Author: Momo Chan

1 Lied to my wife about working overtime, only to book a hotel room with three of my buddies for a secret poker night. I was just about to rake in a massive straight flush. Suddenly, a woman’s voice drifted in from the room next door. It was that kind of voice. My buddies let out dirty grins, instantly losing interest in the cards. But for me, my entire hand clattered to the floor. Because that voice, the pitch, the exact rhythm of her breathing, sounded identical to my wife. I called her phone. Voicemail. I called her mother. Her mom said she hadn’t even shown up. My three friends stood in a neat line, their faces suddenly turning incredibly grave. “Kick the door down, bro. I’ll film it for you.” So, tell me: do I kick it, or do I not? Planning this hotel poker night with the guys took me a whole week of meticulous preparation. Why a hotel? Because doing it at home was out of the question. My wife, Candy, is affectionately known among our friends as “The Warden.” When it came to any form of gambling, she had absolute, zero tolerance. Last month, I snuck over to our neighbor’s garage for a few rounds of Texas Hold’em, only to get caught red-handed. My monthly allowance was instantly slashed from five hundred dollars to a miserable two hundred. Two hundred dollars. For an entire month. I had to budget carefully just to buy a decent cup of coffee. So, I had to be smart about this. On Friday night, I took the initiative to wash the dishes, vacuum the living room, and hang up the laundry. Before bed, I even gave her a fifteen-minute shoulder massage. Candy leaned back on the sofa, squinting at me with suspicion. “Alright, spill. What do you want?” My chest tightened, but I kept my face entirely neutral. “Well, tomorrow is Saturday, and my manager just dropped a surprise overtime shift on us. I’ll probably be stuck at the office until late.” She opened one eye, scanning me up and down. That gaze was intense enough to make a seasoned detective confess on the spot. But I held my ground. “Fine,” she said, switching off the TV. “I’ll just head out of town to visit my mom then, since you won’t be around anyway.” “Perfect, perfect. You should definitely go do that.” My heart finally settled back into my chest. The next morning, I watched Candy drive out of the neighborhood. The moment her taillights vanished around the corner, I whipped out my phone and dropped a text in our group chat. The eagle has left the nest. Operation is go. Within three seconds, the chat exploded. Zack: I’ve been waiting a whole week! If I don’t take three hundred bucks off you today, I’ll eat my own poker chips! Ben: Told my wife I was heading to your place to help you set up a new router. Even carried a heavy toolbox out the door. Luke: Being single means I didn’t need an excuse, but I’m always ready to support the brotherhood. At precisely 11:00 AM, we checked into Room 408 at the Apex Hotel. It was a standard double room. We pushed the two beds into the corners, set up a folding table in the center, and flipped a luggage rack over with a pillow to serve as an extra chair. The deck was shuffled, the AC was set to a cool sixty-eight degrees, and four cans of beer were lined up on the table. Four grown men rubbed their hands together, their eyes practically gleaming. The sheer joy of secretly playing cards behind your wife’s back is hard to describe. It was more intoxicating than actually winning the money. By the third round, my luck was soaring. A straight flush. I slammed my cards onto the table, raking in a cool three hundred dollars in cash. Ben’s face turned green. “Logan, if you win more than five hundred today, I’m calling Candy.” “You wouldn’t dare.” “Just kidding.” “You better be.” We cracked open can after can of beer, and Luke ordered a massive tray of garlic parmesan wings, filling the room with the rich scent of grease and spices. Outside, the sun was shining. Inside, the sound of plastic chips clinking was pure music. It was a man’s paradise. Until 2:40 PM. I was staring at my hand, calculating my odds, when a sound suddenly cut through the air. It came from right next door. A woman’s voice. It carried a very particular, unmistakable tone. The room went dead silent for two seconds. All four of us looked up at the same time. Zack was the first to react, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “Well, well. It’s the middle of the day, and neighbors next door are putting in some serious work.” Ben chuckled, softening his movements as he threw down a chip, his ear tilting toward the wall. Luke was the most dramatic, setting down his wing and pressing his ear directly against the plaster. I let out a chuckle too. But the laugh died in my throat. Because next door, the voice called out again. “Ah… gentler… please, gentler…” The smile froze on my face. That voice. That pitch. The way her breath hitched at the end of the sentence, the exact cadence of her gasp. We had been married for five years. I heard that exact voice every single day. My cards slipped from my fingers, scattering onto the green felt. My head began to throb. 2 “What’s wrong, man?” Ben asked, putting down his cards and staring at me. My lips parted, but no sound came out. I couldn’t exactly tell my three best friends that the intimate sounds next door sounded exactly like my wife. Even to my own ears, the thought was completely absurd. Candy was supposed to be visiting her mother out of town. Why on earth would she be in a local hotel room? It was impossible. Absolutely impossible. I took a deep breath, gathering my fallen cards. “Nothing. Let’s keep playing.” We played two more rounds, but I couldn’t focus on a single card. Because the sounds from the next room hadn’t stopped. In fact, they seemed to be escalating. “Yes… right there… perfect…” My entire body went rigid. That phrase. That tone. Even the little sigh at the end. Every single time I gave Candy a back rub, she said those exact words. Word for word. I threw down a card blindly. Zack stared at me. “Bro, you’re discarding a King? Aren’t you holding a pair of queens?” “Huh?” I looked down, realizing I had just thrown away my winning card. “Logan, you’re acting incredibly weird,” Luke said, chewing on a wing and squinting at me. I waved my hand dismissively. “My hand slipped.” The next room went quiet for about fifteen seconds. Then, a man’s voice carried through the wall. “Just hang in there, we’re almost done.” Low, deep, and slightly amused. The sheer tenderness in his tone made my stomach roll over. And then, the woman’s voice started up again. The throbbing in my head turned into a full-blown migraine. The other three had stopped playing entirely, their eyes darting rapidly between me and the wall. Zack’s smirk had vanished. He knew Candy well, and he had heard her talk plenty of times. His expression told me everything: he thought it sounded like her too. Without another second of hesitation, I pulled out my phone and dialed Candy’s number. Ring… ring… ring… The number you have dialed is currently unavailable. Voicemail. Candy never turned her phone off. Her mother’s health wasn’t great, so she stayed on call twenty-four hours a day, carrying a portable charger everywhere she went. But today, of all days, her phone was off. I dialed again. Voicemail. A third time. Voicemail. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the phone. Luke finally set his wing down. “Logan, who are you trying to call?” “My wife.” “Candy? Isn’t she out of town visiting her mom?” “Her phone is off.” The air in the room seemed to freeze instantly. The guys exchanged a look. I knew that look. It was the classic: Bro, things look incredibly bad, but we don’t want to be the ones to say it. Ben cleared his throat. “Don’t panic yet. Maybe her battery just died. Why don’t you call your mother-in-law and ask if she arrived safely?” Right. Call her mother. That was a rational step. I dialed her mother’s number. After five rings, she answered. “Logan, dear. Is everything okay?” I forced my voice to sound as normal as possible. “Hey, Susan. Did Candy make it to your place yet?” “Oh, no. She didn’t tell me she was coming over today.” “She didn’t?” “No, I haven’t heard from her. Why? Is something wrong?” My brain felt like it was short-circuiting. Candy said she was going to visit her mother. Her mother had absolutely no idea. “No, nothing’s wrong. Just checking in. Take care, Susan. Bye.” I hung up, my hands trembling. Another low sound drifted through the wall from next door, muffled but possessing that exact, chilling cadence. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Zack was the first to stand up. “Let’s go. We’re going to check it out.” Ben stood up too. “It’s better to know for sure. If it’s just a misunderstanding, at least you can stop stressing.” Luke already had his phone out, the camera app open. “I’ll handle gathering the evidence.” “Put that away.” “What if we need it in court?” “Shut up, Luke.” I took a deep breath. As I stood up, my folding chair scraped loudly against the floor, sliding back a few feet. My three friends fell into a line behind me, looking like a makeshift tactical squad ready to breach a room. 3 We opened the door of Room 408, stepping into an empty hallway. The lighting was a sterile white, and the thick carpet absorbed our footsteps, creating an eerie, uncomfortable silence. I stood in the middle of the hallway. Room 406 was on my left, and Room 410 was on my right. Which one was making the noise? When we were playing, I was sitting by the window, and the sound had come from my right. So that meant… “Room 410,” I whispered. Zack nodded. “410. Let’s go.” The four of us crept over to the door of Room 410. I pressed my ear flat against the cold wood. Nothing. It was completely silent now. “Hear anything?” Zack whispered, leaning in close. “Shh.” I held my breath. Ten seconds passed. Twenty seconds. Just as I was about to give up, a soft sound drifted from inside. A woman’s voice: “Oh… that feels so good…” It wasn’t loud, but it was clear enough. My blood pressure spiked to a dangerous level. Zack gave me a firm shove from behind. “That’s it. That’s the one. What’s the plan?” Ben grabbed my arm. “Wait, calm down. Let’s knock first. What if we have the wrong room?” “There’s no way we’re wrong,” Luke muttered, aiming his phone camera at the door. “Logan, are you going to kick it, or should I do it for you?” I took a deep breath, let it out, and took another. I raised my right leg. Boom! I kicked the door right near the latch. The door wasn’t deadbolted from the inside, and it swung open instantly. I stormed into the room, ready to rage, only to freeze dead in my tracks. There were two people in the room. A man and a woman. The man was shirtless, in his late fifties, with a prominent beer belly and a look of pure relaxation on his face. The woman was in her early forties, wearing a silk robe, her hair permed into tight, bouncy curls. They were propped up against the headboard, watching a tablet screen set up on a stand. On the screen, an influencer was eating a plate of spicy noodles, slurping loudly into the microphone. The sound we had heard earlier, “Oh, that feels so good,” was coming directly from the food video on the tablet. Eight eyes locked onto the four of us standing in the doorway. The air in the room seemed to vanish. The woman with the permed curls let out a piercing shriek. “Ahhh!” That scream was ten times louder than any sound that had drifted through our wall. The beer-bellied man scrambled out of bed like an angry grizzly bear. “Who the hell are you? What do you think you’re doing? Why did you kick my door open?” My mouth opened, but only a squeak came out. “Uh, sorry, sir. I think we have the wrong…” “Wrong? You kick my door down and call it a mistake?” The man grabbed a heavy metal thermos from the nightstand, raising it like a weapon. Zack, whose head was peeking through the doorway, took one look at the situation and made a split-second decision. “That’s not Candy. Run!” I spun around and bolted down the hallway. But the angry man was hot on our heels. “Stop right there! I’m calling the cops!” He was sprinting down the hall in his flimsy hotel slippers, waving his metal thermos in the air, his voice echoing loudly through the entire floor. “Security! Security! We’ve got intruders!” The four of us scrambled back into Room 408, slamming the door shut and throwing the lock. I leaned against the door, my chest heaving as my heart pounded against my ribs like a bass drum. After a few seconds of tense silence, Zack sank to the floor, a snort escaping his lips. Then, he completely lost it. “Hahaha! You kicked the wrong door!” He laughed so hard he was slapping the carpet. “We’re in Room 408! The sound was coming from Room 406 on our left, not Room 410 on our right! You completely got your directions mixed up, you idiot!” I stood there, speechless. Ben leaned against the table, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “Oh my god. That guy was ready to swing that thermos. You almost got a face full of hot water.” Luke silently reviewed his video. The footage was just a blur of ceilings and running shoes, completely useless. “I highly recommend saving this video,” Luke said with a straight face. “You should play this at your next wedding anniversary. It’ll be a hit.” “Delete it, Luke.” Outside, we could hear the security guard talking to the angry man, who was loudly explaining how his room had been breached. The four of us stood frozen, barely daring to breathe. We waited until the commotion outside finally died down before I sank onto the floor, my back drenched in sweat. Zack was still chuckling. Ben was still laughing. Luke was already drafting a social media post about “witnessing history.” But I couldn’t find anything funny about it. Because if the sound hadn’t come from Room 410… It meant it was coming from Room 406. The sound was definitely coming from Room 406. 4 Once we caught our breath, we sat back down around the folding table. But no one touched the cards. We were all listening. Listening to the wall shared with Room 406. After about two minutes, a faint, rustling sound carried over. Then, a voice. “Ouch! You’re pressing too hard!” It was a woman’s voice. Completely clear. The words filtered into my ears, and my entire body went rigid. That sharp intake of breath, the exact way she dragged out the end of the sentence. My friends stopped laughing. The atmosphere in the room instantly turned heavy. Zack lowered his voice. “Logan… are we sure it’s Room 406 this time?” “Yes.” “And… it really sounds like Candy?” I didn’t answer, but my grim expression was more than enough. Ben pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one and taking a slow drag. “Look, let’s not rush in this time. Let’s find a way to confirm it first.” “How?” “Go to the front desk. See who checked into Room 406.” We looked at each other. Zack volunteered, slipping out of the room. He returned three minutes later, his face pale. “The receptionist wouldn’t tell me anything. Said it violates guest privacy unless the police ask for it.” “Did you try to smooth-talk her?” “Of course I did. I said my friend was in Room 406 and forgot their key. She asked for the guest’s name, and I said I didn’t know. She looked at me like I was a creep.” I ran my fingers through my hair in frustration. Luke suddenly stood up. “I have an idea.” “What?” “Let’s order delivery to Room 406.” We stared at him. “Delivery?” “Yeah. We order a drink, put the address as Room 406, and I’ll wait in the hallway. When the delivery guy knocks and they open the door, I’ll get a clear look inside.” I had to admit, the single guy occasionally had a stroke of genius. I immediately opened my phone and ordered a milk tea, setting the delivery address to Room 406 under a fake name: “Jane.” We waited fifteen minutes. The delivery guy finally arrived on our floor. Luke was already positioned at the corner of the hallway, pretending to look at his phone. The delivery guy knocked on the door of Room 406. “Delivery.” Three seconds. Five seconds. Eight seconds. The door opened slightly. Luke peeked from around the corner. When he slipped back into our room, he looked at me with a serious expression. “Logan, I only saw a hand. A woman’s hand, pretty fair-skinned. The door was barely cracked open. She took the drink and shut the door immediately.” “Did you see her face?” “No, she was too fast.” “Any details on the hand?” “Well… her nails were painted red.” Red? Candy had just gotten her nails done last week, and she chose a dusty rose color. It wasn’t red. My chest loosened slightly, but only for a moment. Changing nail polish wasn’t exactly difficult. Ben stubbed out his cigarette. “Why don’t you just go knock? Say you got the wrong room and see who opens it.” Zack shook his head. “No. If it really is Candy, and she sees Logan standing there, how do you think she’ll react? She’ll lock the door or run. When my mom caught my dad at the card game, he practically passed out from fear.” “Then what the hell are we supposed to do?” “I’ll go,” Zack said, adjusting his collar. “I’ll say I’m doing a guest satisfaction survey for the hotel.” “You’re wearing a t-shirt and cargo shorts. Who’s going to believe you work here?” But Zack was already out the door. The three of us took turns looking through the peephole. In the hallway, Zack walked up to Room 406, cleared his throat, and knocked. Knock, knock, knock. “Hello, sorry to bother you…” The door opened slightly. This time, a woman actually appeared in the gap. Zack took one look, his mouth dropping open, and then the door clicked shut. He stood frozen in the hallway for three seconds before walking back to our room. He pushed the door open, closing it behind him. “Who was it?” I asked, my voice tight. Zack’s expression was incredibly complicated. “The woman who opened the door wasn’t Candy.” I felt a wave of relief wash over me. “She was a stranger, short hair, maybe in her early thirties,” Zack continued. “Then we’re good, right? It’s not her,” I said. Zack hesitated. “But…” “But what?” “When the door opened, I managed to catch a glimpse of the bed.” “And?” Zack looked me straight in the eyes. “There was someone else in the room. In those few seconds, I saw someone lying face down on the bed. I couldn’t see her face, but I saw her hair.” “What color?” “Dark brown. Long hair, tied up in a messy bun.” A messy bun. Candy had her hair in a messy bun when she left the house this morning. It was exactly the same.

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1 During the peak of my shameless physical desires, I picked up a pet zombie to play with. He could not speak. Whenever I teased him too much, a single drop of my blood was enough to placate him. But today, right after I messed up his soft curls, a glowing chat box popped up in front of my eyes. Oh my god. I’ve seen people raise cats and dogs, but this is my first time seeing someone keep a Zombie King as a house pet! The Zombie King has been enduring this cannon fodder’s abuse for a year just to map out the Haven’s defense systems! This dumb girl is going to end up as humanity’s biggest traitor. Just wait till she gets thrown to the horde and ripped to shreds! My hand froze right as I was strapping the silver muzzle onto my little zombie. Sensing my hesitation, he lunged, shaking off the loose strap. His sharp fangs bared, sinking deep into my wrist. I hissed, a sharp breath catching in my throat. The little zombie froze. He looked stunned, as if he had not expected his sneak attack to actually land. His milky-blue eyes widened in sheer confusion. Then, slowly, his cold tongue darted out, gently licking the bead of blood welling on my skin. I pulled my hand back and snapped the muzzle shut. The silver metal locked around his jaw. He thrashed in frustration, but it was useless. Seven days ago, before heading out on a raid, I had injected him with a heavy-duty sedative designed specifically for infected. It should have kept him out cold on my bed the entire time. But during a quiet moment on the field, I had pulled up the feed of the hidden camera I recently installed in my bedroom. I wanted to admire his sleeping face, but instead, I saw him sitting up, casually unclasping the muzzle himself. “Captain, move! The horde is closing in!” My squad’s shout had cut my feed short. I shut off my phone and leaped back into the armored vehicle. When I finally got home, new muzzle in hand, I braced myself for an ambush. But when I unlocked the door, he was lying there, completely still, muzzle perfectly secure. It was as if the security footage had been a hallucination. Still, I woke him up and strapped the tighter, upgraded model onto him. I washed the fresh bite on my wrist and jabbed an antiseptic serum into my arm. When I walked back into the bedroom, the little zombie was sitting on the edge of the mattress, knees pulled to his chest, burying his face in his arms. Only his messy curls were visible. I ruffled his soft hair. He looked up, his damp eyes filled with a pitiful, soft gaze. It was incredibly endearing. I pinched his cheek and leaned down, pressing a light kiss to the center of his forehead. “You bit me today. No dinner for you.” He responded with a low, menacing growl, but it sounded more like a pout than a threat. 2 Honestly, believing my little zombie is some legendary Zombie King is like believing I am the ruler of the empire. When the outbreak hit three years ago, a fraction of humanity gained supernatural abilities. I was one of the heavy hitters. Because of my raw power, countless opportunists tried to crawl into my bed just to secure my protection. Even the self-proclaimed strongest commander of the Haven once reached out a hand to me, saying, “You are the only woman fit to stand by my side.” That line made me so nauseous I could not sleep. So, I snuck into his quarters at midnight and castrated him with a combat knife. I fled the Haven that very night. On my way out, I ran into a ragged little zombie trying to ambush me at an abandoned gas station. I was going to decapitate him on the spot, but before he could even reach me, he tripped over his own feet and faceplanted. “Dumbass,” I muttered, sheathing my dagger. But as I turned to leave, he scrambled up and chased after me. That was when I got a proper look at his face. I froze. I actually looked around to see if someone was pulling a prank. There was no way a creature of the apocalypse could look so perfectly tailored to my exact aesthetic tastes. I pulled a spare muzzle out of my pack and strapped it onto him. “An idiot zombie like you is never going to successfully bite anyone. Other monsters will probably eat you alive.” “Growl!” “Want to come with me instead?” He lunged, but I caught his wrists and immediately started trimming his dangerously long claws. Traveling with a brain-dead pet had its challenges. Eventually, when the Haven practically begged me to return, even forcing that castrated commander to offer a formal apology, I decided to go back. It felt great knowing he despised me but could not touch me. “You guys don’t mind if I bring a pet, right?” I stepped aside, revealing my little zombie. “He is very sweet.” The Haven ran him through a dozen scanners before finally letting him in. And now, these random glowing comments were telling me this adorable idiot is the Zombie King? 3 He had barely tasted a drop of blood all day. By midnight, the sound of his furious teeth-grinding was driving me insane. I snapped my eyes open, irritated. The Zombie King is insanely brutal to himself. He literally shattered his own core just to bypass the Haven’s scanners. With a broken core, his memory and IQ plummeted. This girl got incredibly lucky. If he had his full faculties, she would be history. It’s fine. His core is healing. The moment he fully recovers, she’s dead meat. A Zombie King, huh? I reached over and clicked on the dim bedside lamp. He was curled up at the corner of the mattress, still grinding his teeth. But then I noticed he had somehow stolen one of my sweaters and buried his entire face in the fabric. “Stealing from me?” I yanked the sweater away. Nico stared at me, his eyes wide. Sensing my movement, he grabbed my arm and lunged to bite, only for his teeth to clank harmlessly against the silver metal of the muzzle. His loose pajamas had slid down, exposing a sliver of his pale waist. I pressed my hand against his bare skin. He froze instantly. Under the faint yellow light, his cheeks seemed to flush, though I did not pay it much mind. I flipped over, pinning his hips down with my knees. “If you are going to keep me awake, then you don’t get to sleep either.” Though he had a remarkably innocent face, Nico stood at a solid six-foot-two. Beneath his clothes, he was built like a lean, powerful athlete. Just as I was about to indulge in my late-night snack, the chat exploded. Here it comes! His memories aren’t fully back, but his intellect is. He’s not going to let this low-tier villainess touch him anymore! Imagine waking up to see your annoying captor riding you. He’s going to tear her apart. Oh, he won’t kill her yet. He’s going to sabotage the Haven and frame her first, making her a pariah before letting the horde rip her to shreds. My brow furrowed. I could enjoy this meal anytime, but I had no interest in a death row feast. Just as I went to slide off him, a cold, heavy hand clamped around my waist, pinning me firmly against him.

