Author: Momo Chan

Early Saturday morning, my roommate Cassie walked over to my bed. “Becca, can I borrow your Costco card? I just need to run in and grab some things.” I was too sleep-deprived to think it through. Since a Costco card is just a membership pass and not an actual payment method, I didn’t see the harm in it. I mumbled an agreement and drifted back to sleep. By the time my eyes cracked open again, the afternoon sun was cutting a sharp, dusty line across my dorm room. It was 2:00 PM. I reached for my phone, and the screen was already drowning in notifications from our sophomore class group chat. Cassie: Hey guys, since the new Costco just opened up down the road, I figured some of you might not have had a chance to check it out. I’m going tomorrow. My treat—grab whatever you want. The replies were a cascade of sudden, sycophantic praise. “Cassie, since when are you a secret heiress?” “Wow, big spender! Thanks, boss!” I stared at the screen, my brain struggling to connect the girl in those texts with the roommate I actually knew. Cassie’s family was struggling—deeply so. She was on the university’s maximum financial aid package, and her daily life was a masterclass in aggressive survival. She worked long hours washing dishes at the campus dining hall, mostly because it paid a small stipend and, more importantly, came with free meals. Where on earth was she getting the money to host a wholesale shopping spree? Then, a cold realization bloomed in the pit of my stomach. My card. Did she think the membership card was a pre-loaded gift card? Did she think my annual fee meant there was actual cash sitting on that little piece of plastic? 1. The new Costco had opened near campus a few weeks ago, and it was all anyone could talk about. I’d gone out and bought an Executive Membership the very day it opened. Not for any logical reason, really—I just had a massive craving for their bulk snacks. I’d always loved their giant tubs of peanut butter pretzels and the massive bakery muffins, but since there hadn’t been a location near my hometown, my parents used to ship them to me in oversized cardboard boxes. Using my parents’ shared account always felt slightly stifling, though. They could track every single transaction, every late-night run for chocolate-covered almonds. So, I sucked it up, paid the annual fee myself, and walked out feeling a strange, adult sense of sweet independence. When I got back to the dorm, my roommates were sitting around the cramped common area, debating whether it was worth the money to sign up. I threw my hands up in a grand, generous gesture. “Don’t bother spending the cash. You guys can just use mine whenever you want.” Everyone was there, including Cassie. The offer had hovered in the air, a casual piece of college camaraderie. And then came this morning. The sun wasn’t even up when she shook my shoulder. “Cassie, what the hell?” I groaned, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I’ve never been a morning person, and being jolted awake at dawn is a surefire way to ruin my mood. But she didn’t seem to notice—or care about—my irritation. She stood over me, her hands clasped together. “Becca, can I borrow your Costco card?” My brain was still fogged with sleep. It took me a few seconds to even register what she was asking for. Seeing me hesitate, her face tightened, and her voice took on a sharp, whiny edge. “You literally said we could all use it. I’ve never even been to one. Come on, Becca. Just do me a favor and let me borrow it.” I shrugged it off. It wasn’t a big deal. It was just a laminated pass to get through the sliding glass doors. And looking at her tense, expectant posture, I knew that if I said no, she’d probably stand there arguing until my Saturday morning was completely ruined. “Fine, it’s on my desk. Just let me sleep.” I let the heavy warmth of sleep pull me back under, completely missing the warning signs. When I finally woke up and saw the 99+ unread messages, my heart did a little flutter. I thought there had been some kind of campus emergency. I scrolled back to 9:30 AM. Cassie had posted in the group chat, inviting everyone on a trip to Costco. Some of the wealthier, more cynical kids had immediately started poking fun at her. “Why would we go with you? To stare at the ceiling? Do you even know how expensive bulk shopping is?” “Honestly, I doubt you can even afford the parking.” Cassie didn’t back down. Instead, she dropped the bomb: “My treat. Grab whatever you want.” That shut them up. The teasing turned to immediate, desperate flattery. But I knew Cassie. I lived with her. Her monthly allowance from her parents was barely enough to cover laundry, let alone groceries. She survived on campus jobs, taking the worst shifts at the dining hall because it guaranteed her a hot meal she didn’t have to pay for. Even if she somehow had a sudden windfall of cash, Cassie was not the type to share it. She was deeply, painfully frugal—except when it came to her own image. She had once taken out a high-interest point-of-sale loan just to buy a designer winter coat she couldn’t afford, just so she could wear it to lectures. When she ran out of money, she would casually “borrow” our food to survive. A splash of my oat milk here, a scoop of Leah’s peanut butter there. Once or twice was fine, but over months, it became an exhausting tax on our patience. We’d tried gently bringing it up, but she’d just nod and then, when she thought we weren’t looking, rifle through our drawers anyway. She was fiercely protective of her own resources, yet entirely comfortable consuming ours. So why this sudden, reckless generosity? Then, the puzzle pieces clicked. She had heard me complaining about how expensive the membership fee was a few days ago. She must have thought the Costco card was a loaded debit card. She thought my annual fee was actual store credit. 2. The idea was so absurd that if it were anyone else, I would have laughed it off. But Cassie had grown up in an incredibly isolated, impoverished rural town. Our academic advisor had once subtly mentioned her background to us, asking us to be patient with her transition to college life. She truly might not understand how these wholesale clubs worked. Feeling a sudden knot of anxiety, I decided to call her. The first two calls rang out. On the third, just as I was about to hang up, she finally answered. The moment the line connected, a wave of hesitation hit me. How was I supposed to ask her this? “Hey, do you realize you’re broke?” What if she actually did have the money? What if she’d saved up from her dining hall shifts to do something nice for her classmates? If I brought it up, I’d look like the elitist roommate making cruel assumptions based on her background. I didn’t want to humiliate her. It’s not that I looked down on her, but her methods of saving money were legendary in our dorm. Once, we’d gone out for a group dinner. Cassie refused to order anything, sitting there with an empty plate, watching us eat. Every time I reached for another slice of garlic bread, she would let out a loud, pointed cough. I didn’t realize what she was doing until after we paid and left. She pretended she’d left her umbrella at the table, went back inside, and packed up all our leftovers. The next day, she reheated the food, packaged it into small containers, and sold it to the girls down the hall as “homemade stir-fry.” We were horrified when we found out. But she just beamed, completely immune to our lectures on hygiene and basic ethics, thrilled by her profit margin. That was just the tip of the iceberg. During her period, she would spend hours sitting in the communal bathroom stalls to avoid buying tampons. When we finally felt bad and gave her some of ours, she’d turn around and sell them to underclassmen for a dollar a piece. She used AI-generated photos of damaged goods to get refunds on Amazon. She practically cleared out the dining hall’s supply of napkins and toilet paper every single week. I lived in constant fear that one day, someone was going to lose their temper and physically confront her. Yet, despite this desperate penny-pinching, her vanity was boundless. She would starve herself for a week just to buy a knockoff handbag, all while maintaining an online persona of a wealthy girl simply “experiencing the rustic charm of campus life.” Because we never publicly called her out, most of our classmates still bought into the act. “Hello? Becca? What do you want? International minutes are expensive,” she snapped over the line. “This call is on your dime, by the way.” I opened my mouth, but the words caught in my throat. “Never mind. I was just wondering when you’d be back.” “Late. Don’t wait up.” She hung up. She did come back late—just minutes before the dorm’s midnight curfew. Before she arrived, Leah was sitting on her bed, venting her frustration. “I thought college was supposed to be the best four years of my life,” Leah muttered, throwing her hands in the air. “Instead, I’m living with a literal psychopath.” “She doesn’t listen to a word anyone says.” “I’ve told her a thousand times: do not cook raw garlic and fish in the bedroom. My clean laundry smells like a cheap takeout place. How am I supposed to wear this to my internship interview?” “And she never washes her dishes. There are actual fruit flies hovering over her desk.” Leah was practically vibrating with rage, trying to get all her anger out before Cassie walked through the door. Fiona and I nodded in silent solidarity. Our dorm didn’t have a balcony, so the only place to dry our clothes was on a rack near the window—which happened to be right next to Cassie’s bed. To save money on dining hall meals, Cassie had bought a cheap hotplate and cooked heavy, pungent meals right in the middle of our small room. The grease and smoke clung to everything we owned. We’d tried to negotiate shifting our beds around, but Cassie had shut it down immediately. “No way. I like the sunlight here. It saves me money on vitamin D supplements,” she’d said, without a hint of irony. “But if you guys want to swap so badly, you can just pay for my meal plan. And buy my vitamins.” “Since we’re roommates, I’ll give you a discount. Three hundred bucks a month.” Three hundred bucks? It was absolute extortion. We had been left speechless, entirely powerless against her thick-skinned audacity. When the door clicked open and Cassie stepped in, we immediately fell silent. As she brushed past me, I remembered her planned excursion for the next day. I felt a sudden, annoying pang of conscience. I had to say something. “Hey, Cassie,” I said, keeping my voice as gentle and non-confrontational as possible. “Just so you know, my Costco card is only to get you through the door. You can’t use it to actually pay for the groceries at the register.” If she already knew, it was just a harmless reminder. If she didn’t, I was saving her from a massive public embarrassment. Instead, her face twisted in instant fury. She marched over, cornering me by my desk, and pointed a finger directly at my face. “What is that supposed to mean? Do you think I’m trying to steal your money?” she shrieked. “You’re making up lies just to keep me from using it!” I raised my hands, retreating slightly. “No, Cassie, you’re misunderstanding. There’s literally no money on that card. It’s just an ID.” Leah and Fiona jumped in to defend me, but Cassie was completely deaf to reason. “You guys are just looking down on me!” she yelled, her eyes flashing with a deep-seated, toxic insecurity. “If I had the kind of family money you guys have, I’d be doing way better than any of you.” “You called me earlier just to grill me about this, didn’t you? It’s a stupid plastic card, Becca. I can’t believe you’re being this petty. Get a life.” I rolled my eyes, the last drops of my empathy evaporating. If I hadn’t given her the secondary card on my account this morning, I wouldn’t even be in this mess. Fine. Let her do whatever she wanted. I was done trying to protect her. Even if she did have some secret stash of money to pay for everyone, it wasn’t my business. And if she didn’t, well, my Costco account didn’t have a line of credit attached to it anyway. She couldn’t ruin my finances. I had tried to be a decent roommate. If she wanted to run headfirst into a brick wall of her own making, I wasn’t going to stop her. 3. The next morning, I woke up to the sound of rustling. Cassie was sitting at my vanity, her back to me. I didn’t say anything, quietly slipping out of bed to see what she was doing. She was digging her fingers into my expensive moisturizers, smearing them haphazardly over her face. My vanity, usually neatly organized, was a disaster zone of open caps and spilled powders. With one clumsy scoop, she had scooped out nearly half of my expensive face cream. The sheer disrespect snapped my patience. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I yelled. “Who gave you permission to touch my stuff?” Cassie spun around. But it wasn’t her garishly painted, ghostly pale face that stopped me cold—it was her phone, propped up against my mirror, showing a live FaceTime call. I didn’t have my contacts in, but I could clearly make out the outline of a guy on the screen. I let out a sharp gasp, suddenly hyper-aware of my thin summer pajamas. I was practically exposed on a live video feed to some random stranger. Leah and Fiona bolted upright, fully awakened by the shouting. “What is your problem?” Cassie sneered, completely unfazed. “It’s just a little lotion. You don’t have to scream like a maniac first thing in the morning.” “Cassie, we literally agreed on this,” Leah said, her voice shaking with anger. “No FaceTime calls without warning between 10 PM and 8 AM. We sleep in here. Some of us actually care about our privacy.” “If you want to talk to your boyfriend, draw your bed curtains or go out into the hallway.” Cassie rolled her eyes, packing up her bag. “Oh, please. With your flat chest, nobody’s looking at you anyway.” “I pay rent here. This is my room too, and I’ll do whatever I want. You don’t own me.” She finished her makeup, entirely ignoring our boiling rage, and shoved past me to get to the door. “Move. I’m going to be late.” I stood there, trembling, looking at my ruined makeup and the expensive jar of cream that was now mostly smeared on her collarbones. It wasn’t just me, either. Leah’s closet doors were wide open, and Fiona’s desk drawers had been rummaged through. Cassie had clearly gone on a shopping spree in our own room before heading out. “I can’t do this anymore,” Fiona whispered, staring at her messy drawer. “I am going to lose my mind.” Buzz. My phone lit up. It was a message in the sophomore group chat: “We’re meeting by the campus gates in ten. Don’t be late!” A string of enthusiastic thumbs-up emojis followed. Our major was relatively small. Excluding the three of us and a few others who saw right through Cassie’s act, there were only about four or five classmates going with her. If they only bought a few small things, maybe she could actually cover it. But remembering her defensive, arrogant outburst from last night, I had a sinking feeling this wasn’t going to end quietly. She was too proud to back down, and too ignorant of how the system worked to realize she was walking into a trap. When I voiced my suspicion, Leah and Fiona’s eyes lit up. “Oh my god,” Leah gasped, clapping her hands. “She really thinks she can just swipe your membership card at the checkout.” “What is she going to do when it gets declined?” “She probably thinks that if she gets a massive haul and it somehow goes through, she can play the wealthy benefactor. And if you find out later, she’ll just use the ‘we’re roommates, don’t make a big deal out of it’ card.” “But she doesn’t realize…” Fiona started laughing, a bright, wicked sound. “Oh, this is going to be a disaster. Sweet, cosmic justice.” I rubbed my temples. “Come on, guys. We don’t know for sure.” Leah grabbed my arm, already pulling me toward the door. “Are you kidding? We are absolutely going to Costco right now to watch this show.” We didn’t even have to look hard to track them. Half the sophomore class was posting on their Instagram Stories. “Costco Sunday with the crew. Big things coming.” “Seeing how the other half lives. Thank you, Cassie!” The photos featured shopping carts stacked high with expensive electronics, prime cuts of beef, and imported chocolates. It was easily hundreds of dollars per cart. By the time we arrived at the warehouse, we spotted them near the bakery section. Cassie was leading the pack, tossing items into three separate carts like she was on a game show. The carts were piled so high they blocked her line of sight. We kept our distance, ducking behind a massive pyramid of toilet paper rolls to avoid being seen. She was completely intoxicated by the attention, basking in the compliments of the classmates trailing behind her. She didn’t notice us at all. I watched her add a massive Bluetooth party speaker to the pile. In my head, I was doing the math. Three carts. High-end groceries. Electronics. This wasn’t a bill a college student could just casually shrug off. This was thousands of dollars. Finally, the group headed toward the checkout lines. Since the register area was wide open, we lingered by the seasonal items nearby, pretending to examine patio furniture while keeping our eyes glued to the scene. The cashier began scanning the mountain of items. Cassie stood there, looking exhausted but smug, her arms crossed. “Alright, your total is $1,482.50,” the cashier said, her voice flat. “How will you be paying today?” Cassie reached into her pocket, pulled out my Costco membership card, and slid it across the counter. “Just charge it to this.” The cashier looked at the card, then up at Cassie, her brow furrowing. “Ma’am, this is just a membership card. Do you have a Visa or cash?”

