Author: Momo Chan

1 I’ve always been obsessed with hunting for bargains on secondhand apps. It wasn’t a hobby; it was a survival tactic to keep our heads above water. Marcus would hold me close, his voice thick with guilt. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m useless. I hate seeing you live like this.” I would brush it off with a smile. “Don’t worry about it. Secondhand stuff works just as well. Why pay retail when you can get the exact same thing for a fraction of the price?” One evening, I was scrolling through a thrift app, looking for a Lego set my six-year-old son, Toby, had been begging for. That’s when I stumbled across a seller who seemed too good to be true. Her profile was filled with high-end baby gear, designer clothes, and toys, all listed at throwaway prices. I messaged her immediately about the Lego set. She was incredibly sweet. When she found out I was a struggling mom, she even threw in a brand-new skateboard for free. Over the next few weeks, I bought several more things from her. Curiosity got the better of me, and I asked why she sold such valuable items for next to nothing. She laughed and said she didn’t need the money. Her husband absolutely adored her, showering her and their son with new gifts almost every day. She simply had no room to store it all, so she cleared it out online. We eventually added each other on Instagram. Her feed was a constant stream of domestic bliss, romantic gestures, and family outings. I watched from the sidelines, occasionally leaving a supportive comment, genuinely happy for her. Then came the photo that shattered my world. It was a shot from a family vacation. A young boy was piggybacking on a man’s back, turning toward the camera to flash a bright grin. My breath caught. The boy’s face. The man’s broad shoulders. I froze. My hands trembled so violently I almost dropped the phone. I zoomed in, closer and closer. The boy’s face was a miniature, carbon copy of my husband’s. And the man’s back… I had stared at those shoulders every night for eight years. I knew every curve, every line. I tried to scream at myself that it was just a bizarre coincidence, but the wall of denial crumbled instantly. I exited the app, my chest aching. I took a slow, shuddering breath, forcing down the urge to scream at Marcus. Instead, I went back to the thrift app and dug deeper. Using her seller handle, I tracked down her public Instagram account. Her name was Isla. I stared at her profile picture: two hands with fingers tightly locked together. Her bio read: M_and_I_Forever. Marcus and Isla. M and I. Mine. A cold, hollow laugh escaped my throat. There were over two thousand posts, a meticulous, sun-drenched archive of her perfect life with Marcus. Unlike her private accounts where he was kept in the shadows, here his face was proudly on display. I scrolled down, my heart sinking deeper into a cold, dark void with every swipe. Isla hadn’t been bragging; Marcus really did worship her. He bought her bespoke jewelry, took her on spontaneous trips to Paris and Rome, and spared no expense. I stared at Isla in her designer dresses, her flawless blowout, and her glittering diamonds. Then I looked down at my own faded, thrice-patched cotton dress. A suffocating lump rose in my throat. Marcus didn’t just have another family. He was worth millions. Yet, he played the part of a struggling blue-collar worker in front of me, claiming he made barely three thousand dollars a month at a dead-end desk job. I had starved my own needs, scrimped, and saved out of love for him, while he threw gold at her feet. What a pathetic joke. “Mom, look at the Lego castle I built!” Toby ran in, tugging my sleeve to show off his creation. Looking at his bright, innocent eyes, I had to swallow the bitter tears threatening to spill. My sweet boy had no idea that the secondhand toy he treated like gold was just a piece of trash Marcus had bought for another child, only discarded when the other boy grew bored of it. Isla’s son, Ollie, was only six months younger than Toby, but he looked so much healthier, taller, and stronger. He was a child raised on organic food, premium care, and effortless luxury. When Toby was a baby, my milk had dried up from stress. We couldn’t afford the organic formula, so I bought the cheapest generic brand on the shelf. As he grew, I tried to make sure he got enough protein, but with our tight budget, I had to ration our meals. Toby had always been smaller than his classmates. Marcus knew all of this. He had watched our son struggle and chose to do nothing. They say love is reflected in where a person spends their money. Marcus’s love was never with us. So, we wouldn’t give him ours anymore. I knelt down, brushing Toby’s hair out of his eyes. “Hey bud, how about we go to the diner for burgers and milkshakes? And then, we’re going to the store to buy you a brand-new Lego set.” Toby gasped, his face lighting up. “Really, Mom? I literally dreamed about chocolate milkshakes last night!” My heart shattered. “But Mom…” Toby looked back at the secondhand Lego on the table, his smile faltering. “If we spend all that money, will we have enough for the rent? We don’t need a new toy. This one is still really fun.” Seeing a six-year-old child worry about rent, seeing him learn to settle for crumbs, made me physically sick. “Toby, Mom has plenty of money. Don’t worry about a thing. Just be happy, okay?” I held him so tight I thought he might pop. When we got back, Marcus was already home. He stared at the brand-new Lego box and the bag of fresh groceries, a flash of cold annoyance crossing his face. “I just gave you the household budget for the month, Naomi. Why are you suddenly throwing money away like this? Since when did you become so irresponsible?” I kept my voice calm. “Toby, go play in your room for a bit, sweetie.” Toby looked at his father’s tense face, then ran into his room without a word. I turned to Marcus. “Irresponsible? Our son is six years old, and this is the first time in his life he’s ever owned a toy that didn’t belong to someone else first. You think that’s irresponsible?” Marcus flinched, pulling at his collar. “Naomi, that’s not what I meant. We just don’t have the budget for luxury items…” “Stop it, Marcus. Aren’t you tired of playing this stupid game?” I interrupted, my voice sharp. He blinked, his brow furrowing. “Naomi, what are you talking about? I don’t understand.” I didn’t want to waste another breath. I unlocked my phone, opened Isla’s Instagram page, and shoved it right in front of his face. “Eight years, Marcus. I had no idea I was married to such a calculating liar.” Marcus went completely pale. “No, Naomi, I can explain… I… I was going to tell you.” “Explain? Explain how you built a second family during our second year of marriage? Explain how you have millions in the bank while your wife and son live like beggars? Or explain how Isla and her son are the ones you actually care about?” “Naomi, don’t be so dramatic,” Marcus said, tearing off his tie in frustration. “Dramatic?” I laughed, the sound hollow and sharp. “While you were throwing thousands at Isla, I was fighting for pennies on thrift apps. While you took them around the world, I was losing sleep over the electric bill.” I pointed at the dusty box of secondhand Legos. “Do you know what that is? That’s the garbage Isla’s son threw away. Toby treated it like a treasure. Is Toby not your son? How could you do this to him?” A flicker of genuine guilt crossed Marcus’s eyes. He reached out to grab my hand, but I stepped back, leaving him clutching empty air. “Naomi, do you have to be so stubborn?” he grumbled, his guilt morphing into irritation. When I didn’t answer, his voice softened. “Look, whatever Isla and Ollie have, I promise you and Toby will have it too. I swear.” “Really? Transfer fifty thousand dollars to my account right now, then.” I held up my banking app. “You… money, money, money. Is that all you care about?” Marcus snapped, turning on his heel and storming out of the apartment. I watched him leave. Marcus, you don’t deserve a single second of the eight years I gave you. My phone buzzed. Isla had updated her Instagram. It was a clear photo of Marcus’s face. The caption read: Finally convinced my husband to show his handsome face. He was getting so tired of hiding. She knew exactly who I was. The thrift app, the friendly chats, the photo… it was all a game to her. The sheer disgust of being toyed with boiled over. I commented directly under her post: You really deserve an Oscar for this performance. Within seconds, my phone rang. It was Marcus. “Naomi, what the hell are you doing?” “She’s throwing her affair in my face, and you’re asking me what I’m doing?” “Isla isn’t like that. Just apologize to her, and we can move past this,” Marcus said, his voice cold and demanding. “Are you out of your mind, Marcus?” I spat. “Fine. Then you can figure out Toby’s school enrollment on your own,” he said impatiently. My heart stopped. Toby was supposed to start elementary school in the fall, and I had been struggling to secure a spot in a decent district. I never thought Marcus would weaponize our son’s education to protect his mistress. I couldn’t risk Toby’s future. “Fine. I’ll apologize.” That afternoon, I took Toby with me to Isla’s address. Even though I thought I was prepared, standing in the foyer of her massive suburban mansion made my chest tighten. He had built a paradise for them. Everything I had only ever seen in luxury magazines was scattered carelessly around the house. “Don’t just stand there. Come in,” Marcus said, his arm wrapped tightly around Isla’s waist as they walked down the grand staircase. “Are you ready to apologize?” “Marc, honey, let it go. This must be so hard for Naomi,” Isla murmured, her voice dripping with sweet poison. I took a step forward and bowed my head slightly. “I was jealous of you, Isla. I let my envy get the better of me. I am truly sorry.” Marcus looked surprised, a complex emotion flitting through his eyes. Before he could speak, Toby suddenly charged forward like a little rocket, shielding me. “Don’t you dare bully my mom!” he screamed at them. Before I could grab him, Ollie lunged and shoved Toby hard. Toby stumbled backward, losing his footing, and crashed into a massive ceramic vase. The vase toppled, shattering against the hardwood floor with a deafening crash. Sharp ceramic shards exploded everywhere. “Toby!” I screamed, my heart leaping into my throat. When I reached him, my breath hitched. Blood was pouring from deep cuts on his arms and legs, staining the white ceramic pieces crimson. Ollie stood nearby, clapping his hands with a nasty grin. “Serves you right! That’s what you get for yelling at my parents!” My mind went completely blank. All I knew was that I had to save my baby. I shoved Ollie aside and knelt beside Toby, tears streaming down my face as I cradled his shaking body. I looked up at Marcus and screamed, “Get the car! We need to go to the hospital right now!” Marcus panicked, grabbing his car keys and stepping toward us. But suddenly, Ollie let out a piercing shriek. “Daddy, it hurts! It hurts so bad!” Marcus froze, his eyes darting to Ollie. Isla burst into tears, wrapping her arms around her son. “Ollie, sweetie, did that woman hurt you?” Ollie nodded through big, theatrical tears. Isla looked at me, her eyes red and accusing. “Naomi, how could you lay your hands on a child?” I looked at Marcus’s darkening expression and felt my heart sink. “I didn’t hurt him! I just moved him out of the way! I barely touched him!” “He’s just a little boy, Naomi. Children don’t lie,” Isla sobbed, looking up at Marcus with trembling lips. “Marc, please, we need to get Ollie checked out. My chest hurts just looking at him.” Marcus turned around, scooped Ollie into his arms, and walked toward the front door with Isla at his side. “Marcus!” I cried out, desperate. “Toby is bleeding! He needs a hospital!” Marcus glanced back, a brief hesitation in his eyes, before he hardened. “It’s just a few scratches. He’ll be fine.” With that, he walked out. Watching his retreating back, something inside me died permanently. I picked up my bleeding son and stumbled out of the mansion. We hadn’t even reached the main road when the skies opened up, pouring freezing rain over us. Despair, heavy and suffocating, threatened to pull me under. For a split second, the thought of just giving up forever crossed my mind. But Toby seemed to sense my breakdown. “Mom, it doesn’t hurt. Don’t cry,” he whispered, reaching up with a trembling hand to wipe the rain and tears from my cheek. The gesture snapped me back to reality. I had to live. For my son, I had to be strong. “I’m here, baby. Mom’s got you.” Finally, a kind stranger driving by pulled over and rushed us to the emergency room. The doctor said the cuts were deep. Toby had to get several stitches in his arm and leg. He didn’t cry once. Instead, he reached up with his small, uninjured hand to cover my eyes. “Don’t look, Mom. I’m a big boy.” I couldn’t even speak. I could only nod, my tears soaking his hand. Over the next few days, I was consumed with taking care of Toby, changing his bandages, and desperately looking for school options. I had no time for anything else. Until my neighbor gently knocked on my door and told me to check my phone. I had gone viral. Isla had uploaded a heavily edited video of the incident at the villa. It showed me apologizing and then “shoving” Ollie, completely cutting out the part where Ollie pushed Toby into the vase. The internet was ruthless. Thousands of comments called me a bitter, unstable ex-wife trying to claw her way into a rich family, attacking an innocent child out of pure jealousy. Toby’s school admission was instantly rejected. The admissions officer told me flatly, “We cannot accept your son. The negative publicity is too much of a risk, and other parents would complain.” I didn’t go looking for Isla, but she came to me. We met at a quiet corner café. She sipped her cappuccino, looking down her nose at me. “How does it feel to have nowhere left to turn, Naomi?” “What do you want?” I asked, staring her down. “My son is starting school soon, but he doesn’t have a legitimate name,” she said, slowly stirring her cup. “You want my husband’s name. You want to be the new Mrs. Sinclair.” “You’re smarter than I thought,” Isla smirked. “I’ll sign the divorce papers. But I want half of everything Marcus owns.” “Don’t be greedy, Isla. If I were greedy, I would take him for every penny he has. He is the one who strayed.” “Don’t push your luck, Naomi. We’ll see who wins this,” she hissed, grabbing her designer bag and slamming her chair back as she left. I finished my coffee slowly, my heart hardening into steel. For my son, I would not sit back and take this. That evening, a massive expose hit the internet. Marcus’s phone began to vibrate violently. He looked at the screen with a smug grin, thinking I had finally cracked under the pressure and was calling to beg for a truce. But as he opened the trending local news app, his face drained of all color, and his hands began to shake.

