Author: Momo Chan

Adrian was cheating on me. But no matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t find his mistress. In the steam-filled bathroom, severely depressed, I lay in the bathtub, letting the blood from my wrists drip into the water, watching my life slip away. It was my sister, Natalie, who kicked the door open and saved me. It was Natalie who later drove her car straight into Adrian, leaving him half-dead, forcing him to get on his knees in front of my hospital bed to beg for my forgiveness. From that day on, Adrian changed. He stopped staying out late at elite clubs. He came straight home from work every single day. Even if he ran into other women on the street, he would literally step thirty feet away to keep his distance. I thought our marriage had finally reached a turning point. Until today, when I received a FaceTime call from myself—ten years in the future. Looking at the pale, sickly “me” on the screen, I frowned and asked, “But he stopped cheating, didn’t he?” The future me didn’t say a word. She just flipped the camera. On the screen, Adrian was gently caressing Natalie’s swollen, pregnant belly. His eyes were filled with an agonizing, suppressed pain. “It’s been ten years, Natalie. Please, don’t abort this baby again, okay?” “How much longer are you going to punish me?” Natalie was sobbing, tears streaming down her face. “We betrayed Chloe. This baby… we don’t deserve to keep it.” I froze, my blood turning to ice. The mistress I could never find, the woman my husband was sleeping with, was my beloved sister. Adrian had hidden her so well. He hid her so well that she was pregnant, and I hadn’t suspected a thing. The camera flipped back to my future self. Ten years later, I stared at myself with a wild, crazed laugh. “Do you hear them?” “Adrian never loved you.” “Just pull the trigger. End it now. Set them free.”

I lowered my eyes and slowly picked up the pistol from the desk. I pressed the cold metal barrel against my temple. “Adrian is a total germaphobe, Chloe. Why do you think he suddenly volunteers to take out the trash every single day? Did you really think Natalie was staying with us just to help watch him?” “Don’t be stupid. Go look at the blind spot behind the garage. Those ten minutes when he takes out the trash is the only time they get to escape your suffocating presence.” “They use that time to make out like animals!” The front door clicked open. Adrian was home. Seeing the gun pressed against my temple, his face instantly went dead white. “Chloe! What the hell are you doing?!” He didn’t even take off his shoes. He lunged forward like a madman. The voice on the phone kept screaming: “Look at his wrist! You know how severe his OCD is. Look at him right now!” Adrian had severe germaphobia and OCD. His shirt cuffs were always folded back exactly three times, perfectly neat, exposing his wrists. But right now, his cuffs were messy and unbuttoned. There was even a faint smudge of red lipstick on the edge of the fabric. My gaze drifted past him, landing on Natalie. Her makeup was slightly smeared. Clank. My hands lost all strength. The gun slipped, almost grazing my ear as it hit the table. Adrian stopped dead in his tracks, his hands raised in the air, speaking in a trembling, soothing voice. “Chloe, put the gun down. Please. Don’t hurt yourself.” I stared at his messy cuffs, my voice shaking uncontrollably. “Who is she?” Adrian froze. He quickly unlocked his phone, opened his Snapchat location history, and thrust it in front of me. “I just went down to empty the trash bin. It was right outside. It took less than ten minutes.” A deep, exhausting weariness washed over his eyes. “Chloe, that incident happened three years ago. How much longer are you going to keep dragging me through this hell?” “I am so tired from taking care of you every single day. Please, stop being so paranoid.” As he spoke, he stepped forward, trying to grab the gun. I waved the pistol wildly, stepping back. “Don’t touch me!” The gun knocked against the edge of the desk. In my panic, my finger pulled the trigger. A loud bang echoed through the room. The bullet grazed my palm, and bright red blood spurted out, dripping heavily onto the hardwood floor. “Chloe!” Natalie screamed and rushed forward to stop me. But she ran too fast, twisting her ankle and crashing hard against the side cabinet. “Natalie!” Adrian lunged forward almost instinctively to catch her. But just as his hands were about to touch her waist, he seemed to realize something. He froze in mid-air, forcing his hands back. Natalie looked at my bleeding hand, turned around, and slapped Adrian across the face. “You bastard! You pushed her again! You know she is sick!” The slap was incredibly loud. Adrian’s head snapped to the side. He clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white, fighting to control his exploding emotions. When he turned back to look at me, all the frustration and disgust in his eyes had vanished. He was back to being the submissive, gentle husband again. “I’m sorry. I lost my temper. Chloe, you’re bleeding. Let me bandage it.” Adrian knelt in front of me, but his eyes were glued to Natalie’s swollen ankle. After quickly wrapping my hand, he naturally handed the first-aid kit to Natalie. His voice was incredibly hoarse. “Put some ice on that ankle. Now.” Watching his pathetic, secretive tenderness toward her, I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned and locked myself in the bedroom. Three years ago, when I first caught Adrian cheating. I had searched every hotel room like a lunatic, but I couldn’t find a single strand of that woman’s hair. In utter despair, I locked myself in the bathroom and slit my wrists. It was Natalie who drove her car into him, dragging his bloodied body to my bedside to confess. That day, the proud Adrian had knelt before me, crying like a child who had lost his entire world. “Chloe, I beg you. You can’t die. I love you.” That heartbreaking display made me believe he actually loved me. But now, a phone call from the future had shattered every beautiful lie I lived in.

This wasn’t just a corporate office. It was a perfect, one-to-one replica of our master bedroom. The dark green velvet sofa. The floor lamp in the corner that Adrian had personally picked out. Even the fresh lilies on the coffee table were identical to the ones we had at home. But there was one major difference. The wall where our wedding photo should have hung was covered in hundreds of photos of Natalie. Natalie cooking in the kitchen. Natalie sleeping on the sofa… Every photo was shot with breathtaking lighting and warmth. Even through the paper, I could feel an overwhelming, suffocating love. My heart shattered into a million pieces. I remembered our honeymoon. I had spent two hours on my makeup, happily begging Adrian to take a photo of me. He had just clicked the shutter twice, completely distracted, leaving me with two blurry, ugly pictures. It turned out he didn’t hate taking photos. He just saved all of his patience and love for Natalie. Footsteps echoed outside the door. I snapped out of my daze and hid inside the walk-in closet. The door pushed open. “Let go of me!” Natalie choked back a sob, trying to shake off Adrian’s grip. But Adrian held her tightly, pressing her against his chest like a madman. “Natalie, I can’t do this anymore!” “When she held that gun today, all I could think was… if she just pulled the trigger, would we finally be free?” Natalie slapped him hard. “You monster! She is your wife!” “But I don’t love her!” Adrian’s eyes were bloodshot, his voice dripping with despair. “You have no idea how much I suffocate sleeping next to her every night.” “Natalie, let me just tell her the truth. If she agrees to a divorce, I will give her every single penny I own!” Natalie broke down crying. “No! If you tell her now, you will kill her!” Adrian buried his face in her neck, clinging to her like a drowning man. “What about me? You worry about her, but who is going to save me?” Natalie wept as if her heart was breaking. “When we were ten, she pushed me out of the way of that speeding truck. I swore I would protect her with my life. But I fell in love with her husband!” “And when you pissed off those thugs for your business deal, she was the one who got cornered in the parking lot for you…” “If it weren’t for us, Chloe wouldn’t be sick. How can we do this to her?” Adrian trembled, kissing her tears away. Inside the dark closet, my nails dug deep into the wound on my palm. The blood started flowing again, but I couldn’t feel any pain. So that was the truth. How beautiful. How romantic. One betrayed her own heart to repay a life-saving debt. The other carried a heavy cross out of guilt. In their grand, epic, tragic love story, what the hell was I? After what felt like an eternity, the room fell silent. I crawled out of the closet and walked out of the office building, stumbling like a ghost. The freezing winter wind slashed my face, drying my tears. I suddenly remembered the day Adrian had thrown the divorce papers at me, screaming that he wanted out even if it meant losing everything. But then, he suddenly stopped mentioning it. He wasn’t staying for me. He was terrified that my death would stain his hands, and that Natalie would never be able to live with the guilt. Since they were in so much pain, I decided to set them free. I pulled out my phone and dialed my lawyer’s number. “Marcus, please draft a divorce agreement for me. As fast as possible.” The line went dead silent for a long time. “Chloe, is this a joke?” Marcus’s voice was filled with confusion and pity. “There is no marriage record for you and Adrian in the county system.” “Chloe, in the eyes of the law… you are still single.”

I stood on the freezing street, my mind going completely blank. So, Adrian gave me a diamond ring, a lavish wedding, and took care of me daily. But he kept his legal status absolutely clean and single for Natalie. Even when he was acting out this marriage with me, he was saving his legal wife spot for her. I laughed. I laughed until my face was soaked with tears. Yet, holding onto the very last shred of hope, I redialed the number from ten years later. “I want to know… did he ever love me? Even for a second?” The line was quiet for a long while. “Go to the VIP wing of the hospital right now. You’ll see how pathetic your question is.” I walked to the hospital like a hollow shell. Through the glass window of the private room, I saw Natalie throwing up into a basin, likely from a stomach bug. And Adrian—the man who couldn’t stand a speck of dust, the extreme germaphobe—was gently wiping the vomit from the corner of her mouth with his bare hand. My tears fell silently. Six months ago, when I threw up in the middle of the night due to my antidepressant side effects, what did he do? He recoiled as if he had been shocked, frowning as he called the maid to clean it up. Then he locked himself in the bathroom and took three showers. He didn’t look at me once as I lay gasping on the floor. But with Natalie, his germaphobia completely disappeared. Adrian came out carrying the basin. Seeing me, he immediately shut the door behind him. Seeing my bare feet and blue lips, his defensive stance relaxed. He took off his coat and wrapped it around me. “Are you insane? Running out like this in the middle of the night? Do you want to die?” Even now, he was still playing the dutiful protector. I stared at him, my voice eerily calm. “She’s in there, right?” Adrian’s face darkened, his grip on my shoulder tightening. “That’s an important client. You’re having an episode. I’m taking you home.” I shoved him hard and slammed the door open. “Chloe!” Adrian roared. The person on the bed gasped, quickly pulling the blanket over her head. I reached for the edge of the blanket. I could have ripped their lies apart right then and there, but my hand froze. Even at this point, I wanted to hear them admit it. Under Adrian’s terrified gaze, I pulled a small pocket knife from my coat. I pointed it directly at my chest. “Adrian, pull that blanket off. Tell me who she is.” “Or I will die right here, tonight.” “Your choice.” Adrian didn’t move. The patience in his eyes slowly turned into pure disgust. “Chloe, do you think threatening me with your life still works?” “For three years, every time something doesn’t go your way, you play the suicide card. Don’t you get tired of playing the girl who cried wolf?” The girl who cried wolf. So, every time I had reached out to him while drowning in depression, it was just a cheap performance in his eyes. The final spark of hope in my heart died. I gave a soft laugh and plunged the knife toward my chest. Adrian’s face deformed in horror. “Don’t you dare touch her!” Without even looking at where my knife was aimed, he lunged forward and kicked me squarely in the stomach. I flew backward, crashing violently onto the hard floor. A sharp, tearing pain exploded in my lower abdomen. But I didn’t cry. I just watched him wrap his arms around the woman on the bed, shielding her with his body, staring at me like I was a rabid animal. He thought I was going to hurt her. So he didn’t hesitate to break me. In that moment, I was truly, completely exhausted. “Adrian, the game is over.” “Let’s end this.” Adrian’s shock lasted only three seconds before he sneered. “Stop testing me. If you really wanted to leave, you would have done it years ago.” “This time, I mean it—” Crash. The person on the bed, trembling violently, fell off the mattress and landed straight into the shattered glass of a dropped water cup. A muffled cry of pain came from under the blanket. Adrian panicked. He scooped her up in his arms, rushing toward the door without a single backward glance at me. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ve got you. Let’s find a doctor.” I lay on the freezing tile floor, watching a dark, terrifying pool of blood spread from beneath my legs.

Before I even knew I was pregnant, I had a miscarriage. Adrian sat by my bedside, his face filled with guilt. “Chloe, it just wasn’t the right time. Once you get better, we can try again.” I stared at him blankly, catching the subtle sigh of relief in his eyes. This was the second child we had lost. Three years ago, during my first pregnancy, Natalie had moved in to help take care of me. That was when she and Adrian started. After that, Adrian stopped coming home. On the night Natalie also didn’t return, I slipped in the bathroom and suffered a massive hemorrhage, losing the baby. It was after that night that I found his cheating evidence and tried to slit my wrists. How pathetic. My two unborn children were nothing but collateral damage in their grand romance. Adrian clearly recalled that night too. He couldn’t look me in the eye. He mumbled something about paying the hospital bill and fled the room. My phone screen lit up. “Do you really think you miscarried because of his kick? The pills he’s been giving you for years… they weren’t just antidepressants. They were laced with birth control. Even if you got pregnant by accident, you could never carry a baby to term.” “Chloe, let go. The longer you stay alive to block them, the stronger their love grows. Only your death can pin them to the pillar of shame forever.” I silently hung up the phone. No screaming. No crying. After being discharged, I was unnaturally quiet. I stopped checking his phone. I stopped asking questions. But the quieter I became, the more terrified they grew. Finally, Adrian couldn’t take the tension anymore. “There’s an emergency at the office. I need to go out of town for a week.” He watched me closely, bracing himself for an explosive meltdown. But I just nodded calmly. “Okay.” Then I looked at Natalie. “You must be tired of looking after me, Natalie. Take this week off too. I can manage.” Both of them froze. They hadn’t expected me to agree so easily. The excuses they had prepared died in their throats. Adrian tried to probe. “Chloe… that day at the hospital… did you see something?” I looked at him. “See what?” Seeing my blank face, he let out a huge sigh of relief. His eyes softened. “When I get back, I’ll take you to Switzerland to see the Alps, okay?” Switzerland. For three years, I had begged him to take me. He had always refused, saying it was too far, that I was too sick, and that I would only be a burden. And I had waited for three years. I whispered, “Okay.” That night, the guest room door wasn’t fully closed. Natalie’s soft crying floated down the hallway. “Adrian, are we being too cruel to Chloe? She just had a miscarriage…” Adrian’s voice was cold and absolute. “I’m doing this to save all of us.” “If she stays here, she will eventually drive us both insane. Sending her to a private sanatorium in Switzerland is the best choice for everyone.” So that was his plan. It was never about fulfilling my dream. It wasn’t an apology. They wanted to dump me in the freezing snow of a foreign country forever, clearing the path for their beautiful love. I smiled silently. Why go through all that trouble? I walked back to my room, turned on the faucet, and filled the bathtub to the brim. As the blade sliced through my vein, the blood bloomed in the water like beautiful silk ribbons. For the first time in three years, I felt entirely free.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “441579”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

On the day we were supposed to sign our marriage license at City Hall, Austin didn’t show up. When he finally picked up the phone, his voice was low and rushed. “Vivian is doing her first brand runway today. I can’t leave her. We can do this another day.” I watched the couples hugging at the entrance of City Hall. My throat felt tight. “Austin, do you still want to marry me?” Silence. That silence on the other end of the line was more humiliating than any fight we had ever shared. Ever since Vivian appeared in his life, I meant nothing to him anymore. I let out a bitter laugh and tested the waters. “Then let’s break up.” I didn’t expect him to reply almost instantly. “Fine.” Seconds later, Vivian posted a photo on Snapchat. She was standing on the stage, wearing his designer suit jacket over her shoulders. Her eyes were red. Her caption read: So glad I have you. I stared at our wedding rings for a very long time. Then, I threw them into the trash. Some promises are incredibly real when they are made. But when they fall apart, that breakdown is just as real. Austin, loving you is too exhausting. I give up.

Chloe’s POV Today was supposed to be our sixth anniversary. Three months ago, Austin slipped the paperwork for our marriage license into my hand. He told me that from this day on, we would celebrate this date under a new status. I believed him. I took the day off work. I wore the white silk blouse he once told me looked beautiful on me. I even packed the velvet ring box in my purse. But the appointment time passed. Austin never showed. When I called him for the third time, the line connected. I could hear applause in the background. A girl’s voice, thick with tears, whimpered, “Mr. Vance, can I really do this? I’m so scared I’ll ruin the show.” Austin’s voice was hushed. “Vivian is doing her first big brand runway today, Chloe. I can’t leave her. We can sign the papers another day. It doesn’t have to be today just because of some anniversary.” I watched a young couple laughing and hugging near the steps. My fingers slowly let go of my purse. I had been with Austin for six years. I knew better than anyone how much he used to care about milestones. He used to remember the anniversary of my mother’s passing. He would buy me flowers every time I wrapped up a major project. He planned every anniversary to perfection. But this year, that devotion found a new owner. When Vivian said she was afraid of the dark, he drove across the city at midnight to help her adjust the lighting in her studio. When Vivian said she didn’t understand camera angles, he canceled our dinner plans to personally review her video scripts. It turned out the date itself was never important. What mattered was who he wanted to spend it with. I asked, “Austin, do you still want to marry me?” The phone went dead silent. That silence was a slap in the face. I folded the appointment sheet in half. My voice was barely a whisper. “Then let’s break up.” It was as if Austin had been waiting for those exact words. He answered almost instantly. “Fine.” Six years of love. A morning that was supposed to make us husband and wife. To him, it ended with a single, effortless word. Right after I hung up, Vivian sent me a snap. In the photo, she stood on the runway stage. Austin’s blazer was draped over her shoulders. Her eyes were shiny with tears. Austin stood beside her, leaning in to adjust her microphone. The caption was short: So glad I have you. I stared at it for a long time. Then, I typed back: Good luck with the show. I blocked Austin’s number immediately. As I stood up, a wave of nausea hit me. I grabbed the back of a bench, forcing the sick feeling down. The Uber driver asked where to. I looked at the city lights blurring outside the window. My voice was hoarse. “Home. I need to pack.” Halfway there, a text popped up on my laptop from Austin’s iCloud: Stop throwing a tantrum. Let’s talk when I get home tonight. I looked at the screen and wanted to laugh. To him, my forty minutes of waiting, the sound of another woman’s voice, and my breaking point were all just a “tantrum.” He didn’t ask if I was okay. He didn’t ask how long I had waited. He just assumed I would be waiting at the apartment. He assumed I couldn’t let go of him. He assumed six years of habit would drag me right back to his feet. I shut my laptop. I didn’t reply. The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror and handed me a tissue. I took it, but I didn’t cry. I pulled the ring box out of my bag and opened it. The ring was simple. I had picked it out myself. Austin had promised he would slide it onto my finger at City Hall. Now, he didn’t have to. I snapped the box shut and put it in my coat pocket. Not because I couldn’t let go, but because I wanted to remind myself: some promises are real when they are made, but they rot just as quickly. I couldn’t pretend something wasn’t dead just because it used to be alive. When I reached our building, I didn’t go up right away. The windows of our penthouse were dark. I knew what was inside. The sofa we bought together, the plush rug he insisted on buying because he hated the cold winter floors, the floor plan of the nursery we had passionately discussed. Those things were still there. But our future was gone. Standing in the cold wind, I opened our shared Google Calendar. One by one, I deleted the events: Sign marriage license, wedding ring fitting, dinner with parents. Finally, my phone prompted: Do you want to keep the shared photo album? I stared at the prompt. I tapped Keep. Not out of sentiment, but because I didn’t have the strength to process six years of memories today. You can’t rip out a deep wound on day one. I just needed to pack my things, get out of that apartment, and slowly crawl out of the wreckage of my past.

