Author: Momo Chan

I have extremely strict personal boundaries, but my contract-marriage husband has severe separation anxiety. Two years into our marriage, we had a son, Leo. He completely inherited his father’s personality—a total clinger who couldn’t survive a second without me. I always found them too draining and did everything I could to avoid them. Just as I was about to push them out of my bedroom door once again, a floating text—like live chat comments—suddenly flashed before my eyes. [So this is how the evil female lead iced out the male lead and their son.] [She didn’t even show up for the Parent-Teacher Conference. Ethan and little Leo are going to be completely heartbroken this time.] [It’s fine. The real female lead is about to show up soon.] [She’ll warm Ethan up with her sunshine personality. Even little Leo, who always dogs the evil female lead’s heels, will be drawn to her.] [When that happens, the rejected wife will be kicked out of the house with a frozen bank account and sent to a run-down cabin upstate, never to return.] What? I would be kicked out upstate? And never allowed back here? I tightened the sash of my silk robe. The next second, I threw the bedroom door wide open, rushed forward, and wrapped my arms tightly around my husband and son who were just about to leave.

I pulled Leo into my arms and ruffled his soft hair. “Mommy isn’t going to the office that day. I’ll go to your Parent-Teacher Conference, okay?” Leo looked at me in shock, his face lighting up with pure joy. He looked like he was about to bounce off the walls. But very quickly, something crossed his mind, and his little head drooped. “Mommy, are you lying to me?” “Last time, you said you’d come to my school field day, but only Daddy showed up in the end.” “I’m already in elementary school, and some of my classmates say I don’t even have a mom!” Hearing Leo’s words, the floating screen instantly went wild with comments. [Lmao, she has completely lost the kid’s trust.] [Who can she blame? Leo used to be her little shadow. Didn’t she push him away time after time to cause this?] [The male lead too. He’s been rejected so much he doesn’t even dare to get close to her anymore.] [Just look at his face. He doesn’t believe for a second that she’s being genuine.] I looked up. Ethan noticed my gaze and quickly, almost reflexively, let go of the corner of my robe he had been secretly twirling between his fingers. He turned his head slightly, biting his lip. His voice was laced with disappointment. “Elena, it’s fine if you can’t make it. But please, don’t promise Leo if you aren’t sure… Otherwise, he’ll wait for you all day, and he’ll cry again when you don’t show up.” Wait, what? I froze. Quickly, I grabbed Ethan’s hand, pressed it firmly against my chest, and practically begged him to believe me. “I won’t! I swear! This time, I’m really going!” “You have to believe me!” Ethan and I were married for business. My parents had a similar marriage of convenience. They lived apart year-round and had zero emotional connection. Aside from business, they barely spoke. I used to think that was a great arrangement. Because I was a textbook low-energy introvert. Even back in college, I found social relationships exhausting. Once I took over the family business, managing projects and negotiating contracts all day, I would come home feeling completely drained. I never wanted to date. I had hoped my partner would be a low-energy corporate drone with strong boundaries just like me. But I never expected Ethan to be a human Golden Retriever who could run ten corporate mergers a day without breaking a sweat. Not only did he have boundless energy, but he also had severe separation anxiety and touch deprivation. He loved sticking to me. “I don’t want to sleep in a separate bed from you, El.” “Wherever you go, I go.” “I love you so much, El. Let’s never be apart, okay?” In our second year of marriage, we had Leo. We hadn’t planned on having a baby so early, but it was an accidental pregnancy, and my doctor advised against an abortion due to my physical condition. Ethan was terrified of putting me through too much pain, so he promised he would take on all the parenting duties. But who knew our son would completely inherit Ethan’s high-energy traits? Leo loved following me everywhere. He was way more attached to me than to his dad. Dealing with one clingy adult was exhausting enough. Now I had a mini-clinger. It instantly triggered my avoidant attachment style. I started hiding from them. Ethan asked me out on dates. “Too tired, not going.” Leo wanted me to go to his school events. “Too tired, not going.” Family weekend trips. “Too tired, not going.” … Lately, though, I had finally gotten the company’s operations under control. I had promoted a few reliable assistants to take over the heavy lifting, so I wasn’t nearly as exhausted anymore. And then I suddenly realized… why hadn’t my two clingy boys been bothering me the past few days?

I raised my eyes and saw the chat comments scrolling again. [Has the cold wife finally realized she’s been ignoring her husband and kid?] [Too late. The male lead is so used to being rejected that he just pleases himself now. He doesn’t want to bother her.] [Ugh, speaking of which… why is Ethan pulling her lingerie out of the drawer again and getting off to her photo?] […Come on guys, cut him some slack. A man has needs.] [Well, it doesn’t matter. Once he meets the sunshine female lead, he won’t have to starve himself anymore.] [The real female lead is super active in bed. She would never leave our boy hanging.] I stood there, dumbfounded. What was Ethan doing? My hand pressed against the bedroom door, and I pushed it open instinctively. Inside the master bedroom. Ethan had one hand tucked under the waistband of his sweatpants, and his left hand was holding his phone. His cheeks were flushed with a deep crimson. Hearing the door, he slowly turned his head. When he saw me, his eyes widened instantly. His entire body froze like a massive Golden Retriever caught stealing food from the counter. “E-El… Elena! When did you get back?” “I… I was just…” I walked over, picked up the phone Ethan had hurriedly tossed onto the bed, and unlocked it with my birthday. The screen showed a photo of me sleeping in my silk pajamas. It was actually a beautiful shot. The morning sun hit my skin, giving me a soft, ethereal glow. I bit my lip. I pulled Ethan out from under the duvet, slipped off my outer cardigan with one hand, and crawled right onto his lap. Oh, so the new girl is supposed to be “active,” huh? Who says I can’t be active? If I’m active enough, you can forget about sending me to some upstate cabin! The body beneath me instantly turned scalding hot. Ethan’s ragged breath tickled my ear. He wrapped his hands gently but firmly around my waist, his voice husky. “What’s gotten into you today? Aren’t you tired?” I bit my lip and shook my head. “I missed you.” Ethan couldn’t hold back anymore. He leaned up and kissed me hungrily. The next morning, sunlight poured through the window. Ethan was downstairs in the kitchen making breakfast. As I lay in bed alone, the live comments popped up again. [Are there any VIP users who know what happened last night? Did they actually do it?] [They did! I’m shocked. Why did she suddenly become so aggressive… what about our sunshine girl Chloe?] [It doesn’t matter. With her weak stamina, how could she satisfy Ethan?] [Look at him. He looked so unsatisfied when he went down to cook this morning.] [He obviously stopped after one round just to make sure she wouldn’t get too tired. If this keeps up, he’s going to get bored of her sooner or later.] … “Sigh.” I closed my eyes as the memories of last night flooded back. The comments weren’t entirely wrong. Ethan’s stamina was insane. Plus, since he had been starved for so long, his desire last night was incredibly intense. When we were newly married, he would usually wrap himself around me all night, going multiple rounds until we were both completely exhausted. But last night, he really did stop after just one round. Was he really just worried that I’d be too tired to keep up? With that thought, I threw on a thin satin slip dress and walked down to the kitchen. Ethan was putting scrambled eggs onto the plates. When he looked up and saw what I was wearing, the tips of his ears flushed bright red. The chat comments started complaining again. [See? I told you one round wasn’t enough!] [The moment he saw the hickey on her collarbone, he got a massive hard-on. The man is starving.] [If she can’t satisfy him, she should just hand him over. Seriously.] [Chloe would never say no to him. Once they’re together, they can have all the wild nights they want!] I closed my eyes, forcing myself to ignore the text. I walked over, wrapped my arms around Ethan’s waist, and pressed my front against his back. Mustering up my courage, I was about to tell him that I wasn’t actually that tired, and that last night had felt amazing… But before I could speak, my phone buzzed. It was my assistant, Carter. “Hey Elena, do you have some time today? The team from Eastside Realty wants to discuss the contract details this afternoon. Can you make it to the office?”

