Author: Momo Chan

It was the second week of the silent treatment with my guardian, Alistair, when he announced his engagement to the press. He was so afraid I’d cause a scene that he had ten burly security guards watching my every move. But for once, I was the picture of calm. No tears, no tantrums. Just quiet compliance. After the press conference wrapped up, his call came through. “Have all the sharp objects been put away?” Alistair’s voice was tense on the other end. “Did she make a fuss? Keep a close eye on her. I’ll be home tonight.” The butler, Peterson, shot a nervous glance at me before replying, “Sir, Miss Song is fine. She’s been very quiet.” “She said… she said…” Alistair’s voice was low. “She said what?” “She said that you look much older on television, and that you two really don’t suit each other. She said she finally understands your good intentions and has decided to be your dutiful, obedient niece from now on…” The line went dead. 1 Before Peterson even finished speaking, my phone lit up on the table. Seeing the caller ID, and the color draining from Peterson’s face, I couldn’t help but break into a grin. “It’s just my sister. Don’t worry, I’m not calling in reinforcements.” Peterson let out a long, shaky breath. My smile widened. I pointed to my bedroom, signaling I was going to take the call in private. The bodyguards looked to Peterson, and when he nodded, they parted like the Red Sea to let me pass. I slipped inside and locked the door. My sister’s voice came through, cold and sharp. “Cassie. Have you made up your mind? When are you coming to Port Calloway?” I cupped my hand over the phone, whispering, “Tomorrow night.” Seraphina scoffed. “You sure? If you flake on me again, I’m flying to New York to drag you there myself.” “I’m sure!” I promised, my voice filled with conviction. Sera was silent for a moment. Just as I thought she was about to hang up, her voice drifted through the line, softer now. “…You’ve finally given up on him?” “Don’t come back just to throw another fit about going back to that guardian of yours.” I winced. “Don’t worry, Sera. I’m over him. Completely.” The silence on the other end was thick with disbelief. I thumped my chest for emphasis. “Dead and buried!” I’d chased him for eight years and confessed my love more times than I could count, only to watch him announce his wedding on TV. Eight years of pining was a testament to my persistence. But forcing my way into someone else’s relationship? That crossed a line. That was just asking for public humiliation. It wasn’t worth it. This hopeless crush? I was done. 2 When I came out of my room, Peterson followed me like a shadow, clearly terrified I was about to have another meltdown like I did a few years ago. Back then, Alistair had gotten so fed up with my constant advances that he’d avoided me for three solid months. He hadn’t even come home. I’d tried everything—crying, screaming, threatening to run away—but nothing worked. Then, I overheard two of the maids talking. “Why is Miss Song still fighting with Mr. Croft?” one asked. “Well, I heard he’s been getting cozy with that actress lately. He’s probably giving Miss Song the cold shoulder on purpose,” the other replied. I emerged from the corner where I’d been hiding. They froze, their eyes wide with fear. I was holding a half-peeled apple, the paring knife still in my hand. “What actress?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. If the maids were scared, Peterson was about to have a heart attack. His one job was to keep me safe, and here I was, armed and emotional. The thing is, it was a complete accident. The knife was already in my hand. When no one answered me, my anger boiled over. “Which actress? Tell me!” Peterson’s voice was trembling. “Miss Cassie, my dear, please give me the knife. Don’t hurt yourself.” His words only made it worse. My hand shook, and the blade slipped, slicing a thin red line across my arm before I dropped it, the tip landing squarely on my big toe. It was a bloody, dramatic mess. I heard later that Alistair rushed home like a man possessed that night. He saw the bandages on my arm and foot and flew into a rage, firing every maid who had been gossiping on the spot. If Peterson hadn’t been with the family for over a decade, he would have been gone too. I threw myself into his arms, sobbing pathetically. “Alistair! You broke your promise! You said you wouldn’t date anyone until I turned twenty-three!” My tears and snot soaked the front of his expensive shirt. “How could you do this? What would my parents say if they could see you now? How could you betray my undying love for you…” “It’s not real.” My sobs hitched. His thumb, warm and gentle, wiped the tears from my cheek. His expression was even softer than his touch. “You silly girl,” he murmured. “I would never play games with my heart. Don’t listen to a word of that nonsense.” … A soft, tinkling sound pulled me from my memories. A breeze had drifted through the open window, stirring the set of wind chimes hanging there. Peterson’s gaze followed mine. He sighed. “Miss Cassie, do you remember? Mr. Croft made those for you by hand for your thirteenth birthday.” Of course, I remembered. Peterson had been a front-row spectator to every single one of my embarrassing attempts to win Alistair’s heart over the past eight years. He’d seen it all. I smiled and patted his arm. “I know he’s been good to me. Don’t worry, Peterson. I’m not going to do anything stupid anymore.” Because this time, Alistair had broken his promise for real. Tomorrow was my twenty-third birthday. And he chose the day before to announce his wedding. I had to hand it to him. Well played. 3 When Alistair pushed open the door, he stopped dead, a vein throbbing in his temple. The scene before him was chaotic. Peterson and I had divided the ten bodyguards into two teams. He had five, and I had five. And we were in the middle of a loud, rowdy drinking game. “Three of a kind!” I yelled. “Royal flush!” Peterson countered. “Full house!” I slammed my hand on the table. “Two pa—” I cut him off with a triumphant laugh and a wave of my hand. “Drink!” Peterson’s face fell. He reluctantly picked up his glass, but before it reached his lips, his body jerked. The drink sloshed to the floor, and he dropped to the ground as if he’d been shot. The rowdy cheers from the bodyguards died instantly. My smile froze on my face. Oh, crap. I thought Alistair said he was coming home tonight. It was only five in the afternoon! Why was he home so early? My mind raced, trying to come up with an excuse. I was so wound up I still had one foot propped on a stool, and Peterson was now cowering at my feet. He risked a peek up, saw the frantic, guilty expression on my face, and let out a choked snort of laughter. A second later, his amusement vanished, his eyes widening in terror. “Sir! Don’t blame Miss Cassie! It’s all my fault! I shouldn’t have let her drink!” Peterson scrambled over and clung to Alistair’s left leg like his life depended on it. Meanwhile, Alistair’s right hand had already snagged the back of my collar, hoisting me up like a stray kitten. Tears welled in my eyes. I kicked my legs uselessly. “Alistair! Are you crazy? So what if I had a drink? I’m heartbroken! Devastated! I’m drowning my sorrows! Is that a crime? Is there no justice in this world?” I felt Alistair’s hand tremble. He only held me for a second before setting me gently back on the floor. His voice was dangerously calm. “Turn around and look at me.” I hunched my shoulders, trying to make myself smaller. Then I turned, plastering a bright, cheerful smile on my face. “Oh, you’re talking to me again? Is the silent treatment over?” He smiled back, a warm, pleasant expression that didn’t reach his icy eyes. “Heartbroken?” he repeated, ignoring my question. “Devastated? I must be blind, because I’m not seeing any of that.” Alistair looked down at me, his gaze intense. The room was so quiet that his dark eyes seemed even more bottomless, more dangerous. A knot of complicated feelings twisted in my gut. But I refused to be humiliated any longer. I took a deep breath, about to say something, when his phone rang. And just like that, the words that had been swirling in my mind, the questions I was finally ready to ask, were swallowed whole. What do you really feel for me? Can you just be straight with me for once? Please, stop making me guess. You push me away with your words, but your actions make it seem like you love me. Do you have any idea how confusing that is? The unspoken words lodged in my throat, and my eyes began to burn with unshed tears. Alistair didn’t notice. He stared at the caller ID, his brow furrowing. It took him a few rings to finally answer. I glanced at the screen. The name read: Isabelle Laurent. His fiancée. A woman’s voice, elegant and warm, came through the phone. “Alistair, darling? Have you picked up Cassie yet? The reception is about to start. You two should hurry.” Alistair murmured a few brief replies and hung up. He looked at me again, his frown deepening. “Are you…” he began, his tone questioning. I forced a grin, cutting him off before he could finish. “I’ll go.” He was clearly taken aback. His dark eyes were as turbulent as a stormy sea. But suddenly, I was just… tired. So tired of trying to decipher his thoughts. “Are you sure you want to? If you don’t, I can come home early tonight…” “I’m sure!” I interrupted him again, pointing upstairs. “I’m going to go change into that dress you had made for me! I’ve been waiting for a chance to wear it. Give me five minutes!” “That dress wasn’t for you to wear tonight…” Alistair started, but I was already gone. I couldn’t stand it. I ran up the stairs, my heart pounding. I was so pathetic. If I stayed in that room with him for another minute, I knew I would break down and cry. Get a grip, Cassie, I told myself, clenching my fists. Just one more day. You’re going back to Port Calloway tomorrow. Hold back these stupid tears.

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1 While packing up our new house, an old tablet of mine suddenly lit up, displaying a local trending video from three years in the future. The headline was impossibly eye-catching: Devoted Billionaire Buys Entire Island to Bring a Smile to His Beloved Wife. I laughed and passed the tablet to Nathan. “Mr. Bennett, you’re going to be trending in three years? Surely this beloved wife is me?” Nathan walked over, pressing a tender kiss against my forehead. “Who else could it be? You stayed by my side when we had absolutely nothing. I would give my life just to hold you in the palm of my hand.” Lost in a haze of happiness, I looked down and tapped the video. A reporter was asking with sheer envy: “Mrs. Bennett, we heard your husband personally committed his ex-wife to a psychiatric hospital just to appease you?” The woman on screen blinked, her eyes pooling with delicate tears. “Yes. Nathan said that was what she owed me.” The smile on my face instantly froze. The woman addressed as Mrs. Bennett was Sherry. She was my former best friend, the one whom I had once sold my own belongings and taken on crippling debt to save when she was in her darkest hour. And yet, barely an hour later, Nathan would stand in this very room, screaming at me, calling me cold-blooded and selfish, and smashing every single one of our wedding photos, all because of Sherry. Outside the door, Sherry’s muffled, calculated sobs drifted in. “Nathan, it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t come back, you two wouldn’t be fighting. Maybe I should just leave. I don’t want to lose her as a friend.” Then came Nathan’s gentle, comforting murmur. “It’s fine. I broke the photos, not you. Don’t be afraid, I’ll talk to her.” The door pushed open. He looked at the glowing tablet in my hands, showing not a single trace of guilt for his recent outburst. He opened his arms, expecting me to step into them. “Still angry? I lost my temper earlier, but you said some incredibly harsh things. Sherry is your best friend, and she’s already crying from guilt. Was it really necessary to humiliate her in front of the house staff?” My body felt like ice. I stiffened, deliberately stepping back from his reach. In that moment, the ruthless, cold billionaire from the future video and the gentle, brow-furrowed husband standing before me merged perfectly. I stared at him, my fingertips trembling slightly. “Nathan, let me ask you a question.” “What is it?” “If I went crazy one day, would you send me away? To an asylum?” Nathan’s brow furrowed deeper, his tone sharpening with reprimand. “What are you throwing a fit about now? We can retake the photos tomorrow. Sherry has nowhere else to go, she is already miserable enough. You used to sacrifice your own comfort to help her, so why is it that now, as Mrs. Bennett, you’ve become so cold and selfish? Can you really not tolerate your own friend?” My breath caught in my throat. There was no hysterical screaming, no shattered glass, just a heavy, suffocating silence. So, in my husband’s eyes, my past sacrifices to save my friend were simply expected of me, while defending the boundaries of my marriage now made me cold and selfish. The future was already unfolding, piece by piece. The next morning, Sherry didn’t leave. She walked into the living room holding a glass of warm milk, her eyes red as she reached for my hand. “We’re best friends, Evelyn. You used to care about me more than anyone. Please don’t let my presence ruin your marriage, okay?” I coldly pulled my hand back, ignoring her completely. By afternoon, as I approached the study with a glass of water, I heard rustling from inside. Pushing the door open, I found Sherry standing by my desk, holding my external hard drive. “What are you doing?” I demanded. “I only wanted to help tidy up. I remembered how you used to love the coffee I brewed when you were writing your drafts.” Before she finished, her hand suddenly trembled. The drive slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor, and the mug of coffee tipped over, completely drowning the device. My chest tightened, a sharp pain piercing my heart. “Don’t touch that!” I rushed forward, pushing her aside to salvage the drive from the puddle of liquid. Sherry tumbled against the bookshelf, clutching her ankle as tears streamed down her face. “I’m so sorry, I only wanted to make things right. After all our years of friendship, won’t you even give me a chance to explain?” Heavy, rushed footsteps echoed down the hallway. Nathan burst into the room. He didn’t look at me once. He went straight to Sherry, gently lifting her from the floor. When he finally turned to me, his eyes were heavy with disappointment. My voice shook uncontrollably. “Nathan, when she had nothing, I borrowed from everyone I knew to pull her out of the dirt! Is this how she repays me? She destroyed my drive! It has ten years of our lives on it!” Nathan stepped in front of Sherry, shielding her. “Just because you helped her back then doesn’t mean you get to treat her like a criminal now! She was only trying to help you organize.” With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the drive directly into the trash can. “Nathan!” I gasped, standing up. “It’s just some old photos and outdated files,” he said, his voice entirely dismissive. “If it’s ruined, it’s ruined. I’ll make time to take new photos with you tomorrow. The doctor said Sherry has severe depressive tendencies and can’t handle any stress. Stop using a piece of useless junk to torment her just because she owes you a favor from years ago, will you?” I stood frozen in place. I remembered a night years ago, when a blizzard shut down the city and our basement apartment felt like an icebox. My hands were swollen with painful chilblains, but I kept typing away on my keyboard to finish my manuscript. He had come home from handing out flyers, immediately tucking my freezing hands against his chest to warm them, kissing my reddened fingertips. “From now on, every word you write and every photo we take will be saved on this drive. This is our most precious treasure, and nobody can ever take it from us.” “Okay,” I heard my own voice reply, dry and hollow. Nathan blinked, surprised by how easily I surrendered. He let out a sigh of relief, his voice softening into that patronizing warmth. “I’m glad you’re being reasonable. Sherry scares easily, so keep your history in mind and try to be more accommodating.” I didn’t look at him, nor did I look at Sherry. I turned around and walked out of the study, one quiet step at a time. I didn’t make another scene about the drive. I locked myself in my room. Thinking I had finally learned to behave, Nathan knocked gently on the door. “Sleep early, and don’t overthink things. I’m going to check on Sherry’s ankle.” The footsteps faded, followed by the muffled sound of my husband comforting another woman. Leaning against the door, I listened to the soft, gentle murmurs from the guest room. I knew my marriage had just entered the countdown to that viral video. The next afternoon. To completely shatter my resistance, Sherry was willing to risk her own life. I had just filled a cup of hot water and reached the top of the stairs when I saw Sherry standing near the edge, a few steps down. She glanced at me, and in the next second, she threw herself backward without hesitation. Nathan came charging up from downstairs. Sherry lay at the landing below, her leg visibly fractured, clutching her shin as cold sweat beaded on her forehead. She gripped Nathan’s sleeve, sobbing hysterically. “Nathan, don’t blame Evelyn… I just lost my footing. She was only angry with me, please don’t be mad at her.” Nathan cradled her tightly, snapping his head up to glare at me with pure fury. I pulled out my phone, loaded the high-definition hallway security feed, and tossed it right in front of him. The screen showed the truth with absolute clarity. I was standing yards away from her, not even close enough to brush her clothes. “Look closely,” I said, my voice dead of any emotion. “She threw herself down.” I thought the footage would wake him up, that it would force him to see Sherry’s true colors. But as Nathan watched the screen, his tense shoulders didn’t relax. He handed Sherry over to the family doctor who had just arrived, then stood up and walked over to me. He reached out, gripping my fingers tightly. “I know you didn’t push her,” his voice trembled slightly. “I always believe you.” But then, he spoke the most cruel words imaginable. “But Sherry’s mental state is on the verge of a total collapse. She has severe paranoia. I’m begging you… just apologize to her. Admit you pushed her, alright? Just do it to soothe a sick patient, to give her some security.” I froze, doubting my own ears. “What did you say?” I stared at him in disbelief. “She framed me, and you want me to confess to her crime?” “It’s just to soothe a patient!” Nathan’s eyes turned red, his voice thick with frustration and helplessness. “You’re healthy, Evelyn. You’re strong. You can handle a little unfairness! But if Sherry is pushed any further, she might actually die!” He squeezed my hands tighter. “Can you really not show a little compassion to save a life?” The hallway fell into a deathly silence, echoed only by his self-righteous demands. The deepest despair isn’t when a person doesn’t believe you; it is when he knows the absolute truth, knows you are innocent, and still demands your sacrifice. I looked at the man who claimed to love me. Slowly, deliberately, I pulled my hands from his grip. “Nathan,” I said, looking at his empty hands. “If this is to soothe her, then who is going to soothe me?” He froze, his mouth opening slightly, but no words came out. I didn’t wait for an answer. I already knew his choice. From that day on, I completely cut off all communication with everyone in the house. Having refused to apologize, I simply chose to ignore their existence. I stopped speaking entirely, spending days and nights sitting on my bedroom balcony, staring out into the void. No crying, no arguing. Outside my door, the sound of wheelchair wheels rolling by became a frequent occurrence. Sherry would purposely park herself right outside my room, raising her voice just enough for me to hear as she whimpered to Nathan. “Nathan, does she still hate me? She hasn’t left her room or spoken a word in a week. Yesterday I peeked through the gap in the door, and she was just staring at me with those cold, hollow eyes… I’m so scared.” Nathan’s voice was low, heavy with exhaustion. “Don’t be afraid. She’s just being stubborn, throwing a tantrum.” “But… I read a medical article the other day. People who resort to extreme silent treatment like this often have severe underlying psychological issues. I don’t care about my own comfort, but I’m worried she might hurt herself one day. Or what if she snaps and hurts you?” Inside the room, listening to her pretend to care for my well-being, I couldn’t even muster the energy to smile. I had believed Nathan possessed basic judgment. I believed he would at least respect our ten years together and not be blinded by such clumsy manipulation. Until three days later, in the afternoon. The bedroom door was quietly pushed open. Nathan walked in, followed by a man and a woman in plain clothes. The way they looked at me was not how one looks at a human being. I sat on my balcony chair, watching them coldly. “Get out.” Nathan didn’t get angry. He walked over, gently cupping my cheek. “Sweetheart,” his eyes filled with a terrifyingly deep affection, “you’ve been so suppressed lately. You don’t even seem like yourself anymore.” He pointed to the two strangers behind him. “This is a top-tier psychological care team I personally reached out to. I’ve arranged a room for you at a highly private, luxury sanitarium in the suburbs. The environment is beautiful and quiet, and no one will disturb you. Go stay there for a while, work with the doctors, and heal your paranoia and resentment, okay?” Hearing those words, the trending video from three years in the future began to play on a loop in my mind. I had assumed that scene would only occur after we had completely torn each other apart. I never expected the gears of fate to grind together so soon. I stared at the deeply affectionate man in front of me, my entire body trembling. “You think I’m crazy? You want to lock me up in an asylum?” Nathan’s brow knit together. He grabbed my shaking hands, squeezing them tight, his voice a mixture of gentleness and irritation. “How could you call it locking you up? Why do you always assume the worst of me? I’m doing this for your own good! Look at yourself right now, you look like a ghost! You can’t even communicate normally! Staying here will only torture both you and Sherry, destroying whatever love we have left. Go there to get some peace, be a good girl, and listen to the doctors. Once you’re better and your emotions are stable, I’ll bring you straight back home so we can start over.” He spoke with such absolute conviction, such flawless self-righteousness. The male doctor stepped forward, handing over a thick folder. “Mr. Bennett, since the patient is showing clear signs of resistance and persecutory delusions, we recommend immediate isolation. As her immediate family member, please sign this consent form for involuntary psychological intervention. Our team will handle the transport and closed treatment from here.” “Don’t worry, it’s just a routine procedure. The staff inside will take good care of you,” Nathan murmured, reaching for the pen the doctor offered. “Nathan,” I called his name one last time. His hand paused, and he looked up at me. “If you sign that paper,” I said, looking directly into his eyes without a single tear, “whatever was left between us dies forever.” Nathan’s pupils shrank. His fingers gripped the pen so hard they turned white. But a moment later, he let out a long, heavy sigh. “Look at you, still making these extreme threats. The doctor is right; you can’t control your emotions at all right now, always trying to manipulate me with these dramatic words.” Without another second of hesitation, he leaned down and wrote his name on the consent form. I watched the signature dry, seeing the immediate relief wash over his face. And then, I laughed. It started as a soft curve of my lips, but soon, I threw my head back and let out a full, ringing laugh. The sound seemed to unnerve Nathan, a flicker of panic crossing his eyes. “What are you laughing at?” He frowned, reaching out to hold me. “Nothing,” I said, quietly pulling my hands away, my gaze perfectly still. Seeing this, the two doctors stepped forward to take custody of me. “Mrs. Bennett, please cooperate with us.” “Don’t touch me,” I warned, throwing them a cold glare before turning back to Nathan. “Fine. I’ll go.” Nathan blinked, clearly caught off guard by my sudden compliance. Joy immediately flooded his features, erasing his anxiety. “You finally understand! Good, that’s wonderful! As long as you go get treated, I’ll give you anything you want!” “I want a chestnut tart from the bakery on West End,” I said. “You have to go buy it yourself, don’t send your assistant. When you bring it back, I’ll leave with them quietly.” Nathan breathed a massive sigh of relief. He wrapped his arms around me, kissing my forehead eagerly. “Of course! I’ll go get it right now. Wait for me here, don’t go anywhere!” He stood up, turning to the doctors with a strict warning. “You two wait downstairs. I’ll drive her over myself once I return.” With that, he grabbed his keys and rushed out the door. As the front door clicked shut, the house fell into an absolute, beautiful silence. I didn’t look out the window, nor did I check to see if Sherry was watching. I walked over to the vanity, opened the bottom drawer, and pulled out the divorce papers I had printed long ago. I slowly slid the wedding ring off my finger and placed it right in the center of the documents. Having finished, I calmly walked downstairs, bypassed Sherry who was watching television in the living room without a single pause, and stepped out of the villa that had nearly become my tomb. By evening, Nathan returned, excitedly pushing open the front door with a pastry box in his hand. “Sweetheart, I got the tart! It’s still warm, come try some…” The house was eerily quiet, save for the low drone of the television from the living room. “Evelyn?” Nathan called out, pushing open the bedroom door with a smile, only to be met by a cold, empty room. His gaze swept across the space, eventually settling on the vanity. In the next second, the smile on his face froze, and his pupils contracted with sudden terror.

