Author: Momo Chan

1 The newest romance movie was all anyone could talk about, and I managed to book two couple seats. By the time I reached the theater, my girlfriend had already picked up her ticket and gone inside, leaving mine at the counter. “You took too long. The movie already started, so Aaron and I went in ahead,” she texted. “I got you a ticket for the next showing in the theater next door.” Their movie ended before mine. “Aaron and I are going to grab food. Meet us when you’re done. And don’t be so slow this time.” I had to wait ages for a ride. By the time I reached the restaurant, they were already finished. Chloe looked at me, repeating her usual line. “Why are you always so slow?” The leftovers on the table weren’t even things I liked. I signaled a waiter and ordered two more dishes. “Oliver, don’t order more. We’ll have to wait,” she said. I swallowed hard and gave in. “Fine. I’ll just eat a few pastries, then we can go.” She sighed, calling my name again. “You chew too slowly. Hurry up, it’s getting late.” I was always too slow, always wasting her time. I tried to keep up, but I always fell short. The pastry was cold, dry, and chalky. I forced myself to chew it into a paste and swallow with difficulty. My stomach suddenly felt completely empty. “If that is the case, you two can head out first.” “I want to take my time and finish this meal.” I lowered my eyes, took a sip of water, and tried to ease the tightness in my throat. Chloe and Aaron did not hesitate. They left. “Sir, your leg is bleeding. Do you need some help with that?” A passing waiter looked at me with genuine concern. My nose stung. Suddenly, large, heavy tears started rolling down my face, dropping onto the table. I had planned my timing perfectly to get to the movie theater. But I got caught in rush hour traffic, compounded by a major accident on the bridge. The cars were gridlocked, not moving an inch. I was frantic. Finally, I gritted my teeth, paid the driver, and decided to run the rest of the way. Even the driver looked at me like I was crazy. “Where are you going in such a rush, man?” I pressed my lips together. “I am meeting my girlfriend for a movie.” “If I am late, she will not wait for me.” I ran so hard I could taste the metallic tang of blood in the back of my throat. I collided hard with someone on the sidewalk. She was tall and walking fast. The impact sent me stumbling, and my knees slammed brutally onto the concrete. My left calf was scraped completely raw, blood immediately streaming down my leg. I barely registered her apologizing or offering to take me to a clinic. I scrambled up from the pavement, covered in dirt, and limped the rest of the way as fast as I could. But no matter how hard I pushed, I was still late. The movie had started. I wanted to apologize to Chloe. Then I saw the text message she had sent ten minutes earlier. She said that she and Aaron had already started watching our movie. I stood frozen in the lobby. Suddenly, I did not know why I had run so hard. What was the point? Sweat dripped down my forehead and into my eyes, burning terribly. The pain in my leg was entirely numb. I did not even notice when the scab broke open again. I did not notice, and Chloe never saw it. When I got home, Aaron was still in the apartment I shared with Chloe. They were sitting close together on the sofa, seamlessly transitioning from talking about work to dissecting the movie they had just watched. They argued over the plot, each holding their ground, but the atmosphere between them was incredibly vibrant and harmonious. When Chloe saw me walk in, she tapped the face of her watch. “You took forever.” “I was starting to think something happened to you.” I chewed on her words for a moment. My voice came out dead and flat. “If you thought something happened to me, why didn’t you call or text to check?” Chloe actually froze for a second, caught off guard. Aaron immediately jumped in, playfully swatting at Chloe’s shoulder. “Oliver, do not worry, I will put her in her place for you.” “Chloe, what kind of girlfriend are you?” Then, slipping perfectly into the role of the peacemaker, he turned to me. “Do not be mad at her, man. Chloe and I just got way too deep into debating the climax of the movie.” He started rambling enthusiastically about the cinematography and the character arcs, trying to pull me into the discussion, asking for my take. I just shook my head, rejecting the invitation. Chloe gave a knowing, almost disappointed little sigh. “See, Aaron? I told you. You are better off just discussing it with me.” “Oliver does not really understand this kind of stuff.” I offered a soft, hollow agreement. “Yeah. I do not understand.” Back in college, they were the valedictorian and the salutatorian of their graduating class. Now, they were top performing partners at the same tech firm. They shared the same ambitions, the same drive. They always had an endless supply of things to talk about. There was a time when I tried to join their conversations. They had just stared at me for a few seconds before bursting into uncontrollable laughter. They never took my input seriously. They treated my thoughts like punchlines. Now, I did not even want to try. Aaron lived in the apartment exactly one floor below ours. When he first moved in, he and Chloe both agreed it was incredibly convenient. They could commute together, carpool to the office, and knock on each other’s doors whenever they needed something. Eventually, Chloe and my date nights morphed into a permanent trio. Three of us going for walks, three of us grabbing dinner, or the two of them instantly teaming up to veto any suggestion I made. They would get so caught up in their own world, leaving me trailing behind in silence. It would take them ages to finally turn around and ask, “Oliver, why are you being so quiet?” By this point, it had been almost a year since Chloe and I had gone on a single date, just the two of us. “Why did you watch our movie with Aaron today?” Chloe looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language. “Aaron and I got off work at the same time. He had his gym bag and hopped in my car. What was I supposed to do, kick him out and tell him to find his own way?” “You were running late anyway, so I just watched it with him. It made sense.” She said it so naturally, without a shred of guilt. “Chloe, you and Aaron sat in a couple’s seat to watch a romance movie together. You really do not see anything wrong with that?” She let out a short, dismissive scoff. “Are you seriously throwing a tantrum over this?” “It is just a stupid seat in a theater.” “We have known each other since freshman year of college. You know exactly what my relationship with Aaron is like.” “Besides, whenever you and I fight, Aaron is always the one taking your side and trying to smooth things over, right?” “And now you are accusing me and him of something because of a theater seat? Oliver, do you not think you are being a little too insecure and petty?” I said nothing. Chloe leaned in, her hands reaching up to cup my face, rubbing my cheeks. “I really wish that brain of yours would work faster on important things, and slow down on stupid stuff like this. Stop overthinking everything.” “That way, I wouldn’t always have to rush you.” “Just go to sleep. It is supposed to rain tomorrow, so I will drive you to work.” The rain started falling just after midnight. By morning, it was a torrential downpour. “Oliver, hurry up! Aaron is already waiting downstairs.” Down in the parking garage, Aaron stomped his feet playfully, acting like he had just won the lottery. “Chloe, you are exactly one minute late today.” As they bantered, Aaron naturally slid right into the passenger seat. The interior of Chloe’s car was saturated with the mingled scent of her perfume and Aaron’s cologne. Even the backseat was cluttered with Aaron’s gym gear and protein shakers. He enthusiastically pointed out all the new dashboard ornaments he had bought for her car, looking over his shoulder at me. “Oliver, it feels like forever since we all rode to work together in Chloe’s car.” Unless it was pouring rain, Chloe never drove me to work. She always said my office was out of the way and it would ruin her morning schedule. So, for over three hundred days a year, Aaron was the one who left the house with her, and Aaron was the one who came home with her. My mind drifted as I stared at the relentless rain lashing against the window. I remembered a day exactly like this, about a year ago. I had asked her, “The rain is too heavy, and I cannot get an Uber. Can you please just drop me off?” Chloe refused. She said she was running late for a morning briefing and did not have the time. I ended up walking to the subway, gripping an umbrella against the wind, my pants soaked to the knees, looking entirely pathetic. I did not hear the delivery truck reversing until it was too late. The pavement was slick. The impact sent me flying, and I slammed onto the wet asphalt. My umbrella rolled away into the gutter. The freezing rain soaked me to the bone, washing away the blood pooling beneath my crushed leg. My entire body went into shock. I lay there shivering uncontrollably, my lips totally white, gasping for air. My phone screen was covered in water. My hands shook so violently I could barely wipe it clean. It took me four tries to dial Chloe’s number. She did not answer. In the final second before I blacked out on the asphalt, I looked across the intersection. I saw Chloe’s car stopped at a red light. I saw her look down at her phone, then place it back in the cup holder. I saw her turn to Aaron in the passenger seat and laugh at something he said. Then the light turned green, and the car drove away. By the time Chloe rushed into the emergency room, the surgeon had already informed her that my left tibia was shattered. I had just gotten out of surgery to have steel plates put in. She looked paler than I did, profusely apologizing, holding my hand. Because of that accident, from that day forward, Chloe started driving me to work whenever it rained. The memory faded, bringing me back to the present. They were still in the front seat, arguing over the fact that Chloe was one minute late. “You lost! That means you have to write my section of the quarterly report today!” Chloe raised an eyebrow, completely forgetting I was sitting right behind them. “Deal. Tomorrow, we will not wait for Oliver. I promise I will not be a single minute late.” It had been this way since college. Chloe and Aaron were the untouchable prodigies of our business school. They constantly competed, pushing each other to the limit. Everyone on campus jokingly called them the ‘Twin Stars of Wall Street.’ In school, they raced to see who could finish their exams first. In the corporate world, they raced to see who could pull in the biggest end of year bonus. Even in their daily lives, they set exact schedules down to the minute, competing to see who was more punctual. Their world was fast, loud, and brilliant. And I was just a spectator watching from the outside. They shared thousands of conversations inside this very car that I knew absolutely nothing about. Later on, I eventually asked Chloe what they had been talking about in the car on the day she ignored my call in the rain. Aaron had answered for her, tapping his chin in thought. “Oh, right. Chloe mentioned that you guys were probably going to get married soon, and she wanted to start looking at where to buy a house.” “So I rode around with her to check out a few different high end developments. We were debating which neighborhood had better property value.” The apartment they eventually picked out? I refused to sign off on it. “Chloe, does it really not bother you that you went to pick out our future home with Aaron?” She had frowned, visibly irritated. “Why does that even matter?” “If I left it up to you, you would have spent months agonizing over the decision. How long would I have to wait for you to finally make a choice?” I stood my ground. I went out, scouted a few different properties myself, and brought the brochures back for her to look at. Chloe barely glanced at them. “I still think the one Aaron found is way better than any of these.” She and Aaron were perfectly in sync. They bounced reasons off each other, listing all the pros of the apartment they found, and once again, I could not get a single word in. “Oliver, what are you spacing out for?” “We are here. Get out, Aaron and I need to get to the office.” Aaron leaned over from the passenger seat, flashing a teasing grin. “I swear, I have noticed Oliver zoning out all the time lately. What is he going to do without you, Chloe? His brain moves at the speed of a turtle.” He would not have to do anything. When I handed my resignation letter to my manager, she looked shocked. “Oliver, this is incredibly sudden.” “Did you not just tell me you were planning to get married this year? Are you two not settling down in the city?” I gave a faint nod. Strangely, the frantic anxiety that had been crushing my chest since the missed movie yesterday had entirely vanished. My heart felt perfectly calm. “We are breaking up. I am leaving the city.” After all, the only reason I had moved to this relentless, suffocating city in the first place was for Chloe. Back in college, Chloe was the girl everyone wanted. On graduation day, her dorm room desk was overflowing with confession letters. I had written one too. But there were so many guys crowding around her. I stayed in the back, gripping the envelope so tightly it wrinkled. Just as I turned around, ready to give up, she called my name. I turned back, stunned. She was looking at me, a brilliant, affectionate smile lighting up her eyes. “Oliver, are you always this slow, even when you are trying to give someone a love letter?” She and Aaron had both been accepted into elite graduate programs in the city. My grades were only good enough for a state school back home. But Chloe wrapped her arms around my neck, pulling me close. “Oliver, I do not want to do long distance.” So, I took a gap year. I spent twelve months locked in my room, studying until my eyes bled. I cried a lot that year from the sheer stress. Chloe would stay on the phone with me, coaxing me through the breakdowns. “Just hold on a little longer, Oliver. You have to hurry up and catch up to me.” So I started running. I spent the next several years constantly sprinting, trying to reach her. Through grad school, straight into the corporate grind. Chloe was still pacing herself against Aaron. They talked about conquering the city, mapping out which executive titles they wanted by the time they hit thirty. Sometimes, she would look at me and let out a heavy sigh. “Oliver, you really need to put in more effort. You have to catch up to us.” I tried. God knows I tried everything I could to meet her impossible standards. But the rhythm of this city was too fast. Just like Chloe. And Oliver, the guy who was always a little too slow in her eyes, had finally run out of breath. No matter how hard I gritted my teeth, I could not take another step. I finally admitted it to myself. This city was not meant for me. And neither was Chloe. The rain stopped as abruptly as it had started. Chloe texted me in the afternoon. “Sun is out. I will not be picking you up tonight.” Her message read like she was relieved to cross a chore off her list. I felt relieved too. When I pushed open the apartment door, she was in the bedroom packing her suitcase for a business trip. Aaron was standing by the closet, pointing out which blazers she should bring, operating with perfect synchronization. I had tagged along on one of their business trips before. Once their meetings were done, I pulled up a detailed itinerary I had made, showing Chloe all the quiet, scenic spots I wanted to visit. Aaron took one look and scoffed. “That is way too far out, and honestly, it looks boring. Why don’t we go hit the clubs downtown instead?” He pulled up a completely different location on his phone. Chloe immediately agreed. Then she turned to me, gently patting my arm, telling me that majority rules. They had an amazing time that night. They were completely in their element. I watched them now, laughing as they recalled that exact trip. I did not realize Chloe had shifted her gaze to me. “What is so funny?” she asked. I paused, suddenly realizing there was a faint smile on my face. “Nothing. I just finally figured some things out.” She gave a dismissive “Oh,” clearly not interested enough to ask what I meant, and went back to folding her clothes. She was leaving for her trip, and I was moving out. The timing was perfect. The day Chloe returned from her business trip happened to coincide with the university’s annual alumni gala. She had been invited back as the keynote speaker. Chloe stood at the podium, tall, elegant, and radiating absolute confidence. She looked just as breathtakingly brilliant as the day I first saw her. At the end of her speech, she leaned into the microphone. “…The most important thing is finding the right people to walk alongside you.” “Take my colleague, Aaron, for example. We are fierce rivals, but we are also the best of partners.” “We share the same vision, the same frequency, and we constantly push each other to break our own limits.” “Neither of us holds the other back. We simply make each other better.” “I wish all of you the absolute best in finding that kind of soulmate in your own careers.” The auditorium erupted into thunderous applause, mixed with excited whispers from the undergrads. “Oh my god, they are literally the ultimate power couple!” “Right?! I love that dynamic. Equals pushing each other to the top. It is so romantic!” “They just have this insane, exclusive magnetic field around them. Nobody else could ever fit into it.” Then, a disappointed voice chimed in. “Wait, I thought I heard a rumor that Chloe already has a boyfriend? Some guy who also went here?” The conversation quickly pivoted, with the students trying to guess what kind of guy I must be. They threw around a few theories. “Probably some quiet, submissive beta male who just stays home.” “Ugh, whatever. I still think Aaron and Chloe are endgame. That is what a real partnership looks like.” It was not just the naive college kids who thought that way. At the cocktail reception afterward, one of the older alumni walked right up to Chloe with a glass of champagne. “You two look like you belong on the cover of a magazine together. How are you not married yet?” When Chloe politely corrected him, stating that her boyfriend was actually me, standing right next to her, the man looked completely unfazed. He had clearly had a few drinks. He let out a loud, obnoxious laugh and winked at Aaron. “Hey, I get it, I get it.” “You keep the quiet, comforting guy at home, but you keep the real alpha by your side to conquer the world, right?” Later, as we waited outside the hotel for our Uber. Chloe had drank quite a bit. She leaned against a stone pillar, tugging slightly at the collar of her silk blouse to let the evening air in. The shadows from the oak trees fell across her face, making her look distant and ethereal. “Chloe, are you in love with Aaron?” I asked the question without any warning. Her dark eyes shimmered in the streetlights. “Every single person who looks at you two thinks you belong together. Your entire speech tonight was dedicated to him. You admire him, you trust him completely, and you have never once complained that he is too slow.” My words seemed to sober her up instantly. Her brow furrowed deeply, as if she could not comprehend why I was suddenly bringing this up. A heavy silence settled over us. Aaron was the one who broke it, letting out a laugh fueled by alcohol and pure arrogance. “Oliver, seriously? Are you throwing a jealous fit right now?” “You and I are not in the same league, man.” “Chloe keeps you around because you are sweet, you look good on her arm, and you take care of her basic needs.” “She keeps me around because we walk at the exact same pace. We actually understand how the world works.” “You need her to protect you. I am the guy who can actually stand next to her in the trenches. We are fundamentally different.” “I guess Chloe was right. You really do spend all day obsessing over pointless, petty drama.” His tone was entirely too practiced. It sounded exactly like the kind of conversation they had probably had behind my back a thousand times. For a split second, my stomach dropped, completely hollowing out again. “When you two talk about me behind my back, is this the exact tone of voice you use?” The casual, dismissive superiority. The veiled mockery. “You are being ridiculous.” Chloe brushed past my shoulder, offering only those four words. The black SUV pulled up to the curb. She and Aaron got into the back seat smoothly, without a second thought. When Chloe noticed I was not moving, a flash of deep irritation crossed her face. “What is taking you so long now?” “If you do not get in, we are leaving without you.” I looked at them. And then, I smiled. “You two see each other. You acknowledge each other as equals, as real people.” “The rest of the world sees you too. Everywhere you go, it is Director Chloe and VP Aaron.” “But neither of you has ever actually seen me.” I had spent years running after them. My only identity was ‘Chloe’s boyfriend’ or ‘the guy who isn’t as good as Aaron’. I was just an accessory they dragged along. Nobody had ever looked at me as an equal. “You two go ahead.” “I ordered my own car. I am not going the same way you are.” For the first time in my life, I reached out and shut the car door for them. I closed the heavy door, officially sealing myself out of their world. The engine roared to life. Before the car could pull away, I spoke my final words through the open window. “Chloe, we are done.