Hearing Carter’s voice on the line, Ethan’s body instantly went rigid. He gently untangled himself from my embrace. “Is it work?” “If it’s urgent, you should go.” Carter was a workaholic just like me. His brain was 100% occupied by work. Not only did he grind, but he also expected everyone else to grind. Sometimes he’d text me spreadsheets at midnight. But I had promoted him specifically so he could take over my position. Now that he was ready, he needed to start handling things independently. Besides, Leo’s Parent-Teacher Conference was this afternoon. I absolutely couldn’t miss it. I shook my head and declined Carter’s request over the phone. “The real estate deal is basically wrapped up. The remaining stuff is just minor details. Handle it yourself, and just email me the meeting notes.” Carter grunted in agreement. “Got it. I’ll let you know if anything goes sideways.” The comments began scrolling rapidly. [Wait, what? The workaholic wife actually declined a meeting? What’s going on?] [Every time that little assistant called her, she used to run off. I honestly thought they had something going on.] [Even Ethan is shocked. Look at the way he’s looking at her right now.] I turned to look at Ethan. Sure enough, his eyes were wide with surprise. He clearly hadn’t expected me to stay. I hugged him again, leaning into his chest, wanting to pick up where we left off. “Ethan, do you want to…” To my surprise, Ethan gently pushed me back. This was the first time he had ever rejected me. He looked down, his voice slightly raspy. “I’m sorry, El.” “The hospital just called. My mom’s condition got worse.” “She might need emergency surgery this afternoon, and I have to go sign the consent forms. I’m afraid you’ll have to handle Leo’s school conference on your own.” Ethan’s mother had always been in poor health. Thanks to advanced medical tech and the private doctors the family hired, she had been stable for the past few years. But if Ethan was this worried, it had to be serious. I immediately agreed. “Go. You head to the hospital, and I’ll go to Leo’s school. Don’t worry, your mom is going to be fine.” After setting the plan, Ethan and I went our separate ways. Leo’s school was in the city center, which was a bit of a drive from our suburban estate. After eating, I jumped into my SUV and started driving. According to GPS, I would arrive about thirty minutes early. But halfway there, the chat comments popped up again. [Attention, everyone!] [We have finally reached the plot twist! The male lead is about to meet our sunshine girl today!] [Chloe works at the very hospital where Ethan’s mom is admitted.] [As the lead doctor, Chloe won’t just save his mom with her incredible medical skills; she’s also going to warm Ethan’s lonely heart with her bright personality.] [Ethan has been iced out by his wife for so long. How could he not fall for someone as warm and sweet as Chloe?] [The chemistry between them is going to be off the charts. Get ready for some major romance, guys!] … The female lead. The girl the comments claimed was Ethan’s destiny. Was she really appearing today? And were they really going to… fall in love? Reading those comments, my chest tightened. My mind went completely blank for a split second. In my daze, my hands slipped on the steering wheel. The SUV veered off course, scraping violently against the guardrail with a loud screech of rubber on asphalt. I gasped, slamming my foot hard onto the brakes—

Fortunately, my reflexes were fast enough to prevent a major accident. I got out of the car to inspect the damage. There were some nasty scratches, but nothing structural. Still, by law, I had to wait for the police to file an accident report. I checked my watch. Time was ticking away, and anxiety began to claw at my chest. The comments turned on me, mocking my failure. [Lmao, she promised she’d go to the school event, and now she’s going to flake again, right?] [Don’t make promises you can’t keep. You’re just disappointing the kid.] [Thank god Leo meets Chloe later in the story and finally gets the maternal love he deserves.] [Chloe is never cold to Leo, which is why he gets so attached to her.] My chest felt incredibly heavy. If I could tolerate Ethan being taken away from me by some cosmic plot, there was absolutely no way I was going to let another woman take my son. I grew more and more frantic. By the time the police finished the report, I quickly called our estate manager to tow the car for repairs. Then, I hailed an Uber and rushed to the school. When I finally slipped into the classroom, the conference had already been going on for an hour. The teacher was answering questions from other parents. I tried to sneak in through the back door and spotted Leo sitting in his seat. His head was low, looking incredibly dejected. The chubby kid sitting next to him was poking his arm with a pen. “Where’s your mom?” “Why didn’t she show up for you?” “School started weeks ago, and no one has ever seen her… Leo, do you even have a mom?” Leo clenched his little fists, his eyes welling up with tears. Seeing this, I rushed over to him. “Sweetie, I’m so sorry. Mommy got into—” Before I could finish, Leo squirmed out of my embrace. His voice trembled with a tiny, heartbroken sob. “You lied to me again, Mommy.” “I… I don’t ever want to love you again.” That was the first time Leo had ever said he didn’t love me. In the past, no matter how many times I rejected him after work, he would always run up to me the next day with a huge smile, acting like my little shadow. The chat screen exploded. [Karma is a bitch. Love to see it.] [She’s never getting Leo’s affection back!] [Don’t cry, Leo! Your daddy is about to find you a much better mommy who will actually cherish you!] … I froze in place. The conference ended shortly after. The teacher, noticing the tense atmosphere, walked over and asked to speak with me privately in the hallway. Her tone carried a hint of disapproval. “Leo is a very sweet, brilliant boy, Mrs. Henderson. You don’t have to worry about his academics.” “But he has high emotional needs. You really need to show up for him more.” “Take today, for instance. You can’t just show up when the meeting is basically over—” She suddenly stopped. Her eyes fell on my arm, and she gasped in horror. “Oh my god, Mrs. Henderson, are you hurt?” “Your sleeve is covered in blood! Let me call an ambulance!”