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Returning home tonight, I realized the peephole on my front door was gone. In its place was a hollow, empty socket. My heart plummeted. Because tucked inside that very peephole, I had hidden half of a severed finger. 1 I cast a casual glance down the empty hallway, keeping my movements deliberate and calm. I pulled out my phone and tapped open the security app. The feed showed that exactly three minutes ago, a masked, shadowy figure had bypassed my lock. His technique was old-school. First, he twisted the peephole casing loose from the outside. Then, he slid a long, bent wire through the vacant hole. Navigating by touch, he hooked the interior doorknob, gave it a sharp tug, and the latch clicked open. As for the severed finger I had wedged inside the mechanism, the wire had punched it straight into the apartment. The intruder had slipped inside, shutting the door quietly behind him. He took two steps before stumbling, his boot catching on something small and soft on the hardwood floor. He knelt, picked it up, and stared at the half-finger in his palm. The feed showed him freezing, entirely paralyzed. Realizing he had stumbled into a predator’s den, the intruder panicked, turning back toward the door to make a run for it. But that was the exact moment I arrived. Right now, only a thin sheet of wood separated us. 2 “Why aren’t we going in, babe?” Grace asked softly beside me. “Just looking for my keys in my bag,” I replied smoothly. Grace had no idea the peephole was missing. She couldn’t see it. She was blind. I kept quiet about it because the last thing I wanted was to worry her. While I pretended to fumble with my keys, I kept my eyes glued to the phone screen. The intruder was in a frenzy, scrambling into the kitchen and squeezing himself into the narrow cabinet beneath the stove. I unlocked the door, guided Grace inside, and locked it behind us, making sure to turn the deadbolt twice. After helping her to the sofa, she mentioned she was thirsty. I offered to get her a glass of water and walked into the kitchen. My eyes immediately darted to the cabinet beneath the counter. The door was slightly ajar. A cold smile touched my mind. This made things much easier. Without making a sound, I closed the kitchen window, shut the door to the hallway, and cut the electricity to the kitchen. Then, I quietly turned the valve on the gas stove. It was a risky move, but it was the quietest way to put a rat to sleep. 3 I stepped back into the living room, sealing the kitchen door behind me. I handed Grace her glass of warm water, then immediately slid open the balcony window to let the fresh air circulate. Outside, a gentle drizzle had started to fall, carrying the crisp, earthy scent of rain on damp ground. “Is it raining?” Grace’s voice drifted over, vibrating with a childlike excitement. “I want to listen to it.” By the time I turned around, she was already navigating her way toward the balcony, her hands lightly sweeping the air. I stepped up and gently caught her arm. At the open window, she reached out, letting her bare forearm catch the cool, falling mist. The icy drops beaded on her skin. She curled her fingers, a soft, ethereal smile warming her face. “It feels so soft,” she whispered. “Yeah, but let’s get you sat down before you catch a cold,” I said, pulling her back gently. A flicker of disappointment crossed her face, but she complied, settling onto the wooden chair on the balcony. I draped a plush blanket over her shoulders, tucking the edges around her neck. My hand drifted into my pocket, tapping the phone screen. The intruder hadn’t moved. Thirty minutes had passed since I opened the gas valve. 4 Judging by the time, the air in the kitchen should be toxic enough. I spoke softly to Grace. “Stay here. I’m going to wash some fruit for you. I bought some sweet apples today.” Suddenly, her cool hand slipped around my forearm, holding me back. “No rush. Just sit with me for a bit. Listen to the rain. Doesn’t it sound just like the old days?” I glanced toward the kitchen door, then sat down beside her. She rested her head on my shoulder, falling silent. Occasionally, her fingers flicked against her lap, tapping out a slow rhythm to the falling rain. I looked down at her. Her unseeing eyes seemed to hold a soft, liquid light, gentler than the rain outside. Another half hour slipped away as the drizzle tapered off. She finally sat up, her fingers grazing my knee. “Go get that apple now. Be careful, though. Don’t cut your finger like last time.” I patted her shoulder, stood up, and picked up the paring knife from the dining table. Taking a deep breath, I slipped into the kitchen. I shut off the gas valve and threw the window wide open. After waiting two minutes for the fumes to clear, I yanked open the cabinet door. The intruder was curled into a tight ball, his head slumped lifelessly against his knees. He was deeply unconscious, the bent lockpicking wire still clutched in his limp hand. The severed finger lay on the wooden floor right beside him. To be absolutely sure, I wrapped the wire tightly around his neck and pulled. Three minutes later, his chest stopped moving entirely. Time to clean up. I washed my hands thoroughly at the sink, grabbed an apple from the basket, peeled it, and brought the clean slices to Grace. “I have to head out for a bit to handle a work emergency,” I told her. “Go to bed when you’re tired. Don’t wait up for me.” She nodded, her voice tender. “Okay. Drive safe, and come back quickly.” I went back to the kitchen, stuffed the limp body into a large duffel bag, and secured the lock. I put the peephole back on the front door, slipping the severed finger back into its secret chamber. After helping Grace with her nightly routine and making sure she was tucked in and asleep, I quietly wheeled my heavy cargo out the door. 5 As an emergency utility technician, middle-of-the-night calls were standard for me. Grace was used to it, so she never questioned my odd hours. Closing the apartment door, I dragged the heavy suitcase toward the stairwell. I always took the stairs. No cameras, no digital footprint, just concrete and shadow. I made my way down to the sub-basement, dodging the sparse security cameras until I reached a dusty utility corridor. Nestled in a dark corner was a sewer maintenance hatch. For me, it was the perfect grave. I pried the heavy iron cover open and pushed the body in. I poured in the concentrated sulfuric acid I had prepared beforehand. When the chemical fizzing subsided, I hauled my empty suitcase back up. It was nearly eleven o’clock when I finally unlocked my front door. 6 The moment I stepped inside, I froze. Grace was standing near the bathroom, her posture unusually rigid. “Why are you still up?” I asked, keeping my voice gentle. “I just got back.” At the sound of my voice, her tense shoulders dropped slightly. “I was asleep, but I woke up to a dripping sound from the bathroom. I wanted to see what it was.” “A dripping sound?” My chest tightened. I followed her gaze into the bathroom. Dark red droplets were seeping through the seams of the ceiling panels, landing on the white tile with a rhythmic splash. It looked exactly like blood. I immediately led Grace back to the living room and sat her on the sofa. “The pipes upstairs must be backed up. I’ll head up and check on things.” “It’s so late. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” “It’s fine. I know the guy upstairs. I’ll be right back.” I slipped out, taking the stairs to the apartment directly above ours. The hallway was empty. I quickly unscrewed the peephole on the door, slid a bent wire through, and pulled the handle from the inside. The door clicked open. A suffocating smell of copper and rot hit me instantly. I closed the door and went straight to the bathroom. The floor was flooded with dark, stagnant water. The drain was completely clogged. Without hesitation, I plunged my hand down into the pipe. After feeling around the tight curve, I hauled out a thick, tangled mass of hair. The water immediately began to drain with a loud gurgle. But as I looked at what I was holding, my heart stopped. Tangled in the wet hair was a small, razor-sharp pocketknife and a delicate silver bracelet. The knife’s blade had punctured the PVC pipe, causing the leak. The knife and the bracelet looked terribly familiar. 7 When I returned to our floor thirty minutes later, I unlocked the door to find Grace standing near the entrance, gripping the frame. She took two steps back at the sound of the door opening. “It’s me. I’m back,” I said. She let out a soft breath. “What was going on upstairs?” “Just a clogged drain. I took care of it.” “So fast?” “Well, that’s my job, remember?” I shut the door, stepping inside to take her hand. It was ice-cold. I squeezed her fingers and diverted her attention. “The pipe has a small crack, though. I’ll need to replace the elbow joint tomorrow to stop the dripping entirely.” She nodded. Then, her fingers twitched in mine. “By the way, did you see anyone in the hallway when you came down?” My muscles tensed, but my voice remained perfectly level. “No. Why do you ask?” “Someone knocked on the door while you were gone. At first, I thought you forgot your keys.” “Did you open it?” “No, of course not. The knock was off-beat. I knew right away it wasn’t you.” “Probably just a neighbor at the wrong door.” My eyes swept over the entryway. Resting against the wall just inside the threshold was a fresh corpse. I had brought him in when I opened the door. When I came down from the upstairs apartment, I had spotted a man pressed against our door, looking through the empty peephole. I didn’t make a sound. I crept up behind him, neutralized him, and slipped him inside. To keep Grace from panicking, I kept my voice light and steady while quietly dragging the heavy body into the shadows of the closet. I still had work to do tonight. 8 I guided her to the bed and tucked the blanket around her. “You should get some sleep. I have to go out again.” Her fingers lightly traced the edge of the blanket. “Going out again? Is it really that busy tonight?” “Yeah, probably because of the rain. Pipes are bursting all over town.” I kept my voice casual, turning off the main light and leaving only the dim bedside lamp. “Alright. Be careful. Come back soon.” Her voice softened in the dim room. I waited until her breathing became slow and rhythmic before slipping back to the entryway. The heavy body of the dead intruder was waiting for me. I forced him into a large suitcase. This guy was much broader than the last one, and the zipper snagged halfway. I had to press down hard on his shoulder before the mechanism finally clicked shut. As I locked the door behind me, I took a quick glance through the peephole. The severed finger was back in place, sitting like a quiet, hidden nail. The motion-activated lights in the stairwell flickered weakly. My suitcase rattled against the concrete steps as I hauled it down. At the fourth floor, I stopped. I spun around, looking up into the darkness. The stairwell was deathly silent. But a primal instinct told me that somewhere in the shadow of the landing above, a figure was pressed flat against the wall, quietly tracking my descent. 9 I didn’t call out. Instead, a silent smile crept onto my face as I kept walking. The weight of the suitcase made my wrists ache, each step feeling like a silent tug-of-war with the shadow behind me. Down in the sub-basement, I opened the sewer hatch. The pungent stench of dissolving flesh rose to meet me. I glanced back toward the exit, keeping my movements deliberate. I tipped the heavy bag into the dark void and poured the acid. The dark liquid hissed and bubbled as it dissolved the skin and bone. I watched the thick white steam rise until the sound faded completely, then slid the heavy cover back into place. Heading back up, I intentionally slowed my pace, pausing on each landing. Sure enough, by the time I reached the sixth floor, I heard the faint, hurried rustle of bare feet rushing up the stairs ahead of me. The stalker was trying desperately to get back before I did. I hid in the shadow of the sixth-floor landing and watched as a slender silhouette darted past the stairwell window. The hem of a white nightgown fluttered in the dark, disappearing up toward the eighth floor. When I reached our door, I didn’t open it immediately. I pressed my ear to the wood, listening to the ticking of the living room clock. Only then did I slide my key into the lock, turning it as silently as possible. The apartment was dark except for a sliver of light coming from the bedroom. I crept to the door and peered through the crack. Grace was curled under the covers, her back to me, her long dark hair spread across the pillow. She looked deeply asleep. But I knew better. Her skin would still be cool from the concrete stairs. The person who had followed me into the dark was her.