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “507029”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 It was my bachelor party. But suddenly, out of nowhere, my closest friend, Logan, decided he wanted to place a massive bet with my fiancé, Maya. “I am going to guess how many candies you are holding in your hand.” “If I guess right, you have to do whatever I say. No questions asked.” “If I guess wrong, I will drink every single drop of alcohol left on this table.” “My guess is five.” Maya opened her right hand. Three candies. Logan laughed, tilting his head back, ready to chug his drink. But then, everything changed. “You win.” Maya reached into her pocket and pulled out her left hand. “The other two are right here.” Logan looked at her, a wide smile spreading across his face. But I could see the faint glint of tears in his eyes. He pulled out a folded slip of paper he had prepared beforehand and smoothed it out on the table. “Well, I apologize for this, but I did not actually expect to guess right on the first try.” “Your wedding is officially postponed for three years.” The entire room went dead silent in shock. But Maya just smiled. “We have been making bets with each other since college. None of us have ever backed down from a wager.” “A bet is a bet. I accept.” This was not the first time Maya had used me as a chip in one of her games. I looked up at the wall clock. It was just past midnight. My phone vibrated in my pocket. “Happy Birthday.” “You always said if we were both twenty seven and single, you would marry me. Does that still count?” I typed my reply without hesitating. “A bet is a bet.” After a brief, suffocating silence, the living room completely erupted. “Are you insane? You cannot bet on something like this!” “A wedding is not a game!” “Do you know how exhausted Liam is? He handwrote five hundred invitations! We have already notified all our relatives. How can you just cancel it on a whim?” A few of our friends crowded around them, their voices overlapping in panic. Growing more frantic, they all turned their attention to Logan. “Logan, come on, you are Liam’s best man! Say something! Tell her it was just a joke!” Logan was sitting in the corner, gently swirling the red wine in his glass. He completely avoided everyone’s eyes. “I am not joking.” “You guys know me. I never make a bet as a joke.” “It is bad luck.” The moment the words “bad luck” left his mouth, the air in the room completely solidified. Everyone suddenly realized the gravity of the situation. This wedding was actually over. The reason was simple. Except for me, who worked at an art gallery, everyone else in Maya’s circle was in the high stakes business of importing and trading unpolished diamonds and raw gemstones. Every single month, they flew out to international borders to bid on raw stones. In fact, the seed money for their entire startup came from a massive, incredibly risky gem auction they won back in college. ‘Never back down from a bet’ was the ironclad rule they lived their entire lives by. Nobody dared to say another word. I lowered my eyes and poured myself a glass of bourbon. “Maya, what is your call on this?” Maya looked at me, her eyes glazed with a hint of intoxication. She reached out, habitually pinching my cheek just like she always did when she wanted to appease me. “Liam, we can always just hold the ceremony in three years. We have the rest of our lives together.” “But breaking a promise and bringing bad luck down on the entire business just for a wedding date? It is just not worth it.” “You understand, right?” It was the exact answer I had anticipated. I kept my head down, forcing myself to swallow the bitter, burning sensation in my throat. When I finally looked back up, I had already pasted a perfect smile back onto my face. “I do not understand it, but I agree to it.” Maya let out a visible sigh of relief, smiling at me with genuine affection. “The fact that you are still keeping your cool means you aren’t too mad.” The temperature in the room plummeted. For a long moment, nobody spoke. Just then, the front door clicked open. Chloe was standing in the doorway. I had not even noticed her slip out earlier. She was pushing a massive, three tier cake into the room. The candles were already lit, and written across the icing were the words: ‘Happy 27th Birthday, Liam.’ “Happy Birthday!” Maya looked entirely startled for a second, before snapping out of her daze and being the first to start clapping. And just like that, my bachelor party bizarrely morphed into a birthday party. After a few more rounds of drinks. The private karaoke room was deafening, filled with the sound of dice hitting the tables and people screaming into microphones. I stood up and walked over to Maya. I reached straight into her jacket pocket and pulled out a handful of the wedding favors she had been carrying. “Why?” Maya gave me a small, guilty smile. “I knew I could not hide it from you.” She wrapped her arms around my neck, hugging me tightly, her voice raspy from the alcohol. “If Logan lost, he would have had to drink all that liquor, and his liver cannot take it anymore. If you were in my shoes, you would have done the exact same thing.” I turned my head, looking at her dead in the eye. I desperately wanted to ask her if she had known what his bet was going to be beforehand. Had she prepared for this? But the words died in my throat. I realized asking would be entirely pointless. I pulled away from her and walked over to Logan. “Why?” Logan looked up at me. Through the haze of the alcohol, I saw an unapologetic, burning intensity in his eyes. “Because I am in love with Maya.” “But do not expect an apology from me. I have stepped aside and tolerated you for seven years.” It was the answer I expected, delivered with an arrogance I did not. This was the guy who had been my best friend since freshman year of college. I threw my head back and downed the rest of my bourbon. Everything happening right in front of me felt like some absurd, melodramatic soap opera. I set the glass down and reached for the bottle to pour another. A pair of hands firmly pressed down on mine. Chloe had quietly stepped up right behind me. She leaned in, her warm breath brushing against my ear. “Did you get the confirmation you needed?” “So, the wedding is in three days?” I tilted my head slightly, looking at Chloe. “I said a bet is a bet, but my birthday party literally just started. Are you that confident I have already lost?” Chloe flashed a wicked, knowing smile. “It does not matter. I have been waiting for seven years. One more day will not kill me.” I stood up, turned to face Logan, and raised my voice over the music. “Logan, I want to make a bet with you too.” The music in the room seemed to freeze for a fraction of a second. Everyone stared at me in total shock. The two guys I was closest with immediately caught on and started hyping it up. “Hell yeah! Maya lost the wedding date, but Liam can just win it right back!” “Exactly! I already rented a killer suit for this wedding. Canceling it now is a total waste. Let’s get another bet going!” But Maya’s expression instantly darkened. “Liam, stop acting like a child.” “I already agreed to the terms. The wedding is in three years, and that is final.” Right on cue, Logan covered his mouth, letting out a dramatic, sickening gag. Maya immediately rushed over to support him, snapping her head back to glare at me. “He is clearly way too drunk. Leave him alone. If you are that desperate to gamble, pick someone else.” I watched Maya instinctively shield Logan, and the very last shred of hope in my chest finally withered and died. “Sure.” I picked up the leather dice cup from the table and shook it hard. “Then I will bet against you. High or low?” I locked eyes with Maya. I felt like a desperate man putting his last dollar on the table. The truth was, the dice cup was completely empty. I was only asking to test her. If she was willing to play the game with me, if she was willing to give me one fair chance to fight for us… I was ready to wager every ounce of luck I had left in my life to cancel my promise to Chloe. I would wait the three years for her. Because when it comes to love, aren’t we all just desperate gamblers? But Maya’s expression grew even colder. She stared at me, her eyes filled with nothing but disappointment and absolute disgust. “So you lose once, and now you are going to harass people until you win? Liam, do you have absolutely zero dignity left?” I understood immediately. A bottomless, bitter wave crashed over me. “You are so terrified that you will not even play a simple game with me?” “Are you really that afraid I am going to force you to marry me?” The last remaining warmth in my heart turned to ice, piece by piece. Right in front of her face, I slowly lifted the leather cup. It was completely empty. Everyone stared at the empty cup in stunned silence. After a few agonizing seconds, someone whispered from the back of the room. “A blind bet… that is an automatic loss.” I forced a smile onto my face and looked at Maya. “I never even intended to beat you. Why were you treating me like I was the enemy?” Maya choked on her words. She stared at the empty cup, finally realizing what she had just done. She reached her hand out, desperately trying to grab my arm. “I… I just did not want you to lose…” But you already made me lose. I lost everything. I dodged her hand. Maya’s hand froze in midair, but then she forced a laugh. “I know how much you wanted this wedding. But it is just three years, right? Do you really have that little faith in our relationship?” “You aren’t worried you are going to change your mind in three years, are you? Because I wouldn’t change my mind even if it took ten.” I let out a harsh, involuntary laugh. In just a few sentences, she had perfectly twisted the narrative to make it sound like I was the one who was not committed enough. Seeing the atmosphere spiraling out of control, someone finally stood up to break the tension. “Alright, alright, it is past 3 AM. Let’s just call it a night, guys.” Everyone practically sprinted for the door, looking completely relieved. Maya helped Logan to his feet and turned to me. “I am going to drop him off at his place first, then I will take you home. It is on the way.” I smiled faintly. “No thanks. I am getting a ride with Chloe.” Maya opened her mouth to argue. But Chloe had already stepped into the elevator, holding the doors open, and called out to me. “Liam, let’s go.” I walked quickly into the elevator and left with her. The next morning, I woke up to a brutal hangover and my phone ringing off the hook. “Liam, what the hell are we supposed to tell the venue?” “Liam, your uncle just called me. Is this wedding actually happening or not?” “You idiot, why did you suddenly cancel the wedding? Get over here right now and explain yourself!” My head was splitting open. I sat frozen on the edge of the bed for a long time before I finally accepted that last night was not a nightmare. The wedding I had been dreaming about for seven years was actually gone, entirely destroyed by a stupid guessing game. I rubbed my temples and opened my messages. 99+ unread notifications. I tapped on a voice memo from Logan. “Liam… what was said last night is final. Deal with it.” Right below that was a text from Chloe. “I left some sliced apples on the counter for your hangover. Do not forget what you promised. A bet is a bet.” But Maya’s chat history was completely blank. Someone had posted a group photo on Instagram last night with the caption, “Happy Birthday, to a night we will never forget!” It had a warm, vintage filter. Everyone was smiling. I was standing in front of the birthday cake, the candlelight illuminating my face. I looked like I was actually happy. Someone commented below the photo, “When is the wedding getting rescheduled?” The guy who posted the picture replied, “Haha, classified information!” I took a deep breath and dialed Maya’s number. “Liam?” In the background, I could clearly hear Logan’s voice. “Maya, my head is killing me…” Before I could say a word, Maya started speaking rapidly. “Hey, can you handle telling your parents about the delay? Oh, and take care of canceling the venue too. I will cover whatever the penalty fee is.” “I am completely tied up right now. Logan threw up a few times and his stomach is still wrecked. I am taking him to urgent care for an IV.” Not a single word of apology. She just naturally assumed that I would do exactly what I had done for the past seven years. Unconditionally support her and clean up the mess she left behind. “Fine.” I gave a quiet response and hung up the phone. I pulled an empty cardboard box from the closet and started packing away everything that had to do with Maya. The scrapbook she stayed up all night making for our anniversary in college. It still held the dried rose petals she gave me junior year. When I brushed against them, they crumbled into red dust. The first pair of matching coffee mugs we ever made at a pottery class. The bottom still had her messy handwriting carving out ‘M & L’. The glaze had completely faded. And then there was the custom emerald ring. Senior year, our friend group pooled our money to hit a gemstone auction. She fought against everyone’s advice, insisting on buying this ugly, black, heavy rock that nobody else wanted. I emptied my entire savings account and gave her the cash to buy it. The moment they cut the stone open, she practically tackled me to the ground, kissing me in pure excitement. “Liam, I am going to use this emerald to make the most incredible ring just for you.” “Jewelry is about eternity, and you are my most priceless treasure.” Seven years. Over two thousand, five hundred days. I honestly thought we had already won the game. I never imagined she would casually throw our entire future onto a betting table. I tossed every single item into the cardboard box. I dragged it all the way down to the lobby. The building’s cleaning lady gasped when she saw it. “Young man, are you sure you are throwing this away? Some of this is really nice stuff!” I gave her a calm, peaceful smile. “I am sure.” “I do not need any of this anymore. If you want it, it is all yours.” The woman thanked me profusely and took the box. I pulled the custom engagement ring off my finger and dropped it right on top of the pile. “Oh, by the way, you can have this too.” The woman froze, staring at me in absolute disbelief. I hailed a cab and headed straight for the wedding venue. When the event manager saw me walk in alone, he looked confused. “Mr. Miller, are you here by yourself?” I nodded. “Yeah… my fiancé is busy contacting all the relatives to let them know about the date change.” The manager’s face lit up in understanding, and he nodded eagerly. “Oh, so it is just a date change! I was worried you were canceling altogether. What date are we moving it to? I will get the paperwork ready right now.” “The day after tomorrow. Thank you.” When I walked out of the hotel lobby, the midday sun was blinding. I looked up at the endless blue sky. I felt a massive, suffocating weight finally lift off my chest. This seven year fever dream. I was finally awake. When I got home that evening, Maya was already sitting on my sofa, waiting for me. I stopped in my tracks. “What are you doing here?” Maya’s brow was deeply furrowed, and her voice was tight with barely suppressed rage. “The venue called me. They said you did not cancel the wedding, you just pushed it back by two days?” So that was why she was here. I looked down and slowly took off my shoes. “Yeah. But I already wired the deposit money back to your account.” She clamped her jaw shut, looking like she was trying desperately to keep her temper in check. But finally, she snapped. “You really cannot wait three more years?” “Liam, is your entire existence just revolving around marrying me? Are you terrified no one else is going to want you?” She stood up and closed the distance between us. “We are in the gem business. Logan and the guys take luck incredibly seriously.” “Our company has been running perfectly. If we hit a bad streak now, everyone is going to blame us for backing out of a bet.” “I have sheltered you from reality for way too long. Do you think building this company was easy? Why can’t you just be mature about this?” She practically spat the words out before storming toward the front door. “I am not answering any more calls from that venue. You cancel the wedding yourself. Because if you do not, you are going to be the idiot standing at the altar with no bride.” “I am flying to Denver tomorrow with Logan and the team for a major auction. I will be gone for a week. Use that time to calm down and get your head straight.” The door slammed shut behind her. I stood in the entryway, listening to her footsteps fade down the hallway. I walked over to the electronic lock. I deleted our anniversary date from the keypad and reset the password to my own birthday. The next morning, Maya actually called me. “Liam, I am at the airport. I have about an hour before I need to clear security. Do you want to come… see me off?” In the past, every single time she left the city, I was there to drop her off and pick her up. It did not matter if there was a blizzard outside. “I can’t. I have plans today.” There was a noticeable pause on the line before her tone softened just a fraction. “I was a little emotional last night, so do not take what I said too seriously. I promise, the second you turn thirty, I am going to throw you the most incredible wedding.” “And what happens if Logan decides he wants to place another bet that day?” The line went completely dead. When she finally spoke, her voice was laced with deep irritation. “Liam, you are still fixating on that.” “I am not fixating on it. I am just saying, if a stupid party game is more important to you than a vow, you should never make a vow in the first place.” Another heavy, suffocating silence. I called her name quietly. “Maya.” “What?” In the background, I could hear the massive roar of jet engines spooling up on the tarmac. I smiled faintly and spoke softly into the receiver. “I just wanted to thank you for the last seven years.” Over the deafening noise of the engines, she sounded confused. “What did you say?” “Nothing,” I replied calmly. “Maya, have a safe flight.” “Okay.” She hesitated, as if sensing something was fundamentally wrong, and tried to offer some reassurance. “Liam, do not worry, I will never…” Before she could finish her sentence, Logan’s whiny voice cut through the background noise. “Maya, come on, they are printing the boarding passes!” I pressed the end call button. I opened my phone, scrolled to the group chat with Maya’s entire family, and tapped ‘Delete and Leave Group’. My phone rang again immediately. It was Chloe. “I am downstairs,” her voice was low and steady. “The wedding is tomorrow. Get down here so we can go fit your tuxedo.” “I am on my way.” I grabbed my jacket and walked out the door, feeling lighter than I had in years. That evening, in a luxury hotel suite in Denver. One of Maya’s partners, Kevin, was sprawled out on the lobby sofa scrolling through his phone. Suddenly, he sat bolt upright. “Holy shit!” He shoved his phone directly in Maya’s face. “Maya! Liam just posted on Instagram! He is getting married tomorrow!” Maya rubbed her temples, looking completely exhausted. “Let him.” “I am not flying back. Let’s see how exactly he plans to get married without me.” Kevin started stammering, beads of cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. “The bride is… the bride is…” “Look, just read it yourself.” He did not have the nerve to say it out loud, so he practically shoved the phone into her hands. Maya’s eyes casually swept across the screen, and then completely froze. Her pupils shrank to pinpricks. She shot up from the sofa, completely ignoring Logan shouting her name in confusion from across the lobby. She bolted out the glass doors of the hotel like an absolute maniac.