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1 When my mother was pregnant with me, the Harrington family was teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. But the moment her pregnancy test came back positive, our family’s fortune shifted as if a divine hand had cleared our path. Warehouse stock that had been collecting dust for months sold out to a major European client within a week. A massive joint venture that had been stalled for six months was suddenly signed, with the partner voluntarily cutting their own profit share by two percent. Even our banks reached out, offering long-term loans with unprecedentedly low interest rates. My grandfather declared I was the family’s golden child, our lucky star. On the day I was born, he transferred twenty percent of the company’s shares directly to my name and announced to the entire board: “This child will be the future head of Harrington Enterprises.” Because of this, I grew up shielded from the harsh realities of the world, never having to compromise on anything. Until my twentieth birthday. My brother brought a woman named Vivian home to our estate for the party. While my brother went back inside to grab some dessert for me, she stood behind me near the edge of the outdoor pool. Without warning, she kicked me straight into the freezing water. “You’re just a girl destined to be married off to some other family anyway,” she sneered as I splashed. “What makes you think you have any right to inherit the Harrington empire?” I hauled myself out of the pool, dripping wet, shivering as the cold wind hit my skin. I glared at her, my voice laced with ice. “I don’t care who you are, sweetheart, but you might want to start planning your own funeral.” Vivian blinked, as if she had just heard the most ridiculous joke in the world. She let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Who do you think you’re threatening? You’re just a spoiled brat Grandfather ruined. You think you’re invincible?” Before I could tear her apart verbally, my brother, Austin, walked out carrying a plate of mango mousse. The moment he saw me standing by the edge of the pool, dripping wet, his face went completely white. He dropped the plate, the porcelain shattering on the stone tile, and rushed over. “Audrey! What happened? How did you fall in?” He immediately threw his tailored blazer around my shoulders, his hands hovering over my face in panic. “Are you alright? Come on, let’s get you inside to change.” I pushed his hands away, refusing to speak. I kept my eyes locked on Vivian. Vivian’s demeanor changed in a heartbeat. Her eyes welled with tears, her shoulders trembling delicately. “Austin… the moment you walked away, Audrey accused me of trying to steal her spotlight. She threatened to throw me into the pool. I was so terrified that I pushed her back, and she fell… Austin, please don’t be mad at me.” Austin’s brows furrowed as he turned to look at me. “Audrey, is that true?” Looking at my brother, completely blinded by this woman’s pathetic act, I let out a dry, humorless laugh. We had grown up under the same roof for twenty years. He knew my character, my pride. Yet he believed a stranger over me without a second thought. It was truly pathetic. I pushed my wet hair back from my forehead. “No. She kicked me in.” Austin’s face hardened instantly. He turned back to Vivian. “Vivian, is that true? Did you kick Audrey?” Vivian sobbed harder, her body practically collapsing into Austin’s chest. “Austin, please believe me, I would never… I just met her today. We have no history. Why would I do something so horrible to your sister?” She wept so violently she seemed to lose her breath, clinging to his shirt. “If Audrey doesn’t want me here, I’ll just leave. I don’t want to cause trouble…” Austin, completely intoxicated by her tears, didn’t question a single word. He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and glared at me. “Audrey, you’ve gone too far! Even if you don’t like Vivian, you shouldn’t lie like this to ruin her reputation!” My heart went entirely cold. I didn’t cry, and I didn’t scream. I just looked at him and smiled. “So, you believe her over me?” Austin’s scowl deepened, his tone dripping with impatience. “Audrey, Vivian is gentle and honest. She wouldn’t lie about this. If you felt threatened by her presence, you could have just told me and I would have taken her home. You didn’t need to resort to such a cheap, vindictive trick.” A dull, suffocating pain bloomed in my chest. This man, the brother I had trusted for two decades, felt like an absolute stranger. I took off his damp blazer and threw it at his feet. “Austin, I am telling you one last time: she kicked me. I am not lying.” Seeing my anger, Vivian let a tiny, triumphant smirk slip across her lips before burying her face back into Austin’s neck. “Austin, look at her… she’s so aggressive. Maybe I really should just go before I ruin your family.” She made a show of trying to pull away, stumbling slightly for dramatic effect. Austin held her fast, his gaze toward me turning into pure resentment. “Audrey, stop making a scene, alright? Today is your birthday. There are hundreds of guests inside. Do you have to make things so ugly? Look, just apologize to Vivian, and we can put this behind us. I won’t even tell Mom, Dad, or Grandfather.” Apologize? I almost laughed out loud. I was the one who had been assaulted, and now I was being ordered to apologize to the culprit? What kind of warped logic was this? I wiped the remaining water from my cheek. “Austin, you can be as blind as you want, but I am not stupid. Apologize to her? In your dreams.” I turned toward the mansion. “But since you’ve chosen to protect her, make sure you’re ready to handle the consequences.” Inside the estate, our butler gasped when he saw me. He immediately ordered the maids to fetch warm towels, a dry dress, and running hot water for a bath. Sitting in front of the vanity, looking at my reflection, my gaze slowly turned to steel. Since the day I was born, everyone had credited our success to my good luck. It had allowed my family to assume that my achievements were just the universe throwing me a bone. Perhaps it was time to show my claws. It was time to prove that my position in this family wasn’t built on luck, but on raw, unyielding capability. Vivian thought I was just a girl to be discarded. She thought the Harrington empire belonged to Austin. I was going to show her exactly what this “discarded girl” was capable of, and whether her precious heir could actually protect her when the storm hit. By the time I changed and walked back downstairs, the grand ballroom was still filled with music, laughter, and expensive champagne. Grandfather was sitting on a velvet sofa, conversing with several prominent board members. Seeing me, he immediately waved me over. “Audrey, sweetheart, come here. Say hello to Mr. Barlow.” I walked over, offering a polite smile. Grandfather took my hand, his brow furrowing as he felt my skin. “Why are your hands so cold? Where have you been?” Before I could answer, Austin and Vivian walked into the ballroom from the terrace. Vivian’s eyes were still red, her hand resting delicately on Austin’s arm, playing the perfect victim. Austin walked up to Grandfather, smoothing over the tension with a casual tone. “Grandfather, there was a minor misunderstanding out by the pool. Vivian accidentally bumped Audrey into the water. Audrey was a bit shaken up, which is why she took so long to come back down.” With one sentence, he dismissed a deliberate assault as an accident, and framed my absence as a childish tantrum. Vivian bowed her head, her voice soft and trembling. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Harrington. It was entirely my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Please don’t blame Austin.” Grandfather’s expression darkened instantly. He turned to me. “Audrey, tell me what happened.” I stood close to Grandfather, resting my hand on his arm, and recounted the entire event calmly. I didn’t exaggerate, and I didn’t leave anything out. I repeated Vivian’s exact words. Grandfather’s face grew black as thunder. He slammed his heavy mahogany cane against the marble floor. The loud crack echoed through the massive ballroom. The music stopped, and the chatter died instantly. Every eye in the room turned toward Austin and Vivian. Austin’s face pale, but he tried to stand his ground. “Grandfather, that’s not true. Vivian would never say those things. Audrey must have misheard.” “Misheard?” I looked at Austin, a cold smile playing on my lips. “There are high-definition security cameras facing the pool. Let’s pull up the footage and see who is telling the truth.” Grandfather slammed his hand on the armrest. “Exactly. Project the security footage onto the main ballroom screens right now.” The butler, who had been waiting nearby, immediately went to execute the order. But less than two minutes later, he returned, his face pale and his voice barely a whisper. “Sir… the security feed for the pool terrace… the lines were cut. They’ve been offline since last week.” The ballroom fell into a suffocating silence. The color returned to Vivian’s face. She looked at me with a sudden surge of arrogance, stepping out from behind Austin. “Audrey… you insisted there was footage. But the cameras have been broken for a week. You must have known that. What are you trying to do? Are you trying to drive me to suicide just to get your way?” Austin seized the opportunity, his brow furrowing with disappointment. “Audrey, Vivian already apologized for the accident. Why must you keep dragging this out? I tried to save your dignity, but you insist on making a scene. I suggest you drop it while you still can.” I looked at Vivian’s smug expression, and the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Out of all the cameras on this massive estate, only the pool terrace was offline. And Vivian just happened to attack me in that exact blind spot. If this wasn’t a coordinated setup, I was a fool. But with hundreds of high-profile guests watching, dragging out a dispute without concrete proof would only make me look hysterical. It would damage my standing as the heir. I suppressed the fury burning in my chest and let out a soft, mocking laugh. “Fine. Since the cameras are convenient offline, it’s my word against yours. Arguing further would only make me look like a bully.” I raised my glass to the room, my voice carrying clearly across the silent hall. “I apologize for the disruption, everyone. It was just a minor misunderstanding. Please, enjoy the rest of the evening.” The guests, relieved by the transition, quickly picked up their conversations, though their curious glances still drifted toward us. Grandfather’s hands were shaking with anger, his knuckles white on his cane. I squeezed his hand gently, whispering, “We will handle this tonight, Grandpa. Let’s keep up appearances for the guests first.” Looking at my calm, calculated expression, Grandfather managed to suppress his rage. He glared at Austin and Vivian, dismissively waving his hand. “I am too old for these childish dramas. I am retiring for the night. But let it be known; if I find out anyone has laid a hand on my granddaughter, they will learn exactly how ruthless I can be.” With that, his assistants escorted him upstairs. Once the crowd dispersed, Vivian walked over to me, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. She reached out to touch my arm. “Audrey, thank you for being so understanding…” I stepped back, avoiding her touch entirely. I walked past her without granting her a single glance. My retreat wasn’t out of fear. It was strategy. I knew that without proof, throwing a tantrum would only play into their hands. It was far better to let them believe they had won, to let them grow careless, while I uncovered who was pulling the strings. For the rest of the night, I played the perfect host, laughing and drinking with our associates. Austin tried to approach me several times, but I avoided him effortlessly. Believing I had accepted defeat, he spent the rest of the night introducing Vivian to our extended family, practically presenting her as the future lady of the estate. Looking at them, I realized my brother was entirely unfit to run this company. A man with his temperament would bankrupt Harrington Enterprises within two years. As soon as the party ended, I called my personal assistant, Alistair, into my study. Alistair had been with me for years; he was brilliant, highly capable, and fiercely loyal. He had managed all my private investments outside the family firm, a secret known only to Grandfather. “Ms. Harrington, you called?” Alistair asked, noting my tense expression. I sat at my desk and laid out everything that had happened by the pool. “I need you to investigate two things immediately. First, Vivian. I want her entire background; her family, her education, how she met Austin, and every detail of her schedule. Leave nothing out. Second, find out who was responsible for the estate’s security maintenance this past week. Find out who handled the pool terrace lines, and who authorized leaving them offline.” Alistair took swift notes. “Should we keep this from your brother?” “Absolutely,” I replied, taking a slow sip of water. “Keep it from my parents as well. This investigation must be entirely silent.” “Understood. I’ll have the initial reports by tomorrow morning.” “One more thing,” I added, recalling Vivian’s arrogance. “Check if Austin has been in contact with any outside investment firms lately, particularly those hostile to Harrington Enterprises. And run a check on his personal accounts for any massive, unusual transactions.” I wanted to believe in family. But his behavior tonight went far beyond being blinded by infatuation. If he was merely stupidly in love, I could handle him. But if he was actively plotting to destroy our family legacy… Well, he had just earned a permanent spot on my blacklist.

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1 After the miscarriage, my best friend booked me a session at a virtual-reality AI memorial studio. She told me that through immersive simulation, I would be able to hold my baby girl in my arms one last time before letting her go. My daughter had been stillborn at seven months, a tragic accident where the umbilical cord had wrapped around her neck. This memorial was supposed to be a fragile, digital balm for my shattered heart. Naturally, I called Thomas, asking him to come with me. But his voice through the receiver was flat, thick with irritation. “It’s all a marketing gimmick, Gemma. I already had a priest say a prayer for the baby. He’s in heaven now. Let it go.” He hung up before I could say another word. In the end, I went to the studio alone. When I finally stumbled out of the building, my eyes swollen and bloodshot from crying, I ran straight into Thomas. He was standing near the entrance, holding his graduate student, Serena, as she sobbed. They had just finished an AI memorial service for her deceased cat. A digital projection of a playful kitten was still bounding around their ankles. Serena, crying hysterically, threw her arms around Thomas’s neck. Thomas held her close, leaning down to gently kiss the tears from her face. That night, after wandering the freezing streets of Boston for hours, I returned home. The heels of my black pumps had worn my skin raw, and the biting wind had left me dizzy and feverish. The moment I crossed the threshold, I collapsed onto the sofa, my head spinning. A few minutes later, the front door opened. Thomas walked in carrying a bouquet of tulips and a boxed Mille-feuille pastry. Seeing me slumped on the sofa, he rushed over, kneeling before me and grasping my hands in a panic of guilt. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I was buried under peer reviews and thesis grading today, which is why I couldn’t make it to the studio. If you still want to do the service, I’ll take off work and go with you tomorrow. I promise.” He rambled on, but my mind was numb. My eyes drifted past him to the pastry box on the coffee table. When I had walked out of the memorial studio earlier, I had watched Thomas and Serena leave together. I couldn’t help myself; I had hailed a cab and followed them to the upscale shopping center downtown. I watched him take her to the very French bistro we had frequented since our college days. He ordered her favorite Mille-feuille, the exact dessert I loved. To cheer her up, he had bought her tulips from the boutique florist next door. I watched him smile, pluck the glazed cherry from the top of the pastry, and feed it to her. I had fled before the tears could blind me. Now, looking at the Mille-feuille on our coffee table, I saw the empty indentation where a single cherry had been plucked away. A bitter, dry burn rose in my throat. I pushed Thomas away, stood up without a word, and locked myself in the bedroom. He knocked on the door repeatedly, offering frantic apologies, saying he knew how much I was hurting after losing our baby and that he was a fool for prioritizing work. I buried my face in the duvet, sobbing until the pillows were soaked. Thomas slept on the sofa that night. He always did that. Whenever we had a disagreement, he would play the martyr, sleeping on the couch without even a blanket just to make me feel guilty. Usually, I would slip out of bed in the middle of the night, kick his leg to wake him up, and tell him to go to the guest room. By the next morning, the anger would be gone. But not tonight. I walked out silently and picked up his phone. The passcode was still my birthday. But his WhatsApp had a new pinned chat. I was number one, and Serena’s profile picture was number two. Unlike our dry, transactional messages about groceries or bills, his chat with Serena was alive, buzzing with messages every few minutes. It had started with academic questions, but quickly evolved into sharing their daily lives, meeting for breakfast before going to the clinic, and then, something far more intimate. She had sent him photos of herself in a silk slip, complaining about a bug bite on her neck. He had gone from short, professional replies to buying her soothing creams online. Last night, he had told me he had a breakthrough on a research paper and had to run to the clinic. In reality, Serena had messaged him: My cat passed away. I’m so heartbroken. I put the phone down, my tears spilling onto the cold screen. Later that night, he slipped into the bedroom, wrapping his arms around me and whispering, “I love you, wife,” before falling back asleep. I stared at his face, then quietly slipped out of bed, walked to the dining room, and tore the divorce papers I had drafted the night before into tiny pieces, throwing them in the trash. The next morning, he was gone, but he had left my favorite breakfast on the kitchen counter. My phone buzzed. It was Sasha, my best friend. “Did you talk to Thomas? What happened yesterday?” I had called her from the studio, so she knew I had seen him there. But I couldn’t bring myself to say the words out loud. I was still clinging to a desperate hope that it was all a misunderstanding. “I asked him,” I lied. “It was just a misunderstanding. She’s his student, and they ran into each other.” I turned off my phone, sat at the table, and began to eat. But as I chewed, my tears began to fall, splashing into my coffee cup. After breakfast, I called the assistant nurse at his dental clinic. “I’m ready to schedule my dental implant procedure. I can come in this afternoon.” Thomas is a dentist. In fact, he had chosen the profession because of me. As a child, I had terrible cavities and was absolutely terrified of dentists. When we were teenagers, Thomas had grown so frustrated with my tears that he declared, “Fine, I’ll become a dentist so I can fix your teeth myself.” After establishing his practice, he had imported a specialized titanium implant material from Switzerland, customized specifically for me, with a fifty-year warranty. I was supposed to get the procedure months ago, but my pregnancy had put it on hold. Now seemed like the right time, and it gave me an excuse to see Serena in person. But the nurse hesitated on the other end. “Oh, Gemma… Dr. Bennett already used that imported material for someone else.” My heart faltered. “Who?” “His new graduate student’s younger brother. The boy just finished his high school exams and needed the procedure before moving out of state for college.” I sat in silence, unable to process her words. It took her calling my name several times to bring me back. I muttered a quick thank you and hung up. I sat on the sofa for half an hour, staring at the wall, before dialing Thomas’s number. He answered almost instantly, his voice dripping with warmth. “Hey, sweetheart. Why are you calling at this hour?” “I was planning to come in for my implant today,” I said, keeping my voice remarkably level. “But your nurse told me you gave my customized Swiss material to your student’s brother. I wanted to ask what happened.” Thomas remained completely calm. “Ah, the nurse told you? That’s my fault, Gemma. I figured you wouldn’t be able to get the procedure this year anyway since you’re still recovering from the miscarriage. Serena’s brother really needed it before college. But don’t worry, I’ve already ordered another batch from Switzerland.” It was the first time in twenty years I had ever known Thomas to show such soft-hearted generosity to anyone other than me. He was naturally reserved, almost cold, barely speaking to his own parents. I opened my mouth, the bitter urge to scream rising in my chest. Did she beg you in your office? Did she beg you in your bed? But before the words could leave my throat, a sweet, youthful voice echoed on his end of the line. “Dr. Bennett, I’ve booked our table. Let’s go get lunch.” Without another word to me, Thomas hung up. Listening to the dial tone, the tears finally spilled over. At four in the afternoon, my phone rang again. “Sweetheart, some colleagues are gathering for drinks tonight, so I’ll be home late. Don’t wait up for me.” True to his new pattern, he hung up before I could reply. This time, I didn’t sit on the sofa and cry. I went to the bedroom, changed into a sleek dark dress, and took a cab straight to his clinic. I needed to see the truth with my own eyes. I arrived at six. The other dentists from his department waved to each other, getting into their cars in the parking garage and driving away. Thomas walked out, lit a cigarette, and stood by the entrance. Once he finished smoking, he took a detour to the secluded alley behind the clinic. Ten minutes later, Serena slipped out of the back door. The moment she saw him, she ran forward and threw herself into his arms. Thomas didn’t push her away. Instead, he cradled the back of her head and kissed her passionately. When she finally pulled back, breathless and flushed, she whispered something that made them both laugh. The scene looked agonizingly familiar. It was the exact mirror of when we were eighteen, hiding in the shadow of my parents’ house, sharing stolen kisses. I would push him away, blushing, saying, “Stop, what if my parents see us?” and Thomas would pull me back, growling, “Who cares? We’re adults.” Now, Thomas did the exact same thing. He pulled Serena back to him, deepening the kiss until they were both breathless. Then, holding her hand, he led her to the luxury SUV my parents had bought us as a wedding gift. They drove away. The cab driver turned to look at me in the rearview mirror. “Do you want me to follow them, ma’am?” My tears were silent, hot as they tracked down my face. “No. Take me to Sasha’s law firm, please.” When I walked into Sasha’s office holding a six-pack of beer, she looked up from her desk in surprise. “Gemma? What are you doing here? I have three divorce files to draft tonight, I don’t have time to listen to you brag about your husband.” I set the beer on her desk, cracked open a can, and took a long swig. “Let me skip the line. I need a divorce.” Sasha’s pen slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the hardwood floor.