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My best friend has an entire jewelry box overflowing with custom-made rings, a fact she never misses an opportunity to complain about. “Every time he gets a tiny spark of inspiration, he designs another one for me,” she said, letting out a performative sigh as she sifted through them. “I can’t possibly wear them all. But if I try to sell them, he gets incredibly jealous. Why don’t you take a few? Just to help me clear some space.” Then, as if a sudden thought had struck her, a flush crept up her cheeks. “Oh, wait. I completely forgot. Adrian is a chief designer now. You probably wouldn’t even look at these.” I felt a sudden, sharp heat radiate from the simple platinum band resting on my own ring finger. It felt less like a piece of jewelry and more like a brand. Despite his reputation as a brilliant, rising designer, Adrian had never designed a single ring for me. Not even his flawed prototypes or cast-off drafts were allowed on my fingers. “I have standards for my art,” he had told me once, his voice cool and absolute whenever I asked. “If it’s not perfect, I won’t let it out of my studio.” As we nudged the jewelry box back and forth across the table, one of the rings slipped out and rolled onto the polished wood. I froze. The delicate, intertwined band was a design I knew intimately. It was the exact ring I had practically begged Adrian to make for me. … After eight years of living together, of watching him work late into the night, I knew Adrian’s creative brushstrokes better than my own reflection. “Isabel? What’s wrong?” Linda waved her hand in front of my face, her bright pink nails catching the light. My throat felt dry, lined with sand. “Nothing. It just… looks incredibly familiar.” Linda’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. She quickly snatched the ring off the table, her movements slightly too frantic. “Well, contemporary jewelry is all starting to look the same these days,” she said, her voice carrying a forced lightness. “Don’t overthink it.” “Don’t overthink it.” But the uneasy weight in my chest refused to shift. It wasn’t until I had left Linda’s apartment and walked down to the street that I realized I had left my keys on her counter. I turned back, only to halt near the entrance of the building. Adrian’s black sedan was parked by the curb. I watched as he stepped out of the driver’s seat, walking with a familiar, easy stride straight into the lobby. He didn’t page her dial; he had a key fob. My heart contracted, a tight, cold spasm. I followed him up, my steps silent on the carpeted corridor. Standing outside Linda’s door, her muffled voice drifted through the thin wood, trembling with anxiety. “Adrian, Isabel seemed to recognize that ring today. What if she starts asking questions?” “She won’t,” Adrian’s voice came through, steady and utterly dismissive. “Isabel barely steps foot in my home studio. Even if she saw the drafts, she wouldn’t remember.” “Linda, stop worrying.” “Linda.” The casual tenderness in his voice when he said her name felt like a physical blow. A dark, suffocating wave of dread washed over me. I had to lean against the corridor wall to keep my knees from buckling. “I just feel so awful about this,” Linda sniffled, her voice thick with unshed tears. “Isabel is my best friend. She’s taken care of me since we were kids. When I lost my job, she brought me to Seattle and helped me get back on my feet. And now I’m doing this to her… I’m a horrible person…” “Linda, give me a little more time. I’ll handle it.” A high-pitched ringing filled my ears, drowning out the rest of their conversation. My chest felt hollowed out, as if something vital had been brutally torn from me. I didn’t have the strength to push the door open and demand answers. Numb and hollow, I walked back down to the street and returned to the apartment I shared with Adrian. Passing his locked studio, his dismissive words echoed in my head: “Isabel barely steps foot in my home studio.” I pushed the door open. The desk was cluttered with sketches, and his desktop computer was still humming. I sat down and began clicking through his digital design folders. Buried deep within the directories, I found an encrypted folder labeled simply “L”. I hesitated for a second, then typed in Linda’s birthday. The folder clicked open. Rows upon rows of detailed design files filled the screen, each one labeled with a specific date. The first sketch was dated October 11, 2023. It was titled “First Sight”. That was the exact day I had brought Linda to Seattle to live with us. It was the first time Adrian had ever laid eyes on her. I remembered asking Adrian once if he could design a small piece to commemorate the anniversary of our first date. He had scoffed, tapping his pencil against his sketchpad. “Design should be organic, Isabel. I don’t want to force it for the sake of a calendar date.” I had accepted his explanation, swallowed my disappointment, and tried to respect his creative freedom. The second design was dated Valentine’s Day, 2024. That date was our actual anniversary, a day we never celebrated because Adrian insisted that commercial holidays were beneath him. “The most important thing is our daily companionship, Isabel, not some capitalist ritual.” I had believed him. Only now did I realize he didn’t lack a romantic bone in his body; he just didn’t want to waste his romance on me. He had designed a delicate, vintage-inspired lace band for Linda to celebrate their first joint holiday. On that very night, he had told me an urgent client required him to stay at the studio overnight. There were hundreds of designs, spanning the last three years. Every milestone they shared—their first trip together, their first New Year’s Eve countdown—had its own ring. Even the ring I had begged him for, the one he claimed was a flawed prototype, had been specifically designed to comfort Linda when she was bedridden with severe cramps. My vision blurred, and my hand shook so violently I could barely control the mouse. Yet, I forced myself to scroll to the very bottom of the directory. My entire body went rigid. It was an unfinished draft of a wedding ring. The intricate metalwork was meticulously shaped to spell out Linda’s name in elegant, hidden cursive. Adrian had always told me he couldn’t design our wedding rings because he hadn’t found the “creative spark of pure happiness” yet. Now I knew the truth. His definition of happiness simply didn’t include me. I bit my lower lip so hard I tasted copper, but the tears still spilled over, hot and silent. After a long time, I wiped my face, took a deep breath, and dialed my supervisor’s number. “Ruth, about the transfer to the Geneva office… I’ll take it.” An eight-year relationship built on a foundation of polite neglect. I was done begging for scraps. “Really?” Ruth sounded genuinely surprised, though her tone quickly turned cautious. “The Geneva branch is a major commitment, Isabel. It’s a minimum of two years. Will your partner be okay with that?” If she had asked me yesterday, I would have hesitated. I would have worried about Adrian’s meals, his laundry, and how the long distance might strain our relationship. But those worries required a foundation of mutual care. He didn’t love me. Why would he care where I was? “I can handle it, Ruth,” I said, my voice steady. Sensing the finality in my tone, Ruth didn’t press further. “Alright. I’ll book your ticket. You leave in two days.” After hanging up, I looked up Linda’s public social media accounts. Since moving to Seattle, she had built a modest following as a lifestyle influencer. Her feed was dominated by photos of her hand, showcasing various exquisite rings. She wrote elaborate, poetic stories for each one, and her comment section was filled with envious followers praising her “thoughtful, wealthy boyfriend.” I had always assumed she was dating some reclusive tech entrepreneur, which was why she never introduced him. How incredibly naive I had been. Every single ring on her feed matched a file in Adrian’s hidden directory. I had even left supportive comments on those posts, wishing her endless happiness. Her most recent post was a photo of a half-eaten palmier pastry from a boutique bakery downtown. Her caption read: “Eating alone is sweet, but sharing it with you is pure happiness.” When Adrian came home that evening, he set a small, ribbon-tied box of palmiers on the kitchen island. “I remembered you liked these,” he said, offering a tired smile. “I stopped by that bakery on my way home.” It was the exact same bakery. But he had forgotten one fundamental thing: I had always detested sweets. Swallowing the bitter taste in my mouth, I looked at him and said, “Adrian, let’s get married.” Adrian stiffened, his hand pausing over his briefcase. “Let’s wait a little longer, Isabel. I’ve been in a creative rut lately, and I want to design the perfect wedding ring for us first.” Always the same excuse. My mind drifted back to his early days in the industry, when he couldn’t get a single commission and resorted to selling wire-wrapped jewelry at street markets. To secure him a prime spot, I would wake up at five in the morning to stand in the freezing rain. I had caught a fever that winter but refused to see a doctor, saving every penny to pay his booth fees. Back then, Adrian would hold my chapped hands and cry. “Isabel, I swear I’m going to design the most beautiful wedding ring in the world for you. I want everyone to see how happy you are.” I had believed him. I had waited from age twenty to twenty-eight. “I don’t want to wait anymore, Adrian.” Startled by my bluntness, Adrian’s expression darkened. “Isabel, can you stop suffocating me? Is a piece of paper really that important to you?” He turned and slammed the bedroom door behind him. I closed my eyes, letting the silence of the apartment wash over me. The next morning, I went to the boutique hotel where I worked to finalize my transfer paperwork. As I was leaving, a colleague asked if I could cover the evening shift for her. By nightfall, the banquet manager informed me we were hosting a private VIP celebration for a design studio. “The owner is a rising star in the jewelry scene, Adrian,” the manager whispered. “He won a major regional award tonight and is planning to propose to his muse. We cleared out the premier private dining room for them.” My heart skipped a beat. Despite everything, a foolish, desperate part of me wondered… but the hope was dead before it could even form. When the elevator doors opened, Adrian walked out, and right beside him was Linda. They were dressed in matching, formal evening wear, looking like a perfect couple from a high-society magazine. When Adrian’s studio had started making a profit, he had told me he didn’t want me visiting the office because “professional boundaries are important.” I had respected his wishes. But seeing how easily his employees interacted with Linda, I realized his boundaries were reserved only for me. “The room looks amazing, Adrian! Don’t keep her waiting!” “Yeah, the ring is right there in your pocket!” “You designed it specifically for Linda, boss. It’s time to make it official!” The staff’s playful teasing echoed down the hallway. Linda blushed, looking down at her shoes. Adrian smiled, a look of pure warmth on his face as he pulled a small velvet box from his coat. He slipped the intricate ring onto Linda’s finger with a gentleness I had never seen him display. My chest tightened so hard I could barely breathe. Even though no one in that hallway knew who I was, I felt stripped bare, exposed in my own quiet humiliation. Suddenly, Adrian’s eyes drifted toward the reception desk. Our gaze met. The smile died on his face, and the hallway fell silent. I squeezed my hands into tight fists, turned on my heel, and walked away. I wasn’t running; I simply refused to give the last eight years of my life an undignified ending. But Adrian followed me out to the lobby. “Isabel, don’t make a scene,” he said, his voice laced with annoyance and a patronizing attempt to soothe me. “The employees were just joking around. It was all for show.” I stared at him, saying nothing. Adrian kept going, his words tumbling out faster. “Linda… she provided the core conceptual inspiration for this award-winning collection. I only brought her along tonight to show my professional appreciation.” He paused, adding, “Besides, you were the one who asked me to look after her when she moved here. I thought I was doing this for you.” “For me.” When Linda first arrived in Seattle, alone and overwhelmed, I had asked him to show her some kindness. I remembered how Adrian had scoffed back then, complaining that Linda wasn’t a child. Yet now, he was using my past kindness as a shield. “Was putting a ring on her finger for me too?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Linda appeared at the end of the corridor, looking small and fragile. “Isabel, please don’t be mad,” she stammered, tears welling in her eyes. “It was just a silly game. This ring… Adrian actually designed it for you.” She hurriedly slid the ring off her finger and tried to force it onto mine. But our hands were different sizes. The sharp, unpolished edge of the setting scraped hard against my knuckle, drawing a thin line of blood. Linda gasped, pulling her hands back. “Oh my god, Isabel, I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to…” I looked at her tear-streaked face, and memories of our childhood flashed before my eyes. When her stepmother refused to give her lunch money, I had shared my meals. When she faced an abusive boss in her first job, I spent three sleepless nights drafting her legal complaints to secure her severance. I had never complained. I had loved her like a sister. And now, she was holding the knife that was tearing my life apart. Sensing my cold gaze, Linda shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe… maybe I should just leave. I don’t want to cause trouble between you two.” “No,” Adrian said, stepping forward to catch her arm. His voice was thick with protective anger. “You have a sensitive stomach and you haven’t eaten all evening. Go back inside.” He turned back to me, his eyes turning cold. “Isabel, must you always be so incredibly petty? Linda is your best friend. Why do you have to humiliate her like this?” “Petty.” The word felt like a physical slap. It shattered the very last piece of devotion I held for him. Adrian had seemingly forgotten that during his leanest years, I had worked three separate jobs to keep us afloat. I had skipped meals, survived on instant coffee, and worked through the night, eventually developing a chronic stomach ulcer. I still remembered lying awake in the dark, curled in pain, trying not to wake him. After eight years, he couldn’t remember my dietary restrictions, but he knew exactly how sensitive Linda’s stomach was. The vast chasm between his care for her and his neglect of me left me entirely hollow. Linda looked between us, stepping back. “I’m fine, really. I don’t want you and Isabel fighting because of me.” She turned to leave, but in her haste, she collided with an intoxicated male patron coming out of the adjacent lounge. “Watch where you’re going!” the man barked, slurring his words. Linda’s eyes welled with fresh tears. “You’re the one who ran into me.” The confrontation escalated in an instant. The man, red-faced and furious, snatched a heavy cocktail glass from a nearby tray and slammed it down onto the marble counter. “What did you say to me?” The glass shattered. A stray shard flew through the air, slicing across my cheek. I felt the sharp sting before the blood began to trickle down my jaw. But Adrian didn’t look at me. In that split second, his body had moved on pure instinct, pulling Linda tightly against his chest, shielding her from the flying debris. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt?” he asked her, his voice trembling with panic. At that moment, I knew I had lost. Completely and irrevocably. When Adrian finally looked up and saw the blood on my face, a flash of guilt crossed his eyes, and he made a move toward me. But Linda let out a soft wail. “My ankle… I think I twisted it…” Adrian’s attention snapped back to her instantly. Without another word, he scooped her up into his arms. “Don’t worry, I’m taking you to the emergency room.” He cast a fleeting, apologetic glance back at me. “Linda has a very low pain tolerance. I have to get her to a doctor. Get someone at the desk to help you with that scratch, and I’ll come back to pick you up later.” Then, he hurried down the hall, leaving me behind. The physical sting on my cheek was nothing compared to the cold numbness spreading through my chest. The drunk patron, seeing his target leave, turned his anger on me. Discovering I was a manager, he pointed a finger at my face. “I am a premier rewards member here! Is this how your staff treats guests?” His shouting drew a crowd. If he filed a formal complaint, it would ruin my colleague’s performance record for the quarter. I had no choice but to swallow my pride and apologize. “If you’re really sorry,” the man sneered, pouring three double shots of high-proof whiskey onto the bar, “drink these. Then we’ll call it even.” The alcohol hit my empty, ulcer-damaged stomach like liquid fire. A violent wave of nausea and sharp, stabbing pain radiated through my abdomen. By the time I staggered out of the hotel lobby, I could barely stand. I leaned against the cold brick wall, my hand shaking as I dialed Adrian’s number. “Adrian… my stomach hurts so bad… please, can you come get me…” “Just hold on, Isabel. I can’t leave right now—” Before he could finish, Linda’s voice echoed in the background, crying out in pain. Adrian hung up immediately. My vision went black, and the pain dragged me down into unconsciousness. When I opened my eyes, the sterile smell of disinfectant filled my nose. A doctor stood over my bed, looking at me with a mixture of pity and frustration. “You need to be much more careful,” the doctor said softly. “How could you drink high-proof alcohol while pregnant?” My heart stopped. “The… pregnancy?” I whispered, my hand instinctively drifting to my flat, empty stomach. “I’m sorry,” the doctor replied gently. “We couldn’t save the pregnancy.” A dull, heavy ache settled deep in my bones. The loss of that tiny, unborn life took the very last of my lingering hope with it. The following afternoon, I discharged myself and returned to the quiet apartment. Adrian wasn’t there. I turned on my phone and saw a text he had sent the previous night: “Linda took a nasty fall and there’s no one else to watch her. Isabel, please be the bigger person for once.” I didn’t reply. As I closed the messaging app, a notification from his studio’s official account popped up on my feed. It was a professionally shot photo from the previous night’s dinner. Adrian was on one knee, sliding a ring onto Linda’s finger under a canopy of fairy lights. The caption was filled with romance and promises of forever. Linda’s personal account had already been tagged by his followers. The comment section was a flood of congratulations. “No wonder that ring is so beautiful! Adrian outdid himself.” “You two are absolute couple goals!” “A match made in heaven.” I stared at the screen, a cold, dry laugh escaping my throat. I was done keeping secrets. I compiled a digital folder of my eight years with Adrian—the rent receipts I paid, the hospital bills from my overworked years, the dates of his designs matching Linda’s timeline, and finally, my miscarriage discharge papers from last night. I posted them all directly under his studio’s announcement. “Now you two can love each other without any secrets. Congratulations to my best friend and my partner of eight years.” I turned off my phone, grabbed my pre-packed suitcases, and walked out the door toward the airport. As I boarded the plane to Geneva, my phone, which I had briefly turned back on to check my boarding pass, began to ring frantically. The screen flashed with a single name: “Adrian”.

