’s birthday last month, Carter had used my credit card to buy him a $10,000 limited-edition pair of sneakers. Logan had posted it all over his Instagram, calling Carter his “brother for life.” And now, here he was, preaching to me about disrespecting love. “I see,” I said, nodding slowly. “You see what?” Hudson looked at me suspiciously. “Don’t think you can just brush us off with some half-assed apology. I’m telling you, Carter is seriously heartbroken this time. If you don’t do something big to make it up to him, this is over!” “Something big?” I let out a soft laugh. “Like what?” Hudson answered immediately, as if he had rehearsed this. “Next month is Carter’s birthday. This is your last chance to redeem yourself! If you dare to insult him with another tacky sports car, we’ll make sure he dumps you for good!” “Exactly!” Logan added. “For this birthday, you are not allowed to buy your way out. You have to hand-make everything. Got it?” Carter stood behind them. Though he remained silent, his eyes were full of smug expectation. He was waiting for me to beg, to crawl, to rack my brain to create some “meaningful” DIY romance for him. Looking at their arrogant faces, I felt an unprecedented sense of relief. “Okay,” I smiled warmly. “I promise.” Carter’s eyes lit up, a flash of victory passing through them. “Vivian…” He stepped forward, gently taking my hand, his voice softening. “I didn’t mean to make things public on TikTok. I was just… I was just so desperate for you to understand me. You’re not mad at me, right?” “Of course not,” I looked into his eyes. “You want pure, cost-free, heartfelt romance, right?” “Yes!” Carter nodded eagerly, looking like an idealistic boy. “For your birthday next month, I will prepare a romance that you will never, ever forget.” I smiled and gently straightened his collar. “I promise, not a single penny of dirty money will ruin it.” Carter let out a long sigh of relief and patted my shoulder. Hudson and Logan exchanged a look, both smiling in satisfaction. In their minds, I was still the rich, gullible Vivian who would do anything to keep her man. They thought they would see me act like a clown next month, trying to please them with pathetic DIY crafts. Oh, they had no idea. The game had just begun.

After throwing them out, I went straight to my study and opened my laptop. Since we were going “pure” and “non-materialistic,” I had to commit to the role fully. First, I called Marcus, the sales manager at the Porsche dealership. “Marcus, about that 911 we picked up yesterday. I’m not satisfied with it.” Marcus panicked on the other end of the line. “Ms. Vance! Is there an issue with the car? Just say the word, we will send a team to assist you immediately!” “No, the car is fine,” I said casually. “My boyfriend thinks the car is too tacky for his sophisticated taste. Send someone over to my building to tow it back.” Marcus was stunned, silent for a few seconds. “Uh… Ms. Vance, the car is already registered. If you return it now, it can only be processed as a used-car trade-in. You’ll lose quite a bit…” “I don’t care,” I cut him off. “Deduct whatever you need to. Just make sure that car is out of my garage by tonight.” After hanging up, I opened my banking app. I found the authorized user credit card with the $150,000 monthly limit that Carter always carried. I tapped “Freeze Card.” Next, I dialed my Chief Financial Officer, Leo. “Leo, liquidate the accounts of ‘The Solitude Cafe’ immediately.” “The Solitude Cafe” was a passion project Carter had whined about wanting two years ago. I had funded the entire thing—from the prime downtown location to the high-end interior design and the premium organic coffee bean supply chain. To save his “independent artist” pride, I had registered him as the sole owner and brand founder. But in reality, because Carter only cared about hosting poetry readings and giving away free hand-brewed coffee to his hipster friends, the cafe was bleeding cash every month. My parent company had been silently covering all his losses. Leo hesitated. “Ms. Vance, that cafe has a monthly deficit of about $50,000. If we pull the plug now…” “Cut all financial support from the parent company,” I ordered coldly. “Starting today, Carter Miller is solely responsible for the rent, utilities, employee wages, and supplier bills. Also, tell our legal team to draft a formal repayment contract for all the losses our company covered over the past two years. We’re going to court.” “Understood, Ms. Vance.” Leo was a smart man and asked no further questions. Leaning back in my leather chair, I let out a long breath. For five years, I had been a bottomless piggy bank, feeding Carter and his family’s bottomless vanity. I thought that if I gave him enough, he would eventually see my devotion. But I was wrong. Some people will eat your food and complain that your plates are too heavy. Since he hated the gold, I would take it back and leave him in the mud. That afternoon, Carter sent me a message on Snapchat. “Babe, my card was declined? I’m at the mall with Hudson, and we found a limited-edition designer jacket, but the transaction didn’t go through.” I looked at the screen, a cold smirk playing on my lips. I replied: “Sweetheart, to prepare for your birthday surprise, I’ve decided to cut off all material distractions starting today. I want to show you that even without money, I can give you the most fulfilling love. Don’t buy that jacket. I will hand-make a better one for you.” The chat screen went silent. Ten minutes later, Carter replied with a single word: “Okay.” Even through the screen, I could picture his face—gritting his teeth, forced to pretend he was touched by my “thoughtfulness.” He had built the “money is trash” persona himself. Now, he had to play the part, even if it killed him.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “442026”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I was born fat. Before prom started, everyone was asking each other to be their date. Someone shoved me toward Nicholas Reed and shouted for us to get together. My face turned red, and I stumbled right into the arms of my tall, handsome childhood friend. But Nicholas shoved me hard to the floor like he had touched something filthy. “You disgusting fat pig, don’t touch me! Gross!” “If I didn’t feel sorry for you getting bullied, I wouldn’t even bother with you!” The whole class laughed at me. Austin Walker, the star quarterback on the football team, helped me up from the floor. “Nicholas Reed.” “Do you really think everyone in the world is as blind as you?” The whole room went silent in an instant. He lowered his head and glanced at me, looking too serious for it to be a joke. “Serena Hayes, you’ll be beautiful once you lose weight.” Nicholas let out a sneer. “If she looks even half as good as the cheer captain after losing weight, I’ll livestream myself eating crap!” He looked at my dress, which had split at the seams. “But, well, this sow’s biggest hobby is eating, so there’s no way she can lose weight!” Another round of laughter broke out around us. I covered my torn dress, looked at him, and all twelve years of my crush vanished in that moment. That night, after I got home, I stood in front of the mirror and looked at myself. Five foot nine, 250 pounds. I wrote down a plan in my notebook: First, lose weight. Second, change my college application and stop going to Harvard University with him.

“LOL, the toad really wants to eat swan meat.” “She’s 250 pounds and still dares to like Nicholas. Where does she get the courage?” … My classmates’ mocking did not stop. Chloe Summers, the queen bee, laughed the loudest and deliberately picked up a plate piled high with cream cake. Then she pressed the plate into my face. Cream smeared all over my face. “Serena, don’t be sad.” “Eat more, just like a pig eating feed. Once you’re full, you won’t be sad anymore.” Someone chimed in, “Serena, if you want a boyfriend, you might as well find a boar, haha!” The prom exploded with laughter again. Nicholas held a glass of champagne, the remnants of mockery still hanging at the corner of his mouth, as if none of this had anything to do with him. Austin Walker, the star quarterback, frowned and glanced at him, but said nothing more. Instead, Chloe Summers, who was standing beside Nicholas, leaned over and whispered something. Nicholas gave a low laugh, as if he were sneering. I wiped the cream from my face and stood up. “I’m leaving first.” Chloe immediately put on a caring expression. “Serena, don’t be mad, we were really just joking…” I ignored her, got up, and walked out. When I passed by Nicholas, he did not even lift his head and was still chatting with Chloe. I stopped. “Nicholas Reed.” He finally looked up at me, with a trace of impatience in his eyes. “What?” I looked at him. I remembered when we were six, when he moved next door to my house and scraped his knee on the very first day. I was the one who carried him on my back and took him to the neighborhood clinic. Back then, he smiled at me, even though I was already chubby. That one smile stayed with me for twelve years. “Every word you said today,” I said very softly, “one day, you’ll regret it.” He raised an eyebrow and sneered without taking me seriously. “Me, regret it? Fatass, in this life I…” I did not listen to the rest and pushed the door open. The hallway was very quiet. My hands were shaking, but my tears did not fall. It was not that it did not hurt. It hurt too much, so much that I could not cry. My best friend Nina chased after me and grabbed my wrist. “Serena, I’ll go back right now and help you…” “Nina,” I cut her off, my voice hoarse, “walk with me.” The sunset stretched our shadows very long. I walked a long way before I spoke. “He’s right. I really am 250 pounds right now.” “But he said I’ll never lose weight in this lifetime.” “I’m going to lose it just to show him.” Nina bit her lip and said nothing, only holding my hand even tighter. When I got home that night, everyone was asleep. I stood alone in front of the mirror. My frame clearly was not small, but it was completely buried under fat. My face was as round as a big ball of dough, and I had three full layers of chin. But when I leaned closer, my eye shape was pretty. My nose bridge was high. The little mole at the corner of my eye looked like it had been drawn on. Austin Walker’s words echoed in my ears. “Serena Hayes, you’ll be beautiful once you lose weight.” Was it true? I did not know. But tonight, I made two decisions. First, lose weight, with a goal of 110 pounds. Second, cancel my Harvard University application. I opened my laptop and logged into the application system. On the screen, Harvard University’s admission confirmation page glowed quietly. The mouse hovered over Decline Offer. Nicholas’s words seemed to ring in my ears again. “You disgusting fat pig, don’t touch me. Gross.” I did not hesitate again. I clicked decline. Then I wrote another application email. It was to Stanford University, more than a thousand miles away from Boston. Because of Nicholas, I had never even looked at it before. For him, I applied to law, a major I did not like. Now, I chose the major I liked and clicked send. Thanks to my excellent grades, the other side soon sent me an admission notice. I clicked Accept and closed my laptop. But my heart felt lighter than ever. Starting today. I would no longer live for Nicholas Reed. I would live for myself.

At five the next morning, when the alarm rang, the sky was still dark. I put on my sneakers, went out, and took a jump rope to the community square. On the first day, I only jumped two hundred times before I was panting like I was about to die. On the third day, I increased it to five hundred, and my calves were so sore they trembled when I went upstairs. On the fifth day, after jumping one thousand times, I leaned over a trash can and threw up. But I never stopped for even one day. On the evening of the sixth day, I was stretching downstairs when Nicholas came back from playing soccer outside. He held a soccer ball and looked me up and down. “Why are you covered in sweat?” I did not speak and kept stretching my leg. He walked over and leaned against the wall, saying casually, “A classmate saw you jumping rope to lose weight?” I still said nothing. He kept talking to himself, his tone carrying that careless certainty he always had. “If you really want to lose weight, get a gym membership. Jumping rope alone won’t do much. With your weight… never mind.” After a pause, he added, “By the way, did you get your Harvard University admission letter? Mine arrived.” My hand paused for a moment. He thought I was still going to Harvard University. Everyone thought so. I straightened up and walked into the building with no expression on my face. Behind me, he shouted, “Did you get it or not?” The building door closed, cutting off his voice. As I went upstairs, the corner of my mouth actually curved slightly. Nicholas Reed, take your time waiting. When October third comes, you’ll know. On the eighth night, someone posted a video in the class group chat. It was footage of me jumping rope in the community square. Heavy panting, soaked clothes, jumping once and stopping once, and my fat shaking nonstop with every rise and fall. The person filming had deliberately chosen the ugliest angle. [I’m dying hahahaha Serena Hayes really started losing weight!!] [Nicholas’s words really hit her hard, huh?] [Austin said she’d look good after losing weight? I couldn’t see any potential in that face even with a magnifying glass.] Chloe Summers: [Serena, good luck! Anyway, there are tons of pretty girls at Harvard Law, so if you don’t lose a little weight, you’ll seriously feel inferior once school starts.] Nicholas also came out and sent a message. My heart jumped. He said: [Stop posting stuff like this. Are you all children?] Someone teased him: [Nicholas, are you feeling sorry for her???] He replied: [Are you guys bored? What does her losing weight have to do with me? I never liked her.] What did it have to do with him? Right, it never had anything to do with him. I liked him for twelve years, and he said it had nothing to do with him. Fine. From now on, it really would have nothing to do with you. I left the class group chat. I opened Nina’s chat box. [I’m going to stay at my grandma’s place until school starts. Keep it a secret for me. If anyone asks, say you don’t know.] Nina: [Leave it to me. But you have to promise me you’ll come back alive.] I smiled and typed an OK. Then I opened Nicholas’s chat box. I looked at all the messages I had sent him over the past three years. “My mom made apple pie today. Want to come over?” “It’s raining on the way home. I brought you an umbrella.” “Good night.” Every single one had been read and ignored. On the rare occasions he replied, it was always “Mm,” “Got it,” or “Stop bothering me.” I took a deep breath. Delete friend. No hesitation. Early the next morning, I dragged my suitcase downstairs. Downstairs, I ran into Nicholas’s mom. “Serena, where are you going?” “To my grandma’s place for a while.” “Then when Nicholas comes to your house for dinner later…” “Mrs. Reed,” I smiled, “Nicholas is already an adult, so there’s no need to trouble my mom anymore.” When I carried my suitcase out of the community, a window opened behind me. I knew it was Nicholas’s room. But I did not look back. Not even once.

My grandma lived on a farm in the countryside, where the phone signal had only one bar and there was almost no WiFi. On the first day I arrived, I locked my phone in a cabinet. Every day, I got up at five to jump rope. In the morning, I power-walked along the wooded trail outside the farm. In the afternoon, I helped my grandma prune fruit trees, move hay, and take care of the horses. The meal plan Grandma made for me was chicken breast with roasted vegetables, rotating between oatmeal, brown rice, and sweet potatoes. In the first week, I lost six pounds, down to 194 pounds. In the second week, I lost five pounds, down to 189 pounds. Starting from the third week, the weight dropped more slowly, so I added two thousand extra jumps every day and one set of strength training. In the fourth week, I was 180 pounds. In one month, I had lost a full twenty pounds. There were changes in the mirror, but they were not obvious enough. My face was not as round anymore, but my jawline was still blurry, and my body was loose and sagging like deflated dough. I did not waver at all. Continue. In the fifth week, I was 173 pounds. In the sixth week, I was 166 pounds. I turned on my phone for the first time. Dozens of messages flooded in. Nina’s messages: [Nicholas came to me! He asked where you went! I played dumb!] [He asked again today! He even asked if you changed your number!] [Hahahaha guess what he said? He said, “She’s definitely just throwing a tantrum. She’ll be back in a couple days.”] I let out a sneer. Throwing a tantrum? Nicholas Reed, you really think too highly of yourself. I kept scrolling. Nina had sent more: [He’s getting closer and closer to Chloe Summers. Today Chloe posted a photo of them playing ball together. Everyone in the group is saying they might be together.] I looked at that message. Then I waited for my heart’s reaction. Unexpectedly, there was nothing. It did not hurt anymore. It really did not hurt anymore. I turned off my phone and kept training. In the seventh week, I was 158 pounds. In the eighth week, I was 150 pounds. The changes in the mirror started becoming dramatic. My jawline emerged sharply, my cheekbones became clear, and my whole face looked as if it had been carved all over again. My body proportions began to show, my collarbones came out, and the lines of my legs changed from thick to long and lean. But it was still not enough. I knew the best version of myself had not appeared yet. Continue. In the ninth week, I was 142 pounds. When I went to the pharmacy in town to buy medicine for Grandma, the girl behind the counter froze when she took the prescription. She stared at my face for a long time. “You look like some movie star… I can’t remember who right now.” Grandma quickly pulled me away. After we got home, Grandma sat on the porch rocking chair and worried. “Your mother was like this back then too. She was chubby as a kid, and no one paid attention to her. Then she suddenly slimmed down, and the whole high school went crazy.” “You’re even more dramatic than your mother.” I thought Grandma was exaggerating too much. In the tenth week, I was 135 pounds. I turned on my phone for the second time. Nina’s latest message: [Nicholas told me to tell you that if you don’t join the Harvard freshman group soon, it’ll be too late. His exact words were, “Is she still throwing a tantrum? Tell her I won’t pay attention to her when the time comes, so she shouldn’t get her hopes up.”] I looked at this sentence and could not help laughing. Even now, he still thought I would go to Harvard University. He still thought I would chase after him like I used to. Nicholas Reed, what kind of dream are you living in? I replied to Nina: [Don’t tell anyone I went to Stanford University to study computer science. Including him. Let him find out himself.] Nina replied: [Okay! I can’t wait to see his face!!!] In the eleventh week, I was 125 pounds. Grandma officially forbade me from going out alone. “When you went to town to buy things the day before yesterday, those college boys in the supermarket kept following you. Did you know that?” “…It can’t be that serious, right?” “Go look in the mirror yourself!” I went to look. Then I fell silent. In the mirror was a face… even I found unfamiliar. A height of five foot nine and a weight of 125 pounds had released every advantage of my bone structure. My features looked delicate, as if someone had drawn them stroke by stroke. The corners of my eyes tilted slightly upward, my eyes were a pale blue, and my lips were a very light rose color. My collarbones looked like butterfly wings, and my waist looked small enough to hold in one hand. The mole at the corner of my eye was like the final stroke, pushing my whole face from “pretty” to “stunning.” I stared for a long time. So what Austin Walker said was true. In the twelfth week, I was 110 pounds. Grandma stood behind me and let out a long sigh. “What a sin. Your parents spent more than ten years fattening you up, and now it’s all wasted.” I finally could not hold back. “What are you all talking about? What happened to me when I was little?” Grandma shook her head and refused to say. She only muttered: “After school starts, wear a hat and sunglasses. Don’t cause trouble.” I replied, “Okay.” But in my heart, I thought— Nicholas Reed, on October third, you will look for me in the crowd of freshmen checking in at Harvard University. You will search every classroom in the law school. You will go through every freshman list. But you will never find the name Serena Hayes. Because I am no longer there. I will never stand behind you again.