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1 I’ve been able to understand animals since I was born. When I was three, the old golden retriever at my grandma’s house started barking frantically at me. [Don’t drink that! There’s rat poison in the soup!] I got so scared I knocked the bowl of chicken soup off the table. Half an hour later, a rat that licked up the spill on the floor dropped dead by the baseboard, foaming at the mouth. When I was seven, the neighbor’s pet canary spent all day cursing out their nanny. [Thief! Stole the money and hid it under the bed!] The police did a search and found the missing three thousand dollars exactly where the bird said it was. Fast forward to today. I was waiting in the ER to pick up my dad from his shift when a chaotic scene broke out. The young daughter of a powerful, old-money heiress had been bitten by a snake. The heiress’s fiancé rushed into the ER. His own hand was swollen from a snakebite, but he didn’t care. He practically shoved a clear plastic container with a snake in it right into my dad’s face. My dad, an ER doctor with twenty years of experience, immediately identified it as a cobra and ordered the nurses to prep the cobra antivenom for the little girl. But suddenly, a piercing, frantic series of barks erupted from a fluffy Pomeranian near the door. [That’s not the snake that bit the little master!] [That man swapped the snakes! He wants to marry into the rich family, but he doesn’t want to be a stepdad! He’s intentionally misleading the doctor to let her die!] [The snake that actually bit her was a King Cobra!] My pupils contracted violently. I yelled out before I could stop myself. “Dad, stop! You can’t just give her cobra antivenom! You need to give her banded krait antivenom too!” The entire emergency room froze and stared at me. My dad looked utterly confused. “Leo, a cobra bite only requires one type of antivenom. We don’t need the banded krait serum.” I took a step forward. “But what if the snake that bit her wasn’t this one? What if it was a King Cobra?” The moment the words left my mouth, the man claiming to be the heiress’s fiancé went completely pale. That was all the confirmation I needed. The Pomeranian was telling the truth. This guy had swapped the snakes. I looked at my dad, keeping my voice steady. “Dad, you know a King Cobra bite delivers both neurotoxins and cytotoxins simultaneously. A single antivenom isn’t going to be enough.” My dad was a veteran of the ER. He was sharper than most. Hearing me lay it out like that, his expression shifted. “But her current symptoms align perfectly with a standard cobra bite. And the family brought the specimen right here…” [He’s full of crap!] The Pomeranian was jumping up and down in a panic, wagging its tail so hard it looked like a helicopter blade. [Adam intentionally sent the nanny away and had someone release a King Cobra through the garden fence!] [After the little master was bitten, he let the King Cobra escape, pulled out this regular cobra he had prepared beforehand, and let it bite his own hand!] [If the doctor only gives her one antivenom, she is going to die! And then the mistress will definitely make the doctor take the fall for it!] I sucked in a sharp breath. This guy was pure evil. He wasn’t just trying to murder a little kid; he was setting my dad up to take the blame for medical malpractice. Before I could say another word, Adam, who had just finished receiving his own dose of antivenom, lashed out. “Who the hell are you? Do you know spouting nonsense in an ER can kill someone?!” The tear tracks on his face were still wet, but his eyes were sharp and vicious. “I’m warning you. This is the granddaughter of the Sterling family! If you delay her treatment, you won’t be able to afford the consequences!” I didn’t back down an inch. “You’re the one delaying her treatment! You want the Sterling family fortune, but you don’t want the baggage of a stepdaughter. So you came up with a sick plan to swap the snake and mislead the doctors.” “You thought you could walk away with clean hands, inherit the money, and even look like a tragic hero who tried to save her!” The ER went dead silent. Every single pair of eyes snapped to Adam. Except for the Pomeranian, who was staring at me in absolute shock. [You can hear me?!] It read my expression and went completely wild with excitement. [Oh my god! Yes! The little master is saved! Finally, someone is exposing this evil man!] Adam’s face lost all its color. He clearly couldn’t fathom how I knew the exact details of his plan. But he was a good actor. He regained his composure in a split second. “Do you have any proof of this insane conspiracy theory? Keep spouting this garbage and I will sue you for defamation!” I ignored him. I turned to look at the Sterling family patriarch, a distinguished older gentleman standing near the bed. “Sir, please believe me. The little girl was bitten by a King Cobra.” “If you only administer one type of antivenom right now, the neurotoxins in her system will go untreated. She won’t survive the night.” The old man’s deeply lined face was tense with anxiety. He hesitated. “Adam… are you absolutely sure this is the snake that bit Kayla?” He asked it gently, but Adam instantly made his eyes red and glassy, putting on a masterful display of wounded grievance. “Grandpa, you’ve seen how much I love Kayla. You know how good I am to her.” “I was so terrified she would be misdiagnosed that I chased down the snake with my bare hands, knowing I would get bitten! Why would you listen to the crazy ramblings of a total stranger over me?” “If you still don’t believe me, ask the nanny! She was right there when it happened!” Everyone’s gaze shifted to the middle-aged nanny hovering nervously in the corner. She was already terrified because her negligence had led to the child getting bitten. Hearing Adam essentially offer her a lifeline, she immediately nodded vigorously. “Y-Yes… sir, little Kayla was definitely bitten by this exact snake.” “It came out of nowhere, bit her, and tried to slither away. Mr. Adam reacted so fast, he just threw himself at it to protect her.” The Pomeranian was grinding its teeth in pure rage. [I spit on you! This man is the biggest faker in the world! He bribed the nanny months ago to find out everything the little master liked, just so he could suck up to the family and get engaged to the mistress!] [Behind their backs, he calls the little master a burden! He even calls the old man a half-dead geezer!] [But look at the old man’s face! He’s getting soft! He’s going to fall for it!] Just as the dog predicted, the old man hesitated for a few seconds before sighing. “Adam, forgive me. My mind is just clouded with panic. I didn’t mean to doubt you.” “Doctor, go ahead with the cobra antivenom.” My dad knew I wasn’t the type to cause a scene without a reason. He had been quietly but intensely observing the little girl’s symptoms this entire time. “Sir, I strongly advise we exercise caution here. The patient is already beginning to exhibit subtle signs of neurotoxicity…” Before he could finish his sentence, the Director of the ER shoved his way through the crowd and yanked my dad aside by the arm. “Dr. Hoffman! The family literally brought the specimen with them! What is there to hesitate about?!” “This is the Sterling family! We need to administer the antivenom immediately! If you delay this any longer and something happens to that child, who’s going to take the fall? Because it won’t be me!” The Director glared at me, his face turning an ugly shade of purple. “And why are you letting your son run his mouth in my ER?! He’s a vet med student! What does he know about human clinical toxicology?!” My dad’s brow furrowed, ready to argue back, but Adam exploded first. “Director Vance! Is this how the doctors in your hospital operate?!” He lifted his chin, radiating arrogant entitlement. “I risked my own life to catch this snake, and you’re going to ignore the hard evidence because a vet student had a hunch?!” “It seems I need to have a serious conversation with my father about pulling the Adam Corporation’s funding for this hospital next quarter.” Director Vance’s face instantly went sheet white. The Adam Corporation was the hospital’s largest private donor. They funded millions in medical equipment procurement every year. Vance didn’t hesitate for half a second. He whirled around and screamed at my dad. “Dr. Hoffman! Administer the cobra antivenom immediately! This is a direct medical order!” “If you don’t execute it right this second, you can pack up your locker and get the hell out of my hospital!” My dad looked down at the little girl on the bed. She was seven years old. The swelling on her arm was traveling rapidly up her lymphatic vessels toward her shoulder, and she was crying weakly in pain. He took a deep breath, turned to the nearest nurse, and spoke with absolute clarity. “Nurse Sarah. Go to the pharmacy and pull the banded krait antivenom.” Director Vance’s eyes bulged out of his head. “Are you insane?! She was bitten by a standard cobra!” My dad’s voice was rock solid. “I am the attending physician for this patient. I have the ultimate authority to determine the treatment plan based on clinical presentation.” Nurse Sarah froze for a second, then nodded and turned to run toward the pharmacy. Adam panicked. He lunged forward and grabbed Sarah by the sleeve of her scrubs, his voice pitching high. “Don’t you dare! Kayla was bitten by a cobra! If you pump her full of unnecessary antivenom and she dies from toxic shock, who is going to take responsibility?!” He whipped his head toward the Director. Director Vance was sweating profusely. He yelled at my dad. “Dr. Hoffman, wake up! Mr. Adam and the little girl were bitten by the exact same snake!” “Mr. Adam is showing absolutely zero signs of neurotoxicity! He only has localized swelling!” But that only made my dad more confident. “Exactly. Putting aside what species of snake it is, why would two people bitten by the exact same snake exhibit two completely different physiological reactions?” Someone in the crowd of onlookers muttered quietly. “Yeah… why are their symptoms different?” “Could the kid be right? Did this guy really swap the snake because he didn’t want a stepkid?” “It’s totally possible. Remember that crazy true crime case on the news last month?” Adam’s face visibly tightened, but he recovered fast. “It’s obvious! I’m a full-grown adult with a strong immune system. My body metabolizes venom differently. Kayla is a small child, so the toxins are overwhelming her system!” “Plus, I already received the antivenom and I’m fine. That proves it’s the right treatment!” Director Vance nodded frantically like a bobblehead. “Mr. Adam is absolutely right, this is basic physiolo—” Before he could finish, a woman in a sleek black trench coat strode into the ER, flanked by four massive bodyguards. Maya Sterling, the heiress herself, looked at her daughter lying on the bed, her jaw tightening so hard it looked like it might snap. “What is going on? Why hasn’t she received the antivenom yet?” Adam threw himself at her, trembling and crying. “Maya! It’s this vet student! He keeps physically blocking the doctors from giving Kayla the shot! I caught the cobra with my own hands, but he keeps insisting it was a King Cobra! He’s trying to force them to give her a second, highly toxic antivenom! He’s literally trying to kill her…” Maya didn’t even look at him. She took a step forward, her freezing, calculating gaze landing directly on my face. “You’re claiming the snake that bit my daughter isn’t the one in that box. What proof do you have?” The Pomeranian was going absolutely feral, jumping and barking at Maya’s ankles. [Mistress! Mistress! I told the nice boy! I saw it with my own eyes!] Unfortunately, Maya couldn’t hear the dog. But I could definitely feel the intense, suffocating pressure of her stare. Proof? What proof did I have? Was I supposed to tell a billionaire heiress that I heard it from her fluffy lap dog? She’d lock me in a psych ward. Seeing that I was temporarily speechless, a flash of smug triumph crossed Adam’s eyes. “See? I asked him for proof earlier and he couldn’t produce a single thing! He’s just deflecting and throwing insane accusations at me to delay Kayla’s treatment!” “Maya, it’s been almost an hour since she was bitten! We have to give her the shot now!” Maya finally turned her head to look at him. “You seem very eager.” Her eyes were completely devoid of emotion, but something about the way she said it made Adam flinch. “N-No… I’m just terrified for Kayla. Even I feel dizzy and sick, and I’m an adult who already got the antidote.” Maya acted like he hadn’t spoken. She turned her icy gaze back to me. “I checked the security footage from the estate. Kayla ran into a blind spot in the garden. The cameras didn’t catch the bite. Did you see something?” I was desperately trying to figure out how to spin a believable lie when the Pomeranian started barking frantically again. [The Boss! Find the Boss! There’s a stray tabby cat that lives in the garden! The little master always feeds her, and the Boss loves her!] [After the little master got bit, I saw the Boss chase after the snake! The other strays followed her! They’re definitely going to avenge the little master!] A tabby cat? I’m a vet med student. I know animal behavior. A cat’s reaction time is ten times faster than a snake’s. To a street-smart stray cat, a snake is basically just a very spicy string toy. If what the Pomeranian was saying was true, the tabby had definitely caught it. I looked up at Maya, radiating absolute confidence. “Ms. Sterling. The cameras might not have caught it, but you can send your security team to sweep the perimeter of your garden. Check every inch outside the fence, specifically anywhere the stray cats congregate. The snake that actually bit your daughter is going to be right there.” Adam’s face warped in horror. “Are you insane?! I already caught the snake! You’re sending people on a wild goose chase just to—” I let out a dry laugh, cutting him off completely. “Mr. Adam, for a guy who just claimed to be dizzy and sick, you’re awfully energetic. What exactly are you so terrified of? Are you scared they’re going to find the snake? Or are you scared they’re going to find something else?” “You—!” He realized he was overreacting and forced himself to calm down. “What do I have to be scared of? My conscience is perfectly clear! But if Kayla suffers permanent nerve damage because of your little stunt, you will pay for it!” I ignored his empty threats and kept my eyes locked on Maya. “The golden window to administer antivenom is two hours. I’m sure the Sterling family’s security team is efficient enough to sweep a garden in a fraction of that time.” “But if you inject the wrong antivenom right now, there is no undo button. It’s your call.” I had done everything I could. If they insisted on giving her the wrong treatment, it was out of my dad’s hands. I just had to pray that this woman wasn’t the type of mother to let her kid die just because her fiancé told her to. Maya stared at me for two long, agonizing seconds. Then she pulled out her phone. “Sweep the garden. Find the snake.” I had barely let out a sigh of relief when she locked eyes with me again. “Listen to me very carefully. The golden window might be two hours, but every minute counts. If my daughter suffers any lasting neurological damage because of this delay, I will personally destroy your life.” So I try to do a good deed and get a death threat in return? Nice. But there was a kid’s life on the line. I swallowed hard and nodded. “Understood.” Now I just had to pray to God that the street cat actually won the boss fight against a King Cobra. The next ten minutes felt like ten years. My dad stood by the bed, continuously checking the little girl’s blood oxygen levels. Director Vance paced back and forth, muttering under his breath. “We’re dead. If the Sterling family blames the hospital, the entire ER is going down… no, the whole hospital is finished.” The Sterling patriarch was frantically rolling a string of wooden prayer beads through his fingers, murmuring silent prayers. Adam was staring daggers at me, his eyes practically dripping poison. The Pomeranian was lying flat on the floor by my feet, its ears pressed against the tile, its tail thumping rhythmically. [The Boss definitely killed it. I just hope those stupid bodyguards aren’t blind…] Ten minutes later, Maya’s phone rang. She answered it. Slowly, a deep crease formed between her brows. She hung up, looked at me, and her eyes turned utterly lethal. “They swept the garden three times. They checked a ten-mile radius. Aside from a few feral cats, there is no King Cobra.” [Impossible! The Boss would never let it get away!] The Pomeranian jumped up in a panic. My heart sank into my stomach. Did the cat lose? Adam instantly burst into dramatic, heaving sobs. “Maya! I told you he was just stalling! Please, tell the doctors to give Kayla the shot before it’s too late!” Maya’s gaze on me was colder than liquid nitrogen. She raised a single finger, gesturing to her bodyguards. “Take him to the police station.” Two massive men in suits stepped forward and grabbed my arms. The Pomeranian let out a miserable, high-pitched whine. [It’s over… it’s over… the little master is dead…] As the bodyguards started dragging me toward the door, I fought back, screaming at the top of my lungs. “You can’t just give her one shot! You’re going to kill her!” Adam stepped up and slapped me hard across the face. “Shut your mouth!” “What King Cobra? What stray cats? You made up this entire psychotic fantasy just to delay Kayla’s treatment!” “Who paid you?! Was it one of Maya’s corporate rivals?!” He was working himself into a frenzy. He raised his hand to slap me again. My dad, who was being restrained by hospital security, screamed, his voice breaking. “Don’t touch my son! He doesn’t lie!” Adam whipped around and roared at my dad. “He didn’t even see the snake and he’s screaming about a King Cobra! If that’s not lying, what is?! You two are in this together!” “This whole snake incident is suspicious! He won’t tell the truth until he learns a lesson. Throw him in the back of my car! I’ll interrogate him myself!” “And grab his dad too! He’s probably an accomplice!” Adam smiled smugly as the bodyguards dragged me closer to the automatic doors. The Pomeranian was desperately biting at the hem of Maya’s trench coat. [No! It’s not true! The nice boy didn’t lie!] [Don’t let him take the nice boy! Adam will torture him!] Maya glanced down at the little dog tugging on her coat, a slight frown on her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could— A golden-brown blur launched itself through the sliding glass doors of the ER. With a wet, heavy thud, a six-foot-long, dark brown snake was dropped onto the sterile white tiles. A ragged, battle-scarred tabby cat sat down next to it and casually started licking its paw. “Meow.” [I’m exhausted. It took me forever to find out which hospital the kid was at. Better not be too late.] The second Adam’s eyes locked onto the mangled corpse of the King Cobra on the floor, his face drained of every single drop of blood.