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My former lover was the one who slipped the cold steel over my wrists. He stood there in his crisp police uniform, a man of absolute integrity, complete with a young, beautiful girlfriend waiting for him in the wings. At the precinct, he kept things strictly professional, his expression entirely detached. “Tell us what you did, and don’t lie.” 1 The officer who arrested me was Austin. To everyone else at the station, he was Chief Austin. He did not soften his grip in the slightest. The metal bit deep into my skin, and tears welled in my eyes from the sharp sting. “Gentle, please,” I whispered. He did not even spare me a glance, his voice completely flat. “Just standard protocol, ma’am. I’m sure you understand.” Not a single shred of our past remained in his eyes. A hollow ache settled in my chest. In the interrogation room, the detective across from me flipped through a file. “You filed a formal complaint against Victor?” I nodded. “What exactly is your relationship with him?” “He is my husband.” “Were you complicit in any of his illegal operations?” The question hung in the air. The harsh fluorescent lights flickered, reflecting off the dark lens of the recording camera. For a second, the room seemed to spin. My gaze drifted to Austin, who had remained silent in the corner of the room. His expression was a blank wall. “Just tell us what you did, Fiona,” he said calmly. “And don’t lie.” 2 The investigation eventually cleared me of all suspicion. As for that bastard Victor, the charges were staggering: tax evasion, human trafficking, and racketeering. The prosecutors estimated his minimum sentence would be life without parole. But Victor was not stupid. He caught wind of the raid and fled before they could lock the city down. In the precinct’s main office, detectives were loudly debating their next move. I sat in the corner, clutching a paper cup of lukewarm water, feeling entirely out of place. Suddenly, someone at the door shouted, “Hey, look, the Chief’s girl is here!” A few young officers swarmed around a long-haired girl entering the room. She was incredibly sweet, wearing a white floral sundress, carrying herself with a quiet, gentle grace. She blushed as she walked toward Austin, holding out a neatly packed lunchbox. So, this was his new girlfriend. A genuine smile broke through Austin’s stern face. “You came.” She kept her voice low. “Make sure you eat it while it’s still warm. I spent hours making it.” “Don’t trouble yourself next time,” Austin murmured, pinching her cheek affectionately. I lowered my head, staring at the floor. The lighthearted teasing of the officers echoed in my ears. It was too loud. 3 Her name was Lily. She was a twenty-year-old student at a prestigious university. Austin had brought her to an alumni reunion last year. At the time, an old classmate had leaned over to tell me they looked like a match made in heaven. The classmate immediately covered her mouth, looking at me with deep regret. She had probably remembered that years ago, she used to say the exact same thing about Austin and me. I had only offered a faint smile. “It’s fine. It’s in the past.” A few days later, I finally cleaned out my phone contacts. I blocked my ex-husband, his terrible friends, and his awful mother. For the first time in years, I felt like I could breathe again. I went to the local grocery store to stock up on food, but fate is a cruel thing. I ran straight into Lily. She had her hair styled in a beautiful half-up crown, looking like an angel as she waved at me. Austin was standing right beside her. My posture went rigid. Memories flooded back. Years ago, during our high school’s centennial celebration, I had returned to our old campus as an alumna. Lily, then a nervous freshman in her blue-and-white uniform, had approached me with a notebook. “Senior, could you write a few words of encouragement for my exams?” Four or five years had passed, yet she actually remembered me. After a bit of polite small talk, I could not help but ask, “That day at the celebration, did I come alone?” Lily tapped her chin, thinking. “I think your boyfriend was there. I remember a guy standing a few paces behind you, carrying your handbag. But he was too far away, and I couldn’t see his face clearly.” She looked at me with innocent curiosity. “Are you two still together?” Austin, who had been walking slightly ahead of us, suddenly stopped and looked back, raising an eyebrow. My breath caught. That look was painfully familiar. Whenever I did something mischievous back then, he would look at me with that exact half-amused, half-reproving expression. Back then, I would get flustered, find an opportunity to bite his jaw, and try to run away. He would inevitably catch me by the waist, pull me into some dark corner behind a door, and kiss me thoroughly. I snapped back to reality, forcing a stiff laugh. “No, we broke up a very long time ago.” Austin let out a quiet, mocking chuckle. I quickly looked away. Lily showed me her left hand, her face glowing with pure joy. A massive diamond ring sparkled on her finger. “Fiona, does getting married really make you age faster?” she asked. “That depends entirely on who you marry,” I said softly. “Marry the right person, and you’ll stay young forever.” Her bright eyes shone with a sweet simplicity. “Really?” “Really,” I replied. “Your guy here is a keeper. He’s built for a quiet, happy family life.” She blushed. “How can you tell?” “Because our old teachers used to say so,” I said, offering a weak cover. She caught the detail instantly. “Teachers?” Austin turned his head, his gaze burning into me. With both of them staring, I struggled to keep my voice steady. “We were classmates back in the day. He was the golden boy, so the teachers always used him as an example.” Lily gasped in delight. “No way!” I nodded, my chest tightening. Rivals in middle school, friends in high school, lovers in college. My youth was not defined by years. It was defined by Austin. 4 I tried to focus on starting over. After being worn down to the bone by Victor for years, I needed to rebuild my life, find a decent job, and learn to take care of myself again. On my next visit to the precinct to sign some paperwork, Anna, a round-faced officer, gasped when she saw me. “Fiona! You look like a completely different person. You’re stunning!” I smiled, feeling a genuine spark of energy. When I met Austin in his office, I sincerely thanked him and urged him to bring Victor to justice. Through the haze of cigarette smoke, Austin stared at me, his fingers slowly dropping to his side. His eyes were dark and incredibly complex. “You haven’t changed at all, Fiona.” His voice was laced with a bitter chill. “Still selfish, still cold. You don’t actually care about anyone.” I offered a small, polite smile. “I wish you and Lily a lifetime of happiness.” He did not reply. Beneath his long lashes, his eyes burned with a dark, suffocating intensity. I took two steps forward, lowering my voice. “What? Are you still in love with me?” He let out a sharp, mocking scoff and crushed his cigarette in the ashtray. Six months flew by. During that time, Lily reached out to me once. She asked, “Fiona, was there a girl in your class whose name started with the letter F?” I told her I could not recall. She handed me a worn, leather-bound journal. It was Austin’s diary, spanning from middle school through high school, filled with his elegant, sharp handwriting. I promised Lily I would look through it at home and let her know if I remembered anything. But I never got the chance to read it. That very night, Austin banged on my door like a furious creditor. “Give it back,” he demanded, his voice dangerously low. Lily stood a few paces behind him, shivering like a frightened bird. With nothing left to say, I quietly handed the journal over. Without a word, Austin tossed the book straight into a basin of water sitting near the door. I instinctively lunged forward to grab it, but it was already sinking. Lily whispered from behind him, “Austin, who is F?” It was not a classmate. F stood for February, my birth month. “Just childhood nonsense,” Austin said, his voice softening slightly as he spoke to her, though his eyes remained locked on me. “I was young and stupid. It was just a game.” Lily let out a shaky breath and wrapped her arms around his waist. “You scared me. I thought you had some unforgettable first love.” Austin’s lips curved into a deeply sarcastic, painful smile. I forced myself to play the mediator. “Exactly. There’s no secret. You two shouldn’t let a silly old book cause any drama.” My eyes drifted to the basin. The journal floated on the surface, completely ruined and abandoned by its owner. Tears began to sting my eyes. I turned my back to them, pretending to adjust something on the counter as I wiped my face. “We all have to move on eventually. You two deserve to be happy.” 5 I ended up taking the diary apart, page by page, trying to salvage it. There were over a thousand pages. My small balcony could only hold a few dozen sheets at a time, making it a tedious, foolish project. Yet, I worked on it day and night. The exhaustion must have triggered something, because that night, I dreamed of Austin. It was the night of my twenty-fifth birthday. I had looked him in the eye and said, “Austin, I’m bored. I’m done playing this game with you.” He thought I was joking, his voice incredibly tender. “Sweetheart, stop teasing.” I had smiled, cold and detached. “Do you honestly think I’m going to spend the rest of my life with a low-paid beat cop? I want a real life. I’ve been playing with you all these years because you’re handsome and built well, but the game is over. I found someone better.” “Fiona…” He looked lost, reaching out to pull me into his arms. I shoved him back with all my strength. “You know Victor, the head of our firm? He has money, power, and influence. You can’t even begin to compete with him.” He stared at me, frozen, as the evening shadows slowly swallowed his face. The dream shifted. It was the night before my wedding. Austin was there, dressed in a flawless designer suit, sipping champagne and laughing with Victor. It was only then that I recalled a passing comment from an old classmate. Austin’s family was incredibly wealthy and influential; police work was merely his passion, a choice he made out of love for the job. A heavy, suffocating cold settled in my chest. At the reception, Austin’s icy gaze swept over me. “Victor, your bride doesn’t seem very happy today.” I forced myself to smile, leaning heavily against Victor’s arm. “Detective Austin is young and highly accomplished. I’m sure he will have a bright future.” During a break in the banquet, Austin cornered me outside the restrooms. His hands were shaking, his voice cracking with desperation. “Fiona, tell me you regret this. Just say the word, and I’ll take you away from here. Just tell me the truth, please.” He lowered himself, practically begging. “Just come back to me, Fiona.” I placed a hand over my slightly rounded stomach. “It’s too late.” Across the hall, Victor stood watching us, smiling like a predator playing with a captured pet. I closed my eyes and surrendered to the dark. A sudden, violent crack of thunder shattered the dream. I bolted upright in bed, gasping for air. My phone was vibrating violently on the nightstand. It was Lily. Her voice was choked with hysterical tears. “Fiona, Austin got into a horrible accident. I’m so scared. Can you please come to the hospital?” I froze. In an instant, the blood in my veins turned to absolute ice.

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1 In the third year of my marriage to Gabriel Mercer, I was hit by a car while riding my bicycle. Even as a sharp, agonizing pain radiated through my leg, I forced myself not to call him. He was a Major General, a man of high standing whose duties meant he could not take personal calls during work hours. The woman who had hit me was sobbing, holding onto my handlebars to keep me from leaving. “My boyfriend is on his way. Please wait, we will definitely give you a solution you are happy with.” But when the black military SUV with the high-ranking plates pulled up behind her, my entire body went rigid. Gabriel got out of the vehicle, immediately wrapping his uniform jacket around the crying woman’s shoulders, his voice filled with a rare, gentle concern. “I am late. Are you hurt?” It was only then that I realized Gabriel’s phone was not off to everyone during work hours. It was just that his emergency contact list was reserved for the girl from his past. He frowned, his gaze dropping to my bleeding knee, staring at it for a long, silent moment. The woman, Hannah, looked between us with a hesitant glance. “Do you two know each other?” Before Gabriel could speak, I cut in. “We don’t.” After all, in the contract he had handed me three years ago, the very first clause dictated a strictly hidden marriage. Now, our three-year agreement was about to expire. I was already preparing to leave. … I had always known Gabriel had someone else in his heart, but I never imagined it would be the very woman who had just run me over. When Gabriel first arrived, I had frozen, instinctively assuming he was there for me. But Hannah had already scrambled to her feet, running straight into his arms. “Gabriel, what do I do? I hit someone.” The man draped his heavy service jacket over her shoulders, his voice as calm and steady as ever. “I will handle it.” I slowly pulled my gaze away, staring down at the raw, scraping wound on my knee. The pieces finally fell into place, explaining why Gabriel had barely been coming home lately. His childhood love, Hannah, had returned to the country. Hannah stepped back from his chest, turning to offer me a bright, privileged smile. “My boyfriend is here now. Whatever compensation you want, just speak to his assistant.” “I am so sorry for delaying your commute and causing this injury. Please, don’t hesitate to ask for what you need. My boyfriend is highly capable, he will make sure it is taken care of.” I offered a quiet thank you, but Gabriel’s assistant, who was standing nearby, looked incredibly uncomfortable. He was one of the very few who knew about our hidden marriage. He stammered, looking at my leg. “Mrs… I mean, ma’am, why is your wound still bleeding so heavily? It has been half an hour since the accident. Do you have a coagulation issue?” “Just a minor one,” I replied, nodding. Gabriel’s head snapped toward me, his voice dropping an octave. “Clotting issues?” Hannah looked confused. “What’s wrong?” He did not seem to hear her, his eyes locked onto my bleeding knee, his brow furrowed in a tight line. Hannah finally sensed the tension, looking between Gabriel and me with growing suspicion. “Do you two know each other?” Before Gabriel could find his voice, I answered for him. “We don’t.” As expected, he looked satisfied with my quick thinking. He took Hannah’s hand, offering a casual instruction to his assistant before they walked away. “Take her to the clinic.” I watched their retreating figures, swallowing the faint bitterness in my throat. There were exactly two months left before our contract expired, and it was time for me to start packing. 2 Our convenience marriage had been remarkably straightforward. Back then, I desperately needed tuition for graduate school. Through a mutual acquaintance, I ended up signing a contract with Gabriel. On our wedding day, there was no ceremony, no rings, and no vows, only a legal document. He needed a sham marriage to satisfy his family’s constant pressure, and I needed the financial security. The terms were simple: keep the marriage hidden, and occasionally play the doting wife at family dinners. We had no marital obligations, no responsibility toward each other, and I was even free to date as long as I kept it out of the public eye. I was paid three thousand dollars a month. Once the three years were up, I would receive a three-million-dollar exit fee. At the time, Hannah was studying abroad, and I had no idea she even existed. I had absolutely no reason to refuse the offer. After we married, Gabriel kept me close, teaching me how to navigate his world. I learned to play the role of the perfect General’s wife, selecting his suits, managing his social calendar, and dealing with difficult politicians. Once, at a high-profile gala, a corrupt local commissioner tried to touch me. Gabriel, who usually kept his emotions entirely under wraps, kicked the man’s knee so hard he buckled. He then shoved a heavy wine bottle into my hand, wrapping his arms around me from behind, his deep voice vibrating against my ear. “Do you know what I am teaching you today?” Enveloped by his cold, woody cologne, I tried to keep my breathing steady. “You are teaching me to negotiate from a position of strength, to maintain boundaries…” He caught my wrist, lifting my hand with the bottle. “My dear, this isn’t a textbook problem. Don’t be so formal.” “It’s just a fight.” With a sickening crack, the bottle shattered over the commissioner’s head. My palm went numb from the impact. Gabriel pulled a linen handkerchief from his pocket, gently wiping the sweat from my hands. “Don’t forget this. I am your backing.” “Don’t let anyone else bully you.” I had quickly pulled my hand away, muttering a hasty thank you before escaping to the restroom. If I had stayed a second longer, the affection in my eyes would have given me away. Perhaps it was the thrill of a first love, or perhaps Gabriel’s occasional indulgence made me lose my head. I moved into his villa, spending every evening waiting by the window for his headlights to appear in the driveway. Until the night of a major victory banquet. He came home heavily intoxicated, supported by a female subordinate. His arm was slung over her shoulder, their faces mere inches apart. “Mrs. Mercer, please step aside,” the woman said, her voice laced with a subtle disdain. “I need to help the General inside.” I remained where I was, extending my hands toward him. “I can take my husband from here.” Before I could close the door, the secretary let out a soft laugh. “As the General’s wife, you should learn to be more accommodating. If you get jealous over every little thing, you’ll end up miserable.” I had not realized that Gabriel was still somewhat conscious, nor did I know he had heard the entire exchange. Later, when I brought a bowl of hangover soup to the living room, he was lying on the sofa, his eyes remarkably clear as he stared at me. I set the bowl down. “Since you are awake, drink some of this. It will help.” Gabriel did not touch the bowl. Instead, he asked, “Do you know why I never let you into my study?” The lingering annoyance in my chest vanished, replaced by curiosity. I shook my head. He stood up, refusing my assistance, and led me toward the locked room. When he pushed the door open, a massive oil painting met my eyes. A young girl, barely sixteen, stood in a field of wildflowers, her eyes closed as she breathed in the scent of a blossom, her face half-hidden. It was the reason I had not immediately recognized Hannah when we finally met in person. Gabriel leaned against the doorframe, lighting a cigarette. “I have loved her since I was seventeen. It has been ten years.” “If we hadn’t quarreled before she left, she would be the one standing here with me today.” His tone was conversational, yet each word felt like a physical blow to my chest. Before I could process the pain, he drove the point home. “I cannot give you the affection you are looking for, Darla. Do not develop feelings you shouldn’t have.” “I will be adding an amendment to our contract,” he continued, his tone entirely businesslike. “If you cannot manage your emotions and cross the boundary, it will be considered a breach of contract. You will lose your compensation and face a heavy penalty.” The hallway light cast a long, narrow shadow across the floor of the dark study. I stood there, frozen, recalling a comment Gabriel had once made about greedy associates. They hover at the boundaries, always testing the limits. It is incredibly off-putting. That night, I became the person who disgusted him. Gabriel left the room shortly after. I stood in the dark until the first light of dawn broke through the window, the cold air finally clearing the fog from my chest. From that day on, I managed myself perfectly. I kept my distance, offering him nothing but polite, professional respect. And slowly, the feelings faded to nothing. 