The day before school started. Nina sent me a string of screenshots. They were chat records from the high school class group. Chloe Summers had posted a photo of herself and Nicholas standing at the Harvard University gate. She leaned against his shoulder and smiled brightly, with the caption: [Thank God you’re here with me!] A bunch of people teased them underneath. [Perfect match! Harvard University’s best couple!] Nicholas also rarely showed up, and his tone was very relaxed: [Don’t talk nonsense. We’re friends.] Then someone asked: [Hey, where’s Serena Hayes? Didn’t she also apply to Harvard Law? Why haven’t we seen her among the freshmen?] Chloe replied instantly: [Maybe she’s still losing weight, hahaha. After all, there are plenty of pretty girls in law school. If she shows up at 250 pounds…] A string of laughing-crying emojis followed. Nicholas’s reply came right after: [She’s probably still throwing a tantrum. She’ll be here in a couple days.] Someone chimed in: [Nicholas, you know her pretty well.] He replied: [We grew up together. How could I not know what she’s like? She’ll calm down after making a fuss for a couple days.] I stared at that sentence for a long time. “How could I not know what she’s like?” Nicholas Reed. You really do not understand me at all. You do not know I have already slimmed down to 110 pounds. You do not know I am already in California, three thousand miles away. And you know even less that the Serena Hayes who used to chase after you is long dead. I closed the screenshots and calmly packed the clothes I would wear tomorrow. White shirt, black suit pants, blond hair. That was enough. September first. Stanford University freshman welcome ceremony. The campus main auditorium was full of freshmen. The freshman representative speech for the School of Computer Science was scheduled for last. I was the last person to go on stage. Backstage was noisy, and the students in front of me were so nervous their palms were sweating. Instead, I was very calm. Five foot nine. One hundred ten pounds. My white shirt was tucked into high-waisted trousers, and below my waistline, it was all legs. When the staff member in charge of the microphone adjusted the equipment for me, they could not help freezing for a moment. “You’re… a freshman from the School of Computer Science?” I smiled and said nothing. The last thought that passed through my mind was— Nicholas Reed was probably still waiting in the Harvard freshman group to see my name. Then keep waiting. “Next, please welcome the freshman representative of the School of Computer Science—Serena Hayes.” I stepped into the lights and walked onto the stage. The moment the spotlight fell on me. Thousands of people in the audience lost their voices at the same time. It was not silence. It was suffocation. As if everyone had forgotten how to breathe at the same time. Five foot nine. One hundred ten pounds. White shirt, black trousers, ponytail. No heavy makeup, no fancy dress. Only a clean, simple face. And the tiny mole at the corner of my eye. I walked step by step to the podium. The silence lasted three seconds. Then the auditorium seemed to explode. Screams, applause, and whistles rose one after another. They mixed together, shaking the whole auditorium with echoes. Someone stood up. One row. Two rows. Ten rows. People in the back kept raising their phones to take photos. When I reached the podium, I stood still. I tilted my head slightly. The light covered my whole body. I smiled. The shutter sounds were as dense as a rainstorm. I suddenly remembered what Nicholas said at prom three months ago. “She’ll never lose weight in this lifetime.” “If she looks even half as good as the cheer captain after losing weight, I’ll livestream myself eating crap.” At this moment, I stood before thousands of freshmen. I stood where the spotlight was brightest. Nicholas Reed. You owe me an apology. But. I no longer need it. After the welcome ceremony ended. Nina’s messages hit me like bombs. [Your photos are being shared everywhere online!!!! I can’t hold it in anymore, I’m posting them in the class group!!!!] I had not even had time to reply. She had already posted them. In the screenshot was her caption: [@everyone Nicholas Reed, you said if she looked half as good as the cheer captain after losing weight, you’d livestream yourself eating crap.] [Come on. Take a look. Is this enough to be half?] The photo was taken at the welcome ceremony just now. Under the lights. White shirt, black trousers, the moment I tilted my head. Five foot nine. One hundred ten pounds. A mole at the corner of my eye. Then the group exploded. Messages flooded the screen like a tidal wave. [???????? Who is this???? Is this Serena Hayes????] [No way!!! This isn’t Harvard University!!! It’s Photoshopped, right!!!] [Wait… is this Stanford????] [@Nicholas Reed Where are you?! Come out!! Do you admit what you said or not!!!]

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At my own wedding, Chloe, the charity student Ethan had been sponsoring, “accidentally” pushed me. The fall put me into a vegetative state. The doctors announced that I might never wake up. But I was actually conscious. I could hear everything, and I could see pictures in my mind. Ethan absolutely hated Chloe. On my first day in the hospital, Ethan forced her to her knees right in front of my bed to beg for forgiveness. Forced to kneel, she suddenly pulled out a knife, pressed it against her own neck, and confessed her love to him: “I’m sorry. I only did it because I love you so much.” “Since you don’t love me back, I might as well just die.” Ethan panicked. He knocked the knife out of her hand, and from that moment on, he couldn’t bring himself to say another harsh word to her. On my seventh day in the hospital, she kissed Ethan. He clenched his fists and closed his eyes, but he didn’t push her away. … By the first month of my hospitalization, Ethan moved my limp body to the very edge of our luxurious, oversized hospital bed. Right in front of me, he pressed Chloe down on the other side of the bed. The bed shook violently. The wild movements shook me right off the edge, and I crashed onto the cold floor. Yet, the two of them didn’t stop. Nobody noticed me lying motionless on the floor, a single, silent tear slipping from the corner of my eye. It wasn’t until six years later that I finally woke up.

Just the night before I fully regained consciousness. Ethan and Chloe were still messing around on my hospital bed. Chloe lay completely naked beneath him. Ethan’s shirt was hung wide open, his suit pants low on his hips. With his broad shoulders and narrow waist, his thrusts were deep and relentless. Her moans were sweet and clingy, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. … Maybe their heavy panting was just too disgusting, because the next day, I actually woke up. My hands and feet could move. I could sit up. My attending physician called my husband, Ethan, five times before he finally showed up. He kicked the ward door open, but then froze at the entrance, hesitating to take a step forward. My face was pale as I propped myself up slightly and smiled at him. “Long time no see, Ethan.” Ethan stumbled back, his eyes instantly turning red. He rushed forward, grabbed my hand, and began to tremble uncontrollably. “Olivia… the doctor said you were awake, but I couldn’t believe it. It’s really you… You’re really…” I looked up at his familiar face. The nurse on duty had just told me that I had been in a coma for six whole years. Six years hadn’t left many marks on Ethan’s face. He had just changed his hairstyle. His once-passionate eyes were now hidden behind gold-rimmed glasses, and the casual grey hoodies he used to love had been replaced by a sharp, tailored suit. He looked as polished as a male lead in a drama. To me, he just felt a little like a stranger. Before I could speak, another figure darted into the room, throwing herself to the floor right at my feet, weeping hysterically. “Olivia, you’re really awake! This is amazing! What happened back then… I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry…” I froze. But Ethan had already frowned, stepped forward, and pulled her up without hesitation. “The floor is freezing. Why are you kneeling? Stand up and talk.” He glanced at me. “Olivia is kind-hearted; she won’t hold it against you. Chloe, don’t do stupid things like this ever again.” Chloe looked up at him with tearful eyes, and Ethan awkwardly averted his gaze. I opened my mouth, but swallowed the words back down. Ethan seemed to have forgotten to ask me if I actually chose to forgive her. He poured me a glass of warm water and shot Chloe a look. “Go handle Olivia’s discharge paperwork. Hurry up.” As she turned to leave, he frowned again and called her back. He took off his suit jacket and tossed it over her head. “Look at the weather today. Why are you wearing such a short skirt? Chloe, do you even have a brain?” Once the room was quiet again and it was just the two of us, Ethan sat silently beside me. I looked out the window. The empty lot in my memory was now filled with towering skyscrapers. Just like Ethan, who used to share everything with me, but had now given all his emotions—his anger, his pity, his resentment—to someone else. Leaving only endless silence between us. After finishing the discharge process, I followed Ethan quietly. I listened to him complain with a frown about how many mistakes Chloe made at work and how careless she was. He stopped in front of a completely unfamiliar car and unlocked it. Chloe naturally opened the passenger door and slid inside. It wasn’t until both of them had buckled their seatbelts that Ethan seemed to snap back to reality. Panic flashed across his face as he opened the back door for me. “Our old car was ready for the scrap yard. I found a good deal, so I replaced it.” A pink dreamcatcher hung from the rearview mirror. The car air freshener was no longer my favorite freesia. Even though the scent was faint, I recognized it instantly. It was Chloe’s perfume. The car drove quietly through the streets. The cabin was filled with suffocating silence. I stared at the unfamiliar street views until he pulled up to my apartment building. He turned to me with an apologetic expression. “Olivia, you just got discharged. Go home and rest first. I have to run and meet a client. This case is extremely important, and I really can’t delay it. I’m sorry.” I stood on the pavement, watching him drive off with Chloe. Looking up at the tall building in front of me, my eyes finally burned. This was the penthouse we had renovated together right before the wedding. I had fantasized countless times about walking hand-in-hand with him through this neighborhood, carrying groceries back to cook a nice dinner. If only that accident hadn’t happened. I unlocked the door. Everything inside was arranged exactly as it had been six years ago. Even the calendar on the table was still turned to that exact date six years ago. It was as if nothing had changed. Except the fridge was unplugged, and the master closet was completely empty. At 2 a.m., I woke up from a nightmare. I reached out, but the space beside me was ice-cold. The living room was pitch black. I pulled out my old phone and dialed the number I knew by heart. “Ethan, where are you?” On the other end of the line, his voice was muffled and groggy, as if he had just been woken up. “What? I’m at home.” My tears finally spilled over. “Which home?”

Half an hour later, Ethan rushed through the door, panting. He knelt by my feet, his eyes filled with apology and pain. After a long silence, he spoke in a low voice. “I’m sorry, Olivia. I…” “After your accident, I was in too much pain. I couldn’t live in this apartment. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw you standing next to me, talking about the renovation.” He gently took my hand and pulled me into his arms. It sounded like a promise, but also like he was trying to convince himself. “Olivia, tomorrow I’ll take you to our law firm. I’ll stay with you, and together, we’ll get back those six years you lost.” I caught the scent of Chloe’s perfume on his collar. Suddenly, I realized this was the first hug we had shared since I woke up. The next day, Ethan drove his new car, catching me up on how the firm had grown over the last six years. His phone kept ringing throughout the drive. He had long lost his youthful innocence and now talked and laughed with clients like a seasoned professional. Ethan and I used to be the top two students at Columbia Law School. After graduation, we founded Vanguard Law Firm with a few friends. Back then, we huddled in a shabby, rented office. The nameplate on the door was handwritten by me. Ethan’s eyes had been so bright back then. He had hung that paper nameplate up with absolute care, holding my hand and whispering, “Olivia, we are going to make it big.” But now, standing in this luxurious high-rise, looking at the gleaming metal plaque and a sea of completely unfamiliar faces, I finally realized that everyone had moved on. Only I was trapped in the past. Ethan ruffled my hair. “I kept an office reserved just for you when we moved here. I knew destiny wouldn’t be so cruel to me. Finally, you’re back.” Before he could finish, he noticed the wide-open office door and the people busy moving boxes inside. He frowned. “What are you guys doing?” Chloe froze with a stack of case files in her arms. But it was the round-faced girl next to her who spoke up. “You promised this office to Chloe last week, Ethan. Don’t tell me you forgot.” Chloe’s face went pale as she looked at him with a miserable expression. Ethan looked away and said coldly, “Olivia is back. This office belongs to her.” Chloe’s voice shook, almost crying. “Why? You promised…” Ethan cut her off coldly. “No whys, Chloe. You’re the one who begged to stay at Vanguard. If you don’t like it, you can leave anytime.” Chloe covered her face and ran out crying. The round-faced girl stomped her foot in anger and couldn’t help but snap, “Ethan, everyone saw how much Chloe did for you over these years. You’re being way too harsh. You’re breaking her heart!” She glared at me fiercely, then chased after Chloe. I saw Ethan’s feet instinctively twitch as if to follow her, but he forced himself to stop. He stood there, his right hand clenching into a tight fist. The remaining strangers in the office shot me looks of obvious disapproval. They didn’t say anything, but their eyes said everything. I could barely hold back the urge to scream. I’m just taking back what was originally mine. Why does it feel like I’m the villain here? I looked at Ethan’s tense face and asked softly, “Where are Harper and Julian?” The room went dead silent. Ethan kept a heavy expression for a long time before speaking. “Harper and Julian left Vanguard a while ago to start their own firm.” “I told them you woke up. We’re having dinner together tonight.” He looked down at me. “Olivia, rest here for a bit. I have to take care of something.” With that, he walked out with long strides. I stood in front of the massive floor-to-ceiling window and let out a bitter laugh. No wonder Chloe wanted this office so badly. It was spacious, bright, and had an incredible view. It was so clear that, even from up here, I could see the man and woman embracing in the rain downstairs. They looked so familiar.

We met up at our old favorite spot. The moment I pushed the door open, my best friend, Harper, threw herself at me, crying and laughing at the same time. “Olivia! You’re awake! You’re really awake! He didn’t lie to me!” She punched my shoulder playfully but hard. “Olivia Vance, how could you? Six years! How dare you make me wait that long!” When she saw Ethan walking in behind me, her expression instantly soured. She wiped her tears. “Julian is in Europe handling a case, but he already knows. He’s wrapping things up and will fly back immediately.” She held my hand tightly, as if I would vanish if she let go. My eyes welled up. This was what a reunion was supposed to feel like. The door opened again, and Chloe stood there timidly, holding a gift bag. Harper’s face dropped instantly. “Ethan, what the hell is this? Why did you bring her here? Are you trying to disgust us?” Ethan frowned. “Chloe wanted to apologize to Olivia face-to-face for what happened. She made a mistake, but she’s spent these years trying to make up for it.” Harper let out a cold laugh. “Make up for it? The person she put in a coma for six years is Olivia! If she wanted to make up for it, she should have been kneeling by Olivia’s hospital bed day and night! Instead, she begged to crawl into Vanguard, using ‘atonement’ as an excuse to hover around you every day, playing your little assistant and taking care of your daily life. Ethan, you keep saying you hate her and want to make her life miserable. Did you say those lies so many times that you actually started believing them?” The reunion dinner ended in a disaster. I gave Harper an apologetic hug before leaving. On the way home, Ethan was completely distracted while driving and almost rear-ended the car in front of us. His phone kept buzzing. He picked it up and put it down several times, and finally, “accidentally” unlocked it. Chloe’s sobbing voice filled the car through the speaker. “I know she’s back. I should leave. But I just can’t accept it, Ethan. I only did it because I love you. Why does it have to hurt this much?” “If I was the one who got hurt six years ago, would you have remembered me?” “Maybe everything was a mistake. I wish I had died in that accident instead.” Ethan slammed on the brakes. The screeching of the tires made my heart skip a beat. His face was terrifyingly dark. He turned to me, hesitating. “She was really treated unfairly in the office today. I’m worried she might do something stupid…” My face was pale, but I forced a smile. “Go ahead. A life is on the line, after all.” Ethan looked relieved. He pulled over, let me out, and sped off into the night. I called a cab and went to Green-Wood Cemetery. My dad’s and Ethan’s mother’s photos smiled back at me from their headstones. Ethan and I had been neighbors since we were kids, growing up in the same Brooklyn neighborhood. Ten years ago, a devastating building collapsed in Manhattan. My dad and Ethan’s mother used their last breaths to shield us under the rubble, staying buried forever. Ethan had refused to cry back then. He held me tightly, repeating over and over: “Olivia, from now on, we are each other’s only family. We will never be apart.” I sat quietly in front of the headstone, talking to them in a soft voice. “It’s been a while since I visited. Don’t be mad at me. I had a good excuse, so don’t be petty.” The night wind blew past, and I felt a sudden chill on my face. I reached up and realized my face was covered in tears. The wind carried my quiet whisper. “What should I do, Dad? I don’t think I have a home anymore.”