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My childhood friend, Wesley, had a shoe closet he loved to brag about. “She gets a spark of inspiration, and suddenly I’ve got another pair,” he’d say, gesturing casually to the rows of custom boxes. “I have more than I could ever wear. But if I try to sell them, she gets jealous. Why don’t you take a pair, Logan?” Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he let out a self-deprecating sigh. “Right, I forgot. Gwen is a luxury designer. Why would you want her throwaways?” I instinctively tucked my feet under the bench, hiding my cheap, worn-out sneakers from the discount rack. Gwen, a renowned name in haute couture footwear, had never designed a single pair of shoes for me. Not even her flawed samples were allowed near my feet. “I have artistic standards,” she’d tell me whenever I asked. “If a piece isn’t absolutely perfect, I won’t let it touch the market. It’s about integrity.” But during our playful wrestling over the box, the lid slipped, and a shoe tumbled out onto the rug. I froze. The shoe on the floor was the exact design I had begged Gwen to make for me months ago. … After eight years together, I knew Gwen’s design signature better than anyone. “Logan? You okay?” Wesley waved a hand in front of my face. My throat felt incredibly tight. “Yeah. It just… looks familiar.” Wesley stiffened. He quickly snatched the shoe back, slipping it into the box with practiced ease. “Familiar? Come on, all sneakers look the same these days. Don’t overthink it.” “Is that so?” A cold dread began to pool in my chest. After leaving Wesley’s apartment, I walked down to the street before realizing I’d left my keys on his counter. I turned back, but as I reached the lobby, I saw Gwen’s car pull up to the curb. She got out, moving with a quiet, practiced familiarity straight into the building. My heart constricted. I followed her up, stopping just outside Wesley’s apartment door. Through the thin wood, Wesley’s anxious voice carried clearly into the hallway. “Gwen, Logan seemed to recognize those shoes. What if he suspects something?” “He won’t,” Gwen replied, her voice cool and entirely composed. “Logan rarely goes into my home office anyway. Even if he’s seen the drafts, he wouldn’t remember.” “Wes, stop worrying.” “Wes.” The casual intimacy of the nickname hit me like a physical blow. A dark, suffocating wave of realization washed over me, and I clenched my fists so hard my nails bit into my palms. Wesley hesitated. “Are we… is this really okay? Logan is my best friend. He took care of me when I was broke, brought me to Boston, and helped me get on my feet. I feel like a monster doing this to him…” “Wes, just give me a little more time. I’ll handle it.” A high-pitched ringing filled my ears. My chest felt violently torn open, leaving me hollowed out and breathless. I didn’t even have the strength to push the door open and confront them. Numb and disoriented, I made my way back to the apartment I shared with Gwen. Passing her home office, her words echoed in my mind. I pushed the door open. Her desk was cluttered with sketchbooks, and her laptop was awake. I sat down and began to scroll. Deep in her local files, I found an encrypted folder labeled simply “W.” I paused, then typed in Wesley’s birthday. It opened instantly. A cascade of design files flooded the screen, each one piercing my chest. Every single sketch was carefully dated. The first was from October 11, 2023. It was titled “The First Encounter”. I remembered that date. It was the day I brought Wesley to Boston, the day Gwen met him for the first time. Once, I had asked Gwen to design a pair of shoes to commemorate our first anniversary. She had brushed it off. “Design needs to flow naturally, Logan. I don’t like forcing things.” Despite my disappointment, I had tried to understand. I thought it was just her artistic integrity. The second sketch was dated February 14, 2024. Our anniversary. A day she insisted on skipping because “performative holidays are for insecure couples.” I had swallowed the disappointment, telling myself she was just too pure for commercialized romance. But she wasn’t incapable of romance; she just didn’t want to waste it on me. She had designed a pair of shoes with wave motifs for Wesley, celebrating their first holiday together. And that night, she had told me a client needed an emergency redesign and didn’t come home. Then there was their first weekend getaway, their first New Year’s countdown… Over three years, she had designed hundreds of shoes for him. Even the pair I had begged her for—the one she refused—was designed solely to make Wesley happy. My vision blurred. My hand shook so hard I could barely control the mouse. But I kept scrolling to the very bottom. I froze. It was an unfinished sketch of a wedding shoe. The entire design incorporated the letters of Wesley’s name into the delicate embroidery. Gwen always told me she couldn’t design our wedding shoes because she hadn’t found the “right inspiration for happiness” yet. But her happiness simply never included me. My throat tightened, tasting the bitter salt of my own tears. After a long time, I wiped my face and called my boss, Frank. “Hey, Frank. That relocation offer to the Zurich branch? I’ll take it.” An eight-year relationship built on a lie. I was done holding on. “Really?” Frank sounded surprised, then hesitated. “Zurich is a long-term placement, Logan. At least two years. Will Gwen be okay with that?” Before, I would have hesitated. I would have worried about her being lonely, about the strain of long-distance. But that required her to actually love me. “I’ll be fine, Frank,” I said quietly. Frank sensed the heavy shift in my voice but didn’t press. “Alright. I’ll book your ticket. You fly out in two days.” After hanging up, I searched for Wesley’s Instagram account. Since moving to Boston, he had become a lifestyle influencer, documenting his daily life. His most frequent posts featured shoes gifted by his “secret girlfriend.” Because of the unique designs and the romantic stories he attached to them, he had built a decent following. The comments were full of people praising his “thoughtful girlfriend” and expressing envy. I used to think he just had a talented partner, which explained why they were always too busy to meet me. I never imagined that partner was Gwen. Every single pair in his posts matched Gwen’s sketches perfectly. What a joke. I had even congratulated him on finding such a catch. His latest post was a photo of half-eaten palmiers from a local artisan bakery. The caption read: “Sweet on its own, but sweet and blissful when shared with you.” When Gwen came home that night, she carried a pastry box from that exact bakery. “I remembered you like palmiers, so I grabbed some on the way back.” But she forgot one thing: I hate sweet food. Swallowing the bitterness, I looked at her and said, “Gwen, let’s get married.” She froze. “Let’s wait a bit. My inspiration has been dry lately, and I want to design the perfect wedding shoes first.” The same old excuse. I thought back to her early days in the industry. She couldn’t get any commissions and had to set up at local flea markets to sell her samples. To get her the best spot, I would wake up at 4:00 AM in the freezing winter to camp out. Once, I got a severe fever but refused to go to the doctor, saving every penny to pay her vendor fees. Back then, she had cried and held my face. “Logan, one day I’m going to design a one-of-a-kind wedding shoe for you. I’ll let the whole world know how happy you make me.” I believed her. I waited from age twenty to twenty-eight. “I don’t want to wait anymore, Gwen.” Startled by my bluntness, her expression darkened. “Logan, can you not pressure me like this? Is a piece of paper really that important to you?” She turned and walked into the bedroom. I closed my eyes. The next day, I went to the boutique hotel I managed to handle my transition paperwork. As I was about to leave, a colleague asked me to cover his evening shift. That night, the banquet manager mentioned a private room was booked for a design studio’s celebration. “The owner is a rising star in the shoe industry, Gwen Song. She just won a major award and plans to propose to her boyfriend tonight. She asked us to prep our best private suite.” My heart skipped a beat. I knew I shouldn’t hope, but I couldn’t help it. Until she walked in. And Wesley was right beside her. Both were dressed in formal attire, looking like a perfect couple. Since Gwen’s studio took off, she had told me she didn’t want employees gossiping about her private life, so she banned me from visiting her work. I thought she just kept a strict line between personal and professional. But seeing how familiar her employees were with Wesley, I realized she just didn’t want “me” there. “The red carpet is ready! The wedding shoes are waiting!” “We all know Gwen designed these for Wesley. It’s time to make it official!” The room erupted in cheers. Wesley smiled warmly, while Gwen blushed, presenting a beautifully crafted pair of shoes for Wesley to put on. The tenderness in her eyes was something I had never seen. A sharp ache rose in my chest. Even though no one here knew me, I felt the humiliating sting of my own foolishness. Then, Gwen’s eyes met mine. The air went still. I took a slow breath, turned around, and walked away. Not to run, but to preserve whatever dignity remains of these eight years. Gwen ran out after me. “Logan, don’t get the wrong idea.” Her beautiful face carried a flicker of annoyance, masked by a placating tone. “The staff were just joking around. It’s just office banter.” I looked down at her, silent. She continued, “The award-winning design only came together because Wes—I mean, Wesley—gave me the creative spark. This dinner is just my way of thanking him.” Then she added, “Besides, you’re the one who told me to look out for him. I thought I was doing this for you.” Right. When Wesley first moved here, I was worried he’d be lonely and asked her to help him adjust. Back then, Gwen told me I was overthinking it and that Wesley wasn’t a child. Now, she used my own kindness as her shield. “And giving him a pair of wedding shoes is also ‘doing it for me’?” The bitterness in my throat was overwhelming. Wesley walked out, looking incredibly anxious. “Logan, please don’t misunderstand. We were just playing around. These shoes… Gwen actually designed them for you.” He frantically tried to pull them off. But he forgot that we didn’t wear the same size. The shoes were visibly loose on him, yet they would never fit my larger feet. Wesley’s face drained of color. “Maybe… a design error…” I looked at his pale face, remembering when we were kids and he was getting beaten up, and I stood in front of him. When his stepfather cut off his allowance, I made a scene in the neighborhood until the man backed down. When he had a wage dispute with a corrupt boss, I stayed up for nights preparing his labor arbitration files to get his compensation. I never begrudged him any of it. He was my best friend. And now, he was the one holding the knife in my back. Wesley shifted uncomfortably under my gaze. “Maybe I should just leave. Logan, please don’t be mad.” “No, stay,” Gwen said, her voice thick with worry for him. “Your stomach is acting up. You need to eat. Go back inside.” She turned to me, her eyes turning cold. “Can you stop being so petty? Wesley is your best friend. Why do you have to make things difficult for him?” “Petty.” The word landed like a physical blow, shattering the last remaining piece of my heart. Gwen seemed to have forgotten that when we first started out, she couldn’t make a dime. I worked three jobs to support her. I skipped meals, pulled double shifts, and ruined my own stomach. The chronic ulcers were so bad I would spend entire nights curled on the bathroom floor, unable to sleep. But in eight years, she never remembered my stomach issues. She didn’t care about my pain. The massive divide between her care for Wesley and her neglect of me left my heart completely hollow. I had nothing left to say. Wesley looked at me, stepping away from Gwen. “I’m fine. I don’t want you and Logan fighting because of me.” He turned to leave, but in his haste, he bumped into a heavily intoxicated female customer. “Watch where you’re going!” the woman snapped. Already frustrated, Wesley shoves her back. “You’re the one stumbling drunk. Keep your eyes open.” The confrontation escalated instantly. The woman grabbed a wine glass from a nearby cart and hurled it. “Say that again!” The glass shattered. A flying shard grazed my cheek, leaving a sharp sting. In my peripheral vision, I see Gwen lunging to pull Wesley out of the way without a second thought. “Wes! Are you hurt?” In that moment, I had to admit defeat. Complete, absolute defeat. Gwen noticed my bleeding cheek, and a flash of panic crossed her eyes. She took a step toward me. But Wesley let out a sharp cry. “My ankle…” He winced, gripping his leg. Gwen’s attention snapped right back to him. She held him tight. “Don’t worry, I’ll take you to the ER.” She looked back at me. “Wesley can’t handle pain. I have to get him to a doctor. Get that cut on your face cleaned up, okay? I’ll come back for you.” And then she was gone. I stood in the hallway, the cut on my cheek turning numb. The drunk woman, seeing her targets gone, turned her fury on me. Knowing I was the manager, she screamed, “I’m a VIP member! Is this how you treat your guests?” She made a massive scene, drawing crowds from other rooms. Since I was only covering this shift, a formal complaint would ruin my colleague’s record. I had to swallow my pride and apologize. Her friends demanded penance. They lined up three glasses of high-proof whiskey. “Drink these, or this doesn’t end.” The alcohol hit my empty, damaged stomach like liquid fire. A violent, searing spasm radiated through my entire body. When I finally stumbled out of the hotel, the pain was so intense I can barely stand. I leaned heavily against the cold brick wall, my hand shaking as I dialed Gwen’s number. “Gwen… my stomach hurts so bad… can you please come…” “Hold on, Logan, I can’t leave right now.” In the background, I heard Wesley’s voice whimpering in pain. Gwen hung up. The world went black, and the pain swallowed me whole. When I woke up, I was in a sterile hospital room. The doctor was looking at me with deep frustration. “How could you be this reckless? You have severe, advanced gastric ulcers—practically on the verge of stomach cancer—and you’re drinking hard liquor?” I froze. Though they pumped my stomach in time, the doctor warned me the damage was severe and would leave lasting issues. I touched my stomach. The very last thread of hope in my heart snapped. The next day, I discharged myself and returned to the apartment. Gwen wasn’t there. I open my phone and see a text she sent last night: “Wesley was in so much pain, he couldn’t be left alone. Logan, try to be the bigger person here.” I didn’t reply. Instead, my phone notifications chimed with a public post from her studio. It was a collection of romantic photos from the banquet last night. She was proposing to Wesley in front of the crowd. The internet quickly found Wesley’s account. Matching it with his previous posts, the comment section was flooded with congratulations. “No wonder those shoes were so beautiful! She’s a genius!” “Congratulations!” “A match made in heaven.” I stared at the screen. It was absurd, sickening, and cold. I decided I was done protecting her. I uploaded a thread containing my eight years of relationship history with Gwen, the dates of her sketches, and my hospital admission slip from last night, posting it directly under her studio’s announcement. “Now you two can be together without any burden. My best friend and my partner of eight years.” I turned off my phone, packed my single suitcase, and headed to the airport. As the plane prepared to taxi, my screen lit up with a call. “Gwen.”

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My wife attended a client appreciation dinner, where my business partner, Richard Dalton, dragged her into a private dining room and assaulted her. I was right next door. I heard her screaming my name, her voice tearing at the seams, but I never pushed that door open. Afterward, she broke down and called the cops. On the day of the trial, I took the witness stand and testified that it was consensual. I told the court that she was the one who undressed and climbed onto his lap. The judge ruled right then and there: insufficient evidence. Richard was acquitted. My wife smashed her stainless-steel Yeti tumbler directly into my forehead. “Jack Colins, I want a divorce. You’re a monster.” Everyone said I was an animal. A coward. A piece of trash. But nobody knew that I had been waiting for this exact day for three agonizing months. … “Jack! Get out here right now!” Isabelle’s voice chased me down the courthouse corridor. I didn’t turn around. Blood was pooling at my eyebrow, tracing a hot, wet line down my cheek. She had swung that tumbler with everything she had, splitting the skin clean open. “Stop right there!” She lunged forward, grabbing my arm and jerking my entire body around to face her. Her face was a mess of running mascara and tears, her eyes swollen into thin slits. “How could you perjure yourself for him?” I looked down at her. I didn’t say a word. “I am your wife! I was violated! You were right outside that door! You heard me! Why didn’t you come in?!” Her fists hammered against my chest. One after another. There wasn’t much physical force behind them, but the rhythm grew frantic, desperate. “Tell me why!” I raised my hand, catching her wrists and peeling her fingers away from my collar. “Stop making a scene.” Four words. It was as if those four words drained the last drop of life from her. Isabelle stumbled a half-step backward. “Stop making a scene?” She laughed. A hollow, broken sound that shook loose more tears. “You’re telling me to stop making a scene?” “I was pinned against a table by your partner. My dress was ripped open. You were standing right outside. I screamed your name seventeen times, Jack. Seventeen times. And you didn’t make a sound.” “And now you’re telling me to stop making a scene?” I shifted my gaze past her shoulder. At the end of the hallway, a group of people was marching toward us. Her father, Robert. Her mother, Martha. Along with her cousin, Jessica, and Jessica’s husband, Todd. I wiped the blood from my jaw with the back of my hand and turned to walk away. Isabelle threw herself at my back, wrapping her arms in a death grip around my waist. “You are not walking away until you give me the truth.” “I already gave you the truth.” My voice was dead flat. “Every single word I said on that stand was a fact.” Her arms went slack. As if she no longer had the strength to hold onto anything in this world. “Jack.” Her tone shifted. It was no longer a question. It was pure, concentrated hatred. “The biggest regret of my life is marrying you.” “I’m divorcing you.” “Okay.” I dropped the word like a stone and stepped toward the exit. Robert’s slap landed faster than I anticipated. “Crack.” My head snapped violently to the side. “You son of a bitch!” Robert was shaking from head to toe, his chest heaving. “I gave you my daughter’s hand, and this is how you protect her?” I steadied my footing. I kept my hands at my sides. “Robert—” “Don’t you dare call me by my name!” He swung again, the back of his hand catching my jaw. “You don’t have the right!” Martha shoved her way to the front and spat directly into my face. “You’re not a man.” “A grown man, listening to his own wife get ripped apart, standing outside a door like a statue. Are you just useless, or are you an accomplice?” I wiped my face with my sleeve. “Martha, are you done?” “Done? I want to kill you with my bare hands!” Todd, the cousin’s husband, surged forward and grabbed me by the lapels of my suit. “How do you have the nerve to even stand upright, Jack? You should be on your knees begging Isabelle for forgiveness.” I met his eyes. “Let go.” “Are you threatening me, you piece of shit?” “There are court bailiffs right inside those doors,” I said, my tone completely devoid of emotion. “You throw a punch, I press charges. Assault is a felony, Todd. You’re a smart guy. Do the math.” Todd’s fist froze in mid-air. Robert stepped up, pulling his son-in-law back, before turning his furious glare back to me. “Jack, for the sake of the man I thought you were, I’m going to ask you one last time.” “Why did you cover for Richard Dalton?” “How much did he pay you?” I looked past them, toward the glass doors of the courthouse. A black SUV was idling by the curb, the tinted window rolled halfway down. “There’s nothing to explain.” “You—!” Martha lunged at me again, throwing wild slaps and kicks. The rest of the extended family swarmed in, a chorus of screaming, spitting venom. Someone tossed a cup of muddy coffee from God knows where. It splashed across my hair and face. I stood exactly where I was, letting them shove me back and forth. The blood from my forehead mixed with the cold coffee, staining the entire front of my white dress shirt a dark, rust-colored brown. The phone in my pocket buzzed. I didn’t take it out. It wasn’t time yet. The crowd was still screaming when a shrill voice pierced through the chaos. “Excuse me! Make way! Press!” A woman in jeans holding a phone mounted on a gimbal shoved her way to the front, pointing the lens directly at my face. “Hi, Kelly here from Metro True Crime. Sir, there are allegations online that you just committed perjury to protect your wife’s rapist. Is that true?” On her screen, the live chat was scrolling so fast it was a blur. Jessica, the cousin, immediately pushed her face into the frame. “It’s true! He’s the monster husband! His wife was assaulted, he did nothing to save her, and then he testified for the predator!” The vlogger pivoted the camera to Jessica, who fed off the attention, her voice growing hysterical. “My cousin has done nothing but suffer since she married him! She takes care of the house, raised their kid, works a full-time job. And what does he do? He sells her out!” The comment section exploded. “Die, trash.” “Dox him.” “Waste of oxygen.” The vlogger turned the camera back to me. “Sir, do you have a statement?” I gave her a long, hard look. I didn’t answer. I turned to walk down the steps. “He’s running! Look at him run! Guilty!” Jessica shrieked behind me. Robert grabbed my shoulder in a vice grip. “You aren’t going anywhere.” I stopped. My phone buzzed again. I looked down and tapped the screen. One new message. “Still tracking the ping. Give me two more hours.” I locked the screen and slid the phone back into my pocket. When I looked up, my face was a mask of stone. “Fine. We’ll do this here.” “What exactly do you all want to hear?” Martha pointed a trembling finger at my nose. “I want you to tell the world the truth! How much blood money did Richard give you?” “I answered that on the stand,” I said, my voice steady enough to cut glass. “I didn’t take a dime from anyone.” “I told the absolute truth.” “That night, Isabelle wanted it. She initiated it.” The second the words left my mouth, the entire crowd surged toward me. But then, the heavy courthouse doors swung open. Richard Dalton walked out. Immaculate custom suit, perfectly dimpled tie, wearing the relaxed, arrogant smirk of a man who just bought his way to an acquittal. He paused when he saw the mob on the steps. Robert was the first to break from the crowd, sprinting toward him. “Dalton! You animal! Look me in the eye!” I moved. Two quick steps, and I inserted myself directly between Robert and Richard. “Robert, we are on federal property. What are you doing?” “Get out of my way!” “I can’t do that.” “Jack!” Robert’s voice broke, vibrating with a profound, sickening disbelief. “You’re still protecting him?” “The court ruled.” I spoke as casually as if I were reading a weather report. “He’s an innocent man. You put hands on an innocent man, that’s aggravated assault.” Martha charged forward like a woman possessed. “I don’t care what the corrupt court says! He destroyed my daughter! You destroyed my daughter! I hope you both burn in hell!” I extended my arms, keeping her a safe distance away. Richard stood behind me. He didn’t flinch. He pulled a silver lighter from his pocket, sparked a cigarette, and took a slow drag. “Go to the car, Rich,” I said, not looking back. “It’s on the left.” Richard clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Jack. You’re a real one.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “Dinner’s on me next week.” He stepped around the screaming family, making his way down the steps to the idling black SUV. Just before he pulled the door handle, he looked back at me. The smile was gone. It was replaced by a look of profound, aristocratic pity. “You’re a good guy, Jack. It’s a damn shame you married a slut and had to clean up her mess.” He climbed in, and the heavy door slammed shut. The tires squealed, and the car vanished into traffic. In a split second, the entirety of the crowd’s wrath refocused onto me. “Jack! You just let him walk away?!” Isabelle’s voice cut through the noise. She was leaning heavily on Jessica, looking as though her bones had turned to glass. “Are you even human?” I turned around and faced her. Her face was stained with tears, her eyes bloodshot, radiating an agonizing hatred. “Isabelle, I told you. This ends today.” “Ends today?” Her voice cracked into a shriek. “He destroyed my body, he destroyed my reputation, he destroyed my life, and you say it ends today?” “The judge made the ruling.” “He ruled that way because you lied under oath!” She stumbled forward, only to be yanked back by her cousin. “Why did you say those things? Why did you say I wanted it? You heard me! You were right there!” I didn’t answer. Suddenly, someone in the crowd yelled. “He’s here! Her brother’s here!” A pickup truck slammed on its brakes at the curb. Mark leaped out of the driver’s seat. He didn’t even bother shutting the door before he was sprinting up the steps. He hit the concrete like he wanted to shatter the earth beneath him. “Jack!” Before my brain could register the movement, his boot connected squarely with my stomach. I folded in half, my knees crashing onto the hard pavement. He grabbed handfuls of my ruined shirt and hauled me upward. “How the fuck do you dare show your face?” He was so close I could smell the adrenaline on him. His eyes were wild, fully bloodshot. “What did I tell you the day I gave my baby sister away to you?” “I told you if you ever hurt her, I would break your legs.” He slammed me back down onto the concrete. Then he bent over and hauled me up by the collar again. “Three years. Three years. My sister gave you three years of her life. Do you have any idea what she’s sacrificed for you?” I stayed down on the ground. Not because I couldn’t get up. Because I didn’t want to. The phone in my pocket vibrated against my thigh. I lay on the pavement and subtly angled my head to glance at the glowing lock screen. “Location locked. En route. ETA 1 hour 40 minutes.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “I have to survive another hour and a half.” “Do you people even know what else he did?” Isabelle’s voice suddenly shifted pitch. The hysterical, piercing anger was gone, replaced by a hollow, bottomless despair. The entire crowd fell dead silent, turning to look at her. She stood in the center of the ring, her body trembling violently, her lips quivering. “Our daughter… Sophie.” “We lost Sophie in March.” Martha gasped, a horrible, choking sound. “What? Sophie? What happened to my grandbaby?” Isabelle buried her face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. “You told us Jack’s mother took Sophie to stay with her!” Martha rushed forward, grabbing her daughter’s shoulders. “Tell me! What happened to her?” Isabelle slowly lifted her head, her tear-soaked face locking onto mine. “It’s because of him.” “He was gambling. He owed sixty grand to loan sharks. They came to the house. It was just me and Sophie.” “They demanded the money. I told them we didn’t have it, and they…” Her voice shattered into pieces. “They shoved Sophie. Her head hit the corner of the coffee table…” “By the time the ambulance arrived, she was gone.” Martha’s legs gave out. She collapsed onto the hard concrete. “My grandbaby… my sweet Sophie…” Robert’s face turned the color of wet ash. “Why didn’t you call us? Why didn’t you tell me?” Isabelle shook her head frantically. “I couldn’t bear to break your hearts. And I was terrified they’d come after you. The men told me if I went to the cops, they’d kill my whole family.” “So I swallowed it.” “I carried it all alone.” “And him?” She pointed a shaking finger at me. “He’s still gambling. Still racking up debt. Wasn’t my daughter’s life enough?” The bystanders were circling tighter now. Phones were out, red recording lights blinking everywhere. Whispers hissed through the crowd: “This guy got his own kid killed, and then covered for a rapist?” I remained on my knees, listening to every word. I didn’t defend myself. Not once. Robert walked slowly over to me. His voice sounded like grinding stones. “Jack. Is this true?” I looked up at him. “Trust your daughter.” That was all I said. I lowered my head and checked my watch. “You’re checking the time?!” Mark stomped his boot down onto my wrist, pinning it to the ground. “Got an appointment at the casino? Or a brothel?” White-hot pain shot up my arm, but I swallowed the groan. “I’m going to count to three,” Mark sneered, leaning over me. “And you’re going to tell the truth about the debt. Did you get Sophie killed?” I stayed silent. “One.” Silence. “Two.” He pressed his heel down harder. I felt the bone grinding. I clenched my jaw and forced my head up. “None of your damn business.” “Three.” He reared back and kicked me squarely in the ribs. I rolled onto my side, curling into a tight ball as the air left my lungs. Slowly, agonizingly, I forced myself into a sitting position. Isabelle was screaming from the sidelines, crying, “Mark, stop! Stop hitting him!” “You’re defending him?” Mark snapped, turning to look at her. “Izzy, open your eyes! He got Sophie killed, he sold you to Richard Dalton, and you’re begging for his life?” Isabelle shook her head, tears flying. “I’m not begging for him, I’m trying to protect you! If you put him in the hospital, you’ll go to prison!” “Then I’ll go to prison!” Mark spun back around, hauling me up by the front of my shirt again. “For my sister and my niece, I’ll do the time gladly.” The crowd was practically a mob now. People were yelling, “Give him what he deserves!” The true-crime vlogger’s livestream had crossed ten thousand viewers. The chat was a unified chorus demanding my death. Mark slammed me against the stone wall of the courthouse. “Last chance. Did you kill Sophie?” I let the silence hang for three seconds. Then I opened my mouth. “Yes.” One word. Martha fainted dead away. As Robert caught his wife, hot tears streamed down his weathered face. “My baby… my little girl…” I leaned against the cold stone, watching the destruction. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I swallowed it down. “Monster.” “Psychopath.” “Burn in hell.” The curses rained down from every direction. The bystanders weren’t just watching anymore. A middle-aged man in a track jacket stepped forward and shoved my shoulder hard. “I have a three-year-old at home. You don’t deserve to breathe.” I stumbled, the small of my back slamming into the sharp edge of a concrete planter. A sickening jolt of pain shot up my spine. But I pushed myself upright. Mark lunged at me again, fists raised. Isabelle threw her arms around him, pulling with all her might. “Mark! Enough!” “Why is it enough?!” Mark roared, trying to shake her off. “He killed Sophie, he let you get raped, he deserves to be gutted!” I raised a hand and slowly wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth. I looked at all of them. Every single one. And then, I smiled. “Are you all done talking?” The smile caught everyone completely off guard. The yelling faltered. “Because if you’re done, it’s my turn.” I pushed myself off the planter, standing at my full height. “Does anyone here know what Isabelle was wearing that night?”