Chloe’s POV The apartment was still filled with the ghosts of our upcoming wedding. Matching slippers sat by the door. A medical checklist for our pre-marital checkup was pinned to the fridge. On the dining table lay the shopping list I had written last night. I had planned for us to go ring shopping right after City Hall. Now, every bullet point looked like a joke. Austin came back at dusk. He rang the doorbell instead of using his keys. In his hand was a hot container of clam chowder from my favorite bistro. He looked tired, a familiar, practiced exhaustion on his face. “Eat something first. I’m sorry about noon, Chloe. But Vivian really couldn’t handle it alone. It was her first time in front of a crowd. She was shaking.” I didn’t reach for the soup. “I’ll have your things packed and sent to your office.” Austin frowned. “You’re the one who called for a breakup.” “Yes. That’s why I’m handling the logistics.” He looked taken aback by my calm tone. Whenever we argued in the past, I always left room for reconciliation. Austin would say a few sweet words, and I would let it go. I couldn’t bear to lose six years of history. I couldn’t let go of the boy who used to look at me like I was his entire world. But that boy was long gone. Austin set the soup down on the console table. “Take a couple of days to cool off, Chloe. Don’t burn your bridges over a temporary mood.” I looked up, meeting his eyes. “You agreed so quickly on the phone. Isn’t this what you wanted all along?” A flash of guilt and panic crossed Austin’s face. The moment the door shut behind him, I ran to the bathroom and threw up. I thought it was just my stomach acting up from the stress. But the next morning, the smell of the cold soup made me gag all over again. By the time Maya rushed over, I was sitting on the floor, pulling photos out of our scrapbooks. I was sliding Austin’s pictures out one by one. My movements were slow, like I was conducting a quiet funeral for a dead relationship. Maya snatched the album away. “Stop doing this. Why do you look so pale?” I shook my head. “Just didn’t sleep well.” Maya stared at me for a few seconds. “Chloe… when was your last period?” My hand froze in mid-air. The last time Austin and I were intimate was two weeks ago. He had been a little drunk. He held me tight, whispering that he wanted a baby. He said he wanted a little girl who would be as smart as me. I believed him that night. I even thought that if I got pregnant after City Hall, it would be a beautiful new beginning. But now, Austin didn’t want me anymore. Maya pulled me up from the floor. “We’re going to the clinic. Now.” When the lab results came back, the doctor’s voice was gentle. “The pregnancy is very early. You need to keep your stress low and get plenty of rest. Does the father know?” I looked at the slip of paper. My throat felt like it was blocked by concrete. “He doesn’t need to know.” I already loved this tiny life inside me. But it had arrived too late, and at such a painful cost. It felt like a final anchor Austin had left in my body, trying to drag back a woman who had already decided to run. Outside the clinic, Maya asked, “What’s the plan, Chloe?” I folded the ultrasound and tucked it into my bag. “Just get through today.” I couldn’t make life-altering decisions while I was at my weakest. I had to pull myself out of the mess Austin and Vivian had created first. Maya stayed with me the whole way back. We didn’t talk about the baby, and we didn’t talk about Austin. We just stopped by the pharmacy to pick up the prenatal vitamins the doctor prescribed, and ordered some light chicken broth from the diner downstairs. I sat at the table, taking one slow sip at a time. My stomach was still in knots, but I forced myself to keep it down. Maya’s eyes grew red as she watched me. “You don’t have to put on a brave face for me, you know.” “If I don’t hold myself together, who will?” I murmured. The room went dead silent. Austin used to shield me from the storms. Or at least, I thought he did. When I was drowning in overtime, he would wait downstairs with coffee. When I was grieving my mother, he would cancel his meetings to hold me. But if a man’s reliability only lasts as long as his feelings, it isn’t reliability. It’s just charity on a good day. I touched my lower abdomen. For the first time, I seriously wondered: If I keep this baby, can I raise them alone in a world where we don’t have to beg for Austin’s attention? I didn’t have the answer yet. But I knew I needed an escape route. That night, I couldn’t sleep in our bed. His pillow still smelled faintly of his sandalwood cologne. I took a light blanket and slept on the living room couch. In the middle of the night, the nausea woke me up again. Maya sat on the floor next to me, fighting sleep, her eyes half-closed as she muttered curses at Austin. “He better not show his face here, or I’ll smash him with a frying pan.” I let out a weak laugh, and only then did the tears finally spill over. It hurt. It hurt so bad. But I finally understood that even if it hurt, I could never run back to Austin’s arms. That embrace was now reserved for Vivian’s tears and drama. It was no longer a safe place for me.

Chloe’s POV When I returned to the marketing agency after three days of leave, I found my desk had been moved. I was no longer by the window. That window seat was a spot I had earned inch by inch, working my way up from an intern to a senior creative director. Now, my plants were gone, my project drafts had been shuffled through, and even the framed photo of my mother and me at the old pier was missing from my desk. Inside the glass conference room, Vivian was standing there. She was wearing my custom-designed forest green blazer. That blazer was a prototype I had created for our pitch to renovate the SoHo Leather Factory. I had designed it using my mother’s vintage leatherwork techniques as inspiration. I wanted to pitch turning that abandoned factory into a community exhibition space for heritage crafts. It was a project I had poured my heart into for over eight months. Vivian spotted me and immediately jogged out of the room. “Chloe. You’re back. I thought you needed a few more days off. Mr. Davis said I should take over as the lead presenter for the SoHo project for now. Please don’t be mad. I’m just stepping in to help.” I stared at the blazer on her. “Take it off.” Vivian blinked, taken aback. “What?” “That’s my custom prototype,” I said, my voice cold. “It’s not company property.” The chatter in the office died down instantly. Vivian’s eyes welled with tears on cue. “Chloe, I just thought this blazer matched the theme of today’s pitch so well. Austin… I mean, Mr. Vance also said that you haven’t been in the right headspace lately, and that it’s better if you don’t present.” I finally looked into the conference room. Austin was sitting in the client’s chair, Vivian’s presentation slides open in front of him. Seeing me, his brows knit together. He looked at me with warning eyes, as if blaming me for making a scene. Mr. Davis stepped out of the room, whispering, “Chloe, don’t do this now. The Vance Group is the primary investor for this exhibition. Austin wants Vivian to lead this. You’ll still get credit behind the scenes.” Behind the scenes. I was the one who had made dozens of trips to the dusty factory ruins. I was the one who interviewed the retired craftsmen, archived the old leather samples, and scanned my mother’s hand-drawn blueprints page by page. Now, Vivian was wearing my design, speaking my words, and stealing my spotlight. And I was supposed to be satisfied with “behind-the-scenes credit.” Without another word, I reached out and yanked the blazer off Vivian’s shoulders. Vivian gasped, stumbling back as tears streamed down her face. “Chloe! I know you’re hurting because of you and Austin, but you can’t bring your personal drama into the workplace!” Austin stood up, his chair scraping loudly. “Chloe.” I draped the blazer over my arm, keeping my voice steady and clear. “If you’re going to steal my pitch, at least don’t wear my clothes to do it.” Nobody dared to breathe in the open office. Austin’s face darkened. “Vivian is a junior. She needs this opportunity.” “Opportunities are built, Austin. Not stripped off my back.” Vivian sobbed louder. I didn’t give them another glance. I walked over to my new cramped desk, opened my laptop, and got to work. I didn’t cry, and I didn’t quit on the spot. Instead, I backed up every single file of the SoHo project. The original concept drafts, the interview recordings, the licensing agreements for my mother’s designs, and the prototype manufacturing records. I had already lost my relationship. I was not going to let them steal my life’s work. Once the backup was complete, I didn’t leave immediately. I walked into the archive room and began packing my personal belongings and my mother’s vintage design books. Seeing how quiet and methodical I was, my coworkers kept their distance. Vivian watched me through the glass, her smugness slowly giving way to anxiety. Mr. Davis came over to placate me. “Chloe, we’re all colleagues here. No need to burn bridges. Vivian is young, she doesn’t know the industry rules yet.” I looked up. “If she doesn’t know the rules, why is she leading a multi-million dollar project?” Mr. Davis choked on his words. I packed my mother’s sketches into a waterproof bag, filled out a property release form, and made the receptionist sign it. In the past, I ran on loyalty. I never kept strict receipts because I thought of this agency as my second home. Now I realized: a home doesn’t move your desk the second you take three days off, nor does it hand your mother’s legacy to another woman. I saw Austin standing by the door of the conference room. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he ultimately remained silent. I carried my storage box right past him, not even letting my sleeve brush against his. A colleague next to my old desk whispered, “Do you need help, Chloe?” I shook my head. I didn’t want to drag anyone else into the mud with Austin and Vivian. But she quietly pushed an empty cardboard box toward me and whispered, “Make sure you didn’t leave any original sketches behind.” That simple gesture almost made me break down. I realized that not everyone in this office was blind. Many saw the injustice. They were just too afraid to speak up. I finished copying the last interview tape and placed my mother’s photo at the top of the box. Vivian could steal the spotlight on stage, but she could never fake the soul of the work.

Chloe’s POV The first dry run of the SoHo exhibition was scheduled at the old factory’s central warehouse. This place was where my mother had worked when she was a young designer. After she passed, I rarely came back. But for this project, I had loaned my company her vintage tailor rulers, leather swatches, and handwritten journals. I wanted people to see the beauty of the old craftsmanship. During the dry run, Vivian stood on the stage, reciting my opening remarks. “Every vintage piece is not waste. They are simply pushed into the shadows by time…” Standing in the crowd, a sharp pain flared in my stomach. Vivian delivered the lines with practiced emotion, but she mispronounced the basic leather terms my mother had coined. Several retired craftsmen sitting in the front row frowned, their faces turning grim. Mr. Davis frantically approached me, begging, “Chloe, please. Go up there and save the pitch.” I didn’t budge. Austin walked over, whispering in my ear, “You know this part best. Go up and help her.” I looked at him. “Isn’t she the lead?” “Chloe, stop being childish. Not now.” “I’m not being childish.” I looked at the stage. “I’m just letting the lead present her own work.” On stage, Vivian completely froze. She looked at Austin, tears pooling in her eyes. Austin instinctively took a step toward the stage, but the museum curator stood up first. “Miss Vivian, you mentioned this vintage tailor ruler belonged to your grandmother?” My head snapped up. Vivian hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded. “Yes… she used it to support our family back in the day.” That ruler was my mother’s most precious possession. Blood rushed to my ears. I walked straight up to the stage, took the ruler out of the display case, and looked Vivian dead in the eye. “Vivian. Say it again. Whose is this?” Vivian’s face drained of color. Austin was stunned. “Vivian?” Vivian immediately burst into tears. “I didn’t mean to! The script wasn’t clear, I thought it was just a generic story we were using for the brand! Chloe, don’t be so mean… I really didn’t know it was your mother’s!” I turned to Austin. “Hear that? She can’t even memorize the story she stole.” Austin’s face was incredibly tense, but his first instinct was still to step in front of Vivian. “We’ll discuss this back at the office.” “No.” I put the ruler back into my box. “We discuss it here. I am officially pulling out of the SoHo project. My mother’s legacy, my drafts, and my personal items are leaving this building right now.” Mr. Davis panicked. “Chloe, don’t do this! The exhibition has already been approved by the city board!” “That sounds like a ‘you’ problem.” I hugged the wooden box of my mother’s things and turned to walk out. Vivian ran after me, grabbing my sleeve. “Chloe, please! I really didn’t mean to! You’re going to ruin the entire project!” I jerked my arm back to get away from her. But Vivian lost her footing, slipping and crashing straight into the temporary lighting rig beside the stage. The rig wobbled violently, and a heavy, rusted metal sign came crashing down. Instinctively, I curled my body to protect my mother’s box. But my lower abdomen slammed hard against the sharp edge of the display counter. A sharp, blinding pain exploded deep inside my belly. My face went completely white. Warm blood began to run down my legs. By the time Austin rushed over, I was too weak to stand. He reached out to cradle me, but I used every ounce of my remaining strength to push him away. “Don’t touch me.” Austin froze, his hands trembling in the air. Clutching my mother’s wooden box, I slid down to the cold floor. I saw Vivian standing a few feet away, her face filled with horror, but she didn’t step forward. When the wail of the siren echoed outside, my vision finally went black. I realized then that love doesn’t always die slowly. Sometimes, it is stomped into the dirt, over and over, until there is nothing left to save. Before the ambulance doors slammed shut, Austin finally caught up, panting. I had never seen him look so terrified. He kept reaching out, trying to grasp my hand. But the paramedics blocked him. Maya stood in his way, her eyes wild with anger. “Get the hell away from her!” Maya screamed at him. “Now you care? Where was this urgency when you were busy protecting Vivian?” Austin’s lips parted, but not a single sound came out. Inside the ambulance, the pain kept dragging me into unconsciousness, but I refused to let go of the wooden box. The paramedic tried to take it, but I shook my head fiercely. That box held my mother’s tools, her designs, and the last piece of myself I had left. Outside, Vivian was being comforted by a coworker, weeping softly. She kept saying she didn’t mean to, but her very first question wasn’t about me. It was asking Austin if he was mad at her. Everyone heard it. The lights of the old factory faded in the distance. The banner outside still read: New Life for Old Things. But what I lost in that warehouse would never have a new life. In the ambulance, the doctor asked if I had any family members present. Maya immediately grabbed my hand. “I’m her family.” I couldn’t speak, but a tear slipped from the corner of my eye. For six years, I thought Austin was my home. But when my world fell apart, the one standing in front of the storm wasn’t my fiancé. It was my best friend. Maya squeezed my hand tightly. “Don’t you dare close your eyes, Chloe. Stay with me. You have to get through this, so we can watch those two rot in hell.” I tried to nod, but only a faint gasp escaped my lips. The nurse finally took the wooden box and handed it to Maya for safekeeping. As my eyes closed, the doctor’s warning flashed through my mind: Keep your stress low. I had tried so hard to stay steady. But they had pulled the rug right out from under my feet.

Chloe’s POV The baby was gone. The doctor said the pregnancy was too early, and my body was already severely exhausted from stress. The impact was just the final trigger. When Maya heard the news, she sobbed in the hallway until she couldn’t breathe. But I was dead silent. I was so quiet, it felt like I had left my voice back at that warehouse. The next morning, Maya brought a fresh container of clam chowder. Seeing Austin standing outside my hospital room, she slammed the food down on the counter. “Oh, look who decided to show up. Where were you when she was waiting at City Hall? Where were you when they were stealing her work? When she was bleeding, your first instinct was still to check if Vivian had a scratch!” Austin’s voice cracked. “I just want to see her.” “She doesn’t want to see you. Ever.” Inside the room, I heard every word, but I didn’t say anything. I stared out the window, my palm resting flat against my empty stomach. I had spent nights agonizing over whether I should bring this child into the world. But losing them left an ache that stripped away any remaining dignity I had. It felt as though a tiny hand had briefly touched mine, only to be violently ripped away by this nightmare. In the afternoon, I asked Maya to bring me my laptop. Maya’s eyes were puffy. “You just had surgery. Can’t this wait?” “If I wait, they’ll write the narrative for me,” I said softly. “I’m not letting them call me ’emotionally unstable’ again.” I sent a formal email to the agency, the museum curator, and my lawyer. The email was simple: I was revoking all licenses. My mother’s estate, the interviews, the scans, and the blazer design. All use was to stop immediately. As for the warehouse accident, I demanded a full investigation into the safety of the lighting rig and the contractor responsible. After sending the email, I asked Maya to help me move my things out of our apartment. I wanted my car and a few boxes of files moved to a secure location. I left all further communication to my lawyer. Maya blinked. “Where are you going to go, Chloe?” “The warehouse.” It was an old, dusty storage unit my mother had left me in Queens. Austin had always looked down on it, calling it a useless piece of junk. But it was mine. I didn’t have the energy to sort through six years of life right now. But I could hide there to heal, far away from any place Austin could find me. Two days later, I checked out of the hospital. I didn’t go back to the penthouse. I went straight to Queens. Maya came with me. I handed my old phone over to my lawyer and set up an auto-forward for Austin’s emails. While Austin was still guarding the empty hospital lobby, my car was already heading out of the city. I didn’t say much on the drive. Maya, worried I was freezing, draped her coat over my lap. To keep my mind off things, she blasted a loud, trashy pop song on the radio. I listened to the beat and actually fell asleep for fifteen minutes. When I woke up, the sun had set. The highway lights flashed past, cutting my past into distant, fading frames. Maya asked, “Any regrets?” I shook my head. Of course, I was scared. The warehouse was cold, my body was weak, and I had no idea how I was going to make a living or deal with the grief. But I knew one thing for sure: staying where Austin could reach me would only drag me back into the mud of his guilt and Vivian’s malice. Leaving wasn’t about being brave. It was about survival. The Queens warehouse was in worse shape than I remembered. The iron door was rusted, the roof leaked, and moss grew in the corners. Maya frowned the moment we stepped inside. “Are you sure you want to stay here? The wind at night is going to sound like a horror movie.” I stood in the center of the dusty room. For the first time in days, I felt grounded. There were no matching slippers here. No trace of Vivian’s perfume. No one asking me why I couldn’t just “be the bigger person.” It was run-down, but every square inch of it belonged to me. I decided to turn the warehouse into my new independent studio. For the first few days, my body was still recovering, so Maya forbid me from doing any heavy lifting. We hired a contractor to fix the roof, change the locks, and paint the walls. I sat on a folding chair, sipping my warm herbal tea, organizing my mother’s old leather patterns. I placed her wooden box on the highest shelf. Inside, I slipped a small post-it note: I’m sorry. I will live a good life. I didn’t write a name. The baby was too small. Too small to have ever been called by a name in this world.

Chloe’s POV My first client came through Maya. An old, prestigious boutique in Soho was planning their 20th-anniversary exhibition. The budget was tight, but the standards were incredibly high. The owner, Valerie, came to see my warehouse in person. She noticed my pale face and asked bluntly, “Is your health going to be an issue?” I looked her in the eye. “If there’s something I can’t handle, I’ll tell you upfront. What I promise to do, I will deliver perfectly.” Valerie smiled. “I like that. Realistic over idealistic.” She gave me a shot: I had three days to pitch a concept for their heritage collection. I took it. For those three days, I didn’t pull any all-nighters. The doctor said I needed rest, so I broke the work into small chunks. When I was tired, I stopped. Maya took care of my meals. When I finally emailed the deck to Valerie, her response was short: You’re hired. Staring at the screen, my eyes filled with tears. I didn’t become useless just because I left Austin. I had simply returned to my own battlefield. Once the contract was signed, I installed the first proper light fixture in my warehouse. When the bulb flickered on, the dust motes in the air became visible. Maya pinched her nose, but I stood in the light for a long time. I remembered how my mother used to repair leather bags under a similar light when I was a kid. We weren’t rich, but she always said that whether an old item can be saved doesn’t depend on how damaged it is, but on whether someone has the patience to stitch it back together. I used to apply that logic to my relationship, and it ended up destroying me. N ow, I finally knew the difference: things can be repaired, but a rotten heart is better left in the trash. As we prepared for the first mini-exhibition, my body still had moments of sudden weakness. Valerie didn’t rush me; she simply pushed the launch date back by two days. Around that time, the name Julian first appeared in my inbox. He was a non-profit director Valerie had introduced, and he sent over a very detailed, professional partnership proposal. My first instinct was to put up my guard. I realized Austin had conditioned me to be afraid. I was so used to being controlled that when someone offered a genuine, equal partnership, I immediately looked for the catch. After Valerie left one afternoon, I sat by the warehouse door, letting the cool breeze hit my face. The salty air from the East River made my stomach ache slightly. Maya handed me a hot water bottle, lecturing me, “If you overwork yourself again, I will literally tie you to the bed.” “Deal,” I smiled. My quick agreement caught Maya off guard. In the past, I hated bothering people. Even with a high fever, I would tell everyone I was fine. Now, I was finally learning to accept care. Not because I was weak, but because I realized that if you want to stand back up, you can’t do it while pretending your wounds aren’t bleeding. That night, I wrote down the first rule for my new studio: No sacrificing health for a deadline. I stared at the sentence. It felt like a final farewell to the girl who used to destroy herself just to please everyone else. Once the deposit cleared, I felt a sense of relief I hadn’t felt in years. This money was mine. It wasn’t a payout from Austin, and it wasn’t a corporate bonus. It was earned by my own hands. I used some of it to patch the rest of the roof and saved the rest in a business account. Maya asked why I was being so strict with the finances. “No matter what happens,” I told her, “this studio needs to have at least three months of runway to survive on its own.” It sounded like business talk, but it was actually my safety net. That night, as I sat alone in the warehouse filing invoices, I found myself smiling. Austin had gifted me expensive jewelry in the past, but none of it ever made me feel this secure. Real peace of mind doesn’t come from the price tag. It comes from knowing exactly how it was earned, and where it’s going.