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On the very day his company went public, my father had my mother committed to a private asylum. She lived out her days in a cold, sterile hell, enduring endless torment. When he locked her away, his voice was devoid of warmth. “If you want to blame someone, Vivian, blame yourself. You’re the one who killed Selene.” Selene. My father’s long-dead first love. The untouchable ghost he worshiped. 1 For as long as I could remember, my parents never loved each other. There was no passion between them, but no explosive fights either. Just a quiet, suffocating indifference. Until the day Arthur’s company went public. In front of my very eyes, he had the men in white coats drag my mother away to the asylum. He looked down at her, his face a mask of stone, and spat those cruel words: “If you want to blame someone, blame yourself. You’re the one who killed Selene.” Fourteen years ago, Selene was on her deathbed. Desperate to raise money for her treatment, my father decided to risk everything at an underground casino, intending to gamble away our entire livelihood on a single, mad hope. My mother fought tooth and nail to stop him. She locked him in the bedroom to keep him from throwing us into ruin. We were already struggling to put food on the table; losing everything would have meant our starvation. And so, while my father raged behind that locked door, Selene’s heart gave out. She died. After her funeral, Arthur went back to his usual, detached self. It was as if the man who had been willing to destroy his family for Selene had never existed. We all thought he had finally grown up. We thought he understood the cost of his recklessness and appreciated my mother’s sacrifice. But we were wrong. He nurtured that poison in his heart for fourteen long years. And he laid all the blame at my mother’s feet. What my father never knew was that on the night she locked him in, my mother had braved a blinding blizzard, knocking on every door in town to beg for charity. She wanted to save Selene, if only to spare Arthur the lifelong guilt of her death. All that devotion, all that quiet suffering, and all he had to say was: “Spend the rest of your miserable life repenting for Selene. This is your punishment for leaving her to die.” My mother whispered the word “punishment” over and over, laughing through her tears until she choked. “Losing her wasn’t my punishment,” she sobbed, her voice breaking. “Meeting you was!” Her tears carried the weight of her stolen youth and decades of wasted devotion. 2 The icy wind bit into my cheeks, and suddenly, I was back on that snowy night. Standing before me was Vivian. Her lips were pale, her cheeks flushed red from the biting cold, her hands shaking violently as she struggled to lock the front door. “Vivian! Open this damn door!” “Do you hear me? Selene is dying in that hospital bed! How can you just stand there and let her die?” Arthur’s muffled screams rattled the heavy wooden door, followed by the dull, heavy thuds of his body throwing itself against the frame. I saw Vivian hesitate, her key trembling halfway out of the lock. Without a word, I stepped forward, reached over her shoulder, and turned the key the rest of the way, clicking it shut. Startled by my sudden presence, she gasped, her fragile frame pressing hard against the locked door. “Who… who are you?” I reached into my coat and pulled out a thick envelope packed with cash. “My name is Dawn. I’m here to give you this.” With only a thin sheet of wood separating us from the raging man inside, I held my breath and looked into my mother’s eyes. The suspicion in her gaze slowly softened into confusion. I grabbed her cold hand and pressed the envelope into her palm, my voice cracking with a desperate plea. “I only have one condition.” “Divorce him.” “You don’t have to decide right now. Just promise me you’ll think about it. You have seven days.” 3 When I was little, whenever my father was away, Vivian loved to talk about their early days. She told me how Arthur used to write her poetry, how he would ride her on the back of his bicycle along the lake, the cool breeze in their hair. She spoke of how he would place fresh wild flowers in the glass vase on her nightstand every single morning. I never believed her. For as long as I could remember, Arthur had been nothing but ice to her. He was a completely different person from the man who snatched the cash from her hand and sprinted toward the hospital that night. Thanks to the timely funds, Selene’s first surgery was a success, pulling her back from the brink of death. When Vivian went to visit her at the hospital, I followed quietly behind. Just outside the room, she froze, turning as rigid as a statue. I peeked through the small window in the door and understood why immediately. “Open up, sweet girl. Here comes the airplane.” Arthur was sitting by the bedside, carefully blowing on a spoonful of warm broth before feeding it to Selene. He gently used his thumb to wipe away a stray drop from her lip, his touch incredibly tender. A patient in the neighboring bed teased them. “Oh, Selene, your man is so sweet to you. He hasn’t left your side for a whole week.” Neither of them corrected her. They just shared a soft, knowing look. The bright morning sun streamed through the window, bathing them in a warm, intimate glow. For seven days, Arthur hadn’t come home once. He hadn’t even called. Before they could notice us, Vivian spun around and ran, fleeing the hospital like a ghost. Once we were back in our quiet, dusty kitchen, I couldn’t hold back the question that had been burning in my chest. “Doesn’t it hurt? Seeing him treat another woman like she’s his entire world?” Vivian offered a weak, hollow smile, her voice barely a whisper. “You don’t understand. Selene is his half-sister. He’s just… he’s just worried about her.” His half-sister? A chill ran down my spine. That was the first time I had ever heard about their true relation. But the way Arthur looked at Selene was far from brotherly. It was obsessive. My eyes drifted to my mother’s hands, rough and chapped from the winter cold. A simple gold band clung tightly to her ring finger. A dark, sickening realization began to take root. Had Arthur married Vivian out of love, or was there another, uglier reason? Seven days had passed. It was the deadline I had set. “Today is the seventh day, Vivian,” I said softly. “Have you made up your mind?” A tear slipped down her cheek, splashing onto the dusty floorboards. I remembered a night from my childhood when Arthur had taken her to a business dinner. He was already a rising executive back then. If he hadn’t silently permitted it, no one would have dared force his wife to drink until she was sick. She ended up in the emergency room with severe gastric bleeding. I remember sitting by her bedside in that sterile private room when I was only six years old, watching her clutch her stomach, staring blankly out the window as tears silently tracked down her face. My heart squeezed at the memory. I stepped closer. “My savings can only pay for this one surgery. He’s already proven he’s willing to gamble everything away. If you stay with him, there will be a next time, and a next.” “I’ll do it,” she whispered, cutting me off. She looked up, her tear-stained eyes carrying a profound, deadened exhaustion. “I’ll divorce him.” 4 Vivian moved much faster than I expected. Within half a day, she had packed up her few belongings and led me to a cramped, drafty attic she had rented years ago. After setting up the small cot, she handed me a cup of warm water, her voice soft with apology. “I’m sorry you have to live like this.” I looked at her worn hands. The gold band was gone. She had left it behind, sitting alone on the kitchen counter of their old home. I didn’t mind this tiny, dilapidated attic at all. It felt safer than the house we left. It was only then that I discovered she was a writer. Watching her write by the dim light of a desk lamp was a mesmerizing sight. Noticing my gaze, she offered a shy, self-conscious smile. “I was planning to put my pen down for good after I got married. But I’ve changed my mind.” Because of her earlier published works, Vivian had received an invitation to submit a piece for the prestigious Winchester Prize. She spent her nights pouring her soul onto paper, preparing her entry. While she worked, I slipped away to check on my father. Under Arthur’s undivided care, Selene’s recovery was going smoothly. When I went to the hospital, I saw Arthur pushing her wheelchair through the courtyard garden. The moment his eyes landed on me, his expression hardened into ice. He muttered a few words to Selene, turned the wheelchair around, and walked away. I had no ill intentions. I only wanted to see if the man who had committed my mother to an asylum was capable of feeling love. He was. He just didn’t have any left for Vivian. And that realization made him all the more repulsive. He could have easily let her go. Instead, he kept her bound to him, blaming her for his own failures and punishing her for fourteen miserable years. Now that she isn’t there to stop you, Arthur, how will you ruin yourself this time? I wondered, watching their retreating figures. After spending two idyllic weeks playing the devoted brother at the hospital, Arthur finally remembered his wife. He showed up at our attic door, clutching the divorce papers. “What kind of tantrum is this, Vivian?” he roared, blocking the doorway when I arrived. “Selene is my sister! How many times do I have to explain myself to you?” Inside, Vivian’s voice sounded quiet but steel-hard. “Save your breath, Arthur. I don’t care about your explanations anymore. Just sign the papers.” A heavy silence fell over them. I pushed past him, ignoring his glare, and walked inside. I casually placed the confirmation letter for the Winchester Prize entry on the table. Arthur’s eyes locked onto the letter. “You… you entered the competition?” When Vivian gave a slow nod, his face contorted with rage. “We had a deal! You promised to stop writing once we got married! You lied to me… Is this why you want a divorce? Vivian, why do you have to compete with a dying girl for this prize?” “Enough!” Vivian’s voice cracked, sharp and piercing. “Did you only marry me so I would stop writing?” Arthur stammered, unable to meet her eyes. His silence was the only confession she needed. So that was the truth. That was the foundation of their entire marriage. Perhaps the sweet memories Vivian cherished of Arthur’s early kindness were real, but they were fueled by a deep, dark guilt. He had built their life on the ashes of her dreams. My chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. I forced myself to pick up a pen and thrust it into his hand. “Sign the papers. And get out. Now.” Under my cold, unwavering glare, Arthur finally put pen to paper. Once the door slammed shut, the cramped room fell dead silent. Vivian curled into herself on a wooden chair, her shoulders trembling. I didn’t know how to comfort her, so I knelt beside her. “Keep writing,” I whispered. “You are going to be a brilliant writer. Millions of people will read your words.” She slowly lifted her tear-stained face, her eyes filled with doubt. I squeezed her cold hand and smiled. I wanted her to have a life free of pain, free of tears, full of the bright, beautiful things she deserved. This time, she would write her own destiny. 5 Vivian’s nomination for the Winchester Prize went through smoothly. It should have been a time for celebration, but I rarely saw her smile. One afternoon, she handed me an official letter from the committee, her expression blank. “Someone is questioning where the money for Selene’s treatment came from,” she said quietly. “They claim I acquired it through unethical means. They’re planning to disqualify me.” She spoke as if she had already accepted her fate. “They’ve given me a week. If no one steps forward to clear my name, the nomination is gone.” I immediately knew it was my father. “Only three people know where that surgery money came from.” “I’m going to find Arthur.” Without waiting for her reply, I dragged Vivian to the hospital. Arthur was there, just as I expected. But in the few days since I had last seen him, he looked withered. Heavy dark circles bruised the skin under his eyes, and a rough stubble covered his jaw. Selene seemed to have slipped into another coma. Rumors had been circulating around town that Arthur was desperately trying to sell off his family’s property. Clearly, her condition had worsened, and he needed cash for a second surgery. I demanded to know what he had done, but he didn’t react with the shock or guilt I expected. “You know that money went straight to Selene’s doctors,” I spat, glaring at the exhausted man. “How could you do something so vile?” He turned to look at the unconscious woman through the glass. “Selene wanted that prize. If she wants something, I won’t let anyone take it from her.” “I was the one who paid for her first surgery,” I said, my voice dripping with venom. “If anyone is her savior, it’s me.” “Don’t flatter yourself, Arthur. Write the letter of clarification for Vivian, and we’ll call the debt even.” Arthur turned his gaze to Vivian, a cold, knowing smirk playing on his lips. “You took her life once,” he whispered. “Giving up this prize is the least you can do to atone for your sins.” Vivian looked at him in utter confusion, but a wave of icy terror washed over me. My father… he had returned too. He remembered the other timeline.