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I’d just boarded an international flight, my body still aching from an abortion hours earlier, when my phone buzzed. A notification from Penn, my billionaire husband. He’d sent fifty-two dollars. “Serena forgot your sister’s surgery fees,” his message read. “This covers it. Your oversight. Next time, clear expenses over two hundred with Serena.” “No reply? Don’t think carrying my child gives you free rein. Tomorrow, state publicly your sister’s crisis wasn’t Serena’s fault. Delaying surgery a few days—what’s the harm?” I stared, hollow, then shut off the screen and leaned against the cold window. Seconds later, my phone erupted—relentless calls and texts. “Where are you? Pick up, or I’ll have your paralytic sister thrown out!” When silence answered, Penn panicked. He raced to the care facility; my sister was the anchor that kept me tethered. Bursting into her room, he found an empty bed. Grabbing a nurse, his voice shook: “Where is she?” The nurse blinked. “You didn’t know? Critical last night. Family couldn’t raise funds in time. She’s dead.” Penn froze, blood draining from his face. Then he remembered: five days ago, my sister crashed. I begged for three hundred thousand. His secretary Serena hid the request. When he chose her over us—and I said I wanted a divorce—I meant every word. … “Stop playing games,” Penn had replied coldly. He hadn’t even looked up from his laptop when he said it. The rows of boring electronic data on his screen seemed infinitely more captivating than the woman standing before him. I kept my eyes lowered, my voice quiet but unyielding. “I am not playing games, Penn. I want a divorce.” He exhaled a heavy, irritated sigh and finally stood up, his face a mask of cold indifference. “You’re screaming for a divorce over a minor misunderstanding?” When I didn’t answer, his brow furrowed deeper. “I was the one who authorized the temporary suspension of your sister’s treatment. It had nothing to do with Serena. She was only following my orders.” “If you hadn’t barged into the office and made a scene a few days ago, I wouldn’t have had to teach you a lesson.” “I’ve already instructed them to resume her treatment. I’m busy, Nora. I don’t have the time or patience for your tantrums.” Without waiting for my reply, he grabbed his coat and walked out, entirely convinced that my demand for a divorce was merely a desperate bid for attention. He was certain that, before long, I would crawl back to him, pleading for his forgiveness. Had Penn picked up my call three days ago with even a shred of humanity, I might still be bowing my head to him, enduring his coldness just to keep my sister alive. I remembered standing in the sterile, fluorescent-lit hospital corridor, my pregnant belly aching, begging him not to hang up. “Penn, please. Just lend me three hundred thousand dollars. This surgery is everything to Hazel. If it succeeds, she’ll be able to walk again.” His response had been nothing but impatience and irritation. “How many times do I have to tell you? If you need money, go through Serena. Why are you bothering me with this?” But getting money from Serena had always been an exercise in humiliation. “Three hundred thousand is a massive sum, Nora,” Serena had said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “You don’t even have an itemized billing statement yet. How can I verify this money is actually going toward a surgery?” I had explained that it was a pre-admission deposit, and the official itemized bill could only be printed after discharge. She had smiled, a small, patronizing curl of her lips. “I’m not doubting you, dear. It’s just that I’ve seen people falsify records before. Penn’s reputation is priceless, and I have to protect his assets.” “Besides, Penn has a strict rule. Any personal expense exceeding two hundred dollars must be reported to him. Go get the hospital’s official seal on those forms first, and then I’ll see about submitting it.” By the time I obtained the necessary paperwork and called her to follow up, she acted as though she had only just remembered. “Oh, Nora, I’ve been so incredibly busy. It completely slipped my mind. You don’t mind, do you?” Because of that “slip of the mind,” Hazel missed her window for a matching kidney donor. The doctor had told me it was her absolute last chance to receive a compatible organ. Because the funds never arrived, my sister’s only hope of survival was snuffed out. At that moment, I knew I was done. Standing at the study door, I called out to Penn one last time. “Tomorrow morning at ten. I’ll see you at the family court.” Penn paused, looking back at me with cold, dismissive eyes. “Nora, before you use divorce to threaten me, you’d better remember who pays for your life.” “Your sister’s ongoing care costs a fortune, and you’re carrying my child. Don’t paint yourself into a corner you can’t climb out of.” Before the words had even left his mouth, his phone rang. He answered it, his voice instantly softening into a tone he had never used with me. “Serena? It’s not your fault. I made the rules. If she wants to blame anyone, she can blame me.” “Don’t cry. I’ll take you out tomorrow. You can buy whatever you want.” Listening to him coax her so tenderly, a sharp, stabbing pain blossomed in my lower abdomen. Over the past few days, I had been so frantic about Hazel that I had completely missed my own prenatal check-up. My phone buzzed. It was an automated text from the clinic: Ms. Nora, you are currently seven weeks pregnant. Please remember to schedule your routine prenatal examination. The next morning, Penn never showed up at the court. I waited until noon before he finally replied to my message. I’m out shopping with Serena. Busy. If you really want a divorce, have your lawyer file the papers. I didn’t bother replying. Instead, I went back to the hospital. Hazel lay on the bed, her fingers barely able to twitch. She was only five years older than me, but the aggressive treatments had left her completely bald and terribly frail. Seeing me enter, she forced a weak, trembling smile. “Nora… let’s stop the treatment.” My eyes burned with unshed tears. “Don’t say that, Hazel.” Our parents had passed away early, and Hazel had raised me on her own. She had been nothing but a child herself, yet she worked multiple jobs to pay for my tuition, shielding me from every storm. The doctor pulled me out into the hallway, his expression grave. “The situation is deteriorating rapidly. We can’t delay any longer. You must secure the remaining treatment fees as soon as possible.” I nodded numbly. I went straight to a pawn shop and sold my wedding ring. The clerk examined the diamond and offered an insultingly low price, but I didn’t care. I needed the cash. Right after receiving the money, I opened social media and saw Serena’s latest post. In the photo, she stood in front of a high-end department store mirror, holding several luxury shopping bags, a sweet, victorious smile plastered on her face. The caption read: Penn said I am the face of his company, so he insisted on buying me these. I stared at the screen for a long time until it went dark. That afternoon, Serena showed up at the hospital room, her smile triumphant. “Nora, Penn sent me to check if there is still any point in continuing your sister’s treatment.” “After all, money should only be spent on those who are worth it. I need to re-evaluate this expense.” Before I could open my mouth, Penn walked down the corridor. He stopped beside Serena, his expression flat. “Serena is only doing her job.” “If you have a problem, you can bring it up directly with me.” I looked him dead in the eye. “She doesn’t need approval to buy luxury bags, but my sister needs your approval to stay alive?” “What I spend on her is my own business,” Penn replied coldly. “What you are asking for is an expenditure under my wife’s name. They are entirely different things.” He slid a thick stack of forms toward me. “If you want the money, fill out the application. Once Serena reviews and approves it, I will authorize the transfer.” I didn’t reach for the paper. His eyes drifted to my stomach, his voice growing even colder. “You’re still pregnant. Stop using the child to throw these dramatic tantrums.” With that, he turned to leave with Serena. But the very next second, the doctor rushed into the room. “Emergency! Your sister’s vitals are crashing. We need to operate immediately!” I waited outside the operating room for three agonizing hours before the surgeon finally emerged with the news that Hazel’s condition had temporarily stabilized. But his face remained tense. “We’ve managed to keep her stable, but her medication cannot be interrupted. Her body cannot survive another shock.” I nodded, my throat aching with a dry, burning thirst. After using the last of my pawned-ring cash to pay for her immediate prescriptions, I walked down to the hospital cafeteria to buy her some broth. And there, sitting by the window, were Penn and Serena. They were sharing a beautifully arranged plate of desserts. Serena saw me first. She immediately rose and walked over, her expression soft and apologetic. “Nora, you’re here too.” “Penn said I worked incredibly hard putting the project files together this week, so he took me out for a quick lunch.” “It’s purely professional, please don’t misunderstand.” I ignored her and looked directly at Penn. “I guess not every single dollar spent requires a formal application process.” Penn’s brow furrowed. “Nora, drop the attitude.” “Serena did an outstanding job this week. As her boss, taking her out for a meal is perfectly normal. Is there a problem?” “No problem,” I said quietly. “After all, she keeps me under your heel so perfectly. She deserves a reward.” His expression darkened, but I didn’t wait around for his response. I turned and walked away. When I returned to the room, Hazel was fast asleep. I sat by her side, my heart breaking as I stared at her hollow cheeks. That evening, as I kept watch by her bed, the sky outside suddenly lit up. A magnificent display of golden fireworks erupted over the city, painting the night sky in brilliant, shimmering hues. Several nurses and patients gathered by the window to watch. “Who spent that kind of money?” “I heard it’s the Sinclair Group. The CEO is putting on a show to reward his secretary.” “How romantic. Imagine having a boss who treats you like that.” I stood by the glass, my fingers turning cold. While they celebrated their sweet, public romance, my sister lay on a sterile bed, fighting for every breath with the help of a machine. I unlocked my phone. Serena’s social media feed had just updated. The photo showed her wearing a dazzling diamond necklace, the glittering stones catching the light of the fireworks. The caption read: Thank you, Penn, for this beautiful necklace. Tonight, the sky burned just for me! I stared at the necklace. It was a design I had admired for months. Last month, when I had lingered in front of the display case at the boutique, Penn had merely glanced at it and said, “A purchase like that requires too much administrative approval. It’s not worth the hassle.” It wasn’t that it wasn’t worth the hassle. It was only a hassle when it was for me. I stared at the post for a long time, then tapped the “like” button. Within a minute, my phone rang. It was Penn. “Now that you’ve liked the post, don’t you dare retract it,” he said without preamble. “People will start rumors about Serena if you do.” “Leave a comment underneath. Praise her for her hard work. Let’s make it look like a joint gesture of appreciation from both of us as a couple.” I quieted my mind, tapped open the comment box, and typed: You’ve worked so hard, Secretary Song. You’re even wearing the things the President’s wife has no right to touch. I locked the phone. A few minutes later, the screen lit up again. I walked out into the quiet corridor to answer it. Serena’s sobbing voice immediately filled the receiver. “Nora, I really didn’t know you liked that necklace too…” “I only accepted it because it was a gift from Penn. If you comment like that, what will everyone think of me?” Then, Penn’s voice broke in, cold and furious. “Nora, do you have any idea how many people in the office are already whispering about her? How is she supposed to face anyone after what you wrote?” “It just proves that not everyone in your office is a fool,” I replied. His breath caught. “When did you become so bitter and toxic? Serena worked incredibly hard to get to where she is. You don’t work, you live entirely on my dime, and yet you feel entitled to humiliate a woman who actually puts in honest labor?” Before I could reply, a shrill, piercing alarm echoed from Hazel’s room. The heart monitor. Panic seized me. I dropped the phone and bolted back into the room. A team of doctors was already crowding around her bed. Hazel’s face was white, her oxygen tube lying discarded on the floor. The doctor looked up at me, his face grim. “She pulled the tube out herself. We’re doing everything we can!” My knees buckled. I threw myself against the side of the bed, sobbing hysterically. “Hazel, please! Why would you do this?” Hazel struggled to open her eyes, her voice barely a whisper. “Nora… don’t cry. Don’t fight for me anymore. It hurts too much.” “I heard… I heard you on the phone with Penn.” “Don’t spend any more money on me. I won’t let you ruin your life for a dying woman.” I shook my head violently, tears blinding me. “I won’t let you go! Don’t worry about the money, I will save you!” With shaking fingers, I redialed Penn’s number. The line connected, but it was Serena’s voice that answered, laced with a quiet, venomous chuckle. “Asking for money again?” she whispered. “Nora, did you really think you could humiliate me on social media and then beg for a favor? If you want the funds, come to my office right now. Get down on your knees, beg for my forgiveness, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll think about signing off.” Then, Penn’s cold voice echoed in the background. “Serena is right, Nora. This is the respect you owe her.”

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Seven days after we buried my husband Adriano, I brought his mother’s illegitimate son home. The main hall is full when we walk in. Capos. Cousins. The family Council. Adriano’s aunt — Lucia Bellandi — perched at the head of the long table like she’s already won. Her son Enzo stands behind her, fourteen years old, chin up, practicing the look of a Don. They were one signature away from making him heir. Donna Cosima Bellandi sits beside her, rosary in her hands, eyes red from a week of crying. My mother-in-law. The matriarch. The only person in this room I had to think twice about. Then Silas steps through the doorway behind me. The room goes silent. Lucia’s smile dies. “No.” Her voice cracks. “No, you’re dead. You’re dead. We buried you.” Cosima rises so fast her chair scrapes the marble. The rosary slips from her fingers. She crosses the hall in five steps and throws her arms around Silas like she’s afraid he’ll dissolve. “My boy. My boy, my boy —” Silas doesn’t move. He lets her hold him. He doesn’t hug back. He doesn’t speak. He stares over her shoulder at the chandelier like he’s never seen a ceiling before. That’s when the room notices. His eyes are blank. Cosima pulls back. Searches his face. “Adriano?” Nothing. “Adriano, baby, it’s Mamma.” Nothing. Lucia recovers first. She always does. She stands. “This is a joke.” Her voice is steel now. “This is an insult. We buried Adriano seven days ago. You” — she points at me — “you bring in some stranger off the street who happens to have his face, and you expect this Council to —” “Who said he was dead?” I cut her clean. The whole room turns. “There was a casket, Rosa.” Her teeth show. “There was a funeral. The whole family —” “There was an empty box.” I keep my voice soft. Almost sorry for her. “No body. No proof. I never believed it. I’ve had men looking for him every day since. I didn’t tell anyone because I didn’t want to give Cosima hope and watch her lose him twice.” I turn to Cosima. Soften. “And now he’s home. Aren’t you happy, Lucia?” Lucia’s jaw locks. “Then why doesn’t he know his own mother?” I look at Silas. “Tell them.” He wets his lips. Lowers his eyes. When he speaks, his voice is quieter than I’ve ever heard it. “I went into the water. I hit my head on something — I don’t remember what. A fishing family pulled me out downriver. When I woke up, I didn’t know my name.” A long pause. “A few weeks ago I started remembering pieces. A wife. A ring. A house in this city.” He lifts his eyes to Cosima. Holds them there. Lets them shine, just enough. “I’m sorry. I’m trying.” Cosima makes a small, broken sound and grabs his hand with both of hers. The Council shifts. I watch their faces go from suspicion to something softer. Two of the older Capos exchange a look. One of them nods, very slightly. Lucia sees it too. Her seat is gone. Her son’s seat is gone. The thing she’s been circling for seven days, the thing she’s been carving up in her head — gone. “This is not over,” she hisses, and sweeps out with Enzo trailing behind her. The room empties in twos and threes. Cosima exhales like she’s been holding her breath for a week. Then her knees give and she folds toward the floor. “Get the doctor —” We carry her up to her room. The family doctor checks her blood pressure, listens to her heart, and tells me she’s exhausted from grief and shock and she’ll be fine with rest. I show him out. When I turn back, Silas is leaning in the doorway of the hall. Arms crossed. Watching me. Every soft, broken thing on his face is gone. “Mrs. Bellandi.” His eyes crinkle. A slow, lazy smile. “Was my performance… satisfying?”

“You did fine, Mr. Crowe.” I keep walking. He falls into step beside me like a shadow. Like he’s done it for years. “Fine.” He tastes the word. “I keep a Don’s chair warm for his widow, fool an entire Council, make his mother cry on cue — and I get fine.” “You were paid.” “I was saved.” He says it lightly. Almost amused. “Don’t pretend that’s the same thing.” A maid hurries by. Silas’s whole face changes — soft, lost, the gentle son again — until she’s gone. Then it drops. I hate how easy it is for him. We turn into the east corridor. Quiet here. No staff. He slows. “You know, Mrs. Bellandi, I’ll admit something.” I stop. He stops too. “When you came to me with your offer,” he says, “I thought I was replacing some merchant. Some banker. Some soft husband from a soft family.” His head tilts. “Not the Don of the Bellandis.” My pulse ticks once, hard. I keep my face still. “And?” “And nothing.” His mouth curves. “I’m not the kind of man who scares easy. If I were, I’d have crawled to the Riccis a long time ago. I wouldn’t have ended up in a ditch for you to find.” He takes one step closer. Then another. Close enough that I can smell him — clean linen, cold air, something darker underneath. Not Adriano’s scent. Not at all. His hand lifts. I don’t move. He reaches past my cheek and plucks something off the shoulder of my dress. A petal. White. Probably from the funeral wreaths still rotting in the front hall. He holds it up between us. “You had something on you,” he says softly. Then he flicks it away and steps back like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just measure exactly how close he could come before I broke. I draw a breath. “Don’t do that again.” “Do what, Mrs. Bellandi?” His smile is small. Innocent. He gestures vaguely at the air like he has no idea what I mean. I know this man now. He looks like a gentleman. He’s not. A door opens down the hall. Cosima’s maid leans out. “Donna Rosa. She’s asking for you.” … The room smells like beeswax and old prayer. Cosima is propped against the pillows, rosary back in her hands. The color is returning to her face. I sit on the edge of the bed and reach for her hand. “Mamma, the doctor said —” “Rosa.” Her voice is calm. Quiet. That’s how I know I’m in trouble. “You have a lot of nerve.” My stomach drops. “Mamma —” “Did you really think that a mother wouldn’t know her own son?” she doesn’t raise her voice, not once. The room goes very still. “Who is that man you brought into my house?” I slide off the bed and onto my knees beside her. I don’t have to fake it. The marble is cold through my dress. “I wasn’t going to lie to you. Not for long. I swear on Adriano.” “Then start talking.” “His name is Silas Crowe. I found him three weeks ago. He owed me his life — the Riccis had him half dead in a back alley and I pulled him out of it. He looks like Adriano. Exactly like Adriano.” Her fingers tighten on the rosary. “And you thought you’d just — dress him up. Walk him in here.” “I thought,” I say carefully, “that if I didn’t, Lucia would be sitting in Adriano’s chair by the end of the month.” That lands. I see it land. “Mamma.” I shuffle closer on my knees. “The Council was one vote from naming Enzo heir. One. And the second that boy puts on Adriano’s ring, who do you think he answers to? Me? You? Or the woman who raised him?” She doesn’t speak. “Adriano’s body was never found. I don’t believe he’s dead. I have men in three states still looking. But until I bring him home, someone has to sit in that chair, or this family eats itself alive.” I let my voice crack. Just a little. “And if — if Adriano really isn’t coming back — at least this way, the seat is still ours to give. To a cousin. To a real Bellandi child we choose. Not to Lucia’s.” Cosima closes her eyes. The rosary moves through her fingers. A long minute passes. “You should have told me,” she says finally. “I know.” “That man. Crowe.” “Yes, Mamma.” “He’s nothing? No family? No one looking for him?” “No one.” I keep my eyes down. “His father died when he was seven. He never knew his mother.” She is quiet for a long time. Then her hand comes down on the top of my head. Light. Almost a blessing. “All right, Rosa.” “Mamma —” “Double the men looking for my son.” “Yes, Mamma.” I walk to the door. And only when I close it behind me do I let myself breathe. The corridor is empty. But the air at the end of it, near the corner — it shifts. Just slightly. Like someone was standing there a second ago and isn’t anymore. I stare at that empty corner for a long time.