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That night at the gala, just as I raised the abortion pills to my lips, a baby’s cry rang out in my head. “Mom! Don’t swallow! If you get rid of me now, Julian will never have kids! He has severe fertility issues!” My hand froze instantly. His first love had just returned to the country. Julian was helping Chloe to her seat. He looked up at me, his eyes cold and warning, telling me not to cause a scene. Over the past three years, I had learned to read that look perfectly. Every time he looked at me like that, I was supposed to obediently step back and hold back my tears. But this time, right in front of everyone, I slipped the two pills back into my clutch. I looked at Chloe, a faint smile on my lips. “Since you’re back, I’m done serving him.” “I’m leaving. Bye.” The whole room was stunned as I stood up and left. Julian ordered me to stop. I didn’t look back. Since God had let me hear my baby’s voice, I wasn’t going to give this game up to the Pierce family. I would make everyone who wanted to see me as a joke regret this for the rest of their lives.

Vivian’s POV On the night of the Pierce Family Charity Gala, I sat in my seat, clutching two abortion pills tightly in my hand. In the center of the ballroom, Julian was shielding Chloe from a glass of wine, drinking it for her. The chandelier light fell on his broad shoulders, and also on the tear-stained corners of Chloe’s eyes. The guests cheered, whispering about how their childhood romance was meant to be, after all. Someone glanced at me maliciously and raised their voice. “Then what about Miss Vance? She can’t keep occupying the position of Mrs. Pierce forever, right?” I looked down at the warm water in my glass, about to put the pills in my mouth. Suddenly, a childish, sharp wail echoed in my belly. “Mom! Don’t swallow! If you get rid of me now, that scumbag Julian will be childless for the rest of his life!” My hand froze. The voice was still screaming in my belly. “He has low sperm motility. The baby in your belly is his only chance of having a child in this lifetime. He is playing the hero for his first love now, but in the future, even if he kneels at your door begging for a glance, he won’t even get a number.” My pupils dilated in shock. My nails dug deep into my palm. Julian helped Chloe back to the VIP table and looked up at me. His gaze was extremely cold, carrying his usual warning, as if reminding me not to make a scene. For the past three years, I was a master at reading this look. I had always thought I was just a placeholder. When Chloe left the country, I came; now that Chloe was back, I had to leave. Tonight, I wanted to end it cleanly. Abort the baby, cut ties, and leave myself a shred of dignity. But the little thing in my belly refused. “Mom! Don’t look at his handsome face, he’s just a blind fool! As long as you keep this pregnancy, the entire Pierce family will have to revolve around you in the future! In my past life, you aborted me, and in the end, they drove you crazy and you died in a mental asylum!” My heart hammered violently. Past life memories? If what this child said was true… Chloe walked over with a glass of juice, pretending to smooth things over. “Vivian, everyone was just joking tonight. Don’t take it to heart. Julian is just taking care of me. We grew up together, he’s used to it.” Someone immediately chimed in nearby. “Chloe is so generous. Anyone else would have kicked the uninvited guest out long ago.” Everyone was waiting to see me swallow my pride. But I raised my head, and in front of everyone, I put the two abortion pills back into my purse. I looked at Chloe, my lips curving into a cold, sharp smile. “Miss Sterling is right. Being ‘used to’ something is indeed a habit that needs to be broken.” The smile on Chloe’s face froze instantly. Julian frowned, his voice displeased. “Vivian.” “I’m going to get some fresh air.” I stood up, not even granting him a glance. “You guys enjoy your habits.” The moment I walked out of the ballroom, the voice in my belly let out a long sigh of relief, then said urgently: “Mom, beautifully done! But whatever you do, don’t go back to the villa, and don’t tell Julian I exist! Chloe, that venomous snake, has her eyes on you. You have to stay alive so I can live!” I looked back at the half-closed heavy doors of the ballroom. Inside, glasses were still clinking, celebrating Julian’s reunion with his first love. I touched my flat belly, my eyes becoming more determined than ever. “Okay,” I said softly in my heart. “I’ll take you away. I’ll save you once, and you have to help me fight for my life.” “I will!” The little voice was full of energy. “Mom, let’s survive first, and then make them regret everything!” I did not go back to Julian’s villa.

Vivian’s POV I stopped my car at a street corner. Pretending to go into a pharmacy for stomach medicine, I slipped right out through the back door. I pulled out my phone’s SIM card, threw it into the storm drain without hesitation, and turned around to buy a cheap, prepaid burner phone with cash. My counter-surveillance moves were seamless. The little guy in my belly was stunned. “Mom… you’re so good at this… Next, go south, go find Mary!” Deep in the lower east side, the alteration shop was tucked away in a narrow alley. The owner, Mary, was someone my grandmother had once helped. After hearing my story, she didn’t say a word and hid me in the secret attic on the third floor. Just as I sat down, loud, urgent banging came from downstairs. “Is Miss Vance inside? Mr. Pierce is looking for her.” The man’s voice outside was polite, but it carried a suffocating pressure. My whole body tensed up. Just as I was about to jump out of the back window, the voice in my belly suddenly screamed: “Don’t move! That’s not Julian’s man, that’s Sienna’s! She saw you holding the pill box tonight. She suspects you’re pregnant and wants to drag you for a blood test to kill me directly!” A cold sweat broke out across my back. Sienna Sterling, Chloe’s half-sister. The older sister played the sweet, innocent first love, while the younger sister did all the dirty work in the shadows. They had long seen me as a thorn in their side. Even if it was just a suspicion, they wanted to wipe me out. “There’s no Miss Vance here! I only do clothing alterations!” Mary argued loudly downstairs. The man outside sneered. “Mrs. Higgins, this is Sterling family business. You’d better know what’s good for you.” I stood in the dark stairwell, my eyes icy. I didn’t hesitate anymore. I grabbed a ring of keys left by my grandmother, crossed from the third-floor window sill to the neighbor’s balcony, and slipped into an empty building. Half an hour later, I changed into an oversized, worn-out black puffer jacket, put on a face mask and a beanie, and blended completely into the bustling crowd of the local fish market like a drop of water. The quiet, pretty, submissive Vivian died tonight. Mary sent me an encrypted text on Snapchat: They left. They said not to dream of running. I sneered. Dreaming? Let’s see whose dream shatters first. The rain poured down. I took shelter in an abandoned workshop in north Brooklyn. The place was drafty, but hidden enough. I spread out the old ledger my grandmother had left on the wooden table, turned to the last page, and found a yellowed business card: Dr. Evelyn Carter. Before my grandmother passed away, she told me that if I was ever pushed into a corner, I should find this gynecologist. “Mom, call her quickly! In my past life, you went too late, and those two evil Sterling sisters dragged you onto the operating table!” The voice in my belly carried deep fear. I didn’t panic. First, I wrote down my current situation, the people I had contacted, and the possible risks of exposure on a blank piece of paper. I could no longer rely on Julian to solve things like I did in the past three years. From now on, I was the only protector for myself and my child. At 3:00 AM, I used my new burner phone to call Dr. Evelyn Carter.

Julian’s POV By the time I found the alteration shop on the lower east side, it was already noon the next day. I was still wearing yesterday’s suit, my eyes bloodshot, radiating a dark, uncontrollable anger. “Has Vivian been here?” I glared at the woman behind the counter. The woman didn’t even look up. “Mr. Pierce, didn’t anyone teach you to say hello before barging into a shop?” My assistant behind me took a step forward, trying to intimidate her. The woman pointed directly at the security camera above her head. “Touch me and see what happens! Let the whole city see how the Pierce family bullies ordinary people!” I raised my hand to stop my assistant, forcing down my rage. “She was emotional last night. I just want to take her home.” “Why was she emotional? Don’t you have any idea?” Mary sneered. “You seemed to enjoy having girls on both arms last night, and now you’re here playing the devoted partner?” Her words felt like a hard slap across my face. I knew what she meant. At the gala last night, Chloe had leaned in and grabbed my arm, and I hadn’t pushed her away immediately. In Vivian’s eyes, that was probably a silent confirmation, a betrayal. Proof that I had chosen Chloe over her. I clenched my fists so hard my knuckles turned white. It wasn’t because Mary was wrong, but because she was entirely right. The moment I failed to push Chloe away was the moment everything started to crumble. When Vivian left last night, I even thought she was being “mature.” But when I returned to the empty villa and found she had taken all her IDs, leaving behind every piece of jewelry I had ever bought her, a terrifying panic gripped my chest. Just then, Chloe called. “Julian, did you find Vivian? Sienna said she looked pale last night, she’s really worried about her…” “Sienna is worried about Vivian?” My voice turned freezing cold, cutting her off. “Chloe, keep your sister in check. If anything happens to Vivian, I will hold the Sterling family personally responsible.” I hung up, and my assistant handed me a blurry surveillance screenshot. In the picture, she was wearing a worn-out puffer jacket, walking into a crowded market with her head down. I stared at the photo, my heart squeezing painfully. She wasn’t throwing a tantrum. She was hiding from me. She was running as if escaping a mortal danger, using every trick she had to get away from me! Vivian’s POV Inside Dr. Evelyn Carter’s private clinic. “It’s early, but the baby is stable. Right now, you need nutrition and rest.” Dr. Carter pushed the ultrasound image toward me. I touched my flat stomach and asked in a low voice, “What if someone wants to steal the baby, or kill it?” Dr. Carter looked at me deeply, her voice sharp. “Then remember this: you are an independent mother, not someone’s breeding tool. If you want to protect him, you must first arm yourself to the teeth!” Those words ignited a fierce fire in my chest. At dusk, I was having toasts at a small bakery near the clinic. I had only taken two bites when Sienna Sterling, flanked by two bodyguards, arrogantly pulled back a chair and sat opposite me. “You really know how to hide, Vivian, coming to a trashy place like this.” Sienna’s venomous eyes swept over my stomach. “My sister is kind-hearted, but I’m not. If you’re carrying some bastard you shouldn’t be, you’d better get rid of it now. Otherwise, I’ll make your life a living hell.” The little guy in my belly shook with anger. “Mom! That’s exactly how she smiled when she drove you crazy in my past life! Tear her apart!” I raised my eyes. “Does your sister know you’re doing her dirty work?” Sienna’s expression changed slightly, but she quickly laughed it off. “Don’t try to drive a wedge between us. My sister is soft-hearted, but I’m not. Vivian, you’ve been with Julian for three years, you must have gotten a lot of money, right? Learn to be content.” “What I got was given by Julian, not the Sterling family.” I pushed the hot bowl of soup away. “If you want me to be content, keep your hands out of my bowl first.” Sienna didn’t expect me to talk back so directly. Her smile vanished completely. One of the men behind her took a step forward, trying to intimidate me. But I set my phone upright on the table, screen facing outward. It was in the middle of a call. Dr. Carter’s voice came through the speaker: “Vivian, I’ve already sent your location to Mary. Stay put. The shop has cameras, and I’m recording this call.” Sienna narrowed her eyes. “You think this will save you?” “At least it keeps you from doing anything stupid tonight.” I stood up. “Miss Sterling, if you’re really that capable, stop fighting other people’s battles. If you want something, say it directly.” Sienna stared at me, lowering her voice. “I want you to disappear from Julian’s life.” “What a coincidence.” I picked up my coat. “So do I.” I walked out of the bakery, only to see Mary rushing over on a scooter, a pair of heavy fabric shears sitting in her front basket. Mary threw a helmet into my arms. “Get on the back, don’t look back!” I climbed onto the passenger seat. The wind whipped past my ears, and the baby in my belly let out a tiny laugh. “Mom! You were so badass back there!” I held Mary’s waist tightly. The running was over. From today on, I would make everyone who belittled and plotted against me pay in full! When we got back to the workshop, I didn’t sleep right away. I wrote down everything Sienna had said, word for word, including the height, clothing, and accents of the two men behind her. Mary walked in with hot water. Seeing my hands trembling as I wrote, she cursed in pity, “Why are you still writing this down right now?” “So there won’t be any confusion later,” I said. I had suffered too much from not having proof in the past. A simple “misunderstanding” from Chloe, a “stop causing trouble” from Julian, or an “be more generous” from bystanders was all it took to erase my pain. I didn’t want to use tears to beg for belief anymore. I wanted to keep a record of everything, even if it seemed tedious right now. The baby in my belly nudged me gently, as if in response. I looked down, pressing my palm against my stomach, finally feeling a solid warmth toward this sudden twist of fate.

Vivian’s POV Mary handed me a bowl of hot soup. “People make stupid decisions when they’re hungry.” Mary bolted the door. “Eat first. If you want to cry, do it after you’re full.” I held the bowl, the steam making my eyes sting. I hadn’t taken much when I left Julian’s villa. I didn’t touch any of the expensive jewelry, but I held my grandmother’s old ledger close to my chest. Mary flipped open the ledger, pointing to a few faded lines. “Your grandmother used to tailor clothes for a lot of wealthy ladies back in the day. Some of them still remember her craft. If you’re willing, I can introduce you. You can start taking orders. You can’t just hide forever.” Hiding wasn’t a long-term solution. I understood that. I needed money, a stable place to live, and an identity that could explain my whereabouts. Compared to the unlimited credit card Julian had given me, the money earned from individual orders was meager, but it allowed me to sleep peacefully. Starting the next day, I began taking orders to repair vintage clothes. My first client was a retired school teacher who brought in a wrinkled silk shirt, saying it was a gift her late husband had bought her when they were young. As I bent my head to thread the needle, the baby in my belly suddenly went quiet. After a long while, he said: “Mom, when you’re working, you’re different from your past life.” “How so?” “In your past life, you were always waiting for someone else’s approval. Now, you reach for what you want yourself.” My fingers paused for a second before I continued sewing. I didn’t want to take those words as a compliment, because it meant the other version of me had lived a life that was far too exhausting. As I was wrapping up for the night, a black town car pulled up outside. Julian got out of the car, standing at the door of the workshop, his expression darker than the night sky. Mary blocked the doorway. “You’re not welcome here.” Julian’s gaze bypassed her, landing on me. “Come out. I need to talk to you.” I put down my needle and thread. I didn’t hide. I was wearing a loose sweater, my hands covered in fabric dust, looking completely different from the elegant woman people compared at the gala. Julian looked at me, his throat moving. “If you need money, you can tell me. You don’t have to live in a place like this.” “Even if this place is old, it’s my choice,” I said. “No matter how nice your place is, it’s not mine.” Julian’s face darkened at my words. “When did I ever say it wasn’t yours?” “You never said it was mine.” I raised my eyes. “Julian, you gave me a place to live, clothes, and a credit card, but you never gave me a choice. Now that I’ve made my own choice, you’re angry?” Julian was silent for a moment, his voice softening. “Come back with me. I’ll handle Chloe.” The voice in my belly instantly exploded: “Don’t believe him! ‘Handling it’ to him just means stalling! Stalling until your heart softens, stalling until the baby can’t be hidden anymore, and then the Pierce family will dictate your entire life!” I looked at Julian and suddenly asked, “What if I don’t go back?” Julian’s eyes went cold. “Do you have to make things so difficult?” “You see,” I smiled faintly. “You didn’t come to take me back. You came to reclaim something that went out of your control.” I stepped back into the warm light of the workshop. As the door closed from the inside, Julian was still standing there. Through the glass, I saw him reveal a lost, bewildered expression for the very first time, as if he had finally realized the other end of the rope he held was completely empty. Julian didn’t knock on the door again that night. I didn’t get up to see if he had left. Mary told me later that he stood at the door for a while, then sat in his car checking his phone messages, but didn’t let the driver start the engine. I didn’t know what he was looking at, but I remembered the messages I used to send him over the years. Almost every one of them was short and restrained: What time are you coming back? Should I save dinner? The stomach medicine is in the left drawer. I never asked who he was with, and I rarely complained. I used to think that silence was maturity, a form of understanding. Now, looking back, those messages were like receipts, recording how he slowly drained my affection. I wondered later if he would call. But I didn’t wait. Whether he dialed and hung up, I didn’t know. All I knew was that he had probably never gone through my old messages word-for-word the way he was doing tonight. What did he want to say? I didn’t know. Because even I suddenly realized that every “come here,” “stop acting up,” and “be good” he had ever said to me were commands, not conversations. I finished repairing the client’s shirt, pressed it, and packed it. Only after doing all this did the tightness in my chest slowly begin to dissipate. It turned out that not responding was also a choice.

Vivian’s POV Three days after Julian left, a red paper bag appeared at the door of the workshop. Inside was a white baby onesie, with a few words hastily scribbled on the front in red marker: “YOU DON’T DESERVE HER.” The fabric at the chest of the onesie had been slashed open, right over where the heart would be. Mary cursed when she saw it, reaching out to burn it. I stopped her, keeping both the bag and the security footage. At the very bottom of the bag was a card with a single sentence: Don’t bring this curse into the world. My fingers went cold. The baby in my belly didn’t yell this time. He was silent for so long that I had to speak first. “Are you keeping secrets from me?” The tiny voice sounded choked. After a long time, he said, “Mom, I didn’t just want to be the heir.” I sat by the sewing machine, the light casting a pale glow over my face. “In my past life, you kept me too. You believed Julian once and moved into the private estate he arranged for your pregnancy. It had the best doctors, the quietest rooms, and locks on the doors. After you gave birth to me, the Pierce family said your health was failing, and they took me to the main estate. Every time you wanted to see me, you had to ask for their permission.” My breathing slowly became heavy. “I didn’t find out you were my mom until I was five. Before that, they made me call you ‘Aunt Vivian.’ Then, one rainy night, you ran to the kindergarten gates just to catch a glimpse of me. The security guards stopped you, and you fell gravely ill after going back. After that, I never saw you again.” The little voice was very quiet, but it couldn’t hide the tears. “On my eighth birthday, I fell down the stairs at the main estate. Everyone said it was an accident. But I remember someone had scattered marbles at the top of the stairs. When I opened my eyes, I was back to the moment where you had to decide if you wanted me.” The only sound left in the workshop was the low hum of the sewing machine. I suddenly remembered the long hallway of the Pierce family estate, where the lights were bright but entirely devoid of warmth. I used to think I was just unaccepted. Now I realized that being unaccepted was the best-case scenario. What was truly terrifying was that they would sever my child from my life, and then tell me it was for his own good. Mary couldn’t hear the whole story, but seeing my pale face, she asked anxiously, “What’s wrong?” I packed the baby shoes I was making into a clear bag. “Mary, I need a lawyer. And a doctor who can ensure my medical records can’t be accessed by anyone else.” Mary was stunned for a second. “You’re finally ready to fight back?” “Yes.” I sealed the bag. “I used to think about running away. That’s not enough anymore. I need them to know that I am not someone who can be quietly swept under the rug.” I contacted Dr. Evelyn Carter, and through her, I found Audrey Lawson. Audrey was a lawyer who specialized in family law and women’s rights. She spoke quickly, her eyes sharp. After hearing my story, she only asked one question: “Do you want to protect the child, or do you want to protect yourself?” I said, “Both.” Audrey nodded. “Then stop negotiating with them using emotions. You need a registered address, an income, prenatal records, and evidence. You also need a visible social circle. A person hidden in the dark is the easiest to manipulate.” I looked out the window. Julian had offered me the most beautiful cage, and Sienna wanted to seal the outside of it. But I chose to walk right into the light of the crowd. Audrey didn’t ask about the baby’s voice, nor did she press about the past life. I only told her I had a very long nightmare, a nightmare where I lost my child and my name as a mother. After hearing this, Audrey didn’t laugh. She just capped her pen. “Then we prepare for the worst-case scenario. Many tragedies in real life don’t happen because people don’t love their children enough, but because they have no boundaries, no evidence, and no way out.” I engraved the word “boundaries” into my mind. I used to think that loving someone meant asking for less and making things easier for them. But my child’s past life was like a bucket of cold water, waking me from my delusions: love without boundaries is easily taken for granted, until there is nothing left of you. When I left the law firm, I bought a new notebook downstairs. On the first page, I wrote one sentence: No more disappearing. I wanted to make sure my name appeared on ledgers, contracts, medical records, and in the memories of my neighbors. The more clearly I existed, the harder it would be for anyone to erase me.