3 My leg wound was dressed at a local clinic, and after taking a day off, I went straight to the hospital to visit my mother. She had been diagnosed with a rare brain tumor, and there were only a couple of specialists in the country capable of performing the surgery. She was constantly worrying about the cost, pleading with me to let her check out. I popped a slice of fresh pear into her mouth. “Absolutely not. You fainted the last time you went for a scan. I heard that Dr. Bennett, the leading neurosurgeon, is coming to our local hospital next month.” Our physician had promised to secure a slot for us if the rumors were true. The thought of my mother recovering made my steps lighter as I went down to the cafeteria, but the head nurse stopped me in the corridor. “Darla, about the private suite we reserved for your mother… a new patient with heavy backing just arrived and took it.” The nurse sighed, lowering her voice. “I heard her boyfriend is a Major General. He pulled some serious strings…” Almost at the same moment, I saw a flash of white fabric near the stairwell, identical to the sundress Hannah had been wearing that morning. I pulled my gaze back, offering a reassuring smile. “It’s fine, Nurse. The room doesn’t matter. I just want my mother to get her surgery.” When I returned to the villa that afternoon, Gabriel was sitting on the sofa. It was unusual for him to be home at this hour instead of accompanying Hannah. I offered a polite nod. “Major General.” I turned to head to my room, but his voice stopped me. “How is your knee?” “Dressed and healing. It is fine,” I replied. Gabriel set his coffee cup down, checking his watch. “We need to go to my parents’ house for dinner tonight. Are you free?” According to our contract, I had to make myself available for family events. I nodded. “Yes.” I selected a classic designer outfit, applied my makeup, and ensured I looked every bit the elegant wife of a military officer. When we arrived at the Mercer estate, I automatically slipped my hand through his arm, greeting his family with practiced warmth. During dinner, Gabriel’s mother looked at us expectantly. “Have you two started trying for a baby yet?” I choked on my soup, coughing into my napkin. Gabriel reached over, handing me a glass of water while gently patting my back. “Darla is still young.” His mother frowned. “She is twenty-five. It is the perfect time to start thinking about these things.” I swallowed the lump in my throat, offering a quiet nod. “I understand, Mother.” A violent rainstorm broke out that evening, forcing us to stay the night. We shared the master suite, sleeping under separate blankets. After three years, the arrangement was familiar and comfortable. When I came out of the bathroom in my silk gown and sat on the vanity bench to apply ointment to my knee, Gabriel looked over. “I am sorry I couldn’t take you to the clinic myself the other day.” He looked tense, as if struggling to explain his relationship with Hannah. I cut him off gently. “It is fine, Major General. Our contract doesn’t require you to take care of me. You don’t need to explain.” “Whatever is going on between you and Miss Hannah is your business. I will continue to play my part until our contract ends in two months.” He raised his eyes, staring at me. “Two months?” It seemed he had forgotten the date. “Yes,” I reminded him. “In two months, our agreement expires, and we can finalize the divorce.” Gabriel set his wine glass down, his voice cool and detached. “You certainly have the date memorized.” He turned and walked into the bathroom, ending the conversation. 4 A few weeks later, my mother’s physician called with incredible news: he had managed to secure a consultation slot with Dr. Bennett. For the next two weeks, I spent every evening after work at the hospital. One afternoon, as I stepped into the elevator, the doors began to close before being held open. Gabriel and Hannah walked in. Hannah did not recognize me from our brief encounter, her eyes scanning right past me. Gabriel hesitated for a fraction of a second but said nothing. As the elevator rose, Hannah clung to his arm, her voice sweet and filled with affection. “Thank you, my amazing boyfriend, for sorting out everything for my mother. Now we just have to wait for the results.” “How should I thank you? Maybe I’ll let you take me out to dinner tonight.” I kept my eyes glued to the floor indicator, waiting. “What do you want to eat?” Gabriel’s deep voice finally replied. “Let’s go to your place. I want your homemade pasta!” The elevator dinged at my floor. I stepped out into the quiet corridor, realizing I would need to find a hotel tonight. After feeding my mother, I booked a room at a nearby boutique hotel. I showered and fell into a deep sleep, exhausted from the long day. Sometime during the night, my phone rang. I answered it sleepily. “Hello?” “When are you coming home?” Gabriel’s voice came through the receiver. “I made dinner. I am waiting for you.” I buried my face deeper into the pillow. “Aren’t you with Hannah?” “I didn’t want to get in your way… so I got a hotel room for the night…” The line went silent before Gabriel’s voice dropped, carrying a distinct edge of displeasure. “Send me your location. I am coming to pick you up.” I was too tired to care about his authority. “No, Gabriel. I am already asleep. Don’t bother me.” He remained silent for a few seconds before his tone softened, carrying a hint of amusement. “You have quite the temper when you’re tired, don’t you?” Without the barrier of my usual professional restraint, I simply let out an annoyed sigh. I heard a soft chuckle from the other end of the line. “Alright, go back to sleep. I won’t disturb you.” The call disconnected, and I drifted back into a heavy sleep. The next morning, the conversation felt like a dream. When Gabriel called again, I assumed he was going to reprimand me for my lack of respect. I kept my tone carefully polite. “Is there something you need, Major General?” There was a long pause before he spoke, his tone completely flat. “Nothing. I simply forgot to ask what you were doing at the hospital yesterday.” “My mother is admitted,” I replied casually. “But it is nothing serious. She will be discharged soon.” “If you need any assistance, contact my chief of staff directly,” he said. I thanked him politely, though I had no intention of doing so. His position was sensitive, and I was not about to involve military personnel in my personal matters. The contract dictated that I keep my distance, and I intended to honor it. The silence stretched, yet he did not hang up. “Major General? Is there anything else?” I could hear the rhythmic tapping of his fingers against his mahogany desk, a habit of his when he was deep in thought. “I was just wondering what time you usually take your afternoon nap,” he said. I blinked, entirely thrown off. Before I could process the question, he added, “I will make sure to call you during those hours from now on.” I had no idea what he was playing at. Was this some new method of torment? Dr. Bennett was scheduled to arrive on the seventeenth, with a very limited three-hour window for consultations. We had secured the very last slot. Gabriel had been deployed to a training exercise in the north and was not expected back for a week. Whenever I saw Hannah at the hospital during those days, she was always alone. On the morning of the seventeenth, I saw her chatting with the receptionist at the nurse’s station, eating an apple with a relaxed, casual air. “My mother’s results are only partially back, but the director told me not to worry,” she was saying. The nurse looked up from her paperwork, offering a polite smile. “That is good news. Perhaps you should take a walk? We are preparing for Dr. Bennett’s arrival this afternoon.” Hannah paused, her interest piqued. “Dr. Bennett? Who is that?” “The leading neurosurgeon in the country. His slots have been booked for months.” “But your mother’s case doesn’t require a specialist of his caliber,” the nurse explained. Hannah took a slow bite of her apple, her eyes narrowing. “I see…” A sudden chill of unease washed over me, but I tried to brush it off. Hannah’s mother did not have a brain tumor; surely she would not take a critical slot from someone who actually needed it. But my hope was shattered. At two o’clock that afternoon, our physician called me into his office, his face incredibly grim. “The slot is gone.” The words felt like a physical blow, leaving my ears ringing. “Major General Mercer’s girlfriend claimed it, using her military dependent priority,” the doctor said, his brow furrowed. “I tried to explain that her mother’s condition is standard, but she insisted she wanted the absolute best opinion.” I leaned against the wall to keep my balance. “Can we request an extra slot?” “Impossible. Dr. Bennett is flying out for an international conference at five.” I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms to keep from breaking down. I immediately dialed Gabriel’s number, but as always, the call went straight to his secure line’s automated busy signal. With no time to lose, I took a taxi back to the villa, grabbed our marriage certificate, and rushed back to the hospital. I marched straight into the director’s office. Before he could speak, I set the document on his desk, my chest heaving. “I am Gabriel Mercer’s legal wife. You can verify the registration.” “I am not here to steal anyone’s slot. I am simply taking back the one that belonged to my mother.” The slot was restored. Once the consultation was finished and the surgery date was locked in, the heavy weight in my chest finally lifted. I asked the director and the physicians to keep my identity quiet, but Hannah was persistent. As I walked out of the hospital that evening, she blocked my path, staring at me before her eyes crinkled into a sharp, mocking smile. “I remember you. You’re the girl from the bicycle accident. No wonder Gabriel was so focused on your clotting issue.” “I didn’t take your mother’s slot, Hannah,” I said quietly, looking down. “I can explain my relationship with Gabriel.” She had no interest in listening, extending her hand. “Just show me the certificate.” Her voice carried a distinct threat. “Otherwise, I will make sure your mother has a very difficult time staying in this hospital, let alone getting her surgery.” With no other choice, I showed her the document. Hannah stared at it, her smile widening into something cold. She immediately pulled out her phone and dialed Gabriel’s number. The call was answered almost instantly. With tears welling in her eyes, she looked straight at me. “Gabriel, you have a wife.” A brief silence followed before Gabriel’s voice came through. “Who told you that?” “How could you treat me like this?” she sobbed, her voice breaking. “We are done.” She hung up the phone and turned to leave. I took a step forward, but she did not look back, her voice dripping with venom. “Don’t you dare follow me.” “Enabling your husband’s affair makes you just as pathetic, Darla. Don’t make me get my hands dirty in public.”

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When my due date approached and I requested maternity leave, my boss replied with just two words: “Request denied.” Holding up the hospital admission notice from my doctor, I asked him, “My water could break at any second. What then?” He pushed the slip back across the desk. “Then we’ll talk when it does.” I let out a soft laugh. “Fine. Have it your way.” The next morning, I walked into the office right on time, carrying my hospital go bag. The bag sat by my feet, a disposable underpad lined my office chair, and a portable oxygen canister was placed right next to my computer. When my boss walked past and frowned, a sudden, sharp contraction seized my abdomen, forcing me to grip the edge of my desk for support. Then his eyes fell on the wet puddle spreading rapidly at my feet, and he froze, completely terrified. 1 Mike looked up, his eyes briefly scanning my swollen belly before darting back to his computer screen. “Another day off?” Outside the glass door of the HR department, a few coworkers pretended to fetch water, their ears straining to catch every word. “It’s not a sick day. It’s maternity leave.” I placed the doctor’s notice on his desk, keeping my voice as steady as possible. “The doctor says I’m full term. My cervix is already beginning to dilate. I need to be admitted to the hospital today or tomorrow to prepare for delivery.” Mike picked up the slip, glanced at it for barely two seconds, and tossed it back. “The project launch is the day after tomorrow. If you leave now, who wraps it up?” “I already handed everything over to Tina, and I sent an email to the client explaining the transition.” Tina, who was leaning against the doorframe, let out a soft, mocking laugh. “Oh, Kelly, don’t say that. There’s no way I can handle your workload. I’m just an assistant. If something goes wrong, Mike will eat me alive.” She called me her senior, but her eyes were glued to Mike. Mike frowned. “You hear that? There’s no one to take over your files.” “But this is legally mandated maternity leave.” “This company isn’t a charity. Don’t use your pregnancy as a shield.” Outside, the sound of pouring water stopped. I looked down at my feet. My shoes were tight and pinching from the swelling. Inside my belly, the baby gave a soft kick, as if telling me not to be afraid. “Mike, I haven’t missed a single day of work these past few years. Even when I had complications in the first trimester, I stayed up to finish the project proposal in my hospital bed before letting them admit me.” “And?” He leaned back, his eyes full of impatience. “Am I supposed to hand you a medal for that?” Tina covered her mouth, giggling softly. “Kelly, Mike is just looking out for you. Women who take too much time off after having a baby lose their touch and get left behind. You should work as much as you can now to secure your spot.” “I’m taking maternity leave, not resigning.” “Who knows the difference these days?” Mike threw his pen onto the desk. “You female employees always make grand promises before getting pregnant, but once you conceive, it’s one leave after another. First it’s prenatal checkups, then it’s maternity leave, then it’s nursing hours, and then sick leave whenever the kid gets a cold. Is this company a business or a welfare program?” The room fell ice cold. I stared at the paper on his desk, my fingers slowly tightening into fists. “Mike, would you care to put that statement in an email?” His face darkened instantly. “Are you threatening me?” “I am simply asking for a written response.” Mike stood up and shoved the notice back into my hands. “Request denied.” Those words fell like lead. I held the admission notice in front of him. “My water could break at any moment.” He sneered, pushing my hand away. “Then we’ll wait until it does.” Outside the glass, someone gasped. Tina immediately looked down at her phone, pretending to be busy. I let out a soft, quiet laugh. “Fine. Have it your way.” As I turned to leave, a heavy, dragging ache pulled at my lower back. Penny, our junior admin, hurried after me. “Kelly, don’t force yourself. Just go home and let HR handle it later.” From the breakroom, Tina’s voice drifted out. “She’s just playing the pregnancy card. Let’s see if she’s still smiling when she finds out her desk has been cleared.” I squeezed the paper in my hand, leaving a deep crease. The elevator doors opened, and Mike stood at his office door, his voice cold and loud enough for everyone to hear. “I expect you at your desk tomorrow by nine. Any later will be counted as an unexcused absence.” 2 The next morning at exactly eight fifty six, the scanner chimed. The receptionist almost dropped her coffee when she saw me. “Kelly? You actually came in?” I set my heavy hospital bag by my feet and slowly walked to my cubicle, supporting my aching lower back. The office AC was blasting on high, blowing freezing air directly onto my head. My desk chair had been lowered to its absolute limit, and the lumbar support had been removed, leaving nothing but a hard, flat seat. Tina strolled past with a mug in her hand, her voice sweet as syrup. “Oh dear, who could have done that? Kelly, with a belly that big, is it even safe for you to sit on that?” No one answered her. I pulled a disposable underpad from my bag, laid it neatly over the seat, and set my portable oxygen canister right beside my monitor. Then, I laid out my prenatal records, the hospital notice, and my clock-in receipts, arranging them in a perfect row under my clear desk mat. Around me, the clicking of keyboards faltered, then resumed. When Mike walked out of his office, he caught me slipping into my comfortable house slippers. His brow furrowed instantly. “Kelly, is this an office or a maternity ward?” “It’s an office.” I booted up my PC and logged into the portal. “You said we’d wait until my water broke. I’m here waiting.” Several coworkers lowered their heads, their shoulders shaking as they tried to suppress their laughter. Mike’s face turned a brilliant shade of red. “Stop playing the victim. You’re ruining team morale.” “I’m not playing anything.” Suddenly, my abdomen hardened like a stone. I gripped the edge of my desk, unable to sit down. The weight of the baby dragged downward, and a sharp, pulling pain shot through my back, as if someone were tearing my spine from the inside. Penny panicked. “Kelly, are those contractions?” Tina immediately piped in. “Don’t overreact, Penny. Braxton Hicks contractions are perfectly normal in the final weeks. When my cousin was pregnant, she had false alarms for half a month.” Mike looked at me coldly. “Can you still do your job?” “Yes.” I opened the client database, my fingers trembling so hard from the pain that I made several typos. Ten minutes later, Tina dumped a heavy stack of folders onto my desk. “Mike says you know the launch materials best. He wants you to proofread everything one more time.” The heavy stack slammed down, pinning my prenatal booklet underneath. “I already handed these over yesterday.” “Well, I don’t understand them.” She leaned down, keeping her voice low enough so only I could hear. “If you’re really as capable as you claim, finish the job. Don’t make the rest of us suffer for your condition.” I looked up at her. “Would you care to repeat that in front of Mike?” Tina’s eyes welled with tears instantly. “Kelly, I was only asking for help. Why are you being so hostile?” Hearing the commotion, Mike stepped out of his office. “Kelly, leave your personal drama at home.” “She brought back the files I already transferred.” “You’ve been doing this for three years. What’s wrong with double checking them?” He shoved the folders closer to me. “Stop being so fragile.” The sharp edge of the top folder scraped against the back of my hand, leaving an angry red line. A sudden, brutal contraction seized my abdomen, forcing me to double over. I clutched the disposable pad on my chair, crumpling it in my fist. Penny rushed over to support me. “Mike, something is seriously wrong. She’s completely pale.” But Mike only stared at the hospital bag by my feet. “Cut the act. Who brings a hospital bag to work? You’re just trying to humiliate me in front of the whole department.” Before the words fully left his mouth, a warm rush of fluid cascaded down my legs. Within seconds, a dark puddle spread across the carpet. The room plunged into absolute silence. Penny’s face went entirely white. “Her water broke!” Mike stared at the pool of water at my feet, completely frozen. Down the hall, the copy machine continued to click and spit out pages, the rhythmic sound echoing in the stunned silence. 