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The soul-snatcher who hijacked my life for three years turned my family’s estate into a toxic battleground of manufactured drama. The second she checked out and I finally woke up in my own skin, my vision was flooded with a frantic, glowing chat stream. [Oh my god, the real Grace is finally back! Her sister Sadie is a total snake now, and their brother Wyatt is incredibly biased.] [The impostor spent three years ruining everything, playing the victim, and trying to secure the entire inheritance.] [Grace’s reputation is in the gutter now. Let’s see how she cleans up this absolute trainwreck!” While I was sorting through the glowing words hovering in the air, my younger sister, Sadie, walked in holding a cup of hot tea. She had a timid, fragile smile plastered on her face. “You’re finally awake, Grace. Wyatt said you’re still too weak, so he wants me to represent the family at the gala next week.” I looked at the chat stream scrolling by—”Here comes the fake sister, trying to steal her power.” Then I looked at the fragile, sweet girl standing in front of me. Instead of taking the tea, I reached out, gently pinched her soft cheek, and let out a soft laugh. “Sure. If you want to go that badly, go pick whatever you want from my closet.” …… Sadie froze. Her hand holding the tea hovered in midair, her practiced smile evaporating into pure, unadulterated confusion. The chat exploded: [She’s totally glitched!] [Sadie did not see that coming, lmao.] [Look at her eyes, her brain has completely shut down.” But she recovered quickly. She took a sharp breath, her eyes welling with tears. “If I said something wrong… I’m sorry, Grace. I didn’t mean to upset you.” She took a tiny step back, shrinking into herself like a delicate wildflower caught in a sudden draft. I gave her performance a 9.5 out of 10. Half a point off because her eyes were too bright, constantly darting to gauge my reaction. She slipped. The chat agreed: [I gotta hand it to Sadie, her acting is top-tier.] [The impostor must have traumatized her so badly she developed survival reflexes.” Before I was shoved out of my own body, Sadie was a fierce, fearless kid. At thirteen, she got into a fistfight with a boy from the next block, won, and grinned at me with blood split across her lip. Now? She had learned to slouch her shoulders, flutter her eyelashes, and cry on command. All of it carved into her by that malicious squatter in my soul. I gestured for her to come closer. She took a tentative step forward. I reached out and pinched her cheek again. Still as soft as it was when we were kids. Sadie stood there, completely petrified. The chat went wild: [She pinched her! She actually pinched her face!] [The impostor used to scream if Sadie got within three feet of her, and now she’s playing with her cheeks??” “G-Grace?” “It’s nothing. Just felt like doing it.” Her lips parted, but she was speechless. The hundred lines she had probably prepared were suddenly useless, and she couldn’t improvise fast enough. The door clicked open. A middle-aged woman in a housekeeper’s uniform entered with a silver tray. When she saw me awake, a sycophantic smile spread across her face. “Miss Grace, you’re awake. I brought the lavender-infused broth you requested—” She glanced at Sadie, and her smile instantly dropped. “What are you doing here, Sadie? Miss Grace is recovering. Don’t come in here making trouble.” The sheer contempt in her voice was palpable. Sadie’s shoulders tensed as she looked down, silent. I realized then how much the impostor had enabled this behavior. With Wyatt away on a business trip, Sadie had no one to shield her from the staff’s petty cruelty. “Who gave you permission to speak to her like that?” My voice wasn’t loud, but the housekeeper froze. “Miss Grace?” “She is my sister.” I looked her dead in the eye. “I don’t know how you treated her while I was out of it, but starting right now, anyone who shows her even a shred of disrespect will be packed and fired by sunset.” The housekeeper’s face flushed red and white. Sadie snapped her head up, her eyes wide as saucers, staring at me like I was an alien. The chat went crazy: [She’s protecting her! She’s actually protecting her sister!] [The impostor used to lead the bullying, and now Grace’s first act is to shield her!” The housekeeper awkwardly set the tray down and scurried out. Sadie was still frozen in shock. I pushed the bowl of hot broth toward her. “Want some?” She shook her head mechanically, then nodded mechanically, completely overwhelmed. “I… I should go.” The door clicked shut, followed by the frantic “pitter-patter” of her running down the hallway. Faster than a mouse running from a cat. I leaned back against my pillows, the humor fading from my face. The mess left behind from the last three years was worse than I thought. But it was fine. Now that I was back, I’d clean it up. One piece at a time. The next morning, as I descended the grand staircase, I saw a confrontation in the foyer. Sadie was backed into a corner, her face pale. Facing her were two meticulously styled middle-aged women in designer activewear. One was pointing a manicured finger in her face. “Sadie, you ruined my daughter’s limited-edition Birkin bag last week. We agreed on a replacement. Where is the money?” Sadie bit her lip. “I didn’t ruin it—” “Didn’t ruin it? You’re a charity case living under this roof, who’s going to take your word?” the woman sneered. “Or are you trying to play dumb? I heard Grace absolutely despises you. You’re a ghost in this house. Who’s going to bail you out?” The new butler stood off to the side, watching with a smirk. [Wyatt is out of town, so these vultures come to bully the kid.] [They’re totally making this up because they know she’s an easy target.] [The butler is loyal to the impostor. He probably let them in on purpose.” I stepped off the stairs. My voice was quiet, but it commanded the room. They all turned. The two women’s eyes lit up, their sneers instantly morphing into sycophantic grins. “Oh, Grace, darling! You’re just in time. We were just telling your sister—” “What bag did she supposedly ruin?” I cut her off. “An Hermès limited-edition. Over forty thousand dollars.” Sadie’s face went even paler, her lips trembling. I glanced at her, then looked at the women, offering a cold smile. “Forty thousand? Fine. I’ll pay it. But—” I walked over, standing firmly at Sadie’s side. “Did my sister actually damage the bag, or did your daughter stage an accident to shake her down?” The woman’s expression faltered. “What is that supposed to mean?” “Exactly what I said.” I pulled out my phone. “There are security cameras in public spaces. Let’s pull up the footage. If my sister was at fault, I’ll write you a check for forty thousand without batting an eye. But if your daughter staged it…” I smiled. “We’ll let our lawyers handle the extortion charges.” The two women looked at each other, their faces draining of color. One of them let out a forced, nervous laugh. “Oh, Grace, there’s no need to take it that far. We were just asking… anyway, we should get going.” They practically sprinted out the front door. Once the door clicked shut, I turned to the butler who had been enjoying the show. “What is your name?” He blinked. “I… I’m Thomas, Miss Grace.” “Who let those women in?” “I didn’t realize they would—” “And how long did you stand there watching them berate my sister?” His face went white. “You’re let go. Pack your things and leave the property by noon.” “Miss Grace! I’ve worked for this family for years—” “Then you should know that Sadie is a daughter of this house,” I interrupted. “Not entertainment for your amusement.” The butler was escorted out by the security staff. The foyer fell silent. Sadie stood there, looking like she’d been struck by lightning. “You… you defended me?” “Obviously,” I said, looking at her. “You’re my sister.” Her eyes welled with tears. She blinked fiercely to force them back. “I… I’m going to my room.” She ran. Again. [She’s crying!] [Three years… and someone finally had her back.] [My heart is melting!” In the afternoon, Sadie crept out of her room, clutching a dress in her arms. My dress. A sage-green floral silk wrap dress from my closet. She stood in front of me, looking as conflicted as if she were deciding the fate of the nation. “Grace… you said I could pick whatever I wanted.” She took a deep breath. “I only tried this one on. If you’re mad, I’ll put it right back.” The chat exploded: [Here it is! The ultimate test!] [The impostor would literally fly into a rage if anyone touched her clothes.] [Remember when the maid touched her dress and she screamed for three hours?” I looked at the dress. I’d bought it right before my life was hijacked. I remember thinking how beautiful that shade of green would look against her skin, intending to give it to her. I never expected it to happen like this. “Try it on,” I said. Sadie froze, then, as if terrified I’d change my mind, dashed back into her room. When she emerged, she stood before the full-length mirror, spinning around. The silk flared, exposing her slender ankles. It was stunning, but— “The waistline is too high. Without a belt, it looks like a nightgown. Hold on.” I went upstairs, grabbed a leather belt, and brought it down. I cinched it around her waist, tying a neat bow at the back. “There. Take a look.” Sadie stared at her reflection, silent for a long moment. Then, she let out a tiny, soft giggle—like a bubble escaping a freshly opened bottle of soda. She caught herself, quickly covering her mouth with the back of her hand, but it was too late. [That was a real laugh! Not her act!] [Her green-tea armor is completely cracking!” That evening, we curled up on the sofa eating fresh strawberries. Sadie, still in her green dress, had her legs curled up under her, stuffing her cheeks like a little hamster hoarding food. I was scrolling through my phone next to her, a matching bowl of strawberries in my lap. Peaceful, quiet. She wasn’t afraid of me anymore; she was finally letting her guard down. “Grace, these are so sweet.” “Yeah.” “Grace, you want to try one dipped in chocolate?” “You eat it.” “Grace—” “Stop saying my name or I’ll think you’re casting a spell.” She burst into a bright laugh, her eyes curving into crescent moons. [She looks so happy, oh my god.] [Three years of walking on eggshells, and she can finally breathe in her own home.” Just then, the front door opened. Wyatt was back. He stood in the entryway, taking in the scene. Sadie in my dress, legs curled up, eating strawberries. Me scrolling on my phone. Two identical bowls on the coffee table. His expression shifted from exhaustion to confusion, and then to pure disbelief. [The big brother is back!] [He was away for a week and comes home to a parallel universe, lol.” “Wyatt!” Sadie called out, her voice muffled by a strawberry. Wyatt walked in, his eyes darting between us. “You two… aren’t fighting?” Sadie shook her head, gesturing to her dress. “Grace let me wear it. She even styled it for me.” Wyatt stared at the dress, then at me. His gaze shifted. It was no longer the cold, defensive wall he’d put up for three years. There was something else flickering in his eyes—something fragile and searching. Over the next few days, I could feel Wyatt watching me. At dinner, while watching TV, even when I was just talking to Sadie. Sadie had told him everything that happened—how I protected her, kicked out the scammers, and fired the butler. Wyatt listened in silence. On Saturday, Sadie was sprawled on the living room rug, sorting through nail polishes. “Grace, this one or this one?” she asked, holding up dusty rose and cafe au lait. “Dusty rose.” “Let me paint yours too. Sit.” She pulled up a small stool, taking my hand and resting it on her knee. Mid-stroke, she paused. “Your hands are freezing, Grace.” Without waiting for an answer, she squeezed my hand, pulling it into her warm palms. When she finished, she held my hand up, admiring her work. “Pretty, right?” “Very pretty.” She smiled brightly. Wyatt was sitting on the adjacent sofa, a folder in his lap, but he hadn’t turned a page. He was staring at us. I stood up and walked toward the kitchen. “Where are you going?” Sadie asked. “To make coffee.” A few minutes later, I walked out with a mug and set it on the side table next to Wyatt. “For you.” Wyatt looked at the cup. Black coffee. No cream, no sugar. His fingers tensed on the folder. “Who asked you to make this?” “No one,” I said, sitting back down. “You always drink it like this.” The room went dead silent. Wyatt stared at the dark liquid for a long time. Then, slowly, he picked it up and took a sip. [He drank it!] [Only the real Grace knew his coffee order. The impostor never paid attention!” Sadie stopped painting her nails. Her eyes darted between Wyatt and me. Wyatt set the mug down, his eyes locked on mine. The coldness was entirely gone, replaced by a complex, trembling hope that he barely dared to believe. “Grace,” he said quietly. The air in the room stretched taut. Sadie held her breath, clutching her nail polish brush, watching me. “How did you know I take my coffee black?” I looked at him, saying nothing. Sadie leaned forward, her voice trembling slightly. “Grace… is it really you? Are you back?”