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We were playing a drinking game at a party when my boyfriend’s female best friend, Monica, suddenly pushed a shot glass in front of me. “Drink up if you’ve ever been a mistress.” No one looked surprised. They just snickered. “Summer, you really should drink. They announced their marriage on Instagram a year ago. They only blocked you because Ethan was afraid you’d make a scene.” “So legally, you’re the homewrecker here.” My fingers trembled. I looked at Ethan, who was casually swirling his glass, giving a careless nod. Monica nudged Ethan’s shoulder with a giggling explanation: “My family was pressuring me to get married, so he offered to help me out. You don’t mind, do you, Summer?” “It’s just a piece of paper. We can get a divorce anytime.” “What about me?” my voice cracked as I asked Ethan. Ethan pinched my cheek, wearing a nonchalant smirk. “I drank too much the night before we signed the papers and mistook her for you. I had to take responsibility, right?” “Our wedding next month will go on as planned. She gets the legal paper, and you get the wedding. It’s a win-win, isn’t it?” Eight years of love crumbled into dust in an instant. I choked back my tears, said nothing, and texted my dad back: “Dad, I agree to the arranged marriage.” 1. “Summer, just drink it. Don’t tell me you’re being a party pooper?” Monica waved the glass in front of me, her eyes gleaming with pure provocation. The crowd joined in, cheering and jeering. “Drink! Drink! Drink! They’re legally married, which makes you the side chick! You owe us a shot!” The mocking, malicious stares felt like a thousand needles pricking my skin. This wasn’t the first time Ethan’s friends had tried to humiliate me. But this was the first time they had brought it so shamelessly into the open. In the beginning, Ethan would always protect me. But ever since Monica returned to the country, everything changed. He went from warning his friends never to disrespect me, to looking at me coldly and saying: “Why are you being so dramatic? They’re just joking around. Can’t you take a joke?” I bit my tongue hard, letting the metallic taste of blood spread in my mouth. Ethan kept a smirk on his face and said nothing, as if he, too, was waiting for me to drink that cup of humiliation. Sensing my stiff posture, he reached out and squeezed my hand. “Come on, Summer. Just drink it. All the guys are watching. Don’t ruin the mood for everyone.” I looked at him, my expression dead cold. “Do you also think I’m a homewrecker?” He wrapped an arm around my waist, whispering in a soothing tone. “Nobody’s calling you a homewrecker. It’s just a game.” I pushed his arm away, my voice hard. “Don’t touch me. She’s your wife, not me.” Ethan’s face darkened, impatience flickering in his eyes. “What is your problem? Monica and I are just best friends. Signing those papers was a joke at first, and then it was just to help her escape her family’s matchmaking. What’s wrong with helping out a close friend?” Seeing the tension, Monica quickly chimed in. “Summer, don’t get the wrong idea. Ethan and I are purely platonic.” “The only night anything happened was when he got wasted and mistook me for you. He was like a sex-deprived beast, leaving me so sore I couldn’t even get out of bed the next day. Honestly, his performance was trash. If he weren’t my best friend, I would have killed him.” With that, she playfully punched Ethan’s chest. Ethan grabbed her hands, pulling her right into his lap. “My performance was trash? Then who was the one clinging to me all night, screaming so loud that the downstairs neighbors probably heard everything?” Monica’s face flushed red. She sat straddled on Ethan’s lap, covering his mouth with her hands. “Shut up! Stop lying!” Then, she turned to me with a sweet smile. “Summer, if you really care about the marriage certificate, Ethan and I will go get a divorce in the next couple of days. I’ll drink this shot for you as an apology, okay?” Ethan’s expression changed instantly. He snatched the glass from her hand. “What are you doing? You’re on your period, you shouldn’t be drinking alcohol!” “And did I say we’re divorcing? If we do, your mom is just going to harass you to get married again!” My chest felt incredibly tight and hollow. Over the past few years, my parents had pressured us to marry countless times. Every time they brought it up, Ethan would scowl and say: “It’s just a piece of paper. Is it really that important? Our love doesn’t need a certificate to prove it.” But now I saw the truth. It wasn’t that the paper didn’t matter. It mattered too much. The legal commitment I had waited eight years for was something he happily handed over to his female best friend on a whim. When Ethan looked back at me, his patience had completely run out. He shoved the glass into my hand. “Summer Vance, are you done throwing a tantrum? It’s just a game. If you lose, you take the penalty.” I suddenly laughed, nodding slowly. “Yeah. I’m done.” I was completely done with this toxic relationship. I took the glass and downed it in one gulp. The burning liquid made tears stream down my face. “Ethan Thorne, we are over.” 2. Ethan froze for a second, a flash of panic crossing his eyes. I grabbed my purse, turned around, and walked out. Just as Ethan was about to chase after me, someone called out: “Ethan! If you leave, who’s going to drive Monica home?” Ethan paused in his tracks. Monica’s mocking voice echoed behind him: “Come on, a friend is never as important as a girlfriend. Go pamper Summer. I’m not one of those delicate girls who needs a man to escort her home.” In the end, he didn’t follow me. While I was in the cab, a text from Ethan popped up on my phone. “Summer, stop talking out of anger.” “It’s late, and it’s not safe for Monica to go home alone. I’ll head back to our place right after I drop her off. Be good and wait for me at home.” I looked out at the pitch-black night outside the window and let out a bitter laugh. He never worried about me being alone. He only worried about Monica. Ethan didn’t come back until the next afternoon. By then, I was already packing my things, getting ready to move out. Ethan hugged me from behind, slipping a bakery bag into my hands. “Don’t be mad anymore, okay? I went way out of my way and waited in line for hours just to get your favorite cake.” I opened the bag. It was a mango mousse cake—Monica’s favorite. And just half an hour ago, Monica had posted on her Snapchat story. “Since my bestie waited in line for hours to buy me my favorite cake, I’ll forgive him for his wild behavior last night~” The post was accompanied by a picture of Ethan standing in line at the bakery. Their mutual friends had commented underneath: “Wild behavior? Like, wild in bed?” Ethan leaned down, trying to kiss me. A strong scent of citrus drifted from his collar—the exact same perfume Monica wore. A wave of intense nausea hit my stomach. I pushed him away violently. Ethan’s face twisted in frustration. He grit his teeth and yelled: “Summer Vance, what is your deal?!” “I stood in line for hours just to make you happy! What more do you want from me?!” I looked at him, a cold smile playing on my lips. “To make me happy? Or to make your precious best friend happy?” I turned and threw the cake straight into the trash can. Ethan’s face darkened completely. “What nonsense are you talking about?” I tried my best to hold back my tears, my voice trembling. “Whether it’s nonsense or not, you know the truth.” “You remember everything she likes to eat. You pick the cilantro out of her food during group dinners. You even remember her period cycle perfectly. But you don’t even remember that I am deadly allergic to mangoes.” “You went as far as secretly marrying her at the courthouse, and you’re still acting like you did nothing wrong?” The moment the words left my mouth, Ethan slammed his fist into the vanity mirror. The glass shattered into pieces. Several shards flew and cut my arm, drawing blood. He roared at the top of his lungs: “I already told you I was just helping her out! Why do you keep digging up the past?!” “It’s just a piece of paper! I said I would marry you! Are you really that desperate for a stupid marriage license?!” My ears rang from his screaming. I stared at him. He had the exact same face, but he felt like a complete stranger. Years ago, my parents had strongly opposed our relationship because he was dirt poor. For him, I cut ties with my family. I followed him to New York to start his business. When he had no capital, I emptied my entire savings account for him. I worked three jobs a day, eating expired bread for three meals just to save a few pennies. I overworked myself to the point of collapse and lost our first baby. Back then, he knelt by my hospital bed, crying his eyes out, swearing he would never betray me. So when his company finally started making money, he couldn’t wait to buy me a diamond ring. I still remembered how his eyes shone back then. “Summer, my greatest dream is to have my name next to the love of my life on a marriage certificate. And that person will only ever be you.” My chest ached so badly I couldn’t speak. Maybe the despair on my face was too obvious. Ethan looked slightly regretful. He reached out to hold me, but before his hands could touch my shoulders, his phone’s VIP ringtone blared. He glanced at the screen, and his face instantly turned into a mask of anxiety. He grabbed his coat and headed straight for the door. “Summer, you need to check your attitude.” The door slammed shut. I fell to my knees, dry-heaving uncontrollably. I clutched the fabric over my chest tightly. It felt like the only way to stop myself from suffocating. When I was too exhausted to cry, I dragged myself off the floor and went back to packing. My phone buzzed. It was a text from my dad. “The wedding is set for the 30th of next month.” The date of the wedding was unchanged, but the groom was someone else. 3. I was almost done packing when Ethan returned. Monica was right behind him. Her ankle was wrapped in gauze, and she limped into the apartment. I watched as Ethan knelt, gently held her ankle, and helped her slip into a pair of indoor slippers. He supported her waist, guided her to the couch, and poured her a glass of warm water. He used his favorite personal mug. He was a germaphobe and never shared cups with me. Once, I had accidentally drank from his mug, and the very next day, I saw it in the trash can. Ethan looked up at me, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Monica fell and injured her leg in her bathroom. There’s no elevator in her old apartment building, so it’s hard for her to go up and down the stairs. She’s staying here for a few days.” I didn’t say a word. I just continued packing. Monica let out a sigh, draping an arm over Ethan’s shoulder. “Look, your wife is jealous again. You should just take me back. I don’t want Summer accusing us of having an affair again.” She pouted. “We are totally platonic, and I hate being falsely accused.” Ethan looked at me with annoyance, about to snap, but I cut him off: “I don’t mind.” After all, I was leaving. He stared at me, clearly taken aback by how easily I had agreed. At that moment, Nugget, our cat, ran out of the bedroom. Monica shrieked and jumped back on the couch. “Ethan! Get that thing away from me!” Ethan frowned and kicked Nugget away, then scooped Monica into his arms and carried her into the guest bedroom. When he walked back out, his voice was cold and demanding: “Monica is terrified of cats. Take Nugget to a boarding center for a while.” The moment Monica arrived, even the pet we had raised together for five years was no longer welcome. I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and nodded. “No need. I’ll take Nugget with me.” Only then did Ethan notice the suitcases by the door. His brows furrowed. “Where are you going?” “Home.” He paused, but then his tense expression relaxed. “Fine. We both need some space to cool off anyway. Plus, you’ve always had an issue with Monica. It’s better if you leave for a bit. Once she’s fully recovered, I’ll bring you back.” But I had no intention of ever coming back. As I turned to open the door, I called out his name one last time. “Goodbye, Ethan.” Meeting my gaze, a strange wave of panic washed over Ethan. It felt like something was slipping away from him forever. He instinctively reached out to grab my hand. But in the next second, Monica’s cry of pain echoed from the guest room. Ethan instantly panicked and rushed back inside, throwing a final sentence over his shoulder: “I need to take care of Monica. Don’t bother me with those tedious wedding details. Just handle them yourself.” In his eyes, anything concerning Monica was a matter of life and death, while our wedding was just a tedious chore. I stared at his retreating back. My eyes burned, but no tears fell. They had probably dried up long ago. Our love had lasted from college into adulthood. I honestly believed we would go from school uniforms to a white wedding dress. But at this moment, my heart was completely crushed, never to beat for him again. 4. After returning to my parents’ house, I took some time off work to clear my head. A week before the wedding, my best friend called me in a panic. “Summer! Oh my god, open TikTok right now!” My heart skipped a beat. I quickly opened the app. I found that the video of us playing that drinking game had been uploaded by Monica. She was a minor influencer who regularly posted “day-in-the-life” videos with her male friends. The video had been heavily edited. It cut out the context and only showed the part where I “admitted” to being a mistress. The internet was absolutely ruthless. People quickly doxxed my name and found out where I worked. My social media accounts were flooded with thousands of hateful messages. “A college lecturer acting as a homewrecker? How shameless!” “Die, mistress!” “No wonder she became an associate professor at such a young age. She probably slept her way to the top. Disgusting!” … Some people even sent anonymous letters to the university board, demanding I be fired for moral turpitude. I shook with rage, slammed my foot on the gas, and drove straight to Ethan’s apartment. Facing my fury, Monica just chuckled casually. “I just thought that part of the video was funny, so I posted it. Don’t be so sensitive, Summer.” Seeing the blatant malice in her eyes, my anger erupted. I slapped her across the face. “SLAP!” Ethan shoved me back violently, his face pale with rage. “Summer! Are you insane?!” “It’s just a stupid video! Do you have to make such a big deal out of nothing?!” I unlocked my phone and shoved the screen in his face. “Look at what she wrote! Because of her, I’m about to lose my job—” Ethan cut me off impatiently: “Monica is just clumsy and carefree. She’s not like you—always calculating and bitter. How could she have known a simple video would go viral?” “Besides, did she lie? What she posted is the truth!” I stared at him in utter disbelief, a sharp pain piercing my chest. “What did you just say?” Suddenly, I lost all energy to argue. I gasped for air, still feeling like I was suffocating. One sentence from him made the last eight years look like a complete joke. At this moment, my heart went completely cold. My phone rang. It was the bridal shop. “Hi, Ms. Vance. You have a wedding dress fitting scheduled for 3:00 PM today. It’s time. Are you still coming?” I nodded. “Yes. I’ll be right there.” After I hung up, Ethan let out a mocking laugh. “So this whole dramatic scene was just to force me to go to the dress fitting with you, huh?” He naturally assumed I was just trying to grab his attention. “Too bad. I have to take Monica to her follow-up appointment today. Go by yourself.” Sensing my silence, he added warningly: “If you keep throwing tantrums, don’t expect me to show up at the wedding next week.” He was absolutely certain that I was desperate for this wedding, desperate to marry him. But that was the old me. I let out a cynical chuckle. “Suit yourself.” I turned and walked away. My wedding had absolutely nothing to do with him anyway. … On the day of the wedding, Ethan stood on the stage in a sleek tuxedo, his eyes locked onto the grand doors of the ballroom. He thought he would feel calm. But his palms were sweating. Only now did he realize how much he had actually looked forward to this day. Memories of our past flashed through his mind, and the only thought left in his head was how beautiful I would look in a wedding dress. He waited and waited, but the doors remained closed. An intense feeling of dread began to creep into his chest. Finally, the doors swung open, and the bride stepped out. Ethan let out a huge sigh of relief. But the moment he saw her face, his expression froze. At that exact moment, his best friend whispered in shock beside him: “Holy shit, Ethan! This is insane! The wedding next door… the bride’s name is also Summer Vance! And her photo on the welcome board looks exactly like your Summer!”