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1 Christopher Reed was an internationally renowned, award-winning photographer. But in his entire career, he had never once shot a human portrait. I had begged him countless times, practically wearing myself out trying to convince him to do a photoshoot for me, but he politely declined every single time. He was always so gentle, yet so distant. “You know I never shoot portraits. It’s just not what I’m good at.” Until the day I accidentally pushed open a hidden door in the back of his latest gallery exhibition. When I flicked on the light switch, my fingers began to tremble uncontrollably. The hidden room was plastered with hundreds of portrait photographs. And from the very first frame to the last, the subject was the exact same girl. I walked along the wall, looking at them one by one. In some, her eyes were crinkled in a bright, beautiful smile. In others, her gaze was lowered in quiet contemplation. The lighting, the composition, the use of shadow—every single element was breathtakingly tender. It was impossible to hide the absolute devotion and sheer favoritism of the man behind the lens. At the bottom of one of the photographs, a single line of handwritten text made my eyes burn with tears. I told you, in this lifetime, my lens will only ever focus on you. Stella. It turned out he wasn’t bad at shooting portraits. It was just that the exclusive muse of his lens was never meant to be me. … I stumbled out of the hidden room, my face as pale as a ghost. “Chloe, where did you run off to? You know how chaotic opening day is for the exhibition.” Christopher had walked up to me out of nowhere. He didn’t even notice my bloodless face; he just looked annoyed as he shoved a stack of documents into my hands. “You’re going to have to handle the wrap-up and post-exhibition press. I just got a sudden burst of inspiration, and I need to fly to Aspen immediately to shoot a snow series.” My entire body went rigid. My mind instantly flashed to a social media post I had just seen when I searched Stella’s name five minutes ago. Next stop, Aspen! Wait for the gorgeous snow shots, guys! Stella was a travel influencer. She spent the entire year jet-setting across the globe. I had scrolled through the travel photos on her feed. Every single one of them had the exact same photographic signature. It was Christopher. Which meant, for the ten years Stella had been a travel influencer, Christopher had been traveling right alongside her. And for the six years I had been married to him, I was completely kept in the dark. Every time he packed his bags, I thought he was going on an intense, grueling work trip. I had no idea he was just flying out to be Stella’s personal photographer. My throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton. It hurt to swallow. I forced the words out. “But the exhibition just opened. You’re the featured artist, you can’t just leave. Can’t the photos wait until next…” “Aren’t you usually great at handling these things?” he cut me off, clearly losing patience. “Besides, an artist’s inspiration is the most important thing. I have the vision now, so I have to shoot now. If the inspiration fades, what’s the point?” “I already booked the flight. You handle things here.” Without giving a single damn about what I thought or felt, he turned on his heel and strode toward the exit, rushing to meet another woman. Watching his anxious, hurried back disappear into the crowd, a sudden wave of dizziness hit me. For years, I had managed the house, managed his finances, and handled every tedious, exhausting detail of his gallery shows. I wasn’t his wife. I was his live-in assistant. His maid. Just then, his junior assistant came jogging up to me, looking panicked. “Mrs. Reed! I just saw Mr. Reed leave… but he has a very important networking dinner tonight with Mr. Sterling. Mr. Sterling just bought four massive prints today. He’s a VIP client.” “Are you… going to cover for Mr. Reed again tonight?” The assistant looked incredibly stressed. “If Mr. Reed blows him off completely, Mr. Sterling is going to be furious…” Christopher had always despised networking. He felt rubbing elbows with corporate executives ruined his “artistic aura.” So, for the last few years, I was the one who handled all the schmoozing. I used to be a complete lightweight, but after years of corporate dinners, I had developed a liver of steel. I looked at my reflection in a nearby glass pane. I looked exhausted. My eyes were dull, completely worn down by the stress of corporate pleasantries and business deals. And then I thought of Christopher. Thirty years old, but still looking like a pristine, untouched bohemian artist who had never worried about a single practical thing in his life. I suddenly felt like a stranger in my own body. I used to hate networking too. When did I slowly morph into someone I didn’t even recognize? Seeing that I wasn’t speaking, the assistant nervously tried again. “Mrs. Reed… maybe you should call Mr. Reed and talk to him?” I snapped out of it and looked at the assistant. “Call Mr. Sterling. Tell him Christopher had a sudden burst of inspiration, flew to Aspen, and won’t be able to make the dinner.” If Christopher didn’t care about his own career, if he was willing to throw away his VIP clients to go play in the snow with Stella, why the hell should I keep wiping his ass for him? But in the end, I still went. I had been the one to personally invite Mr. Sterling to the gallery. It was my responsibility to see it through. When Mr. Sterling walked into the private dining room and saw I was alone, his face darkened, and his tone turned sharp and mocking. “Mrs. Reed. Let me guess. Is Christopher physically sick today, or is he mentally sick today?” “Or is he just too much of a visionary to stoop to having dinner with a lowly businessman like me?” In the past, whenever Mr. Sterling insulted Christopher like this, I would instantly jump to defend my husband, even if it meant offending the client. This time, I just smiled. I poured myself three shots of whiskey, downed them back-to-back, and then gave Mr. Sterling a deep, formal bow. “Christopher said he had a burst of inspiration and flew to Aspen. That is why he cannot be here tonight.” “But I am not here tonight as Christopher’s representative. I am here as Chloe, to personally thank you for supporting my work in organizing the exhibition.” Mr. Sterling looked genuinely surprised. He clearly hadn’t expected me to stop making excuses for Christopher. “You’re a hell of a lot more professional than he is,” Mr. Sterling grunted. “But three shots aren’t going to put out this fire.” I gave him a bright, practiced smile. “I understand perfectly.” I proceeded to kill an entire bottle of top-shelf whiskey on my own. Mr. Sterling finally nodded in approval. “Alright. You’ve earned my respect, Chloe. We don’t need to mention your husband again tonight.” After Mr. Sterling left, my body finally gave out. I collapsed right there in the private room. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. A perforated ulcer. “You need emergency surgery right now. Get a family member here to sign the consent forms,” the doctor said, holding a clipboard. I took the clipboard from his hand and signed my own name. “My husband is dead.” The doctor blinked in shock, but wisely chose not to say another word. After the surgery, I packed up all my work files, along with one specific manila envelope, and handed them over to Christopher’s assistant. “From now on, anything regarding the gallery exhibitions has absolutely nothing to do with me. If there’s an issue, call Christopher.” “And make sure he signs the papers inside that envelope.” While I was recovering in my hospital bed, I opened Stella’s social media. She had just uploaded a new album. She was wearing a stunning red dress, standing against a backdrop of snow-capped mountains. The caption read: I told him I wanted to shoot a snow series, and he dropped everything at work to fly out with me. After all these years, he hasn’t changed a bit. The comment section was a flood of envy. “Omg, is the photographer your husband? He’s so talented!” “These are breathtaking! I want a shoot like this! Can I rent your photographer? I’ll pay top dollar!” Stella actually replied to that last comment. He promised me that in this lifetime, I would be his only human subject. So, sorry, no can do! [wink emoji] The replies under that were just endless screaming about how romantic it was. I closed the comment section and started packing my things in my hospital room. When I finally got back to our house, I dug through the bottom of the closet and found a stack of portrait photography textbooks. Seeing them pulled me into a painful memory. Back then, the only reason I agreed to go on a blind date with Christopher was because I loved photography. I thought that when we traveled, he could take beautiful pictures of me. But after we got married, we never traveled together. And he never took a single picture of me. I used to beg him. He would just say he wasn’t good at shooting people. When I badgered him too much, he promised that once he “practiced enough,” he would finally take my picture. So I bought him all these expensive portrait photography textbooks, hoping that one day he would pick up his camera and point it at me. But in six years of marriage, he never took a single photo of me. Not one. I remembered one specific day. I needed a standard passport-style headshot for an electronic visa application. I was in a massive rush, so I asked him to just snap a quick picture of me with his iPhone against a white wall. “It doesn’t require any artistic skill,” I pleaded. “Just take a quick picture, I really need it right now.” His face went completely cold, and he rejected me flat out. “I am a professional photographer. The word ‘quick’ does not exist in my vocabulary.” “Forcing me to shoot a portrait when it’s not my specialty is a direct insult to my profession. Ask someone else.” He slammed the door and left the house. In the end, I had to knock on my neighbor’s door and beg them to take the picture for me. After that fight, I actually had to write him an apology letter, promising I would never ask him to take my picture again, before he reluctantly agreed to come home. Looking back on it now, I was so incredibly pathetic it was almost funny. I picked up the textbooks and threw them straight into the trash can. I wouldn’t be needing them anymore. “What are you doing?” Christopher had just walked through the front door, dragging his suitcase. He pointed at the trash can. “Didn’t you buy those books for me? Why are you throwing them away?” I didn’t even look at him. “They’re taking up space. It’s not like you’re ever going to read them.” He frowned, clearly annoyed. “What’s with the passive-aggressive attitude? You know how busy I am. When would I have time to read those?” “I already told you I’m not good at portraits. You’re the one who tried to force me to do something I’m not comfortable with, and now you’re throwing a tantrum about it. You’re crossing a line, Chloe.” I opened my mouth, a split second away from screaming at him about the hidden room full of Stella’s portraits. But I swallowed it down. “I won’t force you anymore.” I turned my back to him and went back to packing my own suitcase. “Aren’t you going to unpack my luggage?” he demanded. In the past, every time he came back from a trip, if I was home, I unpacked his suitcase. I took out his dirty clothes, washed them, ironed them, and hung them up. I meticulously cleaned and maintained his camera lenses. All he had to do was point and shoot. Looking back, I was basically the unpaid logistics coordinator for his romantic getaways with his ex. “I’m tired. Unpack it yourself.” Christopher opened his mouth to argue, but his phone suddenly rang. “Boss,” his assistant’s voice came through the speaker. “Mr. Sterling just pulled all his funding for the next exhibition. You need to handle this right now, or the next gallery opening is going to be a disaster.” Christopher grabbed my wrist, his grip bruising and furious. “Chloe! I left the exhibition in your hands, and this is how you handle my business?! Why the hell is Mr. Sterling pulling his funding?!” Faced with his explosive anger, I was completely numb. “Because you blew off his private dinner. He was pissed, so he pulled the money.” He scoffed. “Don’t give me that excuse. This isn’t the first time I’ve skipped one of his dinners, and you always smoothed it over. Why is he so furious this time?” “Is there something wrong with your competence?” I laughed bitterly on the inside. My competence. My competence was smiling until my face hurt, drinking myself into a stupor, and acting like a subservient dog until I literally drank a hole through my stomach. While he was out in the snow, taking pictures of Stella. I forced down the suffocating ache in my chest, my voice raspy. “You’re right. There is something wrong with my competence. That’s why I quit.” “You can handle it yourself from now on.” He froze, staring at me in pure disbelief. “The gallery is your life’s work. You can’t just quit.” Oh. So he did know how much blood, sweat, and tears I poured into it. “I’m incompetent, remember? I wouldn’t want to hold back the great Christopher Reed.” I ripped my wrist out of his grip, threw my last sweater into my suitcase, and zipped it shut in one fluid motion. “Where do you think you’re going?” I didn’t answer his question. I just threw out a casual observation. “The snow in Aspen looked beautiful. The model looked beautiful too.” Christopher went rigid as a board. A flash of intense, defensive panic washed over his face. “You’ve been spying on me?” Watching him react like this just filled me with a deep, hollow exhaustion. He had been caught in a massive lie, and his very first instinct wasn’t to apologize or explain. It was to interrogate me. I let out a dry laugh, my tone completely devoid of emotion. “Stella’s social media is public. Your comments are public too.” Under her post, Christopher had commented using his burner account: You are the only muse my lens will ever know. His burner account wasn’t exactly a secret CIA operation. The profile picture was a lighting test shot he took in our home office. A flicker of guilt crossed his face. “Look, there’s a reason for all of this. If you really want me to take your picture that badly, I can talk to Stella and see if she’s okay with me shooting a portrait series of you.” I actually laughed out loud. The sheer absurdity of it was staggering. My own husband had to ask another woman for permission to take my picture. “Don’t bother. I already booked a professional photographer. I wouldn’t want you to break your sacred vow to Stella.” He paused, clearly remembering the wish I had been nagging him about for months. I wanted to take a gorgeous, professional photoshoot before I turned thirty, to capture my youth while I still had it. And my thirtieth birthday was in exactly two days. I didn’t look at him again. I grabbed my suitcase handle and walked toward the door. But he aggressively blocked my path, grabbing my arm again. “Chloe, listen to me! Stella is my ex-girlfriend. But because of some things that happened in the past, I failed her.” “So we made a pact. In this lifetime, I will only ever shoot portraits of her. It’s my way of making up for what I did to her.” “I gave you my hand in marriage. Can’t you just be generous about this?” His ex-girlfriend. I had already guessed as much. But looking at the hundreds of photos in that hidden room, every single frame was dripping with a photographer’s desperate, all-consuming love. That wasn’t just “making up for the past.” He was still deeply in love with Stella. He failed her. He needed to make it up to her. But why was I the one paying the price? He married me, but his heart was permanently chained to Stella. I looked up at him, my voice dead. “So tell me, Christopher. What exactly did I do wrong?” “What?” Christopher looked genuinely confused for a second. I stepped around him, but he grabbed my luggage handle, a flash of genuine panic in his eyes. “I’ll text Stella right now. I’ll tell her I’m making an exception for you. I promise, I’ll shoot a birthday series for you, and it will be perfect.” “I said don’t bother.” But he ignored me, physically dragging my suitcase out the door and forcing me into the passenger seat of his car. I didn’t expect him to drive us straight to the coast. “The sunset is gorgeous right now. We’ll do the shoot right here on the beach.” I looked down at myself. I was wearing baggy sweatpants, zero makeup, and my face was gaunt and exhausted from the hospital stay. I looked like an absolute wreck against the stunning ocean backdrop. “Do you honestly think I look like I’m ready for a photoshoot right now?” He froze, holding his Leica camera. “Let’s just take a few test shots. If you don’t like them, we can always schedule a proper shoot later.” I sneered. “I thought you were only allowed to make one exception for me? If we do it again, aren’t you terrified Stella will be furious? After all, you promised her you’d only ever shoot her.” He looked incredibly conflicted, and then, seeing the open disgust in my eyes, his face flushed dark red with anger. “Are you intentionally trying to humiliate me?” I shook my head. “I’m just stating facts.” He stiffened, his voice losing its arrogant edge. “Stella isn’t a petty person.” So I am? “The light is perfect. Let’s just start.” He ignored me, adjusting his camera settings and framing the shot. Right as his finger rested on the shutter button, his phone started ringing. I couldn’t hear what the person on the other end said, but Christopher’s expression instantly morphed into sheer panic. He looked at me, a brief flash of guilt in his eyes. “I have an emergency. We’ll do the photos next time.” He didn’t even wait for me to reply. He sprinted back to his car, threw it in drive, and sped off. He completely forgot I was even there. This specific stretch of the beach was popular with photographers, but it was miles away from the main road. I let out a bitter, exhausted laugh. I had to walk for three hours before I finally found a spot with enough cell service to call a cab. When I got back to the empty house, I grabbed my suitcase and headed straight for the airport. While I was waiting at my gate, I checked Stella’s social media. She had posted a picture of two first-class plane tickets. You could see the side of a man’s face in the frame, and the distinct red mole on his ear. It was Christopher. The caption read: Taking off for New Zealand with my personal photographer! So his massive “emergency” was that he needed to escort Stella to New Zealand. I turned off my phone and boarded my flight. I never needed to see Christopher Reed ever again.