Vivian’s POV Audrey listed three things for me to do. First, transfer all prenatal records to a private clinic affiliated with Dr. Carter, where any information request required my personal authorization. Second, immediately register my residence and employment so my life would no longer look like a blank space that could be deleted at any moment. Third, keep all evidence of threats and harassment, but never meet anyone alone. I followed her instructions perfectly. I rented a small storefront on a busy street in the old neighborhood. It was tiny, previously a flower shop, with water stains still visible on the walls. Mary thought it was too run-down, but Audrey loved it. “It’s on a busy street, there are neighbors, cameras, and customers. The more ordinary, the safer.” I named the shop “Renascent.” My grandmother loved that word. I missed her. There were no grand floral arrangements on opening day, only an apple pie baked by Mary. The retired teacher came by with her repaired shirt and introduced two of her friends on the spot. By the afternoon, my back was aching, but for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t afraid. At dusk, a young woman carrying a gift box walked into the shop, saying she wanted to repair a gown. She wore a mask, but her eyes kept darting to my stomach. The baby in my belly warned me immediately: “Mom, she’s not here to fix clothes. She has a recording pen in her bag. She wants to bait you into admitting you’re pregnant with Julian’s baby.” My heart went cold, but I kept my face blank. “Leave the gown here. Come back in three days,” I said. The woman smiled and asked, “Isn’t it hard running a shop alone, Miss Vance? I heard you used to be close with Mr. Pierce. Why did you suddenly stop talking? Are you pregnant and trying to extort him?” Two aunts waiting for their clothes looked up at the same time. I pushed the registration book forward. “Name and phone number for alterations. Personal matters are not registered here.” The woman, unwilling to back down, raised her voice. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m just worried about Chloe. She and Julian are childhood sweethearts, and they’re about to get married. It looks bad for you to be caught in the middle.” I smiled. “Whoever told you to say that, go talk to them about how it looks.” I picked up the landline phone on the counter and dialed Audrey’s number right in front of her. “Audrey, there’s someone in my shop asking about my personal information using Chloe and Julian’s names. The camera is on, and there are witnesses here. Should we call the police now, or send a cease-and-desist first?” The woman’s face paled. She grabbed her gift box and bolted. A car was parked outside, the window rolled halfway down, revealing Sienna Sterling’s icy side profile. She clearly hadn’t expected me to stop taking her insults quietly. I looked through the glass, not hiding, but not chasing either. That night, Julian called. I didn’t pick up. I sent him a text message: Keep the Sterling family in check. If this happens again, I will release all the names publicly. Julian replied almost instantly: Where on earth are you? I looked at the screen, and the baby in my belly said quietly, “Mom, don’t tell him.” “I know.” I deleted the chat and pulled down the metal shutter. The streetlights flickered on, casting the shadow of my little shop onto the ground. I suddenly felt that although my world was small, it finally had a door, and the key was in my own hands. Before going to bed, I counted the day’s earnings three times. It wasn’t a lot of money, not even a fraction of what Julian used to spend on a dress for me. But every bill carried the warmth of my customers’ hands and my own labor. When I put them into the tin box, they made a soft, reassuring sound, as if confirming one thing: I didn’t need Julian to survive. Mary called to ask if I was tired. I said yes, but it wasn’t the kind of exhaustion that had no end. Mary laughed on the other end. “The kind of tired that lets you sleep is a good kind of tired.” The baby was sleepy too, his voice soft. “Mom, are we opening the shop tomorrow?” “Yes.” I turned off the light. “The more they want me to hide, the more I will open my doors.” After saying this, I laughed. In the past, I was afraid of being seen. Now, I began to understand that what truly protected me was not the dark, but the bright light where everyone could see how I lived my life.

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After giving blood to Mason’s adoptive sister for the three-hundredth time, they still didn’t let me go. That day, they dragged me to the hound yard. Opposite me was the giant black mastiff I feared the most. “If you survive this, we’ll let you reunite with your parents.” The next second, the dog, hyped up on some drug, lunged at me. With nowhere to hide, I could only let the beast tear into my flesh. Just as I was about to lose consciousness, Mason showed up. He ordered his men to beat the dog back, looking down at me with pure disgust. “Have you learned your lesson yet? Apologize to Windsor, and I promise we’ll get married right away.” In his arms, Windsor’s eyes filled with tears at his words. “Angel, I don’t blame you.” I stayed completely silent. My silence pushed Mason over the edge. “If it weren’t for you, Windsor wouldn’t have been assaulted by those thugs! She wouldn’t have ended up infertile, and she wouldn’t need constant blood transfusions!” “And now, you won’t even give her a simple apology?” “I guess you really don’t want your parents to live much longer, do you?” If this were in the past, I would have dropped to my knees and begged him. But now, there was no need. Because an hour ago, my parents had already died.

“Look at her, acting all tough. Mason, looks like your scare tactics aren’t working anymore. Angel doesn’t even care.” The mocking laughter from Mason’s friends made him frown. “Angel, did you lose your tongue?” Everyone could feel his growing anger. To suck up to him, one of his friends threw a glass bottle straight at me. The heavy glass shattered against my forehead. Instantly, I smelled the copper tang of my own blood. In the next second, Mason jumped down into the yard, suddenly looking panicked. “What happened?” Meeting his worried eyes, I felt a brief moment of daze. Did he actually care about me? But then, a cold sneer appeared on Mason’s face. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m only worried you’ll bleed out. If you die, who’s going to give Windsor her transfusion today?” So that was it. I was just being pathetic again. Ever since Windsor’s assault three years ago, I had been labeled the villain. Everyone said, “It was Angel. She thought Mason was sleeping with Windsor, so she hired those men to ruin her.” Mason didn’t even ask. He just believed it. Since then, they had subjected me to endless torture. Whenever Windsor needed blood, I had to drain myself. If I hesitated even a little, they would target my parents. My parents’ health was already failing. After years of Mason’s harassment, they were at their breaking point. Before they dragged me here today, the hospital had called me. “Miss Angel, you should start preparing for your parents’ funerals.” That phone call felt like a lightning strike. All my years of silent suffering felt entirely pointless. And an hour ago, Mason’s men brought my parents to the hound yard. They said they wanted my parents to watch me fight the black mastiff. In that moment, I had begged them. “Please, no. My parents are too old. Their hearts can’t take this. Please, don’t do this.” When I knelt and begged, I saw a flash of panic in Mason’s eyes. But it didn’t stop them. My parents were still forced to watch. When they saw me being pushed toward the raging dog, they smiled at me. Their smiles were so pale, so final. It was their last goodbye to me. The next second, they took their own lives right in front of me.

“Angel, can’t you just behave for once? Think about your parents…” Mason’s voice pulled me back to reality. I stared at him, my voice completely flat and hollow. “There’s no need, Mason. If you want me dead so badly, I’ll just die.” I turned and walked straight toward the black dog. Everyone in the yard gasped in shock. But I didn’t die. Mason grabbed my arm and yanked me back. “You’d go this far just to avoid saving Windsor? You think this threat works on me?” “Let me tell you, if you dare to die, I’ll make sure your parents die first!” Faced with his threat, I said softly, “My parents are already dead.” “Angel, how can you be so evil? Just to get out of giving me blood, you’re actually cursing your own parents?” Windsor looked at me with a heartbroken expression. Her words instantly turned Mason’s brief panic into absolute rage. “Angel, I really underestimated how vile you are.” “Fine. You want to see your parents die? I’ll make it happen.” Mason gritted his teeth and dialed his assistant’s number on speakerphone. “Cut off all medical treatments for Angel’s parents right now. Inform the hospital that no one is allowed to sell them VIP life-support medication.” On the other end of the line, the assistant hesitated. “But, Mr. Bryant, about that…” “What? Did Angel buy you off too?” Mason snapped, cutting him off. I knew why the assistant was hesitating. He wanted to tell Mason that my parents were already dead. But with Mason’s paranoid temper, the assistant didn’t dare to say another word. So, after Mason hung up, the assistant immediately sent me a message on Snapchat. [Miss Angel, does Mr. Bryant really not know that your parents passed away?] How hilarious. He was Mason’s top assistant, yet he was asking me—the family’s “human blood bag”—for details. If I actually mattered to Mason, would I have been tortured like this? Hanging up the phone, Mason smirked at me. “Still want to play tough?” “Mason, let’s get a divorce.” “Angel, you’re getting bold. Now you’re trying to threaten me with divorce?” “You think a divorce absolves you of your sins?” “I’m telling you, you owe Windsor. You can’t pay that debt back even if you spend the rest of your life trying.” Mason grabbed my collar tightly, his eyes looking like he wanted to tear me apart. But I only repeated quietly, “I told you, it wasn’t me.” I had said those words a thousand times over the years. From screaming it hysterically in the beginning, to now speaking it with absolute indifference. “Angel, if it wasn’t you, are you saying I staged my own assault?” Windsor stood there, looking as fragile as a leaf in the wind. Her single sentence fueled Mason’s hatred for me even more. Even though Windsor didn’t actually need a transfusion today, Mason still ordered his men to drain 800cc of my blood. Already physically exhausted, my vision went dark, and I collapsed. Before I blacked out, I was still pleading with him. “Help… my parents…” I wanted to tell him that my parents’ bodies were still lying outside the hound yard. I didn’t want them to be left out there like trash. But Mason thought I was begging him to resume their medical care. He just sneered. “When you sincerely apologize to Windsor, that’s when I’ll let your parents back into the hospital.”

When I opened my eyes, I was back at the Bryant mansion. A maid saw me waking up and spared me a cold glance. “You’re awake?” I shook my pounding head and struggled out of bed. I had to go back to the hound yard to find my parents. But the maid blocked my way. “Mr. Bryant said we’re celebrating Windsor’s big win at the National Design Awards tonight. You are to prepare the dinner.” “I have to go.” I tried to push past her, but she grabbed my arm tightly. “Can you stop making trouble for everyone?” “If you run off, Mr. Bryant will skin me alive!” Looking at the maid’s frustrated and resentful face, I lost my voice. She wasn’t lying. Once, when I refused to give blood to Windsor, everyone in the mansion’s staff got punished because of me. Even though they treated me poorly, I didn’t want to drag innocent people down anymore. So, I forced myself to stay calm. “I’ll talk to Mason myself.” With that, I walked downstairs. As soon as I reached the living room, I saw Mason’s sister, Natasha. She was presenting a gift to Windsor. “Windsor, I still think you’re the perfect match for Mason. Once you marry him, we’ll finally be a real family.” “Oh, don’t say that, Natasha. If Angel hears you, she’ll think I’m trying to steal her husband!” “Her? She’s not even worthy of wiping Mason’s shoes.” Natasha rolled her eyes dramatically. Then, she spotted me. Her sneer grew wider. “Oh, look who’s still breathing. Fainting after just 800cc? How pathetic.” “Why didn’t you just play dead? Maybe Mason would have felt a tiny bit of pity for you.” I ignored Natasha and looked around, but Mason wasn’t there. “Are you looking for Mason?” Windsor asked gently. When I didn’t deny it, she continued: “He went out to pick up a special gift for me. If you need something, you can tell me. I’ll pass it along.” Since Mason wasn’t here, nobody could stop me from leaving. I turned to walk out of the villa. But Natasha wasn’t done with me. She followed me out to the driveway. “Angel, if I were you, I would have signed the divorce papers ages ago. Isn’t it exhausting clinging to a man who hates you?” Hearing this, I couldn’t help but laugh. Since the day Mason forced me to become Windsor’s blood donor, I had brought up divorce countless times. But every single time, Mason would explode in rage, shouting, “In your dreams!” At first, I foolishly thought he couldn’t let me go because he still loved me. Later, I realized he just didn’t want to lose his leverage over me. “What are you laughing at?” Natasha snapped. “If you’re so eager, go convince Mason to sign the papers. Otherwise, stay out of my way.” I gave Natasha a freezing glare and walked away. Before, I tolerated their abuse because of my parents. But now, I had nothing left to lose. As I walked down the street, I could still hear Natasha screaming curses behind me. “Fine! Go ahead and act tough! Let’s see if you come crawling back to beg the Bryant family when your parents are dying!” I took one last look at the Bryant estate and whispered, “Never again.” I rushed back to the hound yard. But no matter where I searched, my parents’ bodies were gone. I found the manager of the yard. The moment I mentioned the bodies, his face went completely pale. “Don’t talk nonsense! We don’t have any dead bodies here!” They blocked me from searching further. Left with no choice, I called the police. Once the flashing police lights arrived, the owner of the yard finally panicked and let us view the security footage. When I saw my parents’ bodies being thrown into the industrial meat grinder used for dog food, my entire world shattered. “Why?! Why would you do that to them?!” I screamed, completely losing my mind. With the police standing right there, the owner was terrified. He dragged the employee in charge of the grinder over to face us. The young kid had never seen police officers before. He was so scared he was shaking.

“I… a woman gave me a stack of cash! She told me to get rid of those two heavy bags!” “I didn’t know! I swear to God, I didn’t know there were people inside!” The boy was crying so hard he practically wet his pants. With trembling hands, I pulled out a photo of Windsor from my phone. “Was it her?” “Yes! Yes, that’s her!” “I want to file charges!” I sobbed, barely able to breathe. “They killed my parents, and they destroyed their remains!” This was a heinous criminal offense. The police immediately took action. They took the boy to the station for questioning, while I led a group of officers back to Mason’s villa. When we arrived, Mason was holding a beautiful velvet box. He was carefully lifting a stunning necklace out of the box and fastening it around Windsor’s neck. The moment I saw that necklace, I lost all control. I lunged onto the stage like a madwoman. “Give that back to me!” My parents weren’t wealthy, but my mother’s best friend was Blair, the world-renowned fashion designer. This necklace was a one-of-a-kind piece Blair had custom-made and gifted to my mother. It symbolized peace and protection. Before my mother passed, when she knew she couldn’t protect me anymore, she gave it to me. She said, “I hope you have a peaceful life, my sweet girl.” No one else knew its value, but Mason knew exactly how much it meant to me. My wild appearance startled Mason. But before he could say anything, Windsor shrieked and collapsed to the floor. “Oh, Angel… why do you hate seeing me happy so much?” Seeing Windsor crying on the floor, Mason’s protective instincts kicked in. He grabbed my throat and slammed me down. “Angel, do you want to die?” Then, he threw me ruthlessly down the stairs of the stage. The police officers quickly ran over to help me up. “Are you okay, ma’am?” They glared at Mason with deep disapproval. Windsor pointed at the officers, acting shocked and disappointed. “Angel, what is this?” “Just to ruin my celebration dinner, you actually hired actors to pretend to be cops?” Windsor’s words made Mason finally notice the uniforms. Even though the officers immediately showed their badges, Mason chose to believe Windsor without hesitation. “Angel, you’ve gone too far this time.” Mason gave me a disgust-filled look before turning to the officers. “How much did she pay you to pull this sick stunt? Do you know that impersonating police officers is a federal crime?” Mason turned to his assistant. “Call the actual police.” The assistant pulled out his phone to make the call. Seeing how absurd this was getting, the lead officer spoke up in a booming voice, “We *are* the actual police.” Then, under Mason’s stunned gaze, the officer looked directly at Windsor. “Are you Windsor Bryant?” “I… Yes. What do you want?” “You are under arrest for the illegal disposal of human remains. Please come with us to the precinct.” “What?!” Mason gasped. It was the first time I had ever seen such a look of pure shock and confusion on his face. Windsor began shaking her head, tears streaming down her face. “No, that’s not true! I didn’t do anything!” “Mason, it’s Angel! She’s framing me! She set this up!” “Angel…” “Mason,” I interrupted, my voice dead and cold. “My parents died because of you. Wasn’t that enough?” “Did you have to order her to feed them to the dogs too?” “What did you say?” Mason stumbled back, nearly losing his footing. His assistant had to catch him. Mason turned his head slowly to his assistant, his voice trembling. “What did she just say?” The assistant swallowed hard. “Sir… Her parents are dead.” The room went dead silent. Mason’s face drained of all color. He began to mumble incoherently. “That’s impossible… how? I only cut off their VIP treatment…” “It’s only been a few hours. How could they be dead?” “Angel, are you still trying to play mind games with me?” Windsor shrieked, panic taking over. “You say your parents are dead, and you have these fake cops accuse me of destroying their bodies? Where is your proof?!” I didn’t bother answering her. The police officer simply pulled out an arrest warrant and a tablet showing the evidence. “Miss Windsor, we wouldn’t be here executing an arrest warrant if we didn’t have solid proof.” Hearing the officer’s firm words, Mason turned to Windsor, his eyes filled with disbelief. “Is this true, Windsor?” “No! No, Mason, you have to believe me!” Windsor sobbed hysterically. Then, as if a lightbulb went off, she pointed at me. “I know…”

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My husband, Sean Sterling, pressed his face gently against Jessica Vance’s belly. She was wearing my maternity dress, sitting on the sofa I bought with my own money, living in the home that used to be mine. I floated right above the crystal chandelier, watching them, completely bored. Three years ago, I was pregnant with his child too. Seven months along. The baby had just started kicking me. But then, a thin steel wire was choked into my throat, and my baby bled out into nothingness before I even drew my last breath. It was Jessica—his current, precious wife—who did it. Sean had no idea. He thought I was just a cold-hearted Mafia princess who ran off with millions. He thought I betrayed his partner. He thought I was evil incarnate. I was kicked out of my own family for him. My brother Jayden went blind trying to save his life. But Sean never believed me. He only believed Jessica. So, after I died, my soul became trapped by his side. It had been three years. But today was a little different. In the police interrogation room, a cold case had just been cracked open. Someone pointed at Jessica’s name and called her the real traitor. When Sean heard this, he squeezed the glass in his hand so hard it shattered. Blood dripped from his palm, staining the interrogation table. I counted the drops. Seven drops. My baby was exactly seven months old when he died. I wondered if it was just a coincidence, or if God had finally remembered me.