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Married for three years, and she slapped me across the face in the middle of a board meeting. All for her one that got away. She looked down at me. “Oscar, give the company to him. You don’t deserve it.” I just smiled. No tears, no screaming, no flipping tables. I quietly signed the equity transfer agreement and slid the corporate seal across the mahogany table. Everyone in that room thought I was a coward yielding to the pressure. But they didn’t know the truth. Sitting on that company’s books was a black hole of eighty million dollars. My hand was shaking when I signed those papers. Not out of anger. I was terrified she might change her mind. 1 When Beatrice walked into the conference room, every executive stood up. It wasn’t out of respect. It was because of the man walking right behind her. Oliver. Her college sweetheart. Her “perfect regret.” Word on the street was that he was a Wall Street hotshot who had just moved back from London, a financial prodigy with a ruthless edge. I was sitting at the head of the table. The coffee in my mug was still steaming. The moment I saw them walk in shoulder to shoulder, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. But Beatrice’s first words made it painfully clear. We weren’t here to discuss the quarterly earnings report. “Oscar Pendleton.” She used my full name. The last time she called me by my full name was three years ago at the courthouse when we signed our marriage certificate. I set my mug down. “What’s going on?” She marched right up to me. Her heels clicked sharply against the hardwood floor. Then, she raised her hand. Smack. She slapped me hard across the left cheek. The entire boardroom flatlined. The pen in Richard’s hand slipped. It clattered to the floor and rolled under the table. The old financial director froze for three seconds, not even daring to reach for it. My head snapped to the side. A dull ringing echoed in my left ear. It didn’t hurt. Honestly, it didn’t hurt at all. But I still put on a mask of absolute heartbreak. After all, I had been waiting three long months for this exact slap. Beatrice’s eyes were red. I couldn’t tell if it was genuine emotion or just a performance. Her acting skills had definitely improved over the last three years. “Oscar, give the company to him.” She pointed a manicured finger at Oliver standing behind her. “You don’t deserve it.” Oliver stood tall. His expression was composed, but his eyes carried a distinct glint that screamed he was simply better than me. His tailored suit fit flawlessly. His hair was styled to perfection. The guy radiated the insufferable energy of a motivational speaker on a TED Talk stage. I almost burst out laughing right there. There were eleven executives in that room. Not a single one made a sound. Some stared at their phones. Some found the ceiling tiles fascinating. Others suddenly developed a profound academic interest in the plastic water bottles on the table. My secretary, Sarah, stood in the corner. She was biting her lip so hard it was about to bleed. She was the only person in the room who knew the actual financial data. Besides me, of course. I took a deep breath and stood up. “Alright.” Beatrice blinked. She had clearly prepped herself for a massive shouting match. Behind her, Oliver also stiffened. He probably didn’t expect his hero moment to go this smoothly. I walked to the other end of the table and picked up the equity transfer agreement the legal team had drafted in advance. I flipped to the last page. Signed it. Stamped it. I slid the corporate seal right to Oliver’s fingertips. The whole process took less than two minutes. Richard finally picked up his pen from the floor. He looked at me with an expression so complicated it could have been a modern art exhibit. He was a veteran numbers guy. He knew exactly what those digits meant. But he didn’t dare say a word. Because Beatrice was Victor Sinclair’s daughter. Victor might be retired, but the old man still cast a long shadow in this industry. I pushed the signed documents toward Beatrice. “Sign it.” She picked up the pen. Her hand was trembling. Maybe it was excitement. Maybe she was moved to tears. She was finally merging the love of her life with her family’s empire. How poetic. I gave her a silent standing ovation in my head. After signing, Beatrice looked up at me. Her lips parted like she wanted to say something else. I didn’t give her the chance. “I’ve already packed my things. Keep the house. I’m taking my car. It’s not worth much anyway, so consider it my parting gift to you.” I grabbed my keys off the table and walked toward the door. “Oh, right.” I glanced back at Oliver. He squared his shoulders and met my gaze head-on. “Congratulations.” I left him with that single word and pushed through the glass doors. The hallway was incredibly long. My leather shoes clicked against the marble floor. Step after step. The elevator doors slid open. I stepped inside and hit the button for the underground garage. The second those metal doors closed. I smiled. It wasn’t a bitter smile. It wasn’t a cold smirk. It was the genuine, soul-cleansing, weight-of-the-world-lifting grin of a man who just tossed a live grenade into someone else’s lap. I covered my face and crouched in the corner of the elevator. My shoulders were shaking uncontrollably. I made it to the garage, got into my car, and slammed the door shut. Then I laughed for a solid thirty minutes. I laughed until I was starved for oxygen. I laughed until my ribs ached. I laughed until my tears soaked the leather steering wheel. I’m not a psychopath. You just don’t know the truth. Sitting on that company’s balance sheet was a black hole of exactly eighty million dollars. Eighty million. Not eighty thousand. I saw those audit reports last year. I had been fighting off furious suppliers and their unpaid invoices the year before that. Abandoned construction projects. Lawsuit payouts. Notices for unpaid taxes. They were all stuffed inside my desk drawer. I had sent Beatrice three separate emails. I texted her twice. I even called her for forty minutes straight, begging her to understand the financial reality of her father’s company. Her exact words to me were: “Can you just show a little ambition for once? Stop bothering me with your corporate whining.” Fine. I won’t bother you anymore. You wanted the company today. You got it. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart. I pulled my phone out of the glovebox and shot a text to my best friend, Mario. “Are you free tonight? I’m buying drinks at your spot.” Three seconds later, he replied. “You’re paying? Did the sky fall down? What happened?” “I’m divorced.” “What time? I’m going to murder that Sinclair woman.” “No, don’t.” I typed out the next line as fast as I could. “I’m buying drinks to celebrate.” There was a ten-second pause before his next message popped up. “Are you insane?” I chuckled and started the engine. My phone started ringing. Victor Sinclair. I glanced at the caller ID and hit decline. Today was the happiest day of my life in three years. My father-in-law. Wait, my ex-father-in-law’s calls could wait for another day. 2 Mario’s smokehouse was tucked away in a grimy corner on the Southside. Twenty sticky tables. No air conditioning. Just three massive industrial fans blowing warm air around. The beer was three bucks a bottle. You grabbed your own ribs from the warmer, and he tallied up the bones on your plate to charge you at the end. By the time I got there, he already had a table set up in the back alley. Eight bottles of cheap lager sat between us. Four were already popped open. They were all for him. “Spill it. What the hell is going on.” He shoved an open bottle into my hand. I gave him the play-by-play of exactly what went down in the boardroom. I left out the part where I giggled in my car for half an hour. Mario listened. Then he slammed his fork down on the plastic table. “That arrogant piece of work! She slapped you in front of the whole board? Who does she think she is! You’ve been breaking your back for that sinking ship for three years.” “Mario.” “What?” “The company is eighty million in the hole.” Mario froze. A piece of brisket hung halfway out of his mouth. His jaw literally unhinged. He sat there completely paralyzed for ten whole seconds. Then he slowly pulled the meat from his mouth and set it down. “How much?” “Eighty million. Probably more by now.” “What are you saying?” “I’m saying that today, Beatrice forced me to hand the company over to her golden boy, Oliver. And right now, they are probably popping vintage champagne to celebrate stealing a hollow shell drowning in eighty million dollars of debt.” Mario opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. He grabbed his beer, chugged a massive gulp, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “So you’re telling me you’re happy?” “I am ecstatic.” “Are you actually happy?” “I have never been this happy in my entire life.” Mario stared at me for ten long seconds. Then he slapped the table and burst out laughing. It started as a chuckle. Then it grew into a wheeze. Finally, he was howling, slumped over the table, pounding his fist against the plastic chair. A guy at the next table looked over, absolutely convinced we were out of our minds. “This is poetry!” Mario wiped a tear from his eye. “What do you even call this? Volunteering to jump on a live grenade!” “Pretty much.” “Does this Oliver guy have any clue?” “Not a chance. He stood behind Beatrice the whole time, chest puffed out, eyes full of determination. He looked exactly like a tech bro walking up to accept a startup award.” Mario lost it all over again. When he finally caught his breath, a thought hit him. “Wait. Why didn’t you just shut the place down before? Or file for bankruptcy?” I took a sip of my beer. “Do you really think Victor would let me close it? That company is his life’s work. Plus, I was the legal representative. If I filed for liquidation, I’d be the first one in the crosshairs. For three years, I’ve been trying to plug the holes. But eventually, I realized there were just more holes underneath.” “But the legal rep changed today?” “Exactly. Oliver signed the equity transfer. I had the legal team prep the change of representation paperwork weeks ago. The second his pen hit that paper, every single debt, lawsuit, and tax lien.” I raised my bottle and clinked it against his. “Has absolutely nothing to do with me.” Mario’s expression morphed from wild amusement into a bizarre kind of reverence. “Oscar, were you just waiting for this day?” “No.” I shook my head honestly. “I really wanted to save that company. But it’s beyond saving. Beatrice didn’t believe me. Victor thought I was just crying wolf. I issued three formal financial warnings. They ignored every single one.” “So if you couldn’t save it, you just had to.” “Wait for someone to take the fall.” “And they literally jumped in headfirst.” “She pushed him in with her own two hands.” Mario and I fell silent for three seconds. Then we both erupted into laughter again. I drank eight bottles of beer that night. It was the best beer I’d ever tasted. When I was leaving, Mario insisted on walking me to the street. He leaned on my shoulder, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “So this Oliver guy. What do you think is the very first thing he’s going to do on his first day tomorrow?” I thought about it. “He’ll probably change the artwork in the CEO’s office. He’s a guy who obsesses over aesthetics. I heard he framed two copies of his Master’s degree. One for his office, one above his bed.” “And then?” “Then he’ll have someone throw all my stuff in the trash and order a complete office remodel.” “And then?” “And then.” I looked out into the night street. “He’s going to open the desk drawer and look at the financial statements.” Mario shivered. “I almost feel bad for the guy.” “Don’t feel bad for him,” I patted his back. “Feel bad for the eighty million.” 3 How did I know exactly what happened on Oliver’s first day? Sarah texted me. My former secretary. Yesterday, Beatrice ordered her to become Oliver’s personal assistant starting today. Sarah’s text read exactly like this: “Mr. Pendleton, the new boss told me to clear everything out of your office. Do you want me to mail you that little cactus?” I typed back: “Throw it away. I’ve been watering that thing for three years. It only survived out of sheer spite. Just like the company.” Sarah sent back a crying-laughing emoji. Half an hour later, my phone buzzed again. “Mr. Sterling just finished his introductory meeting with the execs. Richard presented last quarter’s financials. Mr. Sterling has now locked himself in his office. The door is deadbolted.” I was sitting at home, eating instant ramen. Yes. Instant ramen. Not because I was broke. Because for the last three years, Beatrice banned me from eating it. She said it made the house smell cheap. Now that I was a free man, I went to the supermarket and bought one of every single flavor on the shelf. Spicy beef. Chicken teriyaki. Shrimp combo. Right now, I was slurping down the chili lime flavor. I hadn’t tasted this in three years. I took a massive bite, so incredibly satisfied that I could feel my toes uncurling. Absolute heaven. I typed back to Sarah while chewing: “Don’t panic. Last quarter was just the appetizer.” Sarah: “What does that mean?” Me: “Wait until he sees last year’s annual report.” Sarah: “Mr. Pendleton. I’m actually a little scared.” Me: “Scared of what? You’re an employee. The company got a new owner. As long as you get your paycheck, you’re fine. And if the checks bounce, it’s not your problem anymore.” Sarah: “No. I’m scared Mr. Sterling is going to pass out and no one is in there to catch him.” I choked on my noodles and nearly died coughing. At 1:00 PM, another text came through. “Mr. Sterling ordered Richard to pull up the detailed ledgers for the last three years. Richard was on the phone for forty minutes. He just wheeled three massive boxes of archives in there. The office door is locked again.” At 2:00 PM. “Three suppliers just showed up demanding payment. Mr. Sterling came out to handle it. He talked to them for twenty minutes. When he walked back in, his glasses were totally fogged up and the muscle in his cheek was twitching.” Three suppliers. Only three. Before I left, the actual number of suppliers with outstanding balances was fourteen. And these three were the polite ones. The other eleven were probably warming up their engines right now. I put my phone down and turned on the TV. I flipped through a few channels until I found a stand-up comedy special. The sound of jokes mixing with the smell of cheap ramen. My soul was at absolute peace. At 6:00 PM, Beatrice called. I hesitated. Not about whether to answer it. I was hesitating about what tone of voice I should use. Ultimately, I chose the best option. I let it ring out. She called back two more times. On the third try, I picked up. “Hello?” “Oscar Pendleton! You better explain to me right now why this company owes Apex Construction one point two million dollars!” Her voice was an octave higher than usual. It was so piercing I had to pull the phone two inches away from my ear. I got sick of that tone three years ago. “That was the final payment for the October project last year. I told you about it. You were vacationing in the Bahamas. Your exact reply to me was, ‘Stop bothering me with this trivial garbage.’” Dead silence on the other end. “Then why didn’t you handle it!” “I tried. I drafted a payment plan. It required your signature for approval. But that was the day you and Oliver went to that symphony in the city and skipped work. I followed up twice after that. You ghosted me.” More silence. Longer this time. “What about the rest of it? Richard says there’s a whole pile.” “I told you about all of them. By email, by text, and in person. Seven different times. You didn’t acknowledge a single one.” “You.” “Beatrice, you’re the majority shareholder now. These problems belong to you and your CEO. I’m just the ex-husband who got kicked out with nothing. I really can’t help you.” “You son of a!” “Oh, by the way. A few more suppliers might drop by tomorrow. Try to be nice to them. Don’t do what I did. I was way too polite, and they ended up chasing me around the parking lot.” I hung up. Then I brewed myself a cup of tea. Green tea. When Beatrice lived here, she only drank espresso. She said tea tasted like dirty water. Dirty water? I took a sip. The aroma was incredible. It didn’t taste like dirty water at all.

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My son, who had just started elementary school, was kidnapped by my wife’s sworn enemy. The kidnapper demanded that my wife, the police captain, show up immediately to negotiate. Upon hearing the news, she rushed out of the station. But midway, she received a mysterious phone call, and then she vanished. I was forced to watch as my son’s tiny body collapsed into a pool of blood, his ears and fingers ruthlessly severed. “Daddy, it hurts so much. Can you tell Mommy to save me, please?” My hands shook violently as I called my wife ninety-nine times, my voice begging, stripped of all dignity. “Diana, please, I’m begging you, save our son…” When she finally picked up on the hundredth attempt, her voice was dripping with impatience. “Have you had enough of this drama, Johnny? Are you really using our son to beg for attention now? Tristan is home alone tonight and he feels unsafe. It is my duty to look after my junior academy classmate. Grow up, Johnny. Let it go. I’ll come home tomorrow to celebrate Finn’s birthday.” A second later, a notification popped up on my phone. It was Tristan’s social media status. My eyes burned as I stared at the photo of them leaning intimately against each other. The caption read: [You are not just a hero to the public; you are my hero, too.] She had no idea she would never celebrate her son’s birthday again. The only thing waiting for her was his funeral. 