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When I saw my best friend’s Instagram post of her sitting in my boyfriend’s car again, a flood of caring messages from Justin popped up on my phone. “It’s raining hard. Don’t forget your umbrella.” “The temperature dropped today. Wear a jacket.” “Don’t walk through the garage when you get back. The water is freezing and the floor is slippery.” “Drink some hot tea. Your hands and feet get cold easily. Keep warm.” Looking at the screen full of sweet words, I thought of Sophie’s bright, smug smile on my Instagram feed. [Just Dr. Justin doing his daily duty of pampering his girlfriend’s bestie.] [Chauffeur service in a storm. Not a single drop of rain touched me. Today’s score: A+!] My phone kept buzzing with new texts. I didn’t open them. Instead, I calmly opened my email and replied to the relocation offer that was about to expire. “I’ll take the Chicago transfer next Monday.” Then, I turned around and took a route with fewer puddles. On a rainy day, I could walk home by myself.

Even with an umbrella, the storm was too fierce. By the time I got home, I was soaked to the bone. I pushed the door open, and the hum of a hairdryer filled the air. Sophie was sitting on the sofa, wearing nothing but her lace bralette. Standing behind her was Justin, gently drying her hair. Every move, every touch was filled with tenderness. The atmosphere in the living room was so intimate that neither of them noticed me walking in. Justin sighed softly. “Which hair oil do you want? The rose scent?” Sophie giggled, her voice dripping with sweetness. “Use your favorite scent.” Justin expertly picked out the oil, squeezed it into his palm, and carefully massaged it into her hair. He held her hair as if it were the most precious treasure in the world. I stood there frozen. My wet clothes clung to my skin, freezing and sticky. Sophie saw me first. Her eyes curved into a smile, and she let out a soft laugh. “Chloe, why are you just getting back? Is it pouring outside? Why are you completely soaked?” Three questions in a row. I didn’t even know how to answer. Justin’s hands paused. He looked at me, frowning slightly. “Didn’t I tell you to wear a jacket and bring an umbrella? Did you forget again?” For Sophie, he provided a door-to-door chauffeur service. For me, he only offered cheap text reminders. Sensing my cold gaze, Justin stiffened. He offered a clumsy explanation. “Sophie got off work early, so I picked her up first.” “Besides, you’ve always been independent. You can handle yourself.” A cold, heavy sensation traveled from my skin straight to my heart. I set my umbrella down and took off my ruined, waterlogged heels. I looked at him. “Justin, let’s break up.” With a sharp crash, the bottle of hair oil slipped from Justin’s hand and shattered on the floor. The strong scent of roses instantly filled the room. Justin knit his brows, his eyes locked onto me. Before he could speak, Sophie stood up. She rushed to explain, her voice frantic. “Chloe, it’s all my fault. I forgot to tell Justin to pick you up.” “I got a few drops of rain on me downstairs, so he rushed to dry my hair. He just couldn’t leave.” “Please, don’t be so dramatic. Don’t pick a fight with him again, okay?” I stared at Sophie, completely numb. Six months ago, she got divorced. She had been a stay-at-home wife for three years and ended up with nothing. In the middle of the night, she sat on a curb, crying over the phone, completely wasted. It was me who left my work behind to bring her home. It was me who took the heat to get her a job at my company and taught her everything step by step. And now? Her eyes showed fake apology, but the corners of her lips were curled up. I suddenly felt a chill run down my spine. I pushed past her and walked toward the bathroom. Justin grabbed my arm tightly. His voice was cold. “Just because you got a little wet, you’re taking your anger out on me? And now you’re giving Sophie attitude?” “Chloe, are you seriously doing this?” I stared at the bathroom sink. In it sat a pair of lace panties, soaking in soapy water, half-washed. My tightly suppressed emotions snapped. Like a crazy person, I smashed everything on the counter. Then, I grabbed the wet lace panties and threw them right into Justin’s face. “Am I doing this?” “How could I compare to you, Justin? You’re literally hand-washing another woman’s underwear! Are you out of your mind—” “Slap!” Before I could finish, a sharp pain flared across my cheek. Justin had snapped. “Chloe, watch your mouth!” “Don’t forget that you’re just an unwanted foster kid who has nobody!”

After the slap, Justin froze. I did, too. Panic flashed in his eyes. He reached out to grab my hand. “Chloe, let me explain…” But he didn’t get to finish. Sophie grabbed his arm. Her eyes were red, looking small and helpless. “Justin, apologize to Chloe!” She was shivering, and Justin immediately forgot about me. He threw one last look at me. Then, he let out a cold laugh, took Sophie’s hand, and walked out the door without looking back. “Who cares! I don’t owe her anything!” Before the door closed, Sophie turned to look at me. Her voice was as gentle as ever. “Chloe, don’t be mad. Just let Justin cool down.” “I’ll make him come back and apologize to you, okay?” The door slammed shut. With a high fever burning inside me, my legs gave out. I collapsed onto the messy floor, shivering violently as waves of dizziness hit me. I fumbled for my phone and dialed his number repeatedly. No one picked up. By the time the ambulance arrived, I used the last bit of my strength to unlock the front door. Then, my mind went black, and I collapsed. In my semi-conscious state, I heard the EMT trying to call my emergency contact. Justin’s voice sounded faint but pierced my ears like needles. “Stop acting, Chloe. Is playing victim your only trick?” When I woke up again, it was past midnight. There was not a single text from Justin. In my call log, there were only dozens of unanswered calls I made before I passed out. The contact name “My Beloved Husband” on the screen felt like a cruel joke. The emergency room was empty. I curled up on the cold chair, my hand aching from the IV. Just then, a commotion came from the hallway. Through the glass door of the ward, I saw them. Sophie was covered in tears, shaking her head. “I’m pregnant.” “We can’t keep this baby, Justin. We can’t.” “I can’t betray Chloe any more than I already have.” Justin held her tightly against his chest, his eyes filled with pain, conflict, and longing. Finally, his voice broke. “But I can’t let it go.” Sophie looked up, her eyes filled with desperate hope. “Then what about Chloe?” Justin fell silent. After a long time, he let go of Sophie. He closed his eyes in despair and slowly got down on his knees before her. “I’m sorry…” Sophie stiffened, her gaze turning cold. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was a message from her. It was a photo of Justin kneeling before her, looking utterly devoted. “Chloe, I tried to convince Justin.” “He always listens to me, but this time, he refused.” “Love doesn’t care who got here first. Step aside and let us be together, okay?” Staring at the text, I wanted to laugh. We had known each other for twenty years. It felt like this was the first time I actually saw who Sophie was. I dragged her out of the misery of her divorce. I brought her into my home. Because I worried she would feel lost in a new city, I let her move into the apartment I shared with Justin. I even let Justin, who was a licensed therapist, counsel her and help her through her depression. She once held me, crying and shaking. “Chloe, I swear, I will never betray you in this lifetime.” And now, she was pregnant with my fiancé’s baby. She told me love had no order. She asked me to let them be. But who was going to make up for the ten years of love I gave him? My vision blurred. I ripped the IV needle out of my hand and walked out.