“A woman like Vivian Hall has blood all over her hands. You think she’s worth framing Jessica for?” Sean’s voice was ice-cold. He pulled out a handkerchief and calmly wiped the glass shards from his bleeding knuckles. Ghost, chained to the interrogation chair, burst into a hysterical laugh. His handcuffs rattled loudly against the metal table. “You really think that little Mafia princess ran away with your money, Detective?” Ghost spat out a mouthful of bloody phlegm. “Your lovely wife paid me two million dollars to drag Vivian to Warehouse 3. When I choked the life out of her with a wire, she was still carrying your kid in her belly!” Sean didn’t stop wiping his hands. He didn’t even blink. A mocking sneer played on his lips. “Vivian Hall? She’s a mob boss’s daughter. Criminality is in her blood.” “Three years ago, she stole thirty million, betrayed my partner Marcus, and fled. That’s exactly who she is.” “If you’re going to make up a story, at least make it believable.” “Meanwhile, Jessica is an honors graduate from the Police Academy. Clean record, bright future.” “One belongs in the gutter; the other lives in the light.” “You think the wild rants of a junkie like you can twist the truth? You think you can drag a cop’s wife into the mud?” He tossed the blood-stained handkerchief onto the table. “Keep interrogating him. Don’t stop until he tells the actual truth.” Sean pushed open the heavy iron door and walked out. I floated in the air right above the hallway, following him. He walked into the restroom, turned on the faucet, and washed his hands over and over again. The mirror reflected his sharp, handsome face. He looked completely unbothered. He said Jessica lived in the light and I belonged in the gutter. But he was once the man who held my hands and told me he loved my rebellious soul. He had said he would gladly step into the gutter just to be with me. When Marcus’s undercover identity was exposed, he was brutally murdered on the street. Sean held his cold body and sat in a pool of blood for an entire night. That was when Jessica appeared. Crying, she handed him a few blurry photos and heavily edited audio recordings. Every single piece of “evidence” pointed to me. Faced with his brother’s blood, Sean’s love for me shattered instantly. After that, his eyes held nothing but hatred for me. He didn’t arrest me, nor did he ask for a divorce. Instead, he systematically destroyed my life to prove his loyalty to the badge. He took down my father’s business piece by piece, tearing our family empire apart. My younger brother, Jayden, was blinded by rivals while trying to protect Sean. Yet, Sean dismissed Jayden’s sacrifice as a cheap, manipulative trick to win his sympathy. Later, Jayden was cornered by enemies again, hovering between life and death. I ran to the precinct to beg Sean. I knelt in the pouring rain for an entire night. When dawn broke, he finally walked out. He held a black umbrella, shielding Jessica from the storm. The rain beat down mercilessly on my face. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a disgust I had never seen before. “Vivian, this is what your family owes Marcus.” That was the last time I ever saw him alive. A few days later, I was dragged to Warehouse 3. Sean had walked into the breakroom now. Jessica was sitting on the bench, holding a warm cup of milk. Seeing him enter, she stood up immediately. “Sean, what happened to your hand?” She took his hand, her eyes turning red with worry. Sean held her hand back and gently guided her back to the seat. “It’s nothing. Just dropped a glass.” “Did Ghost confess?” Jessica asked tentatively. Sean let out a cold laugh. “He’s just a junkie trying to get a plea deal. He’s pointing fingers at everyone.” He reached out and gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “He actually claimed you hired him to kill Vivian.” Jessica’s body froze for a fraction of a second. But very quickly, tears began to stream down her face. “Sean… how could I ever do something like that? I know Vivian hurt Marcus, but I always thought she was just confused.” “When she took the money and left the country back then, I was honestly happy for her. I thought she was finally getting a fresh start.” Sean’s eyes darkened. “Don’t even say her name. It dirties your mouth.” He pulled Jessica into his arms, gently stroking her back. I hovered right above the vent, watching Sean protect Jessica’s stomach so carefully. I reached down and touched my own empty belly. Before that cold wire tightened around my neck, there was a tearing pain in my lower body. A tiny heartbeat, which had started before mine, disappeared from this world first. Ghost’s mocking laughter echoed in my memory. He had told me Sean thought my baby was dirty. I looked at Sean’s hand as he wiped away Jessica’s tears. I remembered a rainy night in Brooklyn years ago when I was cornered in an alley by a rival gang. It was this very hand—warm and firm—that pulled me into a dark alleyway behind some trash cans. He had shielded me with his body, his grip so tight it almost crushed my wrist. Mixed with the smell of blood and rain, he had whispered, “Don’t fear.” That hand used to be my only sanctuary in a dark world. Now, it was gently comforting my killer. I reached up and touched the invisible scar on my neck.

During the precinct briefing, the lead investigator from the federal task force slammed a stack of files onto the table. “Detective Sterling, the suspect, Ghost, keeps insisting that Jessica Vance hired him for the hit.” “According to protocol, Jessica must be placed under internal investigation.” Sean leaned back in his chair, spinning a pen in his hand. He didn’t even look at the files. “Agent Miller, I know the protocols.” “But if we start investigating a detective’s family just because some street thug opened his mouth, how are my guys supposed to do their jobs?” He stopped the pen with his fingertip. “I closed Vivian Hall’s missing person case three years ago myself.” “The travel records are crystal clear. She took thirty million dollars from the mob and took a boat to the Caribbean.” “Ghost claims she was killed in Warehouse 3. Where is the body?” Sean stood up, leaning his hands on the table, staring down the federal agent. “No body, no financial paper trail, just the word of a junkie.” “Agent Miller, if you want to investigate my wife, bring me real evidence.” I floated near the whiteboard, watching Sean defend my killer. I smiled silently. He would never know that his “innocent” wife was actually the daughter of the head of the Vance Syndicate—the city’s most ruthless crime family. She was the deepest mole ever planted in the NYPD. She had framed my father’s family—who never touched drugs or took innocent lives—for all the bloody crimes committed by the Vances. And that “travel record” Sean was so sure of? It was nothing but a cruel bargain Jessica forced upon me. The night Jayden was stabbed while shielding Sean, he was left clinging to life. But Sean had used his police connections to block every medical channel that could have saved my brother. Desperate, I knelt before Jessica. In the sterile white hallway of the hospital, she stood in her crisp uniform and tossed a plane ticket and a written confession at my feet. Her voice was as sweet as honey. “Sign it.” “Admit that you betrayed Marcus, and I’ll get the best surgeon in New York to save your brother.” I signed it. But the surgeon never came. Instead, someone unplugged Jayden’s ventilator. Though Jayden survived, the lack of oxygen caused permanent brain damage. He lost his sight completely, cast into eternal darkness. Jessica had stepped on my face with her polished boots, crushing my dignity into the cold tiles. She had leaned down and whispered in my ear: “Vivian, I forgot to tell you. Sean hates betrayal more than anything.” “Do you think he’ll believe a confession signed in your own hand, or will he believe me?” Back in his office, Sean locked the door. He loosened his tie and pulled open his bottom drawer. He took out the file at the very bottom—my missing person case from three years ago. He stared at my photo, his thumb unconsciously brushing against the corner of the paper. After a long time, he closed the file, his expression unreadable. He pressed his hand flat against the folder, his knuckles turning white as if trying to erase my name from the earth. But after a long struggle, all that came out of his tight jaw was a raspy whisper. “Vivian… you better stay gone.” I floated down in front of him, looking at the hatred and conflict in his eyes. “Because if you come back, I’ll put you behind bars myself… or will I go crazy for you all over again?” A wave of deep sadness washed over me. He didn’t know that I could never come back. I was already dead. The desk phone rang. He took a deep breath, and his voice instantly softened. “Hey, babe. Is the baby kicking again?” On the other end, Jessica’s voice sounded perfectly vulnerable. “Sean, I was cleaning out the storage unit and found an old gray sweater Vivian left behind.” “It makes me feel really uneasy. Can I just pack it away in a box?” Sean’s eyes went cold. “Her trash should have been thrown out long ago. Don’t touch it. I’ll come home and handle it.” He hung up, grabbed his keys, and rushed out. I followed him back to the apartment. Sean strode into the storage room and snatched the gray sweater out of Jessica’s hands. I had knitted that sweater for him, stitch by stitch, by his hospital bed when he was shot during an undercover operation. He held the sweater, his fingers lingering on the uneven stitching near the chest. Then, he threw it into the hallway trash can. The edge of the trash can caught a loose thread, pulling the fabric apart to reveal a faded paper amulet sewn inside. I had waited in line at a cathedral all night just to get that blessing for him. He had laughed at me back then, saying cops didn’t believe in superstitions. But then he had pulled me close and asked me to sew it into his favorite sweater so he wouldn’t lose it. He said he was afraid of losing his luck.

On the weekend, Sean took Jessica for her prenatal checkup. Driving past a local bakery, Jessica said she wanted a cheese bagel from the street vendor outside. Sean parked the car and went down to buy it himself. The bagel vendor was a limping old man who had once been helped by my father. As he packed the bagels, he looked up at Sean. “Detective Sterling, I haven’t seen you with Vivian in a long time.” Old Ben sighed. “She used to come here to learn how to bake these just for you. Her hands got blistered from the steam, but she kept going even while crying from the pain.” “That sweet girl loved you so much. Are you guys doing okay?” Sean’s hand froze mid-air as he reached for his wallet. His face darkened. “Ben, she’s gone. That’s in the past.” He slammed the cash on the counter, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t mention her to me again.” He grabbed the box and walked away without looking back. I sat on the roof of the car, watching the old man’s confused face. I looked down at my own ghostly right hand. There was indeed a deep scar from a burn on the back of it. Sean got back in the car and handed the bagels to Jessica. She took a bite and frowned. “Sean, this is so tough and dry.” Sean immediately took a napkin and wiped her mouth. “Spit it out if it’s bad. I’ll take you to the Rosewood for high tea.” He took the box of bagels and tossed them out of the window. Right then, his phone rang. It was the lead detective from the homicide squad. “Sean, we have a situation.” The voice on the line was frantic. “The harbor police were dredging the bay near Warehouse 3. They pulled up a metal drum sealed with concrete.” “There’s… there’s a skeleton inside.” Sean gripped the steering wheel, his voice flat. “It’s just a mob dumping. Let forensics handle it.” The detective paused. “Sean, the preliminary report says the victim is female. Her neck bones were crushed by a thin wire.” “It matches Ghost’s confession… perfectly.” The car fell into a suffocating silence. Jessica clenched her fists, her hand slowly covering Sean’s knuckles. “Sean, what’s wrong? I heard something about a warehouse on the phone?” Her voice trembled slightly. “Is it about Ghost? He’s just lying to cause trouble, right? He isn’t making things hard for you, is he?” Sean turned his head, his gaze landing heavily on her face. The fleeting suspicion in his eyes made Jessica’s heart skip a beat. But he quickly looked away and squeezed her hand. “It’s nothing. Just a minor case. It’s already handled.” He started the engine and drove toward the Rosewood Hotel. “Nothing is more important than you and the baby.” I sat in the back seat, watching his tight jaw and the darkness behind his eyes. He said it wasn’t important, but his foot pressed harder and harder on the gas pedal.

The recovery site was sealed off with yellow police tape. In the end, Sean still came. He had left Jessica at the hotel, making an excuse about urgent paperwork at the precinct. He stood outside the yellow tape, lighting a cigarette, watching the officers use a circular saw to cut open the metal drum. Dr. Evans, the medical examiner, walked over and took off his gloves. His face was pale. “Sean, we have the preliminary findings.” “Female, late twenties.” “Cause of death was ligature strangulation with a thin wire, causing cervical fracture and asphyxiation.” Sean flicked the ashes off his cigarette, his tone still seemingly detached. “A body dumped in the bay? Just check the recent gang wars.” He turned to leave. “Sean, there are some unique skeletal features,” Dr. Evans called out. “She had three broken ribs and a old penetrating wound on her right wrist that damaged the nerve.” The cigarette slipped from Sean’s fingers. It fell onto his hand, burning his skin, but he didn’t even flinch. A wrist wound. Three years ago, during an internal mob dispute, someone had lunged at him with a knife. I had blocked the blade with my bare right hand. Sean slowly turned around, his eyes blown wide, though his voice remained defensive. “A lot of women have injured wrists. That doesn’t prove anything.” Dr. Evans sighed and pulled two evidence bags from his kit. He handed the smaller one to Sean first. “We found this on her right ring finger.” Sean’s gaze drifted down. Inside the plastic bag was a tarnished, blackened silver ring. On the inside of the band, the name “Sean” was crudely engraved—something he had carved himself while drunk years ago. Sean stared at the ring, his breath catching in his throat. He reached out to take it, but his fingers shook so violently he couldn’t grasp it. Seeing his pale face, Dr. Evans pushed the second bag into his trembling hands. “Also, we found this in her pelvic cavity.” Inside the bag was a cluster of tiny, fragile bones. “Based on the bone development, it was a fetus. About seven months old.” Seven months. I remembered the seven drops of blood that had dripped from his hand when he broke the glass. “This is impossible…” Sean’s voice was barely a whisper. “Vivian was greedy… she ran… how could she…” He suddenly looked up at Dr. Evans, his eyes bloodshot. “This must be a setup by Ghost! He found a matching body!” “Run a DNA test! Right now! Use her family’s DNA from the database!” He screamed, turned, and stumbled over a rock. He scrambled up and fled like a terrified animal.

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On the night of our engagement banquet, in front of the entire high society of New York, Julian Vance handed over “The Siren’s Lament”—a priceless, legendary violin—to his childhood sweetheart, Bianca Frost. “Bianca is starting her world tour tomorrow. She needs this violin more than you do,” he said. “You’ve always been the sensible one, Valerie. Just bear with it this once.” I looked at the man I had loved for five years and nodded calmly. “Okay.” Half an hour later, in the empty backstage dressing room. Bianca didn’t just smash that legendary violin to pieces. She also had her thugs stomp on my right hand, crushing the bones. Julian’s cousin, Tyler, held my head down, forcing me to kneel and beg Bianca for forgiveness. Julian’s mother slapped me so hard my eardrum ruptured, calling me a greedy, low-class gold digger. They ruthlessly trampled on my dignity and destroyed my dreams. Because in their eyes, I was just a penniless orphan with no background. But what they didn’t know… I wasn’t just a prodigy violinist. I was also the sole heiress of the Sterling family—the most powerful old-money empire in New York—who had been searching for me for twenty years. My hand is ruined. And the Vance family’s century-old empire has officially reached its end.

The brilliant crystal chandeliers lit up the hotel grand ballroom as bright as day. Today was the anniversary celebration of the Vance Group. It was also the day Julian had promised to formally propose to me. I stood quietly at the edge of the stage, wearing a haute couture white gown. My fingers tightly gripped the sheet music I had spent six months preparing. Originally, I was supposed to play a song for him tonight on “The Siren’s Lament,” the legendary antique violin he had bought at an auction. But now. That $45 million masterpiece was resting quietly in Bianca Frost’s arms. Under the spotlight. Julian stood in his sharp black tuxedo. His features were cold and handsome, looking like a god. He was leaning down, gently adjusting the violin strings for Bianca. Standing together, they looked like the perfect couple. The guests below whispered among themselves. “I thought Mr. Vance was proposing to that orphan girlfriend of his, Valerie Sterling, tonight?” “What do you know? Miss Frost is Julian’s childhood sweetheart. She just got back from her studies in Vienna last month.” “Exactly. A penniless orphan doesn’t belong in a prestigious family like the Vances anyway.” “And ‘The Siren’s Lament’ is a masterpiece. Only a high-born lady like Bianca deserves it.” Every single word. Like a blunt, rusty knife. Slowly and cruelly carving into my heart. I took a deep breath. I forced down the bitterness in my throat. I turned around and walked silently into the dimly lit backstage. There were no spotlights here. No mocking glances. Only endless, suffocating coldness. I sat in front of the vanity mirror, looking at my pale reflection. Five years. I had been by Julian’s side for five long years. From when he had absolutely nothing, to his massive success today. I thought my warmth could finally melt this glacier of a man. But the moment Bianca returned. All my sacrifices became a pathetic joke. Outside the door, a light patter of footsteps approached. Accompanied by the sharp click of high heels. The dressing room door was pushed open.

Bianca walked in, wearing the red gown that was originally tailored for me. The diamonds on the skirt were still blindingly bright even in the dim light. She carried “The Siren’s Lament” in her hand. Like she was holding a cheap toy. She walked up to me. Looking down at me with pure disdain. “See this, Valerie?” “Julian’s heart has always belonged to me.” “So what if you stayed by his side for five years?” “All it takes is one look from me, and he willingly hands this violin over.” I raised my eyes. I looked at her calmly. There was no anger, no hysteria. “Since he gave it to you, keep it.” “It’s what he owes you, and it’s what I’m done paying him.” “From now on, Julian and I are completely even.” Bianca froze. She clearly didn’t expect me to be this calm. Her heavily made-up face instantly contorted with rage. “Even?” “What makes you think you’re worthy of talking about being ‘even’ with Julian?” “You were just a temporary plaything to cure his loneliness. A cheap substitute who could never be shown in public!” The more she spoke, the more agitated she became. She suddenly raised the violin high in the air. “Don’t you call yourself a prodigy violinist?” “Didn’t you want to use this violin to show off tonight?” “I will never let you have your way!” Before she finished her sentence. With all her might. She slammed the $45 million antique violin hard onto the solid marble floor.

“SMASH!” A sickening, heavy crash echoed through the empty dressing room. Wood splinters flew everywhere. The strings snapped with a sharp hiss. “The Siren’s Lament”—a masterpiece that had survived centuries of history and was treasured by legendary musicians. In an instant, it was shattered into pieces. Reduced to a pile of worthless scrap wood. I stood up abruptly. My pupils dilated. My heart felt like it was being squeezed to death by an invisible hand. That wasn’t just a violin. It was a treasure of the musical world. The soulmate I had dreamed of playing for countless days and nights. “Bianca, are you insane?!” I grit my teeth, my voice trembling violently. Looking at the mess on the floor. Bianca’s eyes suddenly turned red. Heavy tears rolled down her cheeks. She threw herself onto the floor. Covering her face, she began to wail hysterically. “Valerie, I know you hate me for taking this violin.” “But how could you smash it?!” “Julian spent a fortune at the auction for this!” “How could you be so cruel?!” I watched her pathetic acting with cold detachment. I felt utterly disgusted. Right then. The dressing room door was kicked open with a loud bang. Julian’s cousin, Tyler Vance, rushed in with several burly bodyguards. He immediately saw Bianca crying on the floor. And the shattered pieces of wood. Tyler’s face darkened instantly. He stormed over. Pointing a finger right at my face, he roared. “Valerie, are you out of your mind?!” “Julian was nice enough to let you work in his company, and you dare to bully Bianca?!” “You even smashed such an expensive violin!” “Can you even afford to pay for this, you worthless gold digger?!”

I looked at Tyler with cold eyes. This was the man who used to call me “sister-in-law” with a fake smile. Now, he was barking like a rabid dog. “She smashed it herself,” I said. My voice was flat. Without a single shred of emotion. “Cut the crap!” Tyler roared. “Bianca is too sweet to ever destroy something Julian gave her!” “You’re just consumed by jealousy! If you can’t have it, you destroy it!” Bianca sobbed right on cue. She leaned weakly against Tyler’s leg. “Tyler, don’t blame Valerie.” “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have accepted the violin.” “If I hadn’t taken it, Valerie wouldn’t have gotten angry, and the violin wouldn’t be broken.” Her manipulative words. Instantly set Tyler’s anger ablaze. “Bianca, you’re too kind. That’s why trash like her dares to step all over you!” Tyler turned back. His eyes gleamed with malice as he glared at me. “Valerie, get on your knees!” “Bow down and beg Bianca for forgiveness!” “And then, you will pay back every single cent this violin is worth!” I felt like I was hearing the most ridiculous joke in the world. I couldn’t help but chuckle coldly. “Make me kneel?” “Who do you think you are, Tyler?” “Even if Julian stood right here, he wouldn’t have the right to make me kneel!” “SLAP!” Before I could finish my sentence. A heavy slap landed brutally on my face. The sheer force of it. Knocked me straight to the ground. My ears rang violently. The taste of metallic blood filled my mouth. Holding my bruised cheek, I looked up. And saw Victoria Vance, Julian’s mother, walking in.

Victoria was wearing a dark red designer dress. A priceless emerald necklace hung around her neck. She looked down at me. Her eyes were filled with absolute disgust and contempt. “You ungrateful rat!” “You’re at death’s door and you still dare to talk back!” “Our family has supported you for five years, and this is how you repay us?” “Smashing my son’s violin and bullying Bianca!” “Today, I’ll teach you some manners since your dead parents clearly failed to do so!” Saying that, she raised her high-heeled foot. And kicked me squarely in the shoulder without hesitation. I groaned in pain. My body flew backward. My spine crashed heavily against the sharp corner of the vanity table. Agonizing pain shot through my entire body. “Victoria, please don’t get angry. It’s not worth ruining your health over her,” Bianca fake-whispered, stepping forward to support Victoria. But a smug, nasty smirk flashed across her face. “Bianca, sweetheart, you’re always so thoughtful.” Victoria patted Bianca’s hand. When she looked back at me, her eyes turned vicious again. “Tyler, pin her down!” “If she doesn’t get on her knees and beg Bianca for mercy today, she isn’t walking out of this room!” Hearing this. Tyler immediately signaled the bodyguards behind him. Two massive bodyguards rushed forward. They grabbed my shoulders from both sides, pinning me down. They dragged me brutally across the floor and forced me in front of Bianca. “Let go of me!” I struggled with everything I had. But against their sheer physical strength. I couldn’t break free. “Kneel!” Tyler stepped up behind me. And kicked me violently in the back of my knees.