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My boyfriend keeps choosing his bitch intern over me. So I cut his place in my future. I stand next to the self-check-in kiosk in Boston South Station and tell my boyfriend, Gavin, we’re done. “Because your seat isn’t next to mine?” He laughs. “Yes.” He’s still laughing. He pulls out his phone and taps record. “Fine. You said it. Don’t take it back.” We’ve known each other since we were seven. Together since eighteen. He thinks I can’t leave him. He doesn’t know this train ticket is just an excuse. I refunded the one he booked for me. I changed my destination. This time, I’m out. In a few hours, we’ll be in two different cities, living two completely different lives. … Gavin holds the phone in front of my face. The recording bar is still moving. I don’t change my expression. “May 23, 2026. Day 2,591. Aria Bennett and Gavin Hayes are broken up.” He freezes for a second. Then shakes his head, almost amused. “Okay. How long is it this time? Three days? Four?” He scrolls back through his phone and taps another recording. “Gavin… I miss you so much… I take it back, please don’t break up with me…” My own voice spills out — drunk, crying, loud enough that people nearby turn to look. “This one’s from three months ago,” he says, smiling. He keeps scrolling. I push the phone away from his face. “I mean it this time.” He looks up. The smile fades. “Just for a seat.” His voice drops. “Really, Aria?” Yes. Really. …… A group of us planned this Cape Cod trip for this weekend. Gavin’s intern, Lily Sutton, insists on tagging along. So he refunded everyone’s original tickets and rebooked the entire group on Amtrak Acela. He and the rest are all in Car 2. I’m in Car 10. Alone. The seat next to him? Saved for Lily. And just to make sure I saw it — he posted the screenshot on Instagram. Who’d drop everything to travel with you on a whim? Two seat numbers, side by side. Like two needles in my chest. …… “Aria, don’t be like this.” He sighs. “I missed you the first time I booked. By the time I noticed, Car 10 was all that was left.” “It’s four hours. You don’t need to be jealous.” He says it like I’m overreacting. Like I’m the unreasonable one. I take a breath. “You don’t get it. I’m not jealous about who sits next to you for four hours.” “Got it, got it.” He cuts in. “Then how about this — I book flights right now, just you and me. Done?” “Gavin! Are you switching to flights? Can I come? I’ve never flown before.” Lily slides up out of nowhere. She hands Gavin an Americano like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Then sips her own iced latte through the straw. She notices the tension and adds, sweetly: “Sorry, Aria — I didn’t know what you liked. I’m so used to grabbing his Americano and my latte, I forgot to ask you.” I turn to leave. She grabs my arm. “Aria, please don’t get the wrong idea.” “I’m just an intern. Gavin and I are just friends. My finals are coming up and I’m super stressed. He’s only inviting me out so I can decompress.” “Don’t let stuff like this come between you two.” “Stuff like this?” I laugh, cold. “Asking my boyfriend out to a movie. Alone. That’s stuff like this?” “Sending him photos of you trying on dresses. Stuff like this?” “Forcing yourself onto our trip when no one wants you there. Stuff like this?” “You’re not clueless. You’re just shameless. You know exactly where the line is, and you walk right over it every time.” “You want him so badly? Take him.” Lily’s eyes fill up instantly. She drops her head and bites her lip. “Aria, enough!” Gavin pulls out a tissue and hands it to her. “I get that you’re upset. Take it out on me. Why are you yelling at her?” Her tears roll right on cue. “Gavin… don’t fight. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have come.” She turns and walks toward the exit. Gavin sighs and goes after her. The station is loud. Crowded. I can’t breathe. I watch his back disappear into the crowd. Seven years. And I might as well have been no one.

I packed until 5 a.m. last night. My head is splitting. I walk past the Starbucks to grab a coffee and I hear them before I see them — Gavin’s friends, all sitting together near the gate. “Where’s Aria? Why isn’t she with you guys?” “They’re fighting again. She’s threatening to walk out again.” A short laugh. “Before the trip even starts? What is it this time?” “He didn’t save her the seat next to him.” “That’s it?” Someone shrugs. “Honestly, dude. Only you could put up with her.” Gavin pushes his hair back from his forehead. “Yeah, I need a minute. I’ll deal with her once we hit Cape Cod.” Another guy chimes in. “Aria’s only like that because you let her be. You made your bed.” “Honestly? Lily’s a way easier kind of girl. Sweet. Chill. Hey Lily, what’s your type? Could you go for a guy like me?” Lily covers her mouth and laughs. Looks like Gavin already smoothed things over with her. Before she can answer, Gavin kicks the guy’s shin under the table. “Back off.” Then he turns to Lily, softer now. “Stay away from guys like him. He’s burned through more girlfriends than he can count. If he tries to add you on Instagram — don’t accept it.” The whole group erupts. “Damn, Gavin. A little protective?” “You bring her along but won’t let her near any of us? What’s your deal?” “Saving her for yourself?” Lily blushes hard. “Guys, stop. Even if I liked someone like Gavin — he wouldn’t go for me.” Every head turns toward Gavin. He just smiles. Says nothing. Lily laughs at herself. “See? He’s not denying it. So fine, guys — someone set me up, please.” Then Gavin says, slow and easy. “I never said that.” Someone whistles. The whole group cracks up. “Oh — wait. Oh no.” Lily suddenly counts heads on her fingers. Pulls out her phone. Her face changes. “God. I underbooked the rooms.” “I just looked at the headcount when I booked. Four guys, three girls. I only got three rooms…” She scrolls fast. “Everything’s sold out now. What are we gonna do?” She looks up, sees me, and walks straight toward me. “Aria, I swear I didn’t do it on purpose.” “The hotel next door still has one room. It’s like a thousand dollars more — but Aria, you’re richer than me, right? Could you grab it?” I look at her flatly. “You messed up. Why am I paying for it?” Her face crumples. “Aria… I’m just an intern. I’m not even out of school. I don’t make much…” I cut her off. “You’re the one who insisted on booking everyone’s rooms. Everyone paid you. If you can’t handle it, don’t volunteer for it.” She drops her head and starts crying. “Enough.” Gavin walks over, voice light. “It’s just a room. Just book another one. Aria, you’re not a kid. Relax.” I smile. “Relax while your intern walks all over me?” Lily looks up at Gavin through her tears. “I swear I didn’t mean it.” Gavin lowers his voice and turns to me. “Aria. Lily’s not playing games. You’re being unfair to her.” “I’ll book you a sea-view room. End of discussion. Drop it.” “I’m the one who needs to drop it?” I laugh again. Louder this time. My phone rings suddenly. I turn to walk away and answer it. Gavin grabs my wrist. Hard. “Aria.” His voice is low now. “We got through seven hard years together. And now you’re throwing a fit over a seat?” My skin goes pale where he’s holding me. I yank my arm free. A red mark blooms across my wrist. I stare down at it. I see it clearly. Seven years. I wasn’t his girlfriend. I was his charity case.

I step outside the station and pick up. “Aria, what time do you land at LaGuardia? I’ll come get you.” My best friend Naomi laughs on the other end. “Two in the afternoon.” “You’re actually moving to New York? Gavin’s letting you?” “I broke up with him.” She pauses. “Fine. But — are you really gonna be okay leaving him?” I think about it for two seconds. “Yeah. I am.” I’m serious. When I was seven, I was in a car accident. It wasn’t bad. But it scared me so much I stopped speaking. For three months, I didn’t say a single word. The boys at school made it a game. They tore up my notebooks. Hid my backpack. Pushed me around. Gavin dragged the worst one into the principal’s office himself. He came out with a bloody nose. Wiped it on his sleeve. Grinned at me. “It’s done. Anyone messes with you, they go through me.” I stared at him for a long time. And then I said my first word in three months. “Thank you.” He froze. Then he took off running down the hallway, yelling to everyone he passed. “She talked! She just talked!” After that, we were inseparable. Sixteen years. He was woven into every part of who I was. Until three months ago. Gavin’s firm hired a new intern — Lily Sutton. That’s when everything changed. He changed his lock screen. He swapped it for a landscape shot. From a team retreat at his company. It used to be us on Cape Cod — a wave crashing in, him hoisting me onto his back, me laughing so hard I’m crying. I didn’t ask why. He didn’t explain. Later, Lily kept causing fights, and they kept leading to breakups. Every time we split, I couldn’t sleep. I had to drink myself into bed. Until last month. I was leaving the office at eleven at night. Just as I was about to head home, I heard footsteps behind me. I walked faster. So did they. I called Gavin. Once. Twice. Thirteen times. He didn’t pick up. I panicked. I missed a step on the curb. My ankle rolled, and I hit the pavement hard. My finger must have hit something — because suddenly, the line was ringing. I just realized that my screen had cracked, but the call screen was still open. It connected in under two seconds. The background on his end was dead quiet. I could hear him stand up. “Aria. Don’t hang up. Keep talking to me. Tell me where you are.” I told him what happen to me. “Give me ten minutes.” He was in front of me in nine. His hair was damp at the temples from the run. He crouched down and lifted my ankle into his hands like it was glass. His thumb pressed lightly against the swelling. “Does this hurt?” I nodded. He didn’t say anything. Just stood up. Turned around. Crouched again with his back to me. “Get on.” Later, Gavin explained why he didn’t hear the call. He said Lily had bought an extra movie ticket. Said it would’ve been rude to waste it, so he went with her. He’d put his phone on silent. I looked at him. I could feel something just shift between us. The big screen in the station cycles to a new ad now. It’s the new Forbes cover. From across the waiting area, one of Gavin’s friends points. “Hey — isn’t that Sebastian Crowe?!” I look up. I look at his face. Then I look toward Gavin. He’s scrolling on his phone. Lily is leaning into his side. He doesn’t move away. My phone buzzes in my pocket. “I’ll be waiting in New York.” A second one comes right after. “Pick you up at LaGuardia.”

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My best friend, Lila, threw the bridal bouquet right into my arms. All the werewolves turned their eyes to my boyfriend, Caleb, the Alpha of the Grayfang Pack. “Caleb! Go for it! Marry her!” “Eight years, Alpha! What are you waiting for?” The crowd pushed Caleb toward me. He was wearing a silver-gray groomsman suit, looking as handsome as the man I’d loved for eight years. My heart raced as I gripped the ribbon of the bouquet. But he just smiled, reached out, and pulled the bouquet from my hands. Then he turned and handed it to Serena, an Omega standing nearby. The little Omega blushed, her ears flushing pink. “Thank you, Alpha Caleb,” she whispered. “She caught it first. We shouldn’t steal from a young girl,” he said, rubbing my hair with his usual tenderness. “Next time, I’ll take you to the Silvermoon Forest and pick you a whole basket of fresh white roses. They’re much prettier than this.” I looked at the joy and shyness in Serena’s eyes and sneered inwardly. Caleb didn’t know there would be no next time. My wedding was in exactly seven days. 0

Lila’s face fell instantly, her wolf ears twitching in anger. I grabbed her hand before she could slap him. She turned to me, her eyes redder than mine, her voice shaking with rage. “That bitch did it on purpose! I told all the bridesmaids that the bouquet was meant for you…” “Lila,” I interrupted gently, squeezing her wrist. “The wedding isn’t over yet. Don’t ruin the mood.” The crowd’s attention had already shifted from Caleb and me. Following the bouquet, everyone was staring at Serena’s delicate face. She held the flowers, looking up timidly, stealing a quick glance at Caleb before lowering her head. Caleb had already retreated to the edge of the crowd, as if the public humiliation he had just dealt me was nothing but a trivial matter. The priest, Elder Marcus of the Silvermoon Pack, was experienced. With a few witty blessings, he got the crowd cheering again. Lila gave a bitter glare, took her groom Ethan’s arm, and finished the ceremony. During the reception, I sat at the head table, enduring sympathetic and curious stares from all directions. Caleb was at another table, laughing and drinking with his Grayfang Pack brothers. Serena sat right next to him, her shoulder practically glued to his arm. That was way too close for a secretary. She wasn’t even supposed to be a bridesmaid. Caleb had claimed they needed an extra bridesmaid at the last minute and put her in. He often took her to pack events, saying she was a capable Omega who helped with pack business. He even brought her to Lila’s wedding. When Lila and her groom came to our table to greet us, she hugged me tightly and whispered in my ear, “That Omega has been throwing herself at Caleb for six months. I had her investigated—she plays dirty. Caleb is…” “Lila,” I patted her back, my fingers brushing the pearls on her wedding dress. “You’re the most beautiful bride today. Don’t let bad vibes ruin it.” She snorted but dropped it. When the party ended and guests started to leave, Caleb walked over. “Ready to go?” He naturally took my purse, his other hand reaching to drape over my shoulder in a comforting gesture. I slipped away slightly, avoiding his touch. “You’ve been drinking. I called a pack driver.” He didn’t mind and nodded. “Fair enough.” The car drove into the night. My face was blurred in the window—makeup flawless, but unable to hide the deep exhaustion in my eyes. “Serena reached for the bouquet first tonight. She’s a young Omega, and it’s her first time at a major pack wedding. It’s normal she wanted some good luck,” he said casually. “I was just returning it to the rightful person. Don’t take it to heart.” I didn’t reply, just watched the forest road lamps flash by. After a moment, he looked up from his phone. “Are you mad?” He leaned closer, his fingers running through my hair, gently rubbing the back of my neck like soothing a grumpy pup. “Didn’t we agree? Once we secure the northern mining territory, we’ll have our wedding. I’ll invite the entire pack to witness it, okay?” A wave of bitterness washed over me. It was always like this. Using a gentle tone to make a vague promise of “next time.” And then expecting me to just let it go. “Caleb,” I said, looking at his reflection in the window. “Yeah?” “There’s something I need to talk to you about.” 0

“Lila and I made a vow when we were kids,” I said seriously. “Whoever gets married first, the other must get married within seven days.” “We promised to wear the bridesmaid dresses we made for each other and be the first to witness each other’s happiness.” The car fell silent. His hand on my neck stopped. “A childhood joke, and you took it seriously?” He laughed, his hand moving again in a dismissive rub. “Getting pack territory approvals and Elder Council clearance isn’t that simple. It takes six months to a year of prep.” “We’ll plan it properly. I promise you the perfect wedding. What’s the rush?” He didn’t explain why he refused to publicly promise to marry me. He just skipped straight to “planning the perfect wedding.” I remembered a month ago when Lila excitedly dragged me to her workshop to try on the bridesmaid dress she made. When I put it on, Lila’s eyes lit up, but then she got emotional. “Lyra, you look stunning in this. I made this just for you. When you get married, I’ll design an even better wedding gown!” Caleb was there too. He had been looking down, replying to Snapchat messages from Serena. Hearing Lila, he looked up, smiled, and said, “It looks nice.” Then his eyes went right back to his screen, his fingers typing rapidly. At that moment, besides feeling happy for my best friend, I felt a deep chill for my own eight-year, fruitless relationship. The car pulled up to our villa in Grayfang Pack territory. Caleb unbuckled his seatbelt. Thinking our little chat had cleared the air, he leaned in for a possessive kiss. I placed my hand against his shoulder, stopping him. The Alpha’s aura stiffened for a second. “I’m tired, Caleb.” He stared at me, silent for a few seconds. Finally, he patted my shoulder, his tone carrying his usual condescending patience. “Being a bridesmaid is exhausting. Get some rest.” “Serena said she couldn’t call an Uber back to her pack. It’s not safe for an Omega. I’m going back to give her a ride.” “Okay,” I said flatly, not even looking at him. He didn’t leave immediately. He seemed to be waiting for me to say “drive safe” or complain about him going out so late. But I just pushed the door open and got out. The engine sound faded into the distance. Locking the door, I collapsed onto the couch. It took me a long time before I dragged myself to the bedroom. Passing the nursery, I paused. We had planned this room when we bought the house four years ago. It was supposed to be for our future pups, but now it was filled with junk. I walked in and pulled a dusty box out from the crib. Inside were his handwritten love letters, pack festival tickets, polaroids from our hunting trips in the snowy woods… At the very bottom was a photo from our college pack mixer. He was carrying me on his back under a cherry blossom tree, my arms wrapped around his neck. On the back, he had written: I, Caleb, will carry you on my back for the rest of our lives. I promise. The dim light of the hallway hit those words like a silent slap in the face. Downstairs, I heard a car pull into the garage. A moment later, the door opened softly. Caleb stood at the doorway, smelling strongly of Serena’s sweet perfume. “Not asleep yet?” I didn’t turn around, still kneeling by the crib. “No.” “Why did you dig all this out?” he asked casually. “Feeling nostalgic?” I didn’t answer. I just asked quietly, “Did you drop her off safely?” He paused, then explained, “Yeah. She lives near the pack border, Ubers don’t really go out there.” “Oh.” I lowered my head, carefully packing the photos away. “It’s late. Let’s go to bed,” he said, reaching out to pull me up. I didn’t take his hand. Instead, I pushed myself up, my legs numb and wobbly. “Caleb.” “Yeah?” He stopped. “Let’s break up.” 0

He froze for two seconds, then chuckled. He loosened his tie, his tone carrying a hint of irritation. “Still thinking about that bouquet? Don’t be petty.” It was that same condescending tone he used when I was “throwing a tantrum.” “Fine, I’ll order you a bigger bouquet tomorrow, okay? Go wash up. I have an important pack meeting tomorrow morning.” He turned toward the bathroom. “Within a week,” I said to his back, my voice quiet but crystal clear. “I am getting married.” His hand froze on the bathroom doorknob. A few seconds later, he turned around. His mask of casual patience was gone. “Lyra, stop playing games.” He rubbed his temples, his Alpha pressure slipping out slightly. “Marriage is a big deal. You don’t just do it out of spite.” “October 28th,” I added. “The venue is booked. The dress is ready.” He let out a cold laugh. “Did Lila get in your head again today? Just because she rushed into a marriage doesn’t mean the whole world should be reckless.” “Lyra, wake up. Don’t let her influence you. We’ve been together for so many years…” “Caleb,” I interrupted, looking him dead in the eye, my gaze completely calm. “The invitations are being printed tomorrow.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Lyra, do you think this is going to work? It just makes you look childish and unreasonable!” “My career is peaking right now. Securing the mining territory will elevate the Grayfang Pack. Marriage right now would only distract me and ruin my plans.” “Are you really that desperate to get married?” His words were heavy, designed to suffocate. In the past, this tone would have made me panic, make me apologize and back down. But now, there was only peace. His attention was indeed expensive. He had to give it to the mining project, and to his sweet Omega secretary. Late-night texts, birthday surprises, and weekend spa trips under the guise of “business trips”… What was left for me, his girlfriend, was practically nothing. I met his gaze and nodded. “Yes. My friends are all married. I want a husband too.” With that, I walked into the bedroom. On the nightstand lay a bridal magazine from six months ago. The cover read: The Perfect 3-Month Wedding Prep Guide. I had bought it excitedly back then, but after he said “no rush,” I never opened it again. In the dark, I stared at the ceiling. My phone buzzed. It was Lila on Snapchat: Ugh, can’t sleep. I’m so mad thinking about that Omega. What is wrong with Caleb? We agreed our weddings would be a week apart, remember? Who knew your man would be such a blockhead. The bouquet was literally in your hands and he still didn’t get the hint! You’ve been together eight years, not eight months! Whatever. This is the one time I’ll let you break our promise. My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I typed: When have I ever broken a promise to you? 0

Caleb moved out to his office penthouse. Probably because my sudden wedding plans suffocated him, and he wanted some peace. Good. It gave us both space. I quietly handled everything. I listed our villa on the pack real estate market. The afternoon I handed the keys to the agent, I was packing up some leftover belongings. I found a folder for the mining project tucked inside an old magazine. It was the one Caleb had been working on. After a moment’s hesitation, I decided to drop it off at his penthouse. When I got there, the door was shut, but I could hear laughter inside. He wasn’t alone. I raised my hand to knock. Then, a familiar, sweet voice echoed from inside, sounding helpless. “Alpha Caleb, it’s all my fault. It was my first time catching a bouquet, I didn’t know.” “Now the pack forums are going crazy. A bunch of pack members asked me if we were… you know.” “You have to clarify it in the group chat, or I’ll be too embarrassed to show my face.” My hand froze in midair. Before Caleb could speak, one of his pack brothers laughed teasingly. “Come on, Serena. Do you really want Caleb to clarify, or are you just trying to get him to say something else?” A wave of suggestive laughter followed. Serena whined “Oh, stop it,” but there was no real anger in her voice. “Alright, stop teasing her,” Caleb’s voice sounded warm and gentle. “Don’t worry about it. People will forget in a few days.” People will forget in a few days… Those words triggered a memory. Years ago, I went to his office to help out. He forgot himself and casually put his arm around my shoulder. An Elder walked in and saw us. That afternoon, Caleb made a very dry clarification in the pack group chat, telling everyone not to misunderstand and to focus on work. Back then, I understood. To avoid gossip, I stopped going to his office. But now, my fingers trembled. He didn’t hate office romance. He just hated it when I was the one seen with him. Because I was just an ordinary werewolf with no background, of no help to his career. Another friend asked, “But seriously, Caleb, what’s going on with Lyra? I got her wedding invitation this morning. That came out of nowhere!” A brief silence followed. Caleb let out a cold, humorless chuckle. “Let her play her game.” “I usually indulge her on little things. But this time, she needs to learn that throwing tantrums won’t get her what she wants.” “Whoa,” someone joked. “So the groom is planning to stand her up?” Caleb didn’t deny it. Then, another friend spoke up hesitantly. “Caleb, is this really smart? You and Lyra have been together forever. We’ve been waiting for this wedding…” He paused, then joked half-seriously, “Unless… you actually have other plans? Like… our Serena here?” Serena let out a soft, giggling laugh. “Don’t tease me like that. Alpha Caleb… knows what he’s doing.”