3 “Call an ambulance!” Penny’s voice cracked with panic. Mike remained frozen, as if the words didn’t register. Tina was the first to react, clutching her phone and backing away. “I’ll do it, I’ll do it.” But her fingers shook so violently she couldn’t even navigate past her contacts. The pain hit me in waves now, heavy and relentless. I leaned against the desk, my legs trembling so much I could barely stand. “Dial 911!” Penny snatched the phone right out of Tina’s hands. “You dialed the wrong number! Why on earth are you calling your boyfriend?” Tina’s face flushed red. “I’m panicking, okay?” Mike finally snapped out of his daze, his voice weak and wavering. “Don’t make a scene. Keep working, everyone. Don’t crowd around.” Penny turned on him. “Mike, her water broke!” “I can see that.” He rubbed his face, lowering his voice. “Before the ambulance gets here, move her to the conference room. We can’t have clients seeing this.” Despite the blinding pain, I couldn’t help but laugh. “Mike, you’re worried about clients seeing this, but you aren’t worried about me dying in your conference room?” His mouth twitched. “Kelly, don’t be dramatic.” The cleaning lady stood nearby with a mop, her eyes red. “We shouldn’t move her. A pregnant woman in labor shouldn’t be touched. We have to wait for the paramedics.” Mike looked at the puddle on the floor, then at the crowd of employees watching from the doorway. “Don’t you all have work to do?” Nobody moved. A contraction bent my spine, and I squeezed Penny’s arm so hard my nails dug into her skin. Tina edged closer again. “Kelly, just hang in there. Every woman goes through this when giving birth. Don’t make a big deal out of it. It won’t look good for you when you try to come back to work.” “Shut up.” Penny snapped. It was the first time she had ever raised her voice at Tina. Tina’s eyes welled with tears again. “I was only trying to help.” “Help? By making her proofread files while she’s in active labor?” The HR Director, Vivian, rushed up the stairs, her face as white as paper. “Where is the ambulance?” “Six minutes away,” Penny replied, her voice shaking as she held the phone. Vivian marched right up to Mike. “Mike, I forwarded Kelly’s maternity leave request to you yesterday. The system clearly flagged that her due date was three days away. Why did you reject it?” Mike’s expression shifted. “Is this really the time to discuss that?” “Yes, it is,” I gasped, leaning against the back of the chair, biting my lip to keep from screaming. “Yesterday, when you told me to wait until my water broke, you seemed to think it was very important.” Tina chimed in quickly. “Kelly, the baby is what matters right now. Let’s not argue.” “The baby matters? Is that why you set the thermostat to sixty degrees?” The office fell silent again. Penny looked up at the thermostat control on the wall. “Who did that?” Tina froze. “How should I know? It’s always cold in here.” The receptionist raised her hand timidly. “I saw Tina with the remote this morning.” Tina glared at her. “Keep your mouth shut!” “Enough!” Mike roared, his irritation bubbling over. The next second, a tearing, downward pressure ripped through my abdomen. My breath caught, and the prenatal booklet slipped from my hand, clattering onto the floor. Heavy, hurried footsteps echoed from the corridor. Paramedics rushed in, pushing a gurney. “Where is the patient?” As they lifted me onto the gurney, Mike took two hurried steps forward. “Kelly, you haven’t given Tina the password for the project files yet!” The paramedic looked at him like he was a lunatic. As they wheeled me out to the ambulance, my phone buzzed in my hand. My husband’s name, Liam, flashed on the screen. I answered it, and his frantic voice came through. “Kelly! Where are you? The hospital called and said you never checked in!” Before I could answer, Mike shoved his way to the side of the gurney and shouted into the phone. “Liam, she went into labor at work! The company had nothing to do with this!” 4 The ambulance doors slammed shut. Liam went silent for half a second. When he spoke again, his voice was terrifyingly cold. “Put the paramedic on.” I handed the phone to the medic. “Her water broke, and her contractions are frequent. She’s full term. We are taking her to St. Jude’s.” The medic paused, looking down at me. “The family needs to get there as soon as possible. We can’t let the patient get any more stressed.” When the call ended, the only sound left in the ambulance was the rhythmic beeping of the monitor. Penny sat in the corner, wiping away tears. “Kelly, I’m so sorry. I should have gone to HR with you yesterday.” “It’s not your fault.” Another contraction hit, stealing my breath. Penny grabbed my hand. “Don’t talk. Save your strength.” My phone buzzed again. In the company group chat, Mike had pinned a new announcement: Kelly Ward is taking temporary leave today due to personal medical reasons. All departments are expected to maintain order and refrain from spreading rumors. Penny saw the notification and held the screen in front of me, her face red with anger. “How can he write that?” I stared at the words “personal medical reasons” through a haze of pain. “Take a screenshot.” Penny blinked, then nodded vigorously. “I’m on it. I’ll save everything.” The moment the ambulance pulled up to the ER, Liam was already waiting. His shirt was misbuttoned, and his hair was a wild mess from the wind. His eyes turned red the moment he saw me. “Kelly.” He called my name, but his voice cracked, unable to say another word. The nurses wheeled me toward the delivery room. “Husband, sign here. Hurry.” Liam ran alongside us for a few steps before the double doors shut him out. “I’m right outside!” his voice echoed through the door. “Don’t be afraid!” The lights in the delivery room were blindingly bright. The nurse asked, “The doctor wanted you admitted yesterday. Why did you wait?” I sweated through my gown, my voice barely a whisper. “My boss wouldn’t let me.” The nurse’s pen paused. The older midwife beside her frowned. “What decade is this? Who denies maternity leave?” Suddenly, the baby’s heart rate dipped on the monitor. The doctor immediately raised her voice. “Oxygen, monitor the fetal heart rate, get ready!” I gripped the bedsheets, my back soaked in sweat. Through the doors, I could hear Liam’s voice rising as he spoke to someone on the phone. “She submitted her admission paperwork yesterday, and the company rejected it. Her water broke at her desk today.” “I’m gathering all the evidence.” “I am not settling this out of court.” Before he could finish, the nurse placed my phone by my pillow. A message from Tina popped up on the screen: Kelly, Mike wants me to ask for your computer password. The client is pressing for the project files. Immediately after, another message arrived: Don’t be angry. Times are tough for everyone. You wouldn’t want your pregnancy to ruin the company’s big launch, would you? I stared at the screen, a cold shiver running through my core. When the worst of the pain subsided, I typed three words: I don’t know. Tina called almost instantly. The nurse frowned and reached to decline it, but I shook my head. The moment I swiped to answer, Tina’s hushed, urgent voice filled the room. “Kelly, stop playing games. Giving birth doesn’t happen that fast. Just give me the password. Mike says if you don’t cooperate, there will be consequences.” Before I could speak, the doctor yelled, “Don’t talk! Push!” The phone slipped from the pillow, landing on the floor with the screen still lit. Tina’s voice blared from the speaker. “Kelly! Are you listening? Don’t think having a baby gives you a free pass to screw over the company!” Outside the delivery room door, there was a heavy, violent thud against the wall. Liam’s voice cut through like ice. “Put her on speakerphone.” 5 The nurse scooped the phone off the floor and set it on the tray. Tina was still talking. “Mike told me to tell you that if the client complains today, you’re solely responsible. And don’t expect to have your old job back when you return.” The doctor had heard enough. She snapped at the phone, “She is currently delivering a baby! Have you people lost your minds?” The other end of the line went dead silent. A moment later, Mike’s voice came through. “Who is this? This is internal company business. Please don’t interfere.” The midwife slammed her gloves onto the tray. “I’m delivering her child, so I am very much involved.” Every nurse in the room turned to look. Mike, clearly not expecting a room full of witnesses, softened his tone slightly. “Kelly, you’re emotional right now, so I won’t hold this against you. We can discuss your position when you return.” Liam’s voice boomed from outside the door. “Mike, you don’t have to wait. We can discuss it right now.” The line went completely quiet. Another contraction hit me like a massive wave. The doctor held my knees. “Look at me. Forget the phone. The baby’s head is crowning.” I gripped the sheets, my ears ringing. A rush of painful memories flooded my mind. The day I had first-trimester bleeding, Mike made me lie on an ER bench to revise a proposal. When my feet swelled so badly I couldn’t wear shoes, Tina had my desk moved to the draftiest corner of the office. During my checkup last month, after I waited three hours for a fetal heart rate test, Mike sent six consecutive question marks in the group chat. Every single time, I told myself to just endure it, that once my maternity leave was approved, everything would be fine. But today, my baby was telling me in the most painful way possible that silence does not buy dignity. “Push!” the doctor commanded. I gritted my teeth and threw every ounce of my strength into my abdomen. Through the phone, Mike’s voice sounded panicked. “Liam, there’s been a misunderstanding. The company never tried to stop her from having her baby. We just needed a proper transition process.” Liam’s voice was steady and absolute. “She handed you her admission notice yesterday, and you told her to wait until her water broke.” The hallway outside seemed to hold its breath. “Who told you that?” Mike’s voice cracked. Liam didn’t answer. Instead, Penny’s voice came through, thick with tears. “I heard it. The entire office heard it.” A final, blinding flash of pain ripped through me. “I see the head! One more time!” the doctor shouted. Sweat poured into my eyes, stinging them shut. On the phone, Mike’s voice was tight with suppressed rage. “Penny, you are an employee of this company. You need to watch what you say.” Penny’s crying stopped. “I will,” she said, her voice trembling but clear. “And I recorded it.” Suddenly, a scuffle broke out outside the door. It sounded like someone trying to grab a phone, and someone else holding them back. A nurse yelled, “This is a delivery ward! Stop this immediately!” Amidst the chaos, a loud, sharp cry pierced the air. I collapsed back onto the bed, tears streaming into my hair. The doctor held up a wet, wriggling bundle. “It’s a girl. Six pounds, three ounces. She’s beautiful.” As they laid her wet cheek against mine, Mike’s angry roar drifted through the door. “Penny! Don’t bother coming in tomorrow! You’re fired!” Penny sobbed back, “I don’t care! Approve Kelly’s leave first!” 6 The delivery room doors swung open, and Liam was the first to rush in. The nurse handed him the baby. He cradled her clumsily, his tears dripping onto her swaddling blanket. “Hey, sweet girl. I’m your daddy,” he whispered, his voice completely broken. I was wheeled back to the recovery room. As the anesthesia wore off, the dull ache of the stitches and postpartum cramps began to settle in. Martha, my mother-in-law, arrived with a thermos of hot soup, her eyes red the moment she walked in. “What kind of monster does this to a pregnant woman?” Before the door could fully close, Mike’s name flashed on my phone again. Liam looked at it and hit speaker. “Liam, I apologize if I sounded harsh earlier, but you have to understand the company’s position,” Mike said, his voice much quieter than it had been outside the delivery room. “We can approve her leave, but she caused a massive scene in the office today. It reflects very poorly on her.” Martha’s face flushed with anger. “Having her water break on the job is a scene?” The line went quiet for a moment. “Ma’am, please don’t misunderstand. That’s not what I meant.” Liam gently laid the baby beside me. “Mike, is this phone call an apology or a threat?” “It’s a conversation.” “Then listen closely.” Liam tapped his phone, and the recording beep sounded. “From this moment on, all communication with Kelly will be in writing. Do not call this number again.” Mike’s breathing grew heavy. “Liam, you’re making this harder than it needs to be.” “I didn’t make this hard,” Liam replied, his voice deadly calm. “You did, the moment you told a full-term pregnant woman to wait until her water broke.” After he hung up, the room fell quiet. Penny stood at the door, hesitating to come in. She was holding my hospital bag, the bottom of her sneakers still damp from the office floor. “Kelly, I’m sorry. I sent the recording to Liam.” “Thank you, Penny.” Penny’s tears began to fall again. “Mike posted in the group chat that I leaked confidential company information. HR wants me in their office tomorrow morning.” Liam looked up. “If you want, I’ll go with you.” Penny nodded eagerly, then shook her head. “No, I can’t. I have a mortgage, and my dad just had surgery. I can’t lose this job.” Her words brought the cold reality of our lives back into the room. We were all afraid. Afraid to speak up, afraid to refuse, because the bills came every month like a hand choking our throats. “Penny, don’t resign, and don’t apologize,” I said, forcing myself to sit up despite the stinging pain. “Write down everything you saw and heard today. Write it with timestamps and email it to your personal account. Don’t just leave it on your phone.” Penny wiped her face. “Okay. I will.” That afternoon, Vivian, the HR Director, arrived at the hospital. She didn’t bring flowers or a gift basket. She only brought a maternity leave approval form. “Kelly, your leave has been approved. It starts today.” Liam took the form. “Why today? Why not yesterday?” Vivian looked uncomfortable. “She was still on the clock yesterday.” “She was holding a doctor’s notice, begging to leave.” I looked at Vivian. “Vivian, you warned Mike in the system yesterday, didn’t you?” Vivian’s lips trembled. “I did.” “Then why didn’t you push back harder?” She lowered her gaze, her fingers tightening around her leather portfolio. “I have a job to keep, too.” Martha let out a bitter laugh. “Everyone has a job to keep, so my daughter-in-law’s life is the only thing that’s cheap?” Vivian’s face drained of color. Just then, a knock sounded at the door. Tina stood there, holding a fruit basket, her eyes red. “Kelly, I came to see the baby.” Before she could take a step inside, Liam blocked her path. “Get out.”

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I can see the hidden tags of everyone around me. The security guard at my building has [Retired War Hero] floating over his head, and the local delivery guy is an [Undercover Billionaire’s Son]. On my way home late one night, an elderly woman collapsed on the pavement. I knelt down to help her up. She offered a warm, gentle smile and pointed toward the dark recesses of the alley. I glanced in that direction for a brief second, but when I turned back… Her tag had changed. It was now a solid black bar with blood-red text: [Serial Killer, Prey Hooked]. A blade was already pressed firmly against my lower back. But there was one thing she didn’t know. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone jogging past the mouth of the alley. The tag floating above his head read: [Retired Special Forces, Night Run]. In this city, no one’s secrets can stay hidden. At least, not from my eyes. 1 Working late until one in the morning, I dragged my exhausted body out of the office. The late March wind still carried a bitter chill, making me shiver under my coat. My name is William. To anyone else, I was just a completely average, unremarkable office worker. But I had a secret. I could see things. Floating above everyone’s head was a glowing line of text. A tag. For most people, the tags were painfully ordinary: [Overworked Corporate Slave, Wants to Quit], [Stay-at-Home Mom, Anxious], or [College Student, Crumbling Under Finals]. But occasionally, I saw something different. Take Arthur, the security guard at my apartment complex. He was in his fifties, always smiling, and loved gossiping with the local residents. His tag read: [Retired War Hero, Participated in Top-Secret Operations, Records Sealed]. The first time I saw it, I nearly dropped my groceries. Then there was the delivery guy who brought my food every day. He rode a beat-up scooter, his skin baked dark by the sun. His tag: [Undercover Billionaire, Heir to a Massive Fortune, Day 47 of Experiencing the Real World]. I used to think my eyes were glitched. But over time, I realized the tags were never wrong. It was like a cheat code, granting me a god-eye view of this city. I never planned to do anything with it. Until tonight. I was taking my usual route home, walking down Oak Avenue, turning into Linden Passage, and heading toward the back gate of my apartment complex. Linden Passage was narrow, flanked by old brick residential buildings. Most of the streetlamps were broken, leaving only one flickering bulb at the far end to cast a dim, yellow glow. I kept my head down, scrolling through my phone, my footsteps echoing off the damp brick walls. Then I saw her. A silver-haired elderly woman, sitting on the pavement. Actually, she had fallen out of her wheelchair. She was sprawled on the cold ground, her wheelchair tipped over beside her. Above her head, two tags floated: [Helpless], [In Pain]. Instinct took over, and I quickened my pace. “Ma’am? Are you alright?” I knelt beside her, reaching out to help. She looked up, her deeply wrinkled face folding into a warm, grandmotherly smile. “Thank you, sweetie,” she croaked, her voice trembling as if it might give out at any second. “Where do you live? I can carry you back.” She reached out a withered, bony hand, pointing deeper into the shadows of the alley. “Just… just up ahead…” I followed her finger, peering into the pitch-black darkness of the alley. There was nothing but shadows. A sudden prickle of unease ran down my spine. I turned my head back to look at her. In that exact split second, her tags changed. [Helpless] and [In Pain] dissolved like ink in water. Replacing them was a solid black bar with blood-red lettering: [Serial Killer, Victim No. 23, Hooked] My blood froze. Before my brain could process the words, a sharp, icy sensation bit into the small of my back. The unmistakable coldness of steel pressed through my thin cotton shirt, right against my kidney. “Don’t move.” Her voice was entirely different now. No longer trembling, it was low, steady, and sharp, like a viper baring its fangs. “Be a good boy, and it won’t hurt.” Every muscle in my body locked up. Cold sweat erupted across my back, soaking my shirt. My heart hammered violently against my ribs, threatening to burst from my chest. I could feel the tip of the blade digging slightly deeper. [Unlock the next chapter to see if William can escape the serial killer’s blade, and discover how his unique ability helps him survive the night!] Just a fraction of an inch more, and it would puncture my skin. “Stand up. Walk inside.” Her other hand gripped my jacket. I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to think. Tags. Look at the tags. I stared desperately into the darkness of the alley. There, crouched behind a dumpster, was a shape. His tag read: [Accomplice, Body Disposer, Tools in the Van] Two of them. I was cornered. There was no escaping. If I went forward, I would run right into the accomplice. If I went back… Wait. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure running past the mouth of the alley. He was moving fast, wearing a running vest and shorts, wireless earbuds tucked into his ears. But it was the tag glowing above his head that made my heart leap: [Retired Special Forces, 12 Years of Active Service, Lap 3 of Night Run] My chest tightened. Now. This was my only shot. If I missed it, I would be Victim Number Twenty-Three. “Please… don’t kill me…” I whimpered, letting my voice shake violently as my body trembled. “I have money… I’ll give you everything I have…” “Shut up,” the old woman hissed. “Keep moving.” Her focus was entirely on keeping me quiet. The knife point shifted, just a fraction. In that tiny window of opportunity, I screamed. “HELP! MURDER!” I poured every ounce of strength I had into that shriek. The sound bounced off the brick walls, deafening in the narrow space. At the same time, I wrenched my body sideways and slammed my right elbow backward. My elbow collided hard with her wrist. I felt the blade swipe across my hip, a searing flash of heat and pain. But I didn’t care. I bolted toward the mouth of the alley. “Get back here!” The woman roared behind me, her voice completely stripped of any elderly frailty. From the depths of the alley, the accomplice sprinted out, his heavy footsteps thudding against the pavement. But my eyes were fixed on the runner. He had stopped. He pulled out an earbud, turning his head toward the alley. Below his tag, a new line of text flashed in bright yellow: [Threat Assessment: Target Acquired, Engaging Combat Mode] He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t evaluate. He charged. His speed was terrifying, almost inhuman. I barely registered his movement. He blurred past me, a rush of cold wind hitting my face. Behind me, a sickening thud echoed. “Agh!” The old woman screamed in pain. I stumbled, turning around to see the runner gripping her knife hand. With a clean, brutal twist, he locked her wrist and grabbed her by the throat, lifting her clear off the ground. The knife clattered to the pavement. Seeing this, the accomplice skid to a halt, turning to flee. Without even looking back, the veteran grabbed the tipped-over wheelchair and hurled it with one hand. The heavy frame spun through the air, slamming squarely into the accomplice’s back. The man crashed face-first onto the concrete with a pathetic groan. The entire fight took less than five seconds. I slumped against the brick wall, panting heavily, my hand clutching my bleeding hip. It burned like hell. But I was alive. I looked down at my hands. They were shaking uncontrollably. I looked up at the veteran. He held the struggling old woman pinioned to the ground, casting a cold, expressionless gaze over his shoulder at me. “Call the police,” he said. Just one word. Or rather, a command. My fingers trembled so violently I could barely input the numbers on my phone screen. But my eyes remained locked on the old woman’s head. Her tag had updated: [Serial Killer, 22 Victims Deceased, Furious, Failed Mission] Twenty-two. Twenty-two people had already died by her hand. I was supposed to be the twenty-third. If not for that runner, I would have ended up as a cold statistic on a morning police report. I pressed the call button. 2 The police arrived in minutes. Two cruisers blocked the mouth of the alley, their flashing red and blue lights illuminating the dark brick walls. A young officer led me to the side to take my statement, while several others secured the scene. The retired soldier, who introduced himself as Marcus, was surrounded by another group of officers. He remained entirely stoic, his answers brief and precise, like a soldier delivering a mission report. My hip had a nasty gash. It wasn’t deep, but it wouldn’t stop bleeding. The paramedic applied a butterfly bandage, telling me I wouldn’t need stitches. I nodded absentmindedly, my eyes scanning the officers on scene. Tags. I was reading their tags. Most were perfectly normal: [Detective, 3 Years on the Force, Overworked], [Patrol Officer, Anxious to Get Promoted]. But one man’s tag made the hair on my arms stand up. He was a middle-aged detective in his late forties, wearing plain clothes, casually puffing on a cigarette as he walked over. His tag read: [Mole, Receiving $50,000 Monthly from the Syndicate, Responsible for Destroying Evidence] My breath caught in my throat. I nearly crushed the paper cup of water in my hand. The corrupt detective walked over to the old woman, knelt down to inspect her, then stood up and whispered a few words to the officers holding her. Beneath his tag, a new line appeared: [Currently Verifying: Does the witness know too much?] He was looking at me. It was a casual glance, the kind a seasoned cop might give a bystander. But I knew better. It was an evaluation. I immediately lowered my head, feigning severe shock. My hands were already shaking, so I didn’t have to act that part. “Hey there, son,” he said, walking over. His voice was warm and fatherly, a comforting smile plastered across his face. “You look pretty shaken up. Tell me, what did you see tonight?” I looked up at him. His smile was flawless. If not for the glowing text above his head, I would have trusted him completely. “I… I was just walking home,” I stammered, shifting my gaze away nervously to look like a terrified victim. “I saw the old lady fall. I went to help… and then she pulled a knife on me…” “Just that?” He eyed me closely. “You didn’t see anything else? No one else?” “No… no.” I shook my head rapidly. He stared at me for two agonizing seconds. Then, he smiled. “Alright. Go home and get some rest. We’ll contact you if we need anything else.” He patted my shoulder and walked away. The touch of his hand felt like a cold snake slithering across my skin. I watched his retreating back, staring at the glowing letters: [Mole, Receiving $50,000 Monthly from the Syndicate, Responsible for Destroying Evidence] The old woman wasn’t working alone. She was backed by an organization, and they had a plant inside the police department. A serial killer who had claimed twenty-two victims without getting caught… now I knew why. I clenched my fists. I couldn’t say anything. Not now. If I accused him right here, with zero physical evidence, I would only expose my ability. An ordinary guy who could see everyone’s secrets would be silenced instantly. After the police finished their preliminary report, I declined a ride to the hospital and walked back to my apartment. As I passed the security gate, Arthur, the retired military badass disguised as a guard, noticed the bandage on my hip and stood up. “William? What happened to you?” “Nothing, Arthur. Just scraped myself.” I forced a smile. His tag flickered: [Retired War Hero, Senses Danger, Hesitating to Press for Details]. He didn’t push, but he poured a hot cup of water from his thermos and handed it to me. “Stay out of those dark alleys late at night.” “I will.” I took the cup. The heat stung my palms, but it kept me grounded. Back in my apartment, I locked the door, bolted it, and wedged a chair under the handle. Then, sitting on the edge of my bed, I pulled out my phone. I searched for local serial disappearances and unsolved murders. The result was zero. Not a single article. Twenty-two people were dead, and there wasn’t a whisper of it in the news. My fingers froze over the screen. This was impossible. You don’t lose twenty-two citizens without someone noticing, unless someone was systematically suppressing the information. The mole wasn’t alone. The detective’s tag said “Responsible for Destroying Evidence,” not “Sole Operative.” I stared at the ceiling. I was just an ordinary guy making forty thousand a year, and I had stumbled upon a highly organized, protected syndicate of killers. What was I supposed to do? Report it? To whom? What if the person who picked up the phone was another mole? Go to the media? Tell them I can see floating tags over people’s heads? They’d lock me in a psych ward. I lay awake all night. My hip throbbed, but the headache of my reality was far worse. 3 The next morning, I went through the motions of life like a zombie. I brushed my teeth, squeezed onto the morning train, and clocked in at the office. Sitting at my desk, I stared at the Excel spreadsheet, unable to process a single cell. The old woman’s face replayed on a loop in my mind. The contrast between her sweet grandmotherly smile and those blood-red words made my stomach turn. “William!” my supervisor’s voice barked. “Where is the third-quarter report? The client needs it by two!” “Right… almost done,” I muttered, typing mechanically. Tags from my coworkers drifted across my field of vision. [Looking for a New Job], [Struggling to Decide on Lunch], [Lost Ten Grand in the Stock Market]. Ordinary, mundane lives. Suddenly, I felt like I was living in a completely different dimension. They were stressing over lunch, and I was trying to figure out how to avoid being liquidated by a syndicate. At lunchtime, I went down to the corner convenience store to grab a sandwich. As I turned the corner, I stopped. A man in a grey windbreaker was leaning against a wall, smoking a cigarette, pretending to wait for someone. His tag: [Syndicate Scout, Task: Confirm Survival and Daily Routine of the Witness] My brain went numb. They were already tracking me. My knees buckled, and I nearly lost my balance. But I couldn’t run. Running would scream guilt. I took a deep breath, walked into the store as if I hadn’t noticed him, grabbed a turkey sub, paid, and walked back out. As I passed him, I even glanced his way. He looked back. His tag updated: [Target Behaving Normally, No Anomaly Detected, Continue Observation]. Cold sweat drenched my spine, but I kept my face blank. Back at the office, I locked myself in a bathroom stall, hovering over the toilet, covering my mouth to muffle my heavy, ragged breathing. They were investigating me. The old woman was locked up, but her organization was still active. They wanted to know how much I knew before they dealt with me. I was still their twenty-third target. I had survived the night, but in their eyes, I was marked. I had to act. I opened my contacts. I scrolled through the names, but there was no one who could help. My parents were out of state, my friends were average desk workers, and the police were compromised. My finger hovered over the screen, then stopped. Marcus. The veteran who had saved me. I didn’t have his number, but I remembered his tag: [Retired Special Forces, 12 Years of Active Service]. More importantly, he had given a statement last night, meaning his file was in the system. But I couldn’t ask the police for it. I had to find him myself. Last night, he was on his third lap of a night run. That meant he had a set route. Linden Passage was on that route. He couldn’t live too far away. Tonight, I would find him. 4 I didn’t go straight home after work. I took the train three stops past my apartment, got off, immediately boarded a train heading the opposite direction, hopped off a stop early, and walked through a series of winding side streets. I knew where the security cameras were near my apartment, and I avoided them entirely. These counter-surveillance tricks were things I had frantically searched online during my lunch break. I didn’t know if they worked, but they gave me some peace of mind. By seven-thirty, the sun had set. I stood near the entrance of Linden Passage, buying a hot dog from a street cart, chewing slowly while keeping my eyes on the corner. People passed by, their tags a colorful mix of daily drama: [Late Picking Up Kids], [Walking the Dog, Actually being Walked by the Dog], [Regretting an Argument]. I waited for an hour. Eight-forty-seven. A figure jogged into view. He wore a black dry-fit shirt and olive shorts. His stride was perfectly measured, his breathing steady. His tag: [Retired Special Forces, Jogging, Lap 2, Feeling Optimal]. It was him. Marcus. I stepped out of the shadows, intercepting him. “Marcus!” He halted, his sharp eyes locking onto me. He recognized me instantly. His tag updated: [Target Saved Last Night, Wound Should Be Clotted, Why Is He Here?]. “You’re the kid from last night,” he said. “Yeah. I’m William.” “How’s the hip?” “Fine. Just a scratch.” “Good.” He pulled out an earbud, took a sip from his water bottle, and watched me closely. “Why are you looking for me?” I opened my mouth, but the words caught in my throat. How do you tell someone you can see floating text over their head? Normal people would call the asylum. But I had no other options. “Marcus, I need to tell you something. You’re going to think I’m crazy.” “Try me.” “I can… see things.” “What kind of things?” “Information. Above people’s heads. Like floating tags that reveal their real identity, what they’re doing, and sometimes what they’re thinking.” Silence. His tag updated: [Processing Information, Assessing Mental State, No Sign of Delusional Behavior]. Three seconds passed. “Prove it.” He didn’t laugh. He didn’t walk away. Just two words: Prove it. I took a deep breath. “Your name is Marcus. You’re a retired Special Forces operator with twelve years of active service. This is your second lap tonight, and you currently feel ‘optimal.’” His pupils dilated slightly. It was a minuscule reaction, but I caught it. His tag updated: [Alert, Information Accuracy Anomalous, Classified Data Accessed, Assessing Threat Level]. “Did you run a background check on me?” “I don’t have the clearance to find any of that, Marcus. Your years of service, the number of laps you’ve run tonight, how you physically feel… there’s no database on earth that logs that stuff.” He stared at me for ten solid seconds, performing some internal calculations I couldn’t comprehend. Then, he screwed the cap back onto his water bottle and slipped it into his running belt. “Tell me why you’re here.” The bottom line of his tag read: [Tentative Trust, Maintaining Guard, Continue Listening]. I told him everything. How the old woman’s tag had switched from [Helpless] to [Serial Killer]. The accomplice waiting in the dark. The twenty-two dead victims. And the most critical piece. “One of the detectives on the scene last night is a mole.” His expression finally cracked. It wasn’t shock. It was something far darker, a cold, lethal intent. His tag synchronized with his emotion: [Anger, Defense Mechanism Triggered, ‘Mole’ Keyword Triggers Trauma Memory]. “Are you sure?” “His tag was explicit. He receives fifty thousand a month from the syndicate to destroy evidence.” “What does he look like?” “Late forties, square jaw, a distinct mole on his left earlobe. He was wearing a blue windbreaker, plain clothes.” I wasn’t normally observant, but under that kind of adrenaline, every detail had been etched into my brain. Marcus was silent for half a minute. “There’s more,” I added, telling him about the scout in the grey windbreaker from lunch. “They’re already tracking my routine. His tag said they want to see if I’m a threat.” Marcus’s jaw tightened. “Were you followed here tonight?” “I took some counter-surveillance detours, but I can’t be one hundred percent sure.” He scanned our surroundings. “Follow me.” Without another word, he set off. He didn’t run, keeping a casual, walking pace so we wouldn’t draw attention. But he didn’t take us toward any main streets. We wound through the courtyard of an old apartment building, cut through an underground parking garage, emerged on the other side, and took two sharp turns. Four times during the walk, he stopped abruptly, listening to the silence. Eventually, we reached a low-profile garage door at the back of a commercial block. He rolled up the shutter, revealing a modified garage space. Inside was a matte black pickup truck. In the corner sat a military cot, a mini-fridge, and several heavy-duty storage bins. A map of the city was pinned to the wall, marked with several red ink circles. “Sit.” He grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge and tossed one to me. As I sat on the cot, I realized my legs were shaking. Now that the adrenaline was fading, sheer terror was setting in. “This ability of yours,” he said, taking a sip. “When did it start?” “Three months ago.” “How?” “I don’t know. I woke up one morning and it was just there. I thought I was losing my mind at first, but everything I saw turned out to be real.” “Does anyone else know?” “No. You’re the first.” He nodded slowly. “This syndicate… have you seen any other members besides the three you mentioned?” “No. Just the old woman, the accomplice, and the scout.” “Did their tags show the organization’s name? Scale? Headquarters?” I racked my brain. “No. Just their roles and immediate tasks.” “So your ability has limits. You can see immediate status and core identity, but not the entire organizational structure.” He analyzed it with military precision. “But it’s more than enough,” he added. His tag updated: [Formulating Plan, Requires More Intelligence, This Kid Is a Critical Asset]. Critical asset. I let out a bitter laugh. I had lived twenty-six years, and the first time anyone called me a “critical asset” was when I was being hunted by a serial killer syndicate. “William,” he said, looking me in the eye. “Are you scared?” I wanted to play tough. But my shaking hands betrayed me. “Terrified.” “Good.” His tone was flat. “People who aren’t scared don’t last long.” He pointed a finger at my eyes. “But you need to realize something. This ability of yours… eventually, others will notice. When that happens, it won’t just be one syndicate after you. Anyone with a secret to hide will become your enemy.” The words hit me like a bucket of ice water. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I was just trying to survive the next twenty-four hours. But he was looking at the bigger picture. “So,” he walked over to the map on the wall. “You can either hide, play the victim, and pray you don’t make a mistake before they find you.” “Or…” He turned to face me. His tag changed, revealing a line that hadn’t been there before, activated by some deep-seated emotion: [Discharge Reason: Betrayed by a Mole, 7 Team Members KIA, Vengeance Unfulfilled]. I suddenly understood his reaction to the word mole. And I understood why he believed me. He wasn’t naive. He had been waiting. Waiting for a pair of eyes that could see through the lies. “You work with me,” he said. “Your eyes, my hands.” “We cut out every rotten piece of garbage hiding in the shadows of this city.” I stood up. “I’m in.” “But on one condition.” “Name it.” “We start with the cop. The mole.” My voice was surprisingly steady. “The old woman killed twenty-two people because he buried the evidence. As long as he’s active, reporting this to anyone else is suicide.” Marcus looked at me. The corner of his mouth twitched, a soldier’s nod of approval to a new brother-in-arms. “Done.” “Let’s start with him.”