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “507047”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 When I was rushed to the ER with a severe allergic reaction, my husband of five years was nowhere to be found to sign the consent forms. I called him twenty-eight times. He ignored every single one, sending back a generic text instead: Don’t worry, I’m almost there. On the twenty-ninth attempt, he finally picked up. His voice was thick with irritation. “Emma, what is your problem? Why do you have to be so dramatic?” “Every other day it’s either a headache or some stupid allergy. Do you honestly think you’re made of glass?” “Instead of blowing up my phone, why don’t you learn from Sienna? She literally broke her leg and the first thing she did was tell me not to worry.” I stared at the glowing screen, my vision blurring as blood began to seep backward into the IV line on the back of my hand. Before I could speak, another text popped up, accompanied by a heart emoji. Sorry, I’m out at dinner with the guys. You calling like crazy makes me look bad. Don’t take my tone to heart, just remember not to call next time. I forced a weak, bitter smile. There wouldn’t be a next time. If twenty-nine phone calls couldn’t bring him to my side when I was suffocating, what was the point of holding on? … I spent three agonizing hours in the resuscitation room. It was only when the epinephrine surged through my veins that the terrifying, clawing sensation in my throat slowly began to ease. As the nurse gently pulled the needle from my hand, she glanced at my phone screen, which was still lit up with a wall of unanswered calls. Her voice was quiet, laced with pity. “Is your emergency contact still not here?” I shook my head. There was no need for him to come anymore. When I actually needed his signature to save my life, he was too busy worrying about his pride at a dinner table. Later, the doctor handed me the critical care notice and the treatment logs, asking me to sign them myself. With a trembling hand, I wrote my name, Emma King, stroke by stroke. When I finished, the doctor warned me that I had to carry an EpiPen at all times and avoid any form of stress or physical triggers. I nodded, my throat too raw and swollen to produce a sound. Yet, as I walked out, I didn’t feel fear. I felt a strange, cold relief. At least from this day forward, I would never look to Hank Cole to save me again. Twenty-nine calls were more than enough to wash away five years of delusion. The sky was turning a pale, bruising gray when I stepped out of the hospital. Sitting in the back of the cab, my mind drifted back to our first year of marriage. I had caught a simple cold back then, and Hank had stayed by my bedside all night, clumsily trying to read an old glass thermometer. I honestly believed we would be like that forever. But then his childhood sweetheart, Sienna, returned from abroad. From that moment on, my illnesses became “attention-seeking stunts,” and my cries for help became “nuisances.” When I let myself into the house, the living room lights were blazing. Hank was sitting on the sofa, the sharp smell of whiskey clinging to his clothes. His phone screen was active, displaying an article titled Post-Fracture Care and Rehabilitation. Hearing the door, he looked up. His first words weren’t a question about how I was. “So you finally decided to come home?” I froze, my hand still resting on the shoe rack. He knitted his brows, looking as though he had been nursing a grudge all night. “Emma, I had to take your calls in front of all my business partners last night. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was for me?” I set the hospital bag on the coffee table. “I almost suffocated, Hank.” He cast a fleeting glance at the medical files but didn’t bother to pick them up. “Hospitals always exaggerate minor things just to scare patients into paying more. You should know how they operate.” It felt as though a heavy blunt object had slammed directly into my chest. I stared at him, my voice barely a whisper. “So, to you, twenty-nine phone calls were just me putting on a show?” Hank went quiet for a second. When he spoke again, his voice was slightly softer, but the underlying impatience remained. “I’m not saying you’re acting, Emma. I’m asking you to grow up.” “Sienna broke her leg and her first instinct was to make sure I didn’t worry. You had a simple allergic reaction, and you had to keep calling me over and over to force me to run to you.” A simple allergic reaction. Hearing those words, the physical pain in my throat suddenly vanished, replaced by a profound, deadening numbness. I picked up the medical report and held it directly in front of his face. “The doctor said if I had arrived ten minutes later, I would have died.” For a fleeting second, Hank’s eyes flickered with something resembling shock. I thought, perhaps, he might finally ask if I was okay. But then his phone rang. He looked down at the screen, and his expression instantly transformed. He answered it, his voice softening into a gentle, protective register I hadn’t heard in years. “Sienna? What’s wrong? Is the leg hurting again?” He listened to the muffled voice on the other end, his posture tense with worry. Within seconds, he was on his feet, grabbing his coat. “Don’t cry. I’m coming right now.” As he brushed past me, he paused for a brief moment. “Stop making a scene. Remember to take your medicine.” He was in such a rush that his coat snagged the edge of the coffee table. The hospital bag fell, sending my prescription slips, invoices, and emergency medication scattering across the hardwood floor. He glanced back at the mess, his tone indifferent. “Clean that up. Don’t let Sienna see it when she comes over tomorrow. She’s incredibly sensitive, and she’ll blame herself to death if she thinks she caused a rift between us.” The heavy front door clicked shut. I knelt on the floor, picking up the papers one by one. Nestled among the medical bills was a separate, pristine document. It was a divorce agreement. My brother, Justin, had instructed the family lawyers to draft it the day I got married, just in case. Hank had laughed when he saw it back then, swearing we would never need it. Emma, the only way we part is in a pine box, he had said. I used to think the document was an unnecessary precaution. Now, I realized it was a lifeline. Hank didn’t return that night. The following afternoon, his personal driver delivered a designer shopping bag to the house. I assumed it was some sort of peace offering, but when I opened it, I found Sienna’s soiled trench coat and a pair of mud-caked designer heels. The driver looked incredibly uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot. “Mr. Cole said that since Miss Sienna’s leg makes it hard for her to move, he wanted Mrs. Cole to help clean these.” I stared at the mud on the expensive leather, a sudden laugh escaping my dry throat. I had just escaped the ICU, and his only concern was ensuring his childhood friend’s shoes were spotless. He couldn’t spare a single text to ask if I was still breathing, but he could arrange a courier for dirty laundry. I set the bag by the front door and left it there. By evening, Hank returned, pushing Sienna in a wheelchair. She had a soft wool blanket draped over her lap, her face pale, her eyes rimmed with red. “Emma, I am so incredibly sorry,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “I just wanted to come by and check on you.” Her eyes drifted to the boxes of emergency medicine resting on the coffee table, and she flinched, shrinking back into the wheelchair as if terrified. “Those medicines… are they because of me? If I hadn’t fallen last night, Hank would have been at the hospital with you.” Hank’s face instantly darkened as he glared at me. “Emma, why did you leave those boxes out? Who are you trying to guilt-trip?” I stared at him, incredulous. “The doctor told me to keep my rescue meds within arm’s reach. Leaving them on my own table in my own home is a crime now?” Sienna’s eyes welled with tears. “Please don’t fight because of me. It’s just… seeing those medical boxes makes me panic. My mother passed away in an ICU bed, and whenever I see hospital supplies, I feel like I can’t breathe.” Without letting me explain, Hank stepped forward and swept every single box off the table, throwing them into a sideboard drawer and locking it. “Since they trigger her, keep them out of sight.” I rushed forward to stop him. “Those are my emergency meds!” He held the drawer shut, his voice freezing over. “What difference does it make where they’re kept? Do you really have to flaunt them in front of her just to cause panic?” In that exact moment, I realized the utter futility of trying to reason with him. His scale of justice was permanently broken, and the balance would never tip in my favor. That night, Sienna complained of phantom pains in her leg. Hank carried her into the guest room upstairs. That room had belonged to my late mother. After she passed, I had preserved every piece of furniture, every frame, and every book exactly as she left them. Now, Sienna was buried beneath my mother’s favorite cashmere throw, whimpering about the draft. Hank walked to the wardrobe, pulled out my mother’s hand-woven silk shawl, and draped it over Sienna’s shoulders. I stood in the doorway, my fingers turning ice-cold. “That belongs to my mother.” Hank didn’t even look back. “It’s just a piece of fabric, Emma. Sienna is sick. Don’t be so incredibly petty.” In the dead of night, I woke up with a terrifying itch in the back of my throat. At first, it was just a slight tightness, but within seconds, it mutated into a suffocating pressure. I reached blindly for the nightstand, only to remember that my rescue medication was locked in the study drawer downstairs. I dialed Hank’s number. It rang for an eternity before he finally answered, his voice hushed and harsh. “What is it now?” I clutched my throat, my breathing shallow and wheezing. “The medicine… give me… the key.” There was a brief pause on the line, followed by an exasperated sigh. “Sienna just fell asleep. Stop trying to get attention, Emma. I’ll give it to you in the morning.” He hung up. I dragged myself down the hall and pounded on the study door, but the lock was firmly engaged. With no other choice, I threw a coat over my pajamas and stumbled out into the freezing night. It was two in the morning, and a torrential downpour was turning the streets into slick black mirrors. By the time I reached the nearest 24-hour pharmacy, my slippers were soaked through, and my hands were shaking so violently I could barely present my ID. The pharmacist took one look at my blue-tinged lips, rushed to pour me a cup of water, and helped me administer the rescue dose. I sat on a metal chair near the entrance for a long time, waiting for my lungs to expand again. My phone buzzed. It was a notification. Sienna had just posted on her social media feed. It was a photo of Hank sitting on the edge of her bed, holding a steaming mug of tea. The caption read: Nothing beats the feeling of knowing someone is watching over you in the dark. I turned the screen off. The rain outside mingled with the hot tears slipping down my face. I wasn’t crying because I loved him. I was crying because I had finally accepted the brutal truth: I had spent five years of my life loving a ghost. The next morning, I woke up with a roaring fever. The doctor insisted I return for a follow-up scan to check the swelling in my airway. As I approached the clinic entrance, I spotted Hank’s sleek black sedan parked directly outside the orthopedic wing. He was leaning down, adjusting the blanket over Sienna’s lap with an tenderness so agonizingly gentle it looked as though he were handling a piece of priceless porcelain. Sienna looked up, her smile faltering as she spotted me. “Emma? Are you here for the hospital too?” I didn’t answer. Hank straightened up, his brow furrowing instantly. “Are you tracking my car now, Emma?” The sheer absurdity of it made me want to laugh. “I have a follow-up appointment.” He glanced at the hospital slip in my hand, his tone remaining dismissive. “A follow-up for a simple allergy requires you to shadow us to the orthopedic wing?” Sienna quickly tugged at his sleeve. “Hank, don’t be like that. I’m sure Emma was just worried about my leg.” The coldness in Hank’s eyes softened as he looked at her, then hardened again when he turned back to me. “It’s fine. Since you’re here, you’re coming to the company gala tonight.” “You terrified Sienna last night with your tantrum. The least you can do is apologize and make things right.” My throat was still incredibly raspy. “Why on earth would I apologize to her?” Hank’s face hardened. “Emma, do not humiliate me in public tonight.” I went to the gala. But I didn’t go to apologize. I went to deliver the paperwork. As soon as I stepped into the VIP banquet room, the sound of laughter drifted over the clinking of champagne glasses. “Hey, Hank, is it true your missus called you twenty-nine times the other night? Talk about a leash.” Another voice chimed in. “No wonder you blocked her. I’d lose my mind if my lady was that suffocating.” Hank sat at the head of the table, Sienna right beside him. He made no effort to correct them, merely swirling his whiskey. “She’s always been like that,” he said smoothly. “Ever since she started chasing me in college, she’s loved making a mountain out of a molehill just to get attention.” A ripple of amused chuckles went around the table. Standing in the doorway, I felt the last drop of warmth drain from my body. My desperate cry for survival had been reduced to a cheap joke to entertain his business associates. Someone noticed me standing there, and the laughter died instantly. Hank looked up, seemingly surprised that I had actually shown up. “You’re here. Sit down.” I walked over, bypassed the empty chair, and laid the divorce agreement directly over his plate. “Sign it.” Hank’s eyes fell on the bold letters at the top of the page, and his face instantly turned an ugly, livid red. “Are you seriously throwing a tantrum here?” “You’re the one who demanded I show up.” He let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Emma, have you completely forgotten who you are? Who was the one who waited outside my office until three in the morning just to see me? Who was the one crying every birthday, begging me to remember?” “Who was the one who swore she’d endure anything just to marry me?” Every word felt like a physical blow to my face. The absolute devotion I had given him was being stripped bare and displayed to the room as a pathetic, desperate joke. Sienna lowered her head, her eyes sparkling with tears. “Hank, please stop. It’s all my fault. Emma is only doing this because she loves you too much.” Hank reached over, squeezing her hand tightly. “You have nothing to apologize for, Sienna. This isn’t your fault.” He slid a glass of amber liquid across the table, stopping it inches from my hand. “If you want me to sign those papers, fine. Drink this glass of whiskey and apologize to Sienna for your behavior last night.” I didn’t move. He leaned back in his chair, his voice dripping with arrogance. “Because of your twenty-nine calls, she spent the entire night crying, thinking she had somehow disrupted your recovery. You owe her an apology.” A dry laugh escaped my lips. “I was in the ICU fighting for my life while she was crying in your arms, and I owe her an apology?” Hank’s patience snapped. He grabbed the divorce papers and ripped them clean in half, throwing the pieces at my feet. “I’ll tell you this once, Emma. As long as I don’t agree, you are never getting out of this marriage.” Sienna gently touched his arm, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Let it go, Hank. Emma has hated me for a long time anyway.” Hank stood up, snatched the glass of whiskey, and forced it into my hand. “If you don’t apologize, I’m liquidating your mother’s art studio tomorrow. The lease is under my company’s holding group, and I will have it demolished.” My mother’s studio was my absolute breaking point. It held her unfinished canvases, her paints, and the letters she wrote to me during her final days in hospice. Her last words to me had been: Emma, whenever the world gets too heavy, go to the studio. I’ll be waiting for you there. My grip on the glass tightened until my knuckles turned white. “If I drink this, you won’t touch the studio?” Hank’s face was a mask of cold authority. “Drink it, apologize, and the studio stays.” Sienna shook her head, her voice trembling. “Hank, don’t. Emma’s health is delicate. If something happens, she’ll just blame me again…” “If she actually cared about her health, she wouldn’t use it as a weapon to control me,” Hank snapped. Someone at the table whispered, “It’s just a single drink. She’s really dragging out the drama.” The doctors had been very clear: no alcohol, no stress. But I couldn’t let them touch my mother’s legacy. I closed my eyes and drank. The burning liquid scorched my raw throat like liquid fire. I immediately collapsed forward, coughing violently as my airway began to spasm and close. I reached frantically into my purse for my EpiPen, but before I could pull it out, Sienna shrieked, throwing herself backward. “Emma, please don’t hit me!” Without hesitation, Hank lunged forward to shield her, grabbing my wrist with a crushing grip and wrenching my hand away from my bag. The purse flew from my grip, and the plastic medicine container spilled onto the carpet. “The medicine…” I wheezed, my throat closing rapidly. “Get… the medicine…” Hank looked down at the white pills scattered on the floor, his eyes filled with nothing but disgust. “Enough, Emma. Cut the act.” He raised his foot and kicked the container away. The remaining pills rolled into the dark corners of the room. I fell to my knees, clawing at the carpet, my vision beginning to tunnel into blackness. Sienna sobbed loudly behind him. “Hank, I’m so scared. Is she really doing this to punish us?” Hank turned to the security guards standing near the door. “Take her outside. Let her sober up in the rain.” As the heavy hands of the security team hauled me out of the room, I couldn’t even draw enough air to scream. One of the guests murmured, “Hey, she looks really gray. Are we sure she’s okay?” But Hank didn’t look back. “She’s an actress. She’ll stop when the audience leaves.” It was a hotel waiter who secretly called the ambulance. When I woke up, I was back in the emergency ward. The doctor was standing over me, his expression grave. “Your airway closed completely. If you had arrived five minutes later, we would be preparing you for the morgue. Where is your family?” I stared at the clear fluids dripping into my vein, my heart hollowed out. “I don’t have any family.” The next morning, I pulled the IV out myself and took a cab straight to my mother’s art studio. But when I reached the door, the lock had already been replaced. The building manager avoided my gaze, looking guilty. “Mr. Cole gave strict orders. The space is being cleared out to serve as Miss Sienna’s private rehabilitation art therapy room.” A loud ringing filled my ears. Through the cracked door, I heard Sienna’s light, airy laughter. “Let’s just throw all these old paintings away. The colors are so depressing, they’re bad for my recovery anyway.” I shoved the door open. The floor was littered with muddy footprints and torn canvases. My mother’s masterpiece, Spring Mountain, had been sliced in half with a utility knife. I threw myself toward the ruined canvas, but Hank stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “Emma, what are you doing here?” I looked up at him, tears finally spilling over. “You promised you wouldn’t touch this place.” He frowned, looking slightly uncomfortable. “It’s just a temporary adjustment. Art therapy is crucial for Sienna’s recovery right now.” Sienna peeked out from behind him, her voice dripping with mock innocence. “Emma, I am so sorry. I had no idea these old things meant so much to you.” She said she was sorry, but her foot was planted firmly on one of my mother’s handwritten letters. In that moment, a strange, absolute calm washed over me. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and dialed my brother’s international number. “Justin,” I said, my voice steady and cold. “Is the renewal for Cole Group’s overseas medical distribution license scheduled for today?” Justin’s voice came through the speaker, deep and sharp. “Yes. The family trust fund we invested in his company is also up for review. One word from you, and his entire empire collapses by tomorrow morning.” Hank sneered, assuming I was playing another game. “Are you seriously running to your brother again, Emma? Don’t you get tired of this?” I looked at the sliced canvas of Spring Mountain, then at the dirt on my mother’s letter. “Don’t renew the license,” I told my brother. “Withdraw the entire trust fund. Shut down every single distribution channel we own.” “And Justin? Call the best litigation firm in the country. I want Hank Cole on his knees when he signs the papers.”