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My boyfriend, Austin Miller, always called me by his ex-girlfriend’s name. On my birthday, when he handed me a gift, the words slipped out of his mouth: “Summer, this is your favorite shade of lipstick.” When he accompanied me to the hospital for an IV drip, he asked: “Summer, does it hurt?” Even on Valentine’s Day, as he held me by the waist in the dark, he whispered: “Summer, just relax.” Every single time, I corrected him with rising anger: “My name is Sera, Austin. Not Summer.” Over time, Austin began to pause for a solid two seconds before calling my name. Eventually, he would manage to get it right: “Sera.” I thought he had finally trained himself to forget her. Until Summer Reed, his ex, joined our company. And just like that, he started slipping up again. Even when he went down on one knee, holding a ring in front of me, he blurted out: “Summer, will you marry me!” But this time, I didn’t get angry. I didn’t correct him. I stopped forcing him to get my name right altogether.

When Austin realized what he had said, his face went completely blank. He scrambled to his feet, trying to reach out to me, but he still hesitated for two seconds before speaking. “Sera, I…” An overwhelming wave of irony washed over me. Even in a moment like this, he still had to calculate before addressing me. I knew exactly what he was going to say. It was just a habit. He was too nervous. After three years together, I was sick to death of his excuses. I took a step back, dodging his hand. “Save it.” “We’re done, Austin. Let’s break up.” “No…” Austin tried to grab my arm. But the commotion had already drawn our coworkers over. This was our annual company retreat, and seeing a proposal, everyone instantly lost their minds. “Oh my god! Austin is actually proposing at the retreat!” “Summer! I had no idea you and Austin were together! Why didn’t you tell us?” I turned around and saw Summer standing not far behind me. My figure had been completely hidden by the trees along the pathway. From a distance, it really did look like Austin was kneeling right in front of her. Summer was covering her mouth, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and pure joy. Our coworkers swarmed her, cheering and pushing her toward Austin. Someone pushing past aggressively shoved me aside. “Hey, they’re proposing here! Why are you standing in the middle like a total third wheel?” I stumbled. My long dress was stepped on, and my styled hair got caught on someone’s jacket zipper, ripping painfully. I was shoved and squeezed out of the crowd, looking utterly pathetic. By the time I managed to look up, the two of them were surrounded by a thick circle of cheering people. Summer, wearing a white lace dress, stood in the center like a glowing bride waiting for her happily ever after. And I, like everyone else, was just a random spectator watching their beautiful moment. Through the gaps in the crowd, my eyes met Austin’s. His expression was incredibly complicated. I saw his lips part, as if he wanted to shout an explanation. But looking at Summer, who was crying tears of joy, he swallowed his words. He forced a smile and slid the ring—the ring meant for me—onto her ring finger. I let out a bitter laugh. I didn’t make a scene. I didn’t demand answers. I just turned around silently, walking away from the celebration that was supposed to be mine. The sky grew dark, and the wind blowing off the river was freezing.

I walked across the bridge alone. My mind kept flashing back to how excited I had been when I accidentally saw Austin’s proposal plans. I had booked the makeup artist a month in advance. I ordered the perfect dress online. I spent eight hours at the salon getting my hair done. Last night, I was so nervous I couldn’t even sleep. I had hugged my blanket, trying to picture Austin’s face when he proposed. He was always so calm and collected. Would he stutter? Would his ears turn bright red? No matter what, I had planned to grab the ring, throw myself into his arms, and scream: “Yes! A million times yes!” If the sunset over the river was just right, the light would coat us in gold, just like in those cheesy romance movies. Maybe a passerby would take a picture of us. I wanted to use it as the cover of our wedding album, placing it in the most visible spot of our future home. Thinking about it back then, I had actually laughed out loud with sweet anticipation. The harsh honk of a car horn snapped me back to reality. Now, with ruined hair and dusty footprints covering my dress, I was walking alone in the dark. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Austin. [Sera, I’m so sorry.] I stopped walking. [But let’s just go with it for now. Summer already accepted in front of everyone. Don’t make it humiliating for her.] [I’ll explain to everyone later that it was just a dare.] I stared at those lines for a long time. But I wasn’t surprised. The second Austin said the wrong name, I knew exactly how he would handle it. It was just like Valentine’s Day, when the massive bouquet of red roses he ordered was accidentally delivered to Summer’s desk. When I wanted to go claim it, he had gently held my hand down. “I’m sorry, Sera. I put the wrong recipient name by accident.” “Just let Summer keep them. Taking them back in front of the whole office would make her look bad.” Another notification popped up in the company retreat group chat. [Austin is buying drinks for the engagement party! Everyone meet at the hotel’s second-floor restaurant now!] This wasn’t a spontaneous decision. It was part of his original proposal plan. Since he had proposed to the wrong person, he decided to just let Summer have everything else too. That was always Austin’s logic. Someone posted a photo of the dinner table. It was the hotel’s highest-tier menu, and the main course was King Crab. I am severely allergic to seafood. Austin could never remember that. But it happened to be Summer’s absolute favorite. Maybe this was the universe guiding him back to where he belonged. I closed the app and opened Uber. Whatever the case, I was officially bowing out. I unlocked the door to our apartment. The first thing I saw was our couple’s portrait sitting on the entryway cabinet. My footsteps faltered. Austin hated taking pictures. I had to beg him for months to get that photo. I remembered the day we moved in. I ran around the apartment holding the frame, trying to find the perfect spot. Austin had watched me, shaking his head. “It’s just a photo, Sera. What does it matter where it goes?” I had turned around and looked at him seriously. “It matters! I want everyone who walks through that door to see how happy we are the very second they enter!” I chose the spot right by the door. The hallway light would hit it perfectly the moment the door opened. It was my only comfort after working late-night overtime in this crowded city, trying to build a life with him. But was I really happy? I picked up the frame, running my fingers over the glass. Even in our couple’s photo, Austin looked stiff and emotionless.

Suddenly, the dozens of photos my coworkers had spammed in the group chat rushed into my mind. In every single one of them, Austin was holding Summer, smiling with a warmth I hadn’t seen in years. Maybe I was the only one who ever felt happy in this relationship. I placed the photo face down on the cabinet and started packing my bags. My clothes, my shoes… When I got to my jewelry, my hands paused. The necklace hanging in the center of the rack was the birthday gift Austin gave me last year. I cleared out all the gifts we had exchanged over the years. Since we were breaking up, there was no point in keeping any of it. For the first and second year, our gifts were mutual and thoughtful. But for the third year, there was nothing from Austin. Not for our anniversary, and not for Valentine’s Day. Because he had “accidentally” addressed them to Summer. I sent Austin a text. [I threw away the things you gave me. The things you bought for me are in the bedroom closet.] [Do whatever you want with them.] By the time I finished packing, he still hadn’t replied. I opened Snapchat. The party had just ended, and everyone was raving about how fun it was. Summer had posted a story. [You said she was just a compromise, a responsibility you couldn’t shake. It’s okay. I will wait for you forever…] No views, no replies yet. She had customized her settings so only I could see it. I tapped the heart icon, closed my phone, and rolled my suitcase toward the door. What they did next was none of my business. But the moment I opened the door, I ran straight into a panting Austin. Seeing me, he let out a sigh of relief. But in the next second, his brows furrowed, his voice filled with annoyance. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back? I was looking all over for you.” I didn’t answer. I just found it hilarious. Looking all over for me? More like he had finished his fancy dinner, accompanied Summer through the entire celebration, and only came looking for me when he finally had some free time. Austin pushed past me into the apartment. Under the bright hallway light, he finally noticed my suitcase. His face fell. “Where do you think you’re going this late?” I looked at him, completely expressionless. “I’m moving out. I’ll come back for the rest of my stuff later.” Hearing this, Austin didn’t beg me to stay. Instead, a familiar look of impatience washed over his face. It was the exact same look he gave me whenever I got upset over him calling me Summer, back when he would half-heartedly promise he didn’t love his ex anymore. He took a deep breath, trying to play the patient partner, and pulled the ring box from his pocket. “Fine. I swear I only love you, okay?” “Today was genuinely an accident. And I only took the team to dinner because the deposit was non-refundable. I didn’t want to waste the money.” He brushed it off as if he had just grabbed a casual burger with coworkers. “I explained everything to Summer, too. Look, I even got the ring back.” “Let’s just drop it.” Austin grabbed my hand, trying to force the ring onto my ring finger. But it was incredibly loose. The moment I let my hand drop, the ring slid right off my finger and clinked onto the floor, rolling to Austin’s feet. The air went dead silent. Looking at Austin’s stunned face, I let out a mocking laugh. “Another accident? Did you get the wrong size when you ordered it too?” When that ring was on Summer’s finger, it had fit flawlessly. Like it was custom-made for her. For once, Austin looked guilty. He picked up the ring, coughing to hide his embarrassment. “It was an oversight. I’ll get it resized tomorrow.” “Don’t bother,” I cut him off coldly.

“When I said we’re breaking up, I meant it. We’re done, Austin.” Austin froze. Slowly, he put the ring back in its box. As he snapped the lid shut, the guilt on his face evaporated, replaced by his usual cold, indifferent mask. “Sera, I said I’d get it fixed.” He looked at me like I was a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Every time something minor happens, you threaten to break up and run away. It’s getting really exhausting.” My breathing hitched. Suddenly, I remembered the night of our project launch party. I had won the grand prize in the company raffle: a fully sponsored, week-long paid vacation. I had been ecstatic. I hadn’t taken a day off in three months, and I hadn’t seen my parents in two years. But after I booked my flight and my parents took time off work to wait for my arrival, HR called me. They told me my prize had already been claimed. “Austin came by and redeemed it. He said he had your permission to transfer the vacation voucher to your department’s new intern, Summer Reed.” When I confronted him with tear-filled eyes, Austin didn’t even look up from his laptop. “Oh, that. I must have written down the wrong name by mistake.” “Then go get it back!” I had screamed, grabbing his phone out of his hand. But the screen was open to Summer’s Instagram post. [A fully paid vacation to a music festival! Best boss ever! Thank you, A~] It was a slap to the face. My hands shook as I held the screen up to him. “An accident? You call this an accident?” Austin didn’t apologize. Instead, he blamed me with chilling coldness. “The mistake was already made. I just maximized the utility.” “Giving incentives to subordinates builds my authority as a leader.” “Sera, you’ve been at this company long enough. Can you please start looking at the bigger picture?” I was driven mad by his hypocritical corporate speak. That was the first time I ever threatened to break up with him. Even when he called me Summer a thousand times, I had never thought about leaving. I stayed in a hotel for three days, but I didn’t receive a single text of apology. Eventually, I realized Austin only treated me this way because he knew how much I loved him. He knew I would always forgive him. He knew I had abandoned a stable job in my hometown and moved thousands of miles to this city just because he said he hated long-distance relationships. The day I crawled back home, he had a smirk of victory on his face. Taking my suitcase, he had said casually: “Don’t do that again. Be mature.” The Austin standing in front of me now looked exactly like he did that day. But this time, I wasn’t going to crawl back. I repeated myself, clearer and firmer than ever. “I am serious, Austin. We are over.” He slammed the door on his way out, leaving only a cold parting shot: “You are completely unstable right now. Get some professional help and calm down!” I didn’t care where he went. Summer’s Instagram story popped up immediately. [I always knew I was your first choice.] In the photo, the proposal ring was back on her finger, fitting perfectly. I liked the post. I took one last look at the apartment I had lovingly decorated piece by piece, and quietly shut the door behind me. The next morning at work, the two of them walked in together. The office erupted in congratulations. I ignored the noise, keeping my head down to work on my transition files. Since joining this company, I had closed deals worth over a hundred million dollars. Next week, I was scheduled to be promoted to Sales Director, which meant I would lead my own department and would no longer have to work under Austin. Carrying my files, I stood up and ran right into Austin.