“THUD.” I was forced onto the freezing marble floor. My knees crashed directly onto the shattered wooden shards of the violin. Sharp wooden splinters stabbed deep into my flesh. Blood instantly stained my white dress bright red. I clenched my teeth. I forced my spine straight. Refusing to bow my head. “Quite a stubborn one, aren’t you?” Tyler sneered. He reached out, grabbed my hair, and yanked it backward with brutal force. A tearing pain shot through my scalp. I was forced to look up, meeting Bianca’s malice-filled eyes. “Valerie, aren’t you supposed to be so proud?” “Didn’t you think you were so special just because you can play the violin?” Bianca walked up to me. She slowly squatted down. Lowering her voice so only the two of us could hear. “To be honest, yes, I smashed the violin.” “I just wanted you to know that as long as I want it, everything that belongs to Julian is mine.” “Including your dignity, and your pride.” “I can step on them and crush them into dust whenever I want!” She stood up, instantly switching back to her fragile, pitiful act. “Valerie, just apologize.” “If you apologize, I’ll pay for the violin for you.” “You’re just an orphan. How could you ever afford $45 million?” Victoria sneered. “Bianca, you’re just too soft-hearted.” “An ungrateful stray like her deserves to rot in prison!” “Tyler, since she refuses to bow.” “Give her a real lesson!” “Make sure she never forgets this!”

A cruel excitement flashed in Tyler’s eyes. He let go of my hair. His gaze fell directly on my right hand resting on the floor. That was a hand praised by countless music critics as “kissed by God.” Slender, pale, perfectly proportioned. A hand born solely for the violin. “Julian said your hands are the most important thing to you.” Tyler smiled wickedly. “Since you ruined Bianca’s violin.” “I guess you won’t be needing these hands anymore.” He raised his heavy leather shoe. Aimed right at my right hand. And stomped down with full force. “No!” My eyes widened in pure terror. Fear completely consumed me. I desperately tried to pull my hand back. But the two bodyguards pinned my arms down flat. I couldn’t move an inch. “CRACK!” The sickening sound of bones shattering. Echoed clearly in the dead silent dressing room.

“AHHHHHHH!!!” A piercing scream ripped from my throat. The pain of my fingers being crushed. Instantly shot through every nerve in my body. My mind went completely blank. My vision began to blur. Tyler kept twisting his boot on my hand. As if he were crushing a pathetic insect. “Does it hurt?” “Good!” “That’s what you get for crossing Bianca!” Blood. Bright, hot blood. Oozed from my crushed fingers. Dripping onto the cold marble floor. Like blooming red roses on snow. My body convulsed in agony. Cold sweat drenched my back. Even my breath tasted like thick, copper blood. My hand… The hand I valued more than my own life. Was completely ruined. “Stop… please… stop…” I gasped out, my voice trembling and weak. But nobody showed a shred of mercy. Victoria watched with cold indifference. As if she were watching a boring movie. Bianca stood behind Tyler. A savage, triumphant smile playing on her lips. “You brought this on yourself, Valerie.” “Aren’t you a genius?” “Let’s see you hold a cup after this, let alone a violin!”

Tyler finally lifted his boot. My right hand was a bloody, mangled mess. My finger bones were twisted at horrific angles. Swelling rapidly. I collapsed onto the floor like a ragdoll. Gasping heavily for air. Every single breath sent waves of unbearable agony through my body. Despair. Suffocating, absolute despair swallowed me whole. The dream I took pride in. The passion I lived for. At this very moment, was stomped into nothingness. “What is going on here?” Suddenly, a cold, deep male voice came from the doorway. It was Julian. He pushed the door open and walked in. Followed by several high-level executives from the company. When he saw the shattered violin and me lying in a pool of blood. He froze in his tracks. His pupils shrank. “Valerie…” He instinctively stepped toward me. But Bianca, like a frightened bird, threw herself into his arms. “Julian!” “You’re finally here!” “Valerie… she went crazy!” “She didn’t just smash the violin you gave me, she even tried to attack me!” “If Tyler and Victoria hadn’t arrived in time, I don’t know what she would have done to me…” She sobbed hysterically. Her body trembling in Julian’s embrace.

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My best friend was pregnant for the fifth time, and once again, she was sneaking into the hospital to get an abortion. My eyes stung with hot, angry tears. “Fiona, this is the fifth time he’s forced you to end a pregnancy, and he still won’t even show his face! Does he actually love you?” She kept her head down, her voice barely a whisper. “It’s not that he doesn’t love me, Elena. He just… can’t love me right now.” I yelled at her for being so stupid. I cursed the faceless bastard who did this to her. Beside me, my fiancé, Ethan Vance, gently squeezed my hand. “Elena, you’ve been by her side for hours. Why don’t you go downstairs and grab her something to eat?” I nodded, feeling exhausted. But when I reached the elevator, I realized I had left my phone back in her hospital room. I turned around and walked back. As I approached the door, I realized it was slightly open. Inside, Ethan was kneeling on the floor in front of Fiona. His eyes were bloodshot. “I’ve done exactly what you wanted. I’ve played the perfect partner to her for seven years.” “Fiona, how much longer do I have to pretend? Why did you have to kill our baby again?” Fiona pushed him away, sobbing hysterically. “We are already sneaking around behind her back. I can’t let her find out about this baby!” “She knows nothing. I already owe her too much!” I froze outside the door, my ears buzzing. Right at that moment, my phone vibrated in my hand with a notification. [Your marriage registration with Ethan Vance has been successfully scheduled.] I stared at the screen for a long, quiet moment. Then, I tapped cancel.

“But I love you! I can’t stand watching you go through another abortion!” Ethan’s voice was filled with raw, heartbreaking passion. Every single sob coming from the room pierced my ears like a knife. Ethan was on his knees, clutching Fiona’s hand. “I’ll get a vasectomy tomorrow. I mean it.” Fiona shook her head violently, gripping his arms. “No! You can’t!” “Elena is about to marry you! Do you want her to go her whole life without ever having a child of her own?” She looked completely torn apart by guilt. “Ethan, Elena is my best friend. Back in high school, when I was bullied so badly that I almost slit my wrists, she was the one who saved my life!” “So I beg you, don’t hurt her. And never, ever let her find out about us.” Ethan’s entire body tensed up. He slammed his fist against the wall, his damp hair falling over his bloodshot eyes. “But I can’t keep letting you destroy your own body!” Fiona’s tears flowed freely. “Then let’s end this. I care about Elena more than I care about you.” Ethan went dead silent. Looking into Fiona’s stubborn, tear-filled eyes, he finally slumped in defeat. “Fine… no vasectomy. And she will never know.” I leaned against the cold corridor wall, my hands and feet completely numb. My heart felt deader than a withered tree in winter. These two people. One was my inseparable friend since school, the sister I chose for myself. The other was the man I had loved for seven years, the one I was about to marry. Why them? The sheer absurdity of the betrayal made me laugh out loud, even as tears streamed down my face. A wave of intense nausea hit my stomach. I waited outside for a long time before finally walking back into the room. By then, they had already put on their masks. Fiona was quietly drinking her recovery shake, and Ethan was standing by the window staring outside, looking like two complete strangers. “Elena? Why are you crying?” Fiona immediately grabbed my hand, rubbing my back to comfort me. “I’m fine, really. Don’t worry.” I managed a dull nod. “I’m okay.” Ethan stepped forward and wrapped his arm around me, gently wiping my tears. “Don’t cry, babe. You don’t want puffy eyes on our wedding day, do you?” He paused, naturally changing the subject. “Anyway, she said she wants to go home to recover. I already handled her discharge papers.” He suddenly pulled out a soft blanket from somewhere. “Elena, should I carry her to the car? The doctor said she shouldn’t catch a cold. Since she’s your best friend, I don’t mind helping.” My body went completely rigid. Before I could even answer, he had already wrapped Fiona up in the blanket and scooped her up. He kept his eyes locked straight ahead, treating her like nothing more than a heavy box of cargo. And Fiona kept her hands completely off him, not touching him once. I followed them quietly from behind. This was how they had played it for years. Acting like total strangers in front of me, never leaving a single clue. I had spent so many years trying to make them get along better, thinking they were the two people I loved most in the world. Now I realized. I was the absolute clown in this joke. On the drive back, Fiona sat in the back of the SUV. I sat in the passenger seat. I stared out the window at the rain-soaked streets, watching the fallen leaves get crushed under the tires. It was funny how the rain that was supposed to nourish them was the very thing that washed them away. Just like me. Destroyed by the two people I loved most. When we reached Fiona’s apartment, I expected Ethan to park by the main gate. This complex was massive and confusing. Every time I visited, Fiona had to walk down to the gate to meet me. But as I reached for the door handle, Ethan drove straight into the underground garage like he owned the place. He pulled perfectly into a reserved parking spot. Looking through the side mirror, I saw the red painted number on the concrete pillar: Building 7, Unit 2. My grip tightened on my purse until my palms bled. My heart sank into a dark, bottomless abyss. That was Fiona’s exact building. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a confirmation that my marriage registration request had been successfully cancelled. I took a deep breath, opened the system, and completely deleted Ethan’s personal information from my profile. I would never submit it again.

Neither of them noticed my silence. Ethan turned around. “Elena, why don’t you help her up? It’s warm inside, so I don’t need to carry her anymore.” So polite. So respectful of boundaries. If only I hadn’t noticed how he walked half a step behind Fiona, his hand hovering protectively near her waist just in case she slipped. Fiona held onto my arm, completely ignoring him. Once we were inside her apartment, Fiona begged me to stay and keep her company. She started rambling about our college days, trying to sound cheerful. “Do you remember Sarah from our dorm? She’s a professional singer now!” “And our class rep! Can you believe she married the basketball captain?” I listened in silence. I didn’t say a word. I clenched my fists so hard to keep myself from ripping her fake face off. Once Fiona finally fell asleep, my mind drifted back to college. I remembered a stressful finals week. I had snuck up to the rooftop of the training building to get some quiet sleep. Just as I dozed off, a loud commotion woke me. A group of girls was shoving and screaming. I peeked out and saw a girl curled on the floor, taking their kicks without fighting back. “The instructor is coming!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. The bullies panicked and ran off, leaving the girl crying on the concrete, her hair a total mess. Then, to my horror, she stood up and climbed over the safety railing, looking down at the edge. I lunged forward and grabbed her arm. “You have to stay alive to get even! If you die, they win!” Later, I stood up as her witness and helped report the bullies. They were suspended and kicked out of the program. From that day on, we became best friends. That girl was Fiona. And now… My gaze landed on her nightstand. Sitting right there in plain sight was a men’s electric razor. It was the exact model Ethan used. The last trace of warmth in my eyes died, replaced by a cold, hard chill. I quietly pushed the bedroom door open. Ethan was in the kitchen, making hot chocolate. When he saw me, he smiled. “Good thing I make this for you all the time. I actually know what I’m doing.” I let out a cold, sarcastic laugh. “Fiona had an abortion. Why are you the one acting so busy?” The stirring spoon in his hand froze. He quickly hid the panic in his eyes. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me, trying to laugh it off. “Because you’re my wife, Elena. I just want to make sure your best friend doesn’t tell you to dump me the next time we get into a fight.” Seeing that my face remained neutral, he let out a quiet sigh of relief. He didn’t dare say another word to Fiona. By the time we got back to our apartment, it was almost midnight. He held me from behind in bed. “Hey, Elena, I just got an emergency order. There’s a joint tactical drill in the Eastern District. I have to leave for a week. Right now.” I opened my eyes in the darkness. “Really?” He didn’t catch the ice in my voice. “Yeah, it sucks. I just want to stay here with you, but orders are orders.” “Then go.” Ethan let out a breath, kissed my forehead, and quickly hopped out of bed. He couldn’t wait to get out the door. I curved my lips into a bitter smile. Thirty minutes later, I got out of bed, dressed, and drove straight back to Fiona’s apartment. An emergency deployment? And he didn’t even pack a single bag? I knew her door code. I unlocked it and walked right in. I sat quietly on the living room couch, listening to the sweet, romantic whispers drifting from the bedroom. “Why are you here?!” “Go back! What if Elena finds out?!” Then came Ethan’s deep, soothing voice. “I’m not going back. You have no idea how badly I wanted to hold you in that hospital room, but I had to hold back because of her.” “Don’t worry, she thinks I’m away on a week-long tactical drill. I’m staying right here to take care of you.” I let out a soft laugh, feeling incredibly mockingly of myself. I didn’t even know when they had started. Seven years ago, my meeting with Ethan had also been an accident. I had been falsely accused of leaking classified research by my superior, facing a court-martial and a ten-year sentence. It was the darkest moment of my life. The night before the hearing, I stood at the edge of a cliff behind the base, wanting to end it all. Ethan was the one who led the search party and found me. After hearing my story, his sharp investigator instincts found the loopholes in the case. He used his family’s legal connections to clear my name. He told me, “My mother took her own life after being falsely accused. I couldn’t stand by and watch history repeat itself.” I had viewed him as my savior. But seven years later. The person who saved me, and the person I saved, had teamed up to stab me in the back.

The sound of their kissing filled the quiet apartment. I pulled out my phone and tapped “Accept” on the transfer request sent by the Southern Federal Research Institute three days ago. Right after I sent the confirmation. The bedroom door clicked open. Ethan walked out, holding Fiona and kissing her neck. “The private doctor will be here soon, I—” His voice cut off instantly. Our eyes met. Both of them froze, their eyes widening in sheer terror. I stood up slowly. My face was completely blank. “Weren’t you supposed to be in the Eastern District? What are you doing here?” Time seemed to freeze. The temperature in the room dropped to sub-zero. Fiona was the first to react. She scrambled out of Ethan’s arms, rushed over, and grabbed my hand. Her voice cracked with tears. “Elena, please let me explain. It’s not what you think. I… we…” I waited. She stuttered for a long time but couldn’t find a single lie to tell. She could only sob helplessly. “Elena, please forgive me, please…” Ethan pressed his lips together. After the initial shock, he stepped forward, pulling Fiona behind his back to shield her. His body was entirely tense. “This has nothing to do with her.” “I used my position to force her to be with me. She had no choice. Elena, if you’re angry, take it all out on me.” “Force her… no choice…” I repeated, a cold smirk touching my lips. Every single word he said was to protect his precious lover. But I was the one he had promised to marry. He didn’t care at all about how much his words would tear me apart. I closed my eyes for a second. I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat and clenched my fists, refusing to let them see me break. “When did it start?” Fiona couldn’t answer, she just kept crying. Ethan stood firm like a soldier defending his post, blocking her from my sight. “Five years ago.” Those three words hit my chest like a physical blow. Five years ago. That was the exact year I first introduced Ethan to Fiona. “Love at first sight, huh?” I actually laughed out loud. What a beautiful, tragic love story. And here I was, the annoying obstacle ruining their romance for five whole years. How pathetic. The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by Fiona’s quiet whimpers. After a long pause, I spoke, my voice completely devoid of any emotion. “Good for you.” “The wedding is off. We’re done. And as for you,” I looked at Fiona, “I should have let you jump off that roof.” Her spine went stiff. She let out a loud, agonizing cry. As I turned to leave, she threw herself onto the floor, grabbing my ankles. “I’m sorry, Elena! Please, I beg you, forgive me! It’s all my fault… you’re my only friend…” “Fiona!” Ethan lost his composure. He bent down, violently pulling Fiona up and dragging her into his arms, his face twisted in pain. “Stop it! I told you, this isn’t your fault!” He glared at me with sharp, hostile eyes. “If we’re talking about regrets, then maybe I should regret pulling you back from that cliff seven years ago!” I froze. I stared at him in utter disbelief, all the color draining from my face. Fiona gave him a hard shove. “Shut up! Stop talking!” Yet, her body naturally leaned right back into his chest. Ethan seemed to realize what he had just said, and a flash of regret crossed his eyes. But it was gone in a second. He thinned his lips. “Elena, it’s my fault, not hers. And about the breakup—I know you’re just speaking out of anger.” “Fiona and I are the two most important people in your life. I know you can’t afford to lose both of us.” I was so angry I almost laughed. The sheer arrogance of this man made my stomach turn. The pain of the double betrayal suddenly faded, leaving behind a cold, numbing sensation. It simply wasn’t worth it. I looked at the two of them clinging to each other, my eyes freezing over. “You really are incredibly confident.” I pulled out my phone and dialed the venue coordinator for the military chapel. Under Ethan’s stiffening gaze, I spoke clearly. “Cancel the wedding between Elena and Ethan Vance scheduled in seven days.” “Keep the deposit. I don’t care.” I hung up and turned to walk out. Ethan grabbed my arm, his face turning incredibly dark. “Are you serious?” I looked past his shoulder at Fiona, who was staying quiet but had a tiny spark of hope in her eyes. I shook his hand off with a scoff. “Yes. I’m setting you both free.”

By the time I left, the sun was rising. I drove to my parents’ house. They were shocked to see me so early. “Elena?” My mom quickly walked over. “Why are you here this early?” She pulled me to the couch and brought out five beautiful dresses, showing them to me one by one. “How about this one?” “Or maybe the blue one? It looks more elegant.” “I want to make sure I look perfect at your wedding with Ethan. I don’t want to embarrass my girl.” My dad walked out of the bedroom, wearing his freshly ironed dress uniform. “How do I look, sweetie?” Sitting on the couch, I suddenly didn’t know how to tell them. How could I say I just caught my fiancé and my best friend sleeping together? “Mom…” “I just cancelled the wedding.” The room went dead silent. They immediately rushed to my side. “Why? What happened?” “I…” “The wedding is not happening. And I’ve accepted a transfer to the Southern Federal Research Institute. I report in three days.” “I’m sorry.” My parents stared at me for a few seconds. Then, they gently patted my hands. “Whatever you decide, we are with you, Elena.” I returned to the military housing unit to pack. Ethan was waiting for me inside, looking incredibly gloomy. “Fiona was so stressed she had to be hospitalized again. Are you happy now? She’s so weak, and you just had to push her?” I replied blankly. “Yes, right. It’s all my fault. You two are completely innocent.” “You!” He gritted his teeth, his chest heaving. “Stop being so sarcastic. I already called the chapel and told them the wedding is back on.” “Elena, you don’t want all the high-ranking officers and your dad’s colleagues to see a disaster, do you? Think about your parents’ reputation.” I stopped in my tracks to the bedroom and let out a cold chuckle. “Are you threatening me with my parents?” Too bad for him, he had no idea my parents already knew everything and had absolutely no intention of showing up. But since he was so sure of himself. Why should I ruin the surprise? “Fine. Let’s keep it going. I’ll act like nothing happened.” He let out a huge sigh of relief. “Good. Now, come with me to the hospital and apologize to Fiona.” I thought I had heard him wrong. The sheer absurdity of his request made me want to laugh. “Are you insane?” “Apologize to her? She doesn’t deserve it.” I turned to walk away, but Ethan grabbed my wrist with a firm grip, dragging me down to his car and driving straight to the hospital. After a brief struggle, I stopped fighting. Honestly, I also wanted to know why she did it. A few minutes later. I stood by Fiona’s hospital bed. “Give me a reason.” She fidgeted with her fingers, biting her lip. “I was just tired of always losing to you. All these years, I was always the shadow. But he liked me, Elena. I couldn’t let him go.” “I’m sorry, Elena. I know you were good to me, but people are selfish.” I nodded. “Fair enough. I hope you get exactly what you want.” I had never cared about competing, especially not for trash. If she wanted my leftovers, she was welcome to them. It worked out perfectly for me. When I walked out, Ethan had just finished a phone call. Believing I had apologized, his mood had improved significantly. “Our wedding is next week. Don’t worry, I will still make you my wife.” A look of pure disgust flashed in my eyes. “Whatever makes you happy.” Now that the secret was out, Ethan stopped hiding. He spent the entire week at the hospital with Fiona. I was more than happy to have my space. I packed up every single thing I owned from the apartment. When the third day arrived, I boarded a flight straight to the South. And I left a massive surprise waiting for him on the wedding day. As the plane lifted into the sky. Ethan Vance and I were officially over forever.