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With our wedding just weeks away, I found a stack of toll receipts on my boyfriend’s phone. Every single one showed a midnight departure, a grueling twelve-hour drive, and a frantic return the very next morning. To keep me from noticing his absence, he had pulled off these brutal, back-to-back road trips, running on pure adrenaline and desperation. Looking at that exhausting, dangerous schedule, my friends tried to soothe me over brunch. “It’s normal,” they said, offering sympathetic smiles. “Cold feet. Guys freak out before the wedding. He just needs to get it out of his system, he’ll snap out of it.” But I didn’t believe them. So, that very night, I booked a ticket and followed him to Chicago. And there, in the passenger seat of his car, I saw the girl. They got out together and walked into a boutique motel off the highway. Panic, hot and sudden, blinded me. I lunged forward, desperate to catch him, to scream his name, but I didn’t see the oncoming traffic. The bumper of a sedan clipped me, sending me sprawling onto the wet asphalt. Through a haze of white-hot pain and blurring vision, my fingers shook as I typed a desperate text. “Pick up the phone. I’ve been in an accident.” A few yards away, Luke stopped. I saw him pull out his phone and look at the screen. I held my breath, waiting for him to spin around, to run to me. Instead, he swiped the notification away, shoved the phone back into his pocket, and guided the girl inside. I blacked out. It wasn’t until seven that evening, dragging my fractured leg in its fresh plaster cast, that I finally made it back to our apartment in New York. Only then did Luke’s name light up my screen, his voice laced with practiced panic. “Oh my god, Freda! What happened? Are you okay? Which hospital are you at? I’m coming to get you.” “Don’t bother,” I said. My voice was hollow, entirely flat. No need to pick me up. And no need to get married, either. … My silence must have made him uneasy. “My phone died this afternoon,” Luke explained quickly, his voice soft and placating. “It was so hectic, I didn’t have a chance to charge it.” For the past three months, this had been his go-to excuse. If I hadn’t seen him with my own eyes, I would still be entirely in the dark, shielded by my own naivety. “Okay,” I murmured. “How bad is the leg? What did the doctor say?” His voice sounded genuinely worried. I looked up at the wall clock. It was 7:40 PM. It had been nearly eight hours since I sent that text. I snapped a photo of my heavy plaster cast and sent it to him. A compound fracture. Luke looked at the photo but didn’t ask any more questions about the pain or the diagnosis. Instead, he sent over a few photos of pink blossoms framing a lakeside path. “They’re in full bloom here,” he wrote. “It’s a literal sea of pink. Photos don’t do it justice.” I stared at the image for a long moment before typing back: “Is Chicago really that beautiful?” Beautiful enough to drive twelve hours for, four times in a single month? He had sent me the exact same photos four times now. The same angles. The same composition. He was so lazy with his deceit that he couldn’t even bother to take a new picture. There was a long pause on his end, as if he hadn’t expected the question. “It’s nice,” he said, his tone turning guarded. “To be honest, half of it was just helping a friend move her things. I was doing a favor.” He didn’t name the friend, and I didn’t ask, because I already knew he wouldn’t tell the truth. It was Giselle. I had scrolled through her Instagram earlier. She had posted a photo of herself looking radiant, standing under those exact crabapple blossoms. The photographer had clearly adored her, waiting for the perfect golden-hour light to hit her face before clicking the shutter. It was nothing like the photos Luke took of me. Nine times out of ten, his photos of me were blurry or off-center. Whenever I complained, he would just laugh helplessly. “I’m just a typical guy, babe. I don’t know how to work a camera.” But looking at Giselle’s profile, I finally understood. It wasn’t a lack of skill. It was a lack of care. Seeing that I wasn’t responding, Luke assumed I was tired. “You should get some rest. I’ll be back first thing in the morning.” “Okay,” I said, and hung up. I clicked on Giselle’s caption again. It was a sweet, bubbly update: “Grad school is officially over! Four trips back and forth, but so lucky to have had a dedicated helper. Thank you, you know who you are.” She went four times. He went four times. He hadn’t missed a single trip. Meanwhile, our caterer, the florist, the tux fittings—he hadn’t shown an ounce of interest in any of them. My head throbbed, a dull ache matching the tight pressure of the cast. After sending an email to cancel the wedding venue, I finally fell into a fitful sleep around 2 AM. When I woke up, Luke was already home. The apartment smelled of rich herbs; he was in the kitchen brewing chicken broth. Seeing me awake, he walked over and gently brushed a hand against my cheek. “How did you manage to get hit by a car?” I stared at him for a moment. “I went out, saw someone I recognized, and tried to catch up with them.” Luke offered a mild, distracted nod. “Well, be more careful next time.” He didn’t ask where I had gone, or who the person was. Because he didn’t care. My train ticket to Chicago was sitting right there on the entryway table, fully visible. He didn’t even glance at it. My eyes stung for a brief second. I grabbed my crutches and dragged myself out of bed. After a quick wash, I hobbled over to the dining table and reached for a bowl of the soup. “Don’t touch that!” Luke suddenly yelled, lunging forward, his voice cracking with panic. I froze, the ladle hovering in mid-air. “It’s not for me?” He cleared his throat, trying to soften his tone. “A friend of mine has a terrible flu. I promised I’d drop some homemade soup off. But I mean… if you really want some, go ahead.” Though he smiled, the reluctance in his voice was sharp enough to cut. I didn’t argue. I looked down at my heavy plaster cast, then quietly put the ladle back down. Luke immediately sealed the thermos and packed up a few side dishes. Once everything was neatly packed into a tote bag, he finally looked at me. “What do you want to eat? I can whip up some quick food before I go?” “Who is this friend?” I asked. Our voices collided in the quiet kitchen. “Just someone from school. You don’t know them,” he said, his voice perfectly smooth. “Male or female?” The easy smile vanished from Luke’s face, replaced by a flicker of annoyance. “Freda, what is this? It’s just a normal friend. Are you just stressed about the wedding?” I didn’t push further. He turned back toward the stove to put a pot of water on, but his phone suddenly buzzed on the counter. He glanced at it, and within seconds, he was ripping off his apron and grabbing the thermos. “Something came up, I have to run. Make sure you eat something, okay?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. He was out the door before the lock could even click back into place. He rushed out to care for his ex-girlfriend’s mild flu, completely disregarding his fiancé with a broken leg. My phone vibrated with a text. The bridal boutique confirmed that the cancellation of my wedding dress order had gone through. I tapped to confirm the refund, then ordered myself some takeout. After eating, I took a cab to the clinic to pick up my pain medication. And there they were, walking right toward me in the lobby. Luke was carrying Giselle’s designer tote bag in his left hand, and the empty thermos in his right. The moment his eyes met mine, his smile froze. But he quickly adjusted his expression, smoothing over the cracks. “What a coincidence,” he said. Yes. A coincidence that we were at the same clinic, and a coincidence that she had already finished my soup. Giselle didn’t offer any explanation. Instead, she gave me a sweet, polite smile. “Freda, go grab your prescription first. We’ll wait for you outside.” She sounded so poised, so entirely at home, as if she were the one hosting the afternoon. Luke naturally nodded along with her suggestion. I didn’t say anything. When we got to the parking lot, I instinctively reached for the passenger door. Giselle was already standing there, looking at me with a soft, apologetic expression. “I’m so used to sitting up front. Do you mind if I take it, or do you want me to move?” She didn’t make a single move to step aside. The seat’s angle and distance from the dash were already adjusted perfectly to her petite frame. Before I could speak, Luke opened the rear door. “Freda, why don’t you sit in the back? There’s more legroom for your cast.” Throughout the drive, they laughed and chatted easily. I sat in the back, isolated behind an invisible wall, watching them exist in a world that didn’t include me. Suddenly, Luke pulled over by a roadside farm stand. Without a word, he jumped out of the car and ran toward the stalls. Seeing me lower my window, Giselle turned back with a smile. “Don’t worry, he just went to get fresh cherries. There’s a specific orchard stand he always stops at.” My chest tightened, but before I could say anything, Luke was running back, panting, his face bright with excitement. “Giselle, look, they had the sweet ones!” The moment the words left his mouth, he seemed to remember I was in the back. “Freda, do you want—” Before he could finish, Giselle plucked a cherry, pulled the stem, and popped it directly into his mouth. “Told you they’d have them!” Her finger lingered on his bottom lip for a fraction of a second before she pulled away. Luke’s face flushed red. He shot a quick, guilty glance at me in the rearview mirror, then cleared his throat and shifted into drive. “Let’s get going.” Giselle sat back, perfectly relaxed, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. In the reflection of the mirror, my expression was entirely blank. When Luke met my eyes, trying to gauge my reaction, I actually let out a quiet laugh. The car’s speed gathered abruptly. After we finally dropped Giselle off at her apartment, Luke immediately turned around to explain. “Don’t take her seriously, Freda. She’s always been a tease, it doesn’t mean anything.” “Do you even remember you’re getting married?” I asked quietly. The question was too sharp, and Luke’s face darkened. He didn’t answer. I turned my head to look out the window, my mind drifting. Luke and Giselle had been the classic college sweethearts. They were the golden couple—the debate partners, the honor students, the ones who traveled together every summer. But they were both too stubborn, constantly fighting, breaking up, and making up. When they finally called it quits after graduation because of differing career paths, Luke had wept as if his world had ended. I had never seen a man break down like that. I remembered walking up to him on that rainy evening, pulling my own beanie over his head to shield him from the cold, and running off before he could see my face. We reconnected a year later, and our relationship had progressed naturally. It was comfortable, steady, and peaceful. There was no screaming, no devastating heartbreak. And because of that, he had grown bored. “Don’t overthink this. Nothing happened between us,” his voice was stiff now, cold. I met his eyes in the mirror. “The sick friend was her, wasn’t it?” “Yes,” Luke admitted, his tone defensive. “She was sick, and I looked after her. That’s all it was.” He had built a thick, protective wall around himself. But I was the one left standing outside of it. We drove the rest of the way in silence. When we reached the parking garage, my leg was throbbing from the day’s movement. I wanted him to help me, to offer a shoulder. Instead, Luke walked over and simply hoisted me onto his back. I was too exhausted to fight, so I closed my eyes and rested my head against his shoulder. While we were waiting for the elevator, his phone buzzed in his hand. He paused, glancing down at me. “Freda?” I didn’t move, pretending to be asleep. Luke opened the notification. It was a photo from Giselle. She was wearing a tiny, black string bikini. “Does this look good? Thinking of posting it on Facebook.” I felt Luke’s breath catch. He typed rapidly: “Don’t you dare post that.” “Why not?” Luke’s grip on my thighs tightened. “Because you’re mine.” “I know. But you’re still getting married.” Luke didn’t reply to that. The elevator doors chimed open. He carried me into the apartment with careful, gentle steps, laying me down on the sofa. Then, he immediately hurried into his study, desperate to check if she had posted the photo anyway. He didn’t notice the tear tracking down the side of my face. He didn’t notice the damp patch of moisture on the shoulder of his shirt where my head had rested. It was nearly two hours later when he finally came out of the study, looking entirely at ease. Seeing me “awake,” he walked over and patted my head. “What do you want for lunch, babe?” “Fried rice is fine,” I said, shifting my weight and pulling my hand away from his touch. Luke froze, his eyes dropping to my bare ring finger. “Where is your engagement ring?” I had taken it off the moment I got home from Chicago. “It’s annoying to keep on with the cast when I wash up,” I said simply. “Did you put it somewhere safe? You can’t just lose a wedding ring, Freda.” “Is it really that important?” Luke’s brow furrowed. “What kind of question is that? Of course it is. It’s the symbol of our commitment to each other.” The very commitment he had been trading away in his study just minutes ago. Seeing my silence, he took a deep breath, kneeling down to take my hands in his. “Freda, you need to have more faith in us. You’re the only one I want to marry.” Yet he couldn’t bring himself to let go of his ex. I looked at him, genuinely wondering if he wasn’t exhausted by his own performance. How did he manage to split his heart so easily between two women? After lunch, I went into the bedroom to start quietly packing my things. When I came out, Luke was putting on a jacket. “Where are you going?” I asked. “An alumni mixer,” he said. Then, as if sensing my skepticism, he added, “Do you want to come?” “Yes.” Meeting his startled gaze, I offered a small smile. “I’ll go with you.” It was the first time in our three years together that I had ever insisted on joining him for an alumni event. The look on his face was far from happy. When we arrived at the restaurant, Giselle was already waiting at the entrance. Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second when she saw me, but she quickly masked it. “Freda, so glad you could make it!” “Thanks,” I said, but my eyes were drawn to her outfit. She was wearing a dusty blue knit dress. Beside her, Luke was wearing a matching dusty blue button-down. Even the leather-strapped watches on their wrists were from the same brand. Walking in beside them, I felt like the intruder. As soon as we walked into the private dining room, a guy near the head of the table stood up, waving a beer. “Luke! Heard you’re finally tying the knot! Man, when did you and Giselle get back together? You guys always were the perfect match.” Luke’s entire body went rigid beside me. Giselle, however, kept her face perfectly composed, even turning to look at me to see if my expression would crack. A friend nearby quickly tugged the guy’s sleeve, whispering loudly, “Shut up, you’re drunk. That’s his fiancé over there.” The guy’s face went bright red. He looked at me, stammering, “Oh, man, I’m so sorry. My bad, truly.” I smiled politely. “Don’t worry about it.” From beside me, Giselle let out a sharp, mocking laugh. It was brief, but loud enough to cut through the sudden quiet of the room. This time, I turned to look at her directly. “What’s funny, Giselle?” She clearly hadn’t expected me to call her out so bluntly. The tight, practiced smile on her face began to slip. “Nothing, Freda. Honestly, you’re just being so sensitive.” “Am I?” I said, my voice steady and clear. “Is it sensitive to care that you sent my fiancé a bikini photo yesterday? Or was that just another one of your little jokes?” The entire room went dead silent. Giselle’s face went completely white. Within seconds, she collapsed against the table, burying her face in her hands as she began to sob. Luke’s expression turned utterly hostile. He grabbed my wrist, his grip painfully tight, and dragged me out into the hallway. “Freda! Have you lost your mind? What are you doing?!” As he pulled me, my cast-bound leg clipped the sharp corner of the wall. A wave of agony shot up my spine, making me gasp. When the pain finally subsided, I looked at him and felt a sudden, bitter urge to laugh. I had just exposed his betrayal, and he was standing here, demanding to know what was wrong with “me”. “What are you so defensive about?” I asked. “I’m not defensive!” Luke hissed, his face dark with anger. “It was just a photo. Don’t be so provincial.” I nodded slowly. “Right. So I can send a bikini photo to my ex, too? And tell you it’s just a photo?” Luke rubbed his temples, looking thoroughly exhausted. Inside the room, Giselle’s crying was growing louder, drawing more attention. He had no interest in continuing this fight with me. “Just go home, Freda. We’ll talk about this at home.” Whenever there was a conflict, his first instinct was always to cast me out. Through the crack of the door, his classmates were looking at me with a mix of pity and discomfort. Behind them, Giselle had lifted her head, resting her chin on her hands, watching me with a smug, victorious little wave. I turned and walked away. When I got back to the apartment, my parents were already there waiting for me. They had already loaded the last of my boxes into the trunk of their car. My mom looked at me, her eyes quiet and steady. “Are you sure about this, sweetie?” I nodded. “I’m sure.” Before we drove away, my parents sent out a group text to all of our relatives, formally cancelling the wedding. On the drive back to my hometown, my phone buzzed with an Instagram notification. Giselle had posted a photo from the reunion. “The perfect reunion. Can’t wait for next year, guys!” In the group shot, Giselle was pressed tightly against Luke’s side, her arm wrapped possessively around his. But I had already left the battlefield. At 8 PM, Luke unlocked the door to the apartment, expecting to find me waiting for him. Instead, he was met with nothing but silence, and a sudden, cold dread began to settle in his chest.