On my first official day back at Vanguard, Ethan handed me the firm’s most important case. But staring at the endless files on the screen, I felt completely lost. Six years had passed. Laws had changed, new precedents had been set, and even the filing software had been upgraded three times. I held a red pen, proofreading every single word, terrified of making a mistake. The round-faced girl walked past my desk carrying some folders. She glanced at my screen and rolled her eyes. “Olivia, what year are we in? Just upload it to ChatGPT. Why waste your time like this?” My hand froze. I looked up, confused. “What is… ChatGPT?” She gasped, then burst into laughter as if she had heard the funniest joke in the world, walking away with a smirk. My hand started to tremble as I held my phone. Feeling like an absolute clown, I typed that name into the search bar. Six years ago, Ethan and I huddled in that drafty office with two secondhand laptops. When the power went out, we lit candles, using the dim light to find loopholes in contracts line by line. He would ruffle my hair and say, “Don’t worry, Olivia. We have all the time in the world.” But now, time had marched on and left me behind. I looked up to find Ethan, only to see him standing side-by-side with Chloe. With just a single glance from him, she knew exactly what to do. After a phone call, Ethan smiled gently and patted her head encouragingly, just like he used to do to me. “We won the case for Horizon Tech. Chloe did an amazing job. Sushi is on me tonight!” The entire office erupted into cheers. Chloe blushed, looking shyly at Ethan. Everyone gathered around to discuss where to eat. Only I stared at the blinking cursor on my screen, letting out a bitter laugh. Chloe broke away from the crowd and walked into my office, holding a cup of coffee with a sweet smile. “Olivia, have some coffee and take a break.” I reached out to take it, but her hand suddenly slipped. The boiling hot coffee spilled all over the case files I had just proofread. “I’m so sorry, Olivia! It was an accident…” Right then, Ethan pushed the door open. His face darkened instantly as he snapped, “Chloe, I praise you once and you get sloppy. Can you do anything right? Get out.” But when he looked at me, he only gave a brief nod, saying nothing more. After that, “accidents” like this happened constantly. My files would mysteriously disappear, evidence would go missing, and clients would complain that I never replied to their emails. Every single time, Chloe would stand in front of Ethan with red eyes, admitting her mistakes. And every single time, Ethan would scold her with a cold face, but ultimately let her off easy, leaving me with no ground to stand on. Until she made another “accident.” I couldn’t help but look at her coldly. She suddenly broke down, covering her face and running toward the door. “I know you all blame me! I’m just a nuisance anyway! I’ll leave…” This time, Ethan didn’t even look at me. He ran after her instantly. I stood by the window and watched them screaming and arguing in the pouring rain. Then, as if he couldn’t hold back anymore, Ethan pulled her into his arms, bending down to kiss her passionately. They looked like star-crossed lovers in a drama who had finally overcome everything to be together. And I, the “ghost from the past” who was supposed to have died six years ago, touched my eyes. There were no tears left to cry. I silently packed my few belongings and walked out of this place that was once so familiar, yet now so foreign. Whether Ethan hated Chloe or loved her, I didn’t care anymore. I would let them have their twisted love story. It was raining lightly outside. As I hesitated to step into the rain, an umbrella appeared over my head, and a deep voice sounded from behind. “I’m sorry I came back so late.”

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I had worked for U.S. Customs and Border Protection (CBP) for five years. Because my extraordinary sense of smell was a classified asset, Julian always believed I was just a boring, low-level desk clerk. On our third wedding anniversary, I saw my husband at the airport arrivals gate—the same husband who had texted me saying he had to work late. He was gently tucking a strand of hair behind his ex-girlfriend Bianca’s ear, smiling with a tenderness he hadn’t shown me in years. When he noticed me, he dropped his hand as if nothing had happened, instinctively shielding Bianca behind his back. “Elena, are you tracking me? It’s just an anniversary. Would it kill you to spend one night alone?” “Just say it. What do you want this time to shut up? A designer bag? Shoes? Or is it jewelry?” The surrounding travelers threw disdainful glances at me. It felt like a public slap to my face. I pushed the ultrasound report back into my coat pocket and clenched my trembling fists. “I didn’t track you!” “Julian,” Bianca spoke up, her voice sweet and dripping with pity. “Thanks for picking me up, but your wife is more important. Go home and keep her company. And don’t be so harsh on her. Apologize.” Julian gave me a dry, forced shrug. “Sorry.” I stared at him, my heart sinking. When had the arrogant Julian Cole ever been this obedient to anyone? Bianca patted his shoulder, took her suitcase, and headed toward the customs gate. Suddenly, a strange, toxic odor wafted into my nose. I stepped forward and blocked her path. “Excuse me. Please open your suitcase. CBP inspection.”

Bianca froze, looking utterly bewildered. Before she could speak, Julian sneered. “Elena, you’re taking this drama way too far! Who do you think you are to stop Bianca?” “Julian, your wife seems really mad this time,” Bianca smiled bitterly, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the handle of her suitcase. Julian stormed over, grabbed my wrist violently, and dragged me back. “Elena, you’re a basic office clerk. Where do you get the nerve to pretend to be a CBP officer?” Bianca lowered her eyes, acting helpless. “Julian, forget it. She’s probably just too insecure…” “Insecure?” Julian scoffed. “She’s just petty and jealous.” He glared at me, his veins popping as he suppressed his rage. “Do you even know where Bianca came from? She just flew back from an active epidemic zone!” “She was out there saving lives in a war-torn country, and what about you? All you care about is discounted purses and spying on me! You are mediocre and selfish. You don’t even compare to a single hair on her head!” Every word he spat was laced with poison, stabbing straight into my chest. But the concentration of the toxic odor was rising. If this suitcase passed the exit and entered the public area—the consequences would be catastrophic. Seeing that I wouldn’t budge, Bianca bit her lower lip. She suddenly gasped and collapsed softly into Julian’s arms. “Julian… my hand hurts so much. I think the old injury from the hot zone is acting up…” Julian immediately let go of my wrist to hold her tight. His face was filled with sheer panic and worry. “Bianca! Are you okay? Do we need to go to the ER?” He turned to me, his eyes filled with murderous rage. “Elena, if anything happens to her, I will make you pay.” “Ms. Sterling,” I said, ignoring his anger. “Please cooperate and open the suitcase.” “Why the hell should she cooperate with you?” Julian stood up, blocking Bianca, looking down at me with pure disgust. “You’re in plain clothes, you have no badge, and no warrant. What right do you have?” He was right. Today was my day off. I wasn’t in uniform, and my ID was locked in the office safe. Seeing my silence, Julian sneered. “Elena, you always do this. You make a scene, and when things get out of hand, you play the victim.” The crowd of onlookers grew larger, their whispers echoing like a tide. “Is that woman crazy? What does another person’s suitcase have to do with her?” “She probably lost her mind because her husband’s ex-girlfriend came back.” Bianca stood up, gently patting Julian’s arm. “Don’t be mad. Elena is just acting out of jealousy. How about I just open it for her?” Her tone was so graceful and reasonable, making me look like a hysterical shrew. Julian’s eyes softened even more. “You don’t have to tolerate her.” Bianca shook her head with a smile, her fingers reaching for the suitcase’s combination lock. But I noticed that while she was spinning the dial, her thumb quickly pressed a small hidden button on the side of the lid. She was releasing something inside. My pupils dilated. I lunged forward and slammed my hand over hers. “Don’t touch it!” Julian completely snapped. He shoved me hard. I stumbled backward and crashed violently against the metal barricade. A sharp, stabbing pain exploded in my lower abdomen. I doubled over, clutching my stomach as cold sweat instantly drenched my back. Julian didn’t even look at me. He put his arm around Bianca’s shoulder, picked up the suitcase, and walked toward the exit. “Julian. Stop right there.” He paused, looking back with an impatient, cold sneer. “Elena, what else do you want? Do you want me to say it in front of everyone? Fine—I regret marrying you. Is that enough?” “I’ve regretted it for three years.” He said those words in a calm, flat voice in front of the entire terminal. I took a step back, unable to believe this was the same man who, three years ago, had stood up against his own father just to protect me. On our wedding night, he had handed me his cards and vowed in front of my late mother’s photo. He had promised to love and protect me forever. Now, everything had changed.

Bianca held Julian’s arm, her eyes cast down, but a faint, triumphant smile played on her lips. I had seen that exact smile in the old photos Julian kept hidden in his desk. “Sir,” an airport security guard ran over, breathing heavily. “We received a complaint that someone is causing a scene and blocking passengers?” Julian immediately pointed at me. “My wife. She’s mentally unstable. She saw me talking to a friend and lost her mind.” “Ma’am, please do not obstruct other passengers,” the guard said, turning to me. I forced myself to stand straight despite the agonizing pain, my palms soaked in cold sweat. “I have probable cause to believe that suitcase contains bio-hazardous contraband. Please assist me in detaining her.” The guard frowned. “Do you have credentials?” I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Julian mocked from the side, “She’s a basic desk clerk earning minimum wage. What credentials could she possibly have?” Bianca spoke up at the perfect moment, her voice sweet and harmless. “I’m a member of Doctors Without Borders. I just returned from West Africa. The suitcase only contains my personal belongings and medical journals. This lady… must have misunderstood.” She pulled out an ID card from her purse and handed it to the guard. The guard took a look, and his expression instantly relaxed. “Since you have official credentials… Ma’am, please step aside…” “The ID is fake,” I said. The terminal fell dead silent for a second, followed by even louder laughter from the crowd. “Oh, now she claims it’s fake! Why don’t you show us a real one then?” “Is this woman so jealous she’s losing her mind?” “Her husband literally said she’s crazy. Poor guy, marrying a psychopath.” Julian’s face turned completely black. He strode over to me, lowering his voice to an threatening whisper. “Bianca and I are clean. Stop your disgusting accusations. Elena, leave with me right now, and I might give you one last chance.” I didn’t budge. “You’re not leaving?” He grabbed my arm, trying to drag me away. “Julian, don’t touch me! I’m pregnant!” “Playing this card again?” His voice was filled with sheer disgust. “Last time we had a fight over my student, you faked a migraine to go to the hospital. Now you’re pregnant? If you were really pregnant, you’d be resting at home instead of throwing a tantrum at the airport!” Bianca stood nearby, one hand on the suitcase handle, her other hand searching for something inside her purse. The suitcase was about to pass the security gate. I ignored Julian, pushed past him, and rushed toward the wall three meters away. There was a red button under a protective plastic cover, with a label that read: *Level 1 Biohazard Alert.* I flipped the cover open and slammed my palm down. An ear-splitting alarm instantly blared through the entire terminal. Red warning lights flashed frantically. The noisy crowd silenced for a few seconds before erupting into a massive panic. Bianca froze. Her hand stopped inside her purse, her fingers trembling. Julian, seeing that I had actually triggered the alarm, rushed over in a fury. He raised his hand high, the wind from his palm brushing my face. He looked ready to slap me. But his hand stopped in mid-air. Not because he spared me, but because everyone was watching. As a self-righteous university professor, his reputation couldn’t afford the scandal of hitting a woman in public. Instead, he poked my forehead hard, pushing my head back. “Do you know what the penalty for a false alarm is? Jail! Fines! You don’t care about your reputation, but I care about mine!” “You’re just a clerk. What right do you have to press that button? Do you even know what it means?” He really didn’t know. He had never cared about my job, nor had he ever asked what I actually did. Every time I worked overtime, he would only say, “What’s so busy about a trash job?” For three years, in his eyes, I was just a useless, dependent ornament he had to support. “Make way! Clear the area!” A HAZMAT team in full protective gear rushed out from the side corridor, pushing a sealed containment cart. The security captain ran at the front, his radio buzzing. “Level 1 triggered in Zone A3. No visible leak. Requesting immediate backup!” Bianca stood stiffly by the gate, her suitcase locked behind the emergency barrier. Her panic lasted less than a second before she regained her composure. She even offered a warm, polite smile to the hazmat team. “Officer, I am a registered physician with the International Red Cross.” “This woman is having a domestic dispute with her husband. She falsely triggered the alarm just to harass me.” The supervisor looked at her documents, then at me—pale, in plain clothes, and looking exhausted. He was clearly swayed by her credentials. He turned to me with a stern face. “Ma’am, this is a federal customs area, not a place for you to settle your marriage problems.”

Julian turned to the HAZMAT captain, put on his elegant professor persona, and apologized. “Officer, I am so sorry. My wife has been emotionally unstable lately. She probably did this because we had a fight…” “We are incredibly sorry for the trouble. This is all just a big misunderstanding!” “This woman is out of her mind! She literally claimed someone was carrying a bioweapon. Now we’re all stuck here.” “I feel so bad for the doctor. She went abroad to save lives, only to come back and deal with this psycho.” “If I were him, I would have divorced her a long time ago. She deserves a good beating.” Listening to their words, my nails dug deep into my palms. The hazmat team was following protocol, but they needed my federal ID number to bypass standard procedures and initiate a forced search. But my phone had been smashed when Julian pushed me earlier. Without my phone, I couldn’t reach my supervisor. Without my ID, the hazmat team wouldn’t authorize the search. Julian stepped closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. “If you kneel down right now, apologize to Bianca, and admit you did this just to get my attention…” “I might consider using my status as a professor to bail you out of the police station.” Kneel down. Apologize to Bianca. I looked at the face of the man I had loved for three years, and for the first time, he felt like an utter stranger. “Julian,” my voice was quiet but steady. “I gave you your last chance to walk away from her.” “Are you threatening me?” He scoffed, his eyes filled with contempt. “It’s not a threat.” I looked straight into his eyes. “From this moment on, you will bear the full legal consequences of your choices.” Hearing this, Bianca’s eyes flashed with impatience. With a click, she spun the dial, unlocked the suitcase, and flung it open in front of everyone. “Since you want to see it so badly, look!” “Everyone, please be my witness. If they don’t find any contraband, I will make sure she rots in jail.” Bianca’s suitcase lay open on the clean tiled floor. Inside, there were only a few ordinary clothes. In the corner, there were a few designer makeup cases and a thick stack of handwritten medical notes in English. The crowd burst into laughter. “That’s it? A biohazard? She really is insane!” “What a drama queen. It’s just normal luggage, and she tried to frame her.” “How vicious. This crazy woman should be locked up.” Julian, eager to end this and leave with Bianca, turned to the airport security. “Don’t waste your time. Just take her away.” “My wife is sick. She has a hereditary mental illness.” He pointed at his head, his face filled with disgust. Those words were like a rusted dagger plunging straight into my heart. Years ago, when my father cheated on my mother, he had publicly accused her of being mentally ill. He drove my mother to despair, leading her to jump from the eighteenth floor of our apartment building. That was the deepest, bleeding wound in my heart. Julian knew everything. Yet, to protect his ex-girlfriend, he didn’t hesitate to stab me right where it hurt the most. “Look at you, hysterical and pathetic. How are you any different from your mother who jumped off that building?” “Equally crazy, equally unreasonable.” The whispers around us changed. The mockery turned into fear. Several bystanders stepped back, as if afraid I would suddenly lose my mind and attack them. A mother pulled her child behind her. “Where are the guards? Get her out of here before she hurts someone!” The security guards exchanged glances and began to surround me. “I am not crazy. And my mother wasn’t either,” I whispered, my voice trembling, but I forced every word out clearly. But no one listened. Someone shoved me roughly, trying to drag me away. “Get her out of here! Stop her from ruining the airport!” In the chaos, I was pushed to the cold floor. A warm, thick liquid began to trickle down my inner thighs. I grabbed Julian’s pant leg, my voice shaking with terror. “Julian… I’m really pregnant. Please…” Julian didn’t bend down to help me. Instead, he kicked my hand away with disgust. “Elena, even if you are pregnant,” he paused, his lips curling into a cruel sneer, “I wouldn’t want this child anyway. Who knows what ticking time bomb is buried in your family’s genes? I don’t want to raise a kid who’s destined to jump off a building.”

“Let’s go, Bianca. You just got back. Let me take you out for a nice dinner. Where do you want to go?” People were laughing. Some were filming with their phones. I lay on the freezing floor, feeling my life slowly draining away. “Get up, ma’am. Stop making a scene.” The guards pulled me up. My knees were weak, and my vision began to turn black. Bianca picked up her suitcase and took two steps toward the exit— *BANG!* The heavy glass doors were kicked open. Black tactical shields rushed into the terminal, followed by a squad of fully armed CBP Special Agents. Their rifles immediately locked onto every moving target near the exit. Everyone froze. Bianca’s hand went stiff on the suitcase handle. Julian’s face turned from arrogant contempt to shock, then to absolute terror. Aiden Brooks, wearing black tactical gear, rushed over to me. When he saw my pale face and the blood on my legs, his pupils shrunk. I pointed weakly at Bianca’s suitcase. “The suitcase… the makeup powder cases… the hidden compartment…” “Elena, you’re bleeding! It’s a miscarriage!” Aiden wrapped his tactical jacket around me and lifted me into his arms, his voice deep and urgent. “Call an ambulance! Now!” His men immediately responded on their radios. As Aiden carried me toward the exit, his eyes swept over Bianca and the suitcase. He threw out two words: “Search it. Thoroughly.” Julian finally snapped out of his shock and tried to block him. “On what authority—” “She is our Senior Customs Consultant, executing federal duties when she triggered the alarm. That is our authority,” Aiden said, his voice cold as ice. “Obstruct us again, and you’ll be arrested for federal obstruction of justice.” Julian froze, unable to move a muscle as he watched Aiden carry me out of the terminal. In the ambulance, the paramedic tried to stop the bleeding. I clutched Aiden’s wrist, my voice barely a whisper. “The powder cases… the hidden layer… it smells like blood.” “I know. We received the intel. Stop talking, save your strength.” Aiden pressed his hand over mine, his warm palm transferring heat to my cold skin. “The ambulance is almost at the hospital. Hang in there.” I looked at the swaying IV drip above me, my vision blurring. “Julian… does he…” “We will find out if he was involved,” Aiden’s voice was incredibly steady. “Don’t think about him right now. Just focus on yourself.” Before I lost consciousness, my last thought was: *Thank god I pressed that alarm. Thank god she didn’t get that suitcase out.* Back in the terminal, Bianca was whispering in disbelief. “No… how could she smell it…” her voice was hoarse and broken. She took a step back, then another, until she hit the tactical shield of an agent. Two agents immediately grabbed her arms, pinning her to the floor. She screamed in panic, “You made a mistake! Those are just cosmetic research samples! I have transport permits!” “Take her in for interrogation!” When I woke up in the hospital, the sharp smell of disinfectant filled my nose. I moved my fingers, and Aiden immediately sat up from the chair beside my bed. “You’re awake? How do you feel? I’ll call the doctor.” I pulled on his sleeve, my throat burning. He quickly turned around, poured a cup of warm water, and helped me sit up to drink it. The warmth spread down my throat. Only then did I ask in a hoarse voice, “The baby?” Aiden’s hand paused. His eyes softened with deep regret. “I’m sorry, Elena. You lost too much blood. The doctor said the fetus was… already too weak.” I had already guessed the outcome, but hearing it still felt like a physical blow to my chest. I turned my face away, wiping my tears, and asked, “What about Bianca?” “She confessed. She was paid $500,000 by a hostile foreign organization to smuggle a deadly pathogen. She was planning to release it in a highly populated area.” Aiden paused. “Julian knew nothing about the pathogen. He was just a fool who went to pick her up.” “He’s been waiting outside the room. He says he wants to see you.” “Get me a lawyer,” I said coldly. “I want a divorce.”