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1 The System wanted me to court the Crown Prince of Manhattan to keep the plot on track. But because I was terminally lazy, I dragged my feet for ten whole years. Eventually, the System went from calm and collected to completely unhinged. Cursing me out in a storm of digital rage, it tore itself from my soul, abandoned my body, and bound itself to the Prince instead. In a desperate bid for survival, it mutated from a “Seduction System” into a “Wife-Spoiling System,” forcing him to pamper me, a frumpy, country girl, to high heaven. Otherwise? He would go bankrupt by tomorrow. My ears hadn’t even been quiet for five minutes before my deadbeat, gambling father sold me to a shady Las Vegas casino to cover his debts. Clinging to the iron bars of my cage, I screamed in absolute panic: “I was wrong, System! I won’t procrastinate anymore! I’ll seduce the Prince right now, I swear!” The next second, the Crown Prince of Manhattan, wearing plastic flip-flops and shouting in a panicked, posh drawl, burst through the doors. “Baby! I’m here to save you!” … I honestly think I must have been a magnet for bad luck in my past life. I probably would have choked on a glass of water if I wasn’t careful. It wasn’t until I tripped over a curb, died, and transmigrated into this romance novel as the female lead that my luck finally turned around. Since then, I had dedicated my life to the glorious, peaceful path of absolute slacking. On my very first day in this world: The System announced: Host, your target is the male lead, the Crown Prince of Manhattan, Gideon Crawford. He is cold, aloof, and extremely difficult to seduce. The difficulty level is off the charts. I nodded agreeably while ordering myself ten giant cups of brown sugar boba tea. In my past life, I would never have dared to be so reckless, considering I once almost choked to death on a single tapioca pearl. Seeing me nod, the System vibrated with excitement: So, when are we going to begin our pursuit of Gideon Crawford? “Tomorrow.” On my second day: The System suggested: Gideon’s absolute favorite drink is an iced Americano. Do you want to learn how to brew the perfect cup of coffee? I nodded again. Satisfied, the System rattled off a massive list of Gideon’s personal likes and dislikes. I assured it that every single detail was locked in my brain. On my third day: The System whispered: So, when are we actually leaving for New York to find the male lead? I took a massive bite of walnut brittle. “Tomorrow.” On my hundredth day: The System’s voice had completely lost its calm, professional tone, though it was still trying to keep its temper in check: Rainey, when are you actually leaving this cozy Montana ranch to find Gideon in Manhattan? I opened my streaming app, entirely unbothered. “Tomorrow, tomorrow. I’m definitely going tomorrow.” I lay back on my wooden rocking chair, watching the warm sunlight filter through the green grape arbor. Beside me sat a plate of perfectly chilled, sweet watermelon. Life was simply too comfortable to ruin with effort. In my past life, I had to walk like I was stepping on eggshells just to avoid dying of some bizarre accident. I wasn’t about to ruin my peace now. The next morning, I actually got up early to do my hair and makeup, which made the System look considerably happier. But since the Montana mornings were freezing, I pulled a pair of bright red thermal pants and thick purple wool leggings over my legs before putting on my oversized dress. The System immediately shrieked: Can you please take off those hideous layers? The colors are absolutely repulsive! Gideon Crawford will run for the hills if he sees you in those! I lifted my hem to inspect the red-and-purple clash. “They’re warm.” The System grumbled, but since I was finally heading out, it chose to stay quiet. However, I wasn’t heading to the airport. I was heading to the local farmers’ market. I wanted to buy a few baby chicks to keep as pets. As I carefully selected three fluffy yellow chicks, the System grew incredibly anxious: Are those… a gift for Gideon? “Nope, they’re for me. Love you, self! See ya!” The System completely lost its mind. We transmigrated to this world to seduce the male lead! What on earth are you doing?! I adjusted my sun hat. “I am seducing him. I never said I wasn’t. We’re just taking a slow, calculated, long-term approach. Once these chicks grow up, I’ll definitely head to New York.” The System took a deep, digital breath. Since we had already waited this long, it figured a few more weeks wouldn’t hurt. Ten years later, the three chickens died of old age. With tears in my eyes, I buried them beneath the apple tree. “Goldie, Emerald, Ruby… make sure you find me in your next life.” The System’s voice was completely hollow: Can we go now? If you don’t go, Gideon is going to get married and have kids with someone else! He’s thirty now! He’s practically a senior bachelor! I wiped away a tear. “Let him get married. It just means we weren’t destined to be together.” The System went entirely silent. Then, a furious, red-hot notification popped up in my mind. I’m done with you! Host! I am unbinding myself right now! Rot in Montana for all I care! The static in my head vanished. I blinked, testing the silence. “System? Bro? You really gone?” Absolute quiet. No more nagging, no more screaming, no more frantic countdowns. My heart soared with pure, unadulterated joy. This was amazing! I could keep slacking off forever! Every extra day of peace was a victory. I was never going to waste my precious energy on some billionaire heir. I popped a handful of roasted almonds into my mouth. But before I could swallow, a middle-aged man I had never seen before burst into my yard. The man rubbed his hands together, gesturing to the three beefy, muscle-bound men standing behind him. “That’s my daughter. Take her.” Before I could even open my mouth to ask who he was, one of the men lunged forward and knocked me cold. The speed of it was honestly impressive. As my vision went black, my only thought was: I really should have practiced my reflexes. This is embarrassing. When I finally woke up, I was locked inside a heavy iron dog cage. Clinging to the bars, my face pale with genuine terror, I began to scream at the top of my lungs: “Help! Kidnapping! Someone save an innocent girl!” The man driving the van glanced back at me. “Shut up. Your deadbeat father sold you to the casino to cover his debts. Your life belongs to Las Vegas now.” Ten years of peaceful country living had made me completely forget that my character’s original father was a hopeless, degenerate gambler. Did the original novel even have this plotline? My heart sank into my stomach as I desperately tried to recall the details of the book, but my mind was a total blank. If only I had paid attention when the System was lecturing me. After several grueling days in the back of that van, we finally pulled up to a massive, glittering building. “Where are we?” I whispered. “Las Vegas.” I almost passed out. I had spent ten years avoiding New York, only to end up in the casino capital of the world. I was dragged out of the van and thrown into a dressing room, where a tiny, skimpy piece of fabric was tossed at my face. “Put the dress on.” The fabric was so minimal it wouldn’t even cover the bare essentials. As my mind began to spiral into visions of a dark, miserable future, I broke down. “I was wrong, System! I’ll do it! I’ll go seduce the Crown Prince of Manhattan right now! Just save me!” Without the System’s protection, my terrible luck had returned with a vengeance. The guard outside the door sneered. “Keep screaming, sweetheart. Nobody’s coming to save you. Tonight, you’re serving Boss Silas.” But the very next second, the sound of heavy thuds and panicked screams echoed from the hallway. “Mr. Crawford! Mr. Crawford! I’m sorry, I’ll let her go right now!” Before I could process what was happening, the heavy oak door was kicked clean off its hinges. Gideon Crawford stood there, his face dark with fury, wearing a pair of cheap plastic flip-flops. “Baby! I’m here to save you!” He scanned the room, his eyes scanning right past me. He looked utterly bewildered as he muttered in his mind: System, where is my drop-dead gorgeous, angelic destined wife? The System’s response was muffled and incredibly embarrassed. Look at the floor. My face was covered in a thick layer of soot and dirt, and I was still wearing my massive, muddy winter coat. Since the room was sweltering, the sweat was running down my cheeks, creating dark, messy streaks of grime. I looked like a swamp monster that had been dragged through a coal mine. Which made sense, considering I hadn’t washed in a week and had been rolling around the floor of an iron cage. But none of that mattered. What mattered was that the System had bound itself to Gideon Crawford. And because of some glitch, I could hear their internal dialogue perfectly. Gideon’s gaze finally landed on me, and his mouth twitched in visible disgust. Before we could speak, heavy footsteps echoed in the hall. “Boss Silas, Mr. Crawford is here.” I quickly scrambled off the floor, kicking the skimpy dress into the far corner of the room. Boss Silas stepped inside, his sharp eyes darting between me and the billionaire heir. “Mr. Crawford. This girl belongs to my casino. You can’t just walk out with her.” The System immediately started shouting in Gideon’s mind. Host! This is your moment! Unleash your dominant, irresistible alpha energy! Seduce her! Make her fall hopelessly in love with you! The System had even prepared a script. Say this: ‘Hah! Do you have any idea who the hell I am? One phone call and I’ll wipe your casino off the face of the earth! Touch my woman again and I’ll destroy you!’ Before Gideon could even open his mouth, I let out a loud, snorting laugh. My laugh threshold is incredibly low, and once I start, I physically cannot stop. I clutched my stomach, bending over as tears of laughter mixed with the grime on my face. Everyone in the room turned to stare at me. Realizing how inappropriate my laughter was, I tried to cover my mouth, but a loud snort escaped anyway. “Pfft—sorry! Please, don’t mind me, carry on!” The System let out a furious, digital gasp. Even after abandoning me, I was still managed to ruin its plans. Ignore her! the System urged. Deliver the line! If you don’t pamper her and make her love you, your family goes bankrupt by tomorrow morning! Gideon grit his teeth, his face flushing a bright, embarrassed red as he forced the ridiculous words out of his mouth. “My woman… only I can touch her! Who the hell do you think you are?” “Hahahahaha!” I lost it again. The System had clearly spent too much time reading cheap romance novels. Gideon glared at me, his expression twisting with mortification. For a man who had been raised in the highest echelons of New York society, this was the ultimate humiliation. Boss Silas clapped his hands, a smirk playing on his lips. “Mr. Crawford, I had no idea you preferred such… exotic tastes.” No, I don’t! Gideon wanted to scream, but the threat of bankruptcy kept his mouth shut. “However,” Silas continued, leaning against the doorframe. “Her father owes this casino a hundred million dollars. She is here to settle the debt.” Gideon frowned. “I’ll pay it.” “This is a casino, Mr. Crawford. Let’s play a game instead. For every round you win, I’ll knock one million off her debt. For every round you lose, she has to remove one article of clothing. If she runs out of clothes, she stays here forever.” “Sounds fair, doesn’t it?” A hundred million dollars meant we would need to play a hundred rounds. Even with my thermal layers, I only had about twelve items of clothing on. The System screamed in Gideon’s ear: This is outrageous! Destroy him, Host! Make this degenerate go bankrupt! Gideon shouted back in his mind: Shut up! This is a casino, how am I supposed to make him go bankrupt in five minutes?! Ultimately, they played. And on the very first round, Gideon lost. The System wailed: You are the male lead! How could you lose the first round?! Gideon snapped: Being the male lead doesn’t make me a master card counter! But you’re the Crown Prince of Manhattan!!! While they argued in his head, I happily unzipped my stifling, heavy winter coat and threw it aside. The Las Vegas heat was unbearable, and I was practically suffocating. Gideon proceeded to lose ten rounds in a row. By the end of it, I was down to my simple t-shirt and shorts. The cool air of the room felt absolutely amazing against my skin. Boss Silas’s smirk began to falter as he stared at me. He couldn’t comprehend how a woman could have been wearing so many layers of thick winter clothing in the middle of summer. The System was entirely out of ideas. At this rate, the female lead was going to find the male lead completely incompetent. Host, screw the rules! Grab her and run! Gideon slammed his hands on the table, startling Silas. Before anyone could react, he lunged forward, hoisted me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and bolted for the door. Silas stared in disbelief. He had never expected a high-society billionaire to pull such a cheap, shameless stunt. “Get them! Lock the doors! Bring them back!” Gideon ran with a speed I didn’t know he possessed, his plastic flip-flops flying off his feet as he sprinted down the strip. He threw me into the back of his waiting town car and screamed at the driver: “Drive! Go, go, go!” Only when the casino guards faded into the distance did Gideon finally collapse against the leather seats, gasping for breath. I sat beside him, quietly observing the legendary, cold, aloof male lead. His bare feet were covered in Las Vegas street grime. Aloof? Cold? Dominant? He looked like a runaway convict. Gideon turned to look at me, and our eyes met. The mutual look of pure, unadulterated disappointment was impossible to hide. We both looked away, sliding to opposite sides of the spacious back seat. The System’s voice chimed in, bursting with synthetic enthusiasm. Host, now is the perfect time to introduce yourself! She’s bound to fall for you now. Oh, I know! Why don’t you gift her a cock? She will absolutely love it! Gideon’s jaw dropped. Are you insane? You want me to show her my cock? Right now? In the back of a car? Yes! Do it! She will fall head over heels for you! I sat there, biting my lip to keep from laughing. My three pet chickens had died of old age, and I was actually looking for a new pet to keep me company. I was highly intrigued to see what kind of rooster Gideon Crawford would buy me. I already had a name picked out: Barnaby. Gideon’s ears turned a deep crimson as he stole a glance at me, his fists clenching in mortification. Just five days ago, this bizarre entity had forced its way into his mind, telling him he was a character in a book and that he had to pamper a girl named Rainey. If he didn’t, his family’s empire would crumble. He hadn’t believed it at first, refusing to play along with such nonsense. Then, the System had coldly announced: Commencing punishment phase.

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1 The ten-year reunion was in full swing, and Tiffany was holding court. She sat at the VIP booth, loudly bragging about her husband’s six-figure salary. Brandon, our old class president, suddenly noticed me sitting quietly in the corner. “Sierra, I see you posting sports cars, yachts, and mansions on Instagram. Did you land a billionaire sugar daddy or something?” I smiled and sipped my water, offering no explanation. Tiffany let out a sharp scoff, raising her voice so everyone could hear her sarcasm. “She’s just playing pretend. A trailer park girl from nowhere pretending to be old money to trap some rich guy online!” The music seemed to fade as the room went quiet, classmates exchanging mocking glances. “My husband is a senior manager at Sinclair Enterprises!” Tiffany puffed up proudly. “You’ve probably never even shared air with someone that elite.” She giggled with contempt, covering her mouth. “Tell you what, maybe I can get him to hook you up with a janitor job at his office. At least it’ll help you pay off those maxed-out cards.” Looking at her arrogant, twisted expression, I gave a soft laugh. She truly believed marrying a well-paid corporate drone gave her the right to trample me. What she didn’t know was that I was the sole heiress to the Sinclair Enterprises empire. “Alright, enough of this pointless chatter.” Derek cut off the girls who were still snickering at my outfit. His tone suddenly shifted, wrapping itself in a fake, sickening layer of politeness. “Sierra, we are all adults here. I am not a guy who likes to make things difficult.” He grabbed a bottle of top shelf bourbon, personally pouring three shot glasses to the absolute brim. He lined them up and pushed them across the glass table toward me. “Down these three shots, and we will consider this whole little attitude problem of yours resolved.” Tiffany immediately pouted. “Babe! Why should she get off so…” “Be a good girl and watch.” Derek squeezed her thigh, but his eyes never left my face. A deeply hidden, sadistic amusement played at the corners of his mouth. I looked at the three heavy crystal glasses. I said nothing. The harsh, burning scent of the liquor stung my nose. The golden liquid was so full it was practically spilling onto the table. “And if I refuse?” Derek’s fake warmth vanished in a heartbeat. He slowly pulled his phone from his blazer pocket, unlocked it, and turned the screen toward me. It was a private Slack channel titled Chicago Corporate HR Alliance. The member count showed four hundred and thirty seven active users. “I have been swimming in the Chicago business circles for a decade. I have built up a bit of a network.” He hovered his thumb right over the text input box. “Word is, you are unemployed right now, right?” “All it takes is one message from me in this channel. Just one little note saying Sierra has major character issues and a fabricated resume…” He lifted his heavy eyelids, staring at me with cold calculation. “Every single corporate door in Chicago will slam in your face. You will never see a job offer in this city again.” The sheer malice of that threat made the color drain from the faces of a few classmates nearby. “Derek… man, do you not think that is taking it a bit too far?” Noah mumbled the words from a dark corner of the booth. Derek did not say a word. He just snapped his head around and pinned Noah with a dead, hollow stare for one full second. Noah instantly dropped his head. He gripped his beer bottle so tight his knuckles turned white, shrinking back into the shadows. “So.” Derek pulled his gaze back to me, returning to his fake, gentle tone. “You need to learn how to read the room, sweetheart. It is just three shots. It will not kill you.” “Drink up, and not only will I let this slide, I might even find you a decent entry level desk at Sinclair.” “See? I am a generous guy. I always leave people a way out.” The atmosphere in the room was suffocating. Those girls who were mocking my clothes just moments ago were all staring at their laps. Nobody dared to breathe. It was not out of sympathy for me. It was because they were terrified of him. Tiffany picked up her wine glass, looking down her nose at me like I was a cockroach on the floor. “Sierra, I suggest you take a hint.” “My husband is throwing you a bone because we used to sit in the same homeroom. If you do not give him this tiny bit of respect, this is going to end a lot worse for you than a hangover.” I looked down at the three shots of bourbon. For a few long seconds, the room was suspended in silence. Then I reached out and picked up the first glass. I could hear the collective exhale in the room. People were actually relieved. A triumphant sneer crept onto Tiffany’s face, and Derek leaned back against the plush leather sofa, looking thoroughly satisfied. I held the glass up. But I did not drink. Instead, with agonizing slowness, I tilted my wrist. I poured every single drop of the expensive bourbon straight onto the glass table. Then I picked up the second glass. And the third. The amber liquid pooled on the table and dripped down onto the imported rug. The sharp, heavy stench of alcohol saturated the air. The booth fell into a deathly silence. The smugness melted off Derek’s face, inch by inch, replaced by a storm of pure rage. I set the third empty glass down. I lifted my chin and looked right into his eyes. “Derek, let me give you a piece of advice.” “Do not even think about hitting send on that message.” Derek stared at me for three agonizing seconds. Then he started laughing. It was a loud, ugly bark of laughter filled with naked contempt. “Sierra, do you have any goddamn idea who you are talking to?” He leaned forward, shoving his phone screen aggressively close to my face. “I want to see exactly who is going to stop me.” He looked down at his screen, his thumb flying across the keyboard. I watched his thumb tap against the glass. I did not flinch. What he did not know was that the creator and admin of that HR channel was Rachel, the Global Director of Human Resources for Sinclair Enterprises. What he also did not know was that Rachel had received a direct message from me earlier this afternoon. But she was currently sitting in a quarterly review meeting. Her phone was on silent, and my message was still unread. There was a chance she would not see his message in time to delete it. Derek’s thumb hovered over the send button. He looked up at me one last time, as if offering me a final chance to beg. I kept my face entirely blank. He pressed send. On the screen, the little gray text bubbled up. Delivered. Someone in the booth inhaled sharply. Tiffany got up on her tiptoes, leaning over Derek’s shoulder to verify the message was actually sent. She turned back to me, her chin held high, wearing a smile that was practically feral. “Sierra, you are officially ruined.” I looked down, remaining silent. My hands rested on my knees under the table. My fingernails dug hard into my palms, completely hidden from their view. Rachel’s phone was on silent. Four hundred and thirty seven HR professionals in that channel. That message was now sitting quietly in the chat, waiting for hundreds of corporate gatekeepers to open their eyes and read it tomorrow morning. Derek shoved his phone back into his pocket. He sat down, crossed his legs, and picked up his own drink. “If you had just played nice from the start, we could have avoided all this ugly business.” He took a sip, his tone casual, acting as if he had not just tried to destroy someone’s entire livelihood. “But you made your bed. Now you get to lie in it.” Tiffany strutted over to me. She crouched down so she was right at my eye level. Her voice was a hushed whisper, but every syllable was razor sharp. “Sierra, get on your knees and beg me right now, and maybe I will tell my husband to send a follow up message saying he made a mistake.” She tilted her head, her smile sickeningly sweet. “Just kneel. It is really not that hard.” Nobody in the room said a word. Brandon was staring at the table, rubbing his thumb so hard against the rim of his glass that the skin was raw. Noah had his fists clenched so tight the blood had left his knuckles. But he just stared at the tips of his shoes, absolutely paralyzed. I looked at Tiffany’s face. I saw the sick, euphoric thrill dancing in her eyes. It suddenly flashed me back to a memory from ten years ago. She used to sit in the back row of our math class, throwing heavy pink erasers at the back of my head, pointing at my worn out sneakers, and making the whole class laugh. She was wearing the exact same expression right now. I did not kneel. I simply uncurled my fists, slipped my hand into my jacket pocket, and gripped my phone. Derek was not done playing his game. He stood up, walking over to tower above me. His voice dropped to a menacing growl. “Sierra, I am giving you one last chance.” “Stand up, apologize to Tiffany, and I will pretend tonight never happened.” “With my connections at Sinclair, I could probably do some damage control and smooth over that message. It is not impossible.” His breath hit my ear, reeking of booze. “Otherwise, you know exactly what that message means.” “You will never find a decent job in Chicago for the rest of your life.” I turned my head slightly, looking at his profile just inches from mine. “Derek, are you entirely sure your connections at Sinclair are actually that powerful?” Derek froze for a fraction of a second, then let out a scoff. “I hold the pen on multi million dollar vendor approvals. You tell me if that is powerful enough.” He stood up straight, looking down at me like a god judging a mortal. “What, are you delusional enough to think you can climb the ladder at Sinclair?” He shook his head, lacing his voice with mock pity. “Sierra, a place like Sinclair Enterprises is not somewhere a nobody like you can ever reach.” Tiffany chimed in from the side, her laugh thin and grating. “Exactly. Look in a mirror. Daydreaming about the high life while wearing rags. It is honestly pathetic.” Derek turned to Tiffany, grinding his teeth. “I have plenty of ways to teach her a lesson.” He suddenly whirled back around, pointing a stiff finger right at my face, and roared. “You stepped on my pride tonight, so tonight I am going to teach you exactly what consequences look like!” He turned toward the heavy mahogany doors of the private room and bellowed. “Service! Get your floor manager in here right now!” A few seconds later, the floor manager of The Grand Astoria jogged into the room. He was a young guy in his early thirties. The brass name tag on his lapel read Kevin. Derek pointed furiously at the wet spot on the rug. “This woman intentionally poured hard liquor all over your Persian rug!” “Call the cops right now! Make her pay for it! If she cannot afford it, throw her in a cell!” Kevin was visibly startled. He looked down at the rug, then up at me, his face twisting in discomfort. “Sir, according to club policy, any property damage inside a private room is billed directly to the person holding the reservation…” Derek violently shoved Kevin aside and pulled out his own phone, dialing 911. “Yeah, I need to report a crime! I am at The Grand Astoria. Some crazy woman is intentionally destroying luxury property…” After hanging up, Derek was literally shaking. Not out of fear. It was pure, twisted adrenaline. “When the cops get here, I am pressing charges for destruction of property and public endangerment!” Tiffany clapped her hands in excitement. She stepped right up to me. “Sierra, if you beg me right now, maybe I will tell my husband to drop the charges.” The rest of our classmates looked around at each other, eyes wide with panic. Not a single one of them had the spine to stand up for me. Only Noah in the corner was trembling, his lips completely pale as his fists stayed locked at his sides. I did not waste another word on them. Looking down, hiding my hands in my jacket pocket, I quietly unlocked my screen. I scrolled to a pinned contact. The name read Arthur. I stared at the name for three seconds. Then I pressed the call button, letting the phone rest on my thigh beneath the table. Nobody noticed a thing. Derek was still ranting, and Tiffany’s shrill laughter echoed off the walls. The others remained frozen in their cowardice. I sat calmly in the middle of the noise, waiting for the line to connect. During the wait for the police, Derek paced the room like a caged animal, finding new and creative ways to throw insults at me. “If you had just swallowed your pride and taken the shots, you would not be in this mess.” “Babe, do not let her off easy when the cops get here. We are giving a full statement, and we are suing her for emotional distress.” “Trash from the country actually thinks she can play with the big dogs…” Tiffany had her phone out, recording a video. She shoved the camera lens practically into my face. “Come on, Sierra, give us a smile!” “I want to get a good shot of you before they put you in handcuffs. A little souvenir.” Nobody laughed with her. Brandon had finally put his drink down. He sat like a statue. Noah still had his head down. I could not see his face, but his shoulders were tight as coiled springs. Tiffany eventually got bored of recording me, leaning against Derek and whispering things that made them both chuckle. Ten minutes later, heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway outside. Two police officers walked in. The one in front was an older, weary looking cop with graying hair. His name tag read Mitchell. Derek rushed over to him, pointing an accusing finger in my direction. “Officer, that woman right there intentionally dumped alcohol and ruined a Persian rug worth over thirty thousand dollars.” “She also made verbal threats and tried to physically intimidate my wife and me! Arrest her!” Officer Mitchell held up a hand, completely unimpressed. He stepped around Derek, walked over to the rug, and crouched down to inspect the wet spot for a few seconds. He stood up, pulled a small notepad from his chest pocket, and looked at Derek with absolute deadpan energy. “You are claiming the damage to this rug is thirty thousand dollars?” “Yes, it is imported Persian…” “Do you have the original purchase receipt or a certified appraisal on hand?” “It belongs to the club! Why the hell would I have the receipt?” “Then the club’s management will need to file that claim with the necessary documentation, not you.” Officer Mitchell scribbled something down. “You also claimed the suspect physically intimidated you. Do you have any marks or injuries?” “She did not hit me, but she threatened me!” “Do you have audio or video evidence of the specific threats made?” “I did not record it, but everyone in this room heard her!” Officer Mitchell slowly lifted his head, sweeping his tired eyes across the booth. Every single classmate looked away. Nobody made a sound. “Based on what you are telling me, sir, this does not meet the criteria for criminal arrest.” Officer Mitchell snapped his notepad shut. He looked at Derek, his voice flat and final. “If you insist on pursuing this, I suggest you gather actual proof and take it to civil court.” Derek’s face flushed a deep, ugly shade of crimson. He took a sharp breath, dropping his voice into a low, entitled growl. “Listen to me, officer. Do you have any idea who I am? I am an executive at Sinclair Enterprises…” Out in the hallway, a new set of footsteps approached. They were heavy, synchronized, and radiated an intense, undeniable authority even through the thick carpet. The heavy mahogany doors were pushed open from the outside. A man in his fifties strode into the room. Four men in sharp black suits flanked him, immediately taking up positions by the door. Derek turned his head. The moment his eyes landed on the older man, his pupils shrank to pinpricks. He recognized him instantly. It was Arthur, the Executive Vice President of Sinclair Enterprises. “Mr. Arthur? What are you doing here?” Derek’s arrogant posture instantly folded. He slapped on a sycophantic smile. “If you had told me you were coming, I would have waited by the front entrance for you!” Arthur did not even look at Derek. He walked into the center of the room, his eyes scanning past everyone until they locked onto me, sitting quietly in the corner. He stopped dead in his tracks. The intimidating, corporate titan aura that Arthur carried with him completely vanished in that split second. He walked over and stopped right in front of me. Then, this man, a titan who could make the entire Chicago financial district tremble with a single phone call, slowly and deeply bowed his head. “Ms. Sinclair.” “My subordinates have failed you. I apologize for the disrespect you have suffered tonight.” Every single person in the room went entirely rigid. Jaws dropped. People literally forgot how to breathe.