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Before the surgical lights flickered on, I slipped my hand-written suicide note beneath my brother’s pillow. “Wes, I wanted so badly to stay by your side forever.” “But Mom and Dad work too hard to make a living. I can’t bear to watch them pour every last cent into my treatments.” “Besides, the chemo hurts so much. My hair is entirely gone, and I’m not pretty anymore.” “I saved up some allowance—it’s in the envelope. Please use it to buy Mom and Dad that orthopedic massage chair they need. Their lower backs are always in so much pain.” “The rest of the money is for you. Thank you for taking such good care of me, Wes. From now on, you’ll have to look after Mom and Dad for me.” Two years. More than six hundred days and nights of excruciating agony. I had long since made up my mind to find my own release. As I lay there, quietly waiting for the poison I had swallowed to take effect, I heard my brother’s low, muffled voice echoing from the hallway: “Double the dosage. Once the Juilliard early-admission slot is officially transferred to Ivy’s name, I’ll find the best specialists in the country for Lucy. We will save her, I promise.” My mother’s voice broke as she choked back a sob, hitting his chest. “You’re going to destroy her! This past year has been pure torture for her. She’s nothing but skin and bones!” Wes’s voice trembled slightly. “Mom, Ivy doesn’t have Lucy’s raw talent. If we don’t let Lucy endure these two years of struggle, Ivy will never have a chance to stand out. I’ll hire the most elite physical therapists for Lucy’s rehabilitation afterward. If her health takes a turn, I’ll give her my own blood, my own kidney. I’ll even sign over both of our lakefront estates in Tahoe to her.” So. My parents were actually incredibly wealthy. And I didn’t have leukemia. I wasn’t paralyzed. But Wes… I’ve already swallowed the poison. There is no saving me now. 1 I lay perfectly still on the freezing operating table. The anesthesiologist inserted a sharp needle into my vein, murmuring softly, “Don’t be afraid, sweetheart. Just close your eyes and go to sleep. It’ll all be over when you wake up.” I nodded. In truth, fear was the furthest thing from my mind. All I felt was a profound sense of relief. Because right before they wheeled me in, I had swallowed an entire bottle of industrial weedkiller. I never planned on surviving today. My parents didn’t know. They had stroked my hollow cheeks with tear-filled eyes, whispering words of encouragement. “Don’t be afraid, Lucy. Mom and Dad will be right outside waiting for you.” Wes didn’t know, either. He had gently squeezed my frail, skeletal arm, his eyes red and brimming with unshed tears. “Our little princess is the strongest girl in the world. When you get out, Wes will take you wherever you want to go.” I swallowed my tears and forced a faint smile. “Okay,” I whispered. But inside, I was apologizing over and over again. “Mom, Dad, Wes… I’m so sorry.” “I’m not as strong as you think I am, and I can’t bear to drag this family down any longer.” I let my gaze linger on the three faces I loved most in this world, committing every line to memory. I wanted their faces to be the last things I took with me. I had always believed that my parents and brother loved me more than anything else. We weren’t well-off, but my parents never hesitated to give me whatever I wanted. They were so frugal with themselves, yet they never looked at the price tag when it came to buying me pretty dresses or cute stuffed animals. I had wanted to dance, but knowing how expensive ballet school was, I never dared to ask. Still, my parents gritted their teeth and sent me to the finest instructor in the city. That summer, Dad worked construction, his back so stiff from hauling bricks that he could barely stand upright at night. Mom ran her fishmonger stall at the local market by day, and woke up at five in the morning to prep breakfast pastries to sell, her eyes perpetually bloodshot with exhaustion. Even when I cried and lied to them, saying I hated ballet and didn’t want to dance anymore, Mom had only wrapped me in a warm, gentle embrace. “Lucy, we named you Lucy because you are the light of our lives,” she had whispered. “Whatever our little princess wants, Mom and Dad will work ourselves to the bone to give you. It’s our joy, sweetheart. It’s never a burden.” Wes had spoiled me just as much since we were kids. He always gave me the best pieces of food. Whenever my feet ached on the walk home from school, he would carry me on his back without a single complaint. “You’re my little sister,” he’d say, as if it were the simplest truth in the world. “Of course I’m going to spoil you.” When we grew older, he would stay up past midnight writing out study guides for me so my grades wouldn’t slip. He worked odd jobs to buy me birthday gifts he could never afford for himself. So when I overheard the truth… My mind went completely blank. I honestly thought I was hallucinating. We were wealthy. Their struggle, their desperate toil to raise me, was nothing but a carefully orchestrated performance. And those expensive medications they “sacrificed everything” to buy for me weren’t meant to cure me. They were the very things pushing me into this living hell—all to clear the path for Ivy’s future. Two years ago, I began feeling chronically ill. Dad had carried me on his back all the way to the clinic, where they diagnosed me with leukemia. I had broken down sobbing. My parents cried with me, holding me tight. “It’s okay, Lucy. We’ll get you the best treatments. We will never give up on you, no matter how much it costs.” Wes’s hand had trembled as he held mine, though his voice remained steady and reassuring. “Don’t worry, Lucy. I’m here. Mom and Dad are here. We won’t let anything happen to you.” Looking back now, of course nothing fatal was supposed to happen to me. Because I never had leukemia in the first place. But the “treatment” began anyway. Over the next two years, countless injections left my once-pale skin bruised and mottled, covered in a web of dark needle marks. I swallowed handfuls of bitter pills that burned my throat and made my stomach churn with nausea. For someone who used to be terrified of pain and hated medicine, I never uttered a single whimper. I swallowed every pill without hesitation, all to spare my family any extra grief. Whenever I saw their eyes redden, I would squeeze out a cheerful smile. “I’m okay, Mom. I’m strong. I can handle this.” But the monthly chemo sessions made me vomit violently. I couldn’t keep anything down; even when I forced myself to swallow a few spoonfuls of broth, I would end up purging it in the bathroom, spitting up bile and blood. My hair began falling out in thick clumps. Eventually, I had to wear a beanie to hide my bald head. I lay awake night after night, my body wracked with a deep, throbbing ache. But to keep them from worrying, I would bite down on my blanket to muffle my tears. They were sacrificing so much for me, I thought. The least I could do was be brave. But even though I did everything the doctors asked, eating nothing but bland porridge and clear soups, my body continued to waste away. I used to be a little swan, full of life, leaping across the stage. Now, I couldn’t even stand. I was confined to a bed, watching my muscles atrophy. The schoolwork I had fought so hard to master began to blur; letters twisted into incomprehensible shapes on the page, leaving me with blinding headaches. I lost my health, my hair, and eventually, my friends, who gradually stopped visiting as the months dragged on. My world shrank to the size of a hospital mattress, surrounded by sterile walls, endless medications, and my family. One evening, after a particularly brutal session that left me dry-heaving until my throat bled, I finally broke down.

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When mafia boss Hayden Foster slept with me, he always liked to cover my eyes with black lace, forcing me over and over to say his name, say I loved him, call him “Daddy.” When things got most intense, he would even record the sounds I made in bed. Back then, I truly thought he was madly in love with me. Until the day Serena Allen returned to the country, and I realized with a jolt that her voice was almost identical to mine. Hayden held her in his arms. “I love you. This time, will you say yes and marry me?” So all these years, I had only been a “voice double.” Our marriage was an act. His devotion was a lie. I signed the divorce agreement with my own hand, only to be imprisoned by him in the basement. The bodyguard pinned my shoulders down while he said in the gentlest voice, “Bear with it. You’re still mine. Don’t upset Serena.” But they forgot. I was a doctor. And doctors knew how to wield scalpels, too. Since he wanted to use me as a stand-in, I would cut this performance off with my own hands. Chapter One Chloe Quinn POV In the second year after our marriage, all of New York high society was still talking about how Hayden Foster had gone against his family for three years just to pursue me. They said his mafia father had even beaten him until three of his ribs broke before finally allowing him to marry me. And I loved him deeply, too. It was just that Hayden Foster had one strange kink. Every time we made love, he liked taking me from behind and covering my face with a black lace ribbon, liked making me say his name again and again while he moved against me, making me say I loved him, making me call him Daddy. Only when my voice had gone completely hoarse would he finally let me go. When things got most intense, he would even record my moans. Back then, I truly thought he was madly in love with me. But on the very day I found out I was pregnant, the news of Hayden Foster’s ex-girlfriend Serena Allen returning to the country hit the trending charts. In the video, they brushed past each other in the airport lobby, then both turned back and gazed at each other from a distance. The comments beneath the video were almost entirely full of praise. [Now this is true love.] [Serena Allen really is prettier than any Hollywood star!] [She’s an internationally renowned singer. Her voice is simply heavenly!] [If she hadn’t gotten a terminal illness and broken up with him on her own, Chloe Quinn never would have had the chance to marry Hayden Foster!] At first, I told myself not to care about those rumors online. Until I saw one comment, and my whole body froze in place. [All of New York knows Hayden Foster is different from other mafia bosses. He has very high standards when it comes to a woman’s voice.] [Back then, he liked Ms. Allen not only because of her looks, but also because of her voice. I heard his current wife’s voice was almost exactly the same as Ms. Allen’s.] My mind exploded with a roar. No wonder every time we made love, he covered my face and turned off all the lights. He said that only then could he focus more on listening to my voice. No wonder he recorded our dirty talk and played it on repeat in his office. I had never overthought it. I had even believed it was an intimate ritual that belonged only to us. With trembling hands, I opened my phone and pulled up the audio clips I had once recorded for him. Every audio clip corresponded to a page of unsigned lyrics. Hayden Foster always said there was a musician he was working with who wanted to hear how different vocal tones would interpret the songs, so he asked me to help record some demos. I had never doubted him. Until today, when I opened one set of lyrics and, as if possessed, searched it online. I found that every single song was performed by Serena Allen. Tears fell drop by drop onto the screen, and my chest turned ice-cold. I rushed to the private club Hayden Foster often visited. The bodyguards at the entrance recognized me and did not stop me. But just as I reached the door of the private room, through the half-closed door, I heard a burst of laughter inside. “Hayden, Serena has recovered and come back now. You still haven’t divorced? Don’t tell me you’ve actually fallen for that stand-in.” Hayden Foster leaned against the sofa, a cigar between his fingers, his tone indifferent. “You’re overthinking it. I married her only to resolve Serena’s obsession. It was just an act to let Serena go get treatment with peace of mind.” I froze outside the door, my legs going weak. The people in the private room were still laughing. “Serena was just afraid she wouldn’t make it off the operating table and that you’d be all alone. It just so happened that woman had donated blood to her before, so Serena made a fuss and told you to pursue her.” Someone else joined in, egging him on. “You’re a mafia boss, living under gunfire every day. Having a doctor wife is pretty convenient.” “But her body really is amazing. How about you trick her into a fake divorce, and when she’s devastated, I’ll go after her? Of course, if you can’t bear to let her go, forget it.” After a brief silence, his voice came again, familiar yet strange. “She’s been with me for so many years, after all. If you’re serious, then go after her. If you’re just playing around, forget it. Otherwise, if this gets to Serena, she’ll blame me.” Stand-in? It felt as if someone had struck my head hard. I staggered back, unable to listen anymore. So the happiness I believed in had been nothing but a performance from beginning to end. The only one who had fallen too deep into the act was me. He had once broken with his family for me, even given up his position as heir. He had also left his family for me and lived in a tiny rented apartment for three years. A man who never cooked had made breakfast for me for five years. But all of that had actually been an act! How ridiculous. After I got home, I rushed into the bathroom and soaked in the tub, trying to calm myself down. I told myself maybe they had just drunk too much. When men got together, didn’t they just love to brag? But that night, he sent only one message: [I have to handle family business tonight. Go to bed early.] I sat on the sofa for the entire night. It was almost dawn when he finally came home. He looked completely relaxed. When he saw me, he smiled and said, “Could my lazy honey not sleep without me here? Look, I bought your favorite egg tarts.” I did not move or speak. He seemed not to notice at all and casually took out a document to hand to me. “Chloe, my position is dangerous, and the family’s companies are under FBI investigation. I don’t want you to get dragged into this. Why don’t we get divorced for now, then remarry after the investigation is over?” I looked at him quietly and smelled the strong scent of roses on his body. I never used rose-scented perfume. It really must have been hard for him. After spending the night with another woman, he could still come up with such an absurd excuse to trick me into a divorce. Chapter Two Chloe Quinn POV I smiled and, with absolute calm, took the divorce agreement and signed my name. Hayden Foster pulled the signed paper away and comforted me. “One month from now, after we get the divorce papers, we’ll go get a new marriage certificate.” I stared at him, trying to find some trace of lying in those eyes. But those eyes were filled so perfectly with tenderness and love. My ice-cold heart actually warmed a little. Clinging to that last bit of expectation I should never have had, I gripped his hand and said softly, “If it’s such a hassle, maybe we shouldn’t get divorced for now?” An unnatural flicker passed through his eyes, then was quickly disguised as calm. “It’s no hassle. Everything I’m doing is to protect you.” As he spoke, he naturally pulled me into his arms, his palm stroking my back again and again. “Silly girl, trust me, okay? I really do love you. Be good. Don’t overthink all the time.” In that instant, I almost truly believed him. But as I smelled the unfamiliar rose fragrance on his collar, my stomach churned. He lowered his head and kissed my lips. At first it was a gentle test, but gradually, his breathing grew heavy. I turned my face away on instinct and pushed at his chest. “I don’t feel like it tonight.” His movements paused for a moment, and a trace of impatience flashed through his eyes. The next second, he grabbed my wrist and forcefully pinned me against the wall with my back to him. “Be good. Say my name.” I bit my lip and said nothing. His movements became rougher. “Chloe, say you love me.” I closed my eyes, my voice trembling. “Not enough. Louder.” At that moment, all my resistance seemed pale and powerless. I closed my eyes and let the tears slide down. So those moments of intimacy I had believed belonged only to us were nothing but proof that he loved another woman. Just then, the phone he had placed on the bedside table suddenly rang. He glanced at the screen, immediately let go of me, and got up to put on his clothes. “There’s something going on with the organization. I need to go over.” I lowered my head, my voice hoarse. “Okay. Go.” One month later, our paths would split for good. We would have nothing to do with each other anymore. “Good girl.” He let out a low laugh. Like rewarding an obedient pet, he casually brought the egg tart he had bought to my lips, then turned and went into the bathroom. Out of reflex, I took a bite. The rich taste of cheese exploded in my mouth instantly. I froze, then hurriedly spat it out. How could he not remember I was allergic to cheese? When we had just started dating, I accidentally ate cheese and was sent to the ER. When I woke up, the doctor had even half-joked, “Comfort your boyfriend a little. He was crying so hard outside he was a total mess. He almost got down on his knees and begged me to save you.” From then on, every time we went out to eat, Hayden Foster would repeatedly remind the servers: absolutely no cheese in the food. The memory still carried a hint of sweetness, but right now, my hands and feet were already turning red. Patches of rash rose across my skin, itching unbearably. I laughed at myself, picked up the medicine, and was just about to swallow it when I suddenly remembered that I was pregnant. My fingertips trembled, and I slowly put the bottle back down. Just then, the bathroom door opened. “What’s wrong? Where do you feel uncomfortable?” He looked at me with concern. Before I could speak, his phone suddenly rang again. After he answered, the laziness on his face vanished instantly, and his tone went tense. “Protect her. I’m coming right now.” He hurriedly changed his clothes and walked to the door. As if suddenly remembering something, he turned back to look at me. “A friend of mine just returned to the country and ran into a shootout with a rival family. I have to go help him.” Then he reminded me, “Remember to finish breakfast before going to work.” As if nothing had happened, I lowered my sleeve and asked blandly, “What flavor are the egg tarts?” “Cheese. They’re really popular lately. I waited in line for ages.” There was a trace of impatience in his voice, as if he thought I was asking too many questions. I nodded and said only softly, “Got it. Drive safely.” He gripped his phone, seeming to feel that something was off. But before he could figure it out, the phone rang again. He left without looking back. I watched his departing figure, my fingertips trembling slightly. Then I picked up a mask, left the house, hailed a cab, and followed him. The car stopped outside a remote alley. From a distance, I watched him and followed him to the end. Just then, a fragile figure in red stumbled out from the alley entrance. Behind her, a man holding a knife chased after her. Almost at the same instant, Hayden Foster drew the pistol from his waist. With a bang, the bullet pierced the forehead of the thug following behind her with perfect accuracy. The man did not even let out a grunt before collapsing straight to the ground. Hayden immediately reached out and wrapped an arm around her waist, his voice cold. “I told you, if you take risks like this again, I’ll lock you up.” That woman, Serena Allen, stood on tiptoe and kissed him lightly on the lips. “I just haven’t been back in the country for too long and wanted to go out for some fun. Besides, I have you. I’m not afraid of bad guys.” I watched him push her into the car and lock the door. Then he cupped the back of her head and kissed her hard. The kiss was rough and hungry. Tiny movements spread through the car again and again, making my vision swim. Only after a long while did the movement inside the car slowly quiet down. Afterward, she escaped the car shyly, and he chased after her, his eyes full of indulgent affection. I braced myself against the wall, feeling utterly sick. I stood there blankly for a long time, until my fingers turned cold. I took off the silver ring, yanked it off hard, and tossed it into the filthy gutter. Then I turned and strode away. Chapter Three Chloe Quinn POV That afternoon, I started running a fever. Half-awake and half-asleep, my mind was filled with a hazy ache. In my dream, I saw Hayden Foster go alone to the dock to unload cargo. He had once been the heir of a mafia family, yet workers ordered him around, leaving him covered in grime. But he did not seem to care at all. He used the wages he earned to buy a silver ring, then came specifically to see me. Before coming to me, he had even showered and changed into clean clothes. “Chloe Quinn, I have no money and no power right now. I’m not asking you to accept me. But can you just not date anyone else for now? Three years. I only need three years.” Without hesitation, I put on the ring. “Hayden Foster, I’m willing to work hard with you to win your family’s approval. But if one day you get tired, remember to tell me. I’ll leave without looking back.” The dream ended. The high fever made the allergic patches on my body hot and itchy, like thousands of ants crawling over me. Suddenly, a scorching heat spread through my lower body, and I abruptly realized—the baby… On instinct, I called Hayden Foster. The phone rang two or three times before a woman’s voice came from the other end. I knew it was Serena Allen. “Hello? If you need something, say it quickly. I’m filming a public service video right now. I don’t have time to chat with you.” A sharp pain tore through my abdomen, and I could not worry about anything else. I hurriedly said, “Please tell Hayden Foster I might be miscarrying. Tell him to come back immediately and take me to the hospital.” The other end of the line went silent for a moment. Soon, her careless voice sounded again. “Your voice sounds just like mine. No wonder Hayden likes it.” “It’s just losing a baby. Is there any need to make such a big scene? No wonder there aren’t enough medical resources. They’re all being wasted by people like you.” I clutched my stomach, wondering if I was hearing things. “You’re a woman too. How can you say something like that? Give the phone to Hayden Foster. I need to talk to him!” On the other end, Serena Allen answered carelessly, “Ms. Quinn, even heaven thinks you don’t deserve to give birth to his child. You should just accept your fate.” Just as she was about to hang up, I heard Hayden Foster’s voice from the other end. Furious and desperate, I shouted, “Hayden Foster!” But Hayden Foster did not respond to me. I only heard the conversation between Hayden Foster and Serena Allen. “Serena, what’s wrong? Is your heart bothering you again?” Hayden Foster asked anxiously. “My heart hurts so much! Hayden, why don’t you go back and check on Chloe Quinn? What if she really is pregnant…” He listened quietly, then reached out and picked up the phone. His voice was calm but barbed. “Chloe Quinn, you’re infertile. How could you possibly be pregnant? Stop acting.” “And from now on, don’t make a fuss over nothing. Serena has a heart condition. If you scare her like this, something could happen to her…” I could not speak. The woman on the other end kept talking, and in the end, he only left me with one sentence. “I’ve been too busy these past two days, so I won’t be coming back for now. Don’t call over a little thing like this.” The phone beeped, and my heart sank lower and lower. I could only call emergency services myself, then ask my best friend to rush to the hospital and help sign the paperwork. After the surgery, I was unconscious for three days and three nights before I woke up. My best friend said that after she got my call, she rushed to the hospital at once, but it was still too late. The doctor said that if the papers had been signed even ten minutes earlier, the baby could have been saved. Then my best friend sat by my bed and cursed that scumbag for a full half hour before she finally calmed down enough to buy food. I took out my phone and opened Instagram. Less than a minute later, I saw the video Hayden Foster had reposted. It was only two minutes long. In it, Serena Allen called for people to care for stray animals and cherish life. Under the video, Hayden Foster left a comment saying he fully supported her public service work. I gently touched my stomach. My heart had long since hurt past the point of numbness, leaving only faint irony behind. At my best friend’s insistence, I rested for another two days before leaving the hospital. When I got home, Hayden Foster still had not returned. I did not care. I went to work and came home as usual. It was not until the weekend night of the second week that he finally came home. When he entered, I was organizing my medical license and work documents. Hayden Foster said sarcastically, “Aren’t you just fine?” Before I could explain, he grabbed some clothes and went into the bathroom. A short while later, his phone rang inside the bathroom. Even though he lowered his voice, I still heard his conversation with Serena Allen. “Yeah, don’t worry. She wasn’t pregnant. She was probably just being petty.” “Okay, I’ll do what you say. I’ll stay at home tonight. If I’m not there, don’t kick off your blanket while you sleep!” I let out a soft laugh and pretended I had not heard, busying myself with my own things. We were already divorced. He could think whatever he wanted. Nothing I said to explain myself mattered anymore. The only thing was, since he was staying home tonight, I would have to find an excuse to sleep in a separate room. Otherwise, sharing the same bed would honestly feel revolting. As I was thinking about it, he walked into the bedroom and said to me, “There’s a small issue with Serena Allen’s interview…” I cut him off. “Go check on her.” A flicker of discomfort crossed his face, but in the end, he only said, “I’ll be right back.” That night, he never came back, and I slept without a single dream. Chapter Four Chloe Quinn POV Early the next morning, Hayden Foster unexpectedly rushed back for once and insisted on driving me to work. I found it a little strange, but I didn’t refuse. The car had just turned past an intersection when we saw a small car hit an elderly man, then speed away. Hayden instinctively slammed on the brakes and was about to open the door and get out when I reached out to stop him. “Call emergency services first. I’m a doctor. I’ll go down and start rescue measures.” It was a doctor’s professional reflex. The other party had committed a hit-and-run. I had to make sure evidence was preserved to help this old man. After confirming the dashcam was on, I pushed the door open and got out. I hadn’t even taken two steps when Hayden suddenly called after me. “Serena’s monitoring smartwatch is sending an alert. It might be her heart. I have to go check on her. Wait here for the ambulance.” Lives were at stake on both sides, so I didn’t stop him. I only reminded him to save the video evidence. The old man’s condition was terrible. No matter how I performed CPR, his heartbeat remained weak. After he was sent to the hospital, they immediately issued a critical condition notice. I called the number saved in his phone as “Granddaughter” countless times, but no one answered. By the time the police arrived and asked me to sign off on the special procedure, the old man was already gone. The doctors pushed the body out of the operating room. I stayed where I was, waiting for the follow-up procedures, when a sudden ominous feeling rose in my chest. As if possessed, I logged into the backend on my phone and copied the accident footage. I had just gotten ready to upload it to the cloud when the elevator doors opened with a ding— Serena Allen rushed out. The moment she saw the old man, she threw herself at him and cried as if her heart were being ripped apart. “Grandpa! What happened to you? I’m here! Please get up!” I froze for a few seconds as an absurd thought flashed through my mind—could there really be such a coincidence in this world? But before I could speak, she had already gotten up, charged over to me, and slapped me hard across the face. “Chloe Quinn, it was you, wasn’t it? If you hate me, come after me. What kind of skill is it to take revenge on an old man?” Fire surged in my eyes, but I stayed calm. “I’ve already told the police what happened. If you have questions, you can ask them.” She glared at me, her voice trembling and hysterical. “If it wasn’t you, why didn’t you make the driver come here? If it wasn’t you, why would you be so kind as to bring my grandfather to the hospital?” Her logic was so ridiculous it made me laugh in anger. I was about to take out my phone and show her the evidence when she suddenly lunged at me to snatch it. In the chaos, she used too much force and fell, dragging my phone down with her. The moment Hayden arrived, he happened to see Serena and me on the ground. Without the slightest hesitation, he rushed over and shoved me hard into the wall. “Are you insane?” My spine and the back of my head slammed into the wall almost at the same time. The sharp pain made my vision go black. Before I could recover, Serena had already thrown herself into his arms, crying as if she were falling apart. “Hayden, Grandpa is dead! I don’t have a grandfather anymore! She’s the one who hit him and killed him… Make her kneel in front of Grandpa and apologize to him!” I looked at him. I watched him fall silent. I watched the hesitation in his eyes. My heart went cold, inch by inch. I suddenly remembered the year I had just graduated and become a doctor. A patient’s family was unhappy with my treatment plan, so they cornered me in an alley and forced me to kneel and slap myself. It was him. He charged in with his bare hands and fought those people until his whole body was covered in blood. He forced himself to walk over to me and said coldly to that group of people— “This idiot flipped through a pathology textbook thousands of times just to become a good doctor. She can recite all fifty-six thousand six hundred eighty-one words backward. You think you can shatter her dream with filthy methods? Keep dreaming.” In that moment, he was the brightest light in my world. But now, that beam of light stood before me, cold as ice. “Chloe,” he said, “kneel and say goodbye to Grandpa. Let the old man leave in peace.” Serena lay in his arms, lifted her head to look at me, and revealed a provocative smile. “Not say goodbye. Apologize.” I closed my eyes and let out a cold laugh. “Whether I did anything wrong, the police will tell you. But Serena Allen, you’re crying so miserably. Are you afraid your grandfather’s ghost will come looking for you tonight and ask why you didn’t answer his—” Before I could finish, a slap landed hard across my face. “Enough. Stop provoking her.” After that, Hayden ordered the bodyguards to drag me to the hospital bed and kick me in the knees. With a bang, I dropped to my knees. A tearing pain shot through my knees. I stared at him, my voice hoarse. “Hayden Foster, you clearly saw the real culprit.” He froze for a moment, and a trace of guilt flashed through his eyes. Then he bent down and whispered into my ear, “Serena is weak. Grandpa’s death is too much of a blow to her. If she doesn’t vent, she’ll get sick. You’re just a little doctor. It doesn’t matter if you spend a few days in prison. When you come out, I’ll compensate you.” I could hardly believe my ears. Rage instantly burned to its peak. I shoved him away. “On what grounds? I’m not the one who hit him! Are you going to believe whatever she says? Are you really going to ignore the truth and send me to prison? Hayden Foster, how can you say that so easily—” Before I could finish, he pressed me back down to the floor. The bodyguards tore open my suit jacket, tied my hands behind my back, and stuffed some random cloth into my mouth. Hayden bent down, looked at me, and smiled with a tenderness that was cruel. “Be good. You’re just a useless doctor.” But back then, I became a doctor for him. He was a mafia boss. He was often injured, and it wasn’t convenient for him to go to the hospital, so I treated his wounds at home. Back then, he held me and said, “Baby, you’re the greatest doctor in the world.” Now, for his mistress, he called me useless. After saying that, he turned and walked to Serena’s side. She sobbed into the camera, crying out “hit-and-run” and “murderer” over and over. The crowd gathered, whispering and pointing. “How shameless. She killed someone and she’s still this cold-blooded.” “She’s dressed all proper. Probably a mistress.” People pointed at me and cursed me, but I couldn’t say a single word. Serena kept stirring up their emotions. Beside us, a family member of a drunk-driving victim completely broke down, rushed over, and started punching and kicking me. Fists slammed into my face and body. My bones made cracking sounds. I wanted to protect my head, but my hands were tied. All I could do was curl up and let the blows fall on me. Through the crowd, I vaguely saw Hayden’s face. Those eyes that had once made me feel safe now held nothing but indifference. Serena pulled him away to “settle Grandpa Allen’s body.” I slowly closed my eyes. Those fists and kicks shattered the few memories I had left, bit by bit. The man who would become flustered with just one look from me. The man who couldn’t handle spicy food but was willing to eat Mexican food with me. The man who sat on a train for more than ten hours just to bring me breakfast. All of it was ripped from my mind by force. The pain was so intense I couldn’t catch my breath, and I passed out completely. Hayden Foster, so even your care has an expiration date. Falling in love with you really hurts.