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To deceive a rival syndicate, my mafia husband didn’t hesitate to put on an intimate show with his female subordinate right on their turf. When he returned, holding the nearly naked woman in his arms, he knelt before me. “Serena, it was just a cover to keep our identities safe. I had no other choice!” Despite the searing pain in my heart, I chose to believe him. But six months later, he came to beg me again. “Serena, Scarlett is pregnant with my baby! The child is innocent. Once the baby is born, I’ll let you raise it as your own, okay?” My heart twisted as if stabbed by a thousand knives. I forced back the tears welling in my eyes. Behind my back, I crumpled the pregnancy test report in my hand into a tight ball. I was pregnant with his child, too. But he would never know. I remained silent for a long time, my eyes locked onto the two of them. Dominic immediately pulled Scarlett closer into his embrace, frowning at me. “Serena, Scarlett has already agreed. She will hand the baby over to you right after giving birth. You don’t need to threaten her. She has no intention of ruining our marriage.” I spoke, my voice deathly calm. “Dominic, let’s get a divorce.” Panic flashed across Dominic’s face. He reached out to grab my hand, pleading once more. “Serena, can you please stop making a scene? Scarlett and I only did what we had to do to survive. The baby is innocent. You can’t be this heartless to an unborn child!” His tone sounded humble, but every word was an excuse. Seeing my pale face, the others in the room couldn’t sit still. Dominic’s loyal brothers from the syndicate also began to press me. “Yeah, Serena, Scarlett is already pregnant. Honestly, even if Dominic marries her, she deserves it!” “Serena, you’re just a housewife now. You have no idea how dangerous it was out there. At the critical moment, Scarlett sacrificed her own body and honor to save Dominic. Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill.” “If you ask me, Dominic should just take Scarlett as his second wife!” “Shut up!” Dominic roared, cutting them off. “Serena will always be my only wife! As for Scarlett, I will compensate her.” He looked down at the pregnant woman in his arms, a flash of genuine heartache crossing his face. A bitter taste rose in my throat. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. The others might not have known, but Dominic knew. I used to fight right alongside him. Back then, to settle a turf war, I was ordered to infiltrate an underground syndicate but accidentally blew my cover. At the final, deadliest moment, Dominic risked his life to pull me out. Later, he swore he would protect me for the rest of my life. And now, he was kneeling before me again—only this time, it was to protect another woman. I turned around in silence and walked away. Dominic quickly caught up with me. He gently draped his heavy coat over my shoulders and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s cold outside. Don’t catch a chill.” His warm, familiar scent instantly wrapped around me. I was so close to telling him that I was pregnant too. But his next words stopped me dead in my tracks. “Serena, Scarlett is very sensitive to the cold. I need you to let her have this villa for now. You can temporarily move out and stay somewhere else.” The words in my throat were forced back down, suffocating me. This villa was our home after we got married. I had decorated every single corner of it myself. And he knew better than anyone that I had no other home to go to. Ever since I decided to retire from military intelligence to marry him, my father had completely disowned me. Once, Dominic couldn’t bear to see me suffer even a tiny bit of discomfort. Now, he wanted me to hand over everything to Scarlett. His heart was no longer with me. I lowered my eyes and gave a faint nod. “Okay.” Overjoyed, Dominic pressed a soft kiss onto my forehead. “Serena, I knew you were the most understanding woman.”

I lay alone on the cold operating table. The doctor held my hand, offering a sympathetic look. “Mrs. Thorne, due to your old physical injuries, I am so sorry… but we couldn’t save the baby.” The pain was unbearable. I gripped the bedsheets tightly as tears slid down my temples in silence. Suddenly, my phone rang. The nurse swiped the screen and held it to my ear. Dominic’s furious roar exploded through the speaker: “Serena! You have completely disappointed me! How could you do this to Scarlett?!” Confused and exhausted, I whispered in a raspy voice: “What… what are you talking about?” “Scarlett has been kidnapped! And the kidnappers sent me a location—it’s the beach villa under your name!” Dominic screamed hysterically. That villa was a private asset my father had gifted me when I retired. But after I chose to marry Dominic and broke ties with my family, I had never stepped foot in that place again. “Who else could it be but you?!” Dominic raged. I was in too much pain to speak. I could only shake my head frantically. But Dominic couldn’t see me. Hearing no response, he snapped viciously: “If anything happens to Scarlett or the baby, I will make you pay a thousand times over!” The line went dead, leaving only the mechanical beep. The nurse gave me an awkward, pitying look and put the phone away. I closed my eyes in utter exhaustion. My heart was completely numb. When the surgery was over, the nurse wheeled me out of the operating room. Before I could even open my eyes, Dominic suddenly appeared. Ignoring the doctor’s protests, he ripped the blanket off me and grabbed my wrist in a crushing grip. “Get up. You’re coming with me.” The doctor rushed over in a panic. “She just had surgery! She can’t leave the bed yet, you can’t—” “Get out of my way.” Dominic shoved the doctor aside and violently dragged me off the bed. A sharp, tearing pain shot through my lower abdomen. I nearly collapsed right there. “Dominic, I can’t…” Before I could finish, I was shoved brutally into the back of his SUV. The sheer pain caused me to black out almost instantly. I don’t know how much time passed before a bucket of ice-cold water shocked me awake. I gasped, my eyes flying open in confusion. Dominic threw the empty metal bucket onto the concrete floor with a loud clang. He stepped forward and grabbed me by the throat. “Serena, have I been too soft on you over the years? Is that why you’ve become so cruel and spoiled that you can’t even spare an unborn child?!” My body shook uncontrollably. I trembled, barely able to form words through my blue lips. “I… I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me…” But Dominic didn’t believe a single word. With bloodshot eyes, he dragged me out of the car and threw me into the beach villa. Scarlett was tied to a concrete pillar in the living room, her pregnant belly prominent. She was crying hysterically. “Dominic! Thank God you’re here! Save our baby!” Seeing me, her tears flowed even faster. “Serena, if you hate me that much, I can leave! Why did you have to hurt my baby?!” I shook my head weakly. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t do anything!” “Boss, the perimeter is clear. The kidnappers must have fled,” Hunter, Dominic’s right-hand man, reported as he ran in. “The security cameras were wiped. They knew what they were doing.” Once they confirmed there was no danger, they quickly untied Scarlett. Dominic immediately pulled her into his arms, murmuring comforting words.

Dominic’s men spat on the ground near my feet, their faces filled with disgust. “Bitch! I never knew you could be this wicked!” “Exactly! You don’t even deserve to breathe the same air as Scarlett!” “Enough,” Dominic cut them off coldly, then looked down at me. “Serena, you went too far this time. You’re going to stay here and reflect on what you did.” Before leaving, he ordered his men to drag me out to the beach and chain me to a wooden pier. He carried Scarlett away without looking back. I collapsed onto the freezing sand, completely helpless. In the distance, I saw Scarlett turn her head. She flashed me a triumphant, mocking smirk. Three days later, the harsh sea wind had completely numbed my body. My lips were cracked and bleeding, and my eyes were dry from crying. Just when I thought I was going to die on this beach, a blurry silhouette slowly approached me. “Help… please…” I squeezed out the last bit of my strength, but it was barely a whisper. Before I lost consciousness, I heard a soft, heavy sigh. “Oh, Serena… what am I going to do with you?” When I woke up, I was lying on the cold concrete floor of the villa’s basement. As soon as I opened my eyes, I met Dominic’s cold, complicated gaze. “You’re awake?” He brought a glass of warm water to my lips, but I instinctively turned my head away. He slammed the glass onto the table. “Are you done throwing a tantrum?” The look in his eyes was pure disgust. “I decided not to press charges against you for Scarlett’s kidnapping, and you’re still acting like this? Can you stop being so bitter?” I let out a weak, mocking laugh. He didn’t even bother to investigate before pointing the finger at me. If I really wanted to destroy Scarlett, I could have done it six months ago. Why would I wait until now? “Dominic…” Scarlett’s weak voice echoed from the stairs. She held her belly, slowly walking down into the basement. “What are you doing down here?” Dominic immediately rushed over and gently held her. “I was worried about Serena, so I came to check on her. Is she okay?” Scarlett asked timidly. “Don’t worry about her. She won’t die that easily,” Dominic said, casting a loathing glance at me. “You’re going to stay in this basement for the next few months, until Scarlett safely delivers the baby.” With that, they left, and the heavy basement door slammed shut, plunging me into darkness. I forced myself to crawl over to the table and gulped down the water. With trembling hands, I reached into a dusty crate in the corner of the basement. I pulled out an encrypted satellite phone and dialed a familiar number. “Come pick me up. Now.” “Serena?! Is that really you? Oh my god… where are you?!” the voice on the other end gasped in pure excitement. “I still have a few things to settle. Wait for me.” “Okay. I’ll be there.” After hanging up, I looked down at myself. My body hadn’t recovered from the abortion at all. A sharp cramp seized my abdomen, and I could feel a warm flow trickling down my legs. I bit my lip so hard it bled. If I stayed here any longer, I would literally die. I dragged myself to the door and began to bang on it with my fists. “Help… someone help me…” After what felt like an eternity, the door lock clicked, and an annoyed voice sounded. “What do you want now?” It was Hunter. I looked up at him through the cracked door. “I’m bleeding. A lot. If you don’t let me out, I’m going to die here.” The floor beneath me was stained with fresh, crimson blood. “Fuck,” Hunter cursed under his breath. “Boss told us to keep you locked up, not to let you bleed to death.” He quickly pulled out the keys and unlocked the heavy door. As he knelt down to inspect my condition— I swiftly whipped the heavy iron chain around his neck. Hunter’s face turned purple instantly. “You—” I pulled the chain with everything I had, channeling my old military training, and slammed his head hard against the concrete wall. Thud! His eyes rolled back, and he slumped onto the floor, unconscious. I gasped for air, my muscles trembling violently. In the past, taking down an opponent like him would have taken me three seconds. But now, it had taken every single ounce of my remaining strength. Avoiding the security cameras, I made my way upstairs. But just as I reached the main foyer, the front door burst open. Dominic strode in, followed by a team of private doctors. Seeing me standing there, his face contorted with rage. He marched over in three long strides. Slap! A brutal blow struck my face.

My head snapped to the side, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. “Serena! Who gave you permission to do this?!” I had no idea what he was talking about. Dominic was out of his mind with rage. He kicked me squarely in the chest. His men immediately rushed forward, pinning my arms behind my back. I screamed in agonizing pain. Dominic pulled out a clear plastic bag and threw it in my face. Inside was an empty prescription bottle. “How do you explain this?! The doctor said these pills are uterine stimulants! They almost caused Scarlett to have a miscarriage!” I stared at the empty bottle, completely lost. Dominic sneered. “We found this in your private beach house. I was just about to come down and deal with you, but you managed to break out. I almost forgot how capable you are, Agent Serena.” The bleeding between my legs got worse. I could feel the warmth leaving my body, second by second. Noticing the pool of blood pooling around my feet, Dominic froze for a second, but then his eyebrows knitted in disgust. “Are you playing the pity card now? How pathetic.” Forced to my knees, I looked up at him and let out a bloody, tragic smile. “Dominic, since you hate me this much… let’s get a divorce.” Fury flared in Dominic’s eyes. He stepped closer and raised his hand to strike me again, but stopped mid-air. He clenched his fists, his voice dripping with venom. “Divorce? In your dreams. You will be my woman until the day you die!” I laughed bitterly. Years of marriage, and this is where we ended up. I was such a fool. From upstairs, Scarlett’s painful groans echoed through the house. Dominic’s expression changed instantly. With a wave of his hand, he led the medical team and rushed upstairs. A long time later, he came back down. Seeing me lying half-dead on the floor, a flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by cold indifference. “Throw her out. Let her fend for herself.” Having received the order, Dominic’s men dragged me out and threw me into the back of an SUV. They drove down the desolate coastal highway. Once we reached a barren, rocky stretch, they kicked me out of the car, letting me roll onto the dirt. The sky quickly darkened. Dragging my bruised and battered body, I forced myself to crawl forward. The cold ocean wind made me shiver violently. Eventually, my legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the dirt. Just then, a few drunk scavengers wandered over from the direction of an abandoned pier. The leading man looked me up and down, a disgusting grin spreading across his face. “Well, well. Look what the tide washed in tonight.” “She’s a pretty one.” I tried to stand up and run, but my legs were like jelly. I fell right back down. They closed in on me. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll take good care of you.” A dirty hand reached out toward my face. The next second, a blood-curdling scream echoed through the night. “Ahhh!” I weakly opened my eyes. The thugs were already on the ground, groaning in agony. A pair of strong, warm arms lifted me up. I looked up and met a pair of deeply worried eyes. “I’ve got you, Serena.”

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I proposed to my boyfriend, Marcus, twenty-six times over our seven years together. The first time, he said he wasn’t ready to settle down yet. The second time, he said he loved the sweet thrill of just dating. The fifth time, he said the proposal should be the man’s job. …… On the twenty-sixth time, he finally said yes. I was over the moon. I spent six months planning our dream wedding, but the date kept getting pushed back over and over again. Every time, Marcus would wrap his arms around me and pull me close. “Whether we have that piece of paper or not, I’m already yours, Chloe. A wedding is just a formality.” “My love for you is enough.” Thinking about how incredibly attentive and caring he had been over the last seven years, I convinced myself he just had a fear of commitment. So, I was willing to wait. Until today, when I was scrolling through Instagram and stumbled upon a trending post: Our First Chat Logs & Wedding Photos. The user bragged in the comments: “Only six months of dating, and he already couldn’t wait to marry me.” Everyone in the comments section was gushing over their fairytale romance. But I was frozen, staring at the groom in the photos. Wasn’t that my commitment-phobic boyfriend?

I put my phone down and looked toward the bathroom. Marcus was taking a shower. His phone was sitting right there on the nightstand. The lock screen was a picture of us in Bali last year. I picked it up and unlocked it. Nothing. His contacts list was clean. His Snapchat was clean. His gallery was clean. I let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. There are so many look-alikes in this world. Maybe I was just seeing things. Just as I was about to put the phone back, the screen lit up. A message popped up from a contact saved as “Dr. Carter.” It was a photo. I froze. When did he even get to know a doctor? My finger moved on instinct, tapping open the photo. In the picture, my boyfriend was passionately kissing a strange woman. A woman I had never seen before in my life. “Dr. Carter” wasn’t a doctor at all. He had purposely changed her name to that because he knew even if I saw it, I wouldn’t suspect a thing. The sound of running water stopped. I quickly put the phone back exactly where it was. Marcus stepped out of the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel. Seeing me sitting up, his eyes filled with concern. “Chloe, honey, why aren’t you asleep yet? It’s so late.” He walked over and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. “Are you on your period? Cramps? Let me get you some Midol and hot tea.” The moment he turned and walked into the kitchen, I grabbed his phone again. I opened the chat with Dr. Carter. The sweet, flirty messages between him and that woman were endless. “Did you miss me today?” “Always. Every second.” “I’m taking off next week. Can you make it?” “Of course. Just tell me where.” Photo after photo popped up. Restaurants, movie theaters, hotel hallways… There were even a few pictures of him sleeping, the warm, dim lighting illuminating a bedroom I had never seen before. I didn’t have the courage to scroll any further. I heard the water pouring in the kitchen, and then the light clicked off. Marcus walked back in, holding a steaming mug. “Here, drink it while it’s hot.” I took the mug. Watching the steam slowly rise and disappear into the air, I suddenly felt like the man standing in front of me was a complete stranger. I thought seven years was enough to truly know someone. But just five minutes ago, I realized he could play a double life so perfectly that not a single seam showed. Marcus sat down beside me. Just like he did every month during this time, he gently placed his hand on my lower stomach. “Let me rub it for you. It’ll feel better soon.” I instinctively shrank back a little. “I’m just really tired. I want to sleep.” He paused for a second but didn’t say anything. He pulled the blanket up over my shoulders. “Okay, get some rest. Let me know if it hurts too much.” Marcus lay down beside me. In the darkness, his hand crept back over, resting on my waist, gently massaging me. I closed my eyes, staying completely still. Seven years. For seven years, every time I had cramps, he would hold me like this. Sometimes he would massage me until I fell asleep, and other times he wouldn’t sleep at all, just staying awake to watch over me. Over these seven years, Marcus had given me a sense of security that I completely relied on. His hands were warm. He massaged me gently for about half an hour before finally stopping. I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. The streetlights peeked through the curtains, casting a clear silhouette of his face. Looking at him, I actually found myself wondering if he had a secret twin brother. Was it possible that the man on that phone wasn’t him? But I knew better. He was an only child. His mother had a difficult labor with him and could never conceive again. He had told me this more than once, with a hint of sadness in his voice, saying how lonely it was to grow up without siblings. The man sending those texts was him. The man sleeping right next to me, who had just spent thirty minutes massaging my stomach, was the exact same person. And in a place I knew nothing about, he called another woman his wife.