1 I don’t remember how I made it to the morgue. Staring down at Finn’s cold, bruised body, at the empty space where his ears and tiny fingers should have been, my chest cleaved wide open. It felt as though a dry ball of cotton had been shoved down my throat. My stomach cramped so violently that my entire body began to shake. I couldn’t accept it. Just that morning, he had been holding my hand, whispering his birthday wishes. Now, he was nothing but a cold, grey piece of clay. The quiet of the morgue was shattered by my choked, dry heaving as I reached out to touch his purple cheek. “Finn, baby, please open your eyes for Daddy. Daddy is right here.” The only response was the detective’s polite, rehearsed words of condolence. They told me the kidnapper was an old convict Diana had wrongfully arrested years ago. A decade of wrongful imprisonment had shattered his mind. After torturing and killing Finn, he had turned the gun on himself. But everyone knew the truth: the kidnapper only wanted an apology from Diana. If she had only shown up when she said she would, Finn would still be breathing. The funeral ended two days later. I held the small, cold urn in my arms. No matter how tightly I squeezed it against my chest, the ceramic wouldn’t warm up. It only pressed harder against my aching ribs. When I finally dragged myself back to the empty house, I walked straight to his bedroom. Seeing the crayon drawing of the three of us taped to the wall, my bloodshot eyes overflowed again. Exhausted, I collapsed onto his small bed, curling my trembling body into a ball, desperately inhaling the faint, lingering scent of my little boy. Then, my phone buzzed, the screen lighting up again and again. Diana’s face was trending on social media. A photo of her and Tristan had been circulating under the headline: The City’s Bravest Cop and Her Most Devoted Witness. In the comment section, strangers were swooning. [They look so good together! I declare them husband and wife!] [Please tell me they’re dating. Look at the chemistry!] [Look at how she leans her shoulder into his. They are definitely more than friends!] As the gossip spread, Diana had finally stepped in to post a public comment. [We are just friends. He is a good man, please respect his privacy.] That vague, teasing reply felt like a heavy weight pressing into my lungs. Years ago, when I was being harassed online by angry citizens because of one of her high-profile cases, she had told me, “Even if I speak up for you, who would believe me? Just ignore them.” So, she did know how to protect someone. She just reserved that protection for her handsome, fragile junior. It made sense. Compared to the young, attentive Tristan, I was just the boring husband she had been tied to for seven long years. I had been a fool, clinging to the vows we made in our youth. Coughing through my tears, I unlocked my phone and sent her a text. [Diana, let’s get a divorce.] After contacting a lawyer to draft the papers, my frayed nerves finally snapped, and a heavy, dark exhaustion dragged me down into sleep. I dreamed of the day we got married. She had worn a white gown, her eyes blazing with a fierce, burning adoration. “Johnny, in academy, they always taught us that we have to protect the public before we can protect our families. But I’ve always believed that without our tiny family, the world doesn’t matter. Will you let me protect you for the rest of our lives?” The dream shifted. Finn’s small hand was holding mine, his other hand clutching Diana’s. “Daddy, Mommy, Finn, together forever.” I squeezed his tiny hand, terrified he would vanish. Suddenly, his fingers began to slip away, turning into warm, dripping blood. “Daddy, save me!” “Finn!” I jolted awake, cold sweat pouring down my back. Outside the bedroom door, a soft, whining male voice drifted in. “Diana, if Johnny finds out I’m staying here, he’s going to be so angry with me. You have to promise you’ll protect me.” My blood ran cold. Then came Diana’s soft chuckle. “Don’t worry, silly. He’s away on a business trip, and Finn is at his boarding school. The house is empty.” I couldn’t believe my ears. Our son’s ashes were barely cold, and she had already brought Tristan into our home. The phantom sound of my son’s dying screams and Tristan’s soft, playful laughter crashed together in my skull, threatening to tear my mind apart. I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper. Outside, Diana’s footsteps drew closer to Finn’s door. “You can stay in Finn’s room for now. The bed is a bit small, but…” I threw the door open, my sanity shattering into dust. “Get out! This is my son’s room! Who the hell gave you permission to stand here?” Diana and Tristan froze, eyes wide with shock. Tristan’s recovery was quick, offering a weak, nervous smile. “Johnny, you’re home? Wait, wasn’t Finn kidnapped? How is he?” Diana’s face darkened instantly, her eyes filling with cold disappointment. “I know I’ve been busy and haven’t had time for Finn, Johnny, but this is low. You didn’t have to fabricate a kidnapping just because you didn’t want him staying at school. If people find out that the husband of a police captain is spreading lies like this, do you have any idea what it will do to my reputation?” Even now, she chose to believe I was a liar rather than admit her son had actually been taken. Her only concern was her precious reputation. The room began to spin. I grabbed the doorframe to keep from falling. Diana let out a heavy sigh, her tone dripping with irritation. “I am a police officer. My duty is to the public. I don’t expect you to understand the pressure, but I do expect you to stop making things difficult for me. Tristan’s father is in the hospital nearby. Staying here makes it easier for Tristan to visit him. Finn isn’t even here, so the room is just going to waste anyway.” Emboldened by her defense, Tristan slipped past me into Finn’s room, looking around with a pleased expression. “This room is actually bigger than my master bedroom back home. Thank you, Diana.” Diana’s expression softened. “Of course. Stay as long as you need.” Watching them discuss how to redecorate my dead son’s sanctuary, a primal rage took over. I lunged forward, shoving Tristan hard. “Get the hell out! This is my son’s room! Get out!” Tristan stumbled back, his eyes immediately welling with tears. Diana caught him, her face twisting in anger. “Johnny! If you have a problem, take it out on me! Tristan is a guest. Why can’t you show some basic decency?” Tristan leaned his head against her shoulder, sniffling softly. “Johnny is probably still upset that you couldn’t pick Finn up the other day. I’m sorry, Johnny. It’s my fault. I rely on Diana too much. But please, don’t worry. I won’t stay for free. I’ll help around the house. Let me clean up this cabinet for you…” “Don’t touch that!” Seeing his hand reach toward the framed photo of Finn on the cabinet, my heart leaped into my throat. I threw myself forward. The frame slipped through my fingers and crashed onto the hardwood floor, the glass shattering, slicing my son’s smiling face into jagged pieces. The sharp pain of the glass slicing into my palms was nothing compared to the agony in my chest. I fell to my knees, desperately gathering the broken pieces of the photo. “Who told you to touch him?” Tristan shrank back, his face pale as he clutched at his shirt. He looked at Diana, his voice trembling. “Diana, I didn’t mean to. I just got startled. Finn is so young, why would Johnny put up a photo like that in his room? It looks like a memorial. Isn’t that bad luck for the boy?” Diana’s face turned incredibly grim. She stepped forward and snatched the torn photo right out of my hands. “What are you doing? Give it back! Diana, give it back!” I screamed, terrified. She pushed me away. “I should ask you what you think you’re doing, Johnny! Are you so bitter toward me that you’re willing to curse our own son? He is just a little boy! Why are you acting like he’s dead?” But Diana, he is dead. And you’re the one who killed him. Before I could speak, she tore the remaining paper to shreds, tossing the pieces in my face. The sharp edges nicked my cheek, but my heart was already bleeding. I knelt on the floor, trying to piece his face back together with trembling fingers. My mind drifted back to the years when Diana and I began to drift apart because of Tristan. I was always the one taking Finn to the park, attending his parent-teacher conferences, taking him to the clinic for his vaccines. Whenever the other parents asked, “Where is Diana? Working again?” I would just offer a tight, quiet smile and hold my boy closer. I knew she wasn’t too busy. She was just busy with Tristan. Tristan’s cat was lost, Tristan’s apartment was broken into, Tristan’s boss was giving him a hard time… On the day of the kidnapping, Finn had looked up at me and said, “Daddy, my birthday wish this year is for you to be happy.” He was so small, yet he already understood how broken we were. I had failed to protect him in life, and now, I was failing to protect his memory in death. Diana’s sharp voice dragged me back to the cold room. “Burn those stupid pieces of paper. I don’t want to see them again! Johnny, if you keep acting like this, you’re going to ruin this family. Don’t blame me if I end up divorcing you!” If Finn were still alive, I would have swallowed my pride and endured her words once again. But now, I looked up, my eyes bloodshot and dead. “You don’t have to threaten me. We are getting a divorce. Pack up your little friend and get out of my son’s room, or I’ll call the station and have your colleagues come drag you both out.” Diana pinched the bridge of her nose, her voice laced with exhaustion. “Johnny, can you please be rational for once? If I get a mark on my record, how does that help Finn? Can’t you think about him for a second?” “Think about him?” I grabbed a broom from the corner and swung it at them, screaming like a lunatic. “When you left our high-fever son with me while I was doubled over with a stomach ulcer just to take Tristan to an interview, did you think about him? When you were flirting with him, and everyone was whispering that my son and I were just a mistress and a schoolyard secret, did you think about him?” Diana shielded Tristan, her face turning pale. “That was years ago! Why do you always have to drag up the past? I have a demanding job, Johnny. I can’t stay home and watch you two twenty-four hours a day!” Tristan clutched her arm, looking incredibly meek. “Johnny, I’m so sorry. I had no idea you felt this way about me. There’s nothing going on between us. Once my father is out of the hospital, I’ll take him back to our hometown. I’ll stay far away. Please don’t fight with Diana. She works so hard every day.” His submissive tone only made Diana more protective. She glared at me, her eyes filled with disgust. “You’ve worked so hard to build a life here, Tristan. Your father deserves the best medical care. You have nothing to apologize for. He is the one who should be apologizing.” A bitter laugh escaped my throat. Our seven-year marriage was nothing but a sickening joke. “Why should I apologize? He isn’t going anywhere. He’s just putting on a show to make you feel sorry for him!” Tristan bit his lip, tears spilling over. “Johnny, I was only trying to help. Why do you hate me so much?” Seeing his tears, Diana’s anger erupted. She grabbed the broom from my hands and shoved me back with all her strength. “Enough, Johnny! Don’t push me to my limit!” The sharp edge of the cabinet corner sliced into my back. I gasped at the sudden, biting pain, but I forced a cold laugh. “I’m the one divorcing you, Diana. I regret the day I met you. If I had never married you, maybe our son wouldn’t…” Before I could finish, Tristan’s phone rang. He answered it, gasping in horror. “Diana, the hospital said my father ran away again! What do I do?” Diana immediately wrapped her arm around him. “Don’t panic. I’ll get my unit to look for him right now. We’ll find him.” She glanced at my pale, sweating face, her tone shifting slightly. “Tristan only has his father left. I’ll come back as soon as we find him. Make sure you pick Finn up from school today. I remember his birthday is coming up. Let’s have a nice family dinner.” I let out a hollow laugh. “Diana, Finn’s birthday was two days ago.” The day he died. But she didn’t hear me. She was already dragging Tristan out the door, her back turned to me once again. 2 I forced a wry smile, cleaned up my son’s room, locked the door, and went out to print a new copy of his photo. When I returned, the front door was wide open. Fear gripped my chest, and I ran inside. Finn’s bedroom door had been violently forced open. Tristan was standing in the living room, casually directing a couple of moving men as they hauled Finn’s toys and books out of the room. I rushed over, screaming, “Stop! Get out of my house!” Tristan crossed arms, looking entirely unbothered. “Johnny, Diana bought this place. She told me her father-in-law, my dad, doesn’t like the hospital. He’s going to live here from now on. She said I can redecorate the room however I want.” I shook with rage. When we got married, Diana was just a broke rookie cop. I was the one who bought this house and put her name on the deed as a wedding gift. I lunged forward, grabbing Tristan by his hair and dragging him toward the door. “This is my house! Get the hell out before I call the police for trespassing!” Seeing the fight, the movers quickly dropped their boxes and bolted. Tristan shrieked, clawing at my hands. Suddenly, a burly, disheveled older man rushed out of the bathroom, shouting obscenities. “Let go of my son, you bastard!” Tristan’s father, Mr. Ward, charged at me, delivering a heavy blow that sent me crashing to the floor. My head spun, and before I could recover, the older man pinned me down, cursing as his fists rained down on my face. My face swelled, and blood began to seep from my eye. My screams echoed through the empty house. The door flew open, and Diana rushed in. She pulled Mr. Ward off me, her face pale with anger. “What is going on here?” Tristan threw himself in front of his father, sobbing dramatically. “Diana, don’t blame my dad! Johnny was trying to kick us out, and he attacked me! My dad was only trying to protect me!” My face was covered in blood, my body convulsing with pain. I reached blindly for my phone on the floor, but Diana snatched it away before I could touch it. “Johnny! You attacked them first, and now you want to play the victim?” she yelled. “I was the one who invited Tristan and his father to stay here. If you have a problem, direct it at me! Don’t attack innocent people!” I coughed, spitting a mouthful of dark blood onto the floor. Diana knelt down, using a tissue to wipe the blood from my chin, her voice softening slightly. “I know you’re hurting, but making a scene like this won’t help. Just drop it, please. For my sake.” Tears of blood slipped down my cheeks. Seeing Diana take his side, Tristan grew bold. He began tossing Finn’s remaining things into the hallway like trash. “What is this box?” he asked, picking up a small, polished wooden container. I struggled to lift my head, my eyes locking onto the small box. It was Finn’s urn. “No… please…” I croaked, my voice barely a whisper. Diana didn’t hear me. She glanced at the box and sniffed. “I’ve never seen it before. Just throw it out. It looks like bad luck anyway.” With a casual flick of her wrist, she snatched it from his hand and tossed it toward the trash pile. “No!” I lunged forward, but the heavy wooden box hit the wall and shattered right over my head. My son’s grey ashes rained down, mixing with the fresh blood pouring from my scalp. In that instant, the world faded, and all I could see was Finn lying in that dark alley, covered in blood. The last thread of my sanity snapped. I began to wail, a desperate, animalistic sound. I thrashed on the floor, throwing whatever I could reach, completely hysterical. “Get out! All of you, get out! Get the hell out of my house!” Diana shielded Tristan and his father, screaming back at me. “Johnny, it’s just a stupid wooden box! Why are you acting like a madman?” A sharp, stabbing pain flared in my chest, cutting off my breath. I vomited another mouthful of blood and collapsed into the darkness. When I opened my eyes again, the hospital room was quiet and empty. I reached for my wallet, pulling out the small passport photo of Finn I kept in my pocket. Holding it close to my chest, I dialed a number. “Hello? I’d like to file a formal complaint against Police Captain Diana Chen.” 3 The next day, Diana walked through the corridors of the station. She noticed her colleagues looking at her with strange, distant expressions. She assumed it was just because she had been away for a few days. Suddenly, her young deputy, Thomas, tapped her on the shoulder. “Captain… I am so incredibly sorry for your loss.” “What?” Diana’s heart seized. For some reason, her mind flashed to a black-and-white photo of Finn. Thomas looked at her face, his expression growing serious and confused. “Captain, you didn’t know? The convict you wrongfully arrested years ago… he got out of prison. He kidnapped your son…” An icy chill gripped Diana’s spine. “Where is Finn?” “The kidnapper killed him before the negotiators could arrive.” The color drained from Diana’s face. She stumbled, grabbing Thomas’s arm to keep her balance. “What did you say? Say that again!” Her sudden scream startled Thomas. He stared at her pale, terrified face, realization slowly dawning on him. “Captain, you really didn’t know? The entire department knows. Johnny was weeping in this very hallway. We tried calling you dozens of times, but you never answered. Didn’t you notice that the Captain’s office didn’t call you in for shifts? We thought you were taking time off to grieve. We didn’t want to disturb you. Did Johnny really not tell you?” Diana stood speechless, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly. Her mind flashed back to three days ago. Johnny had called her frantically, begging her to come to the hostage site. He said the kidnapper demanded to see her, or Finn would die. She had rushed toward her car. But halfway there, Tristan had called, crying hysterically. “Diana, my dad ran away again. I don’t know who else to call. Please help me find him.” Tristan’s father was a compulsive gambler who had ruined his family. He had even threatened to cut off his own fingers to quit, only to rack up an even larger debt elsewhere. Tristan had moved his father to the city to hide from loan sharks, keeping him locked inside. But the old man had jumped out of a window, nearly breaking his leg, and had escaped the hospital to gamble again. Diana had helped Tristan find his father several times before. She knew exactly what the old man had done. She told Tristan that her son was in danger and that he had to search for his father on his own. But Tristan had gasped. “That can’t be true, Diana. I just saw Johnny and Finn walking through the mall. I tried to wave, but Johnny ignored me.” Hearing that, Diana assumed Johnny had fabricated the kidnapping to force her home. Furious, she blocked his number and went to help Tristan instead. Now, she had no energy to wonder if Tristan had lied to her. She only knew her son was dead. Her only child was gone. She grabbed Thomas’s jacket, looking like a hollow ghost. “Where is his body? Take me to him. I don’t believe you!” Thomas’s face fell. “The kidnapper shot himself after killing the boy. The case was closed quickly. Johnny already took the body to be cremated…” Cremation. The polished wooden box. The grey dust that had rained down on her head. What had she said to him? “Just throw it out. It looks like bad luck anyway.” That was Finn’s ashes. Her own son. A wave of intense heat rushed up her throat, and veins bulged on her forehead. Suddenly, she coughed, spitting a thick spray of blood onto the floor. Thomas panicked, catching her as she wobbled. “Captain! Are you okay? I really had no idea you didn’t know. But maybe Johnny didn’t tell you to spare you the pain. The kid… it was really bad…” Thomas’s hesitation felt like a lead weight dropping onto her chest. She looked up, her chin covered in blood, her eyes so red they looked ready to burst. “What do you mean?” Her voice was thick with the copper taste of blood. Thomas quieted, lowering his voice. “To force you to show up, the kidnapper cut off pieces of Finn’s body every thirty minutes and sent them to Johnny. First his ears, then his fingers, then…” Diana couldn’t hear the rest. Her body collapsed inward, curling onto the floor as if she could hide from the reality crashing down on her. As a seasoned officer, she had handled horrific homicides. She had seen mutilated bodies. The moment Thomas spoke, the images flooded her mind. Her son. Her beautiful little boy, who had just started first grade. How much pain must he have been in when those blades cut into him? Now, that agony was ripping through her own nerves. The world blurred, a chaotic mix of blood, tears, and cold sweat. In the dark, she could see Finn lying in a pool of blood, crying out for her. She had always taught him: “Real men don’t cry, Finn. You have to be brave.” And he had nodded, his small eyes full of determination. “I’m a brave man, Mommy. I won’t cry.” But at the end, when the pain became too much, he must have wept until his voice cracked, his blood mixing with the dust. “Mommy, it hurts so much! Where are you? Why aren’t you coming to save me? Mommy, help me!” With a dull thud, Diana hit the floor, her body shaking violently. Blood poured from her nose and mouth, a physical manifestation of a heart that had shattered beyond repair.