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I had just closed a massive deal and was taking a rare day off at home, chatting with my housekeeper, Maria. Suddenly, she grabbed my hands, her face filled with deep emotion as she praised me. “Ma’am, you are truly an angel. You’re so busy with work, yet you still make sure to take such good care of your cousin.” She looked at me, her eyes full of admiration. I froze for a second. “Mr. Miller is such a wonderful man, too. Not only is he amazing to you, but he treats your family so well! He’s even taking your cousin to her prenatal appointments himself!” She paused, then added with a smile. “I heard she’s having a boy!” “Don’t worry, Ma’am. I’ll make sure to prepare the post-pregnancy organic meal preps and premium supplements using only the finest ingredients, just like you ordered!” But wait. Since when did I have a pregnant cousin? Maria was still listing off expensive organic brands and high-end catering services. I couldn’t hear a single word. Seeing my expression change, she gently pulled my sleeve, looking worried. “Ma’am? Are you okay? Are you just tired? Did… did I say something wrong?” She stood there, suddenly anxious and fidgeting. I looked at her and asked, “Which cousin?” Maria blinked, confused. “Mr. Miller told me she’s your distant cousin from your hometown. He said her parents passed away early, and she’s been struggling to make it in the city alone. He said you wanted him to look after her.” Seeing the coldness in my eyes, Maria asked cautiously. “Ma’am… did I run my mouth?” “No,” I replied, forcing my emotions down as I transferred ten thousand dollars to her account via PayPal. “You’ve been working hard lately. Go buy yourself something nice.” She gasped, waving her hands in a panic. I forced the phone into her hand, making her accept it. “You deserve it. Just… don’t tell Ethan I asked about this. He’s sensitive. I don’t want him to feel like he didn’t handle my family matters well.” Maria nodded quickly. “I get it, I get it. Men like Mr. Miller have a lot of pride.” I looked out the window, my heart sinking. For the past few years, the two most important men in my life were the husband I built from scratch, and the father who raised me. Years ago, Ethan was just a broke college kid. I was the only daughter of the Vance family, the sole heiress to the Vance empire. I had always been the golden girl — Ivy League graduate, taking over the family business at a young age. But I fell for Ethan. We met during a hostile corporate bid. Back then, he was just a low-level project manager at a small firm, yet he had the guts to publicly argue with me over a pitch. Two stubborn people slowly fell in love. I brought him home to my father. I promised my dad, “He has nothing right now, but in less than ten years, he will be the brightest star in the business world.” And Ethan did it. He worked harder than anyone. With the resources I handed him on a silver platter, he secured a solid foothold in the company within just a few years. Even though he was always busy, he was always gentle and attentive to me. He would quietly leave late-night snacks in my office when I worked overtime. He would bring me hot chocolate when I was on my period. Back then, his eyes were full of stars whenever he looked at me. I opened my banking app on Snapchat. My heart turned to ice. Over the past six months, there had been dozens of large transfers from our joint account. The largest one was three months ago — five million dollars. I knew that amount too well. It was the seed money I personally approved for his new project. Now, it seemed that money had gone somewhere else. I called my assistant, my voice shaking uncontrollably. “Leo, track the GPS on Ethan’s Bentley. Find out where it is right now.” Half an hour later, Leo called back, his tone hesitating. “Olivia… the car is currently in the parking lot of St. Jude’s Women’s Hospital.” He paused, adding carefully, “I also checked his corporate card. He booked a top-tier luxury VIP suite and a premium postpartum care package at a private maternity clinic. The due date is next month. The registered mother is Chloe Jenkins.” Hearing that name, my chest tightened. She went to the same college as Ethan. After graduation, Ethan personally recruited her into the marketing department as his direct subordinate. A month ago, she submitted her resignation, claiming health issues. Ethan had sighed to me at the time, “What a waste of talent.” I hadn’t thought much of it then. Now, looking back, the warning signs were everywhere.

I grabbed my car keys and sped out of the house. I found them immediately in the VIP wing of the maternity clinic. Ethan was carefully holding Chloe. She was wearing a loose white maternity dress, her baby bump clearly showing. He was whispering in her ear, his eyes full of the same tenderness he used to reserve only for me. But today, he was wearing a bespoke suit, and the cufflinks on his wrists were a six-figure pair I had bought at an auction. The nervous, broke boy I once knew had been completely replaced by this pampered, wealthy businessman. For a second, my mind drifted. I remembered the first time I brought him to meet my father. He wore a faded, washed-out jacket, his palms sweating from anxiety. I walked toward them, step by step. “Ethan.” He whipped his head around, his grip on Chloe’s arm tightening instantly. Chloe saw me and shrank behind his back, her voice trembling. “Olivia…” I smiled, my eyes locking onto her swollen belly. “What are you doing here?” Ethan stepped in front of Chloe, shielding her. He frowned deeply. “If I didn’t come, were you planning to bring the baby home next month and have him call me mommy?” His face darkened, and he lowered his voice. “Olivia! Don’t make a scene here!” I laughed, amused by his sheer audacity. “Ethan, don’t you think you owe me an explanation?” He scoffed, his eyes coldly scanning me. After a long silence, he took a step forward, trying to hug me the way he used to. I stepped aside. His arms froze in mid-air, and his expression grew even uglier. “Fine, I admit it. I’m with Chloe.” He tilted his head, clenching his jaw. “She’s pregnant. The doctor said the pregnancy is high-risk and she needs constant care. What was I supposed to do?” Hearing him admit it still felt like a physical blow. I stared at him. “So? Ethan, let me remind you, we are married! You are cheating on me. That child she’s carrying is a bastard!” “I know!” he suddenly yelled, his patience snapping. “I’m not divorcing you! You will always be my wife!” “But what about her? She’s a young girl fresh out of college, completely alone in this city. Now she’s carrying my child. I can’t just abandon her!” He stared at me, his tone turning accusatory. “Olivia, you have everything. You have the Vance family backing you, endless resources. You are the golden girl, always looking down on everyone. But Chloe is different. She only has me. I cannot leave her.” I laughed out of sheer anger. “So, buying her a house and a car… was all to feed your fragile male ego?” My voice was ice cold. “But Ethan, you used my money to support your mistress, and now you want me to understand your ‘predicament’? The world doesn’t work that way.” Ethan’s face completely hardened. “Yes, I used your money.” “Olivia, I’ve never denied your ability, but this is reality. Your father is old. Vance Enterprises will be mine sooner or later. If I want to, I can make sure you end up with nothing very soon.” “Think about it.” “So,” I said, pausing after every word, “I deserve to be betrayed?” He stayed silent. Behind him, Chloe began to sob. “Olivia, please, I beg you. Just let us be together!” I glared at her. “Shut up. You don’t get a say here.”