The emergency hallway was empty now. I crouched on the floor, the fever taking over my body again. It wasn’t until the next morning that the doctor finally let me leave. As expected, Justin didn’t come back all night. I pulled out my suitcase and started packing my things. Just then, Sarah from HR called. “Chloe, did you make a mistake? Why did you send me a resignation letter?” I froze. “Your profile has already been transferred to the Chicago branch. I don’t have the authority to process your resignation here, so I rejected your request.” “But seriously, if you leave, so many people are going to fight for your position.” My nails dug deep into my palms. In my inbox, the rejected resignation email was glowing on the screen. The reason was short and clear. “Resigning to get married and focus on family. Cannot balance work and personal life.” Attached to it was also a recommendation letter. A letter recommending Sophie to take over my position. The wording and tone were exactly Justin’s. Sarah’s voice continued on the other end of the line. “The director wanted to send you to manage the branch before, and you refused. Why the sudden change of heart?” I stared at the black text on the screen, my voice completely devoid of emotion. “It’s nothing. I just… changed my mind.” The apartment door suddenly burst open. Justin stood there in a sharp suit, holding a massive bouquet of red roses. A group of our mutual friends rushed in behind him, cheering. Justin pulled out a stunning diamond ring, dropped to one knee, and looked up at me with deep devotion. “Chloe, marry me. Let me take care of you.” “I know you’ve always wanted to go to Tahiti for our honeymoon. I already booked the tickets.” “We’ll leave right after the wedding, okay?” The crowd roared, chanting, “Say yes! Say yes!” Everyone’s eyes were on me. Family, friends, a proposal, flowers… This was the proposal I had dreamed of for years. I should have been thrilled, crying tears of joy. But I felt absolutely nothing. He logged into my email and threw away my career just to give it to Sophie. And then, he used a lazy, cheap proposal to tell me he would “take care of” me. My phone buzzed in my hand. It was another text from Sophie. “Justin said he would take responsibility for the baby. I get the marriage license and your job.” “To make it up to you, he’s giving you the wedding ceremony.” “But I don’t want that.” “Chloe, I suffered so much in my last marriage. I have nothing.” “You feel sorry for me, don’t you?” Following the text was a video. In the video, Justin’s eyes were red as he grabbed Sophie, forcing a kiss on her. Even though she pushed him away, he kept chasing her. Again, and again, until finally, Sophie melted into his arms, and they kissed passionately. The corner of my mouth twitched. I opened Sophie’s latest Instagram post. I looked at Justin and asked, “She really is the perfect one to marry and have a baby with, isn’t she? Is that why you had to steal my job and give it to her?” Justin’s expression froze. A wave of panic, which I had never seen before, washed over his face. He stared at the photo Sophie had just posted—standing right in front of an OB-GYN clinic. His eyes turned blood-red. Before I could say anything else, Justin leaped to his feet, pushed past the crowd, and ran out. He ran so fast, as if his life depended on it.

Everyone thought I would be devastated after being abandoned by my long-term boyfriend at my own proposal. The look in their eyes was full of pity. But I just calmly watched the bouquet of roses get tossed into the corner, trampled and ruined. Justin was my college senior. Back then, he worked part-time at the campus counseling center. During my second month of college, I called his line in the middle of the night. Eventually, Justin became my personal therapist. That was the time I depended on him the most. I opened up my heart, showing him every scar of being an abandoned foster kid who struggled to survive in an orphanage. He held me, his eyes red with tears. “Chloe, from now on, I will be your family.” “The family you chose yourself. I will never leave you.” It took Justin two years to heal me. And I spent eight years staying by his side. But before I could even get a real proposal, our relationship had reached its dead end. Sophie asked to meet me. At a cafe downtown, the moment she saw me, she instinctively put her hand over her belly. Her eyes were filled with fake fear. “Chloe, I know you’re mad at me. I’m sorry.” “But the baby is innocent. You wouldn’t want him to grow up without parents like you did, right?” Her eyelashes fluttered, and tears began to fall. “Justin is good to me. He loves me.” “Chloe, you graduated from a top university. You’re so strong. You can survive without anyone. But I can’t.” I stared at her in silence. Sophie suddenly grabbed my hand, begging in a low voice. “If I lose Justin, I’ll die.” I shook my head. “Sophie…” Before I could finish, she suddenly let go of my hand and fell backward onto the floor. Justin rushed out from nowhere, shoved me aside, and pulled Sophie into his arms. He glared at me, his eyes burning with fury. “Chloe, you psychopath!” “If you have a problem, take it out on me! I was the one who fell for Sophie first! She did nothing wrong!” I was pushed to the floor. Something fell out of my bag and clattered on the ground. It was a small dagger. I looked down at the dull blade, my chest aching. Years ago, when Justin found the self-harm scars on my arm, he custom-ordered this dull dagger and gave it to me. “Chloe, you need to face your fear to overcome it.” I reached out and picked it up. Sophie shrieked, shielding Justin, her voice trembling. “Chloe! I’m the one who hurt you! Leave Justin out of this!” Holding the dagger, I took a step forward. Just one step. In the next second, I was violently shoved again. The back of my head hit the hard tile floor, and my brain started ringing. Through my blurry vision, I saw Justin shielding Sophie, walking away without looking back. His voice floated back in the wind, soft and gentle. “Are you hurt anywhere?” Sophie sobbed and shook her head. From beginning to end, he didn’t look back at me once.

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I was Alexander Williams’s dirty little secret for three years before I finally woke up. At a charity gala, right in front of everyone, he took the rare vintage necklace I had been trying to bid on for weeks and personally clasped it around his first love’s neck. I didn’t cry. I didn’t demand answers. I just quietly walked out. I went straight to the wildest underground racetrack in the city and climbed into the passenger seat of a rebellious street racer. “Win this race, and I’m yours tonight.” I held a cigarette between my lips, letting the young driver’s hot breath brush against my neck. But the next second, the car door was violently yanked open from the outside. Alexander stood there, his face dark as thunder. He dragged me out of the car and slammed me against the cold metal door. A storm of madness raged in his eyes, his voice raw and furious. “Valerie, who the hell gave you permission to get into another man’s car?” The crystal chandeliers at the charity gala were blindingly bright. I sat in the corner of the third row, gripping my bidding paddle so tightly that my palms were covered in cold sweat. On stage, a rare, vintage antique necklace was on display. I had fallen in love with it two weeks ago. Today was the celebration of Alexander’s new film topping the North American box office, and it was also the third anniversary of my secret relationship with him. I wanted to win the bid. I wanted to buy it as a gift to myself, and perhaps use it as leverage to finally ask him for a public status. “Five million.” A deep, cold male voice rang out from the front row. The entire hall fell dead silent. It was Alexander. He was wearing a custom, pitch-black suit, leaning back lazily in his chair, casually spinning his wine glass with his long fingers. The dim lighting outlined his sharp, cold jawline, exuding the suffocating pressure of a man used to being in absolute control. My heart skipped a beat. He knew I wanted this necklace. Last night in bed, I had curled up in his arms, pointing at the picture of this necklace in the catalog. At the time, he had just closed his eyes, smoking a cigarette, saying neither yes nor no. And now, he was bidding on it himself. My eyes welled with warmth. Just as I was about to lower my paddle, a slight commotion came from the front. “Oh, Alexander, that necklace is beautiful.” A woman in a moon-white haute couture gown, surrounded by a small entourage, quietly sat down next to Alexander. Serena Bennett. Alexander’s first love, and a well-known socialite in New York. She had just returned from Europe, radiating elegance and effortless grace. Alexander turned to look at her. His hard, cold features softened visibly. “Do you like it?” his deep voice murmured. Serena smiled gently without speaking, her eyes fixed on the necklace on stage. The auctioneer’s gavel banged down. “Sold! Congratulations to Mr. Williams.” Amidst the roaring applause, a hostess presented the velvet box containing the necklace to Alexander. Sitting in the third row, I looked at his back through the crowd, my heart bursting with anticipation. As long as he turned around to look at me, as long as he had his assistant hand me the necklace, all my silent endurance over the past three years would be worth it. But he didn’t turn around. Without a single second of hesitation, his elegant fingers picked up the dazzling necklace. He leaned in slightly and slowly, deliberately, put it around Serena’s neck. “It suits you perfectly,” he said softly. Immediately, envious whispers broke out around them. “Mr. Williams spent millions just to make his lady smile!” “Miss Bennett just got back, and Mr. Williams is already claiming his territory. They are truly made for each other.” Alexander didn’t deny it. He kept his eyes lowered, gently adjusting Serena’s hair behind her neck. The gesture was natural and incredibly intimate. I sat less than fifteen feet away. I felt like all the blood in my body had been drained. My fingers tightened, and the hard edges of the bidding paddle dug painfully into my palm. If this were the past, I would have lost control. I would have rushed over, demanded to be acknowledged, or sobbed and questioned him after the gala. But tonight, looking at their matching backs, a wave of profound, ridiculous exhaustion washed over me. Three years. I had lived like a shadow, kept in his suburban villa. He gave me career opportunities, he gave me protection, but he refused to give me dignity. Slowly, I let go of my hand. The bidding paddle fell onto the thick carpet with a soft thud. I stood up, gathered my skirt, and walked toward the exit. I didn’t look back.