His mouth opened, as if he wanted to say something. I walked right past him without a word. I walked straight to HR. “Jerry, here is my promotion paperwork. Let me know if anything is missing.” Jerry, the HR rep, flipped through my file with a confused expression. “But your department’s promotion slot has already been submitted.” “What?” I froze. “Austin submitted it yesterday. He said Summer Reed was the main contributor to the high-value project, so he requested the promotion slot go to her. She’s being fast-tracked to Team Lead.” Team Lead was my current position. Austin was literally stealing my hard work and success to pave a path for his ex-girlfriend. My phone buzzed. [Summer helped cover up the proposal mix-up yesterday. Clarifying it publicly would destroy her reputation.] [Think of this promotion as compensation for her. Your promotion can wait until next quarter.] I stared at the screen, a blinding rage erupting in my chest. I was furious at Austin’s utter shamelessness. But I was even more furious at myself for loving him so blindly in the past, allowing him to treat my career like his personal playground. But this time, I wasn’t going to take it lying down. Without a second thought, I filed a formal complaint disputing Summer’s promotion. Since I had proof that I was the sole creator and executor of the project, HR verified and rejected her promotion in less than half a day. During that time, Austin sent me dozens of angry messages. I ignored every single one of them. When the notification popped up on my computer screen confirming my own promotion was approved, I finally let out a long breath. My phone lit up with a final text from Austin: [Are you happy now that you’ve thrown your little fit? Make sure you come home early tonight. Don’t make things uglier than they already are.] Even now, Austin thought I was just acting out of jealousy. With a few taps, I blocked his number and sent him straight to my blacklist. Then, I went back to my temporary hotel room. The next morning. After the sales department’s morning meeting, I was asked to stay behind to discuss my transition to Sales Director. But the moment I stepped out of the conference room, the atmosphere in the office had completely changed. When people saw me, they looked at me like I was a piece of trash, quickly lowering their heads and whispering as they hurried past. Snatches of their conversation drifted over. “So she’s the homewrecker?” “She seemed so professional. I had no idea she was that kind of person…” A terrible feeling crept into my chest. I hurried back to my desk and opened WhatsApp. The company group chat had been completely spammed by Summer. [A certain Team Lead, Sera Vance, has repeatedly harassed and tried to seduce my fiancé. When she failed, she maliciously sabotaged my promotion out of spite. How can the company allow someone so toxic to work here!] The comments underneath were brutal. “No wonder she didn’t show up to the engagement dinner. She was jealous!” Summer had uploaded dozens of cropped screenshots of my chat history with Austin. She had deleted all of Austin’s replies, making it look like I was unilaterally begging and harassing him. To avoid office gossip, Austin and I had never made our relationship public. But since everyone had just eaten his free engagement dinner, it was obvious whose side they were going to take. The rumors had been brewing for an hour, with thousands of messages flying back and forth. Yet, Austin, the co-star of this drama, had said absolutely nothing to defend me. In fact, those screenshots were taken from his perspective. My stomach turned. I started typing rapidly, trying to draft a clarification. Suddenly, a loud commotion erupted at the entrance of the office. Summer pushed past the coworkers trying to stop her and marched straight to my desk. Before I could even react, a sharp slap landed squarely on my cheek. “You cheap homewrecker! Seducing my fiancé and you still have the nerve to show up to work!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “433927”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I loved Alpha James for ten years. But at his twenty-eighth birthday gala, I watched him announce that he had found his Fated Mate, Sophia. He mocked my devotion. Me, his adopted sister. Sophia staged a fall down the stairs. In retaliation, James whipped me with a silver-laced whip and locked my heavily wounded body in the basement. He looked at me with pure disgust. “You are so malicious. Who could ever love someone like you?” In the end, I died a miserable death in that cold, dark basement. Reborn into a new life, I stood before my mother and said with absolute resolve, “I will marry the Alpha King.” Alpha King Alexander Blackwood, the madman rumored to have killed his three previous fiancées. Emily Carter POV At the twenty-eighth birthday gala of Alpha James of the Moonhowl Pack, he gave me a massive “surprise.” In front of all the guests, he led Sophia Langley onto the stage and took the microphone. “To mark this special day, I have an announcement. I have found my Fated Mate. She is Sophia of the Ironclaw Pack. Furthermore, starting tomorrow, Sophia will take full control of the Moonhowl Pack’s core project, the development of the Silver-Purge Salve.” Instantly, the entire banquet hall fell dead silent. Every single gaze stabbed into me like a knife. Emily Carter. My parents were brave werewolf warriors who died protecting the Elder Alpha and Elder Luna. After their sacrifice, the Elder Alpha adopted me. I became James’s sister in name. I was ten that year. Since then, everyone in the pack knew that James had a loyal shadow. Eventually, I fell in love with James. Because I had never awakened my own wolf, I threw myself into studying herbal medicine to prove I was worthy of him. The “Silver-Purge Salve” project was my life’s work. I had spent three long years, pulled countless all-nighters, and poured my blood, sweat, and tears into inventing it for the Moonhowl Pack. Now, with one casual sentence, he handed my hard-won creation to his Fated Mate on a silver platter. Everyone held their breath. They were waiting for me to lose my mind. They expected me to charge the stage like a madwoman, rip Sophia’s hair out, and make a complete fool of myself. After all, everyone knew how crazily I loved James. Since I declared my love for him at twelve, I had spent ten years keeping every other woman away from him. Any woman who tried to crawl into his bed was ruthlessly thrown out. But this time, I didn’t react. I simply put down my wine glass, took a pre-prepared file and a velvet gift box from my bag, and walked up to the stage in my high heels. I pushed the documents and the box toward them. “Congratulations. Happy birthday. This file contains all the core data and formulas for the Silver-Purge Salve project, Luna Sophia.” The velvet box popped open, revealing a priceless vintage Patek Philippe watch. I had saved up for five years to buy it at an auction. The moment I said “Luna Sophia,” James’s hand froze mid-air. He lifted his gaze, his dark, piercing eyes locking onto me, trying to drill a hole through my face. After analyzing me for half a minute, his brows furrowed, and he let out a cold sneer. “Emily, what kind of game are you playing now?” His tone was dripping with mockery and suspicion. I stared at the face I had adored for a decade. He had sharp, defined brows and eyes like stars. His jawline was cold and chiseled. I used to love this face so much that I would have gladly died for him. But now, my heart was a pool of dead water. “I’m not playing games.” I lowered my eyes. “I genuinely wish you both the best. Since you’ve found your Fated Mate, I’ll pack my things and move out of the Packhouse tomorrow. I’ll make room for you guys.” James’s eyebrows knitted together tightly. He stared at me, trying to detect even a shred of pretense on my face. There was nothing. An inexplicable wave of irritation washed over him. Just as he was about to speak, Sophia gently tugged at his sleeve. “James, is Emily mad at me? If she doesn’t want me to have it, I can just reject the project.” Her voice was soft, fragile, and utterly pathetic. James immediately grabbed her hand and glared at me coldly. “She’s the one who wants to get lost. Nobody is stopping her. Emily, remember what you just said. Get the hell out tomorrow. And don’t come back without my permission!” “Fine.” Without hesitation, I turned, walked off the stage, and left the hall. Nobody knew that I had already died once. In my past life, at this very birthday gala, I had lost my mind. I screamed, threw a tantrum, and slapped Sophia in front of everyone. To punish me and please her, James locked me in the basement for an entire month. Later, relying on his mother’s affection for me, I nagged, begged, and even drugged James to get into his bed, forcing him to marry me. But a forced marriage was nothing but hell. After the wedding, he treated me like an enemy. He humiliated and crushed me at every turn. He even brought Sophia into our bedroom to make love right in front of me, watching cold-heartedly as I cried in agony. Eventually, Sophia had me secretly murdered. After my death, my soul met Selene. The Moon Goddess of werewolf faith. She told me that I wasn’t wolf-less. I was the chosen one, the destined Luna Queen. But my Fated Mate was poisoned. His agony was transmitted to me, keeping my wolf in a constant state of near-death weakness. Having a second chance at life, I finally understood. Unrequited love is just a curse. My obsession had destroyed the Moonhowl Pack and myself. But my destiny lay elsewhere. In my past life, because the Alpha King had never found his Luna Queen, the wolves of the kingdom were filled with anxiety and aggression. Even though the Alpha King used his immense power to suppress the chaos, he couldn’t stop the wars instigated by ambitious rebels. Of course, another reason was that the Alpha King was poisoned. He was forced to miss almost every major pack celebration, which kept him from noticing the dark undercurrents rising among the packs. But this time, things would be different. I would stop it all from happening. Returning to the Packhouse, I walked straight to my adoptive mother’s room. Seeing her face so alive and healthy, tears spilled from my eyes. She rushed forward and hugged me tight. “Emily, what’s wrong? Did James bully you again? I heard about him giving your patent to Sophia. I’ll go rip him a new one tomorrow!” I shook my head, staring deeply into her eyes. “Mom, I heard the Council is demanding you send a bride to the Alpha King for an alliance.” I lifted my chin, my gaze absolute. “I want to marry Alpha King Alexander Blackwood.”

Emily Carter POV “You want to marry Alpha King Alexander Blackwood?” My mother’s face went pale with horror. She gripped my shoulders, her voice shaking violently. “Emily, have you lost your mind? Do you have any idea what kind of man he is? Ever since that battle years ago, he goes completely feral every single night. The Council is desperate to find a compatible mate to suppress the poison in his blood. But the previous three fiancées sent by other packs, they all vanished into thin air the moment they entered his castle. If you go there, will you even survive?” I didn’t try to pull away. I just squeezed her hands back. My voice was soft but steady. “Rumors aren’t always true. Besides, in everyone else’s eyes, aren’t I just a crazy woman who would do anything to steal her brother? A madman and a madwoman. We’re a perfect match.” “But…” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I’ve always loved you like my own daughter. How can I push you into a burning hell?” “You know the state of the Moonhowl Pack better than I do, Mom. James has been embezzling a massive chunk of pack funds just to buy Sophia luxury items. Didn’t the Council say that if we send a bride, the Alpha King will provide a massive financial bailout for our pack?” I calmly laid out the facts, watching her face crumble as I pushed harder. “And once I’m married, James can finally be with Sophia without constantly worrying about me. The Moonhowl Pack is saved, and James gets his freedom. Everyone wins.” My mother stared at me for a long, painful moment before burying her face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. “My sweet girl… I am so sorry…” I gently patted her back, feeling nothing but a profound sense of relief. “Please keep this a secret from James for now. I don’t want him thinking I’m doing this to guilt-trip him. In two weeks, I will leave directly with the Alpha King’s men.” Two weeks. What a coincidence. That was the exact day James planned to formally propose to Sophia. In my last life, I ruined his proposal. In this life, I would use my marriage to buy him the future he wanted. After comforting my mother, I went back to my room. The moment I pushed the door open, the room suffocated me with reminders of James. The walls were plastered with candid photos I had taken of him. The closet was stuffed with clothes he had casually bought for me. Even the lighter sitting on my desk was a cheap thing he had tossed aside, which I had cherished like a sacred relic. Looking at these things I once valued more than my life, I felt a wave of nausea. I grabbed several large black trash bags and began to purge. Photos? Ripped to shreds. Clothes? Cut into rags. Gifts? Smashed to pieces. Bit by bit, I swept ten years of pathetic, unrequited delusion into the trash. It took me three grueling hours. I was dripping with sweat, and my fingers were bleeding from sharp plastic edges, but looking at the empty room, my chest felt lighter than ever. I took a shower and had just lain down to sleep when my bedroom door was violently kicked open. A loud crash echoed through the room. I bolted upright, startled. James stood at the doorway, radiating pure fury. He was gripping a tablet in his hand, his eyes dark enough to kill. He marched over to my bed and slammed the tablet hard against my chest. “Emily Carter, look at you! You pretend to be all sweet and compliant on the outside, voluntarily handing over your research, while stabbing us in the back with this disgusting stunt!” I gasped from the impact, wincing as I picked up the tablet. On the screen was the top trending topic on the pack’s internal forum. “Sophia Langley of the Ironclaw Pack, Bully and Abuser Exposed.” “Sophia Langley’s Criminal Past!” “Sophia the Homewrecker!” The leak was highly detailed, complete with photos and documents. It listed Sophia’s punishment records for bullying pack members back in the Ironclaw Pack, and even featured intimate photos of her with several different male wolves. To an ordinary werewolf, these actions might not seem like a death sentence. But Sophia was about to become the Luna of the Moonhowl Pack. A Luna was expected to possess impeccable morals and a nurturing grace to balance the rough, hot-tempered Alphas. She was the anchor of the pack’s stability. Unsurprisingly, the comment section was flooded with members questioning her fitness to lead. I glanced at it briefly before tossing the tablet back onto the bed. “I didn’t do this.” “If it wasn’t you, then who?!” James suddenly lunged, wrapping his hand tightly around my throat. He pinned me against the headboard, the veins on his hand bulging. “Who else but a psycho like you would keep digging up dirt on Sophia? Do you honestly think that ruining her reputation will make me accept you? In your dreams!” My breath was cut off, but I didn’t claw at his hand. I just stared back at him coldly. “James Whitfield, calm down! I said, it wasn’t me.” “You dare lie to me!” He gritted his teeth, his grip tightening. “For years, you’ve been hostile to every single woman who got close to me. Private threats, public defamation. You did it all! Emily, you are so disgusting and wicked!” Just then, hurried footsteps echoed outside. Sophia rushed into the room, tears streaming down her face, and threw her arms around James’s arm. “James, stop! Please! Emily didn’t mean to… she just cares about you too much. It doesn’t matter if my reputation is ruined, as long as you two don’t fight because of me…” She gasped for air, looking as if she might faint. James immediately let go of me, pulling her protectively into his chest. When he looked back at me, his eyes were cold as ice. “Emily Carter, make a public statement right now. Admit that you fabricated all of this, and apologize to Sophia publicly!”

Emily Carter POV “Why should I?” I clutched my bruised neck, coughing hoarsely as I looked up to meet James’s gaze. “I will never apologize for something I didn’t do.” James’s face darkened instantly. He let go of Sophia and took a menacing step toward me, his voice dangerously low. “Emily, have I been too soft on you? Sophia is my Fated Mate and the future Luna. If this scandal isn’t cleared up, the pack will reject her! If you don’t issue a statement, she’s ruined!” “If she’s ruined, how is that my problem?” I let out a cold laugh. “She knows exactly what kind of trash she did in her past. James Whitfield, you’re protecting her so blindly. Aren’t you afraid you’re holding a piece of garbage?” Slap. A violent slap struck my face. My head snapped to the side, my ears ringing as the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. The room fell into a suffocating silence. Sophia gasped, covering her mouth in mock horror. “James, why did you hit her…” James’s hand hung in the air, trembling slightly. He hadn’t expected to hit me that hard. A flash of regret crossed his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by cold indifference. “That’s the price for your filthy mouth.” He said coldly. “Emily, I’ll give you one last chance. Are you going to clear her name or not?” I slowly turned my head back, wiped the blood from my lip with my thumb, and laughed. I laughed so hard tears almost came out. This was the man I had loved for ten years. For a woman filled with lies, he played judge and jury without knowing the truth, and even raised his hand against me. “Alpha James, didn’t you say I did this because I love you?” Barefoot, I stepped off the bed and walked over to the corner, kicking open the massive black trash bags. Shredded clothes, torn photographs, and smashed gifts spilled across the floor. James’s pupils contracted instantly. He stared at a torn photo on the ground. It was a picture from his eighteenth birthday, a photo I had practically begged and annoyed him to take with me. He had hated it, but I had framed it and kept it by my bedside like a treasure. Now, his face in the photo was cut to pieces. “Do you see this?” I pointed at the mess on the ground. “I don’t love you anymore. Your things disgust me. So believe me, I don’t have the time or energy to waste on your little precious princess.” James’s face drained of color. “You…” He opened his mouth, but his throat was too tight to produce words. Seeing this, a flash of jealousy and malice shot through Sophia’s eyes. She quickly grabbed James’s sleeve, whispering gently, “James, since Emily said it wasn’t her, let’s just leave it. We’ll find another way. Don’t force her.” James took a deep breath and gave me one last frigid look. “It better not be you. Otherwise, I will make you pay.” With that, he pulled Sophia and walked out. I stared at their retreating figures and muttered, “Get lost.” James paused for a fraction of a second, his back stiffening, but he didn’t turn around. He stormed off. I collapsed onto the floor amidst the wreckage and closed my eyes. It was over. Truly over. The next morning, I carried my suitcase downstairs, ready to leave the Packhouse. I wanted to find a quiet place to stay before the Alpha King’s men arrived, away from their drama. As I reached the living room, James and Sophia were heading out to manage the public relations crisis. Seeing my suitcase, James frowned. “Where do you think you’re going?” “Back to my parents’ old house,” I said flatly. “Didn’t you tell me to get the hell out yesterday?” James choked on his words, his expression souring. Before he could speak, the front doors were violently thrown open. A disheveled woman with bloodshot eyes burst in, clutching a gleaming silver dagger. She lunged at Sophia like a maniac. “Sophia Langley! You bitch! You framed me for seducing the Alpha and got me kicked out of my pack! My mother died protecting me from rogues because of you! Today, I’m taking your life!” It happened too fast. Nobody had time to react. The dagger sliced through the air, heading straight for Sophia’s chest.

Emily Carter POV “Sophia!” James reacted with lightning speed. He wrapped his arm around Sophia’s waist, pulling her into his chest and spinning away from the lethal blade. But he forgot that I was standing right behind him. Not only did his spin expose me directly to the danger, but he also shoved me hard. The force sent me crashing right into the path of the frantic woman’s dagger. The sound of metal tearing through flesh echoed sharply in the quiet living room. An agonizing pain erupted just below my left shoulder blade. The cold silver blade sank deep into my back, and hot blood immediately spurted out. The burning sensation of silver began to eat away at my wound. I let out a strangled groan, my knees buckling as I collapsed onto the floor. “Emily!” My mother screamed, rushing down the stairs. I clutched my wound, but blood kept oozing through my fingers. My vision began to blur, but before darkness claimed me, I saw James’s face clearly. He was holding a trembling Sophia, staring at me lying in a pool of blood. His eyes were wide with shock and a fleeting moment of pure panic. His lips moved, seemingly calling my name. But I couldn’t hear him anymore. When I woke up, I was in the Packhouse clinic. The sharp smell of antiseptic made me wince. The moment I opened my eyes, I saw my mother sitting by the bed, her eyes swollen. “Emily, you’re finally awake! You scared me to death…” She squeezed my hand, tears spilling over again. I forced a weak smile. “Mom, I’m fine.” “Fine?! The blade was an inch away from your heart! And it was silver!” My mother snapped, turning her head to glare at James, who was standing by the window. “James Whitfield, are you blind?! It’s one thing to protect that trash, but why did you throw Emily in front of the knife? She is your sister!” James stood in the shadows, his face incredibly dark. He stared at me, his jaw clenched tightly, his voice hoarse. “It wasn’t intentional. It was an emergency, and I didn’t see her behind me.” “Didn’t see her? You’re an Alpha, and you can’t even protect your own family?” My mother was shaking with rage. “Let me tell you, Emily is about to…” “Mom!” I used every ounce of my remaining strength to cut her off. My mother froze, seeing the pleading look in my eyes, and reluctantly swallowed the rest of her words. James’s sharp instincts picked up on the tension. His brow furrowed. “She’s about to what?” “Nothing,” I said coldly, looking straight at him. “My mother means I’m leaving the Packhouse soon anyway, so I won’t be an eyesore. My wound is fine, so please don’t trouble yourself, Alpha James.” James’s face hardened instantly. He walked to the bedside, looking down at me with his usual arrogant contempt. “Emily, you don’t need to play the victim in front of me. Don’t think that taking a knife for Sophia will make me soft on you. This trick is pathetic.” I stared at him, feeling absolutely nothing. “James, do you have a persecution complex?” I said quietly. “I took this hit to pay you back for the ten years you acted as my brother. From now on, we are even. The door is right there. Get out. I need to rest.” He glared at me, trying to find a crack in my armor, but ultimately just sneered. “Good. Keep it that way.” He turned and stormed out of the clinic. I spent a week under the healer’s care. The moment my wound closed up, I demanded to be discharged. The day the Alpha King’s escort was coming was drawing near, and I didn’t want any complications. On the day of my release, it wasn’t my mother who came to pick me up, but James’s Beta, David Mercer. The car didn’t head back to the Packhouse. Instead, it pulled up outside an exclusive private VIP lounge. “Miss Emily, Alpha James is waiting for you inside,” David said respectfully. I frowned but got out of the car. When I pushed the VIP room door open, the dim lights revealed a room filled with the heavy scent of alcohol and smoke. James sat in the center, with Sophia clinging weakly to his chest. Opposite them sat a bulky, greasy-looking man with a disgusting leer on his face. It was Marcus Reed, a notorious scumbag in the city. He was a lone wolf who ran underground businesses, interested in nothing but money and women. The moment I entered, Marcus’s eyes lit up, his gaze roaming shamelessly over my body. “Ah, so this is Emily? A real beauty.” My stomach churned. I looked coldly at James. “What is the meaning of this?” James flicked his cigarette ash, his tone incredibly casual. “Because of the forum scandal, some Council members are trying to impeach Sophia. She needs a win to prove herself. Mr. Reed here is willing to sign a major contract with us. Didn’t you say you don’t owe me anything anymore? Have a few drinks with Mr. Reed tonight, help Sophia secure this contract, and then your debt to the Moonhowl Pack will be fully paid.” I stared at him in utter disbelief. To pave the way for Sophia, to squeeze every last drop of value out of me, he was willing to throw me to a notorious predator? “James, you make me sick.” I turned to leave. “Stop right there!” James’s voice was like ice. “Emily, if you dare walk out that door today, I will freeze all your accounts and kick you out of the Moonhowl Pack. You are an orphan. Without us, you are nothing but a stray dog.”