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1 The night dense fog swallowed the city, I called Danny thirteen times. On the fourteenth try, a woman’s sobs came through. “Danny, I’m scared. Please don’t leave me.” He hushed me. “Autumn, grab a cab. Sophie’s having a rough night.” Outside the hospital, I clutched my ultrasound. The doctor had warned the heartbeat was failing and urged me not to be alone. But he was busy comforting his childhood friend. “I’m here,” he told her. I forced out the words. “Danny, I’m at the hospital too.” Two seconds of silence, then coldness. “Don’t pull jealousy stunts. Sophie’s traumatized. She can’t handle stress.” Her fragile voice drifted in. “Autumn, don’t blame him. I’m useless, just reliving the crash.” “It’s not your fault,” Danny said to her. Then he added, “You’ve always been stronger. Stop comparing yourself.” Fog coiled tighter around the lamps. By the time I found a cab, we crawled through the dark. Rounding a bend, high beams slashed through the window. My hands flew to my stomach. My phone hit the floor, screen lit with his message. Sophie’s asleep. I’ll come back tomorrow. Stop whining. I remembered the night he won me over, fog just like this. He’d sworn, “When you lose the way, I’ll turn on my fog lights and find you.” Tonight, those lights passed me by. He was in the driver’s seat, keeping someone else safe. A deafening crunch of metal tore through the air. The massive inertia hurled me forward, and my forehead slammed brutally against the back of the front seat. Before the blinding pain could even register in my skull, my arms had already locked in a death grip around my lower abdomen. The driver, still pale and shaking, checked his crushed bumper before whipping his head around to ask if I was okay. I slumped back against the leather upholstery. A cold sweat had already soaked through my blouse. Down by my feet, my phone screen was still glowing with Danny’s final text. Stop throwing tantrums. A dull, sinking cramp twisted deep in my pelvis. I could feel something warm and wet slowly beginning to seep into my clothes. With violent tremors racking my hands, I pulled up my call log and dialled emergency services. The ER doctor took one look at the crumpled ultrasound report in my hand and furrowed his brow, asking why my family still wasn’t here. He bluntly warned me that I was at high risk of a threatened miscarriage. I told him my husband couldn’t make it. The doctor let out a heavy sigh, sliding the medical waiver across the metal table for me to sign. My wrist wouldn’t stop shaking as I gripped the pen. The metal nib scratched a jagged trail of black ink across the paper. Right beside that ink mark, a single, heavy drop of my own blood splattered onto the page. My mind flashed back to three years ago. I had accidentally nicked my finger while chopping vegetables. It was barely a papercut. Danny had abandoned a massive board meeting and practically sprinted home, rushing me to urgent care. He had hovered over the nurse like a hawk just for a simple bandage. He had held my hand, his eyes red rimmed, swearing he would never let me set foot in a hospital again. Now, I had lain in a sterile hospital bed for an entire night, while my husband kept another woman company. When the morning sun finally burned away the fog, I forced my battered body to check out of the hospital. The doctor prescribed a mountain of medications to protect the pregnancy, repeatedly stressing the need for absolute bed rest. The moment I pushed open my front door, I saw Danny’s leather oxfords sitting neatly in the entryway. He was lounging on the living room sofa, a cup of black coffee resting in his hand. Hearing the door, he turned his head, his gaze pausing on my face for a fraction of a second. “Where were you last night?” His voice was cold, edged with a raspy exhaustion. I swapped my shoes for slippers, shoving the plastic bag of pills deep into my coat pocket. “I had to go to the hospital.” Danny set his coffee cup down on the glass table. He stood up, closing the distance between us, his eyes dark and heavy. “Autumn, are you completely incapable of telling a convincing lie? Making a scene on the phone wasn’t enough, so now you’re using this pathetic excuse to test me?” The faint, crisp scent of cedarwood radiating from him was tainted. Woven through it was the unmistakable, cloying fragrance of gardenia. It was Sophie’s signature perfume. I looked at the raw impatience swimming in his eyes, and my chest tightened until it physically ached. “I’m not testing you. I really was sick.” “Sick?” Danny let out a dark chuckle, his fingers reaching out to lightly pinch my chin. “You only ever get sick when Sophie is having a panic attack. I never realized you were this incredibly bitter, Autumn.” He dropped his hand and fished a black Amex card from his slacks, tossing it onto the table. “Sophie was badly shaken up this time. I’ll be spending more time at her place over the next few weeks to keep her grounded. Take this and go buy yourself something pretty. Just don’t annoy me with these cheap stunts anymore.” The sleek black card sat quietly on the polished wood. I lowered my eyes, my hand subtly brushing against the fabric covering my stomach. The sharp plastic corners of the pill bottles dug into my palm. Without touching the card, I turned my back to him and walked up the stairs. Just as I reached the landing, Danny’s phone buzzed. He picked it up, his freezing tone instantly melting into something soft and warm. “You’re awake? I’ll be right there.” The front door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the empty house. I stood paralyzed on the steps, staring down at my trembling fingers. I knew, with absolute certainty, that he didn’t care whether I lived or died anymore. 2 On the third day of my prescribed bed rest, Danny came home unusually early. He had a maid deliver a couture evening gown to my room. It was tailored from midnight blue velvet, exactly the elegant style I usually wore. He stood in the doorway of the walk-in closet, casually adjusting his silk tie. “There’s a charity auction gala tonight with our social circle. Put that on and come with me.” I leaned weakly against the headboard, the doctor’s strict orders ringing in my ears. I looked at him, completely drained. “I’m still not feeling well. I’d rather stay home.” His hands paused on his tie. A deep frown etched into his face. He crossed the room, towering over me. “Know when to stop, Autumn. I’ve been swamped these past few days. There has to be a limit to your little tantrums. We have key investors at this gala, and as my wife, your absence is not an option.” Just to keep him from noticing my condition, I plastered on layers of makeup to hide my ghostly complexion. I zipped myself into the cinched waist of the gown, the tight fabric making my stomach pulse with a dull, warning ache. The ballroom was a sea of crystal chandeliers and clinking champagne glasses. As I walked into the venue with my hand resting lightly on Danny’s arm, several socialites drifted over to exchange fake pleasantries. That was when Sophie made her entrance. She wore a flowing, pure white silk dress, her face sporting a carefully crafted, pitiful pallor. She drifted over to us. Her eyes flicked down to where my hand rested on Danny’s arm, a flash of grievance crossing her features before she smoothed it away. “Danny. Autumn.” Her voice was soft and breathy. “I just wanted to see if there was anything nice up for bidding.” Without missing a beat, Danny slipped his arm out from under my grip and shifted slightly to gently support Sophie’s shoulder. “Why did you come alone? The therapist said you shouldn’t be in crowded spaces.” “It was just getting too suffocating at the apartment.” Sophie kept her head bowed, her fingers nervously twisting the fabric of her skirt. I stood off to the side, my arm suddenly dangling uselessly in the cold air. A few wealthy wives nearby had already noticed the shifting dynamics. They were raking their eyes over me with subtle, mocking smirks. Midway through the auction, the spotlight hit a breathtaking piece on the stage. A stunning sapphire necklace titled The Fog Beacon. It was a custom piece I had pointed out to Danny over a year ago. The design symbolized a guiding light bringing you safely home. Back then, he had promised me he would win it for our third wedding anniversary. The bidding opened at two million. Danny raised his paddle. The tight knot in my chest loosened just a fraction. I thought maybe, just maybe, he still remembered that tiny, insignificant promise. As the price skyrocketed to six million, Sophie suddenly turned her head. She tugged lightly on Danny’s sleeve. “Danny, that necklace is gorgeous. Doesn’t it look exactly like the lighthouse we used to watch at the beach when we were kids?” Danny’s gaze lingered on the velvet display box for a few seconds. Then, he raised his paddle again, shutting the room down. “Ten million.” The crowd gasped. The auctioneer slammed the gavel. When the white-gloved attendant brought the mahogany box over to our table, I instinctively reached out to take it. But Danny bypassed my hands entirely. He took the box and turned directly to Sophie, pressing it into her hands. “You’ve been so stressed lately. Keep this to play around with.” His tone was casual, like he had just bought her a cheap trinket. Sophie covered her mouth, looking completely overwhelmed. “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly. Wasn’t this supposed to be for Autumn?” “It’s just a necklace. She has plenty of jewelry.” Danny didn’t even spare me a single glance. The women at the adjacent tables hid their giggles behind their champagne flutes, not even bothering to lower their voices. “Being his legal wife looks like absolute torture. Having to give up a necklace she clearly wanted to the other woman.” “What do you mean, other woman? Everyone knows Sophie is the true love of his life. Did you see how he didn’t even look at the wife?” Their words were like fine needles, driving themselves inch by inch into my eardrums. A wave of intense nausea hit me, closely followed by a sharp, dragging pain in my lower stomach. I bit down on my lower lip so hard I tasted copper, gripping the armrests to force myself out of the chair. Only then did Danny frown and look my way. “Where are you going? It’s almost over. Don’t embarrass me by storming off now.” I stared into his handsome, completely detached face. “The restroom.” I turned on my heel and walked away. The moment I pushed through the heavy doors into the empty hallway, my legs gave out. I pressed my back against the cold marble wall and slowly slid to the floor, completely drenched in a cold sweat. 3 I took a cab home alone that night. After the gala wrapped up, Danny used the excuse that Sophie was feeling dizzy to personally drive her back to her place. The next afternoon, I was sitting quietly in the living room trying to force down my pregnancy supplements when the front door swung open. Danny walked in, with Sophie trailing right behind him. She still had that timid, deer-in-the-headlights look, hovering in his shadow, but her eyes were eagerly darting around the expensive interior of my home. Danny handed his suit jacket to a maid and turned to me. “Sophie tends to overthink when she’s alone in that apartment. The doctor suggested she be around familiar faces. I’ve told her to stay here for a few days.” The porcelain spoon in my hand froze mid-air. A drop of dark liquid splashed onto my skin, burning the back of my hand. “This is our home.” I looked up at him, my voice completely flat. Danny walked over, looming over me with a hard glare. “Can you stop being so unbelievably petty for once in your life, Autumn? This house is massive. What is the big deal if she takes up one room? You’re the lady of the house, show a little grace.” I didn’t answer. I just quietly set the bowl back onto the silver tray. By mid-afternoon, the maids were clearing out the guest suite on the first floor for her. Sophie wandered aimlessly through the hallways. She eventually stopped by the console table in the foyer, pulled open a drawer, and pulled out a small, woven leather protection amulet. Two years ago, I had flown out to a remote monastery in the mountains. I had climbed thousands of stone steps, bowing my head in prayer the entire way up just to buy that charm for him. On the way down, I sprained my ankle, and Danny had carried me on his back for miles. He used to keep it hanging on his rearview mirror. He said that no matter how late he was out networking, as long as he had my charm, he knew he would make it home safe. He didn’t drive himself much anymore, so the charm had ended up tossed in a drawer. “Danny! This looks so familiar. Is this the one you used to keep in your car?” Sophie trotted happily toward the staircase as Danny came down. He barely glanced at it. “It’s just a cheap piece of junk. Keep it if you think it’s cute.” I shot up from the sofa. Moving that fast made black spots dance across my vision. “Give that back to me.” I walked right up to Sophie, staring dead at the amulet in her hand. Sophie shrank back, hiding halfway behind Danny as her eyes welled up with instant tears. “I’m so sorry, Autumn. I had no idea it was yours. Here, please take it.” She reached out, offering it to me. But the exact second my fingers brushed the leather, she let go. The charm hit the hardwood floor. She let out a dramatic gasp and lunged down to grab it. As she dropped, her shoulder slammed violently into my chest. I was already incredibly weak. The force of the blow threw me backward off balance. My waist collided fiercely with the sharp corner of the heavy oak table. A sickening, blunt pain instantly radiated through my entire nervous system. A sharp gasp tore from my throat. Operating purely on instinct, Danny lunged forward to catch a stumbling Sophie, wrapping her securely in his arms. By the time he bothered to look back at me, I had already collapsed onto the floor. Both hands were desperately clutching my stomach, my face drained of all color. “What kind of act is this now, Autumn?” Deep annoyance flashed across his face. “She barely brushed against you. Who exactly is this little victim routine for?” Sophie buried her face against his chest, sobbing loudly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t mean to!” “It’s fine, nobody is blaming you,” Danny murmured, rubbing her back to calm her. Then, a hot, thick liquid began to run down the inside of my thighs, soaking deeply into the pale fabric of my dress. I looked up at Danny. My vision was already blurring with tears. He finally looked down and saw the dark pool spreading onto the polished wood. His face went entirely slack. He took a desperate step forward, reaching down to scoop me up. Pulling together every last ounce of strength I had left in my body, I violently slapped his hand away. 4 My mind was already drifting away by the time they rushed me through the ER doors. All I could register was Danny running alongside the gurney, his usually calm and calculated footsteps totally chaotic. He gripped my wrist, his palm freezing cold against my skin. “Autumn, keep your eyes open. Just hold on.” But right as we hit the double doors of the surgical ward, his phone started ringing. It was the custom ringtone he had set for Sophie. Through half-closed eyes, I watched the deep crease form between his brows as he answered. The terrified voice of our housekeeper blasted through the speaker. “Mr. Vance! Miss Sophie saw the blood on the floor and had a total breakdown. She’s locked herself in the master bathroom and she’s threatening to swallow pills!” The veins bulged aggressively on the back of Danny’s hand. He stared at the glowing red light above the operating room, then looked down at his phone. “I’ll be right there.” He muttered the promise into the phone, then turned to the nurse pushing my bed. “I have a family emergency. I’ll send someone over to handle the paperwork in a minute. Use whatever drugs you need to, just make sure she survives.” Then he turned and ran. He didn’t look back a single time. The surgeon walked in ten minutes later, his expression grim. He told me the baby was gone. They needed to perform a D&C procedure immediately to prevent sepsis. Since my husband had abandoned the hospital, protocol required me to sign the consent forms myself. I took the pen from the nurse with a trembling hand. The moment I signed my name, the physical pain seemed to just vanish entirely. The anesthesia hit my veins. Three hours later, I was wheeled into a dark, standard recovery room. Outside the window, the night sky was pitch black. The room was suffocatingly empty. Not a single light had been left on for me. I blindly patted the bedside table until I found my phone, swiping to dial Danny’s number. It rang endlessly before he finally picked up. The background noise was deafening. Thumping bass and loud, cheerful shouting. “What.” His voice was laced with heavy irritation. “Danny…” I whispered, my throat raw and scraping. “The baby is…” “Can you just drop it for one goddamn night?” He cut me off, his words sharp and merciless. “Sophie finally calmed down, so our friends are throwing her a little party to keep her spirits up. You’re done with your minor procedure, so just go to sleep. Stop trying to ruin the mood with your endless drama.” I opened my mouth, but my vocal cords refused to produce a single sound. “Enough. Stop making a scene.” “I’ll bring you those praline pastries from the bakery downtown tomorrow. Bye.” The line went dead. I stared blankly at the dark screen of my phone. Praline pastries. He must have completely forgotten that I was deathly allergic to pecans. Years ago, he had accidentally bought a box of them. I took one bite and almost went into anaphylactic shock. He had been so terrified he slapped himself across the face, swearing he would never, ever forget my allergies again. Now, he didn’t even remember what would kill me. A nurse quietly pushed the door open, holding a clipboard. “Miss, we just need your signature on the tissue disposal consent forms.” I took the pen smoothly. Stroke by stroke, I wrote down my name. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I didn’t even shed a single tear. It suddenly hit me that every shred of obsession, every desperate hope I had clung to, had just evaporated into nothingness. All my expectations, all the years I thought he loved me… it was just one incredibly long, pathetic delusion I had built in my own head. The dream was over. It was time to wake up. My phone lit up. A new text from Danny. [Grow up and stop acting like a spoiled child.] I stared at the glowing letters for a long time. Then, my thumbs moved across the keyboard. [Okay. I’m done fussing.]

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1 Before my best friend lost her battle with cancer, her single biggest regret was the online boyfriend she had never met. She gripped my hand in her final hospital bed, crying as she begged me. “Aria, he has severe depression. I’m so scared he won’t be able to handle this. Please, log into my account for me. Just distance yourself slowly. Wait a long time, and then break up with him. Promise me.” With red-rimmed eyes, I promised her. I took her dying wish to heart. For three entire years, I mimicked her tone, accompanying that man through a screen. I talked him down from his worst depressive episodes and supported him until his career peaked again. Then, I slowly began to pull away. Today, I finally decided three years was long enough. It was enough time for him to let go of a romance that had already gone ice-cold. I typed out the message and hit send. “We shouldn’t contact each other anymore. Let’s break up.” The exact second I tapped the screen, the private cell phone sitting on Sebastian’s coffee table lit up. Right there on his lock screen, the breakup text I had just sent flashed in plain sight. “Aria, the water is perfect. Go ahead and soak for a bit. I’ll be right out as soon as I dry my hair.” Sebastian’s voice drifted out from the steamed-up bathroom, gentle and considerate as always. I stood completely frozen in the middle of the living room. My eyes were glued to the profile picture on his screen. It was the exact account I had been operating for three solid years. We shouldn’t contact each other anymore. Let’s break up. Word for word, it was exactly what I had just typed. The bathroom door clicked open. Sebastian walked out with a towel wrapped around his waist, rubbing his damp hair. When he saw me standing rigidly by the coffee table, his footsteps paused. “What’s wrong? You look incredibly pale.” He walked over, habitually reaching out to pull me in by the waist. I took a violent step backward. My lower back slammed into the armrest of the sofa, the hard wood digging painfully into my spine. His hands hovered awkwardly in the air. “Aria?” He followed my line of sight down to the glowing phone on the glass table. His entire face instantly turned to stone. The phone vibrated again. It was the custom notification sound he had set specifically for that account. He lunged for the table, snatching the phone up. His thumbs were physically trembling as he unlocked the screen, staring at those words. He read them over and over, three times in a row. “No.” His voice was barely a whisper. “She wouldn’t do this.” He started typing frantically. He would type a sentence, delete it, type another, and delete it again. He couldn’t send a single word. Then he pulled up the contact and hit call. Once. Twice. Three times. Deep in my coat pocket, my best friend’s old phone sat completely silent. I always kept it on mute, terrified he might discover I was playing someone else’s girlfriend online and misunderstand. “Pick up. Please, just pick up the phone.” His voice was shaking violently. Sweat beaded on his forehead. I had never seen him lose his composure like this. No, wait. I had seen it. I had seen it in Stella’s chat history. When his depression had been at its absolute worst, he had begged me exactly like this, pleading with “her” not to abandon him. But in the real world, the face he showed me was always perfectly composed, flawless, and utterly polite. “Sebastian.” I finally spoke. He didn’t even register my voice. He just kept hitting redial. “Sebastian!” He snapped his head up. His eyes were bloodshot, his face twisted in raw, volatile rage. “Shut up!” The words struck me like a physical blow. I stared at him in pure shock for a second. Then, I let out a dry laugh. He seemed to snap out of his trance. He quickly apologized, his tone instantly morphing back into that polite, detached mask. “I’m sorry. I just have something urgent to handle.” He brushed past me and walked straight to the closet, tearing through his clothes. “What’s so urgent?” He was pulling his shirt on with such frantic force that a button popped off and rolled across the floor. He didn’t even look at it. “An emergency.” He refused to meet my eyes. “What emergency? We have our final wedding dress fitting tomorrow morning.” His movements stalled. He finally spared me a fraction of a glance. There was zero guilt in his eyes. Only the deep irritation of being held back. “Go to the fitting by yourself. Pick whatever style you want, I’ll reimburse you.” “Reimburse me?” I repeated the words slowly. “Sebastian, do you seriously think there is anything more important right now than our wedding?” His face turned completely frigid. He looked at me like he was analyzing a stranger. “You’ve always been so mature, Aria.” “Why are you suddenly being so unreasonable?” He didn’t wait for my answer. He grabbed his car keys and slammed the front door behind him. “Miss Lin, is your fiancé too busy to make it today as well?” Inside the luxury bridal boutique, the bridal consultant wore a tight, professional smile. Everyone in the room could read the pity hidden in her voice. I sat alone in front of the massive floor-to-ceiling mirror. This was the second time he had ghosted our fitting. The hushed gossip of the boutique staff drifted directly into my ears. “That’s her. Just a freelance illustrator. Who knows how she managed to sink her claws into a top designer like Mr. Sebastian.” “He hasn’t showed up to a single fitting. I’ll bet money this wedding doesn’t even happen.” I ignored them. Inside the private dressing room, I pulled out my best friend’s old phone. The screen was flooded with hundreds of unread messages from Sebastian. [Stella, why are you ignoring me?] [Did I do something wrong? Tell me what it is. I’ll change. I swear I’ll change.] [Just answer the phone. Please. Just for one second.] [Stella, are you throwing me away?] [I’m begging you, please don’t throw me away.] At the very bottom was a sixty-second voice memo. I stared at it for a long time before my thumb pressed play. He was choking back heavy sobs. I could hear the roar of a car engine in the background. “Stella, I’m sorry. Please give me one more chance. I’ll die without you. I will actually die.” The man who had told me to shut up last night, the man who called me unreasonable, was currently hyperventilating in tears through another screen. A sharp knock hit the dressing room door. “Miss Lin, a Mr. Cole is here to see you.” Cole. Sebastian’s childhood best friend. I hurriedly wiped my face, changed out of the heavy gown, and walked out. Cole was lounging on the velvet sofa with his legs crossed. When he saw me, he pulled a sleek black Amex card from his wallet and slapped it onto the glass table. “Here to pay the balance. The man is busy. He doesn’t have time to sit around watching you play dress-up.” He stood up, walking into my personal space and lowering his voice. “Let me give you some real talk, Aria.” “You know exactly why Sebastian picked you. You’re obedient. You’re low maintenance. You don’t cause drama.” “He’s giving you the title of his wife, so just sit quietly and enjoy the perks. Don’t go looking for actual love. That fairy tale crap has absolutely nothing to do with you.” I raised my hand to slap him across the face. He caught my wrist mid-air, his grip like a vice. “Pissed off?” He squeezed my bones a little tighter. “Consider this a warning. Sebastian is in a really dark headspace right now, so don’t push your luck. If you don’t want this ring, there is a line of women out the door waiting to take your place.” He shoved my hand away. I stumbled back a couple of steps. “The pin is his birthday. Pick whatever dress you want, you’re only going to wear it once anyway.” He smoothed out the lapels of his suit and walked out. I stood alone in the center of the massive, empty boutique. In my pocket, my fiancé was crying his heart out for an alternate version of me. On the table sat the black card his best friend had thrown in my face. “Miss Lin, are you satisfied with this gown?” the consultant asked carefully. “No. Cancel the order.” I felt completely lightheaded by the time I took a cab home. I crawled into bed early, shivering under the covers. In the middle of the night, a brutal, stabbing cramp ripped through my abdomen. Cold sweat soaked my pajamas in seconds, and black spots danced across my vision. I blindly reached for my phone and dialled Sebastian’s number. It rang endlessly before he finally picked up. “What.” The background noise was unmistakable. It was an airport intercom announcement. My heart plunged straight into my stomach. “Sebastian. My stomach hurts so badly I can’t stand up. Can you please come home and take me to the hospital?” The line went dead silent for a few agonizing seconds. “Aria, I’m dealing with an actual emergency right now. You are an adult. Just order a cab yourself.” An emergency. His precious Stella wanted to break up. To him, that was a matter of life and death. I lay curled on the hardwood floor, my fingers completely numb. Operated by some dark, twisted impulse, I reached into my coat pocket, pulled out my best friend’s phone, and typed three words. [I want to see you.] Send. In the exact same second, I heard Sebastian screaming at a ticketing agent through the phone pressed to my ear. “Change the flight! Change it right now! Give me the next flight to Seattle. I don’t care what it costs, just put me on that plane!” Seattle. That was the random city I had picked years ago to make Stella’s fake persona more believable. He really was at the airport. He was really abandoning me to bleed out on the floor, all to chase down a ghost. “Sebastian.” I spoke weakly into the receiver. “What if I die today?” His voice was a razor blade carved from ice. “Stop threatening me with death. This dramatic personality of yours is genuinely suffocating.” Click. I lay on the floor, staring blankly at the ceiling. A fresh wave of agony shredded my abdomen, ten times worse than the last. I curled into a tight ball, my consciousness slipping away. Clinging to my last shred of sanity, I dialled 911. “Perforated acute appendicitis! If she had arrived ten minutes later, the sepsis would have killed her!” “Where is her family? We don’t even have anyone to sign the surgical consent forms!” The surgery took three hours. I stayed in the hospital for three days. Not a single call or text came from Sebastian. Meanwhile, my best friend’s phone was bombarded with hundreds of frantic messages every single day. [Stella, I landed in Seattle. Where are you?] [I’ve searched everywhere you told me about. Why won’t you see me?] [I’m sitting in that cafe you love. I’m going to wait here until you show up.] I turned off the burner phone with zero emotion. It was raining the day they discharged me. I processed my own paperwork, hailed a cab, and rode back to the penthouse I had called home for three years. I pushed the door open. Everything was exactly as I had left it. I pulled out my suitcase and started packing. I didn’t cry. I didn’t break anything. The expensive clothes he had bought me were neatly folded and left in the closet. I only packed the cheap things I had bought with my own money. In the study, I threw a dust cover over the easel and expensive paints he had gifted me. Piece by piece, I meticulously erased every single trace of my existence from that penthouse. When Sebastian finally walked through the front door, this was the scene he walked into. He had waited in Seattle for three days. He never found Stella. He looked utterly destroyed. His jaw was covered in dark stubble, and his eyes were completely bloodshot. When he saw me zipping up my suitcase, he froze. “What are you doing?” His voice was gravelly. I didn’t answer. I leaned over, carefully moved the potted Monstera plant from the coffee table to the floor, and slipped the engagement ring off my finger. It was a flawless pink diamond. He had slid it onto my hand himself the night he proposed. He had looked me in the eyes and said, “Aria, marry me. Let me take care of you for the rest of your life.” I placed the ring right next to my house keys, perfectly centered on the glass table. “Aria, I asked you a question!” His tone spiked with anger. He took two large strides across the room and grabbed my wrist. “What kind of tantrum is this now?” I looked up at him. “I’m not throwing a tantrum, Sebastian.” He flinched slightly. He let go of my wrist, rubbing his temples as he forced his voice to soften. “Fine. I admit I had a bad attitude the other night.” He pulled a premium credit card from his wallet and forced it into my hand. “I’ll double your allowance this month. Put the ring back on and stop making a scene.” Money. It was always money. “That night, my appendix ruptured.” My voice was eerily calm. “I almost died.” His fingers instantly went slack. Raw panic flashed across his face, but he quickly shoved it down. “Was it… serious?” “The surgeon said ten more minutes and I would have been in the morgue.” His lips parted. He struggled to form the words. “I’m sorr—” “Save it.” I pushed the credit card, the ring, and the keys back toward his side of the table. “I don’t need your apology. And I have absolutely no intention of forgiving you.” I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and turned toward the door. He lunged forward, wrapping his arms tightly around me from behind. His grip was desperate. “Aria, please. Just listen to me. I swear to God, I had a massive emergency that night…” “I know.” I stared straight ahead. “Your precious Stella wanted to break up with you.” His entire body went rigid. “How… how do you know about that?” I pried his fingers off my waist, turned around, and offered him a polite smile. “Because I’ve always known, Sebastian.” He took a half-step back, every drop of blood draining from his face. Then, his expression shifted. The panic vanished. It was instantly replaced by the ruthless, predatory coldness he used to crush his rivals in the boardroom. “You investigated me?” “It doesn’t matter.” I lifted my suitcase. “We are done. The wedding is canceled.” “Aria.” His voice struck my back like a whip. “Have you actually thought this through?” I didn’t stop walking. “What can you possibly do on your own? Draw little pictures? Can you even make rent in a month?” My knuckles turned white around the suitcase handle. “Once you walk out that door, you have no safety net.” I pulled the door open. “You are going to regret this.” The hallway was dead silent. I dragged my suitcase toward the elevator and never looked back.