“Valerie! Where are you going?” My assistant caught up with me in the hallway, looking panicked. She took one look at my face and quickly tried to make excuses for Alexander. “Mr. Williams only gave the necklace to Miss Bennett for PR. The Bennett family is the biggest investor in his new film. Mr. Williams is just playing the game…” I stopped, looking at her frantic eyes, and suddenly smiled. “Playing the game?” I wrapped my shawl tighter around my shoulders, my voice so calm it even surprised me. “Well, he’s a fantastic actor then.” The calmer I was, the more terrified she became. She knew I loved Alexander past the point of sanity. Usually, if he so much as frowned, I would worry for hours. There was no way I should be this indifferent. “Go back inside. I’m tired.” I ignored her pleas and walked straight out of the hotel. A cold wind blew, whipping up my thin dress. I hailed a taxi and gave the driver an address. An underground racetrack on the outskirts of the city. The place was filled with the roar of engines, the acrid smell of burning rubber, and deafening rock music. It was the exact opposite of the suffocating, fake high-society party I had just left. Wearing an expensive gown and high heels, I walked into the crowd, looking completely out of place. But I didn’t care. I walked to the edge of the track, leaned against a rusty iron railing, and lit a cigarette. I didn’t actually know how to smoke. I had just breathed in Alexander’s secondhand smoke for three years and picked up the habit. “Hey, beautiful. You alone?” A young guy in a black racing suit walked over. He had a faint scar over his eyebrow, and his eyes were wild and untamed. He practically radiated pure testosterone. Diego. The wildest wolf on this track. He and Alexander were from two completely different worlds. Alexander was a man of cold calculation, always keeping his emotions locked away. I blew out a puff of smoke, looking at him through the hazy screen. “Need a co-driver?” I asked casually. Diego paused, then grinned, showing sharp canine teeth. “Princess, my car is a death trap. That dress doesn’t look like it’s made for speed.” “Win this race, and I’m yours tonight.” Tinged by the alcohol I had at the gala, I leaned in close to him on purpose. As the distance closed, I could clearly feel his muscles tense and his breath turn hot. Honestly, I didn’t know how to flirt. My movements were stiff and awkward, but I just wanted to force myself out of Alexander’s suffocating cage. Diego’s adam’s apple bobbed. His eyes darkened. He reached out, his hand moving toward my waist. But just before his fingers could touch my dress— BANG! A row of metal oil drums nearby was kicked over violently, making a deafening crash. The entire place fell dead silent. The crowd was roughly pushed aside, and two big men in black suits cleared the way. Then, Alexander strode in. He was still wearing his tuxedo from the gala, though his tie had been loosened, and his sharp jawline was dangerously tight. His face, usually so calm and unreadable, was now dark enough to kill. His eyes bypassed Diego, locking onto me like twin daggers.

“Clear the area,” Alexander said coldly. The bodyguards immediately moved forward, pushing the crowd away with brute force. Diego frowned, about to snap, but the track owner quickly grabbed him. The owner’s face was pale as he frantically shook his head at Diego. In New York, nobody messed with Alexander Williams. The crowd dispersed quickly, leaving only the rumble of idling engines. Alexander took long strides, closing the distance between us. He carried the chill of the night air, along with a faint, subtle scent of Serena’s perfume. That scent stung my nose. I forced myself to stand tall, meeting his gaze with a perfect, flawless smile. “What brings you to a place like this, Mr. Williams?” I flicked my cigarette ash. “Shouldn’t you be helping Miss Bennett try on her new necklace?” Alexander’s gaze fell on the cigarette between my fingers, his brow twitching violently. He suddenly reached out, snatched the cigarette from my hand, threw it to the ground, and crushed it with his shoe. The next second, his fingers wrapped around my wrist with enough force to crush my bones. “Valerie, have you lost your mind?” He slammed me against the cold car door, his tall frame looming over me like a dark shadow. “Who the hell gave you permission to get into another man’s car?” He growled, his voice laced with unmasked fury. My back ached from the impact, but I didn’t even flinch. “I’m single. Whose car I get into is my own business,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. Alexander’s pupils dilated. “Single?” He let out a dark, angry laugh. His fingers gripped my chin, forcing my face up. “Three years, and now you’re telling me you’re single? What does that kid have that I don’t?” “Can he fund your movies? Can he get you lead roles?” He was always like this. Arrogant, measuring everything with money and power. To him, I was just a pet he could keep in a cage with money and fame. Looking at his handsome face, I suddenly felt incredibly sick. “He can’t give me anything,” I said, shoving his hand off my chin. “But at least he wouldn’t take the one thing I wanted and put it on another woman right in front of my face.” Alexander froze. The anger in his eyes flickered, as if he finally realized why I was acting out. He frowned, his voice returning to his usual cold, rational tone. “It was just a necklace.” “Serena just got back. The Bennett family is crucial for my new project. I had to show her some respect.” “Tomorrow, I’ll have my assistant take you shopping. You can have whatever you want. I’ll pay.” It was charity, not an explanation. “I don’t want it anymore,” I said quietly. “What?” “I don’t want the necklace. And I don’t want you, either.” I pushed past him and walked away. Alexander’s voice boomed behind me. “Valerie! Are you done throwing this tantrum?” “Don’t mix business with your personal feelings. Come back now, and I’ll pretend tonight never happened.” I stopped but didn’t turn around. “Alexander, we’re done.” I said it softly, then walked out into the falling snow.

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I have a secret: whenever my skin touches someone else’s, I can see the person they love the most. Three years ago, Anderson proposed to me to secure his family inheritance. The moment he slid the diamond ring onto my finger, I saw myself in his heart, wearing a wedding dress. I thought it was a mutual redemption. Until three years later, at a charity gala, we stood with our fingers intertwined under the spotlights. But this time, I didn’t see myself. I saw a young girl in a faded white dress. In a cramped apartment, Anderson had her pinned against the wall, kissing her desperately while her eyes welled with tears. It turns out love doesn’t just fade. It transfers. When he left me dying on a cold operating table for that girl, I let him go completely. Later, that arrogant man knelt in the pouring rain, begging me to touch him just one more time. But I only found him disgusting. The annual high-society charity gala in New York was blindingly bright with camera flashes. As the wife of Anderson Sinclair, the head of the Sinclair Group, I held his arm. We walked the red carpet, bathed in the adoration of the city’s media. “Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair, could you step closer and hold hands, please?” a reporter we knew called out with a smile. Anderson turned his head. A perfect, gentle warmth flickered in his deep, icy eyes. He reached out and wrapped his long, elegant fingers tightly around my palm. The moment our skin met, my heart skipped a beat. I have a secret that no one knows. Whenever I touch someone’s skin, I can see the person they love deepest in their heart. Three years ago, in this man’s palm, I saw myself. That was what gave me the courage to entrust my life to him. Full of anticipation, I closed my eyes, letting the sensation from my fingertips transmit his inner world into my brain. But in the next second, my blood turned to ice. The image in my mind wasn’t me in a haute couture gown. It was a young girl with a ponytail, wearing a faded white dress. In a cramped, dimly lit apartment, Anderson was pinning her against a peeling wall, kissing her with wild, greedy desperation. Her eyes were red. She responded clumsily, her hands gripping his expensive, custom-made shirt. That was a side of him I had never seen—a raw, possessive, uncontrollable passion. Buzz— The phone inside Anderson’s suit jacket suddenly vibrated. He let go of my hand almost instinctively. The warmth left my palm, and the cold draft rushed between my fingers. He pulled out his phone. As the screen lit up, I caught a glimpse of a text message before he could hide it on Snapchat. “Mr. Sinclair, it’s pouring rain. The dorm gates are locked. I’m alone on the street, and I’m so scared…” Sender: Vivian. Anderson stared at the screen. A rare, uncontrollable flash of panic and heartache crossed his face, a face that usually never showed emotion. “I’m sorry,” he said, turning to me. His voice was low but filled with undeniable urgency. “There’s an emergency with our European branch. The board directors are waiting for my decision. I have to leave right now.” He didn’t wait for my reply, nor did he even drape his coat over my shoulders. He turned and strode down the red carpet. The camera flashes went wild, freezing me there, completely alone in front of the massive backdrop. I watched his retreating back and forced a smile that felt more painful than crying. Three years of devotion. It turns out the deepest love in someone’s heart really can transfer to someone else.