Emily Carter POV My feet froze in place. It wasn’t because I was afraid of being kicked out of the Moonhowl Pack. It was because if I had a total fallout with James right now, the alliance with the Alpha King might fall through. I had to endure this for just two more weeks. Taking a deep breath, I turned around and sat down at the very edge of the sofa. Seeing my submission, a cold smirk of triumph flashed in James’s eyes. “Mr. Reed, I leave Emily in your hands. Enjoy your chat.” James stood up, wrapping his arm around Sophia’s waist as they walked out. At the door, Sophia looked back at me, her lips curling into a wicked, triumphant grin. The heavy door shut, blocking out all outside noise. Marcus immediately slid closer, his suffocating mix of cheap cologne and alcohol making me gag. “Emily, don’t be so cold. Alpha James practically gave you to me. Stick with me, and I promise you a good life.” He poured a glass of wine and held it in front of my face. “Come on, have a drink. Let’s get friendly.” I pushed his hand away coldly. “I don’t drink. Mr. Reed, just because James is crazy doesn’t mean you have to be.” Marcus’s face darkened, but then he let out a filthy chuckle. “I like feisty girls. Today, you’re drinking this wine whether you want to or not!” He suddenly lunged, grabbing my jaw with brute force and forcing the wine down my throat. I fought back wildly, spilling most of it over my clothes, but a small gulp still went down. Marcus let go, grinning wickedly. “There we go. There’s a little ‘extra ingredient’ in that glass. You’ll find out how good I am in a minute.” My heart sank. The drug hit me incredibly fast. Within minutes, my body started burning up, my limbs felt like lead, and my vision blurred. Grinning like a maniac, Marcus began to unbuckle his belt, lunging at me. “Get off me!” I bit down hard on my tongue, the sharp pain bringing a brief moment of clarity. As Marcus came at me, I grabbed a heavy crystal ashtray from the coffee table and slammed it into his temple with all my remaining strength. “Ah!” Marcus screamed, clutching his bleeding head as he collapsed onto the couch. I seized the opportunity to stumble out of the room, running for my life. The drug was getting stronger. My steps were uneven, and I almost fell several times. The wound on my left shoulder tore open from the frantic movement, blood soaking through my bandage, but I couldn’t care less about the pain. I didn’t even know how I managed to escape the venue, hail a cab, and make it back to the Packhouse. But when I pushed the front doors open, what welcomed me wasn’t my mother’s concern, but an interrogation. The living room was brightly lit. James sat in the middle of the sofa, his face livid. Sophia stood beside him, looking smug. And Marcus Reed’s parents were pointing at me, screaming at the top of their lungs. “Alpha James, we came to negotiate a partnership out of respect for you! And this little bitch dared to assault my son! You must give us justice today, or we will take this to the Council and put her on trial!” I collapsed onto the floor, panting heavily, my body burning like fire. “He drugged me.” I rasped. “Drugged?!” Marcus’s mother shrieked. “My son can have any woman he wants! Why would he drug you? It’s obvious you tried to seduce him, and when it failed, you violently attacked him!” Sophia chimed in at the perfect moment. “Exactly, Emily. Mr. Reed is so wealthy, why would he do such a thing? You must have lost your temper again. Just apologize to them.” I lifted my head, staring directly at James. “James, do you believe me?” James looked at me, a complex flash of emotion crossing his eyes. But in the end, his voice was cold and detached. “Emily, you’ve disappointed me. I gave you a chance to serve the Moonhowl Pack, and you repaid us by almost turning the Reed family into our enemies.” He stood up, looking down at me as if I were a piece of irredeemable garbage. “Since you refuse to behave, don’t blame me for being ruthless. I will have to punish you according to pack law!” Pack law. The punishment of the Moonhowl Pack was a whip lined with silver thorns. I stared at him in utter horror, my heart completely dying in that very second. “James, I still have a fresh stab wound…” my voice was hoarse. “You brought that on yourself!” James snapped coldly. “Kneel!” Two werewolf warriors stepped forward, forcing me down onto my knees. James took the silver-thorned whip. Without a single trace of hesitation, he brought it down hard across my back. Flesh tore. I bit my lip so hard it bled, refusing to let out a single scream. With every strike, a spray of blood flew, accompanied by the agonizing burn of silver. By the tenth strike, my back was a bloody mess. Combined with the reopened stab wound on my shoulder, blood completely stained the carpet. I lay on the floor like a dying dog, finding it painful even to breathe. “Throw her in the basement,” James tossed the bloody whip aside, his voice devoid of any warmth. “No food or water without my permission. Let her reflect on what she did!” The heavy basement door slammed shut. Complete darkness swallowed me. Curled up in the cold, damp corner, feeling my life slowly slipping away, my soul felt a strange sense of liberation. James Whitfield, in this life, I have finally paid you back, with interest. There were only three days left until the Alpha King’s arrival.

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The day I was released from prison, I watched my husband bring Brenda into our home. Seven years. I had taken the fall for him and served his sentence. In the prison hospital, I nearly bled to death giving birth to our child. And now, my own son was nestled in Brenda’s arms, calling her “Mommy” in his sweet little voice. I stood in the autumn wind, wearing the same faded coat I had gone to prison in, my entire body numb with cold. Logan Vance pulled a plane ticket from the inner pocket of his tailored suit and handed it to me as if he were dismissing a beggar. “Everything’s been arranged for you overseas. Take the ticket and leave. Don’t come back and disrupt the peaceful life we’ve built here.” I accepted the ticket. Its sharp edge sliced my fingertip. “Does he know who I am?” I asked. Logan’s face darkened. “Chloe, don’t make a scene.” The front door slammed shut in my face. I tore the ticket in half, checked into a motel, and burned my son’s first lock of hair together with my wedding ring until both turned to ashes. Then I signed a body donation agreement. The contract stated that after my death, my husband, my child, and even my parents would have no legal right to claim a single handful of my ashes. Logan Vance… We’re even now. I owe you nothing anymore.

Chloe’s POV On the day I was released from prison, I stood across the street and watched my husband welcome Brenda into our home. Not only that, but my own biological son was cuddled up in Brenda’s arms, sweetly calling her “Mommy.” I was still wearing the same worn-out coat I had on when I went to prison seven years ago. The autumn wind swept past, and the pilled, faded hem of my coat clung coldly to my legs, carrying a musty smell that no amount of washing could ever remove. Inside the living room, the curtains were only half-drawn. The lights were on, blindingly bright. Logan sat on the sofa in a perfectly tailored suit, his tie flawlessly knotted. Brenda sat right beside him. The delicate diamond bracelet on her wrist sparkled under the lights. She was sitting in the exact spot that used to be mine. On the coffee table, my old photos were gone. In their place was a brand-new family portrait. In the photo, Brenda held Logan’s arm, smiling as if she were his real wife. Just then, the sound of cheerful footsteps came from the hallway. A little boy ran out like a happy little bird, throwing himself straight into Brenda’s arms. “Mommy, I want some chocolate cake!” My fingernails dug violently into the hem of my coat, my knuckles turning white from the strain. That was my baby. The baby I had given birth to on a cold, iron bed in the prison hospital, nearly bleeding to death. But before I could even get a proper look at my newborn son, Logan’s family had violently torn him away from me. Back then, I only got to hold my baby for ten minutes. Seven years had passed. My baby could run and jump now, but he was burying his face in Brenda’s lap, calling another woman “Mommy.” Click. The front door of the mansion opened. Logan stepped out. The moment his eyes landed on me, I saw his brows furrow in pure disgust. His cold gaze swept over my miserable, shabby clothes. His eyes lingered on my bare wrist for half a second before quickly looking away. He reached into his suit jacket, pulled out a one-way plane ticket, and coldly thrust it in front of my face. “I’ve set everything up for you over there. Once you land, start a new life.” I didn’t take it. I just stared down at the destination printed on the ticket. “Don’t go inside,” Logan said, his voice dropped low, carrying an commanding tone. “Mason is doing great. Brenda takes amazing care of him. You just got out of prison. Don’t ruin the peace we have in this house.” He forced the ticket into my hand. The sharp paper edge cut into my finger, a stinging pain. After handing over the ticket, Logan’s hand remained suspended in the air. I calmly folded the ticket and slipped it into my pocket. Seven years ago, I had accepted another piece of paper from the Vance family with the same submissive obedience. Back then, Logan was facing charges of embezzlement and wire fraud. The entire Vance Group was on the brink of collapse. Logan’s mother, Mrs. Vance, had called me into her study. She slammed a stack of false confession documents in front of me and said coldly, “Logan cannot go to jail. Our family only let you marry him because your face resembles his late first love. The Vance family gave you status and luxury. Now, it’s time to pay us back.” Even though I was married to Logan, I was never allowed a seat at the main family dinner table. Logan’s mother despised me. Even the maids looked down on me. Yet, for Logan’s sake, I was foolish enough to take the fall. I went to prison for him. On the day of my sentencing, the officers escorted me into the police cruiser. Through the tinted window, I looked back. Logan was standing at the back of the crowd, his black overcoat buttoned tightly, his face deathly pale. Back then, I was still stupidly making excuses for him, thinking he was just as heartbroken and helpless as I was. In my second month of prison, I found out I was pregnant. My baby was born in the dingy prison ward. There was nothing but cold metal and sterile walls. When Mason let out his first cry, I struggled to pull him to my chest, ripping the IV out of my arm and leaving a trail of blood. But that very afternoon, the Vance family’s lawyers forced me to sign a termination of visitation rights agreement, taking my baby away. I held him for only ten minutes. Three months before my release, dragging my terminally ill body, I begged a guard for a pen and wrote a letter. I pleaded with Logan to bring Mason to see me just once. That letter was still tucked under the thin mattress of my prison cell. And now, my Mason was sitting on the plush carpet of our old home, eating oranges peeled by Brenda, calling her “Mommy” again and again. I lifted my head, my eyes burning red. “Does he even know who I am?” Logan’s face instantly darkened. “Chloe, stop throwing a tantrum. Mason is doing perfectly fine.” “I asked you,” I took a step closer, my voice raw and raspy, “Does he have any idea who actually gave birth to him?!” “Logan, the phone keeps ringing. Come inside and grab it. Mason is asking for you, too.” Brenda’s sweet, gentle voice drifted out from the house. Logan glanced back, his tone turning incredibly harsh and ruthless. “All your shares and assets were liquidated years ago. This house has nothing to do with you anymore. The Vance family owes you nothing. Take the ticket and leave. Don’t ever come back.” He turned around coldly and slammed the heavy oak door. Thud. The door shut right in my face, completely blocking out the warm, golden light of the house, leaving me in pitch darkness. I let out a self-deprecating laugh. Battling the freezing wind, I walked numbly along the estate’s brick wall toward the main road. The phone in my pocket vibrated. It was a missed call from a research laboratory. I called back. A man with a highly professional, robotic voice answered immediately. “Hello, Miss Vance. We have received your authorization form. Once you sign the final papers, it will take effect immediately. We will take full control according to the agreement.” “Alright. Thank you.” The moment I hung up, a sharp, agonizing pain erupted in my lower abdomen, radiating up to my pelvis. My vision went black. Losing all strength, I collapsed against the brick wall and slid to the ground, cold sweat breaking out across my forehead. With trembling hands, I unzipped my bag. The pill bottle rolled into my palm. I couldn’t even wait to find water. I twisted the cap off, grabbed a handful of pills, threw them into my mouth, and swallowed them dry. The chalky tablets scraped down my dry throat, leaving a bitter taste exploding on the back of my tongue.

Chloe’s POV With shaking fingers, I pulled the plane ticket out of my pocket. Printed on it was the foreign city Logan had chosen for me. He had arranged a tiny apartment and a meager monthly allowance there, his most “respectable” way of throwing away his ex-wife. The corner of my mouth twitched into a bitter smile. I gripped the paper. Rip. I tore the ticket to shreds. I didn’t need his charity. Without looking back, I grabbed my suitcase and left. I found a cheap, run-down motel on the edge of the city. I dragged my heavy suitcase up the creaky stairs, opened it, and pulled out a yellowed envelope hidden deep in the inner lining. The edges of the envelope were frayed. Over the last seven years, I had lost count of how many times I had opened it in the dark. My fingers trembled as I poured out the three items inside. The first was my wedding ring. On the inside of the gold band, our wedding date was clumsily engraved. On our wedding day, Logan had slipped it onto my finger himself. The crowd applauded, though his mother sat in the front row looking absolutely furious. Back then, I was naive enough to believe that if I just loved him unconditionally, we would eventually build a beautiful life together. Now I saw it for what it was, a pathetic, one-sided joke. The second item was a tiny lock of baby hair. On the day Mason was born, while the Vance family was busy signing the discharge papers outside, a kind nurse had secretly snipped this lock of hair and pressed it into my sweaty palm. It was the only piece of Mason I had left. The hair was so fine and soft. I had kept it hidden in prison for seven long years, protecting it like it was my very life. The last item was a photograph taken at the visitor’s booth. In the photo, I was wearing a baggy prison uniform, my face pale and my smile forced. I had just been brought back from the prison ward after giving birth. My C-section incision hadn’t even healed, and my legs were shaking so hard I could barely stand. Logan’s mother stood next to me, holding the baby as far away from me as possible with an expression of pure disgust, cursing at me under her breath. But back then, just getting a glimpse of my baby made me feel like all the suffering was worth it. I closed my eyes, letting out a soft, mocking laugh. Without a second thought, I threw the wedding ring and the lock of baby hair into a cold metal trash can. I clicked my lighter three times before a weak blue flame flickered to life. I dropped the flame into the can. The moment the fire touched it, the soft baby hair shriveled into a black speck. A pungent, burnt smell immediately filled the cramped, dark motel room. I crouched on the floor, hugging my knees, staring blankly at the dancing orange flames. For seven years, during those countless sleepless nights in my cell, that lock of hair was the only thing that kept me sane. Whenever the prison lights went out, I would press a damp towel over my face to muffle my tears, while clutching that tiny bit of my son’s warmth in my palm. I had told myself over and over: Logan is waiting for me. My baby needs his mother. I took the fall for Logan, so the Vance family will always keep a place for me. But today, that door had been slammed in my face. As the fire engulfed the ring, the bright gold metal turned black, and the engraved wedding date was swallowed by the ashes. Looking at the ruins, I decided to keep the damaged photograph. I didn’t throw it into the fire. Mason still owed me a “Mommy.” The Vance family still owed me an apology. I would keep this photo until the day I couldn’t hold on anymore, until the day I was finally free. The metal can gradually grew cold. What once represented love and blood was now nothing but a pile of black soot. I picked up the can and dumped the ashes into the trash. When I wiped the bottom of the can with a tissue, a layer of stubborn black soot stained my fingers. My phone vibrated on the table. A flight confirmation message popped up on the screen. Passenger Name: Chloe Vance. Destination: Erlangen, Germany. Departure Time: October 15, 2030. The ticket Logan gave me was designed to exile me so his mistress could take my place as his wife. But the ticket I bought for myself was a one-way trip to my final destination. During my third year in prison, I happened to find a medical journal in the prison library. At the very end of an article, the address of a highly advanced neurological research lab in Erlangen was listed. That was also the year I was diagnosed with terminal cancer. The brain injury I suffered years ago when I fell off a cliff to save Logan had finally deteriorated to its absolute limit. I suffered from agonizing, daily headaches and occasional temporary blindness. I knew I didn’t have much time left. I had copied that address into my diary, filling an entire page with it. I turned off the bathroom faucet. The black soot swirled down the drain. My hands were clean, but my heart was completely hollow. The envelope on the table was still open, revealing a corner of the visitor’s booth photo. The peeling white walls of the prison booth looked exceptionally cold under the dim motel light. I pulled out a piece of tissue, carefully wrapped the photo, and tucked it deep inside my suitcase. Outside the window, I could hear the noisy footsteps of other motel guests, mixed with the cheap television static from next door. I turned off the light and lay down on the narrow, rock-hard bed. I packed my pill bottle into the purse I would carry tomorrow. Before falling asleep, I checked in for my flight on my phone. The next morning, I landed at the airport in Erlangen, Germany. I dragged my heavy suitcase out of the terminal. The damp, freezing wind rushed in through the exit, causing my stomach to cramp violently. I pulled the yellowed diary page from my pocket, the address written in faded pencil. The handwriting had become blurry from years of rubbing. I clutched the paper tightly, like it was my only lifeline. The road in front of the motel in the old district was extremely narrow. At the front desk, a stack of yellowed registration forms sat under a glass counter. The owner eyed me suspiciously from head to toe before sliding a key across the counter. “End of the hall, second floor. Hot water is only available before 10 PM.” I bent over and began filling out the registration form. In the emergency contact box, I wrote down Vanessa’s name and phone number.