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1 In the sterile, brightly lit corridor of the maternity ward, right after we finished the paperwork for my newborn daughter’s birth certificate, my twin sister suddenly spoke. “I’m pregnant too.” She pointed a perfectly manicured finger at the infant carrier my husband was holding. A cruel, sickeningly sweet smile spread across her face. “We tried it right next to your hospital bed last month. He was so incredibly gentle. I just couldn’t control myself, so we didn’t use protection.” I stood completely frozen. The fresh incision from my C-section throbbed with a blinding pain that made it impossible to stand up straight. I couldn’t force a single sound out of my throat. Laura just kept smiling, looking like the picture of absolute innocence. “Andrew knows exactly how to love a woman. Much better than your ex-husband ever did.” Five years ago, while I was undergoing grueling fertility treatments, I walked into my bedroom and caught Laura in bed with my first husband. When my entire world collapsed and severe depression dragged me under, Andrew was the one who stayed by my side day and night. He pulled me out of that pitch-black darkness. And now, the sister who shared my exact blood and face had just shoved me back into the abyss using the exact same method. The moment Laura said Andrew was better than my ex, my eyes instinctively darted to him. The hand he used to grip the baby carrier was violently shaking. His eyes darted everywhere, refusing to look at me. He couldn’t even choke out half a syllable of denial. My body began to tremble so violently that my C-section stitches tore. A warm, dark patch of blood began to seep through my loose clothes. But I couldn’t feel the physical pain. Every single nerve in my body was completely swallowed by something infinitely colder and sharper. Laura casually pulled out her phone, opened an audio file, and hit play. Andrew’s voice filtered through the tiny speaker. “Grace is asleep. Come over here, just be quiet.” Immediately following his whisper was Laura’s soft giggle. Then came the unmistakable, rhythmic creaking of a mattress. And then, the soft jingling of the mobile hanging above my daughter’s crib. They had done it in the exact room where I was supposed to recover. Right beside my bed. Right beside my newborn baby. Other families and nurses were walking down the corridor, casting curious glances our way. Laura deliberately raised her voice. “Nora, please don’t be mad at me! I really didn’t mean to. I was just always so jealous of you. Growing up, you always got the best of everything.” She seamlessly packaged herself as the pathetic, victimized younger sister. To anyone walking by, this just looked like a petty sibling rivalry. I leaned heavily against the freezing hospital wall, my eyes locked on Andrew. “The day the baby was born, you said you were going to buy me hot soup. You disappeared for three hours. Were you accompanying her to an ultrasound?” Andrew’s face drained of all color. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Laura noticed me defensively wrapping my arms around my stomach and my baby. Her smile stiffened for a fraction of a second before melting back into that sickening sweetness. “Nora, I was actually hoping we could talk about this. Why don’t we just raise my baby and your baby together?” “They both belong to Andrew anyway. We are all family.” The memory from five years ago violently violently crashed into my skull. Back then, I was tracking my ovulation window down to the minute. My ex-husband, Simon, claimed he had to work late. Laura told me she was coming over to keep me company. I had pushed open the bedroom door holding a mug of fertility tea I had just brewed. Simon and Laura were tangled in the sheets of the very bed I had prepared for a pregnancy. Laura had worn this exact same expression. Innocent. Naive. Looking at me as if I was the one who had been caught cheating. I looked down at the tiny, sleeping face of my daughter in the carrier. Then I looked at Laura’s perfectly flat stomach, where she claimed a new life was growing. The oxygen was violently sucked out of the hallway. I opened my mouth, gasping for air like a dying fish. Andrew finally found his voice. It was horribly weak. “Nora, please let me explain…” I didn’t even look at him. I turned my head toward Laura. “How many weeks?” Laura blinked in surprise, then gently rested a hand on her stomach. Her eyes gleamed with raw, unfiltered arrogance. “Six weeks. Congratulations, Nora. You’re going to be an aunt.” Those words were like a rusted iron nail driven repeatedly into my unhealed surgical wound. I doubled over. Blood gushed from the torn incision, dripping heavily onto the pristine white tiles of the hospital floor. A passing nurse spotted the bleeding and immediately screamed for help, rushing me onto a gurney to repair the wound. Laura and Andrew followed closely behind. During the emergency suturing, I was drenched in a freezing sweat from the sheer agony. Laura simply sat in the visitor’s chair by the wall, crossing her legs and casually scrolling through her phone. She would only occasionally glance up to watch me suffer. Andrew hovered awkwardly in the doorway, too cowardly to step inside, but too guilty to walk away. 2 The moment the nurse left the room, I fought through the stabbing, needle-like pain in my abdomen and stared directly at Andrew. My voice was terrifyingly calm. “When did it start.” Andrew stammered, completely unable to lift his head. Laura locked her phone screen and answered for him. “Last Thanksgiving. Right around the time you were seven months pregnant.” “Mom told me to bring you some supplements, so she called Andrew to come pick me up.” “We hit terrible traffic on the way back, so we ended up talking for a long time. He told me your temper had gotten completely out of control since you got pregnant. He said he was exhausted.” She looked at me, her tone as casual as if she were discussing the weather. “You really did change, Nora. You used to be so incredibly sweet.” When I was seven months pregnant, I was hospitalized with severe preeclampsia. I had to endure agonizing hormone injections every single day to keep the baby safe. Every shot made me dizzy with pain. Andrew had told me he was driving across town to pick up our mother so she could keep me company. I had held his hand, crying tears of absolute gratitude. I stared a hole straight through Andrew’s skull. “I asked you to pick up my mother. Not Laura. Did you somehow forget that I never wanted to see her face again?” Andrew kept his head bowed. His fingers clenched into fists, then released. “Nora, you were different after you got pregnant. You were constantly anxious. The pressure on me was enormous…” “Laura… she looks exactly like you. But she never yells at me.” Laura jumped in immediately. “See? Even Andrew thinks I’m easier to love.” “We share the exact same face, but I know how to actually treat a man. Simon said the exact same thing years ago.” Her expression was entirely serious, as if she were stating a universally acknowledged scientific fact. My hands began to shake violently. My mind flashed back to the final month of my pregnancy. My mobility was practically gone. Our mother had forcefully insisted that Laura move in to help care for me during my postpartum recovery. She swore Laura genuinely wanted to make amends, begging me to let go of the past. Eventually, I caved. I thought that, at the end of the day, we were still blood. She had cooked me nutritious soups, walked with me in the evenings, and helped pack my hospital bag. She had even held me while crying, swearing she would protect me with her life. I ripped the IV needle out of the back of my hand, grabbed the baby carrier, and headed straight for the door. Andrew lunged forward, blocking my path. “Your stitches aren’t even healed. Grace still needs observation. Where do you think you’re going?” “To get a divorce.” I spat the words out through gritted teeth. Andrew’s face completely hardened. He forcefully ripped the carrier out of my hands. “I am not letting you take my child! Nora, calm the hell down. We can sit down and talk about this.” Laura’s ghostly voice drifted over from the corner, twisting the knife. “Nora, you have a documented history of severe clinical depression. No family court judge is going to give you custody of an infant.” “Plus, you can barely even walk right now. How are you supposed to care for a baby?” “You should just leave the baby with me and Andrew. I promise I’ll raise her exactly like she’s my own.” That sentence struck the absolute deepest, darkest core of my fears. I had a history of severe clinical depression. I was physically broken from major surgery. I had zero financial independence to fight a legal battle. Laura knew with lethal precision exactly how to completely shatter me. Since we were children, she was always the one who knew exactly where to slide the knife in. Andrew took my newborn baby and walked out of the hospital room, with Laura trailing closely behind him. As he passed me, he dropped one final sentence. “Focus on finishing your postpartum recovery. We will deal with everything else later.” The heavy door clicked shut. I could hear Laura’s voice echoing softly in the hallway. She was murmuring gently to Andrew. “She’ll come around. She eventually got over the whole thing with Simon, didn’t she?” Their footsteps faded into silence. The hospital room became suffocatingly quiet. The only sound left was the mechanical humming of the medical monitors. Five days later, I was transferred to an upscale postpartum care retreat. Under the perfectly tailored excuse of “caring for my sister”, Laura shamelessly moved into the suite right next to mine. My baby was kept in the facility’s nursery. Andrew had signed the paperwork as my guardian. I was only allowed to hold my daughter during feeding times. The rest of the day, she was strictly monitored by the staff. His excuse was beautifully crafted. He claimed he was terrified my postpartum depression would endanger the baby. 3 The nurses at the retreat were incredibly warm. Whenever they saw Laura, they constantly mistook her for me. Laura would just laugh and gently correct them. “I’m her twin sister.” Then, perfectly performing for the audience of nurses, she would wipe my face with a warm towel, feed me my meals, and ask about my pain levels. She played the role of the devoted caretaker better than a saint. The nurses constantly told me how incredibly lucky I was to have such an angelic sister. I stared at the poorly concealed triumph dancing in Laura’s eyes, refusing to say a single word. Night fell, and the retreat grew completely silent. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The pain in my abdomen made it impossible to sleep. I forced myself up, wanting to walk down to the nursery to look at my daughter through the glass. As I passed Laura’s room, I noticed the door was left slightly ajar. Andrew was sitting on the edge of Laura’s bed, holding both of her hands, speaking in a low, tender whisper. “You need to make sure you’re taking care of yourself too. The first trimester is the most delicate.” The tone of his voice was identical to the one he had used when I first got pregnant. I stood paralyzed in the hallway. I even held my breath. Laura leaned her head against Andrew’s shoulder, resting her hand elegantly over her flat stomach. Her voice was thick with honey. “Andrew, do you think our baby will be as beautiful as Nora’s little girl?” Andrew didn’t answer with words, but he reached his arm around her, pulling her tightly against his chest. I backed away, retreating to my room. As I closed my door, my trembling hand slipped, and the metal latch clicked loudly in the quiet hall. Seconds later, my door swung open. Laura walked in holding a glass of warm water, her expression completely natural. “Nora, why are you still awake? Are your stitches hurting again? Let me go get the nurse for you.” The collar of her silk pajama shirt was draped loosely open. Right on her collarbone was a fresh, dark red mark, mostly hidden beneath her hair. She pressed the glass of water to my lips and let out a soft, theatrical sigh. “Nora, Andrew told me giving him a daughter took such a horrible toll on your body.” “But he still really wants a son to inherit the family business. He told me…” “He told me it would be best if I gave him a son, so you wouldn’t have to suffer through the pain of pregnancy a second time. Don’t you think he is just the most considerate man in the world?” The next morning, my mother called. Before I could even breathe a word, she launched into a lecture. “Laura told me she has been staying up day and night to take care of you at that center. She says you are recovering beautifully.” “You are the older sister. Reign in your temper and stop causing so much unnecessary drama.” My knuckles turned completely white around the phone. I asked her point-blank if she knew Laura was pregnant. The line went dead silent for a very long time. “Laura told me. But that was Andrew’s mistake. Your sister is a victim in this too.” “You two are blood. You cannot let a man destroy your sisterhood again.” I ended the call and violently hurled the phone at the wall. The screen shattered into a hundred pieces across the floor. That afternoon, Andrew came by to drop off some supplies. He set the bags down, sat on the edge of my bed, and his eyes suddenly grew red and teary. “Nora, I know I failed you. I know I did.” “But Laura… she’s already pregnant. I can’t just abandon her and the baby.” “I promise you, for the rest of our lives, you will be the only legal Mrs. Andrew. No one will ever replace you.” He said all of this while holding a bag of newborn clothes he had bought for our daughter. Sitting right next to the baby clothes, in a clear plastic pharmacy bag, were two premium bottles of prenatal folic acid. Those were for Laura. At three in the morning, the hallway creaked again. I pressed my pillow violently over my ears. But I still heard Laura’s door open. I heard Andrew’s muffled cough. And then the door clicked shut. On the day I was finally cleared to leave the retreat, Andrew drove his SUV to pick us up. Laura naturally walked right over to the passenger side, opened the door, and slid into the front seat. I sat in the back, holding my baby. Laura adjusted the sun visor to reapply her lipstick. Then, she casually rested her hand over Andrew’s right hand, which was resting on the gear shift. Andrew didn’t pull away. He just nervously flicked his eyes to the rearview mirror to gauge my reaction. When we got back to the house, I realized Laura’s belongings had already been brazenly unpacked in the guest bedroom. I walked straight in, shoved all of her expensive clothes and cosmetics into garbage bags, and dragged them to the front door. Andrew sprinted over, physically blocking me. “Nora, she is pregnant! Where exactly is she supposed to go? I haven’t even had time to lease an apartment for her yet.” Laura stood at the top of the staircase. One hand rested protectively over her stomach, her eyes rimmed with red. She bit her lip, looking perfectly pathetic, completely silent. Andrew looked at her, then looked back at me. He bent down, picked up the garbage bags, and carried them right back into the guest room. I locked myself in the master bedroom, pulled out my laptop, and booked a consultation with a divorce attorney to fight for custody. After hearing my situation, the lawyer’s tone was incredibly grim. “They can argue that your history of severe clinical depression makes you mentally unstable. That is a massive disadvantage in a custody battle.” “If opposing counsel manages to subpoena your past psychiatric records…” I asked who would even give them those records. The lawyer sighed. “Anyone with intimate knowledge of your medical history.” 4 Laura knew every single detail of my psychiatric history. That afternoon, I tried to order some baby wipes online. My banking app flagged my password as incorrect. When I confronted Andrew, he looked at me with total self-righteousness. “I consolidated our finances to make managing the household easier. You are incredibly emotionally unstable right now. The money is safer under my name.” My salary account, my personal savings, and my medical insurance payouts. Every single cent had been transferred into a joint account solely controlled by him. Laura was changing Grace’s diaper nearby. She didn’t even lift her head. “Nora, your health is so fragile right now. Let Andrew handle the stressful things like money. You just focus on resting.” At dinner, Laura cooked an extravagant meal. Andrew took one bite and endlessly praised her culinary skills. Laura served a bowl of rich soup and handed it to Andrew. Then, she scooped another bowl and placed it directly in front of me. “Nora, childbirth drains a woman’s vitality. You need to drink more soup to recover.” I picked up the porcelain bowl. The distinct, herbal scent drifted into my nose. It was the exact custom recipe I had consumed every single day to protect my pregnancy. She was using my recipe to feed my husband, and to nourish the bastard child in her own stomach. After dinner, I sat in the master bedroom, trying to coax Grace to sleep. From the guest room next door, the rhythmic, heavy sounds of Andrew and Laura panting bled through the walls. Grace suddenly started crying. Nothing I did could soothe her. The noises in the guest room abruptly stopped, but the sliver of light under their door remained burning for the entire night. I sat on the edge of the bed holding my screaming daughter until the sun came up, my eyes burning like dry sand. On the third day, I walked into the living room. Sitting perfectly centered on the glass coffee table was an ultrasound printout. The medical notes were crystal clear: “Intrauterine pregnancy. Fetal pole visible.” Laura had left it there on purpose. When I picked up the glossy paper, my legs simply gave out. I slid down the side of the sofa, collapsing onto the hardwood floor. Grace woke up in her bassinet, reaching two tiny, fragile hands toward me. I crawled over and grabbed her hand. Her tiny fingers wrapped tightly around my index finger. In that exact moment, only one singular, horrifying thought consumed my brain. If I stayed alive, and she grew up in a house controlled by Laura… would they eventually twist her into a malicious, toxic monster just like them? That thought drowned me in absolute terror. In the dead of night, when the house was completely silent, I opened the bottom drawer of my nightstand. I took out a full bottle of my old heavy antidepressants and swallowed every last pill. The dry pills scraped my throat. I gagged violently, but forced them all down. But I knew it wouldn’t be enough. Fighting the heavy, suffocating fog clouding my brain, I dragged my body up the stairs to the second-floor balcony. I took the heavy laundry rope, tied it into a tight loop, and slipped it over my neck. I kicked the wooden chair away. The rope snapped taut instantly. The sheer violence of the asphyxiation and the crushing agony tore through my throat. The brutal, primal struggle of my dying body created a massive commotion. Andrew sprinted up the stairs like a madman, grabbed a pair of garden shears, and violently cut the rope. I crashed heavily onto the wooden floorboards of the balcony. Right before the world went entirely black, my eyes locked onto the face standing directly behind Andrew. It was Laura. She didn’t look panicked. She was smiling. I didn’t know how much time passed before the sterile, rhythmic beeping of hospital monitors pierced my ears. A woman’s voice cut through the dark, crisp and entirely rational. “Nora, your daughter is waiting for you in the nursery.” “If you die today, whose last name is she going to take? Who is she going to call Mom? Your sister?” “You aren’t too weak to live. You just spent all your energy hating yourself.” “You hate yourself for being blind. You hate yourself for not being good enough. But did it ever cross your mind that you aren’t the broken one? They are just completely rotten.” My index finger twitched. My consciousness violently clawed its way up from the bottom of the ocean. A different kind of rope had caught me. It was the memory of my daughter’s very first, piercing cry when she entered the world. I lay in the ICU for two full days. The voices outside my door drifted in and out. I heard Laura on the phone. “Mom, she’s fine. Don’t bother coming to the hospital. Just like last time, she didn’t manage to die.” On the third day, I fully woke up. I opened my eyes to the blinding white ceiling. My throat felt like it had been torched with gasoline. A thick bandage was wrapped tightly around my neck. Laura was slumped by the side of my bed, her eyes perfectly red and swollen. When she saw my eyes open, she lunged forward, grabbing my hand. “Nora!” I looked at her with total, blank confusion. “Who are you?