I handled the media alone and returned to our sprawling, ten-thousand-square-foot estate. Empty. Dead silent. This was the home I had built with all my heart for three years. Right now, it felt like a giant freezer. At 3:00 AM, the beep of the smart lock echoed at the entrance. Anderson was back. He took off his damp black trench coat, handed it to the butler who hurried over, and stepped inside with his usual elegant composure. “Why aren’t you asleep yet?” He walked into the living room. Seeing me sitting on the sofa, his brow furrowed slightly, his tone carrying a touch of gentle scolding. “Did you sort out the emergency in Europe?” I raised my head, looking at him quietly. “Yeah. It was a bit tricky, but it’s taken care of.” He walked over to me, leaning down out of habit to kiss my forehead. But as he drew closer, a completely unfamiliar scent invaded my nose. It wasn’t the cedarwood cologne I had personally blended for him. It was a cheap, sickeningly sweet peach perfume. The scent of a young college girl in her early twenties. I abruptly turned my head away, avoiding his lips. Anderson froze mid-air. A flash of annoyance crossed his eyes, but he quickly masked it. “What’s wrong? Still mad that I left early?” He straightened up and looked down at me, a hint of impatience in his voice. “Elise, you’ve always been sensible. You know that in my position, there are things I can’t avoid.” Sensible. For three years, to be worthy of him, I had hidden all my sharp edges. I learned to be the perfect high-society wife. I thought it was mutual devotion. He just took it for granted. “I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.” I stood up, not giving him another glance, and walked straight upstairs. After washing up and lying in bed, my phone screen suddenly lit up. As if possessed, I opened Anderson’s Instagram. A new post stabbed my eyes. There was no photo, just a short sentence: “Even if it pours, I will hold the umbrella for you.” The posting time was exactly thirty minutes after he had abandoned me on the red carpet. I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper. The man who had once sworn before a priest to protect me through sickness and disaster was now holding his umbrella over someone else.

The next morning, Anderson left for the office early. In his study, I found a bidding proposal for the Southside project that he had “forgotten” the night before. It was a major project he had been preparing for six months. He needed it for a 10:00 AM meeting today. I changed into a well-tailored suit, took the document, and drove to his private penthouse. That was where he had proposed to me. He had said it was a secret base just for the two of us. Now, I wanted to see what was hidden in our “secret base.” The elevator went straight to the penthouse. I stood in front of the smart lock and entered my birthday. “Access denied,” the mechanical female voice chimed coldly. I paused, then entered the time the girl had sent the text last night: 0927. Click. The door unlocked. Immediately, I was hit by the sweet, sickening peach perfume from last night. By the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room lay a pair of white canvas shoes. And on the girl’s feet were the custom Italian leather slippers I had commissioned an old craftsman to make—slippers that were supposed to belong only to me. The girl walked out of the kitchen holding a warm glass of milk. She wore an oversized white button-down shirt. The hem barely covered her thighs, and the collar was loose, revealing her pale, slender neck. The shirt belonged to Anderson. When she saw me, she gasped, almost spilling the milk. “Mrs… Mrs. Sinclair?” She recognized me. But there was no panic of a mistress caught in the act. Instead, she had a timid, innocent look, like a startled fawn. “Why are you here?” she asked nervously, pulling down the oversized hem to cover herself. I looked at her pure, clean face. It was exactly the same face I had seen in Anderson’s heart last night. Vivian. “I came to deliver a document to Anderson.” I tossed the bidding proposal onto the console table, my voice completely flat. “Anderson is… he’s in the shower,” Vivian whispered, biting her lower lip. “The storm was too bad last night, and the dorms were locked. He was worried about me, so he let me crash here for the night.” She said it so naturally, so intimately. “Mrs. Sinclair, please don’t misunderstand. Nothing happened. Anderson just felt bad for me trying to make it alone in New York…” The more she explained, the guiltier it felt. Just then, the bathroom door opened. Anderson walked out, drying his dripping hair with a towel. He only had a towel wrapped around his waist, exposing his toned upper body. Seeing me standing in the entryway, he froze, his pupils contracting instantly. “Elise? What are you doing here?” He strode over. His very first instinct was to step in front of Vivian, shielding her entirely behind his back. He was protecting her. Protecting his sweetheart from me.

Watching his defensive stance, the last shred of my hope shattered into dust. “You left your bidding document in the study. I was in the area, so I brought it over.” I looked him dead in the eye, catching every micro-expression on his face. Anderson’s tense jawline relaxed slightly. He let out a quiet sigh of relief. “Thanks. You could have just sent a driver.” He turned to look at Vivian behind him, his tone instantly returning to his usual arrogant composure. “This is Vivian. She’s a college student our company sponsors.” “She ran into some trouble last night, so I lent a hand. She’s young. Don’t scare her.” Lent a hand. By giving her your private apartment, your personal shirt, and kissing her with a passion that looked like he wanted to merge their souls? “Is that so?” I curled my lips into a faint, mocking smile. “Mr. Sinclair is certainly hands-on with his charity work.” Anderson’s face darkened. “Elise, cut the sarcasm.” “I’ll wait in the car.” I didn’t spare the happy couple another look. I turned and walked out. Fifteen minutes later, Anderson got into the passenger seat. He had changed into a brand-new custom suit. The faint scent of body wash had completely washed away any trace of the other woman. The silence in the car was deafening. “Elise, are you angry?” He reached to loosen his tie, his voice carrying a trace of exhausted indulgence. “Vivian is just an innocent kid who hasn’t seen the world. I treat her like a sister.” “As Mrs. Sinclair, you don’t need to get jealous over a poor student.” He always knew how to use the most dignified words to cover up his dirtiest betrayals. My hands gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. “Anderson.” I suddenly turned, reaching out to grab his wrist tightly. Skin contact. This time, I saw it clearer than ever. In my mind, Vivian stood on her tiptoes, gently pressing her lips against Anderson’s. And Anderson, eyes closed, actually let a tear slip down his cheek. In his heart, he was screaming wildly, “I can’t live without you.” I pulled my hand back as if shocked by electricity. A wave of nausea surged in my stomach. “You don’t view her as a sister at all.” I looked at the red light ahead, my voice so calm it terrified me. “You love her.” Anderson snapped his head toward me, his eyes sharp as daggers. “Elise, what nonsense are you talking about? Have you been too idle lately? Now you’re getting paranoid?” “Let’s get a divorce,” I said casually. The air in the car instantly froze. Screeech! Anderson lunged over and slammed his foot onto the brake. The tires shrieked against the asphalt, stopping the car in the middle of the road, nearly causing a pileup. “Are you crazy?!” His eyes were bloodshot as he glared at me. “Just because I took in a sponsored student, you want a divorce?” “Elise, don’t use divorce to threaten me. It’s not funny at all!” “I’m not joking.” I looked at his twisted, angry face. “It’s been three years, Anderson. You might not be tired of acting, but I’m tired of watching.” “I’ll have my lawyer send the paperwork to your office tomorrow.” The light turned green. I started the car again, shutting him out of my world completely.

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“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” The chants at the party echoed through the crowded bar, loud and relentless. I stood at the edge of the crowd, quietly watching my wife of three years, Kylie. She giggled, took a mouthful of whiskey, and leaned in close to her male friend, Robertson. Moving her lips to his, she slowly poured the alcohol directly into his mouth. Once the drink was transferred, Robertson wrapped his arm around her waist. He gave her cheek a playful, teasing pinch. “Aren’t you afraid of being allergic to my spit?” Kylie patted his hand away, her eyes crinkling into beautiful crescents as she spoke in a sweet, whiny tone. “Why would I be? I’d never be allergic to yours.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she stood on her tiptoes, wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, and pulled him into a deep, ten-second French kiss. My mind went completely blank. In that instant, my mind flashed back to our wedding three years ago. I had merely brushed my lips against hers at the altar, and she had immediately gone into anaphylactic shock. She was rushed straight to the ICU. The doctors told me she had a severe saliva allergy. Even the slightest contact with someone else’s spit could be fatal. Since then, during every single intimate moment, she forced me to wear a sealed silicone mask. She wouldn’t even let my lips touch a millimeter of her skin. Because of her “condition,” rumors spread like wildfire in our social circles that I had chronic bad breath or some kind of contagious stomach bacteria. They said I was the one who forced Kylie to live like a nun. To protect her self-esteem, I silently took the blame. I endured the whispers and mocking glances for three whole years. But right now, looking at her smudged lipstick, I finally got it. She wasn’t allergic to saliva. She was only allergic to me.