Chloe’s POV At 2:00 PM sharp, I walked into the laboratory. The facility was quiet, sterile, and smelled heavily of disinfectant. After verifying my ID, the receptionist led me into a cold, windowless conference room. A thick stack of documents was laid out in front of me with a dull thud. “Miss Vance, today is your final in-person consultation. We need to confirm your absolute consent one last time.” The coordinator flipped to the most critical clause, reading it aloud clearly: “Once signed, this agreement is legally binding and completely irrevocable. Upon your passing, your body will be under the sole custody of this laboratory for irreversible medical and neurological research. Your husband, children, parents, or any direct relatives will have no legal right to claim your body, nor will they have the right to revoke this agreement.” The papers on the table felt as cold as metal. I looked at the text. A soft, relaxed smile actually appeared on my pale face. “So,” I spoke softly, my voice hoarse but incredibly firm, “after I die, they won’t even be able to get a single grain of my ashes. Is that correct?” The coordinator looked at me with a complicated expression, then nodded. “Yes. All your physical remains will have absolutely nothing to do with your family.” “Perfect.” Without a single moment of hesitation, I grabbed the pen. The tip of the pen swept across the signature line, leaving a sharp, decisive stroke. Along with the scratching sound of the pen, I closed my eyes. I had finally severed the very last tie binding me to the Vance family. By the time I walked out of the building, the sky had already turned dark. On my way back to the motel, the streetlights flickered on, casting a warm glow through the windows of local shops, reflecting the happy laughter of ordinary families. I paused, watching the warm scenes through the glass for a moment. Then, as if nothing had happened, I looked away and kept walking into the dark alley. The creaky wooden stairs of the motel groaned under my feet. I held onto the peeling banister as I walked back to my room. I pushed open the bathroom door and plunged my hands into the cold water. Suddenly, a rush of copper sweetness welled up in my throat. A massive amount of dark red blood splattered violently across the stained sink. I doubled over in agony, my hands gripping the edge of the porcelain sink so hard my nails made a screeching sound. Every violent cough felt like dozens of rusty knives hacking away at my chest and abdomen. Another wave of blood splattered directly onto the mirror. The cold water kept running, washing the blood down the drain in a swirling, pink vortex. My body was completely giving out. I tried to reach for my pills, but my legs gave way. My back hit the wall hard, and I slid down onto the freezing, wet tile floor. My pain medication was in my bag right next to the bed. I struggled to reach out, my fingers clawing at the empty air, but I couldn’t even reach the bathroom threshold. The faucet was still running, and the water began to overflow onto the floor, seeping through the crack beneath the door. Night fell completely. I heard the motel owner’s heavy footsteps coming up the stairs to collect deposits. He stopped outside my door, pounding on the wood. “Miss Vance? Miss Vance, are you in there?” He knocked three times. But other than the sound of rushing water, there was no response. I heard his voice, but I couldn’t make a sound. Suddenly, I heard the owner let out a terrified scream. “Oh my God! Someone’s dead! Call the police!” His frantic footsteps scrambled back down the stairs. He would probably call the emergency contact on my form, Vanessa. In the corner of the dark bathroom, I slumped against the wall, surrounded by a pool of diluted blood. I looked up at the flickering bulb on the ceiling, my vision slowly fading. Before slipping into complete darkness, only one thought remained in my mind: Logan… we are finally even. By the time Vanessa rushed to the motel, I was slumped against the wall. The blood on my lips had dried, and my face was terrifyingly pale. “Chloe!” Vanessa knelt down, slapping my cheeks gently, but I had absolutely no energy left to respond. I saw her pull out her phone, her voice shaking with panic as she called for an ambulance, repeating the motel address twice before I finally blacked out. The emergency room lights stayed bright past midnight. I heard the doctor walk out into the hallway with my lab results, his tone grave. “The patient is in the terminal stage of cancer. Multiple organs are already showing signs of failure. She has been pushing her body to the limit with heavy medication.” Vanessa stood in the hallway. “Is there any way to treat her?” The doctor replied, “We are stabilizing her now, but she needs to be moved to an ICU. Her family needs to get here as soon as possible.” “She has no family.” As soon as Vanessa said that, I heard her dial a number. Someone answered quickly. Half an hour later, a lawyer arrived at the hospital, his suit jacket still carrying the chill of the night wind. “The authorization agreement has already taken effect.” The lawyer handed the legal documents to the doctor, then turned to Vanessa. “She signed the donor agreement in advance. Our partner hospital is ready to receive her. Her former family has no legal right to make decisions for her.” Vanessa’s fingers trembled as she stared at the papers. “When did she sign this?” “She signed it remotely while she was still in prison. We finalized the in-person verification today.” Vanessa turned her head to look at me through the glass. I lay on the bed with an oxygen mask strapped to my face. My wrists were so thin that the IV tape looked ridiculously wide. Vanessa walked into the room and pulled up a chair. She opened her phone and looked at the message I had sent her on the day I got out of prison. It was just one sentence: Vanessa, I’m leaving. She turned off the screen and placed the phone on the nightstand. The lawyer walked in to inform her that the transfer paperwork was complete. They would move me to the research facility first thing in the morning.

Logan’s POV I sat in the back of my car. My assistant sent over Chloe’s bank records from the past few months. The screen was completely blank. No withdrawals, no purchases, and no check-in record for the flight I had booked for her. She had torn up the ticket. I stared at the screen for a long time, then dialed another number to track down the apartment Chloe lived in before her arrest. The next afternoon, I stood in front of that apartment. A stranger opened the door, holding a young child in his arms. “Who are you looking for?” I gave him the address. The man shrugged. “This place was sold years ago. The transaction went through a law firm.” I pressed for details about where the money went. The man dug up an old folder and placed a transfer receipt on the shoe cabinet. The recipient’s account name was Logan Vance. The date was exactly one week before Chloe went to prison. I pulled out my phone and accessed my old, deactivated bank account. Sure enough, the transaction was sitting in my history. The amount matched the receipt perfectly. She had sold her only apartment and transferred every single penny to me. A week before going to jail, she was still desperately trying to cover my company’s financial deficit. When I walked out of the building, the sun was already setting. The streetlights flickered on, casting a dim light on the cracked steps. I stood by the curb, clutching the photo of the transfer receipt. The cold night wind blew past. My phone lit up multiple times with incoming calls from my mother, but I let them ring out. By the time the first street sweeper drove past the block at dawn, I was still standing outside her old apartment. As daylight broke, I finally got back into my car. I sat in the driver’s seat, my fingers stiff from the cold. The record of that bank transfer remained open on my screen. The date burned into my eyes, refusing to fade. A notification from my assistant popped up. It was a screenshot of several trending local gossip articles. “Billionaire’s Ex-Wife Steps Out of Prison and Straight into Another Man’s Bed.” “The Woman Who Took the Fall for Her Husband Was Already Dirty.” “Cheating on the Day of Her Release: How the Vance Family Was Scammed for Years.” None of the articles used real names, but the details, taking the fall for a husband, the marital home, cheating on the release day, all pointed directly to Chloe. My assistant added, “The posts were all published last night. The initial accounts sharing them look like paid bots.” I shut off the screen. I started the engine, but instead of setting the navigation back to the office, I drove aimlessly down the streets surrounding her old apartment. Half an hour later, Brenda appeared by my car door. She was holding a stack of printed photos, standing outside my window. Her makeup was flawless, but her eyes were filled with anxiety. “Logan, stop looking for her.” I rolled down the window. Brenda thrust the photos through the gap. They were cropped photos of Chloe standing next to various men, taken from highly misleading angles. One showed her in a hospital hallway being supported by a man, with a scandalous caption. Another was taken outside a motel, showing her walking in while a man stood closely behind her. “I didn’t want to show you these,” Brenda bit her lip. “She was already cheating on you before she went to prison. She never planned on coming back to you. She took your money to fund her affairs, and now people online are starting to dig up her past.” I looked down, refusing to touch the photos. Brenda’s voice grew frantic. “If you keep digging, it’s going to ruin you, and it’s going to ruin Mason! If she makes a scene, what will happen to the Vance Group? What will happen to Mason’s future?” I reached out and shoved the photos back into her arms. The papers hit Brenda’s chest, scattering all over the car floor. Brenda froze. “Logan?” “Who gave you these?” Her lips trembled, but she couldn’t find her words. I pushed the car door open and stepped out. I bent down and picked up the top photo from the floor mat, my thumb pressing against Chloe’s face. She had gotten so thin. Her cheeks were hollow, and even in a blurry photo, she looked incredibly sick. And people were using these photos to spread disgusting rumors. I threw the photo back at Brenda. “Don’t ever bring this garbage to me again.” Brenda’s face drained of color. By the time I returned to the Vance Group headquarters, the PR department was already waiting in the conference room. Media inquiries were piling up in our inbox. The online narrative had escalated from a scandalous personal life to Chloe conspiring with outsiders to steal Vance family assets. In the comment section, someone had leaked Chloe’s old identity details, including the address of her pre-marriage apartment. The head of PR asked, “Mr. Vance, should we issue a statement to distance ourselves from her?” “No response for now,” I placed my phone on the table. “Find the source. Trace the initial accounts that posted the rumors. One by one.” The PR head nodded and hurried out. Immediately, my mother’s call came through. I picked up, and her voice instantly boomed through the speaker. “I saw the news online. I told you years ago that a girl like Chloe would eventually cheat on you!” I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples. My mother continued, “The Sinclair Group has already agreed to the merger. Victoria Sinclair is waiting to finalize the marriage paperwork with you. Get the divorce papers signed with Chloe within the week. Stop dragging this out.” I remained silent. “Don’t let Chloe embarrass us any further. She’s a convict, and now she’s involved in this disgusting scandal. Do you want the Vance family to become a laughingstock? If you don’t sign those papers, I will come to your office myself.” I heard the sound of papers rustling on her end. Her final words were icy cold. “Don’t make me lose face in front of our business partners again.” The line went dead. I sat in the empty conference room. The bright daylight streamed in through the glass windows. A new message from my assistant popped up on my phone: “We found the law firm. Mr. Davis, the attorney who handled the apartment sale back then, is still practicing.”

Logan’s POV I drove to the law office that very afternoon. The firm was located on the seventh floor of an old commercial building. The hallway was narrow, and the walls were lined with faded licenses. After verifying my identity, the receptionist, Mia, led me into a small meeting room next to the archive room. Mr. Davis was waiting for me. His hair was mostly gray, and his eyes locked onto mine the moment I walked in. “Mr. Vance, the files from back then are still in our database.” Mr. Davis pulled a folder from the cabinet. The label was faded, but Chloe’s handwritten signature on the bottom right corner was perfectly clear under the clear tape. The handwriting was thin but steady. He placed the folder on the table. Mr. Davis pulled out the apartment transfer agreement first, flipping to the signature page. “She signed this herself. Her fingerprint is right here.” A red ink fingerprint was pressed firmly onto the paper. My throat tightened as I stared at it. Then, Mr. Davis pulled out another document. “She requested we keep this one on file as well.” The cover read: Deed of Gift. I opened it. The text was incredibly short: I hereby donate all proceeds from the sale of my apartment to my husband, Logan Vance, to help him overcome his current financial difficulties. The date was exactly one week before she went to prison. When she signed this, she already knew she was going to take the fall and go to jail for me. My fingers pressed against the paper, trembling for a long time before I could let go. Mr. Davis waited patiently, reaching out to pack up the files. I brushed his hand away and kept flipping through the folder. At the very back of the folder, there were a few appended documents. When I reached the final page, my fingers brushed against a photocopy of a newer document. It was kept separately at the back, with a bold header: Irrevocable Personal Authorization and Release Form. I looked up. “What is this?” Mr. Davis glanced at it. “A copy for our records. The original is kept at the research laboratory.” “What laboratory?” “An independent neurological research facility she contacted while she was in prison.” I looked down at the document. The first section was identity verification. The second section stated that upon her death, her body would be under the sole custody of the laboratory for irreversible medical and neurological research. The third section was a limitation of relative rights, with a bolded sentence at the bottom: No relatives, including spouse, parents, or children, shall have any right to claim the body or make any post-mortem decisions. My eyes locked onto that sentence. At that moment, the hum of the air conditioner in the room seemed to vanish. While she was still in prison, she had completely excluded me from her death. She had given me her apartment, given me seven years of her life, and given me a child. But in the end, she didn’t even want to leave a single cell of her body to the Vance family. I picked up the copy, the paper shaking slightly in my hand. “Give me the name and address of the laboratory.” Mr. Davis checked his database index, frowning as he scanned the screen. “The specific name is in another transfer document in our main archives. I can’t access it today.” “When can you get it?” “Tomorrow morning, at the earliest.” Clutching the copy of the deed of gift and the authorization form, I walked out of the law firm. I sat in the back of my car, placing the two documents on the passenger seat. Outside, the sky was gradually darkening as people rushed in and out of the office building. I pulled out my phone and messaged my assistant: “Search for all independent laboratories in the country specializing in neurological or brain science research.” My assistant replied almost instantly: “There are three main facilities.” I set my phone down, my gaze falling back on the passenger seat. The bold header of the authorization form peeked out, the paper fluttering slightly in the draft from the window. By the time I returned to the Vance estate, the night was pitch black. When I pushed the front door open, the shoe rack looked empty. Chloe’s old light-colored slippers were no longer in their usual spot. The bottom shelf of the cabinet had been wiped clean by the maids, looking cold and sterile. The corner of the sofa by the window was empty too. Before she went to prison, she used to sit there every night waiting for me to come home, a book resting on her lap. The moment she heard the door, she would look up and smile. Later, that corner was replaced with decorative pillows, designer vases, and a light-colored cashmere blanket that Brenda liked. I walked upstairs and pushed open the guest room door. Inside the closet, there were only a few empty hangers. The drawers were completely cleared out, leaving only a faint, dusty ring on the vanity table. That was where her perfume bottle used to sit. The bottle was slender. She rarely used it, only spraying a little when the Vance family hosted formal dinners. The scent was so light that it would vanish the moment she turned around. I had never once asked when these things were thrown away. I stood in the center of the silent room, the ceiling light casting a harsh glare over me. Chloe had lived in this house for seven years, yet the last traces of her existence couldn’t even secure the space of a single perfume bottle. I turned and walked into my study. The bookshelf lined the wall. On the very bottom shelf, there were a few old leather-bound books. I knelt down, sliding my fingers across the spines. When my fingers brushed against a book with a cracked cover, I felt a slight bulge. I pulled the book out and opened it. Tucked inside were several folded sheets of paper. The edges were yellowed and frayed. When I unfolded the first page, I saw tight, delicate handwriting filling the paper. It was Chloe’s handwriting. The entry was dated during her second year in prison. She wrote about giving birth to Mason in the prison ward. There were only nurses and guards by her bedside. When the baby let out his first cry, someone wrapped him in a blanket. She reached out to hold him, but the guard told her that the Vance family’s representative had already arrived to take the baby. She begged them for just ten minutes. The handwriting on the paper grew heavy here, the pen almost ripping through the page. I just wanted to hold him for ten minutes. I stared at the words, my fingers gripping the edge of the paper. The second page talked about the ocean. Chloe wrote that the coastal town she lived in as a child had a beautiful beach with fine sand that wouldn’t hurt a child’s bare feet. She hoped that once she got out of prison, she could take Mason there and let him run around all afternoon. She had even drawn a clumsy little sand shovel in the margin. The third page was about her diagnosis. Terminal cancer. The doctor told her she didn’t have much time left and urged her to contact her family. She had crossed out that line, writing underneath: No need to trouble them. The last page had only a few short lines. I don’t want to drag this body back and forth between the prison and the Vance family anymore. If I can still walk on the day of my release, I just want to see him one last time. Just one look before I die. The date was three months before her release. My thumb pressed against the date, crushing the paper into new creases.

Logan’s POV On the day she stood outside my villa, wearing those threadbare clothes and looking deathly pale, I had shoved a plane ticket into her hand and told her not to ruin my life. She had fought through her terminal illness just to see me one last time, and I had told her to get lost. My body slouched back. My head hit the doorframe with a dull thud that echoed through the quiet study. The pages of her diary scattered across the carpet. A wave of intense nausea surged up my throat. I scrambled out of the study, stumbled into the bathroom at the end of the hallway, and bent over the toilet, vomiting violently. My stomach was empty, so I only threw up bitter bile, the acid burning my throat. I gripped the edge of the sink. In the mirror, my eyes were bloodshot, my collar was torn open, and the veins on the back of my hands were bulging. Where was I when Chloe was begging on the delivery table for ten minutes? Where was I when Mason was taken away? And where was I when she wrote that her only wish before dying was to see me one last time? I slid down onto the cold tile floor, the chill seeping into my back. Tears spilled over, hot and heavy, tracking down my face. I pressed the back of my hand against my mouth to muffle my sobs, the metallic taste of blood mixing with the sour bile. The scattered pages of her diary still lay on the study carpet. The last page was facing up, the date clear under the soft light. The next morning, my mother and father stormed into the villa. Before the maids could even stop them, my mother marched into the living room. Her gaze swept over the open books on the sofa and the unwashed glass on the table, her face contorting with undisguised disgust. “Look at you! What is wrong with you?” I sat on the sofa, my shirt wrinkled and my eyes heavily bloodshot. My mother snatched a set of divorce papers from her designer bag and slammed them onto the coffee table. “Victoria Sinclair’s family is waiting to finalize the marriage paperwork. They’ve given us plenty of respect. Are you really going to ruin this family over a convict like Chloe?” My father stood behind her, his face grim. “The company needs this merger, Logan.” I looked up at them, my eyes shifting to the phone in my mother’s hand. The screen was lit up with urgent messages from the Sinclair family. My mother pushed the papers closer to me. “Sign it! She’s been to prison, and now she’s wrapped up in this cheap cheating scandal. Do you want the Vance family to lose all credibility? If you don’t sign, I will make the announcement myself.” I suddenly stood up. I snatched my mother’s phone from her hand and threw it violently onto the hardwood floor. The sound of the screen shattering instantly silenced the room. My mother shrieked. “Logan! Are you insane?” “The merger is off.” “What did you say?” “I am not marrying Victoria Sinclair,” I stood before her, my voice incredibly raspy. “And I am not signing these divorce papers.” My mother’s face turned pale with fury. “You’re rebelling against your own family for Chloe? What is she to you?” I stared at her. “Who was the one who went to prison for me?” My mother bit her lip. “She did that voluntarily.” “On the day she went to prison. On the day she gave birth in that cell. On the day her baby was snatched away. Did you ever mention her name even once?” My mother froze. My father stepped forward. “Logan, that happened years ago. Bringing it up now serves no purpose.” I pulled out my phone and dialed my assistant’s number. “Freeze all accounts under my parents’ names that are funded by my company. Cancel their black cards, repossess the luxury vehicles, and lock down the estate properties. Do it today.” My mother’s eyes widened, and she lunged forward to grab my phone. “How dare you!” I stepped aside. The assistant confirmed the order on the other end of the line, and I hung up, slipping the phone back into my pocket. “If you want to merge with the Sinclairs so badly, fund it yourselves.” My mother’s voice shrieked to a high pitch. “I am your mother. You’re doing this to me for a convict?” The security guards stood at the entrance. The moment I said, “Escort them out,” they stepped forward immediately. My mother clutched the crumpled divorce papers, crying and cursing as she was ushered out. My father’s face was dark as night. He glared at me one last time before leaving. Once the front door closed, the living room fell silent again. Only the shattered glass of the phone remained on the floor.

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