The next morning, Marcus was up by six. He picked up his phone, seamlessly replied to a message on the “Dr. Carter” chat, and then locked it. The entire sequence of movements was so smooth, done without a single second of hesitation. He didn’t even glance my way. He didn’t need to check if I was asleep. He knew that even if I saw him on his phone, I wouldn’t think twice about it. After that, Marcus went to the bathroom, and then to the kitchen. The sound of eggs cracking, the sizzle of the pan, the hum of the toaster, the whirring of the exhaust fan. I lay in bed, smelling the food, but my stomach was tied in tight knots. He walked in carrying a tray, placing the breakfast on my nightstand. He leaned down and patted my shoulder. “Rise and shine. I made your favorite sunny-side-up eggs.” After I got up, Marcus did what he had done for the last seven years. He folded the blankets, made the bed perfectly, fluffed the pillows, and tucked in the corners. I took two bites but had absolutely no appetite. I stood up and started organizing the closet instead. Marcus had to go to the office today. His suit was hanging on the outermost rack. I took it down, casually checking the pockets. Inside the right inner pocket, there was a small paper receipt. I opened it. It was a receipt from a boutique hotel. The date: March 17th. My birthday. That day, he told me he had an urgent meeting with a client and had to cancel our birthday dinner. He had even sent me a video to prove it. In a VIP private dining room, he had held up a glass to the camera, smiling warmly. “Happy birthday, Chloe. I’m so sorry I can’t be with you tonight. I’ll make it up to you as soon as I get back.” I had eaten dinner alone that night, watching that video over and over, telling myself that he couldn’t help it because of work. But now, holding that tiny receipt, my fingers started to tremble. I stood before the closet, clutching the paper in my fist, while the sound of Marcus sipping his coffee echoed behind me. Everything felt so normal. So normal that it felt like a perfectly crafted lie. I hung the suit back up, turned around, and forced my face into a neutral expression. “Hey, I was scrolling through Instagram last night and saw this cute boutique hotel. It looks really nice. Maybe we should go there for a weekend getaway sometime.” He looked up from his mug. “Oh, yeah, that place is super popular. A few guys at the office recommended it. They said the brunch is amazing, but parking is a nightmare.” He paused, then added, “If you like it, we should go. But we’ll have to book well in advance.” I nodded. He put his head back down, focusing on his phone. I stared at the side of his face, a cold chill running down my spine. No hesitation. No stuttering. His eyes didn’t even flicker. He told that lie faster than I could even process it. After Marcus left for work, I looked around the apartment we had so lovingly decorated together. Suddenly, the tears came crashing down. I had learned to numb myself to crying at a very young age. For as long as I could remember, my parents did nothing but scream at each other. Over money, over chores, over any little thing that could trigger a fight. I used to try and pull them apart, but I quickly realized it was pointless. Eventually, I stopped trying. I would lock myself in my bedroom, sitting on the cold floor, listening to the muffled screaming outside. When it finally went quiet, I never knew if they had fallen asleep or just walked away. No one ever opened my door to check on me. No one cared if I was crying, sleeping, or just staring into the dark. I learned early on that screaming your feelings out doesn’t work if no one is listening. It’s better to keep it all inside. Since then, I always dreamed of having my own home. A home with someone who would actually notice me. Marcus had entered my life like a savior. For seven years, he had taken care of me with absolute perfection. Like the time I got severe gastroenteritis and ran a dangerously high fever in the middle of the night. He had called an Uber at 3 AM, stayed up with me at the hospital all night, and never closed his eyes once. He checked my temperature every hour, wiped my sweat, and made a fresh batch of chicken soup before dawn, feeding me spoonful by spoonful. Lying in that hospital bed, looking at his tired face, I had thought: This is it. He’s the one. I’m going to marry this man. So, I started proposing. Once, twice, five times, ten times, twenty-six times. Every time he rejected me, I told myself it just wasn’t the right time. That he had financial worries, that he needed more time—not that he didn’t love me. In seven years, the thought of him cheating had never once crossed my mind. But now, the truth stared me in the face. He had never actually chosen me.

After I finished crying, I went into the study. His old iPad was sitting on the bottom shelf of the bookcase, covered in a thin layer of dust. He rarely used it because he said the screen was too small. Once he got a new one, this one was completely abandoned. I plugged it into the charger, waited for it to power up, and logged into his iCloud. He had given me his password years ago—it was the date of our first anniversary. Once the cloud synced, I opened the photo library. The first photo was from New Year’s Eve. Marcus was wrapping his arms around that woman, standing in a crowded square. Fireworks illuminated their faces. She was laughing, looking back at him, and he was kissing the top of her head. I remembered that New Year’s Eve. Marcus had told me he had to spend it with his parents. At midnight, he had sent me a video of the fireworks outside his parents’ house. His voice had whispered over the clip: “Happy New Year, baby. See you tomorrow.” I thought he was being a good son. I had saved that video. I had even posted it on Instagram. I kept scrolling through the photos. It was filled with pictures of their trips together. Over and over again. Beaches, mountains, cozy cabin getaways, small towns. Every single trip lined up perfectly with the dates he told me he was traveling for business. I closed the gallery. I opened his Snapchat messages. The logs with her started four years ago. Four years ago, we had already been together for three years. Four years ago, I had already proposed to him multiple times. I was trying so hard to convince him back then. I was telling him about the meaning of marriage, about how natural it was for two people who loved each other to take the next step. And back then, Marcus was just starting to text her. At first, it was just casual banter. Then came the dinner dates, then the weekend trips, and then he started calling her “sweetheart” in the chat. I cross-referenced the timelines. Marcus had known her for four years. They had been officially “together” for six months. And those six months were the exact six months I had spent planning our wedding. I sat on the floor, the cold blue light of the tablet screen reflecting on my face. During those six months, I had saved endless venue photos, made budget spreadsheets, drafted guest lists, and compared catering menus from three different hotels. Every time I showed him my plans, he would casually flip through them and say: “Let’s wait a bit. There’s no rush.” Or: “Work is so stressful right now, babe. Give me some breathing room.” I thought he was genuinely stressed. But now, looking at their chat logs, they were choosing wedding venues together. They were picking out wedding dresses and rings together. I sat in the quiet house all day. At 5 PM, the front door clicked open. Marcus walked in, carrying a paper bag from a bakery. “I got that cake you said you wanted to try. I passed by the shop today and remembered.” He kicked off his shoes, set the bag in the kitchen, and came over to sit on the couch. He turned to look at me. “Hey, what’s wrong? You look pale.” I stared at him. Seven years. I thought I knew every line on this face. “Marcus, have you ever genuinely wanted to marry someone?” He froze for a fraction of a second. Then he laughed, completely natural. “Of course I do, Chloe. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have kept you on the hook for seven years.” He used the word kept you on the hook. Like these seven years were just something he was casually wasting, and he was dragging me down with him. I didn’t cry. I thought I would, but my eyes were completely dry. He was still looking at me, a hint of confusion in his eyes. “Why are you asking that all of a sudden? What’s going on in that head of yours?” I shook my head. “Nothing. Just a random thought.” Marcus reached out and patted my hand. “Don’t overthink it, babe. You know I love you the most. Are you hungry? I’ll make dinner.” He stood up and headed into the kitchen. Soon, the clinking of pots and pans started. I sat on the couch, lit up my phone screen, and stared at that photo of them under the New Year’s Eve fireworks. The one where he was kissing the top of her head. He had never kissed me like that. He was gentle with me, he was attentive, and he fulfilled every duty of a boyfriend flawlessly. But that raw, instinctual affection? He had never given it to me. From the kitchen, he started humming. A light, upbeat tune. I recognized the song—it was what he hummed whenever he was in a great mood. I locked my phone and slid it into my pocket. His voice drifted out of the kitchen. “Chloe, do you want something heavy and spicy tonight, or something light and comforting?” I paused. “Light, please.” “You got it.” I leaned back against the couch, staring toward the kitchen. I didn’t know what I was going to do next. But one thing was crystal clear. He said he had kept me on the hook for seven years. Well, it was time for me to get off the hook.

Three days later, our scheduled wedding date arrived. The date we had locked in, only for him to postpone it yet again. That evening, he sat down next to me, let out a heavy sigh, and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “Chloe, we need to push the wedding back again. The project at work is in its final crunch, and none of my coworkers can make it.” “Just wait a little longer. Once things settle down at work, I promise I’ll give you the perfect home.” “Marriage is just a piece of paper, anyway. You know you’re the only one in my heart.” I leaned against his shoulder, not moving an inch. The last time, his excuse was that his parents needed a medical check-up. Once he finished speaking, I asked softly, “Do you really want to marry me, Marcus? Or… is there something else going on?” He went quiet for two seconds. Then he chuckled, tightening his grip around me, speaking to me like I was a stubborn child. “What else could be going on? I’m just a little terrified of commitment, and work has been insane. Let’s just get through this month.” “Think about it. We’ve lived together for years. How is this any different from being married? Does that piece of paper really matter that much?” I stayed silent. He continued, “Even without that paper, I’ll treat you right for the rest of my life.” “Come on, don’t worry so much. I have a business trip tomorrow. Just for one day. I’ll be back the day after.” I had looked at that girl’s wedding post at least ten times. Their wedding was tomorrow. That night, just like every other time he “traveled for work,” Marcus prepared a whole day’s worth of meals for me, carefully sticking post-it notes on each container. “Chloe, heat this up for lunch tomorrow. Two minutes in the microwave.” “Chloe, heat the soup up before you drink it. Don’t drink it cold.” “Chloe, eat breakfast. Don’t just drink coffee on an empty stomach. Your acid reflux will flare up.” He stacked the containers neatly in the fridge, closed the door, and turned to look at me. “You got all that, Chloe?” Suddenly, my eyes welled with hot tears, and a tear rolled down my cheek. He startled, immediately walking over. He knelt down in front of me, reaching up to wipe my tears. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Are you hurting somewhere?” I shook my head. “No… I just realized we haven’t been apart in a while. I’m going to miss you.” He smiled, pulling me into his chest. “It’s only one day, babe. I’ll be back tomorrow night. There’s nothing to be sad about.” I buried my face in his chest, closing my eyes. His heartbeat was incredibly steady. I wondered, what was he feeling right now? Guilt? Relief? Or absolutely nothing, just running through a routine? Keep things calm on this side today, go to the wedding tomorrow, and come back the day after to keep up the lie. I didn’t know. And I didn’t want to know anymore. The next morning, Marcus kissed my forehead and left. I counted to thirty, sat up, and began packing my bags. Once everything was packed, I drove straight to Marcus’s wedding venue. I found the AV technician in charge of the main projector screen. I handed him a USB flash drive, along with a thick envelope of cash. “Could you do me a favor? Just before the vows, play the video in this folder on the main screen.” He took the drive, glanced at the envelope, and then looked at me with a hesitant expression. “Uh… what kind of video is this?” “Just a surprise vlog from the groom’s side,” I said with a sweet smile. He opened the envelope, counted the bills, and after a few seconds of silence, he gave me a quick nod. “No problem.” “Also, when it plays, please stream the live feed to this link,” I added. Without staying a second longer, I turned and walked out. When I reached the hotel entrance, I hailed a cab and headed straight to the airport. Traffic was heavy. I leaned against the window, watching the blur of trees rush past. I remembered the scene I used to play over and over in my head when I was younger. A long, white veil trailing on the ground. Someone holding my hand. The sunlight hitting us from the side, casting our long, overlapping shadows on the floor. It was a very simple, ordinary picture. So ordinary that I couldn’t even tell if I had seen it in a movie or just conjured it up in my own mind. During the worst years of my parents’ fighting. I would sit on the cold floor of my locked bedroom, waiting for the screaming to end, and just run that scene in my head. Over and over again, changing the details, changing the lighting, but one thing never changed. The person holding my hand was genuine. That was the only thing I wanted back then. I didn’t care about a lavish wedding, a massive guest list, or a huge diamond ring. I just wanted the person standing next to me to mean it. I wanted their “I do” to come straight from the heart. Just that one thing. Twenty-six proposals. I thought I was so close to getting it. And instead, I got a double life. At 10:20 AM, while waiting at the airport gate, my phone buzzed. It was a text from the AV tech: “About to play the USB drive now.”

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I have a strange illness. Every morning I wake up, the previous day’s memories are completely gone. My wife, Olivia, is the only person I trust when I open my eyes. She always tells me patiently: “Your name is Ethan. You’re twenty-nine, and you’re my husband.” I believed her without a shadow of a doubt. Until today, when I found a hidden diary in the corner of the study. On the very first page, written in my own handwriting, was a chilling warning: “Never trust Olivia.” “Julian isn’t her cousin. He’s the man she’s been in love with for years.” “You don’t have amnesia. She has been drugging you.” “This is the 1001st time I’ve discovered the truth.” From this moment on, I decided to play dumb. I’ll keep acting in her little play. I opened my eyes in the morning, my mind completely blank. “Are you awake?” I turned my head and saw a woman in a silk bathrobe sitting on the edge of the bed. “Who are you?” The words slipped out of my mouth automatically. The woman smiled, gently brushing her hand over my forehead. “I’m Olivia. Your wife.” “And you are Ethan, my husband. You’ve been sick, which is why you forget everything from the day before.” She pointed to the picture frame on the nightstand. “That’s our wedding photo.” In the photo, I was wearing a tuxedo, leaning close to her. But strangely, there was a noticeable crease along the edge of the photo. She took my hand, her fingertips warm. “Ethan, I’m the only one you can trust.” I nodded, accepting this reality. Olivia helped me get out of bed, laid out my clothes, and even meticulously adjusted my collar. “What do you want to do today?” I looked at myself in the mirror. “I don’t know. I don’t remember anything.” “Then just let me handle everything.” Olivia wrapped her arms around me from behind, resting her cheek against my back. “A family doctor is coming for a checkup this morning. In the afternoon, I’ll take you for a walk in the garden. And tonight…” Before she could finish, the doorbell rang. Olivia let go of me, her brow furrowing just for a split second. “That must be Dr. Julian.” I followed her downstairs. A man in a white lab coat was standing in the living room. When he turned around and saw Olivia, his eyes lit up instantly. “Olivia.” “How is Ethan doing today?” Olivia walked naturally to Julian’s side and took his medical bag. Their fingers brushed against each other as they made the handoff. Neither of them pulled away. Julian looked at me, a quick, calculating look flashing deep in his eyes. “Ethan, let’s test your memory baseline today.” For the last question of the test, he pointed at Olivia. “Who is she?” “My wife.” Julian’s pen paused on the clipboard, and the corners of his mouth curled up. “The basic cognitive function is still there. But Olivia, I still suggest we increase the dosage.” He began packing up his equipment. As he stood up, his fingers casually brushed against the back of Olivia’s hand. I sat quietly on the sofa. Through the window, I saw Julian lean close to her ear outside the front door, whispering something. When she closed the door and walked back in, her face immediately returned to that sweet, gentle expression. “Ethan, what would you like for lunch?” I stared directly into her eyes. “What did he whisper to you outside?” Olivia froze for a moment. Then, a sharp, testing look flashed in her eyes. “Why do you ask?” I looked down, my finger tapping the armrest of the sofa absentmindedly. “He comes here every day. Were we very close in the past?” “Dr. Julian is just doing his job.” Olivia wrapped her arm around my shoulder. The faint scent of cedarwood on her was exactly the same as the scent on Julian. “Ethan, you have to remember. In this world, I am the only one who truly cares about you.” “Don’t believe a word anyone else says.” I nodded silently, saying nothing more. But deep down, I knew something was terribly wrong.

In the afternoon, Olivia left for the office. I sat alone in the backyard, soaking in the sun. Maria, the maid, brought over some fresh fruit. She looked at me, hesitating to speak. “Mr. Ethan… do you really not remember anything?” I shook my head blankly. “Olivia says I’m sick.” Her lips parted slightly, but in the end, she just sighed. “Then just listen to Mrs. Olivia. She’s doing it for your own good.” As she turned to leave, I heard her mumble under her breath. “So tragic… he can’t even protect the inheritance his parents left him…” I was about to call her back and ask what she meant. Just then, the sound of a car engine echoed from the driveway. Julian came in with his medical bag, a look of apology on his face. “Sorry about this, Ethan. I forgot to give you your injection this morning. I just realized and rushed right back.” As he spoke, he pulled out a syringe. “This is a new neuro-nutritional drug. Olivia agreed to start you on it today.” I instinctively shrank back. But he grabbed my arm with surprising force, pinning me down. “Ethan, this is for your own good.” I struggled slightly, and he immediately frowned. “Stop moving.” The needle pierced my skin. Before long, a heavy, dark sleep washed over me. I had a terrifying nightmare. In the dream, I was standing on the edge of a steep cliff. Olivia and Julian were holding each other, watching me. “Ethan, just jump! You’ll finally be free if you jump!” I didn’t want to. I wanted to run away. But Olivia blocked my path, pushing me step by step to the very edge. “Ethan, once you’re dead, all the company shares will be mine!” With that, she gave me a violent push. “Ah!” I screamed and woke up, but there was no one in the room. Through the glass of the backyard conservatory, I saw the two of them talking. I shook my heavy head, walked out, and suddenly spoke up. “Olivia, are we really married?” Their conversation cut off instantly. Olivia turned around, and for a split second, her eyes looked incredibly terrifying. She walked toward me, step by step. “Why would you ask that?” I was intimidated by her cold gaze, my back tensing up. “I just think it’s weird. Why do we only have one wedding photo?” “Why isn’t there a single trace of my past in this house?” She grabbed my hand so hard I felt my bones ache. “Because you are sick, Ethan.” “When you have your episodes, you destroy things. You tear up photos, smash furniture.” “To protect you, and to protect our memories, I hid everything away. Don’t you trust me?” She looked at me, a look of deep hurt in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have doubted you.” Olivia’s face softened, and she pulled me into a hug. “It’s okay. I know you’re sick. I’ll stay by your side until you’re completely cured.” I didn’t pull away, but I didn’t hug her back either. Over her shoulder, my gaze locked onto Julian, who was still standing nearby. Maybe it was because of the drug, but I fell asleep incredibly early that night. At 2:00 AM, I woke up feeling extremely thirsty. I got out of bed and crept down to the kitchen in the dark. While pouring a glass of water, I noticed the lights in the conservatory were still on. As if possessed, I walked over. Through the glass, I saw Julian sitting on a wicker chair in a bathrobe. Olivia stood behind him, bending over to massage his shoulders. “Was the dosage today too high? He actually started questioning things,” her voice drifted out. Julian tilted his head back, resting it against her stomach. “It’s normal for him to doubt. That drug damages memory. Over time, it makes people paranoid, even delusional.” He reached up and grabbed Olivia’s wrist. “Olivia, are you getting soft-hearted?” “No.” She smiled, her expression colder and more indifferent than I had ever seen. “He deserves this. If his family hadn’t forced me into this marriage back then, we would have been together long ago!” Julian chuckled. “Just hang in there for three more months. His cognitive functions will be permanently damaged.” “By then, he really will be a vegetable. No one will ever be able to prove a thing.” Olivia let out a cold laugh. “Yes. And then, all of his parents’ wealth will belong to me!”