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On the day of our engagement party, my fiancé’s beloved first love slit her wrists. He told me a life was on the line and that I needed to grow up and understand. Oh, I was very understanding. The guests had already arrived, and I wasn’t about to let a perfectly good venue go to waste. So, I swapped the groom right then and there. Why stop at an engagement? Let’s just go all the way. 1 Draped in an exquisite lace gown, I sat in the bridal suite, waiting for the ceremony to begin. Instead of the coordinator coming to lead me down the aisle, the door flew open to reveal my best friend, Tess, her face pale with fury. “What’s wrong?” My chest tightened as a cold wave of dread washed over me. Tess stared at me, silent for a long moment, before her teeth clenched. “I told you to dump George months ago. You wouldn’t listen. Now, right before the biggest moment of your life, he’s about to run off to his precious little ex.” The room went dead silent for a count of five. “Ann?” I asked. “Who else?” Tess let out a harsh, bitter laugh, her eyes darting to the door where my fiancé, George, had just appeared. “Look at the great romantic. His fiancée is waiting in her gown, but his heart takes flight the second his ex sheds a few tears over the phone.” George flinched at the sarcasm, his expression darkening. “Ann slit her wrists,” he said, his voice tense. “The situation is critical. I need to be there.” “Be there? For what?” Tess mocked, stepping in front of me. “You aren’t her family, and you aren’t her boyfriend. Why on earth is it your job to save her?” She squeezed my hand gently, turning her glare back to him. “You’re still obsessed with her. Trying to get engaged to one woman while rushing off to hold the hand of another. Quite the gentleman, aren’t you, Mr. Vance?” George ignored her, focusing his pleading eyes entirely on me. “Audie, I know today is our day. If it weren’t an emergency, I swear I wouldn’t leave. But a human life is at stake. I need you to be reasonable.” I looked at the man I had been dating for the last six months. Slowly, the tension left my shoulders, and a quiet smile touched my lips. “Alright. I’m reasonable. Go ahead.” “Audrey!” Tess gasped, spinning around to look at me in absolute disbelief. “You’re letting your groom walk out on your own engagement to comfort another woman? Do you want to be the laughingstock of the city for the rest of your life?” I stood up, wrapping my arm around Tess’s shoulders and gently pinching her cheek to keep her from saying another word. “Go on, George,” I said, my voice sweet and calm. “Hurry up. If you’re too late, her scratches might actually heal on their own.” George hesitated, sensing something off in my tone, but his desperation won. Without another word, he turned and ran down the corridor. Tess broke free from my grip, her eyes wide with rage. Just as she opened her mouth to scream at me, I smiled. “The party is still happening today.” “With what groom?” Tess threw her hands in the air. “The man just ran out. Who are you going to stand there with? A ghost?” I raised a finger, shaking it gently with a mysterious grin. “Who said the groom has to be George?” Leaving Tess completely bewildered, I smoothed down my dress, stepped into my heels, and walked toward the grand double doors of the ballroom. If the groom wanted to bail, I didn’t mind finding a better one. 2 I peeked through the crack of the double doors, scanning the ballroom. The ceremony was supposed to start in ten minutes, and the guests were already seated. I looked from left to right, front to back, but there wasn’t a single eligible bachelor in sight. Even my best guy friend wasn’t picking up his phone. Panic started to creep in. I needed to salvage my dignity, and I needed to do it fast. Just as I was about to lose hope, I saw my father walking toward the VIP section, laughing heartily as he guided a tall, striking man. “Gideon, my friend! You honor me by coming straight from the airport…” My father was beaming, introducing the handsome man to everyone nearby. Gideon Pierce. He was impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, his sharp features softened by a subtle, enigmatic smile. In that instant, my problem solved itself. He was someone we knew, someone respectable, and undeniably gorgeous. Who could be more perfect than my father’s close friend? I rushed back to my dressing table, grabbed my phone, and frantically scrolled through my contacts. When I finally found Gideon’s name, I hesitated. It was his private number, and the last time I had called it was when I was studying abroad. Gideon and my father were old chess rivals. Years ago, they had fought their way to the finals of a major amateur tournament. My father had lost, but the defeat had sparked a deep friendship. At the time, Gideon was only nineteen, becoming a close confidant to my forty-three-year-old father. Even though Gideon was only eight years older than me, my father had always insisted I call him “Uncle Gideon.” At thirty-four, Gideon had everything: wealth, looks, a brilliant career, and status. The only thing he lacked was a wife. Sometimes, my father would browse through social media, hoping to find a suitable match for his dear younger friend. As it turned out, fate was finally playing along. I dialed the number, keeping my eyes glued to the crack in the door. Across the room, Gideon felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it out, his brow furrowing slightly as he looked at the screen. Please tell me he didn’t delete my number, I prayed. To my relief, he swiped to answer. “Hello?” “Uncle Gideon,” I whispered urgently. “Can you come to the bridal suite in the back? Right now?” “Is there an emergency?” he asked, his deep voice instantly grounded and calm. “Yes. A very big one.” “I’ll be right there.” He hung up. I watched through the gap as Gideon stood, politely excused himself without alerting my father, and walked toward the hallway. Before he could even knock, I pulled the door open and yanked him inside. I had already sent Tess out. If I was going to be rejected, I wanted to keep whatever dignity I had left. “Uncle Gideon, I need a massive favor.” “Tell me.” I pointed to George’s spare tuxedo hanging on the rack, using the gentlest, most persuasive tone I could muster. “If you aren’t in a rush to leave today, would you mind getting engaged to me?” His brow arched, his sharp mind putting the pieces together instantly. “Did he run, or did you change your mind?” Having thirty-four years of life experience meant he wasn’t easily fooled. Looking at him, I was suddenly reminded of my teenage years. I had tried to play a prank on him with some friends, only for him to completely turn the tables on us. When my friends blamed me and walked away, I had angrily confronted him. He had simply looked at me and said, “A partnership requires trust, Audrey. If suspicion outweighs belief, the bond crumbles.” So, I decided to be completely honest. I told him everything about George and Ann. “The truth is,” I concluded, “he ran, and I don’t regret letting him go for a second.” “Are you certain?” I nodded vigorously. “Absolutely. George can be someone else’s headache. I will never look back.” “Even if I have to stay single for the rest of my life,” I muttered, “I wouldn’t marry him.” A warm, gentle palm pressed lightly against my lips, silencing me. Gideon smiled down at me, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Alright. I accept.” He glanced at George’s spare tuxedo, dismissing it with a critical eye. “The fabric is cheap, the cut is outdated, and the sleeves are far too short. I can’t wear this.” I took a proper look at Gideon. He was indeed much taller and broader than George. Thanks to Ann’s drama, my new groom was not only more mature, but he was also a much better fit in every possible way. Gideon pulled out his phone and dialed his assistant. “Tommy, fetch the spare suit from my car. Bring it to the groom’s changing room immediately.” Once the arrangements were made, he patted my shoulder gently. “See you at the altar, my future fiancée.” 3 Gideon’s assistant, Tommy, was incredibly efficient. Not only did he accept his boss’s sudden engagement without batting an eye, but he also stepped in as the master of ceremonies. With a professional coordinator taking the reins, the engagement party proceeded without a hitch. Since Tess had already warned my parents, they managed to look composed when they joined us on stage. As for George’s family, they had quietly slipped out of the venue earlier. I later found out that the moment George received Ann’s call, he had already instructed his parents to leave. He knew he was in the wrong and wanted to avoid a scene, choosing the most cowardly exit possible. The moment the microphones were turned off, my father rushed over to us. “Gideon, my friend, what is the meaning of this?” My mother quickly pinched his arm, whispering, “Stop calling him your friend, dear. The family hierarchy is completely ruined now.” “But this is so sudden,” my father stammered. Faced with my father’s confusion, Gideon wrapped a protective arm around my shoulder and began weaving a beautiful, entirely fabricated story. He spoke of a deep, secret love we had shared for years, a silent devotion we had kept hidden until the very last moment when we realized we couldn’t live without each other. He spoke with such sincerity that I almost believed him myself. As a prominent figure in the city’s business community, handling a minor crisis like this was child’s play for him. Soon, he had the entire room charmed. The few skeptical guests were quickly placated by my father’s finest wine. The party ended in absolute success. Back in the dressing room, Tess finally let out a massive sigh of relief. “George is a bastard, but he did one good thing today by running away,” she said, helping me unzip my dress. “You traded a piece of gravel for a mountain of gold.” I couldn’t help but laugh at her dramatics.

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I had managed to score tickets to the World Cup, which was my fiancé’s absolute favorite sporting event. I rushed to his office, eager to surprise him, but as I approached his door, I overheard his close friend trying to reason with him. “Elena cleared her entire schedule to watch the games with you. She went through absolute hell to get those tickets. It really isn’t right for you to take Giselle instead.” Stefan took a slow drag from his cigarette, his tone entirely indifferent as he replied, “Watching the game with Elena is boring. I’m used to having Giselle with me for every World Cup.” Boring. Used to it. Those words felt like a dozen sharp slaps across my face, mocking the twelve years I had spent by his side. In our twelve years together, there had been three World Cups. The first two times, he had gone with Giselle. I had cried, I had fought, and each time he had held me close, whispering, “Giselle and I grew up together, Elly. It’s just a habit. She was there before you came along. Please, honey, next time I promise it will be just the two of us.” I believed him. I waited four long years. Yet, when the time came, his habits still had no room for me. I stared down at the pristine tickets in my hand, a quiet laugh escaping my lips. Then, I tore them down the middle and tossed them into the trash can. Twelve years of running alongside him, only to realize I was nothing but a spectator. It really was boring. 1 When Stefan came home that evening, he was carrying Giselle’s fluffy white Persian cat, Honey. “Elly, do you mind watching Honey for a few weeks?” He only looked up after he finished speaking, his expression hardening when he saw the open suitcase on the floor. “Stop packing,” he said, his voice flat. “For Giselle’s birthday last month, her only wish was for us to watch this World Cup together. I already promised her.” His tone was gentle, but there was no room for discussion. It was a simple notification of a decision already made. I didn’t answer, quietly tucking my birth certificate and social security card into the secure lining of my suitcase. Our parents had sent them from my hometown two weeks ago, intended for our marriage registration next month. Now, I realized a clean break was far better than a messy divorce. Without looking at him, I said quietly, “You promised me four years ago that you would take me this time.” “You can’t compare the two,” he said, his voice rising slightly. “Giselle is a guest. When you make a promise to an outsider, you have to keep it.” I stopped folding my clothes and looked up at him. “Out of the three of us, I am the outsider.” Stefan’s jaw tightened. “Are you being petty and jealous again? Please, not this. Giselle and I grew up together. I’ve told you a thousand times that our friendship is completely innocent. We’re getting married next month. Do you really have zero trust in me? You are exhausting me, Elena.” He rubbed his temples, adopting the same weary expression he always wore whenever Giselle’s name came up. I kept my voice calm and even. “I am exhausted too. If you are used to having her by your side, then go with her. I won’t stop you.” Stefan blinked, momentarily taken aback by my lack of an argument. Assuming I had surrendered just like every other time, he let out a long sigh of relief. “Don’t overthink things. I’ll bring you back a nice souvenir.” The white cat jumped out of his arms, wandering over to sniff at my suitcase. “Giselle’s family is on vacation, and my parents can’t stand cat hair,” Stefan explained. “She couldn’t find anyone else to watch Honey on such short notice. It’s only for a little while.” She takes my fiancé, and I watch her cat. It was almost comical. Suddenly, Stefan’s phone rang. From the sudden softness in his eyes, I knew it was Giselle. He turned and headed toward the study, pausing at the threshold to call back to me. 2 “The cat has been crying. She must be hungry. Giselle mentioned she likes steamed salmon. Could you prepare some for her?” After twelve years, his tone when speaking to me had become as casual as if he were instructing a maid. Before I could even open my mouth to respond, he stepped into the study and shut the door behind him. I went back to packing my things. My company had granted me a three-day transition period to hand over my projects. In three days, I would be leaving this city, and the man I had loved for over a decade, far behind. Passing by the study, I heard Stefan’s voice coming through the thin door. He was on a video call, and Giselle’s bright laughter echoed in the quiet hallway. “Elena has been with me for twelve years,” Stefan was saying, a trace of smug confidence in his voice. “She’s always been submissive. She won’t make a scene. Just focus on enjoying the trip with me.” I stood frozen in the hallway, my heart turning completely cold. From the age of eighteen to thirty, my entire world had revolved around him. I had always been the understanding, sensible girlfriend his friends praised. Even when we fought over Giselle, I kept our arguments private, preserving his dignity in front of others. But my silence had only become his license to walk all over me. I let out a quiet breath. I would never be submissive again, Stefan. While gathering my belongings, I noticed that one of my handmade herbal sleep pillows was missing. My job carried an immense amount of pressure, and my sleep quality had always been poor. To help me sleep, my grandmother had traveled to a distant town to find an old herbalist who specialized in hand-stuffed sleep pillows, bringing back two of them for me. On her journey back, she was tragically killed in a highway accident. Since that day, those pillows had become my most cherished keepsakes of her. Stefan walked out of the study, grabbing his keys to head out. I called out to him. “Have you seen my other sleep pillow?” He paused, thinking for a second. “Check the guest room where Giselle stays. If it isn’t there, she must have taken it to her apartment.” We had lived in this two-bedroom apartment for seven years. Initially, we rented it, but we eventually bought it from the landlord. I had always thought a one-bedroom place would be perfect for us, but he had insisted on a two-bedroom unit, claiming we needed space for occasional guests. Yet, in all these years, he had never allowed any of his friends to stay over, even when they were too drunk to drive. He always insisted on booking them a hotel room. The only person who had ever stayed in that guest room was Giselle. Every time she drank too much, he would bring her back here. When I suggested booking her a room or taking her home, he always argued that it wasn’t safe for a single woman to stay in a hotel alone. He knew how much it hurt me, but he continued to let her sleep in our home, often making the decision without consulting me first. Later, because of my protests, he even installed security cameras in the common areas, claiming the footage would prove their absolute innocence. Over the years, that guest room had slowly filled with her personal belongings, lipsticks, socks, jewelry, and even delicate undergarments. In the past, I would have thrown a furious tantrum over these things. Today, I simply walked into the guest room, saw that the pillow wasn’t there, and quietly walked out. Without a word, I took my car keys and drove straight to Giselle’s apartment. Giselle opened her door, her eyes widening in mock surprise when she saw me. “Oh, Elena! What a surprise. This is the very first time you’ve ever visited my place.” She smiled, stepping back to let me in. “I’m just here to retrieve my pillow,” I said, my voice empty of emotion. She offered a sweet smile, turning toward the kitchen to fetch some water. But as she turned, I saw her thumbs flying across her phone screen. No doubt she was messaging Stefan to complain about my sudden arrival. “Don’t worry about the water,” I called out. “I’m leaving as soon as I get my things.” She walked back into the living room, tapping her chin as if trying to recall where she had put it. 3 “Why don’t you check the guest bedroom on the right?” she suggested, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “That’s where Stefan slept the other night.” My chest tightened. I had never known that Stefan stayed overnight at her place. As I walked past her balcony, my eyes caught a line of laundry drying in the afternoon sun. Hanging right beside her delicate dresses were Stefan’s shirts and underwear, placed so closely together that they touched. Giselle followed my gaze, offering a casual, breezy explanation. “Oh, Stefan got absolutely trashed the other night. He ended up ruining his clothes, so I had to wash them for him.” It was a blatant provocation. In the past, she had always played the innocent childhood friend, swearing up and down that they were nothing more than siblings. But over the last two years, she had dropped the act entirely, adopting a smug, untouchable attitude. Now, she was openly challenging me, waiting for me to lose my mind so she could run to Stefan for comfort. I simply looked away and said, “I see.” On her kitchen counter sat a premium coffee blend that Stefan drank religiously. It was just like our own kitchen, which was always stocked with Giselle’s preferred health supplements. My calmness seemed to catch her off guard. A shadow of disappointment crossed her face when I didn’t start screaming. I followed her into the second bedroom. The moment I stepped inside, my eyes were drawn to the headboard wall. It was covered in a massive, heart-shaped collage of photographs featuring her and Stefan. There were candid snapshots from their childhood, graduation pictures, and professional studio portraits. In the very center was a large portrait of Giselle in a flowing white gown and veil, holding hands with Stefan in a tailored suit as they ran through a meadow. It wasn’t a wedding portrait, but it was designed to look exactly like one. In every single picture, Stefan’s smile was radiant and completely unforced. “Giselle and I have so many beautiful memories together,” she murmured, watching me closely. “They certainly are beautiful,” I replied quietly, my heart completely numb. She smirked. “You should join us sometime, Elena. Though, I suppose three can get a bit crowded.” “A game meant for two is never fun with a third,” I replied, turning my gaze back to her. “Where is the pillow?” Sensing that her psychological games weren’t working, Giselle’s smile turned rigid. She opened her wardrobe, casually moving aside several of Stefan’s shirts. “Giselle is so careless. I really need to have a talk with him about leaving his things everywhere.” “You don’t need to explain anything to me. I’m only here for the pillow.” She reached for the bed, pulling back the heavy comforter to reveal a set of matching pink silk pillowcases. Resting right beside them was a partially used box of thin condoms. 4 Giselle stood by the bed, her eyes shining with anticipation as she waited for my tears, my rage, or my breakdown. I remained completely indifferent. “I have places to be. Please hurry up.” “Let’s check the walk-in closet then,” she said, her tone growing strained as she led me to the adjacent room. On the floor of the closet sat an open suitcase. Packets of summer clothes were neatly organized inside, and resting right on top was a fresh, unopened box of the exact same brand of condoms. Giselle smoothed down her dress, her voice dripping with artificial sympathy. “I’m packing for our trip tomorrow. The World Cup only happens once every four years, you know. Some people spend their entire lives trying to squeeze into a world where they don’t belong, forgetting that the seating arrangements are decided from the very beginning.” My patience finally ran out. I looked her dead in the eye, my voice cold and sharp. “I am only here to get my pillow. As for Stefan, you can keep him. I am throwing him away.” She gasped, her face instantly shifting into a mask of wounded innocence. “Elena, what are you saying? Please don’t misunderstand me. I was only talking about the soccer tournament.” “I asked you where my pillow is.” She hesitated, her eyes darting around before she muttered, “I remember now. Follow me.” She led me to a third, smaller room that had been converted into a playroom for her cat. The moment I stepped inside, my eyes fell upon my grandmother’s hand-stitched, light green herbal pillow. It was sitting directly inside the cat’s litter box, soaked through with urine and smelling foul. Giselle let out a soft sigh, her voice half-innocent and half-mocking. “Oh dear, my cat is so mischievous. It’s just a pillow, Elena. I’ll buy you a much better one to make up for it. Stefan really spoils that cat too much.” I spun around, pouring every ounce of my pain and betrayal into my right hand, and slapped her hard across the face. “You did that on purpose,” I spat. “Elena!” A furious roar echoed from the doorway. Stefan rushed into the room, shoving me aside to pull Giselle into his arms. He cradled her face, staring with immense worry at the red mark blooming on her cheek. Giselle began to weep, her tears flowing perfectly as she whimpered, “Stefan, please don’t yell at her. It was my fault.” Stefan glared at me, his eyes blazing with fury. “It is just a damn pillow! Have you completely lost your mind?” My eyes burned, but I refused to let a single tear fall. I raised my hand once more and struck Stefan across the face with all my remaining strength. “Yes,” I choked out, my voice trembling with rage. “I have.” Stefan’s face was thrown to the side, a bright red handprint rising on his cheek. He stared at me in absolute shock. “Are you insane?” “I was insane to waste twelve years of my life loving a man like you!” I turned and walked out of the apartment. Behind me, his angry voice echoed down the corridor. “Don’t you dare walk away! Stop throwing these childish tantrums!”