I turned around and walked away without looking back. Back home, I looked at our wedding photo in the living room. Ethan was holding me tightly, smiling brightly against a backdrop of snowy mountains. That was right after he helped me close a massive European deal. We went on a trip to celebrate. He had told me, “You are my entire world. I will never betray you.” How pathetic. I sat in the dark living room, wide awake all night. The next morning, the doorbell rang. When I opened it, Chloe was standing there. She was wearing a white maternity dress, her belly prominent. Her eyes were red, and her voice was shaky. “Olivia… can we talk?” I poured her a glass of plain water and pulled out a chair. Chloe kept her head down, nervously wringing her hands. “We… we really love each other. Ethan told me that there’s no love left between you two. You’re only together because of corporate interests.” “And that money… I just thought, you’re so rich, you wouldn’t care about that pocket change…” I stared at her quietly, my eyes landing on her stomach. Deep down, I always knew Ethan stayed with me for the Vance family. My father was a titan in the business world. Countless people tried to climb their way up to him. Ever since I took over Ethan’s career, I gave him the platform, the resources, and paved every single road for him. I watched him grow from a nervous kid who couldn’t even deliver a proper toast, to the confident “Mr. Miller” who could charm any boardroom. He had told me a thousand times, “Marrying you is the greatest thing that ever happened to me.” Chloe clutched the glass, summoning the courage to look up at me. “Olivia, you already have so much. But Ethan is different. He doesn’t want to live in your shadow, or the Vance family’s shadow, for the rest of his life. He needs a woman who can look up to him, who worships him. Besides, you’re such a career-driven woman. Family and kids don’t even matter to you, do they?” My face instantly went cold. I slammed my glass onto the table. “Get out.” Chloe gasped, startled. My voice dropped to a freezing register. “Get. Out.” Her eyes welled with tears again. She stood up clumsily. Just as she reached for the door, I called out to her. “Chloe, Ethan and I are not divorced. You are, and will always be, just a homewrecker. Also, it took me seven years to groom him into the man he is today. You’re just picking up my trash. You should be thanking me.” I watched her walk away, feeling absolutely nothing. A few minutes later, Ethan called. His voice was laced with frustration. “Chloe came back crying. You’re so cold-hearted, Olivia. She’s a pregnant woman. Your words are like knives.” I let out a cold laugh. “You’re the one who caused all of this, and now you’re lecturing me?” He was silent for a moment, then sighed. “Olivia, we didn’t have to end up like this. Why can’t you just be happy as Mrs. Vance? In our circle, which man doesn’t have a side piece?” “I don’t. I guess I’m just different.” “Cut the crap, Ethan. You disgust me.” A soft sigh came through the receiver. “Olivia, then don’t blame me for what comes next.” The next morning, Leo called, his voice panicked. “Olivia, we have a massive problem! The merger with Astra Tech… has been blocked!” My heart sank. That project was something my team and I had worked on for six months. It was an $80 million acquisition — our most important strategic move for the second half of the year.

Leo’s voice was cracking. “Astra Tech just sent over a cease-and-desist letter from their lawyers. They claim we leaked their core trade secrets, causing their stock price to plunge! Not only are they pulling out of the merger, but they are also suing us for $30 million in damages!” I closed my eyes. The only person who could access those core files on my computer was someone closest to me. And Astra Tech’s main rival was none other than Carter Davis’s new startup — Ethan’s childhood best friend. This was a trap Ethan had set for me. Using my money to sabotage my project. What a brilliant play. I gripped my phone and drove straight to the office. The atmosphere in the boardroom was suffocating. Every single board member was present. My father sat at the head of the table, his face pale with rage. Ethan stood beside him, looking deeply remorseful. “Olivia, you’re here.” He immediately walked up to me, frowning with faux concern. “This is bad. Astra Tech is taking a very hard line. I’ve already contacted Carter to see if he can pull some strings to help us out.” He played his part so well. So well that even my father seemed to believe him. My dad looked at me, disappointment heavy in his eyes. I ignored Ethan, walked straight to the front of the table, scanned the room, and looked directly at my husband. “This was my mistake. I take full responsibility, and I resign.” My father slammed his hands on the table and stood up. “Nonsense! Olivia, is this the time to play the blame game?” Even Ethan was stunned. He opened his mouth to say something, but I didn’t give him the chance. “Dad, board members, I caused this massive loss to the company, and I am willing to bear the consequences.” I bowed deeply to the room. “As of today, I am stepping down from the board and resigning from all my positions at Vance Enterprises.” “I am handing all operations over to Ethan.” I looked up and smiled. “Thank you all for your support over the years. I wish the company nothing but success.” Ethan stood up, taking a step forward. “Olivia…” “Ethan,” I looked at him, my voice calm. “You win.” After that day, I never went back to the office. Rumors about my downfall spread like wildfire through high society. Ethan naturally took over my position, becoming the new face of Vance Enterprises, basked in glory. Someone snapped a picture of him and Chloe at a gala. He had his arm wrapped around her waist, gently touching her baby bump. They looked like the perfect power couple. People in our social circles were gossiping. “I told you, Olivia was too intimidating. What man could stand that?” “So what if she’s a billionaire heiress? Once her powerful father stepped back, the husband she raised for seven years took everything. She ended up with nothing.” “I heard she’s living in a tiny apartment now, crying herself to sleep every day.” I did move back to the small apartment we lived in when we first started out. But I wasn’t crying. I was just waiting for the right moment. Three months later, on Chloe’s birthday, Leo sent me an address. “Olivia, I found it. Ethan bought Chloe a mansion in the Hamptons. He’s throwing her a massive birthday bash there tonight.” I looked at the dark sky outside and smiled. “The game is over.” The mansion in the Hamptons was lit up like a Christmas tree. I pushed open the heavy front doors and immediately spotted Ethan in the center of the living room. He was holding Chloe’s hand, helping her cut a massive birthday cake. His friend, Carter, was standing right next to them. The moment I walked in, the room went dead silent. The smile on Ethan’s face froze. Chloe instinctively hid behind him. Ethan frowned, his voice dripping with annoyance. “What are you doing here?” I smiled, taking a step toward them. “How could I miss my ‘cousin’s’ birthday?” “And I didn’t come alone. Look who else is here.”

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I was born with a terrible sense of direction. Not only do I get lost easily, but I can’t tell north from south. Sasha refused to believe it. She claimed she would cure my “bad habit.” She even dragged Julian, my foster brother, and Ethan, my childhood neighbor, into her “special training.” Once, on a trip, they got off the train early and left me alone at the subway station. Another time, at the mall, they slipped out of a different exit without saying a word. They left me wandering like a headless chicken, desperately searching for them. They called it “helping me find my way.” Today, during dinner, I went to the restroom. When I came back, all three of them were gone. Even the table had been completely cleared. I wanted to call them. But when I reached into my pocket, I remembered I had handed my phone to Sasha earlier. I went to the front desk. The hostess handed me a note Sasha had left. It had only two sentences. “We’ve walked this path with you twice. I know you’ve memorized it by now. Go, Chloe!” “The three of us are waiting for you at home.” Suddenly, I found this “training” incredibly boring. Honestly, what’s so bad about having a poor sense of direction? As long as I have Google Maps, I can find my way without anyone else.

It was already evening when I got home. The three of them were sitting in the living room, eating ice cream and watching a movie. Sasha looked up and saw me walk in. She smirked victoriously at the other two. “I told you Chloe would make it home before seven.” “You guys lost. You have to let me plan our entire trip next month.” “Besides, since your term papers are basically done, it’s fine if we head back to campus a few days late.” Julian clicked his tongue. “Chloe, did you team up with Sasha to play us?” “Last time at the mall, it took you four hours to get back.” “This time, it didn’t even take you two.” Julian was my foster brother. My dad took him in when we were kids. His parents had a nasty divorce when he was in second grade, and neither of them wanted him. Growing up, my biggest wish was for my parents to give me an older brother. So, after making sure his mother really had abandoned him, I begged my parents to let him stay. At first, my dad didn’t agree. He tried to reason with me. “Chloe, he’s a human being, not a stray puppy. We can’t just take him in.” But Julian swore right in front of them that he would be the best brother to me. Seeing that the poor kid didn’t even have a warm meal to eat, my dad finally relented and took him in. And now, he had become Sasha’s “brother.” “Exactly. Be honest, Chloe. Did Sasha leave you hints?” The speaker was Ethan, my next-door neighbor. We grew up together. When we were kids, our parents used to joke that we were destined to marry each other. Ethan took it to heart. Knowing I had no sense of direction, he would wait for me every day after school to walk home together. Before Sasha showed up, from first grade to junior year of high school, we walked hand-in-hand for ten years. He had even promised me, “As long as I’m here, you’ll always find your way home.” But lately, he was the one who abandoned me the most. “I knew you two would make excuses for losing,” Sasha said, tossing my phone onto the coffee table. “That’s why I took Chloe’s phone in advance. Now you have to admit defeat.” The smile on Julian’s face stiffened. “Why didn’t you tell us you were going to do that?” Ethan’s expression darkened too. “What if something happened to Chloe? We wouldn’t even have been able to reach her.” Sasha looked confused and annoyed. “What is wrong with you two?” “Didn’t we agree to train Chloe together? You’re betraying the team.” Julian paused before speaking up. “Well, Chloe’s home safe, so let’s drop it.” “But don’t take her phone again next time.” Ethan remained quiet for a moment, then walked over to me. He grabbed my hands, checking me over to make sure I was okay. Only then did he let out a sigh of relief. “Sasha meant well. Don’t be mad at her.” “Julian left some watermelon in the fridge for you. I’ll go get it.” “No, thanks.” I grabbed my phone from the table and headed straight for my bedroom. “I’m tired. I want to rest.” Sasha froze, turning to Julian. “Is Chloe mad at me?” She looked a bit embarrassed and stood up to leave. “Maybe I should go. She probably doesn’t want to see me right now.” Ethan followed her. “It’s late. It’s not safe for you to walk home alone. I’ll drive you.” “I can drive her too,” Julian chipped in, not wanting to be left out. He quickly grabbed his shoes. Ethan pushed him back inside. “Come on, Sasha’s place is on my way. You live here, so there’s no need for you to go.” Julian glared at him. “Stop making excuses. You live next door. How is that on your way?” How ridiculous. Both of my childhood protectors were fighting over who got to drive her home. Yet, neither of them had asked me… How a girl with no phone and a horrible sense of direction had managed to find her way back on her own.

In the end, they forced Julian to stay behind. Once I was back in my room, I opened my phone, went to the student portal, and submitted my application for the study abroad program. At eight, my dad came home and made dinner. Julian knocked on my door to call me out. Seeing that I was ignoring him, he sighed. “Are you still mad at Sasha? You know how she is.” “She might be loud and dramatic, but she really cares about you.” During our junior year of high school, Sasha transferred to our school because of her parents’ jobs. On her very first exam, she blew everyone away, taking my spot in the top three alongside Ethan and Julian. A classmate who disliked me sneered in my ear. “Some people act so smug just because they have two guys protecting them. Now look at you. You can’t even hold onto third place.” Sasha happened to walk by and heard it. She immediately started a physical fight with the girl. Both of their parents were called in. But I was drawn to Sasha’s fiercely loyal, no-nonsense personality, and we became best friends. From then on, our trio became a squad of four. We even ended up going to the same college. Until I slowly realized… I was being pushed out of their world. Julian pulled the blanket off my head. “Alright, get up and eat.” My stomach rumbled. Believing that I shouldn’t punish my stomach just because I was upset, I got up to wash my hands and eat. At the table, Julian casually mentioned, “A new amusement park just opened in town. It has a massive Ferris wheel.” “Sasha invited us to go tomorrow.” I was about to decline when my dad spoke up. “My coworkers were talking about that place. You should go, Chloe.” “I remember how much you loved Ferris wheels when you saw them on TV as a kid. It’s a shame we never had one nearby. I was always too busy with work to take you out of town.” Since my dad put it that way, I swallowed my refusal. After dinner, our group chat was blowing up. Sasha was agonizing over what to wear for photos. She posted several pictures of different outfits. Julian and Ethan couldn’t agree. They had spammed over a hundred messages arguing about which was better. Finally, Sasha sent an angry voice note. “Who asked you two? I posted those for Chloe.” Then she added in a softer tone, “Chloe, you’re not still mad, right? I promise I’ll never do it again.” Ethan replied instantly on her behalf. “Don’t worry, Chloe isn’t that petty.” “You helped her with her directional issues. She should be thanking you.” “Right, Chloe?” Sasha believed him. She kept messaging me to pick the best dress. Ethan nudged me in the chat. “Don’t you think the blue dress suits Sasha perfectly? Even the store clerk praised her when she tried it on.” Julian, sitting next to me on the couch, muttered, “The clerk was just being polite. Ethan is such an idiot to believe them.” “That blue dress makes Sasha look washed out. The yellow one I picked is way better.” “She loved it when she tried it on, too.” “Chloe, we live under the same roof. You have to back me up.” I paused, then asked, “You guys bought those dresses in person?” “When? Why didn’t I know about this?” Julian was busy replying to Sasha. Without looking up, he said, “At the mall, on the third floor. You were there too. How did you forget so quickly?”

I froze, a self-deprecating smile forming on my lips. That day at the mall… I had only gone to grab our boba order. When I came back, they were gone. So while I was wandering like a headless chicken looking for them, they were busy helping Sasha try on dresses. No wonder none of them answered my calls or messages. Julian finally realized what he had just admitted. His fingers froze on the screen, and a look of embarrassment crossed his face. “My bad, I misremembered. You weren’t there.” “I wanted to call you, but that store only sells dresses, and you don’t really wear them.” I didn’t say a word. I just stared at him. He reached out to pat my head, but I flinched away. “Are you jealous?” “I’ll take you shopping next week and buy you a couple of outfits. How does that sound?” Maybe because I hadn’t replied in the chat for a while, Sasha initiated a group FaceTime call. I didn’t answer. Julian picked up and handed the phone to me. “Chloe, why aren’t you picking?” Sasha asked. “Is it really that hard?” Julian whispered next to me, “Just pick one. Otherwise, she’ll think you haven’t forgiven her, and she won’t sleep tonight.” I let out a soft laugh, refusing to give him what he wanted. “They both look great. Pick whichever you want.” Sasha complained that I was being half-hearted, but when we met at the amusement park entrance the next day, she was wearing the blue dress. She had chosen Ethan’s pick. A flicker of disappointment crossed Julian’s face. Sasha sent the two guys off to buy drinks and queue up, while she held my hand, walking slowly behind. “I knew you wouldn’t really hold a grudge. After all, we’re best friends.” I just smiled and didn’t reply. Since it was opening day, the park was packed. Most people were there for the giant Ferris wheel. But when it was finally our turn, Ethan and Julian started arguing over who would sit with Sasha. Ethan said, “You’re Chloe’s brother. Of course you should sit with her.” Julian retorted stubbornly, “Sasha wore the dress you picked. To be fair, she should sit with me.” The people in line behind us were getting impatient. Some began to grumble. “Are you guys getting on or what? Go argue somewhere else.” “Are they stupid? Why don’t the three of them just share one carriage? Is there really a need to fight?” The two of them snapped back in unison, “Who wants to sit with him?” But in the end, the three of them got into one carriage anyway. Their excuse was that a single carriage would be roomier for me. So, Julian and Ethan “generously” let me ride alone. Sasha pressed her face against the glass, looking down at me with puppy-dog eyes. “I’m so jealous that you get a whole carriage to yourself while I have to squeeze in with these two.” The girl standing behind me in line whispered to her boyfriend, “Is she serious? That’s such an obvious, disgusting humble brag.” “Keep your eyes open. That right there is a toxic girl. If you ever fall for that kind of act, I will kill you.” I instinctively looked back at her. She looked a bit embarrassed and quickly apologized. “Sorry, I was just joking. Don’t mind me.” I didn’t blame her. After all, she was just telling the truth.

The ticket collector couldn’t stand it either. He chimed in kindly, “Don’t sweat it, kid. I’ll call my son to come over and ride with you. Heck, you can go around twice.” He actually pulled out his phone. I smiled and waved my hand. “It’s fine, thank you. I actually prefer being alone.” When I got off the Ferris wheel, the three of them were gone again. This time, I didn’t panic or look for them. I calmly pulled out my phone and ordered an Uber home. My dad was home on his day off. He was surprised to see me back so early. “Back already? Have you eaten? Where’s Julian?” I didn’t answer. I sat down next to him and rested my head on his shoulder. “Dad, I want to go on an exchange program abroad next semester. What do you think?” “Of course. Go see the world while you’re young. It’s a great opportunity.” “With Julian with you, I’ll feel safe.” I shook my head. “Julian isn’t going.” “We’re adults now, Dad. We have our own paths. I can’t drag him into something he doesn’t want to do.” My dad hesitated. “But you’ve never traveled far by yourself. Going abroad all of a sudden…” I quickly explained, “I won’t be alone. There are other students from my college going too. I’ve already made a friend to travel with.” Only then did he reluctantly agree. Julian didn’t get home until evening. “Chloe, we just went to grab water. Why did you leave on your own?” I was filling out my study abroad documents and didn’t even bother to look up. “It was too hot. I didn’t want to wait.” Once I submitted everything, I noticed our group chat was at 99+ notifications. They were excitedly discussing what to pack, what sunscreen to buy, car rentals, and local food spots. I stared at the screen for a moment, then messaged: “Where are you guys going?” Down the hall, I heard Julian curse. He rushed into my room. “We bought tickets for a trip this afternoon… Since you weren’t there, we forgot to buy yours.” “Let me see if I can get you a standby ticket right now.” Sasha’s voice note played right then. “Don’t bother. Those were the last three tickets available. It’s all your fault, you two were arguing in my ear, making me forget the most important thing.” Seeing that they were about to bicker again, I texted: “No need to look for tickets. It’s too hot anyway. I’d rather stay home.” Julian, sitting next to me, let out a quiet sigh of relief and closed the ticketing app. “Yeah, this summer is brutal. It’s fine, I’ll take photos for you. If I see any cool souvenirs, I’ll bring them back.” The day they left for their trip was the same day I boarded my flight to go abroad. Before leaving, Julian nagged me. “Don’t eat too much cold stuff. Since Dad’s busy, don’t buy whole watermelons you can’t finish. Oh, and keep the door locked.” Ethan walked down the stairs, smirking. “Keep playing mother hen. I’m going to meet up with Sasha.” Julian gritted his teeth and followed him out. I watched their car disappear down the street. Only then did I roll my suitcase out of my room and head downstairs. Finally… I didn’t have to be the awkward third wheel in their three-person world anymore.

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