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1 Austin and I planned to marry after seven years apart. To celebrate, he invited me to Cascade Peaks, where we first met. When I arrived, he and my best friend Serena were already skiing together. The resort ran a buy two get one free lift ticket deal and I was the free extra. At a group photo, I stood frozen on the ice while Austin took the shot. In it, I looked awkward and miserable. He put an arm around me and said you are not photogenic, Paige. Next to Serena, you fade. He promised a solo picture but spent the afternoon skiing with her instead. Later, his post showed them laughing in the sun while I was a blurred shadow at the edge. The truth hit hard. For years, I had shared our relationship with Serena on trips, holidays, and even our keychains. If I was always the third wheel, it was time to get off their track. … When the gondola finally rotated to our turn in the queue, only two empty seats remained. Austin naturally extended his hand, guiding Serena into the cabin first. They sat close, laughing at some private joke, completely oblivious to the fact that the lift operator had blocked me behind the metal safety barrier. The gondola rose slowly, disappearing into the gray, winter sky. It was almost laughable. I didn’t wait around. I stripped off my hired gear, returned it to the locker, and walked out of the resort to catch the public bus back to the city. As the engine roared to life, I clutched my phone, a pathetic sliver of hope still lingering in my chest. What would they do when they realized I was gone? Would they feel a pang of regret for leaving me behind? Would they feel guilty? But throughout the bumpy, three-hour ride back to our apartment, my phone remained dead silent. It was only when I collapsed onto the living room sofa, exhausted to the bone, that Austin’s name finally flashed on my screen. “Paige, where did you go? Serena bought a ton of souvenirs and my hands are completely full.” His voice carried a light, irritated edge. “You just vanished without saying a word. Do you have any idea how worried we were?” Worried? Through the receiver, I could hear Serena’s bright, bubbly laughter echoing in the background. I remained quiet for a long second, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I wasn’t feeling well. I went home.” His tone softened slightly, though it still held a hint of scolding. “I told you to wear your thermals, but you wanted to look cute. You probably caught a cold. We’re on our way back now.” He paused. “Take some medicine first. The cold tablets are in…” “The left drawer of the master bedroom nightstand. You put them there after your last flu.” Serena’s voice cut in, answering for him. I opened the drawer. Right next to the blister pack of pills sat a half-used tube of her favorite lip balm. A wave of dizziness hit me. Looking around, I realized this apartment was overflowing with Serena’s presence. Her silk pajamas were currently spinning in our washing machine. Her expensive face wash sat on our bathroom counter. A pair of her personal slippers rested in our shoe rack. This was supposed to be my future home. I was the one paying half the mortgage. Yet, she looked far more like the mistress of this house than I did. I hung up the phone and walked out onto the balcony, desperate for a breath of fresh air. There, shoved into the dampest, darkest corner of the drying rack, was the wool sweater I had washed yesterday. It was cold, wet, and already beginning to smell musty. Meanwhile, Serena’s delicate activewear occupied the prime, sunlit center of the rack. Even my clothes were pushed aside to make room for hers. I stared at the musty sweater for a long time. Then, I reached out, pulled it off the hanger, and threw it straight into the trash can. Austin didn’t walk through the door until eleven that night. He immediately came over to press the back of his hand against my forehead, his touch familiar and warm. “I bought you some ibuprofen. Come on, sit up and take it.” I leaned away from his hand. “Austin, why have you never posted a picture of me on your social media?” His response was smooth, practiced. “My feed is strictly for work. It’s full of partners and clients. Posting personal stuff looks unprofessional.” I let out a quiet laugh. My face was unprofessional. But Serena’s smile was apparently perfect for his brand, considering she made an appearance on his page every other week. The exhaustion finally settled deep into my chest. “Let’s call off the wedding. We’re done.” Austin froze, his hand hovering in mid-air. “Paige, are you serious?” His voice rose, tinged with disbelief. “We’re already engaged. You’re throwing a tantrum over something this petty?” “Is it just this one thing?” I asked, looking up at him. The gentle facade on Austin’s face began to crack, his voice growing sharper. “The invitations are out. The venue deposit is paid. You want to call it off now? Do you want us to be the laughingstock of the city?” Before I could answer, his phone chimed, cutting through the heavy tension. The ringtone was a soft acoustic folk song. It was a track I had recommended to him a dozen times. Every time, he had called it nice but never bothered to save it. But when Serena took an interest in indie folk music a month ago, the song suddenly became his ringtone. He answered, and Serena’s trembling, tearful voice filled the quiet room. “Austin, Mittens is throwing up blood. I’m so scared…” Austin’s face paled instantly. He grabbed his car keys and jacket, already moving toward the door. “Calm down, Paige,” he threw over his shoulder. “Just get some rest. We’ll talk about this when I get back.” The front door slammed shut. The sound felt like a sharp slap to my face, shattering whatever illusions I had left. I picked up my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in months. “Sean,” I whispered when he picked up. “Is your offer to open that bistro back home still on?” Austin didn’t return until the following morning. He walked in carrying a large paper bag from my favorite bakery, filled to the brim with every flavor of pastry they made. In the past, I would have squealed with joy, taken a dozen photos, and posted them online to show off how sweet my fiancé was. Now, I only felt a dull ache. Over our seven years together, my weight had climbed from a petite hundred and ten pounds to nearly a hundred and thirty-five. In the beginning, he used to squeeze my waist and tell me my curves were adorable. But gradually, his comments changed. “You should probably watch what you eat, Paige. It’s not a good look when a girl lets herself go. Cut back on the sugar.” So, I had stopped eating them. Austin set the box on the coffee table, pushing it toward me with an apologetic smile. “I stayed up all night thinking. I know I haven’t made you feel secure lately. From now on, I’ll post our photos on my main feed. Don’t be mad anymore, okay?” I didn’t say a word. I simply reached into the box and picked up a cinnamon danish from the side. A neat, semi-circular chunk was missing from the pastry. Someone had already taken a bite out of it. Austin cleared his throat, looking slightly embarrassed. “Serena came with me to the bakery. Her blood sugar was dropping, so I let her have a bite to tide her over. If it bothers you, I can go buy another box.” I closed the lid of the box. “No need. It’s a waste of money.” Believing the storm had passed, Austin let out a sigh of relief. He immediately busied himself around the apartment, cleaning the kitchen and sweeping the floors with unusual enthusiasm. When bedtime rolled around, he slid into bed and wrapped his arms tightly around my waist, his intentions clear. I pushed him away, pointing to the painkillers on the nightstand. “My cramps are starting early this month. I’m not in the mood.” Austin laughed, pulling me closer. “Serena told me that having regular intimacy actually helps with cramps. It keeps the circulation going. Honestly, once a week is too little anyway. It’s not healthy for you.” My body went completely rigid. My cycle. My pain. The private frequency of our intimate life. He had discussed all of it with Serena over casual conversation. A wave of hot anger surged through me. I shoved him away with all my strength. “Austin, you discuss our private life with her? What am I to you? A joke?” He stared at me, his brows furrowing in frustration. “Why are you making a mountain out of a molehill again? Serena is pre-med. She was just offering medical advice because she cares about you. She’s practically family. Is this really necessary?” I let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “Serena gets cramps too, doesn’t she? Why don’t you go over and help her with her circulation?” His expression darkened instantly. “Watch your mouth, Paige. What did Serena ever do to make you this bitter?” I could criticize him all I wanted, but the moment I mentioned Serena, I crossed his sacred line. I bit my lip, refusing to let the tears fall, but he wasn’t finished. “I guess this is what happens when you grow up in a broken home. You’re always looking for a fight, blowing every tiny detail out of proportion.” I froze. The words cut straight into the rawest, most guarded wound of my childhood. My parents divorced when I was seven. I spent my school years being whispered about, labeled as the unwanted child. When I met Austin, he held me late into the night and swore he would protect me from that pain forever. I had trusted him. I had handed him the keys to my deepest vulnerabilities. And now, he was using them as a weapon to tear me down. My throat burned. I couldn’t help but remember the boy he used to be. The boy who knew I was severely allergic to roses, who would read the ingredient list on a bottle of body wash ten times just to be safe. The boy who carried me on his back to work for a week when I sprained my ankle. But everything had shifted the moment I introduced him to Serena. In the beginning, he complained that she was interrupting our private time. But somewhere along the line, he started asking, “Should we invite Serena? The more the merrier.” I had thought he was just being kind. Only now did I realize his heart had drifted long ago. Austin seemed to realize he had gone too far, his eyes softening with sudden regret. But the floodgates of my resentment had already burst. I shoved him toward the door, screaming at him to get out. He tried to knock a few times, but eventually, his footsteps faded down the hallway. “Lock the door, Paige,” his voice echoed faintly from the corridor. “It’s windy tonight. I’ll come back and apologize tomorrow.” As the silence settled over the empty apartment, my tears finally flowed freely. This was the end. Truly. As I began pulling my suitcases out of the closet, my phone rang. It was our wedding planner, her voice polite but hesitant. “Hi, Paige. We received a request from Austin to make a few changes to the floral arrangements for the reception. He wants to swap out the white lilies for champagne roses. We just need your final sign-off.” I gripped the phone, my knuckles turning white. “Did he request this himself?” The planner hesitated. “Well, a Miss Serena suggested it. She mentioned it would look much more romantic.” My heart felt like it had been dropped into ice. I was highly allergic to roses. Direct contact could trigger severe hives and restrict my breathing. Austin knew this better than anyone. He had originally banned roses from the venue entirely, even asking our guests not to wear rose-scented perfumes. Yet, for a passing whim of Serena’s, he was willing to turn my wedding into a hazard. I didn’t yell. I didn’t cry. My voice was entirely flat. “There’s no need to sign off on anything. The wedding is off.” The next morning, I walked into the bridal boutique to settle the cancellation fees. As I approached the glass doors of the fitting room suite, a familiar silhouette caught my eye. Austin was standing behind Serena, carefully trying to zip up the back of a delicate white gown. Suddenly, the zipper split, exposing the bare skin of her back. Austin instinctively reached out to cover her, but the sudden movement caused his nose to bleed. I pushed the door open. All three of us froze in a suffocating silence. Austin was the first to scramble for an explanation, wiping his nose quickly. “Paige, it’s not what it looks like. Your dress details needed to be adjusted, but since we were fighting, I couldn’t ask you. Serena’s measurements are almost identical to yours, so I just asked her to try it on for size…” I looked at my dream wedding gown, now stretched and torn at the seams on another woman’s body. It was pathetic. Just as the anger began to bubble up, the heavy studio spotlight above us began to creak and sway. In a split second, the metal fixture snapped, plunging down toward the three of us. In that terrifying instant, Austin’s reflexes kicked in. He lunged forward, throwing his body over Serena to shield her from the falling debris. A sharp shard of shattered glass sliced across my calf. Warm blood began to pool down my ankle, dripping onto the pristine boutique carpet. Oddly, I didn’t feel any pain. Austin scrambled up, his eyes wide with panic as he looked at me. But before he could take a step in my direction, Serena let out a sharp sob. “Austin… my ankle. I think it’s bleeding…” His attention snapped away instantly. Without a backward glance, he rushed to her side, lifting her into his arms. I didn’t say a word. I turned around, walked out of the store, and drove myself to the urgent care clinic, where a doctor put three stitches into my leg. By the time night fell, my phone was still completely silent. Austin had forgotten. Today was my twenty-sixth birthday. I opened my phone one last time. Serena had updated her social media. The photo showed Austin’s side profile, his head bowed as he carefully applied antiseptic to a tiny scratch on her ankle. His expression was so tender, so focused, that I couldn’t remember the last time he had looked at me that way. I let out a dry laugh and booked a room at a nearby hotel. Then, I drafted my resignation email to my boss and called my mother. “Mom,” I said, my voice steady. “Cancel the banquet. It’s over between Austin and me.” The next morning, I woke up to a single text message from Austin, sent in the dead of night. There was no inquiry about my injury, no mention of my birthday. Serena’s ankle is too sore for her to travel back to her place. She’s going to stay at the apartment for a few days. Since we’re short on beds, do you mind staying at the hotel a bit longer? I turned off my phone, went back to the apartment, and prepared to pack the rest of my belongings. But the moment I unlocked the front door, my blood ran cold. My mother was in the kitchen, her face flushed red from the heat as she bent over a steaming stove. In the living room, Austin and three of his friends were sprawled across the sofa, shouting over a video game. They were casually spitting peanut shells onto the hardwood floor, expecting my mother to sweep them up like a paid maid. Nobody offered to help. Nobody treated her like the mother of the bride. To them, her labor was completely invisible, a convenience they were entitled to. I dropped my bag, ready to scream, but my mother rushed out of the kitchen and pulled me in by the hand. She wiped her damp hands on her apron, her eyes filled with an apologetic anxiety. “Sweetie, I heard you and Austin had a disagreement, so I took the early train down to help smooth things over,” she whispered, her voice low. “You two have worked so hard to get to this point. Don’t let a little temper ruin it. Go sit with the guests. Don’t let them think we don’t know how to host.” My heart ached sharply. I grabbed her hand to pull her out of the kitchen to demand an apology from the living room. “Ah—” She let out a sharp cry of pain, flinching away. It was only then that I saw the raw, angry blisters bubble across the back of her hand and forearm. My eyes welled with hot tears. “Mom, what happened to your hand? We’re going to the hospital right now.” She looked down like a child who had broken a vase. “It’s nothing, really. Just a little spill. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Under my stubborn questioning, the truth finally spilled out. Ten minutes ago, while carrying a heavy pot of hot stew, she had slipped on a greasy wrapper someone had discarded on the floor. She had crashed hard, the boiling liquid splashing over her arm. And Austin? He had barely looked up from his game with Serena. “Careful, Auntie. The floor’s a bit slick,” he had muttered, his eyes glued to the screen. My body trembled with a cold, violent rage. I made a move toward the living room, but my mother held onto my sleeve with a desperate strength. “Please, Paige. They’re just having fun. Don’t make a scene because of me.” I looked through the kitchen doorway. Austin was currently picking out a prime slice of meat from a serving dish, gently placing it into Serena’s bowl. He hadn’t even noticed the quiet crying in the kitchen. My mother had lived a life of brutal frugality in our small town, saving every penny to send me to a top university in the city. I had promised her she would never have to suffer again once I made something of myself. And here she was, serving as a maid to a group of arrogant boys who wouldn’t even extend a hand to help her up after she burned herself. I forced myself to calm down. I wiped my face, bandaged my mother’s arm with cold compresses, and walked into the bedroom. I dragged my large suitcase out and began throwing my clothes inside, not caring how they folded. Once the bags were zipped, I took my mother’s uninjured hand and led her toward the front door. Hearing the heavy wheels of the suitcases, Austin finally paused his game. I kept my back turned to him, my heart braced for some kind of apology, some desperate plea for me to stay. Instead, a notification pinged on my phone. He had sent me fifty dollars. “Heading out?” Austin called out, his eyes already drifting back to the television screen. “Grab us a couple of pizzas from down the street on your way back.” The last shred of hope in my chest withered and died. I didn’t look back. I led my mother down the stairs and hailed a cab. It was only when the taxi pulled up to the train station that my mother finally realized what was happening. “Paige, where are we going? You’re getting married in three weeks. Don’t let a little accident between me and Austin ruin your future. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have come. Driver, please pull over!” I turned to look at her, my eyes rimmed with red. “Mom, this isn’t about the spill.” “Austin doesn’t respect you because he doesn’t love me.” I opened my phone and booked two one-way tickets back to our hometown. Back at the apartment, the guests eventually dispersed as the afternoon faded. Austin sat on the couch, realizing I still hadn’t returned. Just as he stood up to search for me, Serena suddenly began complaining of severe nausea and abdominal pain. By the time he carried her to the emergency clinic, waited through the registration, and watched her finish an IV drip, it was nearly midnight. He finally had a moment to check his phone. He pulled up his chat history with me and typed out a message. But when he hit send, a bright red exclamation mark popped up next to his text. You are no longer friends with this contact.