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I fell in love with Beckett from the varsity swim team at first sight. My roommate encouraged me to go after him, eagerly offering to act as my wingman. She coached me on how to be sweet, how to flirt, and insisted that I call him “handsome” every time we crossed paths. She even went so far as to buy me a form-fitting swimsuit, telling me to wear it to ask Beckett for private swimming lessons. But despite chasing him relentlessly for two months, to the point where even his teammates were starting to root for me, he remained completely indifferent. It wasn’t until today that my roommate giggled, stuck her tongue out, and finally confessed. “To be honest, that online boyfriend I told you about? It’s actually Beckett. I only had you pursue him to test his loyalty. But I never expected him to be so strong. He managed to reject a total catch like you. I’m sorry, sweetie, but I guess I can’t let you have him after all.” 1 The dormitory fan buzzed overhead, cutting through the heavy afternoon heat. I sat frozen in my desk chair, my mind completely blank as I tried to process Sienna’s words. “What do you mean, your online boyfriend is Beckett?” “Oh, Sweetie, you aren’t actually mad, are you?” Seeing my lack of response, Sienna set down her vanity mirror and stuck her tongue out playfully. “Honestly, it’s because you’re just so gorgeous.” “Think of it as vetting him for your best friend. You were the one who kept saying you were worried I’d get scammed online, so now you know his character is absolutely solid.” I clenched my fists, my fingernails biting into my palms as the sharp sting of betrayal began to spread. Sienna had started dating a guy online over the summer. She had told me he was a sports major at Kensington University, our own school. Halfway through the summer, she had been desperate to cut her vacation short and fly back to meet him in person. Afraid she would get taken advantage of, I had spent days convincing her to wait until the semester started. I had no idea the guy was Beckett. “Why didn’t you tell me from the beginning?” When I finally spoke, my voice was incredibly hoarse. Sienna offered a breezy, dismissive laugh. “I was insecure, okay? Beckett is handsome, wealthy, and you are so dazzling. When you told me you fell for him at first sight, I genuinely wanted to help you. I just had no idea he was already so deeply in love with me.” I stared at her face, a wave of intense humiliation washing over me. For the last two months, Sienna had eagerly acted as my wingman. She knew every text I sent him, every conversation we had, and every time we crossed paths. She had analyzed his favorite foods, his hobbies, and his ideal type for me. She had urged me to leave breakfast outside his dorm, to arrange “accidental” meetings at the gym. She had even purchased a form-fitting swimsuit for me, insisting I wear it to ask him for swimming tips. And all the while, she was dating him behind my back. I was nothing but a puppet to her. A clown in her private show. “Iris, seriously, don’t be like this,” Sienna said, crossing her arms and sighing as if my silence were completely unreasonable. I had always valued our friendship. Whenever she adopted that wounded expression, I would back down to keep the peace. But not today. “So what do you want? Should I just hand him over to you?” I looked up at her. “Fine. He’s yours.” Sienna blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Are you joking?” Before I could answer, she quickly added, “Oh, come on. My best friend would never try to steal my boyfriend. Besides, they say best friends and partners never get along. Once you see him again, you’ll probably realize you can’t stand him.” I watched her in silence, refusing to offer her the comfort of an argument. Suddenly, the dormitory door was kicked open with a loud bang. 2 Our roommate, Valerie, burst into the room, panting. “Ladies! The swim finals are about to start! Why are you two still sitting in the dorm?” I blinked, momentarily disoriented. I had almost forgotten. This afternoon was the university swim championship. Last night, Valerie and our other roommate, Tessa, had spent hours planning a grand post-race confession for me to deliver to Beckett. I looked over at Sienna, who was wearing a flawless face of makeup. No wonder she had remained so uncharacteristically quiet during our brainstorming session last night. “I’m not going,” I said flatly. “What? Why?” Valerie asked, pausing as she searched her bag. Sienna’s expression shifted instantly. She grabbed my hand, her eyes pleading. “Iris, please. I want to surprise him today. You promised you’d be there when I finally met my online boyfriend. I’ll be too nervous without you. Please come with me.” Before I could shake her off, Valerie grabbed my other arm. “Exactly! Let’s go! Tessa has been saving a prime seat for you since early morning, making sure you’re the very first person Beckett sees when he climbs out of the pool!” The refusal died in my throat when I caught the smug, triumphant glint in Sienna’s eyes. I had done nothing wrong. If she wasn’t afraid of a confrontation, why should I be? Valerie was always impatient. Without waiting to see if Sienna could keep up in her platform heels, she dragged me out of the dorm and sprinted toward the natatorium. 3 By the time we arrived at the pool, we had left Sienna far behind. Tess immediately stood up, waving us over to the front-row seat she had secured. “I came straight here after my morning lecture. Pretty impressive, right?” I forced a tight smile. “Thank you, Tess.” Valerie shrugged, settling into the seat beside me. “Of course. Though, there’s a senior from the law department competing today. He’s incredibly popular, and I hear his times are insane. I’m not sure Beckett can pull off a win. Iris, if he loses, are you still going to confess?” I looked down at the staging area where Beckett was standing. He was staring at his phone, looking thoroughly distracted. One of his teammates spotted me and nudged his shoulder, pointing in our direction. Beckett glanced up, his brow furrowing as he saw me. I let out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. During my months of pursuing him, I had been too blinded by my crush to realize his cool indifference was actually irritation. Even the sight of me was enough to make him frown. Before he could catch me staring, I turned back to Valerie. “No. I won’t be confessing.” Valerie nodded understandingly. “That makes sense. It’s probably awkward to confess right after a loss. We can always wait for the next meet.” I shook my head. “Whether he wins or loses, I am never confessing to him again.” 4 Valerie and Tess stared at me in absolute shock. “Actually,” I began, my voice tight, “Beckett is—” “Why didn’t you guys wait for me?” Sienna’s complaining voice cut me off as she finally caught up, her face flushed from running. Valerie squeezed closer to Tess, gesturing to the small space beside her. “I was worried Iris would miss the warm-ups. Sit down, the introductions are starting.” Sienna didn’t sit. Instead, she stood directly in front of me, pouty-lipped. “Iris, do you mind letting me have your seat?” Val and Tess looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “The race is about to start, stop joking around,” Valerie said, grabbing Sienna’s arm and pulling her firmly into the empty seat. Over the loudspeaker, the announcer began introducing the swimmers. Sienna bit her lip, shooting me a sharp glare before reluctantly settling into her seat. It was almost amusing. She was the one who had insisted I come to witness her grand reveal, yet now she was furious that I was sitting in the front row. Beckett was assigned to lane two. The student broadcaster happened to be Beckett’s roommate, and when his name was called, the camera on the jumbotron panned directly to my face. Thanks to Sienna’s constant encouragement, my pursuit of Beckett was public knowledge. She had always told me that a bold chase was the most romantic, which led to my confessions being shared on the campus forum. “Ooh!” Valerie and Tess led the crowd in a playful cheer. Normally, I would have smiled and waved for the camera. Today, I simply looked away, my expression completely blank. As I turned my head, I noticed Sienna’s hand tightening around her plastic water bottle until it bent out of shape. The announcer continued down the lanes. When the final swimmer was introduced, a sudden, loud murmur swept through the spectator stands. “Oh my god, it’s Sebastian Kingsley!” Tess gasped, jumping to her feet. I looked down at the tall, broad-shouldered senior stepping up to lane eight. In that instant, a realization washed over me. I hadn’t actually been in love with Beckett. I had simply been attracted to tall, athletic, good-looking guys. And Sebastian was all of those things, and more. Even with his hair tucked beneath a plain black swim cap, his sharp features and effortless grace were undeniable. Tess nudged me, her eyes sparkling. “Well? Sebastian is easily on par with Beckett, right?” “Better,” I murmured, watching him step onto the block. “Much better.” Sienna let out a sharp, cold scoff from beside us. Tess shot her a glare. “Do you have a problem?”

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My neighbor’s child fell from the twelfth floor, landing right on my window awning. I held onto her with everything I had. For forty agonizing minutes, I grit my teeth and refused to let go, only relaxing my grip when the firefighters finally hauled her to safety. Yet, afterward, her parents demanded I pay for her medical bills because her shoulder had dislocated during the struggle. “The doctor says her ligaments and joint capsule are severely damaged, and her shoulder will keep popping out,” they told me. “You did this to her. Why are you trying to dodge responsibility?” During our argument, they shoved me. I went over the balcony. The little girl survived her fall from the twelfth floor, but I didn’t survive my fall from the sixth. Now, I have been reborn back to the very day of the accident. And as a shut-in who rarely leaves her apartment, I decided to spend the entire day out on the town. 1 The phone buzzed relentlessly on the wooden table, the screen flashing the caller ID: Brenda Apt 1201. Once. Twice. Three times. I sat in the quiet corner of the neighborhood café, slowly stirring my iced latte, watching the screen light up and fade. I had absolutely no intention of picking up. I knew exactly why she was calling. And I knew that right now, she must be losing her mind with panic. Only hours ago, I woke up in this life, realizing I had been reborn. In my past life, on this very afternoon, I was taking a nap when the sound of frantic screaming and a heavy, metallic thud jolted me awake. I rushed to my balcony and froze. Paul, Brenda’s five-year-old daughter, was hanging precariously from the edge of my protruding metal window awning. Half her body dangled in the empty air, six floors above the concrete. Without a second thought, without even putting on shoes, I scrambled through the security grates. Barefoot on the narrow, slippery metal sheet, I reached down and grabbed Paul’s wrist. The child was heavier than I expected. The sudden downward jerk felt as though my shoulder was being ripped from its socket. “Don’t look down, Paul. I’ve got you. Just hold on,” I gasped, trying to keep my voice steady. I pulled with everything I had, but a slender woman trying to hoist a thirty-pound child back up onto a narrow ledge is a near-impossible feat. All I could do was lock my grip. I grit my teeth as my muscles began to tear, my bones aching under the immense strain. Time stretched into agonizing, infinite seconds. A crowd began to gather on the pavement below. Gasps, pointing fingers, and the distant wails of emergency sirens blended into a chaotic blur of noise. Ten minutes later, Brenda finally realized her daughter was missing. She poked her head out of her twelfth-floor window, screaming hysterically. “Nora, please! Hold on to her! Don’t let her go!” “I’m coming down! Just don’t let go!” Her voice was thick with terror and gratitude. I believed her. I truly thought I was saving a family from tragedy. I stared at Paul’s tear-stained, terrified face, sweat and tears stinging my own eyes. “It hurts,” the little girl sobbed. “Just a little longer, sweetie. The paramedics are coming,” I whispered, my voice raw. My arm had gone entirely numb. I was operating on pure adrenaline and sheer willpower. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. Thirty minutes. My mind went blank. My vision blurred around the edges, and the only sound in my universe was the ragged pounding of my own heart. Just as my grip began to fail, a pair of strong hands reached out from my apartment window. The rescue crew had finally arrived. They hauled Paul inside. The girl was safe. I collapsed onto the balcony floor, my body shaking violently. Forty minutes. I had held on for forty minutes. My right arm hung limply at my side, useless as a broken branch. I couldn’t even wiggle a finger. Brenda rushed in, sobbing as she hugged her daughter. She showered me with endless thank-yous. I thought that was the end of it. I had done a good deed. It was painful, but it was worth it. I had no idea the real nightmare was about to begin. 2 The very next day, Brenda and her husband knocked on my door. They weren’t carrying flowers. They were holding a medical report. “Nora, look at what you did to my daughter!” Brenda screamed, throwing the papers directly at my face. “The doctor said Paul’s shoulder ligaments are severely torn, and her joint capsule is ruined! She has habitual dislocation now! Her arm is going to pop out of its socket at the slightest tug!” I stared at her, utterly bewildered. “That… that happened during the rescue. I had to hold her…” “You did this!” Brenda’s husband snarled, shoving his finger in my face. “Paul told us you squeezed her arm so hard it hurt. You’re an adult. Couldn’t you have been gentler? You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I had nearly ruined my own arm to save their child from plunging to her death, and now they were blaming me for the minor injuries sustained during her rescue. “I was losing my grip,” I said, my voice trembling with rage. “It was either hold on tight or let her fall. How could I possibly control my grip strength in that moment? Would you have done any better?” “How do we know you didn’t do it on purpose?” Brenda spat, her eyes wild with malice. “Maybe you’re just jealous because you don’t have kids of your own!” They demanded fifty thousand dollars for medical bills, physical therapy, and emotional distress. I refused. “Your wife is the one who wasn’t watching her child!” I yelled back. “She fell because of your neglect! I saved her life! Instead of thanking me, you’re trying to extort me? What is wrong with you people?” My words pushed them over the edge. “How dare you deflect the blame!” her husband roared. They lunged at me, pushing and shoving me back onto the balcony. In the chaotic scuffle, they shoved me right against the low railing. My feet slipped. Suddenly, I was falling. The wind roared in my ears, and the horrified screams of pedestrians below quickly faded into a muffled hum. I fell from the sixth floor like a bird with clipped wings. In my final seconds of consciousness, only one thought flashed through my mind: How pathetic. The girl who fell from the twelfth floor survived, but the woman who saved her was murdered. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my bedroom. It was noon on the day of the accident. Instead of staying in to take a nap, I got up, put on some light makeup, dressed in a nice outfit, and left the apartment. I went shopping, watched a movie, and ordered a nice lunch at a café. I did everything I usually avoided. I wanted to be as far away from that building as possible. I wanted to make sure nobody could find me. 3 My phone buzzed again. This time it was an unknown number, likely the police or the fire department. I let it ring. Some parents need to learn the hard way that negligence carries a steep price. I wasn’t going to be the martyr this time. I was going to live for myself. I finished my coffee and checked the time. It was about forty minutes since the first call. I opened a smart-home app on my phone, which was connected to the camera over my front door. A crystal-clear video feed popped up. A crowd had gathered outside my apartment. Brenda was pacing frantically, surrounded by a few anxious neighbors and several firefighters in heavy gear. The lieutenant was explaining the situation to Brenda. “Ma’am, the child is currently caught on the sixth-floor awning. From what we can see from below, the metal frame is stable for now. But because of the building’s layout, the awning sticks out too far. We can’t safely reach her from the fifth or seventh floors. Our only option is to cut through the security grates of Apt 602 and pull her in.” “Then break the door down! Hurry!” Brenda shrieked, stomping her foot. “We can’t do that,” the lieutenant replied firmly. “This is a private residence. Without the owner’s consent or an immediate fire hazard inside, we do not have the legal authority to force entry. We are setting up an inflatable rescue cushion below, but from this height, it’s a gamble at best.” “Who cares about the law? A child’s life is on the line!” Brenda screamed. “If anything happens to my baby, I will sue all of you!” “We are doing everything we can to contact the tenant. Please remain calm.” “She’s in there! I know she is!” Brenda yelled, her face red. “Nora is a total hermit! She never goes out! She’s doing this on purpose! She’s ignoring the calls!” The lieutenant frowned. “Ma’am, let me remind you that as her guardian, it was your responsibility to watch your child. We are trying our best. Do not interfere with our work.” Brenda choked on her words but quickly dialed my number again. Through the camera, I watched her face twist with venom. I could hear her muffled curses echoing through the hallway. “That stupid bitch! Is she deaf or dead? Why isn’t she picking up?” “Just wait until Paul is safe. I’ll tear her apart! Selfish piece of garbage!” Her insults were identical to the ones she hurled at me in my past life right before she pushed me. Only this time, I was sitting in a cozy café, watching her unravel from a safe distance. 