I stood there frozen in the darkness. Suddenly, shattered fragments of memory rushed back into my brain. Olivia crushing pills into my milk. Julian holding a syringe, smiling warmly while saying, “This is for your own good.” And the past version of me, frantically writing in a diary: “Do not trust them.” I really did write a diary! I really did discover the truth! It’s just that every morning I woke up, I forgot it all over again. Inside the conservatory, Julian stood up and wrapped his arms around Olivia’s waist. He rested his head on her shoulder. “Playing your ‘cousin’ all these years has been so exhausting.” Olivia gently patted his back. “Just bear with it a little longer. The transfer of the family trust is almost complete.” “You approached him on purpose back then just for his parents’ inheritance, didn’t you?” “Why else would I?” Olivia laughed, her voice dripping with mockery. “Who could actually love an idiot who gets fooled every single day?” I clenched my fists, wanting to run. But my foot stepped on a dry twig on the ground. “Snap.” The lights in the conservatory went out instantly. I ran back to the bedroom as fast as I could. I lay in bed, my heart hammering so hard it felt like it would burst out of my chest. The bedroom door creaked open. Olivia stood in the doorway, keeping the lights off. She walked over and put her hand on my forehead. “Ethan, where did you just go?” I forced myself to sound like I had just been woken up, my voice deep and groggy. “What? I’ve been sleeping this whole time.” She didn’t say anything. Her fingers slid from my forehead down to my neck, stopping right on a faint bruise, pressing down gently. The pain made my muscles tense up. “Did you have a nightmare? You’re sweating a lot.” I clenched my teeth, saying nothing. Olivia leaned down, whispering right into my ear. “Ethan, you have to remember. You can go anywhere in this house, except the conservatory in the backyard.” “It’s too damp there. It’s bad for your illness.” I nodded, making no sound. She smiled with satisfaction and tucked the blanket around me. “Go to sleep. Tomorrow morning, everything will be fine.” She walked out, leaving the door slightly ajar. I heard her whisper to Julian in the hallway. “He might have noticed something. We need to move the plan forward!” Only when the hallway went completely silent did I dare to open my eyes. Olivia had said that the things I destroyed during my “episodes” were kept in the study. And I remembered where she hid the key. I slipped out of bed barefoot and crept into the study. Opening the door, a musty smell hit my nose. Torn photos, smashed ornaments, and half-shredded books were all piled in the corner. I looked at the very bottom shelf of the bookcase. The thickness of one particular book looked wrong. I pulled it out and opened it—the inside of the book had been completely hollowed out. Hidden inside was a leather notebook. I flipped to the first page. It was my handwriting. “March 15th. Olivia gave me a new pill today. I pretended to swallow it but spat it down the toilet. When Julian came to check on me, I lied and said my head hurt. The excitement in his eyes was sickening.” “May 20th. Our anniversary. Olivia gave me a tie clip. Tonight, I found a bank transfer record to Julian on her phone. What a joke.” I kept flipping through the pages. The diary detailed every single time, date, and location of their secret hookups. On the very last page, there was a single line written in bold red marker: “Ethan, run! They are going to kill you!” My hands began to shake violently. “Thud!” The sound of the front door opening echoed from downstairs. I frantically shoved the diary back into the hollow book. I had just made it back to bed and lay down when my bedroom door was kicked open. Olivia stood at the door. She flicked the light switch. In her hand was a syringe, the needle dripping with a clear liquid. She smiled and walked toward me. “Ethan, you went to the study just now, didn’t you?”

I clenched my jaw, the veins on my forehead bulging. “I checked the lock on the study door. There are fresh scratches on it.” Olivia sat on the edge of the bed, her hand brushing over my face. “Why can’t you just be obedient?” I desperately fought to suppress my rising panic. “Olivia, I swear I didn’t. I just went to the bathroom.” “Stop acting.” She violently whipped the blanket off me. She grabbed my arm and dragged me to the edge of the bed. “The mud on your bare feet hasn’t even been wiped off. There are footprints on the study floor.” My body went completely rigid. I couldn’t find my voice. Olivia raised the syringe. She pushed the plunger slightly, squirting a bit of liquid from the needle. “I wanted to let you live for three more months, but you just had to be difficult.” She smiled. “Let’s end this tonight.” The moment the needle touched my skin, I violently thrashed and broke free. Olivia didn’t expect me to have the strength to fight back. She lost her balance, falling backward, and the syringe flew out of her hand. I rolled off the bed and dashed toward the door. But before I could take two steps, she grabbed me by the collar from behind. “Did you really think you could escape?” She dragged me back. She threw me violently onto the bed, pinning my legs down with her knees. The pain made my vision blur, but I gritted my teeth and screamed. “Olivia! If you kill me, the police will find out!” “The police?” She looked at me with pure disdain. “You have severe amnesia. Everyone knows that.” “You forget everything every day, and you hurt yourself during your episodes.” “Tonight, you had a breakdown and accidentally injected yourself with a lethal dose of your own medication. What does that have to do with me?” She leaned down, her face inches from mine. “Julian will back up my story. He’ll tell them your condition had already deteriorated beyond control.” “Do you really think anyone will suspect me?” Olivia let go of my collar. She stood up to pick up the spare syringe from the floor. That was my one-second window. I reached under my pillow and pulled out the phone I had hidden there earlier. The screen was bright. A call was in progress. The number dialed was 911. I held up the phone, my voice trembling but loud. “Olivia, you’ve been talking for three minutes. The operator heard every single word.” She froze. Her face turned instantly pale. Suddenly, loud, frantic banging echoed from the front door. “Police! Open up!” Olivia looked at me, a cold, mocking laugh escaping her lips. “Ethan… when did you get your memory back?” I didn’t answer. I just clutched the phone and screamed toward the door. “Help! In here!” The bedroom door was kicked open. Two uniformed police officers rushed in, followed by an officer holding a body cam. Olivia stepped back. A polite, sweet smile instantly returned to her face. “Officers, this is all a misunderstanding. My husband is very sick. He’s having a manic episode right now.” The lead officer cut her off, raising his hand. “Ma’am, we have your entire confession recorded on the line.” “Put your hands behind your back.” Olivia’s smile froze. She turned to look at me, her lips curling into a venomous smirk. The officers handcuffed her and started wheeling her out. As she passed by me, she suddenly stopped. She leaned in, whispering in a voice only I could hear. “Ethan, do you really think this is over?” “Don’t forget, Julian is still out there.” I looked up sharply. At the far end of the hallway, Julian was standing in the shadows. He was holding a surgical scalpel. He smiled at me, then vanished down the stairs. The officers rushed after him. But all I heard from downstairs was the sound of hurried footsteps, and then, total silence. I gripped the edge of the bed to stand up, my chest heaving. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number appeared on the screen. It was just one line: “Ethan, we’re not done yet.”

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My cousin’s wife was hooking up with someone at a cheap motel, and my cousin, too terrified to go alone, dragged me along to back him up. I wanted no part in their toxic marital drama, but he threw himself at my feet, weeping and begging. I made him promise, over and over, that we would only talk—no fists, no violence. He swore up and down. But the moment we arrived, he kicked the door open, lunged at the bed, and plunged a knife straight into the lover’s chest. The knife was one he had swiped from my kitchen earlier that day. It was covered in my fingerprints. At the trial, the two of them stood in the witness box and pointed their fingers directly at me. They swore under oath that I was the killer. I was defenseless. I was sentenced to death. After they put me to death, my cousin didn’t just walk away from the million-dollar debt he owed my business. He forged a promissory note, seized my house, and kicked my grieving parents out onto the street. My parents, shattered by the loss of their only son, had nowhere to go. They froze to death on a bitter, snowy night. When I open my eyes again, I am back on the day my cousin begged me to go to that motel. … “Lester, please. Just come with me. I’m begging you, man.” “Lester, your cousin is on his knees. What more do you want? Do you want me to get down on my knees, too?” Two familiar voices pulled me from the lingering terror of a needle piercing my skin—the cold, sterile terror of the execution chamber, the phantom sting of the chemicals still burning in my veins. I opened my eyes to see my cousin, Kyle, kneeling on the hardwood floor in front of me. Gripping my arm with a vice-like hold was his mother, my Aunt Helen, looking as if she was about to drop to her knees as well. The realization hit me like a physical blow: I was back. I had traveled back to the very day Kyle tried to drag me into his twisted trap. “Lester, the guy is built like a tank,” Kyle pleaded, his eyes shining with desperate, fake tears. “I can’t face him alone. I can’t bring anyone else into this—it’s too embarrassing. You’re my family, man. I had no choice but to come to you.” “I swear, I just need you to stand there. To back me up. I won’t make you do a thing.” He had said those exact words in my past life. But the moment we got to the motel and he kicked that door open, he didn’t hesitate. Before I could even process what was happening, he had plunged a kitchen knife into the chest of Victor, the man sleeping with his wife. Victor bled out right there on the cheap sheets. I had stood there, utterly paralyzed with horror. When I finally found my voice and screamed at Kyle to run, he had simply leaned against the dresser, casually lighting a cigarette. “What are you panicking for?” he had muttered. “If you want to run, go ahead.” I didn’t even make it out of the lobby before security tackled me. The front desk had already received an anonymous tip about a murder, and they pegged me as the prime suspect. While I was frantically trying to explain, the police arrived. They brought me back up to the bloody room. Before I could open my mouth to defend myself, Kyle and his wife, Amber, were already weeping to the officers. “Officer, we saw the whole thing. My cousin, Lester, did it. He killed him.” “He and Victor were business rivals. They’ve been at each other’s throats for months over a deal. We’re family to both of them, so we arranged this meeting to help them patch things up. We had no idea Lester would be this reckless. He just pulled out a knife and snapped…” “That’s a lie! You killed him! Why are you lying?!” I had screamed, my chest tight, my voice cracking. “Officer, I swear to God, it wasn’t me!” But the motel’s security cameras had mysteriously glitched that night. The murder weapon was a knife from my own kitchen, covered in my own fingerprints. To make matters worse, the police database showed a previous harassment report Victor had filed against me after a heated argument. The motive was served on a silver platter. I was convicted. Sentenced to death. I died a criminal’s death, buried in shame. My elderly parents were destroyed. But their nightmare was only beginning. With me out of the picture, Kyle refused to pay back the million dollars he owed my business. Instead, he produced a forged contract claiming I owed “him” a million dollars, demanding my parents pay it back immediately. Grief-stricken and legally outmaneuvered, my parents were forced to sign over their house to settle the “debt.” Left homeless, they froze to death on a bitterly cold winter night, huddled under a thin blanket on a park bench. It wasn’t until after my death, when my spirit lingered in the cold air, that I realized the truth. The entire catching-them-in-the-act setup was a meticulously designed trap. Kyle owed both me and Victor massive sums of money. So, he devised a sickening plan: he had Amber seduce Victor, dragged me along under the guise of an outraged husband, and used a knife he had stolen from my kitchen to commit the murder. Two creditors, silenced in one stroke. One dead, one executed by the state. The memory made my blood run cold, then boil with a white-hot fury. I violently wrenched my arm free from my aunt’s grasp. “Find someone else to parade your dirty laundry with,” I said, my voice cold and hard. “I’m not humoring this pathetic drama.” Kyle froze, his desperate expression instantly hardening into something ugly and resentful. “Lester, are you seriously saying that right now? Your own cousin asks you for help, and you’re worried about your reputation?” “Have you forgotten everything I’ve done for you over the years?” I let out a harsh, dry laugh. “Everything you’ve done for me? You actually have the nerve to say that?” “I trusted you to expand our territory, and you embezzled a million dollars of my company’s funds—money you still haven’t paid back.” “I sent you to negotiate a project with Victor, and you used my name to illegally solicit a million-dollar investment from him, which you pocketed, leaving me to take the fall and almost getting me into a fistfight with him.” “You haven’t helped me a single day in your life, Kyle. All you do is drag me into your garbage. From this second on, we are done. Get the hell out of my house.” Kyle’s face flushed a deep, angry crimson. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Aunt Helen, seeing her precious son backed into a corner, stepped in, pointing a manicured finger directly at my nose. “Lester! You ungrateful, cold-hearted bastard! Your cousin is going through the worst crisis of his life, and you stand there talking to him like he’s trash? Where is your humanity?” “We are family! Blood is thicker than water! How can you just stand by and watch him get humiliated like this?” “Family.” The word tasted like ash in my mouth. In my past life, when she and her son were throwing my grieving father out of his own home, my dad had begged her, weeping, to give them just a few more days because of their shared blood. And what had she said? She had looked down her nose at him and said, “Business is business, Richard. Debt is debt. If your son was a useless criminal who owed my boy money, that’s on you. If you don’t pack up and leave by tonight, I’ll hire men to throw your things into the gutter. Don’t blame your big sister for being heartless.” Recalling her smug, cruel face made my stomach churn with disgust. “Save your guilt trips, Aunt Helen. They don’t work on me anymore,” I said coldly. “The answer is no. I am not helping him catch his cheating wife, and I am not getting involved in this mess.” Aunt Helen’s face twisted in rage, turning a mottled shade of red and purple. Unable to find words to argue with me, she turned around and began hammering frantically on my parents’ bedroom door. “Richard! Mary! Stop hiding in there! Come out and see what a disrespectful, heartless monster of a son you’ve raised!” The door clicked open, and my parents stepped out, looking anxious and deeply uncomfortable. My dad looked at me with a sigh. “Lester, son… maybe you should just go with Kyle? Your aunt and cousin are practically begging you.” “It’s a delicate matter, and they can’t exactly ask strangers. We’d feel better knowing you’re there to keep Kyle safe. If things get out of hand…” “Mom, Dad, stop,” I interrupted, my voice gentle but unyielding. “I’m not going. And that is final.” They didn’t know what a parasite Kyle truly was. They were still worrying about his safety, completely unaware of the knife he was waiting to plunge into my back. Seeing that even my parents couldn’t sway me, Kyle realized I was truly, immovably done with him. His eyes narrowed, glinting with venom. “Fine, Lester. Remember today,” he spat, his voice dropping to a low hiss. “I don’t need you. I can handle those two pieces of trash on my own.” He grabbed his mother’s arm, and they slammed the front door so hard the walls vibrated. Once they were gone, the thought of what Kyle might do to Victor weighed on me. Despite everything, I decided to throw a bone of warning to Victor out of sheer basic human decency. I dialed his number and warned him to stay far away from Kyle’s wife. But Victor didn’t appreciate the gesture. He immediately blew up at me over the phone. “You’re full of shit, Lester! Amber and I are strictly professional. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do. You’re still pissed about our argument last month, so you’re spreading cheap rumors to ruin my reputation, aren’t you?” I didn’t even bother arguing. I just hung up. In my past life, we had shared a tragic, manipulated fate. I wanted to throw him a lifeline, but some people are determined to drown. If he wanted to treat my warning like poison, so be it. Let him face the storm. The next morning, I was drinking coffee when a breaking news alert flashed on my phone: “A local man had been rushed to the hospital in critical condition after being stabbed multiple times in a downtown motel. Doctors were currently fighting to save his life.” As I was trying to find out the identity of the victim, my front door was suddenly subjected to a violent, deafening pounding. I opened it to find Victor’s wife, Megan, and his elderly mother standing on the landing, their faces distorted with grief and blinding rage. “You absolute monster, Lester!” Megan screamed, lunging forward. “Victor only had a few words with you, and you try to murder him? Well, here we are! Why don’t you just stab the rest of us too?!” She pulled a kitchen knife from her purse and tried to force the hilt into my hand, physically pulling my arm toward her chest. Victor’s mother grabbed my other arm, her teeth sinking deep into my wrist. “You animal!” she shrieked through clenched teeth, her voice muffled by my skin. “Give me back my son! I’ll tear you apart myself!” I wrestled myself free from the two hysterical women, backing away and shouting over their screams. “Are you out of your minds?! I haven’t seen Victor in weeks! How could I have stabbed him?” “Who told you this garbage? Why are you blaming me?!” Megan pointed a trembling, manicured finger at my face, her voice cracking. “Stop lying, Lester! I was there when you and Victor had that fight! I heard you say you wanted him dead!” “And don’t try to deny it—your own cousin, Kyle, confirmed it! He told us you bought a knife specifically to go after Victor!” Right on cue, the elevator doors chimed, and Kyle and Amber stepped out, hurrying down the hallway with practiced expressions of deep concern. Kyle walked up to me, shaking his head with a look of theatrical disappointment. “Lester, how could you be so reckless? I begged you not to do it.” “You’ve ruined your life, man. Murder is a capital offense. Just go to the police station and turn yourself in. Maybe they’ll show some mercy if you confess.” I shoved him back, hard. “Cut the bullshit, Kyle. You didn’t see me do anything. For all I know, you’re the one who stabbed him!” Amber stepped forward, grabbing my jacket sleeve. “Lester, have you lost your mind? Where is your conscience?” “When you bought that knife to get revenge on Victor, your cousin literally got on his knees to beg you to stop. You wouldn’t listen. Now that you’ve done this, everyone else is running away from you. But Kyle and I ran straight here to convince you to confess, to save what’s left of your life.” “Don’t be stubborn. Listen to your family. Just turn yourself in.” Hearing this, Megan’s eyes went wild. Believing their words entirely, she raised the knife again and charged at me. “You think you’re getting a light sentence?! Over my dead body! I’ll kill you first!” Kyle and Amber quickly stepped aside, exchanging a swift, ugly smirk as they prepared to watch the bloody spectacle unfold. I dodged Megan’s desperate swipe, turning to run back inside my apartment to lock the door, but Kyle suddenly reached out and grabbed my arm, pinning me in place. “Lester, where do you think you’re going? You made your bed, now lie in it! Stop running from the police!” With my arm pinned, I couldn’t move as Megan lunged again, the silver blade aiming straight for my stomach. “Stop right there!” Just as the blade was inches from my flesh, several heavy-set men burst from the stairwell. With loud, commanding shouts, they tackled Megan to the ground, disarming her in a second. The police had arrived. Pinned to the floor, Megan shrieked, “Let me go! He killed my husband! I want him dead!” Victor’s mother scrambled over, grabbing the officer’s uniform. “Please, let her go! She’s just grieving! My son is dying!” She pointed wildly at me. “Arrest him! He’s the monster who stabbed my boy!” The commotion had drawn the attention of the entire floor. Neighbors began opening their doors, whispering and staring at the unfolding chaos in the hallway. The lead officer, Detective Reynolds, gently helped the elderly woman to her feet. “Ma’am, please calm down. We are here specifically to investigate the assault on your son.” Reynolds turned his gaze to me, his expression grim. “Lester. We received a tip identifying you as the primary suspect in the attempted murder of Victor. We recovered the weapon at the scene, and it has partial prints on it. We need to take your fingerprints for comparison right now.” Two forensic technicians stepped forward, holding out ink pads and scanners. The neighbors began whispering frantically. “What is going on? Did Lester actually stab someone?” “I heard he murdered some guy over a business dispute…” “Shh, wait and see. The police are still testing him.” Kyle and Amber seized the opportunity, loudly playing to the crowd. “It’s true, everyone,” Kyle called out, sighing heavily. “I’m his cousin, and it breaks my heart, but I saw him buy the knife. I begged him not to do it, but he was blinded by rage…” “We came here to convince him to surrender so he wouldn’t face the death penalty, but he just won’t listen. It’s tragic.” The neighbors looked at me with horror and disgust. My parents, who had just returned from buying groceries, squeezed through the crowded hallway. Hearing the rumors, my mother dropped her grocery bag, spilling apples across the floor, and began to weep. “Lester, baby… tell me it’s not true. What are we going to do?” I held my parents’ hands tightly, squeezing them reassuringly. “Mom, Dad, don’t worry. I have nothing to do with this. It’s going to be cleared up in a second.” Just as I spoke, the two technicians stepped back, holding a tablet showing the analysis. “Detective Reynolds. The prints on the handle of the knife recovered from the motel are an exact match for the suspect, Lester.” The hallway erupted. “Oh my god, he actually did it.” “And he was standing there pretending to be innocent! What a psychopath.” Megan and her mother-in-law screamed at me. “You sick bastard! The evidence is right there! How are you going to lie your way out of this now?!” My mother collapsed against my father, sobbing hysterically. “Lester, you said you were innocent… how is this happening?” Kyle let out a soft, mocking chuckle. “I told you to confess, Lester. Now you’re going to rot in a cell.” Detective Reynolds stepped forward, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his belt. “Lester, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Victor.” I calmly put my hands up, but instead of offering my wrists, I pulled out my phone. “Detective Reynolds, hold on a second. I am not your guy. And before you put those cuffs on me, you might want to look at this video. Once you do, you’ll know exactly who you should be arresting.”