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1 After my father’s casket was lowered into the earth, my best friend, Nora, wrapped her arms around my shaking shoulders. “Before he passed, Arthur told you not to forget to water the plants,” she whispered, her voice thick with sympathy. “Kate, he wanted you to keep going. He wanted you to live a good life.” My blood ran entirely cold. My father had a severe pollen allergy. We had never kept a single green thing in our house, let alone flowers or plants. Years ago, he and I had agreed on a secret code. If either of us were ever in immediate, life-threatening danger, we would use the phrase “water the plants” to signal for help. My father had died in a tragic car accident a week ago. How did Nora know our code? … When my father first suggested setting up an emergency signal, I had laughed in his face. I told him life wasn’t a thriller movie, and we didn’t need secret codes. He had simply smiled, telling me it was better to be safe than sorry. We both assumed we would never have to use it. Yet now, those very words had just slipped from the lips of my closest friend. Nora had been my rock. Ever since my father’s accident, she had practically abandoned her own sick daughter, staying by my side day and night for the past two weeks to keep me from falling apart. “Kate? Are you okay?” Nora’s gentle, concerned voice broke through my spiraling thoughts. I pulled myself back to the present and forced a weak shake of my head. There was no way Nora had anything to do with my father’s death. She had no motive, no reason to hurt him. Perhaps my father had managed to tell her the code before he died, hoping she would warn me that his accident wasn’t an accident at all? I clenched my fists, forcing a fragile smile onto my face. “I’m okay, really.” I squeezed her hand. Her palm was burning hot, making my icy fingers ache. “Nora, you’ve been with me for so long. You should go home. Mona must miss her mom.” Nora held on tighter. “My mother is watching Mona. I’m not leaving you alone like this.” Her touch, which had always brought me comfort, suddenly made my skin crawl. I quietly slipped my hand out of her grip, fabricating a quick excuse. “The insurance company called. They need me to sign some paperwork for my dad’s life insurance policy back in my hometown. I have to make the drive today, so…” Before I could even finish, Nora cut me off, her voice laced with a strange, hurried relief. “Oh, in that case, you should definitely go right away!” I stared at her. We had been friends for ten years. I knew every shift in her expression, every nervous tic. Nora, what are you in such a hurry for? The drive to Blackwood Creek was long and winding. Nora’s odd reaction replayed in my mind like a broken record, distracting me so much that I missed the exit for the highway service station. By the time the low fuel light flashed on my dashboard, I was forced to pull into a rusty, isolated gas station at the base of the mountain pass. “Heading up the mountain, kid?” The old attendant shook his head, waving his gloved hands. “Can’t go up. There was a nasty rockslide a few days back. Debris everywhere. A car went over the edge, and the state troopers still have the pass closed off for the investigation.” My grip tightened on the steering wheel. That car belonged to my father. I took a deep breath, smoothing my expression as I stepped out of the car. “Sir, it’s been a week. Why is the road still closed?” “I hear the detectives are treating it as suspicious,” the old man sighed, leaning against the pump. “Two lives lost in one night. They have to be thorough.” “Two lives?” My eyes went wide. I reached out, grabbing his sleeve before I could stop myself. “The police report said there was only one vehicle involved. How could there be two deaths?” The attendant startled, blinking at me in confusion. “Well, yes, only one car went over. But that evening, a young female cyclist stopped by here to escape the storm. She ended up hitching a ride in that very car.” A cold sweat broke out across my back. The world seemed to tilt. The forensic report from the crash site had been absolute: my father’s body was the only one recovered from the wreckage. Where was the girl? Was she alive? Who was she? Driven by a sudden, sickening instinct, I pulled up a photo of Nora on my phone and held it up to the old man. “Was this the girl who took the ride?” The attendant squinted at the screen, then immediately shook his head. “No, definitely not her. The cyclist was broader, heavier, and had short, cropped hair.” I lowered my phone, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, though the knot in my chest only grew tighter. The attendant finished filling my tank, but instead of asking for payment, he gestured toward the small brick office. “Kid, step inside for a second. I want to show you something.” I hesitated, watching him walk toward the door. Under the dim, flickering security light of the station, his face seemed cast in shadow. 2 I took a cautious step back, my eyes tracking his movements with sudden suspicion. The old man caught my hesitation and let out a dry chuckle. He didn’t push. Instead, he disappeared into the office, rummaged around for a moment, and returned with a tablet. “Here,” he said, handing it over with a hint of pride. “This is the security footage from that night. The system usually overwrites the files every seven days, but since there was a fatal crash, I figured the police might want to see it, so I backed it up.” My suspicion instantly turned into a deep sense of shame. “Thank you,” I muttered quietly, taking the screen. He waved it off dismissively. “Don’t apologize for being careful. In this world, you can’t even trust the people closest to you, let alone a stranger at a dark gas station.” The footage was timestamped exactly twenty-eight minutes before the estimated time of the crash. On the screen, my father’s car pulled up to the pump. A moment later, a heavy-set woman with short hair and a massive hiking pack approached his window. After a brief exchange, she loaded her bicycle into his trunk and climbed into the passenger seat. I replayed the short clip half a dozen times. Aside from confirming the girl wasn’t Nora, there was nothing else to see. The attendant leaned over, looking at the screen. “Look, I probably shouldn’t be sharing this, but if it helps you, I can send a copy to your phone.” I looked up, meeting his eyes, which were now filled with a quiet, heavy sympathy. “Your dad used to stop by here every time he drove up this way,” the old man said softly. “You have his eyes.” My throat tightened, and I could barely whisper a thank you. As he turned to walk back to his office, he left me with one final, unsettling thought. “I’ve run this station for thirty years, kid. We’ve never had a rockslide on this pass. The rain that night wasn’t even that heavy. It just doesn’t make sense.” With the mountain pass closed and the sky turning pitch black, I had no choice but to check into a dingy roadside motel at the base of the mountain. I tossed and turned on the lumpy mattress, watching the gas station footage on my phone until the battery finally died. My father looked completely normal in the video. Giving a stranded cyclist a ride in a storm was exactly the kind of man he was. The girl looked ordinary too, her bike tires caked in mud, her face obscured by the hood of her raincoat. It was a perfectly mundane video. When dawn broke, I packed my small bag and decided to hike up the closed mountain road on foot. The paved road was steep but well-maintained. After an hour and a half of walking, the bright yellow police tape marking the crash site came into view. It was the sharpest hairpin turn on the entire pass. A section of the heavy steel guardrail had been completely pulverized, marking the exact spot where my father’s sedan had plunged into the ravine below. The road was marked with white chalk outlines and scattered gravel. I looked at the rocks clustered near the edge. There weren’t many of them: eight rocks in total, ranging from the size of a fist to the size of a washbasin. I frowned. Even if these rocks had fallen directly onto the car, they weren’t large enough to cause a fatal accident on their own. The hum of an approaching engine broke the silence. I stepped onto the shoulder as a marked police cruiser came down the mountain, pulling to a halt just past the barricade. The man who stepped out of the driver’s seat was a familiar face: Detective Robert Collins, my father’s childhood best friend, a man who had known me since I was in diapers. In the span of a single week, he seemed to have aged a decade. He looked at me in surprise, his uniform cap pulled low. “Kate? What are you doing out here?” “I needed to see it, Uncle Robert,” I said quietly. Robert was a veteran homicide detective, and he was the lead investigator on my father’s case. He didn’t need me to explain why I was here. He sighed, lifting the yellow tape to let me through. 3 Robert pointed to the chalk markings on the asphalt, then toward the shattered guardrail. “The rain washed away most of the tire tracks, but the forensics team managed to reconstruct the pattern using specialized lighting,” he said, his brow furrowed in frustration. “The data shows your father was speeding. In fact, he didn’t even tap the brakes as he entered this curve. That goes against every driving habit he had.” His voice grew quiet. “Your father was the most cautious driver I knew. He never sped, especially not in a storm.” My eyes stung with tears. When I was a little girl, I used to complain that he drove like a turtle. He would always smile and tell me that speed didn’t matter, as long as we made it home safely. A man like that would never drive recklessly on a slick mountain pass. Unless something had forced his hand. I pointed toward the ravine. “Uncle Robert, what about the other person in the car? Did she survive?” Robert stared at me, his face freezing. “Kate, I think the stress is getting to you. Your father was alone in the vehicle. We found no evidence of any passenger.” The mountain wind whistled through the trees, making me shiver. Thankfully, Robert trusted me. Once I showed him the gas station footage on my phone, his entire demeanor shifted. He drove me straight to the county sheriff’s department, pulling in his colleagues to trace the short-haired woman. Initially, everyone had assumed my father’s death was a tragic accident, chalking Robert’s obsession with the case up to grief. But with the video evidence, the department quickly swung into action. “Detective Collins! We reviewed the highway cameras,” one of the officers called out. “There’s a toll camera three miles before the crash site. The passenger was definitely still in the vehicle at that point.” “We have an identity!” Within two hours, the system had flagged her. Her name was Gwen. She was a touring cyclist who had passed through the county a week ago. Unfortunately, she was already three states away. Robert called her on speakerphone, allowing me to sit quietly in the corner of the office to listen. “Yeah, I remember that night,” Gwen’s voice came through the line, sharp and irritated. “That old guy agreed to give me a lift to the lodge at the top. But halfway up the mountain, his phone rang. He listened to whoever was on the other end, went completely pale, and then literally forced me out of the car in the middle of a torrential downpour.” She let out a bitter laugh. “My bike chain was busted, and he just left me stranded on the side of the road. I was furious. But then I saw the news about his crash the next morning, and I realized I’d dodged a bullet.” Gwen’s tone was entirely casual, devoid of any real sympathy. Robert asked her several detailed questions, but she had nothing of value to offer. To her, it was simply an annoying detour on her trip. Robert rubbed his face in frustration, leaning back in his chair. I sat frozen, staring at the video on my phone, replaying it over and over. In the background, two deputies were whispering. “According to the cyclist, the victim kicked her out because of an emergency call. But if they were both going up the mountain, why waste time forcing her out of the car? It doesn’t make sense.” My eyes snapped down to the timestamp at the bottom of the screen. My father had left the gas station at exactly 8:32 PM. The crash was recorded twenty-eight minutes later. The distance between the gas station and the hairpin turn was barely four miles. Even in a heavy storm, that drive shouldn’t have taken more than ten minutes. What did he do during those missing eighteen minutes? I stood up, my hand shaking as I grabbed Robert’s arm. “Uncle Robert, look at the time.”

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1 I possess a highly specific talent. It is not exactly glamorous, but most commuters would beg on their knees for it. Whenever I board a bus, I can see a glowing number hovering above every passenger’s head, indicating exactly how many stops they have left. The older lady with a 5 floating above her hairless crown? Sure enough, five stops later, she sprints off before the doors even fully open, desperate to beat the morning rush at the farmer’s market. The exhausted woman who falls asleep the second her head hits the window? She sports a 15. A totally burned-out wage slave riding all the way to the end of the line. As for me, I specifically target the 1s. I casually sidle up to them, wait a few minutes, and inherit their warm seat while everyone else glares in pure envy. I cannot help it. A gift is a gift. Until today. It was the start of the holiday break. I dragged my heavy suitcases onto the bus, my eyes scanning the aisle for a fresh zero, ready to claim my prize. Instead, I froze. The entire bus, every single passenger, had the exact same number hovering above their heads. Zero. “God, it is packed in here! I am relying on you, seat whisperer!” My best friend, Sophie, grabbed my arm the second we boarded, pulling me out of my daze. “You are the absolute best at this. Find a spot for a poor, tired girl, will you?” “I am on it.” Lugging both of our oversized bags, I activated my eagle eyes. It was a weird crowd today. Half the bus was filled with kids on a field trip, bright yellow caps on their heads, each sporting a glowing 12. They were all heading to Centennial Park. Only two passengers stood out. One was a gloomy young man sitting by the window, staring blankly at the passing cars. A solid 1 hovered above him. The other was an anxious elderly woman sitting near the aisle. Her number kept glitching, flickering frantically between a 1 and a 2. Maybe she had not decided where to get off yet? Playing it safe, I shoved Sophie and the heaviest suitcase toward the gloomy guy, while I squeezed my way over to the old woman. The moment I got close, something felt incredibly off. The bus was full, but not suffocatingly crowded. The field trip kids were traveling light, holding nothing but little paper flags. Yet, in this relatively spacious section, the old woman was clutching an enormous, heavy cast-iron pot to her chest, absolutely refusing to set it on the floor. Judging by how deeply the pot dug into her thighs, it weighed a ton. She kept glancing around nervously. When I stopped in front of her, she flinched like a cat whose tail had just been stepped on, her eyes locking onto me with fierce paranoia. Watching the numbers flicker wildly above her gray hair, a chilling thought crossed my mind. Did she escape from a memory care unit? “Approaching Ashborne Avenue. Passengers departing, please prepare for your exit.” The mechanical female voice echoed through the speakers. I immediately shot a look at Sophie, raising my eyebrows. That guy is about to leave. Grab his seat! But as I looked at her, my blood ran cold. The number floating above Sophie’s head had changed. It was a 0. I whipped my head around. It was not just her. The entire bus, including the laughing kids waving their little flags, every single number had plummeted to 0. “Wait, no! Stop the car!” In a fraction of a second, the world erupted in blinding hellfire. The searing phantom heat of the explosion still crawled across my skin as a warm hand suddenly clamped onto my arm. “God, it is packed in here! I am relying on you, seat whisperer!” I gasped, whipping my head around. “Sophie! You are alive?!” “What the hell is wrong with you? You are the dead one here!” Sophie glared at me like I had lost my mind, yanking me onto the bus steps. “Just find me a seat and I will forgive your weirdness.” I looked up. There it was. The exact same bus. The old woman clutching her cast-iron pot, smiling nervously at me. “No! Get off!” I grabbed Sophie’s hand and bolted for the doors. “Are you insane? Route 8 is the only one that goes to Union Station!” Sophie yelled, planting her feet. “We will wait for the next one. This bus is way too crowded!” “The next one is in thirty minutes! We will miss our train!” She gripped her suitcase handle, refusing to budge. “Just trust me!” I ripped the suitcase from her grip and spun toward the exit. A heavy pneumatic hiss hissed through the air. The doors slammed shut right in my face. I banged on the glass, staring at the driver. “Let us out!” He completely ignored me, stepping on the gas with zero hesitation. “Next stop, Ashborne Avenue.” The mechanical voice made my entire body shudder. Ashborne Avenue. That was where the fire started. The adrenaline spiked in my veins. I shoved my way to the front and screamed at the driver. “Stop the bus! We need to get off right now!” The driver slowly turned his head. His pupils were completely unfocused, staring right through me. “Time is up. You can exit at the next stop.” He spoke in a flat, monotone rhythm, like a machine stripped of its soul. “He is right, dear. Just wait for the next stop. Stop causing a fuss and come sit by me.” The old woman smiled, waving her wrinkled hand at me, her index finger curling in a slow, hypnotic motion. “I guess you were right,” Sophie whispered from behind me, her voice trembling slightly. “The vibe in here is completely unhinged. We are definitely getting off at the next stop.” I squeezed my eyes shut. There is no next stop. “Come here, sweetie.” The old woman was still waving me over. I let out a shaky breath and walked toward her. If I could not run, I had to face the threat head-on. I glanced back, hoping to tell Sophie to keep her distance, only to see her dragging her suitcase right next to the gloomy young man. He sat there like a stone gargoyle, his head bowed, hugging his leather briefcase tight against his chest. I turned my attention back to the old woman. The moment she caught me staring at her cast-iron pot, her welcoming smile vanished entirely. The driver hit the brakes hard, and a distinct, heavy rolling sound echoed from inside the pot. She instantly tightened her grip, her knuckles turning white as her paranoid eyes darted around the cabin. Seeing that nobody else noticed, she let out a long sigh of relief. Then, a high-pitched voice shattered the quiet. “Grandma, what is in your pot?” The old woman violently flinched. “N-nothing! Nothing at all!” “Nothing? Then why are you hugging it like a baby? Want me to hold it for you?” I reached out. She exploded like a lit fuse. “I said I do not need help! Back off!” The driver coughed loudly from the front, and her fiery attitude immediately extinguished. “I am getting off at the next stop anyway. You can have the seat.” She stood up abruptly, hugging the heavy pot to her chest, and practically fled to the rear exit doors. I stared at her back. The flickering 2 and 3 above her head suddenly stabilized into a solid 1. She was telling the truth. She really was getting off at the next stop. Did I accuse the wrong person? But her pot was the only thing on this bus large enough to hide a homemade explosive. I scanned the cabin, my eyes drifting over the field trip kids with their tiny flags, until my gaze locked onto something else. Wait. There was one other person. I stared at the young man sitting next to Sophie. His leather briefcase. It was bulging grotesquely, stretched so tight it looked completely spherical. I opened my mouth to yell for Sophie to move, but the bus hit a massive pothole. A loud metallic clatter rang out. The cast-iron pot had slipped from the old woman’s grasp and hit the floor. I whipped around, my jaw dropping as I saw what rolled out. “Pickled eggs?!” Before I could even process the sight of a dozen hard-boiled eggs rolling across the ribbed rubber floor, a pungent, eye-watering stench of fermented garlic, vinegar, and sulfur violently assaulted the air. Passengers groaned in unison, pulling their shirts over their noses. “How many times do I have to tell you?!” the driver roared. “No foul-smelling food on my bus!” “I am so sorry! I am so sorry, everyone!” The old woman dropped to her knees, frantically chasing the rolling eggs, bowing her head in utter humiliation. “My granddaughter is in the hospital. She cannot keep any food down, but she grew up loving my spicy pickled eggs.” “I do not care about your sob story! Get that garbage off my bus!” Watching this fragile woman getting scolded like a naughty child twisted my stomach. I knelt down to help her gather the spilled food. “Approaching Ashborne Avenue.” The moment my fingers brushed a cold, slippery egg, that icy mechanical voice rang out from the speakers. Instantly, a devastating shockwave of raw heat erupted from behind me. Engulfed in flames, I forced my neck to turn. Right there. It came from right there. “God, it is packed in here.” Before Sophie could even finish her sentence, I was already sprinting down the aisle, lunging straight for the gloomy young man. “Hand over the briefcase! Right now, or I am calling the cops!” I slammed my hands down on the bulging leather, feeling the hard, packed objects beneath the surface. He slowly looked up. His eyes were so hollow, so suffocated by pure despair, that my heart actually skipped a beat. “Give it to me,” I demanded, forcing my voice to stay steady. “What is wrong with you, lady?” one of the kids piped up. “Do you know this guy? Why are you trying to steal his stuff?” I recognized that little girl. During the first two explosions, she survived the initial blast. I remembered her lying in the burning wreckage, weeping softly, whispering that it hurt, begging for her mother. My knuckles turned stark white as I gripped the bag strap. I bit my lip hard enough to taste copper. I will make sure the suffering ends in this lifetime. “Yeah, who do you think you are? You just board a bus and start robbing people?” The chaperone teacher stood up, his face twisted in disgust. “Stop traumatizing my students!” “Listen up, kids! This is called assault. Do not ever act like this maniac!” he yelled, pointing a thick finger at me. Sophie yanked hard on my sleeve, her voice a frantic hiss. “What are you doing? Let go before you get us arrested!” I ignored her, my eyes locked on the young man. In the previous loop, I felt the searing shockwave originate exactly from where he was sitting. I yanked the heavy briefcase with all my strength. He refused to let go, his grip tightening as the force pulled him entirely out of his seat. He stumbled into the aisle, breathing heavily. “Look at her!” the teacher shouted, his voice booming over the engine noise. “She is actually getting violent! Unbelievable.” “Picking on a guy who was just minding his business. Real tough.” “Probably doing it for some viral video. Look at the way she is dressed.” The hostility hit me in waves. I was the villain. I was the monster. Sophie’s eyes were red with frantic embarrassment. “Are you done making a scene?! Everyone is staring! If you do not care about your reputation, I care about mine!” She clawed at my fingers, desperately trying to pry me off the bag. I clenched my jaw, forcing the words out of my tight throat. “He has a bomb in this bag.” The entire bus fell dead silent. Into the suffocating quiet, the icy mechanical voice drifted through the speakers. “Approaching Ashborne Avenue.” Before the tires even screeched to a halt, the heavy thud of combat boots hit the steps. Police officers swarmed the vehicle. “Step back! Nobody move!” “Hands where we can see them!” The passengers froze in sheer terror, their jaws dropping as they slowly raised their hands in the air. “Officers.” a frail, trembling voice floated from the back corner. Everyone turned, staring at the old woman like she had a death wish. She was clearly terrified, shrinking against the window, yet she forced herself to ask the question. “What is going on here? My granddaughter is very sick. I need to get to the hospital.” “We received a 911 call reporting an explosive device on this transit line.” A collective gasp sucked the oxygen out of the cabin. The teacher who had screamed at me stood frozen, his eyes darting from the heavily armed cops to the briefcase still locked in my grip. Sophie was paralyzed, her hand still raised in the air from trying to pry my fingers loose. I finally let go of the strap and slowly raised my hands. “I made the call.” “Are you insane?!” Sophie shrieked, her voice cracking in pure panic. She grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin. “What is wrong with your brain? You saw a fat bag and decided to call in a bomb threat?!” “Do you know they throw you in federal prison for fake threats?!” Her face was flushed purple. “You have been saying weird stuff all week, seeing things, acting paranoid. I thought you were just stressed! But now you are hallucinating bombs? You need psychiatric help!” The crowd immediately started murmuring. The teacher clutched his chest, letting out a loud, exaggerated breath. “Jesus, my heart. It is just a fake call.” He glared at me with pure venom. “I knew it. A perfectly normal commute ruined by some paranoid lunatic!” “Sweetheart,” the old woman called out gently, clutching her cast-iron pot. “Do not put so much pressure on yourself. Here, Grandma will give you a nice egg to calm your nerves.” “Silence!” The lead officer stepped forward, his eyes locked on me. “You made the call? Where is the device?” “Him.” I pointed directly at the gloomy man. “He hid the explosive inside his briefcase.” Sophie stomped her foot, tears of frustration spilling over. “Stop lying! You just want to ruin our lives, do you not? You are completely unhinged!” “He is the unhinged one!” I ripped my arm away from her, pointing fiercely at the man. He still had his head bowed, utterly detached from the chaos around him. It was as if the rest of the universe did not exist. Just him, and the bag clutched to his chest. “Let us see what is inside, then we will know for sure.” I lunged for the bag. He twisted away. My fingers missed the leather but caught something dangling from the zipper. A sharp snap echoed as a plastic keychain broke off and hit the floor. It was like flipping a switch. The man’s head snapped up violently. “Enough!” His eyes were completely bloodshot, wild and cornered. The sheer agony in his gaze made the entire bus recoil. Sophie instinctively hid behind my back. “You want to see? Fine! Look at it!” He jumped up, ripped the zipper open, and turned the entire bag upside down, violently shaking it. A heavy, pathetic crash followed. Manila folders, cheap ballpoint pens, a dented thermos, a half-eaten box of saltines, and six frayed notebooks slammed against the rubber floor. Nothing else. No wires. No explosives. No weapons. The bus was dead silent. “Are you happy now?” He dropped to his knees, his voice muffled and thick with unshed tears as he slowly began picking up his scattered life. “They fired me today.” “Six years. Six years I gave them, and they fired me with zero notice. I did not even have time to find a cardboard box. I shoved my entire desk into my bag. That is why it is fat.” He stopped talking. He just kept picking up his pens, looking like a stray dog that had just been kicked into the gutter. Then he reached for the plastic keychain. He slowly turned it over. The smiling face of a little girl was printed beneath the scratched plastic. “My little sister.” His voice cracked, raw and hollow. “A drunk driver killed my parents. She has been in a coma in the ICU ever since. Where the hell would I get money to build a bomb? I cannot even afford to keep her life support running.” The air left my lungs. “I am so sorry. I did not know.” A muffled, terrifying boom ruptured the air. A devastating shockwave ripped from the back of the bus, tearing through the metal and flesh in a blinding flash of orange. The shrieks of the dying melted into one horrifying chord. Through the thick, suffocating black smoke, fighting the agony of my own burning skin, I forced my neck to turn one last time. Through the haze, I saw a hand. A hand tightly gripping a detonator switch. On its middle finger, a thin silver ring caught the flames, flashing a brilliant, blinding light straight into my pupils. My eyes widened in absolute, paralyzing horror. How is it you?!

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