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “499825”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 For three grueling months, I trained my voice for a state network audition. When I finally taped a reel I was proud of, I rushed to Lucas, the broadcasting department president. He paused it after ten seconds, tone flat. “You lack natural talent. All this effort is wasted.” Instantly, his voice softened for Hailey, a struggling junior butchering a tongue twister nearby. “Don’t worry. We’ll go line by line until it feels right.” I stood frozen. I’d won the university hosting championship while she ranked dead last. Yet he gave her patience and me only scorn. Noticing my glare, Lucas frowned. He tossed a crumpled flyer for a senior poetry recital at me like spare change. Hailey turned, offering an innocent, pitying smile. I clutched the paper and walked out without a word. Half an hour later, I pushed into a community room smelling of joint patches. A young man in a crisp white shirt was teaching seniors vocal basics. The moment he spoke, a jolt ran down my spine. Lucas always bragged about being top of his class. But hearing this man speak was my first actual encounter with what pure, terrifying professional dominance sounded like. An elderly woman in the front row slapped her thigh in sheer excitement. “Mr. Vance! With a voice like yours, you belong on the national broadcast!” The man offered a faint, polite smile but didn’t respond. His eyes swept across the room, landing directly on me hovering in the doorway. “Are you going to grab a seat, or just stand there listening?” I blinked, my grip tightening on the crumpled flyer, and hurried to an empty chair in the back corner. For the entire hour, his lecture focused strictly on the connection between breath control and emotional resonance. There was zero pretentious academic jargon. Every single sentence he spoke was a direct hit to the core of broadcasting. When Lucas taught at the university, he obsessed over the “standard”—standard pronunciation, standard pacing, standard inflection. This man was teaching the “why.” When the class ended, the seniors slowly shuffled out. I gathered my courage, walked up to the podium, and pulled out my phone. “Excuse me. Could you possibly listen to my audition tape?” He took the phone and hit play. He didn’t kill it after ten seconds like Lucas did. He listened to the entire track. Then he handed the phone back, delivering a single sentence that completely shattered my worldview. “Your technique is flawless. Your breath is stable, your enunciation is precise, and your pacing is fully controlled.” “But you aren’t confident.” I froze. “Your vocal foundation is incredibly strong. But you are missing exactly one thing—you don’t believe you are actually capable.” He looked at me. His gaze was incredibly calm, yet sharp as a razor. “Someone who doesn’t believe in their own voice will never convince an audience to believe a word they say.” I opened my mouth, but my throat was totally paralyzed. Because he was absolutely, terrifyingly right. For three entire years, right before I spoke, Lucas’s voice would echo in my skull. You have zero talent. Your voice is totally flat. You have no emotional range. Over time, I had stopped trusting my own ears. “My name is Sebastian.” He slid a printed schedule across the podium. “Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays at seven. If you decide to show up, remember one thing.” “Before you step foot through that door, you strip off every single voice out there that has ever told you no.” “In this room, the only thing that matters is what you are actually made of.” I took the paper and gave him a sharp nod. As I walked out of the community center, my phone buzzed. A text from Lucas. [I was just being honest about your tape.] [The state network audition is packed with heavy hitters. You’d just be a placeholder. I was doing you a favor by giving you a reality check.] A second text immediately followed. [Oh, by the way. I already talked to the department head about the internal campus qualifiers this Saturday. Don’t bother registering.] [We have a limited quota. We need to save the slots for people who are actually a good fit.] I stared at the screen, the blood draining from my fingers. The campus qualifiers? The university was only given a limited number of recommendation letters to send students to the state network auditions. To get a letter, you had to pass the internal campus qualifiers. And I had just discovered that the registration deadline was today. I frantically opened the university portal. The registration portal was already locked. Deadline: 5:00 PM today. It was currently 8:40 PM. I shot a text back to Lucas: [When exactly did you talk to the department? Why wasn’t I informed?] He replied instantly. [I told them last week. I knew you’d humiliate yourself up there, so I made the executive decision for you.] [Stop throwing a tantrum. Just be a good girl and listen to me.] My knuckles turned white around the glass of my phone. He had forfeited my spot an entire week ago. And he waited until the deadline passed to tell me. I took a deep, shaking breath and dialed the department head, Professor Harris. “Professor Harris, it’s Aria. I just wanted to ask… is there any possible way to late-register for the campus qualifiers?” The line was dead silent for two seconds. “Aria? Lucas specifically told me you voluntarily withdrew. Honestly, I was totally confused.” “You won the university hosting championship. Technically speaking, you’re our seeded competitor.” “I never withdrew.” “…Alright. I’ll manually add your name to the roster tomorrow morning.” “But the list has already been publicly posted. You’re registering after the deadline. People are probably going to complain.” “I don’t care. Thank you, Professor.” I hung up the phone, leaned my back against the brick wall of the alley, and closed my eyes. Lucas. What the hell are you so terrified of? The next morning, the news of my late registration spread like wildfire. The broadcasting department group chat exploded. Hailey was the first to chime in. [Wait? Didn’t Aria say she was dropping out?] Lucas immediately followed. [That was a miscommunication on my end. The department manually added her back in.] His tone was incredibly casual, acting like making executive decisions about my career behind my back was perfectly normal. Someone else replied. [But isn’t the quota three out of six? Adding another competitor makes the pressure insane.] Hailey sent a crying emoji. [Ughhh, I was already so nervous, now I’m practically having a panic attack.] Lucas instantly replied to her. [Don’t panic. I’ll give you a private coaching session tonight. We’ll run through the impromptu commentary section again.] I stared at the chat log, completely silent. At seven o’clock sharp, I walked into the senior activity room. Sebastian wasn’t wearing a dress shirt today. He had on a black crewneck sweater, the sleeves pushed up to his forearms, writing on the chalkboard. When he heard me walk in, he didn’t even turn around. “When are the qualifiers?” “The day after tomorrow.” “Timeline is tight. No group lecture today. I’m running you through a private simulation.” He turned around, leaning against the edge of the podium, crossing his arms. “Impromptu commentary. I give you a prompt. You have thirty seconds to prep, two minutes to speak.” “Clock starts now. Prompt: ‘Should young people sacrifice stability to pursue their dreams?’” I inhaled sharply, my brain spinning at a million miles an hour. Thirty seconds later, I opened my mouth. Halfway through my first point, Sebastian cut me off. “Stop.” I stared at him, my heart pounding. He was frowning, but it wasn’t a frown of disgust. “Right when you hit your third sentence, your tempo suddenly spiked.” “Why?” I thought about it for a second. “Because… I was terrified I sounded stupid, so I just wanted to get it over with.” Sebastian looked at me, his eyes growing dark and heavy. “Aria, your content is flawless. Your logic is tight, your arguments are aggressive.” “But the second you panic, you subconsciously speed up. It sounds like you are running away.” “The judges don’t give a damn how many words you cram in. They care about how absolutely certain you sound when you say them.” He picked up a piece of chalk and dragged a thick, solid line across the blackboard. “Reset.” “Drop your voice into the ground. Do not let it float in the air.” I started from the top. This time, I forced myself to leave a deliberate beat of breath between every single sentence. When I finished, Sebastian didn’t immediately critique me. He hit play on a digital voice recorder sitting on the podium. My voice drifted out of the tiny speaker. It was heavy, crystal clear, and carried a terrifying, unshakeable power. It sounded like a completely different human being. “Do you hear that?” Sebastian handed the recorder to me. “That is your voice. Trust it.” I took the cold metal recorder from his hand, the back of my throat burning. When I walked out of the community center and reached the sidewalk, I ran straight into someone who absolutely did not belong here. Lucas. He was leaning against a streetlamp, holding a cardboard tray with two coffees. When he saw me walking out of the senior center, genuine shock crossed his face. It quickly morphed into a very subtle, deeply arrogant displeasure. “Aria, have you seriously been coming here every single night?” I stopped walking. “What are you doing here?” “Dropping off coffee for Hailey. She’s in the study hall across the street running her impromptu drills.” He answered casually, but his eyes were locked onto the brass plaque mounted on the brick wall behind me. The words Senior Poetry Recitation practically glowed under the streetlights. Lucas stared at it for two seconds before letting out a soft, highly condescending laugh. “Aria, you can’t be serious.” “You’re actually taking classes here?” He shook his head, his tone dripping with the kind of patience you’d use on a stupid child. “I know your ego is bruised, but you really shouldn’t be resorting to this kind of absolute garbage out of desperation.” “Who the hell even is the guy teaching in there? Has he won a single state-level award? Does he hold any actual professional certifications?” I didn’t answer him. He let out a heavy sigh, took a step closer, and lowered his voice. “I’m just looking out for you.” “You’ve been icing me out, you refuse to let me coach you, and instead you’re coming here to hang out with a bunch of geriatrics?” Under the arrogance, there was a faint, undetectable trace of bitter jealousy. I took a step back, maintaining my physical distance. “Who I train with is none of your business.” Lucas stared at me for two solid seconds. The smirk on his face completely vanished. “Fine. Qualifiers are the day after tomorrow. When you humiliate yourself on that stage, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He turned and jaywalked across the street. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the study hall, Hailey was already looking up, watching us. When she saw Lucas approaching, she jumped up and ran to the door to greet him. She took the coffee from his hand, whispering something softly. Lucas tilted his head down, leaning right next to her ear. They were standing so close that, from my angle, their foreheads were practically touching. Hailey giggled, raising her hand to playfully push his shoulder. It was incredibly intimate. I stood completely still under the streetlamp, my fingers wrapped tightly around the voice recorder in my pocket. See you the day after tomorrow. 2 On the day of the qualifiers, the broadcasting department’s black box theater was packed to the walls. The judging panel consisted of Professor Harris, two senior broadcasting faculty members, and a special guest: Sarah, an executive producer from the state network. Six candidates. Three recommendation letters. I drew slot number four. Hailey was number three. While we waited backstage, Lucas sat in the observer’s chair right next to the judges’ table, officially representing his title as “Broadcasting Department President.” He didn’t have voting power, but he was authorized to “provide professional insight” after each candidate’s performance. Candidates one and two were perfectly average. Then it was Hailey’s turn. She was visibly shaking when she took the stage. She stumbled over the second paragraph of her mandatory read, and her impromptu commentary was totally disorganized. But she was gorgeous, she had great stage presence, and even though her voice was incredibly shaky, her tone was naturally sweet. When she finished, Lucas was the very first person to grab the mic. “Although Hailey is still a bit raw, her vocal tone is absolutely stunning, and she is incredibly moldable.” “This is exactly the demographic the state network is currently desperate for—young, fresh, and highly approachable.” “Personally, I believe her ceiling is incredibly high.” Professor Harris nodded slowly, writing something down on his clipboard. As Hailey walked off the stage, she shot Lucas a sickeningly sweet smile. It was my turn. I walked to the center of the stage and planted my feet. The spotlight hit my face. Dozens of eyes stared at me from the dark theater. I could see Lucas leaning back in his chair, his face a mask of total apathy, looking like he was settling in to watch a guaranteed trainwreck. Mandatory manuscript reading. I took a deep breath. Following Sebastian’s technique, I dropped my breath straight into my diaphragm, pulling my voice from the most stable, grounded place in my body. “Good evening, viewers. Welcome to tonight’s Evening News Broadcast—” The exact second the first sentence left my mouth, several people in the audience visibly straightened their spines. I delivered the entire manuscript with aggressive fluency. It was heavy, razor-sharp, and the pacing was flawless. Sarah, the state network producer, snapped her head up to look at me, immediately scribbling something onto her scorecard. For the impromptu commentary, my prompt was “Should anchors maintain a personal brand?” I prepped for thirty seconds. When I spoke, I ruthlessly controlled my tempo, ensuring every single sentence hit the floor like a brick. Sebastian’s words echoed in my skull. Don’t run away. Make your voice stand its ground. When my two minutes were up, the theater was completely silent. Professor Harris finally nodded. “Excellent. Incredibly stable.” I let out a quiet breath of relief and prepared to step off the stage. Lucas leaned forward and hit his mic. “I have a counterpoint to add.” He sat perfectly straight, his face an expertly crafted mask of professional objectivity. “Aria’s fundamentals are certainly passable, but as her primary coach for the last three years, I am ethically obligated to point out a severe issue.” “Her current vocal mechanics deviate drastically from the standardized curriculum we teach here.” “The state network demands absolute uniformity. If her vocal foundation is corrupted, it poses a massive liability for live broadcast disasters.” “I strongly urge the panel to reconsider her viability.” The entire theater went dead silent. I stood frozen under the spotlight, my fingertips turning to ice. He had just weaponized his position, in front of the state network producer, to publicly brand me as an untrained, rogue liability. Professor Harris frowned deeply. “Lucas, what exactly are you claiming is deviated?” Lucas stood up, radiating pure confidence. “For instance, her breath placement today was significantly lower than standard broadcasting protocol. In the short term, it sounds rich. But long-term application will permanently shred her vocal cords.” “Furthermore, this technique has not been academically vetted. It is a completely unregulated training method.” He sounded incredibly professional. He perfectly played the role of a concerned mentor looking out for my safety. The judges began whispering frantically among themselves. Sarah looked down at her scorecard, then looked back at me, her expression twisting into heavy hesitation. I stood on the stage, my throat closing up. I desperately wanted to defend myself, but I didn’t even know where to start. Sitting in the front row, Hailey tilted her head slightly, shooting me a deeply sympathetic smile. The judges debated for five agonizing minutes. Professor Harris cleared his throat. “Given the concerns raised by Lucas, we have decided to implement a sudden-death stress test.” “Aria, we are going to ask you to perform a three-minute live breaking news simulation, including an unscripted emergency interruption.” “If you can execute this flawlessly, we will dismiss the prior allegations.” I took a deep breath. “Understood.” Professor Harris handed me a freshly printed sheet of paper. It was a chaotic, disorganized mess of bullet points regarding an emergency flash flood—road closures, evacuation statistics, weather warnings. The volume of data was insane, and I was given exactly zero prep time. I scanned the numbers, my brain kicking into overdrive. “Whenever you’re ready.” I walked back to the center mark and looked up. “Viewers, we are interrupting our broadcast to bring you breaking news. At exactly 3:15 PM today, the eastern district was hit by a catastrophic flash flood. Multiple arterial roadways are currently submerged…” As I spoke, I was mentally restructuring the bullet points into fluid, broadcast-ready language in real-time. My tempo was ironclad. The data was hyper-accurate. I didn’t stutter a single time. By the two-minute mark, I hit the zone. Everything Sebastian had drilled into my body took over automatically. Breath, tempo, dramatic pauses, emotional restraint. In the final thirty seconds, I deliberately decelerated my tempo to deliver a heavy, authoritative sign-off. “This concludes our initial coverage of this developing emergency. We will remain on air to provide continuous updates.” The theater was silent for two full seconds. Sarah was the first to start clapping. “Outstanding. Your on-the-fly cognitive processing and data synthesis are exceptional.” Professor Harris nodded in absolute relief. “No issues whatsoever.” I finally let my shoulders drop. But Lucas’s face turned completely black. He never expected me to survive that test. Right as I turned to leave, he stood up again. “Professors, I have one final piece of evidence to submit.” Professor Harris scowled. “Lucas, what now?” “I need the panel to see exactly where Aria has been sourcing her training.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and held up a photo. “This is the facility she has been attending for the last several weeks. A local community center for the elderly.” The photo clearly showed the tacky paper window decorations and Mrs. Wang’s knitting basket sitting in the corner. “Her so-called ‘coach’ is an absolute nobody teaching poetry to retirees. He holds absolutely zero state-level certifications.” “I am not targeting Aria personally. But as department president, it is my ethical duty to ensure we do not send fraudulent candidates to the state network.” “If her entire training ecosystem is a joke, then passing one stress test does not guarantee long-term stability.” The theater erupted. The gossip hit the walls like a tsunami. “A senior center? Are you kidding me?” “Who the hell is she even training with?” “She probably got scammed by some con artist…” I stood on the stage, the blood rushing violently to my head. He was standing in front of the entire university, systematically stripping away every last shred of my dignity. Sarah’s face hardened, her initial approval morphing into deep skepticism. Professor Harris looked at me, his voice tight with frustration. “Aria, who exactly is your vocal coach?” I opened my mouth. His name was Sebastian. But who was he really? What were his credentials? I had absolutely no idea. In that exact moment, I had zero proof to defend myself. Watching me choke on my own silence, the corners of Lucas’s mouth curled into a victorious smirk. “Professors, I formally recommend that Aria’s candidacy be permanently revoked.” “A candidate who cannot even verify the identity of their own instructor has no right representing this university at the state level.” From the front row, Hailey chimed in softly. “He’s right… if she causes a disaster on live television, it’s the university’s reputation that burns…” I clenched my fists so hard my nails cut into my palms. Just as Professor Harris opened his mouth to deliver the final verdict— The heavy double doors at the back of the theater were violently shoved open. A low, heavy voice, radiating absolute, terrifying dominance, hit the room like a sledgehammer. “I’ll tell you exactly who her coach is.”

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