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Three years into our marriage, Flora brought home a college sophomore. Before I could even process the insult, she pushed a young, wide-eyed girl into my path. “I need a little excitement, Alex, and you need company,” she said smoothly, as if simply handing over an old coat. “We’re both getting what we want. Don’t hold a grudge.” But this time, she flew too close to the sun. She came to me later, her tone uncharacteristically pleading, trying to strike a deal: “Alex, I wasn’t careful. I took precautions, but… I ended up pregnant with Dustin’s baby. The child needs a father on paper. We need to divorce. Just temporarily.” “I’ll marry Dustin for now, and you can spend this time with that college girl. Treat it like a real relationship. Go date.” Behind closed doors, her friends gossiped. “Flora, you literally crawled up ninety-nine stone steps of the basilica on your knees to pray for this man’s life. Are you really being this generous now?” “Right? You didn’t even warn that girl to keep her hands off your husband?” I heard Flora laugh, a light, careless sound. “I don’t have a sharing fetish,” she said. “But you all know Alex. He’s an emotional purist. He won’t touch her.” “Brilliant! You bring the girl right to his face. If he chooses to live like a monk, that’s his own fault. No one can blame you.” They all expected me to do what I had always done—write a check, call security, and sweep her flings out the door. Instead, I looked up and smiled. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll date her.” 1 Flora froze. The living room fell into a sudden, suffocating silence. Whitney was the first to find her voice. “Alex, what did you just say?” I set my phone on the coffee table, letting my gaze sweep past Flora’s stunned face before settling on the girl standing quietly by the door. “I said, fine.” A collective gasp echoed through the room. “He actually agreed?!” “No way. He’s not kicking her out?” “Flora, did you hear that?” Flora’s expression barely shifted. That faint, mocking curve of her lips remained perfectly intact. But Dustin, standing beside her, nervously squeezed her hand. “Flora, he’s finally seeing reason. You should be happy.” Flora didn’t answer him. She walked over to Iris, patted her shoulder, and said, “Take good care of him.” Then, she and Dustin went upstairs. I looked back at the girl. Her ears were flushed crimson. “Are you staying in the dorms, or here?” Her throat clicked as she swallowed. “Either… either is fine.” “Then stay here.” I turned and walked toward the hallway. Behind me, the hushed murmurs started up again. “Is he serious?” “Usually, when this happens, we all get dragged into the blowout!” “Oh, please. Trust Flora. When has he not thrown a check at them? It’s like touching them would rot his hands.” “Remember that art-school dropout? Alex didn’t even give him money. Just had security throw him into the street.” “He’s probably just acting out because Flora’s pregnant. Trying to make her jealous.” I kept walking. Their words were like needles in my back, but they weren’t wrong. I used to be insufferable. Too proud, too self-righteous, believing that my “emotional purity” could somehow protect the sacredness of our vows. Every time Flora brought someone home, I would coldly hand over a check and banish them. I thought that was winning. I thought it kept me clean. And where did that leave me? With Dustin’s baby on the way. My pristine principles had bought me a stack of divorce papers, a cold bed, and a living room full of people waiting to watch me break. At the door of the guest room, I stopped and leaned against the frame. I looked at Iris. Five-foot-six. Champion of the international mock trial team, top of her class, guaranteed federal clerkship. Flora had spent real money this time. This wasn’t some desperate kid she’d picked up from a dive bar. “Are you doing this for the money?” I asked. She nodded. No hesitation. No defenses. My old self would have sneered, thrown a check, and told her to get lost. How grand I must have looked then, perched on my moral high ground, treating these girls like toxic waste. But the “toxic waste” left, and Flora never came back. And honestly, who among us was truly clean? “If you need anything, let the housekeeper know,” I said, stepping inside. She followed me. “I’m Iris.” “I know,” I replied without turning. “Flora told me.” I walked out onto the balcony. Below, the guests were finally leaving, their cars winding down the driveway. I had lost count of how many of my humiliations they had cheered for. Back in my room, I glanced at the divorce agreement on the nightstand. For three years, I had turned a blind eye to her wild behavior. It started after “that” incident—the one that fractured us beyond repair. She had her reasons, and I had mine. But debts have to be paid. At first, I told her: “Just don’t bring them to our house.” Then I said: “Just don’t cross the line.” Step by step, I retreated. Step by step, she pushed. Now, since we were both exhausted by this marriage, there was no point in hesitating. I picked up the pen and signed my name. Iris emerged from the bathroom, her hair damp. Seeing me, her ears instantly turned bright pink. “I… I’m done,” she whispered. I stood up, momentarily struck by how easily she blushed. Flora’s previous choices had always looked at me with defiance when I kicked them out. One had even yelled: “Are you two psychopaths? One pushes us in, the other kicks us out! What do you think we are?” At the time, I had only stared coldly: “Take the money and shut up.” Now, I realized she was right. We were both sick. One with a twisted need to push me away, the other with a pathological need to remain untouched. My phone buzzed. A text from Flora: “Sleep early.” It was hilarious. She never sent texts like that. Why now? Because I let Iris stay? Because she finally realized that the Alex who “would never touch them” might actually cross the line? I didn’t reply. The lights across the estate went out, plunging the villa into silence. Dustin had moved in. Iris had moved in. This house had finally become what it always was: a dumpster where we threw all our garbage. Myself included. I turned off the light, a bitter smile tracing my lips in the dark. She thought I was still the same Alex. Thought I wouldn’t dare. Thought I couldn’t. Thought I would be clean forever. She was wrong. The next morning, the dull ache in my neck lingered. When I went downstairs, Iris was in the kitchen helping the housekeeper, Mrs. Gable. When she saw me, she nearly dropped the spatula. I smiled. Where was the shy girl from last night? As soon as I sat down, Flora came down the stairs. “Up so early?” She took the seat opposite me, a strange, unreadable smile on her face. “How was last night?” Before I could answer, the front door burst open. Whitney rushed in. “Flora, Flora! Who won—” “I bet twenty grand he wouldn’t last until noon!” “I bet he kicked her out last night. Three-to-one odds, Flora’s bookmaking—” The words died in her throat. They saw me, and their excitement instantly curdled into awkwardness. “Oh… Alex! Morning!” Flora took a sip of her coffee. She looked at them as if this bet wasn’t about her own marriage, but some hard-won trophy. “Have a seat,” I said calmly. “Breakfast is ready.” I stood up and walked toward the kitchen. “You should head to class,” I told Iris. Iris blinked, startled, then quickly untied her apron and hurried out. The door clicked shut, and the room went silent for two beats. Whitney lowered her voice. “See? He sent her away after all!” Todd laughed. “What did you expect? Flora has Alex mapped out perfectly.” “Flora really knows how to train them,” Whitney said, her tone dripping with admiration. “That’s the kind of husband you want. Keeps the house, guards the door, never strays.” Flora sat at the table, her plate clean. Listening to them, her lips curved with quiet satisfaction. I let out a breath and walked back into the dining room. Flora and I spoke at the exact same moment. “Accompany me back to the family estate for dinner tonight…” “See you at the clerk’s office at two p.m. for the divorce…” The room went dead quiet. I slid the signed divorce agreement across the table. “Let’s get this over with first.” Flora froze, her eyes scanning the signature line. She didn’t move. I knew what she was thinking. In the past, I would have torn the paper to shreds with tears in my eyes, asking how she could do this to me. It would have been a massive, dramatic production. Flora looked up at me, her tone reverting to that lazy, casual drawl. “What’s the rush? I’m not even in a hurry.” “I am,” I said. “Two p.m. Are you showing up?” Her eye twitched. “Alex,” she said, pushing the agreement back toward the center of the table. “Are you out of your mind?” “I’d rather do it now,” I replied, “before I wake up and regret not tearing it up.” The tension stretched thin. Suddenly, Dustin came down the stairs. “Alex, please don’t be angry. I just didn’t want my baby to be born with a stigma. We can wait to finalize the divorce until after the baby is born and registered.” His eyes welled with tears, looking far more devastated about my divorce than I was. Flora shot a look at Dustin. The phrase “don’t be angry” seemed to prick her pride. When had Flora ever been rushed into anything by anyone? “Alex, you think I’m afraid to sign?” she laughed coldly, grabbing the pen. Whitney panicked. “Flora—” “Shut up,” Flora snapped, not even looking up. She signed her name with a sharp flourish and threw the pen onto the table. Her signature smirk returned. “I keep my word. And everyone here is a witness.” “Once Dustin and I have the baby, we’ll remarry.” She stood up and leaned down to whisper in my ear, her voice carrying a suffocating, possessive warmth. “You’re the man I dragged back from the edge of the grave, Alex. None of those cheap flings could ever compare to you. This baby? You’ll raise it. You’re the only one worthy of being its father, understand?” I let out a soft laugh. So this was her version of love. I said nothing, grabbed my packed suitcase, and walked out the front door. Behind me, Dustin’s voice floated out. “Flora… do you think he’s really not coming back?” She didn’t answer. In her plan, I was supposed to divorce her but stay in the house. The estate was still my home. My actual departure had caught her off guard. But she didn’t think it changed anything. “Oh, please,” she told Dustin. “He’s gone. You should be thrilled.” “No, I’m not!” Dustin whimpered. “My upbringing wouldn’t allow me to break up a marriage… it’s all for the baby.” He looked like a fragile reed bending in the wind. It instantly melted Flora’s annoyance. “Alright, stop crying. I’m not teasing you.” Dustin was far smarter than her previous flings. He didn’t provoke me, didn’t call to flaunt his position. He simply adopted an “I’m here to join the family” posture. The moment I said anything harsh, Flora would think he was being victimized. I had seen younger, more handsome, more charismatic boys. But they were always too impatient, demanding she choose, demanding I leave. Only Dustin was patient. He moved in quietly, carrying a baby, calling me “brother” like he was family. He had achieved what none of the others could. At 1:50 p.m., I sat on the bench outside the clerk’s office. I called Flora for the ninth time. This time, she picked up. “Where are you?” I asked. Her voice was distracted. “I’m at Dustin’s prenatal appointment. I can’t leave. Wait for me, I’ll head over when we’re done.” “I told you, our appointment is at two.” “The divorce isn’t going anywhere,” she said, as if soothing a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Wait until I’m finished. Bye.” Wait. Always waiting. I watched the couples passing through the lobby. Some were crying, some were numb. I used to cry like that, tearing my heart out, until her guilt would offer me the “reward” of staying married. But today, that wasn’t the reward I wanted. The clerk called the next number. I pulled up my lawyer’s contact and sent a text: “Mr. Warren, let’s file for a contested divorce. I’ll send you the paperwork this afternoon.” That evening, at my father-in-law’s insistence, I returned to the family estate. The entire drive, I wondered how to explain it to Thomas. Should I tell him his daughter got another man pregnant? That she forced me into a divorce? Or that I was suing her? Family obligations are often far more exhausting than lawsuits. When I arrived, I was alone. Thomas frowned. “Where is Flora?” “She’s busy,” I said. “Busy?” He slammed his fork onto the table. “What could be more important than her husband?” I remained silent. Thomas and my father had been brothers-in-arms, surviving combat together. He had always wanted our families joined. But Flora’s mother, Lydia, had fought it. She looked down on my family’s modest background, and after my severe illness, she claimed my constitution was too weak. It was Flora who refused to let go. She had gone to St. Jude’s Basilica on the hill, kneeling on every single one of the ninety-nine stone steps leading to the altar. Ninety-nine steps. Her knees were torn to shreds. She had prayed: “I don’t need to be with him. Just let him live.” When I found out, I broke down. In our relationship, she had always been the fierce one, while I watched from the shadows of my own insecurity. But after that, I held her hand and said, “I won’t hide anymore. If you have the courage to marry me, I have the courage to stand by you.” Miraculously, my health improved. The day I finally went home with her, Thomas was so thrilled he transferred a third of his stock options to my name as a safety net, to give me standing within the family. Back then, I thought Lydia was our biggest hurdle. Now I knew that outsiders could never destroy a marriage. Only the people inside could do that. Before I could find the words to explain, the heavy oak doors opened. Flora walked in, her arm wrapped around Dustin. She froze when she saw me. Thomas’s face darkened. “What is this trash doing in my house?” Flora guided Dustin to a chair, her tone breezy. “Dad, it’s just dinner. Don’t make a scene.” Then she glanced at me. “Alex, go home for tonight.” Sensing my stillness, she leaned in and whispered, “I didn’t think you’d actually show up. Today is his turn, okay?” I let out a quiet laugh. His turn. She was parading her new man, bringing him home before our divorce was even dry. Lydia came downstairs, her eyes skating over me before landing on Dustin. “Is this the new one? Our family certainly has a habit of attracting low-class grifters.” With one sentence, she insulted us both. Years ago, Flora would have stood in front of me and declared, “Alex is my choice.” But today, she frowned and pulled Dustin closer. “Mom, don’t talk about my man like that.” Dustin’s eyes brimmed with tears. He always looked like the victim of a cruel world. I stood up, thoroughly exhausted. “I’m leaving.” Thomas couldn’t stop me. Flora didn’t look back. As I stepped out into the cold night, I thought of those ninety-nine steps. “I don’t need to be with him, just let him live.” Well, she got her wish. The divorce went smoother than expected. Flora believed that once the baby arrived and we remarried, everything would slide back into its comfortable groove. On the day we signed the mediation agreement, she was forty minutes late, signing her name with a casual shrug. She leaned close, her tone uncharacteristically sweet. “Didn’t you always want a real wedding?” “Once we remarry, I’ll plan it myself. The island you wanted, the custom suit, everything.” I looked at her. “Flora, there’s no need.” She paused, then smiled. “I know you think we’re past all that, but I owe you a wedding. I want to make it right.” I shook my head. “In a week, you…” Before I could finish, her phone blared. She answered it, her face going pale. “His stomach hurts? I’ll be right there!” She took two steps, then turned back to me. “I know our legal marriage ends in a week when the papers clear, but that’s just a piece of paper. The court has the papers, but you belong to me. They’re separate things.” She patted my shoulder and ran out. I stood alone in the hallway, finishing the sentence she had cut off. “…In a week, you’ll receive much more than just a divorce decree.” The day the decree arrived at the family estate, Thomas summoned her home with a furious phone call. “I don’t care how you do it, get Alex back here right now. I have things to say to him.” “After that, if you still want to destroy your life, I won’t stop you!” Flora frowned. She didn’t know what her father wanted to say, but she knew how absurd this divorce actually was. For the past week, her phone had been dead silent. No texts from me, no missed calls. She claimed she didn’t care, but the emptiness was beginning to gnaw at her. She had never gone a full week without speaking to her husband. She needed an excuse to reach out, and her father had just handed her one. “Fine, fine,” she mumbled, pulling up my contact card. “He’s being ridiculous. I’ll call him.” She complained, but her fingers moved faster than they ever had. She pressed call. She cleared her throat, rehearsing her opening line. “Alex, my dad wants you at the estate.” Or: “Are you done throwing your tantrum? It’s been a week, get back home.” The call connected. But the voice on the other end wasn’t mine. “Hello? The groom is currently adjusting his tie. Are you a guest of the groom’s family?”