4 I kept my eyes on the timer on my phone screen. In my past life, I held on for forty minutes. This time, they were going to feel every single second of that agonizing wait. When the timer hit exactly ten minutes, I finally swiped to answer. “Hello? Brenda?” I kept my voice light, laced with confusion. “Is everything okay? You’ve called so many times. I was in a movie theater and had my phone on silent.” Brenda’s voice came screeching through the receiver, barely holding back her fury. “Nora! Thank God! You need to get back here right now! Paul fell onto your balcony awning! The firefighters need to get into your apartment to save her!” “What?” I gasped dramatically, letting a wave of panic flood my voice. “Oh my god! Is Paul okay? Don’t panic, Brenda! I’m coming right now! I’ll grab a cab, I should be there in twenty minutes!” Before I hung up, I heard Brenda turn to the lieutenant and hiss, “She’s on her way. Of course she had to pick today of all days to leave her apartment. Useless curse of a neighbor.” I smiled, walked out of the café, and hailed a taxi. “Fairview Apartments, please,” I told the driver. As the car merged into traffic, I watched the city lights fly past. They wanted a savior, but they would have to wait. Midway through the drive, Brenda called again. “Where the hell are you? Why aren’t you here yet?” “I’m almost there, Brenda! There’s some traffic, but I asked the driver to take a shortcut!” I kept my tone apologetic, but my heart rate didn’t elevate even a beat. By the time the taxi pulled up to the apartment complex, thirty minutes had passed. As I walked toward the lobby entrance, I noticed a bright yellow sign taped to the glass door: Elevator out of service for maintenance. How perfect. Even better, right in the middle of the narrow lobby floor sat a pink plastic toddler walker. I recognized it instantly. In my past life, Brenda always left Paul’s toys, strollers, and walkers in the common areas because she didn’t want them cluttering her own apartment. The neighbors had complained dozens of times, but Brenda was incredibly defensive, picking fights with anyone who brought it up. Eventually, everyone just stopped trying. Looking at that pink walker, a flawless plan fell right into place. Fate was truly on my side. 5 My phone vibrated violently in my pocket again. Brenda. “Nora! Where are you? Are you trying to kill my daughter?” I answered the call as I picked up my pace, making sure my breathing sounded heavy and rushed. “I’m in the lobby! I’m running up the stairs right now! I’m coming—” I let out a sharp, genuine-sounding shriek. I deliberately kicked the wheel of the plastic walker, letting my momentum carry me forward. To make it look authentic, I didn’t brace myself. I let my knees and elbows slam hard against the cold, unforgiving terrazzo floor. A dull thud echoed through the lobby. A sharp, searing pain shot up my leg. My vision went black for a second, and I gasped for air, nearly crying out in actual pain. The phone flew from my hand, the screen spiderwebbing across the tiles, but the call remained connected. Brenda’s voice kept blaring from the speaker, distorted and grating. “Nora? What was that? What game are you playing now?” I crawled over, reaching out with a trembling hand to grab the cracked phone, groaning into the receiver. “I… I fell. The elevator is broken. I’m climbing the stairs now.” And I did crawl. I pulled myself up, letting the blood from my scraped knees stain my jeans. Using the handrail to hoist my weight, I dragged myself up the concrete steps, one painful step at a time. On the second floor, a neighbor, Mrs. Gable, opened her door and gasped at the sight of me. “Nora! Oh my goodness, what happened to you? Let me call an ambulance!” I shook my head weakly, panting heavily. “No… don’t worry about me. Save the girl first. Brenda’s daughter is hanging from my awning. I have to open the door.” My words left Mrs. Gable and the other neighbors who had peeked out completely stunned. Their expressions shifted from surprise to deep sympathy and respect. “Look at her, dragging herself up like that just to save a child…” “What a brave girl…” “Hurry, someone go upstairs and see if they can help!” The tide of public opinion was turning exactly the way I wanted. I kept climbing. Third floor. Fourth floor. Fifth floor. The stairwell echoed with my heavy, ragged breathing and the scraping of my shoes against the concrete. My phone rang again. It was Brenda, but I didn’t have the strength to answer, letting the ringing echo in the empty stairwell. I could picture her upstairs, pacing, cursing, and sweating. The longer I took, the weaker Paul would get. In my past life, I held onto her for forty minutes. How long could a five-year-old child dangle from a high ledge on her own before her grip gave out? I didn’t know. But I was going to let them experience every second of that agonizing uncertainty. Finally, with the last ounce of my strength, I dragged myself onto the sixth-floor landing. 6 Outside my door, the firefighters and Brenda were waiting. The moment Brenda saw me, she rushed over like a rabid animal. She didn’t look at my bleeding knees or my torn clothes. She simply snatched the keys out of my trembling hand. “What took you so long? You slow, useless idiot!” she screamed, scrambling to unlock the door. Her hands shook so badly she missed the keyhole several times. The firefighters and neighbors finally noticed the state I was in. “Oh my god, look at her legs! She’s seriously hurt!” “Her knee looks dislocated…” But with a life on the line, the rescue team rushed past us into my apartment, heading straight for the balcony. Supported by a neighbor, I hobbled inside behind them. On the balcony, the rescue team quickly set up their ropes and harnesses. They leaned out the window, preparing to secure Paul. “Paul! Hold on baby! Mommy’s here!” Brenda shrieked, leaning over the window frame. On the metal awning below, the tiny pink figure stirred. Maybe she heard her mother’s voice, or maybe it was just a final surge of survival instinct, but she tried to reach upward. But she had been hanging there far too long. Her strength was entirely spent. Just a second before the rescue harness could reach her, Paul’s tiny fingers lost their grip. The pink figure tumbled through the air like a falling leaf, plunging out of sight. Time stopped. From below, a chorus of horrified screams shattered the silence. The balcony fell into a deathly quiet. A moment later, Brenda let out a guttural, inhuman scream. “Paul!” She collapsed onto the floor, her face pale as ash. The firefighters slowly pulled their ropes back in, bowing their heads in solemn silence. The rescue had failed. And I, the neighbor who had dragged herself up six flights of stairs to open the door, was finally ready for my performance.

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I am the widowed innkeeper NPC in a horror game. Ever since my husband went missing, the loneliness has been unbearable. To cope, I try to trap players in my dungeon to keep me company. The only problem? My IQ is terribly low. The trials I design are childishly simple, and I can only watch in dismay as players breeze through them. They even started calling my dungeon the “Toddler Zone,” claiming a three-year-old could beat it. Worse, they flooded the community forums with warning posts, telling everyone that my trial is a low-difficulty, low-reward waste of time, begging new players not to bother. Eventually, the Game Master delivered the final blow: because my success rate is too high, my dungeon is being permanently shut down. Heartbroken, I swept the guest rooms of my inn and locked the doors for the last time. But on the night of the shutdown, a series of heavy knocks rattled the tightly shut doors of my inn. One after another, the very players who had easily conquered my trials stood outside, calling my name in excited, breathless whispers: “Holly, it’s me. Your man. I’m back.” 01 Dungeon Announcement: “Attention all players! Due to an overwhelming number of negative reviews and a lack of active participants, the Rosewood Inn trial is releasing its final seven slots. After this round, the dungeon will be permanently shut down.” This notice quickly pinned itself to the top of the horror game’s community forum. Beneath the announcement, the comment section exploded with remarks from players who had previously cleared the inn trial. “Finally, it’s closing.” “I absolutely despised that innkeeper boss.” “Thank goodness. Who even plays such an outdated, cliché trial anyway? I went once, my heart was pounding the whole time, but the rules were just way too simple.” “Exactly. That widow boss was so incredibly annoying. I cleared her dungeon months ago, and I still can’t get her out of my head. It’s infuriating.” “Good riddance. Don’t let anyone else waste their time. They shouldn’t even release those last seven slots, just close it now.” “Agreed. If nobody applies, I bet Holly will cry her eyes out. Annoying.” “Wait, is that the entire leaderboard in the comments? Screenshotting this!” “I didn’t even notice at first. The comment section is literally filled with the top-tier grinders who survive on points.” “Carry me, legends! What does it even feel like to have a nine-figure point balance?” “Do the gods of the leaderboard get their hearts racing because of a minor boss too? Haha.” “I was planning to check it out, but if the veterans say it’s trash, I’ll pass.” “Same, sticking to my four-star trials.” “Yeah, let’s focus on other dungeons. Ignore this minor boss.” At that moment, a player holding the number one spot on the global leaderboard, whose avatar was a simple black-and-white lucky cat, posted a comment. “Oh my god, Tony! He only ever posts strategic guides. This is the first time he’s ever left a comment in a public thread!” “The pros are so nice, saving us from the trash tier.” “Actually, Tony was the one who wrote the very first warning post about this place.” “And the other pros all upvoted him!” “I’m crying. They care about us so much.” 02 I was shaking with anger, clutching my cheap phone. It was an NPC-exclusive model I had saved up my meager points for years to buy. Logging into the player channel, I pointed my screen at Shadow, the owl who was currently forced to pose as a lucky cat on my counter. “I know this guy! When he cleared my dungeon, he stole my gold lucky cat ornament!” Hearing this, Shadow stopped flapping his wings and landed on my shoulder, squinting at the screen. He was tired of doing double duty as both an owl and a lucky cat ever since my ornament was stolen. I remembered the thief’s arrogance when he cleared the trial. “The rules of this place are incredibly stupid,” he had sneered. “Who could this possibly eliminate? You silly little ghost.” The memory made my ghostly form flicker with rage. “I only let him win because he looked so pathetic and miserable!” Shadow sighed, his voice low. “Holly, your rules are already incredibly easy. You don’t need to let anyone win.” I pretended not to hear him, tapping the screen with my long, sharp nails. “And this one, and that one! I only let them through out of the goodness of my heart! Now they talk trash behind my back? I’m going to eat them!” Shadow gave up, flying back to the counter to resume his stiff, lucky-cat pose. Then I remembered the system notification. My dungeon was closing forever. There would be no more new players to keep me company. In a fit of pique, I turned off the phone and threw it onto the counter. I floated up to the ceiling beam, hanging upside down with my long red tongue sticking out, closing my eyes to wait for the final batch of players. Because of that, I missed the flurry of new posts that immediately began to flood the forum. 03 Justin had just cleared a brutal four-star dungeon when he saw the notice about the Rosewood Inn. It was rated negative stars by the veterans. Ever since he started playing this survival game, he had known about the notorious “trash dungeon” that the top players warned everyone to avoid. He had planned to visit it one day out of sheer curiosity. Now that it was closing, he had to act fast. As a dedicated completionist, his fingers flew across the screen, instantly hitting the application button. Before he could even log out, his inbox began to flash violently. “Bro, are you selling your Rosewood Inn slot? I’m serious. Name your price.” Justin figured it was another completionist. “Sorry, man. I’m trying to collect all the dungeon achievements. I want to experience it myself.” Almost instantly, a voice message popped up. “Bro, I have the completionist trophy for this dungeon. I can trade it to you right now, and I’ll throw in ten thousand points. Just don’t go in.” Justin paused. If the guy already had the achievement, why was he buying a slot? And why was he offering such an insane amount of points? Something felt off. He exited the chat, only for his screen to freeze. In a matter of seconds, his pending messages and friend requests skyrocketed to 99+. He scrolled through the requests. Every single one was trying to buy his slot for the Rosewood Inn, with each offer more absurdly high than the last. What was going on? He had assumed he would be the only player in this dead dungeon. If the reviews were so terrible and the widow NPC was so annoying, why was everyone desperate to get in? He navigated back to the community main page. The forum was flooded with high-value bounty posts. The authors were all top-ranking players on the global leaderboard. Their words were frantic and polite, a stark contrast to their previous cold warnings. They didn’t sound like players looking for a quick trial. They sounded like frantic husbands offering rewards for a missing wife. The top pinned post, which must have cost a fortune in points to secure, caught his eye. “Trading my entire point balance for a slot in the final round of the Rosewood Inn. Beyond points, I will fulfill any condition, or carry you through any five-star dungeon of your choice.” The author of the post was Jimmy. 04 Jimmy was the rank-two player on the leaderboard. He and Tony were the only two players in the history of the game to clear every single five-star trial. They were legends, untouchable gods to ordinary players. While Tony occasionally posted guides, Jimmy was a complete mystery. He never participated in community discussions, focusing entirely on grinding points and uncovering hidden game mechanics. The community was in shambles. No one could understand why these gods were suddenly begging for a low-tier slot. The comment section of Jimmy’s post was already thousands of pages long. “Just got out of a trial. What did I miss? Why are the top dogs begging for a Rosewood Inn slot?” “Check the announcement. The dungeon is closing.” “What kind of riddle is this?” “Didn’t Tony tell us to stay away?” Jimmy had replied to that last comment just a minute ago: “That absolute bastard.” “Is Jimmy always this aggressive?” “Wait, did they lie to us? Is there some legendary loot in there?” “Oh my god, I knew it! They wanted to keep the treasure for themselves!” Justin checked his lobby team list. The other six players assigned to his round were all in the top ten. Some of them were the very ones who had left the worst reviews. “Wow,” Justin muttered, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Completionists really do win in the end. These pros have been playing 4D chess for years, coordinate-bombing the reviews to keep people away. Absolute geniuses!” Even if he couldn’t get his hands on the secret treasure, watching the top players fight would be worth it. His game bracelet suddenly vibrated. “Player, where is Holly’s husband? The trial is starting. Transferring in ten seconds. Please prepare.” Justin took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “Ten.” “Nine.” “Eight.” A cold, smooth sensation suddenly wrapped around his wrist. “Take me with you,” a voice whispered. Justin opened his eyes in shock. A small, snow-white snake was wrapped tightly around his wrist like a bracelet. “Six.” A notification popped up. A massive sum of points had been transferred to his account. “I’m Jimmy. This is your payment.” “Three.” The snake spoke, and a co-op entry request popped up on his screen. Only those who had cleared the game had the authority to force an entry like this. “Accept it. Quickly.” “Two.” Justin felt a sharp pinch on his wrist. He quickly tapped accept. “Transferring!” 05 The world spun, and when Justin opened his eyes, he was standing in front of a dilapidated, eerie inn. The white snake on his wrist had gone completely still, mimicking a realistic leather bracelet. Around him stood six other players. They were indeed the top players from the leaderboard. None of them looked at Justin. In fact, they didn’t even look at each other. They seemed incredibly tense, their faces slightly flushed despite their calm expressions. While Justin was wondering if he should introduce himself, his bracelet buzzed. It was a private message from Jimmy: “Start a public stream.” Was Jimmy planning to expose the others? Justin quickly enabled the streaming function. The player closest to him let out a cold snort. It was Barrett, ranked fifth. He was famous for his aggressive, brute-force playstyle. Rumor had it he was searching for a legendary item to revive his deceased wife. Was the resurrection item hidden here? Before Justin could think further, Barrett stepped up to the wooden door and knocked loudly. “Holly! It’s me! Your man! I’m back!” 06 I had assumed no one would show up for the final round. After telling Shadow to sweep the guest rooms, I locked the front door. Then, holding Shadow in my arms, I swung back and forth on the ceiling beam. Once midnight struck, my dungeon would close, and I would be left to wander this empty inn for eternity. When the knocking started, I was actually feeling relieved that I had saved enough points for a phone. At least I would have something to do while floating around. But then a voice called out: “Your man?” Could a ghost experience auditory hallucinations? I checked the dungeon interface. To my surprise, seven players and one snake had arrived. Well, I was a professional NPC. If players were here, I had to play my part. I shook my shoulders, smoothed down my red dress, and prepared to work. At the same time, a notification popped up on the global player forum: “Rosewood Inn trial is now live. Justin is broadcasting.” The forum was already buzzing with speculation. When the stream link appeared, players flooded the channel. “What’s going on? Are those the top players?” “Who is brave enough to stream in front of the gods? Are they going to show us how they bully the boss?” “Maybe they all suffered a defeat here before, and they’re back for revenge before it closes?” “Look, Barrett is knocking on the door.” “Wait, is this boss the wife Barrett has been trying to save?” I adjusted my collar. It had been so long since I used my human form that walking on two legs felt a bit strange. The knocking outside continued, and I hastened my steps. 07 Justin watched the viewer count of his stream climb rapidly. The chat was a blur of frantic questions, making him feel a bit nervous. If the pros found out he was streaming, he would be in deep trouble. Barrett was still shouting at the door, calling Holly’s name, while the other pros stood by with dark, tense expressions. Creak. The heavy wooden door slowly swung open. “Welcome to Rosewood Inn,” a soft, ethereal voice drifted out. Justin looked up, and the stream camera automatically focused on the doorway. The chat went dead silent for a fraction of a second before exploding. “Is this the widow boss? Why does she look like… that?” “Is she a ghost or an angel?” “Why did the stream quality suddenly jump to ultra-HD? She is absolutely stunning!” “I’m a veteran player who quit years ago. Why does she look so familiar?” “Me too! But seriously, she’s gorgeous. I can hear my own heart beating.” I could feel someone’s heart beating furiously. I quickly turned off the voice chat, wondering whose racing heart was echoing so loudly in the quiet night.

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