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1 To make me lose interest in him, Derek had me deliver a box of Durex to his apartment on a night with a raging blizzard. The box was wrapped in a brown paper drugstore bag, making me assume he was sick. I was in such a frantic rush to get to him that I slipped and took a hard fall on the icy road. But when the door opened and I saw the warm, intimate glow of the apartment behind him, everything became painfully clear. From that night on, I began to slip out of his life. When he injured his knee during a major basketball game, his roommate tracked me down in the hallway. “Derek took a really bad fall, Grace. Are you going to go see him?” I shook my head. Even when he got into a serious car accident a few weeks later, I didn’t step foot in the hospital. When the winter break arrived and he asked to drive home together, I manufactured excuses to stay behind. “I still have exams to study for.” But then, he ran into me on the street while I was walking hand-in-hand with my boyfriend. His eyes narrowed, a cold, sharp edge cutting through his voice. “I thought you were in the middle of exams, Grace?” “And since when are you dating? Why didn’t I know about this?” … I used to be a permanent fixture at every single one of Derek’s basketball games. He was Columbia’s star computer science major, notorious for being untouchable. Most of the university’s sports clubs had to drag students in by their ID numbers to fill the rosters, but the basketball team never had that problem. Whenever Derek was on the court, the bleachers were packed to the rafters. He was the campus’s “ice prince,” completely aloof and detached. During his first two years, he hadn’t dated a single person, leaving everyone to whisper about who would finally be the one to melt his frozen heart. I was the only girl allowed within his inner circle. After a game, he would casually toss his sweat-dampened team jacket over my head, ruffle my hair, and offer a lazy, murmured, “I’m heading to the showers.” The other girls would watch us with intense envy, and I quietly let myself drown in the sweet, dizzying warmth of that ambiguity. I was naive enough to believe his refusal to date anyone else was because he was waiting for me. Until that snowy night, when he chose a different way to reject me. A way far more cruel than a simple, face-to-face “no.” He wanted to humiliate me, to make me feel like a pathetic clown. Since that night, I had stopped reaching out to him. I stopped attending his games, choosing to spend my Saturdays tucked away in the quiet corners of the library instead. As the sun began to dip below the horizon, my phone buzzed. It was Zach, Derek’s roommate. “Hey, Grace. Derek took a nasty spill on the court. Are you coming over to check on him?” Hearing that he was hurt still sent a sharp, involuntary pang through my chest. But I had my pride, and I had my dignity. “I’m not on campus today, Zach. I won’t be able to make it.” Zach let out a quiet sigh of surprise. “No wonder you weren’t in the stands today. He kept looking for you.” I offered a quiet murmur of agreement and hung up. Leaving the library, I grabbed a lonely dinner at the dining hall and immediately returned to my books. Derek and I had entered a silent, unspoken truce; we hadn’t exchanged a single message in over two weeks. In truth, I had always been the one driving our connection. The moment I stopped reaching out, our world simply fell apart. Besides, he had a girlfriend now. It was only right that we stopped speaking. The night of the blizzard. Derek had texted me, asking me to deliver a package to his apartment. Earlier that morning, I had finally mustered the courage to slip a handwritten confession letter into his locker. He hadn’t acknowledged it all day. It wasn’t until the snow began to pile up on the pavement that he finally sent a message, telling me he had left a bag with Zach for me to bring to his place. By the time I ran to his building, my breath was coming in ragged gasps. Derek stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. “Thanks,” he murmured, reaching for the bag. My fingers were so stiff from the biting cold that my grip slipped. The paper bag tore, and its contents spilled across the welcome mat. I looked down. It wasn’t cold medicine. It was a sleek, blue box of condoms. I froze, the breath catching in my throat. Derek crouched down, his expression entirely natural as he gathered the items. We locked eyes for a long, quiet second. My gaze drifted past his shoulder, peering into the warm, dimly lit apartment behind him. A girl’s slender silhouette was visible in the soft glow of the hallway. She was wrapped in his sheets, her bare shoulders pale against the dark fabric. The air in the room felt thick with a lazy, post-coital warmth. A heavy, suffocating pressure settled over my chest, and my entire world seemed to crumble into dust. The freezing wind howling outside was nothing compared to the absolute numbness spreading through my veins. Then, the girl’s soft, sleepy voice drifted out to the doorway. “Derek? Are you coming back to bed?” Derek looked back at me, a faint, polite smile playing on his lips. “My girlfriend is waiting, Grace. I won’t keep you. It’s freezing out there, so be careful on your way back.” I didn’t even have the strength to ask him when he had started seeing her, or why he hadn’t told me. The heavy door clicked shut in my face. The moment the elevator doors closed on the first floor, I collapsed against the wall and began to sob. The bag had been a standard brown paper drugstore bag, which was why I had desperately assumed he was sick. I had run so fast through the storm that I had taken a hard fall on the black ice, scraping my knee so badly it was still throbbing. As I stumbled out into the freezing night, my phone rang. Derek’s name flashed on the screen. “Grace,” his voice came through, cool and detached. “Wait in the lobby. I told Kevin to come pick you up.” I didn’t dare speak, terrified that the tremble in my voice would betray my tears. I simply let out a quiet murmur of assent and hung up. I had no intention of waiting. At this hour, the subways were delayed, the buses had stopped running, and finding a cab in a blizzard was practically impossible. But I kept my head down, burying my face in my jacket as I began the long, freezing walk back to my dorm. The profound, aching weight in my chest made me entirely numb to the cold. If a pair of strong, steady hands hadn’t caught my shoulders, I probably would have collapsed in the snow without even realizing it. A tall, dark silhouette stepped into my path, shielding me from the biting wind. The pale streetlamp illuminated his sharp, striking features and the snow dusted across his dark hair. “Grace?” My mind scrambled to place him. Kevin Pierce. He was Derek’s former roommate from freshman year. We had met briefly at a campus party, and though we hadn’t spoken much, his quiet, intense presence had left a lasting impression on me. He was exceptionally handsome, though far more reserved and aloof than Derek. “Kevin?” I whispered, my eyelashes heavy with frost. He nodded, his dark eyes searching my face. “Didn’t I tell you to wait for me in the lobby?” Despite the freezing temperatures, a light sheen of sweat clung to his forehead. His chest was heaving slightly, his breath curling into white plumes in the dark. He didn’t sound angry or demanding; he simply sounded relieved to have found me. “Where were you planning to go?” he asked softly. I realized with a jolt that the dorms had already locked for the night. There was no way back inside. “I… I suppose I’ll find a hotel,” I murmured. Kevin’s lips twitched with a faint, dry amusement. “The blizzard has shut down the transit lines. Every hotel in the area is booked solid or charging triple. Come to my place.” Seeing the hesitation in my eyes, he glanced down at his watch. “It’s past midnight, Grace. I have an early morning flight to catch to go visit my family for the weekend. Once I drop you off at my apartment, I’m heading straight to the airport. You’ll have the place to yourself.” “It’s much safer than wandering the streets in a storm.” I looked at his sincere, calm expression and nodded. “Okay. Thank you, Kevin.” A fleeting smile touched his lips, so brief I almost thought I had imagined it. “You’re freezing,” he muttered, quickly unbuttoning his heavy wool coat and wrapping it around my shoulders. He unwound his thick scarf and wrapped it gently around my neck, his fingers brushing my chin. When we reached his apartment, he set his suitcase by the door and looked down at my torn jeans. “You fell?” “How did you know?” I asked, startled. Kevin retrieved a small medical kit from the bathroom and placed it in my hands. “Can you apply the ointment yourself?” I nodded. He grabbed his suitcase, offering a quiet nod before heading out into the storm. “Lock the door behind me, Grace. Text me when you’re back in your dorm tomorrow.” I watched him leave, feeling a strange, quiet warmth bloom in my chest for the first time all night. Though Derek had never formally replied to my letter, his actions had given me an unmistakable answer. He didn’t love me. And so, I quietly stepped back, erecting a polite, impenetrable wall between us. Late one evening, as I walked back from the library, a message from Zach popped up on my screen. It was a photo of Derek’s knee, wrapped in a thick compression bandage. Just finished icing it. He’s doing fine. I stared at the photo for a moment before typing a polite response. Glad to hear. Hope he recovers quickly. When I walked into my dorm room, my roommates immediately swarmed around my desk. “Grace, did Derek actually get a girlfriend?” I paused, placing my books on the shelf, and nodded. “Yes.” Sophia sighed. “I knew it. I ran into him downstairs earlier. He was dropping off Victoria Ashford, the law major.” Jade joined in, her eyes wide. “They look like something out of a magazine. It’s almost unfair.” That night, the campus forums were practically overflowing with threads about them. Heartbroken. Columbia’s golden boy is officially off the market. Honestly, they’re perfect together. Both of them are gorgeous and wealthy. It’s a visual masterpiece. Thank goodness. I was getting tired of seeing that plain girl trailing behind him like a shadow. Derek was always out of her league anyway. My chest tightened slightly as I scrolled through the comments. I closed the app, looking at my roommates. “They really do make a lovely couple,” I said quietly. And it was the truth. Everyone on campus thought so. Derek and I were childhood friends. Our families lived next door to each other in Greenwich, Connecticut. For years, it was just him and his mother, and we had always assumed his father was out of the picture. But when we were in middle school, a sleek, black luxury sedan parked at the end of our street, drawing the curious gazes of all our neighbors. It turned out Derek’s father was the CEO of Shaw Enterprises, one of the most powerful developers on the East Coast. Derek’s mother had refused to leave our quiet neighborhood, so his father simply bought the historic estate at the end of the lane and renovated it from top to bottom. Derek had always excelled at everything, easily outshining me in academics. I had barely scraped by to get into Columbia, while he had been accepted with honors. Growing up, my mother’s voice was a constant refrain: Look at Derek, Grace. Why can’t you be more like him? To which I would always shoot back: Look at his father’s company, Mom. Why can’t you be more like him? That usually kept her quiet. Now that we were of college age, my mother frequently brought him up during our weekly phone calls, dropping heavy hints. Derek’s mother and I were just talking, Grace. It would be so lovely if you two ended up together. Back then, those words would make my cheeks burn with a shy, hopeful heat. But now, the mere mention of his name made me want to run in the opposite direction. I was sitting in the dining hall with Sophia when Derek’s tall, unmistakable figure appeared near the entrance. He stood out effortlessly in the crowd, his broad shoulders easily clearing the students around him. Sophia nudged my arm, pointing toward the door. “Grace, your boy is here.” Hearing that old designation made my chest ache. “Sophia, please don’t say that. He has a girlfriend, and we aren’t close anymore.” “Are you finished eating? Let’s go.” As we stood up to leave, Derek and Zach began walking in our direction. Derek’s eyes locked onto mine, but I quickly averted my gaze, guiding Sophia toward the exit without looking back. It was the first time I had actively ignored him. That evening, I received a text from him. Have you been busy lately? I stared at the notification, waiting until midnight to type out a brief, formal reply. Yes, we have a lot of final projects this week. A few days later, our department hosted a guest lecture. Attendance was mandatory, and the seats were assigned by student ID. To my dismay, Derek was seated in the same row. As he walked down the aisle toward me, I quickly spotted an empty seat a few rows down, nestled between two strangers. I slid into it before he could reach me, letting out a quiet sigh of relief. Derek’s eyes darkened as he watched me sit down. Once the lecture started, my phone buzzed in my lap. Why didn’t you sit with me? There was an empty space. I typed back a simple lie. Oh, sorry. I didn’t see you. When the lecture ended, I slipped out through the side exit before the crowd could block the aisles. Why did you run off? his next text arrived. I manufactured another excuse. My roommate forgot her student ID and needed me to bring it to her exam room. My mother sent me a massive care package filled with her homemade beef jerky. She had specifically added a note, reminding me to share. Derek loves the spicy ones, Grace. Make sure you hand-deliver the red jar to him. I looked at the jar, feeling an old, stubborn lump in my throat. I dialed Derek’s number, intending to ask him to meet me in the courtyard to get it over with. But when the call connected, a girl’s soft, elegant voice answered. “Hello?” My heart stuttered. Even though I had spent weeks telling myself I was over him, hearing his girlfriend answer his phone still felt like a physical blow. I hung up without saying a word. I quickly dialed Sophia instead. “Hey, Sophia. My mom sent a ton of beef jerky. Can you come down to the lobby and help me carry it up?” Sophia’s voice squealed with delight. “Oh my god, yes! I’m on my way!” We shared the snacks with the entire floor. An hour later, my phone rang again. It was Zach, his voice frantic. “Grace! Thank goodness you picked up. Are you in your dorm?” “Derek got into a bad car accident. He’s at Columbia Presbyterian.” My fingers tightened around my phone, a cold spike of panic shooting through my chest. But then, I forced myself to breathe. “I can’t go, Zach. I have plans today.” “You should call Victoria.” Zach let out a strained, dry laugh. “Why on earth would I call her?” I remembered my brief encounter with Victoria in the library courtyard a few days prior. She had stopped me, offering a polite, razor-sharp smile. Grace, right? Derek’s little childhood friend. I’ll be honest with you. I absolutely despise the concept of a ‘childhood best friend’ when it comes to men. I’m sure you understand. Nobody wants their boyfriend to have a surrogate sister hovering around. I had offered a tight, forced smile and nodded in agreement. “Zach,” I said now, my voice steady. “It’s not appropriate for me to go. Call his girlfriend.” I hung up. The next morning, I was woken up by a call. I answered sleepily, my voice raspy. “Hello?” “Grace,” Derek’s voice came through, thick and exhausted. “I’m in the hospital.” Annoyed at having my sleep disrupted, I muttered, “Then call a doctor, Derek. I’m not a physician.” The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. And in that quiet, I finally woke up, realizing exactly what I had just said.