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On the day we met to discuss the wedding, my parents wore clothes they had bought just for the occasion. We sat in the private dining room of a high-end French restaurant, waiting. Three hours passed before my fiancé, Elliott, and his parents finally showed up. The moment his mother, Victoria, sat down, she pointed at the bowl of wild mushroom consommé in the center of the table and looked at my mother. “Freda’s mother, dear, would you mind ladling some soup for me? This silk dress is custom Valentino. I can’t risk getting a drop of grease on it.” Her tone was casually dismissive, the way one might address a hired maid. My temper flared, but Elliott caught my hand under the table, squeezing it gently. “Freda, relax,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Your mom is a housekeeper; she’s used to serving. She’s quick on her feet. My mom’s never lifted a finger in her life. It’s just a hand. Don’t be so sensitive.” My mother froze. She blinked, a shadow of embarrassment crossing her face, before she quickly wiped her hands on her stiff, new skirt. Forcing a polite smile, she stood up. “It’s fine, really. I’ve got it.” She carefully spooned the soup, ensuring the ladle didn’t drip, and offered the bowl with both hands. Victoria didn’t even look up. She poked at the liquid with her silver spoon, her brow furrowing in deep distaste. “You didn’t even strain the herbs? Elliott has a delicate stomach. He can’t possibly drink this with bits floating in it.” My mother stood frozen, the color draining from her face. “I’m so sorry,” she stammered, looking utterly terrified of having caused offense. “Let me… let me get another bowl and strain it…” Watching her stand there, so small and desperate to please, a sharp, burning ache rose in my chest. I stood up, pulled my mother back into her seat, and grabbed the bowl of soup. Without another word, I dumped it directly into the trash can by the sideboard. While Victoria gasped in shocked outrage, I turned my gaze to Elliott. I felt entirely cold, entirely calm. “Elliott,” I said, “the wedding is off.” ······ 1 Silence fell over the room, heavy and absolute, lasting for three long seconds. Victoria was the first to break it, her face twisting into an expression that suggested she had just heard a ridiculous joke. “What did you just say? Do you have any idea how many girls from the best families are practically lining up to marry into our family?” “Mom,” Elliott interrupted. He stood up and walked over to my side, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. He leaned in, his voice dropping into that sweet, cajoling tone he used whenever he wanted to charm me. “Freda, sweetheart, stop making a scene, okay? I know my mom can be insensitive. I’ll talk to her later.” His hand was warm, his thumb gently rubbing my shoulder, like he was soothing a stray cat that had bared its claws. In our three years together, this was always his move when I got angry. And every single time, I had softened. But not today. I pulled away from his touch, refusing to look at him. “Elliott, you just said my mom is ‘used to serving people’ and ‘quick on her feet.’ Do you honestly think there’s nothing wrong with that sentence?” He blinked, then let out a heavy, weary sigh. “I was just stating a fact. She works in home care and cleaning. Why are you acting like it’s a dirty secret? Sweetheart, it’s not like I look down on her.” When he called me “sweetheart,” his voice was genuinely tender. But that tenderness was exactly what made my skin crawl. He truly, from the bottom of his heart, did not see the insult. I turned to look at my dad. He had been sitting silently the entire time, his knuckles white around his water glass. The price tag on his new suit sleeve hadn’t even been fully snipped off. Before we left, he had adjusted his tie in front of the mirror four times, asking my mom if he looked too old-fashioned. Now, he looked up, his lips trembling slightly. He said only one thing: “Freda, let’s go. We’re done here.” The sound of his chair scraping against the hardwood floor was loud and harsh. Elliott reached out to stop me, his fingers wrapping firmly around my wrist. “Freda, are you seriously going to ruin everything over something so trivial—” “Trivial?” I looked back at him. “You let your mother treat my mom like hired help, and you think that’s trivial?” His smooth facade cracked for a split second, but he quickly recovered, flashing that airy, bohemian smile that only artists can pull off. “Okay, okay. My bad. I apologize. I’ll take you to that Italian place you love this weekend to make it up to you, deal?” I didn’t answer. I helped my parents up and walked out of the restaurant. In the hallway, my mom kept her head low, staring at her shoes. “Freda… did I embarrass you?” I stopped, turning to wrap my arms tightly around her. She felt so thin, her shoulder blades sharp against my palms. “Mom, no. Never. You didn’t do anything wrong.” My dad stood in silence for a long moment before he spoke quietly. “Sweetheart… if you really love the boy… I can swallow my pride. I just… I don’t want you going into a family where they make you feel small.” 2 Back at my rented apartment, I made up the fold-out bed for my parents and boiled some water. My mom took the mug, hesitating before she spoke. “Freda, I’ve been thinking… maybe you shouldn’t be so hard on Elliott. His mother is difficult, but Elliott really does love you. Look at all those paintings he does of you. His friends, his social media—everyone knows how much he adores you. I don’t care about my pride. I just want you to be happy.” I knelt down and took her hands in mine. They were rough, like sandpaper, with deep lines that no soap could ever wash clean. Fifteen years of scrubbing other people’s floors had left their mark. “Mom, your pride is my pride.” She stared at me, tears welling in her eyes, before she hurriedly wiped them away with her sleeve. My dad muttered from the doorway, “Let’s get some sleep. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.” I couldn’t sleep that night. At 1:00 AM, my phone began buzzing continuously. Elliott had sent over a dozen texts. The first few were playful: “Sweetheart~ if you’re mad, yell at me, just don’t ignore me.” “Freda Freda Freda, at least send a silly emoji.” Then the tone shifted: “You can’t seriously be calling off the wedding over this? The invitations are already printed.” The last message was a voice note, thirty-eight seconds long. I tapped play. His voice was low, laced with a mix of exhaustion and genuine confusion. “Freda, I honestly don’t get what you’re so angry about. My mom is just like that. She’s like that with everyone. I’m not her. I have never once judged where you come from. You’re my muse. You’re the center of my art. Isn’t that enough?” I stared at the ceiling, leaving it on read. He had painted me dozens of times. Last year, his piece “The Camellia” had sold for three hundred thousand dollars, and everyone in his circle knew it was a portrait of his girlfriend. But I remembered a private gallery dinner he’d taken me to. I had worn a dress that cost me two months of savings. He had looked at me, smiled, and gently tucked a stray hair behind my ear. “Next time, let me pick out your outfit, okay? Your taste is a little… too rustic.” And last Christmas, when he drove me back to my hometown. Seeing the cracked asphalt and the run-down bungalows at the edge of town, he had rolled down his window, taking a deep breath. “No wonder you have such grit, Freda. Kids who grow up in places like this have a raw, primal survival instinct. It’s beautiful.” He had said it with genuine admiration, the way an art critic might praise the rough, textured brushstrokes of a painting. But my parents weren’t brushstrokes. They were human beings. The next morning, I took my parents to the train station. Just before going through security, my dad turned back and slipped a thick white envelope into my hand. “Freda, this is some money I put aside. Take it. Just in case… in case you really don’t go through with it. It’s good to have your own cash. Keep your head up.” The envelope wasn’t very thick, but I knew it represented more than half a year of his pension. My dad gave me a reassuring smile and walked through the gate. His back was slightly stooped, his new suit hanging loosely on his frame like it was still on a hanger. 3 Three days after my parents left, Elliott showed up. He stood outside my apartment door, holding a bouquet of white roses and a box of pastries from that bakery I loved. He was wearing his black cashmere turtleneck—the one I always told him he looked best in. His hair was slightly messy, falling perfectly over his eyes. He looked devastatingly handsome. “Sweetheart, come on, open the door. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His muffled voice drifted through the door. “If you don’t open up, I’m just going to sit in this hallway until you feel bad for me.” I unlocked the door and let him in. He walked inside, taking a quick, almost imperceptible glance around my tiny, seven-hundred-square-foot rental. A tiny flinch of his brow, gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a warm smile. He sat on my small sofa and took my hand, his thumb stroking the back of it. “Have you had time to cool down? The invitations are out, the venue is locked in, and the deposit is paid. If you’re still mad, I’ll make my mother call you and apologize herself.” I pulled my hand back. “Elliott, let me ask you something.” “Anything.” “If my mother weren’t a housekeeper—if she were a university professor—would your mother have demanded she serve her soup?” He went quiet for a beat, then let out a soft laugh. “Freda, my mom is just old school. She treats everyone like that. It has nothing to do with what your mom does for a living. And honestly…” He paused, looking at me with gentle pity. “Class differences exist. It’s not something I can personally erase overnight. But I chose you. Isn’t that what matters?” “I chose you.” He had said those words so many times before. Every time, they sounded like charity. “You chose me, so I should be grateful?” He frowned. “Why do you have to put it like that? That’s not what I mean.” “Then what do you mean?” He took a deep breath, stood up, and walked over to the window, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Freda, I mean that the gap between our backgrounds is a real, objective thing. The fact that I don’t care about it—doesn’t that show how much I love you? But you can’t expect my mother, or my entire family, to just pretend that gap doesn’t exist.” I looked at his profile against the window, feeling a strange, hollow calm wash over me. He was being entirely honest. He did love me, but his love came with a quiet, persistent condition: I was expected to be grateful for his tolerance. “Elliott,” I said, “if one day you couldn’t paint anymore, if you lost every dime you had, do you think my parents would make you wait on them?” He turned around, blinking. He had clearly never considered the question, because in his world, such a downfall was an impossibility. “They wouldn’t care about your bank account or your family name,” I continued, “because you’d be the person I chose. But your family cares. And deep down, so do you.” For the first time, his composure cracked. He opened his mouth to speak, but his phone cut him off. He glanced at the screen and stepped into the corner to answer it. “Hey, Mom… Yeah, I’m at her place. We’re talking.” “Don’t worry, she’s just hurt. I’ll smooth it over.” “Right. Don’t cancel the invitations. Send them out.” He spoke with his back to me, his voice lowered, but in the quiet room, every word was crystal clear. I stood up and pulled the front door wide open. “Get out, Elliott.” He hung up, a flash of genuine panic crossing his eyes. “Freda—” “I’ll give you my final answer about the wedding soon.” He stared at me for a long moment, then sighed. He walked over and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “Fine. I’ll give you some space. But Freda, please remember… I really do love you.” After the door clicked shut, the faint scent of his expensive cologne lingered in the air. I walked over to the trash can and dropped the white roses inside. 4 Over the next few days, Elliott came by every day. Leaving flowers, pastries, little sketched notes slid under the door. He played the part of the penitent lover perfectly. On the fifth night, he called, his voice unusually solemn. “Freda, I had a long talk with my mother. She’s stepping back from the wedding planning. We can do whatever you want.” I remained quiet for a moment. “Really?” “Really.” He paused, his voice dropping into a cautious, delicate tone. “There is… one thing we need to discuss, though.” “What’s that?” “The guest list. As you know, the people attending are mostly from my father’s business circles and the art world. My dad was thinking…” “Thinking what?” “Well… it’s going to be a very formal affair. We’re worried your parents might feel out of place, or that they’d just feel uncomfortable with all the cameras and formality. My dad suggested it might be easier on them if we set up a private, high-quality live stream for them to watch from home. Then, right after the wedding, we can fly back to their town and host a quiet, intimate family dinner. It’ll be much more relaxed for them.” My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles ached. “Elliott. Are you telling me my parents aren’t allowed to attend my own wedding?” “It’s not that they aren’t allowed, Freda. It’s just… finding a way that’s more comfortable for everyone.” “Comfortable for everyone, or comfortable for your parents?” “Freda, please listen to me. I’ve taken a lot of heat for this relationship already. My mother wanted me to marry Senator Ward’s daughter, and I said no. My dad’s friends told him I was throwing my life away, and I fought them all off. I fought my entire family to be with you. They are making one small request—” “A small request?” I cut him off, my voice barely a whisper. “Telling my parents they can’t watch their only daughter get married is a small request?” “Freda, can you try to see this from my perspective? I’ve made so many compromises.” He sighed, his voice reverting to that gentle, condescending tone. “Be reasonable, sweetheart. As soon as the reception is over, I promise we’ll drive down to see them. We can even bring them back to the city to stay with us for a month, okay?” I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say no. “I understand,” I said quietly. After hanging up, I sat on the edge of my bed for a long time. I remembered when my dad first found out I had a boyfriend. He had been so excited he couldn’t sleep. He dug out his thirty-year-old wedding album, pointed to my mom’s faded dress, and said, “When you get married, Freda, I’m going to buy your mother a beautiful dress, just like this one, so she can sit in the front row and look at you.” I didn’t cry. Instead, I dialed my mother’s number. “Mom,” I said when she picked up. “You and Dad don’t need to come down for the wedding.” There was a brief pause on the other end. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Did… did we cause trouble again?” “No, Mom. I’m not marrying him.” A long, heavy silence stretched over the line. Finally, my mother spoke softly. “Okay. Mom will be waiting for you to come home.” I hung up and immediately started packing. Elliott sent a text: “Sweetheart, the dress arrived! Do you want to come to the studio tomorrow to try it on? I want to see you in it so badly.” Followed by a string of kiss emojis. I didn’t reply. He sent another: “Freda~ still mad? How about I have them deliver the dress to your place? You can try it on there and send me a picture. Oh, and I talked to my mom. She promised to be on her best behavior at the ceremony.” The next morning, a courier delivered the dress. I looked at the custom gown draped over my bed—French lace, hand-beaded pearls, fabric that easily cost six figures. It was breathtaking. It looked like a beautiful, glittering cage. I carefully folded the gown, packed it back into its pristine white box, and set it by the front door. Then I opened my suitcase and began packing my own life. I didn’t take much. The jewelry, the designer bags, the silk dresses he had bought me—I laid them all out neatly on the bed. I only packed the old canvas backpack I’d carried when I first arrived in Chicago, the envelope of cash my dad had given me, and the mason jar of peach preserves my mom had quietly tucked under my pillow during her visit. On the lid was a piece of tape with her shaky handwriting: “Freda’s favorite.” The wedding was scheduled for Saturday. On Friday evening, I walked out of my apartment, rolling my suitcase behind me. Before leaving, I left a note on top of the wedding dress box: “Elliott, here is the dress. If my parents aren’t worthy of attending this wedding, then I’m not worthy of it either.” I turned off my phone, stepped into the cool night air, and disappeared into the city. The next day, Saturday. The grand ballroom of the Drake Hotel was a sea of white orchids and crystal chandeliers. Three hundred guests sat in gilded chairs under the soft, glittering lights. Elliott stood near the entrance in his custom tuxedo, holding a glass of champagne he hadn’t touched, his eyes darting to his watch every few seconds. 9:00 AM. The bridal suite was empty. 9:30 AM. My phone went straight to voicemail. 10:00 AM. He sent his assistant to my apartment. A few minutes later, a text popped up from the assistant: “Elliott, the apartment is completely cleared out. There’s nothing here but the wedding dress box and a note.” Elliott stared at the screen, the easy smile slowly draining from his face. Behind him, the soft murmur of three hundred high-society guests began to grow louder. Victoria hurried over, her face pale with fury under her heavy makeup. She hissed in a harsh whisper: “Where is she? Where is the bride?!”

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