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1 On the eve of our college graduation, I got pregnant. Oliver knelt before me, his eyes bloodshot with tears as he slipped a cheap ring onto my finger, weeping as he promised to spend the rest of his life making me happy. After that, I stayed home to raise our child while he threw himself into the brutal grind of starting a business from scratch. He used to look at me with such fierce devotion, whispering, “Elena, I’m going to give you the grandest wedding this city has ever seen. It’s the least I owe you.” Now, our daughter is five years old. I was currently preparing our wedding for the sixth time, personally selecting every single crystal flute for the champagne tower. But once again, Oliver stood me up. “Elena, this Chicago merger is make-or-break for the company. I have to fly out tonight.” “Let’s find another date for the wedding. I just can’t pull myself away right now. Next time, I promise!” I opened my mouth, wanting to ask him if his work was truly more important than his own family, when a soft, familiar voice drifted through the receiver. “Oliver, I booked the spa hotel. Once we’re finished with the clients, we can go for a soak.” Isla’s voice, sweet and light, detonated like a bomb in my mind. He had time to travel to Chicago and soak in a hot spring with his new assistant, but he couldn’t spare a single afternoon to stand at the altar with me. I calmly closed my fingers, crushing the crystal champagne flute in my hand. There won’t be a next time, Oliver. I don’t want this wedding anymore. … Sharp shards of glass dug deep into my palm, and hot, crimson blood began to seep down my wrist, dripping onto the pristine white roses on the table. I stared at the stains, unable to feel any physical pain. Oliver was too busy to marry me, but he had all the time in the world to pamper his assistant. But in the beginning, it wasn’t like this. The year we graduated, we lived in a damp, cramped basement studio. Even when we were down to our last dollar, he would always pick the only piece of sausage out of the instant noodles and force me to eat it. When my morning sickness started, he was running himself ragged trying to secure clients, drinking until he threw up. He would lean against the bathroom door, his face pale as he offered me a weak, exhausted smile. “Elena, trust me. I’m going to build a real future for you and our baby.” We were so young back then. We honestly believed the future was ours for the taking. We believed that love could conquer any obstacle, that the sacrifices of youth would eventually pay off. I had stolen my own birth certificate from my parents’ house, defying their wishes to elope with him. The day I left, my mother had slapped me across the face, her hands shaking with rage and grief. “I didn’t pay for your education just so you could drop out and become a housewife the second you graduate!” I had clutched my pregnant belly, stubborn and defiant. “Mom! I know he’s the one! I’m not making a mistake!” Now, as my tears mingled with the blood on my hands, the bitter truth finally settled in. I had chosen the wrong man. “Mommy, you’re bleeding! Let me blow on it so it stops hurting!” My daughter’s soft, lisping voice pulled me back from the edge of my memories. My mother let out a sharp gasp, rushing over with a first-aid kit to wrap my hand. I quickly pulled my hand behind my back, trying to force a reassuring smile. “I’m fine, Mom. Can you take Grace to the playground? I don’t want to scare her.” My mother looked at me, her eyes filled with a mixture of pity and quiet rage. “Oliver cancelled again, didn’t he? He—” “Mom, please. Not in front of Grace.” My mother closed her mouth, instantly masking her anger with a bright smile for her granddaughter. “Come on, Grace, let’s go get some ice cream.” The front door clicked shut, the silence of the apartment settling over me like a heavy shroud. Was there any point in continuing this marriage? In the end, I had failed to escape the oldest cliché in the book. Once a man climbs to the top, the first thing he cuts down is the woman who held the ladder. After the clinic doctor finished dressing my hand, I sat on the plastic chairs in the hallway, watching the bustling crowd. I saw couples holding hands, mothers kissing their toddlers, siblings laughing. And then, I saw a husband and his muse. Oliver and Isla. “Oliver, I’m so incredibly sorry,” Isla murmured, her face pale but her eyes sparkling with a delicate, helpless look. “If my cramps hadn’t started acting up, we wouldn’t have missed our meeting with the Chicago team.” “Don’t worry about it,” Oliver said softly, carrying a small pharmacy bag as he walked right past my bench without noticing me. “We can always reschedule the clients. Your health comes first.” I stared at their retreating figures. Isla was holding his arm, her head resting lightly against his shoulder. They looked like a beautiful, devoted young couple. I was the only outsider. He could reschedule the clients. He could reschedule our wedding. But he could never, under any circumstances, allow his sweet assistant to suffer. Cramps. I let out a bitter, silent laugh. Oliver had completely forgotten that I suffered from severe menstrual pain too. It was a lingering complication from a difficult postpartum recovery when he was too busy to hire a nurse. In the beginning, I used to tell him about the pain, and he would rush to help. I’ve got the heating pad, the medication, and some warm tea ready for you, babe. But as the years went on, his sympathy mutated into irritation. “Just take some Advil and get over it, Elena. I’m dealing with a multi-million dollar merger right now. Stop being so dramatic.” Eventually, I stopped talking about it. And eventually, he forgot it even existed. During those agonizing nights when the pain kept me awake, I would lay in the dark, listening to the steady, rhythmic sound of his snoring, weeping silently as I whispered his own words back to myself. Just get over it. Stop being so dramatic. You’re a mother now. You have to be strong. Late that night, after my mother and Grace had fallen asleep, I sat alone in the dark living room, making phone calls. “Yes, I’d like to cancel the venue. No, not a postponement. A complete cancellation. There will be no wedding.” “I understand the deposit is non-refundable. Please process the paperwork according to the contract.” “And the invitations? Yes, please toss them in the trash.” I didn’t realize my mother was standing behind me until I felt her hand rest gently on my shoulder. The dim light from the hallway caught the tears shimmering in her eyes. “Mom,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “You were right. I chose the wrong man.” She pulled me into a tight, warm embrace. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Times have changed. No one says you have to spend the rest of your life paying for one mistake.” “I just want to be alone for a bit.” “Alright.” Years ago, my mother had threatened to disown me when I packed my bags to run away with Oliver. But during my darkest days, when I was recovering from childbirth in that freezing basement, she was the one who showed up to cook my meals and watch the baby. I sat on the sofa for two hours, staring at the blank television screen. The sound of the electronic lock chimed at the door. I looked up, expecting Oliver, but the door opened to reveal Isla. “Mrs. Cole,” Isla said, offering a polite, practiced smile. “I came to pack some of Oliver’s suits. The Chicago trip is going to be extended, and he needs some fresh clothes.” I stared at her, my blood turning to ice. Oliver had given the passcode to our family home to an assistant. “Isla, my husband is your boss, not your college roommate. You should address him as Mr. Cole.” “And you seem to have a habit of crossing boundaries.” Isla didn’t look remotely bothered. “But Oliver always tells me to call him by his first name. We went to the same university, you know. I’m only a few years behind him.” She watched me closely, a spark of malicious triumph in her eyes. “By the way, Mrs. Cole, I heard you got pregnant right after graduation. Is the child actually his? People at the alumni association said you ruined your own reputation back then, and Oliver was just playing the hero to save you.” Her words hit me like a physical blow. For a split second, I wanted to shatter my mug against her face. But my mother and my daughter were sleeping in the next room, and I refused to disturb them. “Get out,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Wait in the hallway. I’ll pack his bags myself.” I threw three suits into a garment bag and shoved them into her hands, locking my eyes onto hers. “This is my home. If you ever set foot in here again, I will have you arrested for trespassing.” Isla glanced down at the bandage on my hand and let out a soft, mocking chuckle. “Honestly, Mrs. Cole, my cramps weren’t even that bad today. But Oliver was just so frantic to take care of me, I couldn’t stop him.” “Oh, and I saw you at the clinic. You looked very lonely.” The heavy door clicked shut, her smug, youthful face vanishing from sight. Even though my chest was bursting with a wild, suffocating rage, I still made sure the door closed with a quiet, gentle click. I immediately pulled out my phone and sent a message to Oliver. Why did you give our house passcode to an assistant? An hour later, his reply arrived. I’m in the middle of a major presentation, Elena. I’m incredibly busy. Can you please stop starting fights over nothing? I won’t be home tonight. Pulling an all-nighter at the office. I clutched the phone until my fingers turned white, the freshly wrapped bandage on my hand beginning to stain with fresh blood. What presentation could possibly be so important that he had to stay up all night? And if he was so busy, how did he have the time to personally escort his assistant to the clinic earlier? I dialed his number. “Oliver, about the wedding—” His exhausted, irritable voice cut me off immediately. “We’ll do it when this merger is settled, Elena! I promise!” “Stop nagging me! I am working myself to the bone here!” “Can you, just once, try to be supportive of my career?” Perhaps realizing his tone was too harsh, his voice softened slightly. “The stress of starting this business is killing me, Elena. I have fifty employees depending on me for their livelihood.” “And everything I do, I do for you and Grace.” I hung up. Every time he claimed his neglect was “for the sake of the family,” a wave of absolute disgust washed over me. Over the past five years, he hadn’t just neglected me—he had completely missed our daughter’s childhood. By three in the morning, the silence of the apartment became unbearable. My heart was pounding, my hands shaking as my mind spun out into a spiral of dark, painful thoughts. An empty office. Late at night. Just the two of them. Were they kissing? Were they holding each other? Without thinking, I grabbed my car keys, ran down to the garage, and floored the accelerator toward his office. I was going to kick his door open. I was going to scream at them, to let the entire world know what a hypocrite he was. Oliver, you absolute bastard, I’m divorcing you! But when I reached the executive floor, the office was entirely dark. The only light came from the glass conference room at the end of the hall. Oliver was slumped over the mahogany table, fast asleep. Drafts and financial reports were scattered all around him. He really had been working. Isla was standing beside him, quietly organizing the papers into neat folders. She looked up and caught sight of me standing in the shadows outside the glass door. Our eyes met. And then, with agonizing slowness, she leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss onto Oliver’s lips. Oliver stirred, rubbing his eyes as he woke up. They stared at each other, Isla deliberately leaning forward so that her low-cut collar brushed against his arm. Oliver’s gaze dropped to her exposed skin, his eyes lingering there for a long, quiet moment. “Oliver,” Isla whispered, her voice sweet and teasing. “If you postpone the wedding again, won’t your wife be heartbroken?” Oliver looked away, a smug, self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “No. She’s been with me for eight years, and our daughter is five. She has nowhere else to go.” “Her reputation was ruined in college, and she has no professional skills. She’s stuck with me for the rest of her life.” Isla smiled, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she leaned in for another kiss. “I’ll never leave you, Oliver. I’d gladly have your babies, and I don’t care about a piece of marriage paper.” Oliver didn’t push her away. Separated by a single sheet of glass, they embraced, while I stood in the dark, listening to the sound of my own heart breaking. It was a sharp, clean sound. Like a crystal glass shattering on stone. Whether they had actually slept together was no longer important. This marriage was over. I drove like a lunatic on the highway, the roaring engine echoing my silent screams. I pushed the car to its absolute limit, the wind howling past the windows as my chest felt ready to burst. I almost crashed into the concrete barrier. With a deafening screech of tires, the car fish-tailed and came to a sudden halt, the silence of the night rushing back to fill the cabin. My fingers were shaking violently, and the bandage on my hand was completely soaked through with blood. I gripped the steering wheel, my chest heaving as I gasped for air. I had almost killed myself over a pathetic, cheating coward. I raised my hand and slapped myself hard across the face, the sting of it clearing the remaining fog from my mind. Love is not that important, I told myself. And marriage is nothing but a contract. My phone buzzed. It was my mother. “Elena, where are you? Grace woke up crying, looking for you.” My daughter’s small, trembling voice came through the line. “Mommy, please come home. I want a hug.” I wiped the tears from my face, my voice softening instantly. “I’m on my way, sweetie. Mommy will be home in five minutes to hold you.” Thank goodness I had hit the brakes. Thank goodness I was still alive. A notification popped up on my screen. It was a photo from Isla. She was lying in Oliver’s arms, his shirt partially unbuttoned to reveal several dark red marks on his collarbone. Old lady, I know you saw us tonight. He told me you’re like a dead fish in bed anyway. I looked at the screen, my mind completely calm. I tapped the screen and saved the photo to a secure drive. My daughter was waiting for me. Compared to her, my husband was nothing. His assistant was nothing. At dawn, a text from Oliver arrived. I’m boarding my flight to Chicago now. I’ll bring back a souvenir for you and Grace. Take care of the house, you’re the only one I trust to handle things. Followed immediately by a message from Isla. Heading to Chicago for a spa retreat with Oliver! Aren’t you jealous, old lady? During the week Oliver was away, I prepared the divorce. I hired a prominent family lawyer to handle the asset division, while I focused on systematically erasing his presence from my daughter’s life. For seven days, Oliver didn’t call me once. I only knew his schedule because Isla was posting daily updates of their luxurious hotel suite and private dinners. It was almost comical. Without his mistress’s posts, I would have had no idea where my own husband was. Our social circles were completely separate. In the beginning, I used to fight about this. “Oliver, I’m your wife! We’re legally married! Why isn’t there a single trace of me on your social media?” And he would always offer the same soothing lies. “I want to wait for the wedding, babe. I want to introduce you and Grace to the world with a grand, unforgettable celebration.” Now, I realized he simply never wanted anyone to know we existed. I went to pick up Grace from school as usual, but a horrific drunk-driving accident near the gates left several children injured, and Grace was rushed to the emergency ward with minor cuts and bruises. As I sat by her bed, wrapping her scratches, she looked at the other children whose fathers were holding them, her eyes turning red. “Mommy, why do all my classmates have their daddies here? Why is it always just you?” “Be good, sweetie. Daddy is on his way.” Isla’s posts from yesterday confirmed they had returned to the city. But Oliver hadn’t sent a single message to check on us. I dialed his number. He answered after several rings, his voice hushed. “I’m driving to a client’s office right now, Elena.” “Okay. Drive safe.” I hung up, looking at the disappointment in my daughter’s eyes. I felt a crushing wave of guilt, unable to explain to her that we were about to become a single-parent family. “Mom! I heard Leo was admitted! I came as fast as I could!” Isla’s panicked voice echoed down the hallway as she rushed into the pediatric ward. Behind her stood Oliver. The boy in the next bed was Isla’s younger brother. The boy’s mother looked up, offering a grateful smile. “Mr. Cole, thank you so much for coming personally.” Oliver smiled warmly. “Isla’s family is my family. It’s the least I could do.” “Daddy!” Grace’s high, trembling voice cut through the room, making everyone freeze. Oliver turned, his eyes widening in absolute horror as his gaze met mine. “Elena… I—” “So, your important client is your daughter’s classmate’s family,” I said, my voice dead and empty. “And your priority is Isla’s brother.” “I’ll leave you to your family duties. We’re going home.” I scooped Grace into my arms and walked out without looking back. Oliver tried to follow, but Isla caught his sleeve. “Oliver, the Chicago clients are waiting at the office. They’re verifying our production line tomorrow.” Oliver stopped. He didn’t follow us. He only shouted down the corridor: “Elena, take Grace home first! I’ll explain everything tonight!” I didn’t want to hear another word. His lies had become second nature. If I hadn’t run into him myself, his excuses would have been flawless. I had probably been lied to a thousand times over the last five years. I held my daughter tight as we walked to the car, whispering in her ear. “Grace, sweetie… would you be okay if Mommy found us a new home? Just the two of us?” Grace rested her head against my shoulder, her voice soft and sweet. “Only if the new home makes you happy, Mommy.” My chest ached. She was so young, yet she understood everything. That evening, Oliver actually sent me a text detailing his schedule. Elena, I’m so sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to lie to you. I was just worried you’d misunderstand. Once I finish with these Chicago clients, I’ll come home and make it up to you, okay? I didn’t bother replying with a paragraph. Let’s get a divorce, Oliver. I’m exhausted. Since you don’t want a wedding, we don’t need one. Oliver immediately sent a transfer of fifty thousand dollars to my account. Elena, stop throwing tantrums. Everything I do, I do for our future. You need to be more understanding of the pressure I’m under. Why did he think this was just another tantrum? At seven that evening, I walked into the VIP dining room at the Celestial Hotel, pushing the door open to reveal Oliver, Isla, and their clients. “Elena? What are you doing here?” Oliver gasped, dropping his fork. Isla stood up, looking outraged. “We are hosting key clients, Mrs. Cole. What do you think you’re doing barging in like this?” I ignored her, walking straight to the head of the table and dropping a thick folder onto Oliver’s chest. “Divorce papers. I want full custody of Grace, and we split the assets fifty-fifty. Sign it.”

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