If I hadn’t happened to walk into that exact bar tonight, I would have never known. I would have never seen Kylie—who told me she was working late at the office—holding alcohol in her mouth and feeding it to Robertson without a single shred of hesitation. After she finished feeding him the whiskey, the crowd around them went wild. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” And Kylie actually did it. Egged on by the crowd, she pressed her lips against his. She closed her eyes, tilting her head to change angles several times. She even leaned in deeper, completely lost in the moment. I stood there, frozen. At our wedding, when our guests chanted for us to kiss, she had flatly refused, using her deadly saliva allergy as the perfect excuse. I clenched my fists and started walking toward them. But after only a few steps, I lost my footing and crashed straight into the bar counter. Glasses shattered, sending a loud clatter through the room. Instantly, every eye in the bar turned to me. The kissing couple stopped. Robertson, looking like a smug winner, raised an eyebrow. He walked over and stretched out a hand, pretending to help me up. “Well, if it isn’t Howard? What’s wrong, buddy? Can’t even walk straight?” I slapped his hand away. “Get out of my face!” Robertson shrugged, putting on a perfectly innocent act. “Hey, don’t be mad. We were just playing a game. You know Kylie and I have been like this since we were kids…” I swung my fist at his face. But before my punch could land, Kylie threw herself in front of Robertson, completely ignoring how humiliating this was for me. “This is a private party with all our friends. Have you thrown enough of a tantrum? Get the hell home right now!” I let out a cold, humorless laugh. I walked straight past them, took a seat right in the middle of her friend group, and sat down. “A gathering of friends? As your husband, don’t I deserve a seat at the table?” A heavy silence fell over the group. The two people sitting closest to me instinctively slid their chairs a few inches away. “You have chronic bad breath and H. pylori bacteria, and yet you still have the nerve to crash our game? Aren’t you afraid of infecting all of us?” The guy sitting next to Robertson spoke up, his voice dripping with righteous indignation. The others exchanged awkward glances. I looked at Kylie. She was sitting right next to Robertson, smiling and nodding along with the insult. Because Kylie had refused to let me touch her all these years, the rumors about my “disgusting bacteria” and “terrible breath” had run rampant. To save her face, I had never once defended myself. And now, a secret so private was being thrown in my face as a joke by her friends to mock me. And she just sat there, refusing to say a single word in my defense. I pulled out my phone, opened my medical app, and flashed my latest digital health report. “Take a good look. I don’t have any bacteria, and my breath is perfectly fine. So, I’m joining the next round.” Kylie stood up, trying to snatch my phone. “Stop it, Howard! Why are you being so childish?” “Oh? And what about your saliva allergy, Kylie? Seems like you can kiss whenever you want now!” Dozens of curious, gossiping eyes instantly locked onto us. Kylie’s ears turned bright red. She grabbed my arm, trying to force me to shut up. I shook her hand off. This time, she didn’t try to stop me from joining the game. I grabbed the dice cup and shook it violently. When I lifted it, I revealed the highest possible roll. Everyone stared in utter shock. Including Kylie. She rarely brought me to her social gatherings. She had no idea how good I actually was at these bar games. “I win,” I said coldly. Robertson, who had been looking smug next to Kylie just a second ago, was now frozen like a statue. “Robertson, since you love mouth-to-mouth so much, why don’t you give Hillary a kiss?” The rule of the game was simple: the winner could choose anyone at the table for a Dare. Robertson couldn’t back out, but his face turned incredibly sour. Kylie had told me before that Hillary had been chasing Robertson for years. This dare should have been a favor to her. But Kylie immediately spoke up to defend him. “Babe, come on. Robertson is shy. Let’s just skip this round, okay?” I felt my chest tighten, my voice turning incredibly cold. “You play, you pay. Why is it okay for Robertson to kiss my wife, but he can’t kiss anyone else?” Robertson clenched his fists so hard his nails dug into his palms. “It’s just a game, Howard. Don’t make things difficult for Robertson,” Kylie pleaded, throwing me under the bus just to protect his feelings. My stomach started to churn with a sickening pain, but I refused to lose my ground. “He’s the one with bad luck. Why is that my fault?” Unable to take it anymore, Robertson stood up and stormed out of the bar in a rage. Kylie stood up immediately. She threw a freezing glare at me. “Are you happy now?” With that, she ran out after him. The party fell apart because of me. Strangely, I didn’t feel like a winner at all. I only felt a deep, crushing exhaustion. I slowly stood up, the pain in my stomach growing sharper by the second. By the time I stumbled into the restroom, I was vomiting nothing but burning, sour bile.

I don’t even remember how I got to the hospital. When I finally opened my eyes, a doctor was already standing over my bed, his voice urgent. “Mr. Vance, you have severe gastrointestinal bleeding. It’s an emergency. We need your family to sign the consent forms for surgery immediately!” I didn’t want to call Kylie. “Doctor… can’t I just sign it myself?” The doctor shook his head. “You are in critical condition. You cannot make these medical decisions alone.” I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth and dialed Kylie’s number. The first few times, the call went through but was left unanswered. After that, her phone was turned off completely. “What’s taking so long? Where is your family?” the nurse urged. I silently dialed her number over and over again. The irony was unbearable. While Kylie was ignoring my life-or-death calls, she had just posted an update on Instagram. The caption read: “Best friends for life! ” The picture showed the back of her and Robertson, clinking glasses at a cozy lounge. I slowly lowered my phone and closed my eyes. A few minutes later, Robertson sent me a Snapchat video. In the video, on the bed I swept and made every single day, messy clothes were scattered all over the floor. Kylie and Robertson were snuggled up together under the same blanket. To top it off, Robertson sent a text: “Hey Howard, is there something urgent? Kylie is exhausted. She’s already asleep.” I stared at the ceiling for a long time. “We can’t wait any longer. The bleeding is getting worse. Where is your wife?” the nurse pressed anxiously. I shook my head. “No one is coming. My wife… she can’t make it.” Hearing this, the nurse’s annoyed expression instantly softened into shock and deep pity. In the end, I signed the consent form myself and was wheeled into the operating room alone. I had no idea how long the surgery took. But the moment I regained consciousness, my phone was buzzing non-stop. I checked. It was Kylie. Instead of calling her back, I blocked her number on every single app. During my five days in the hospital, my bedside remained completely empty. The nurse, unable to watch me suffer alone, helped me hire a private caregiver. While tending to me, the caregiver gently asked, “Where is your family, dear?” I stared blankly out the window. “They’re not here. It’s a long flight, and they’re getting old. I didn’t want to worry them.” The caregiver patted my hand gently, saying nothing. Suddenly, I missed home. My fingers hovered over my phone, and I accidentally dialed my father’s number. The moment I realized what I had done, I hung up in a panic. He was probably buried in work, trying to rebuild his business. I couldn’t let him see me in this pathetic state. A moment later, my father called back. I swallowed my tears and let the phone ring until it went silent. The day I was discharged, I rushed straight back to our apartment to pack my bags and leave. But to my surprise, I ran into Robertson.

When I opened the door, Robertson was sitting comfortably in my favorite spot on the couch, eating popcorn and spilling it all over the floor. He wasn’t even surprised to see me. He casually gestured for me to sit down, as if he were the master of this house. I kicked his shoes out of the doorway and walked straight past him into the bedroom. But he followed me in. “Haven’t seen Kylie in a few days. Are you throwin’ a tantrum?” Treating him like air, I opened the closet. That was when I realized how little of my stuff was actually left in this house. “Don’t worry, Kylie is doing great at my place. Honestly, she doesn’t really want to come back here anyway.” I still ignored him, silently packing my suitcase. Seeing my silence, he lost his cool. He stepped right in front of me, blocking my path. “Kylie loves me, Howard. Just face it and get out.” I honestly couldn’t comprehend this man. One minute he was claiming they were “just friends,” and the next he was demanding I step aside. I stopped packing and looked him dead in the eye. “Are you done?” He blinked, taken aback. “If you’re done, get out. I need to pack.” Robertson’s face twisted in anger, his voice turning sharp and nasty. “Damn, Howard. You really are a pathetic coward, aren’t you? Your wife is sleeping with another man, and all you can do is pack your bags?” BANG! I slammed my fist against the closet door right next to his head. The heavy wood let out a deafening boom. Robertson gasped, stumbling back two steps in terror. “You’re right. I can’t take it anymore,” I said, my face completely expressionless. “But even if I leave, it doesn’t mean a piece of trash like you gets to act tough in front of me.” Right then, I heard the sound of keys jingling at the front door. Kylie walked in. The second she saw a pale Robertson standing by the bedroom door, she didn’t even ask what happened. She immediately started lecturing me. “What is wrong with you, Howard? You block my number, you don’t come home for days…” “Robertson was worried about you! He’s been waiting here for days just to make sure you’re okay, and you decide to bully him the second you get back?” “I’m bullying him?” I laughed, completely exhausted. I didn’t even want to explain. “Fine. Since you love him so much, go live with him!” At that moment, Robertson started playing the victim again. “Kylie, maybe I shouldn’t be here. I’m just making Howard uncomfortable. He hates me anyway. I’ll just leave…” “Look at you, Howard. We’ve been friends for so many years, and you’re still acting so childish,” Kylie said, grabbing Robertson’s hand before turning to glare at me. “I’ve told you a thousand times, Robertson and I are just best friends. If we wanted to be together, we would have done it long before you came along!” She always used that line. But whenever Robertson snapped his fingers, she would drop everything and run to him. On our engagement day, Robertson had just returned to the country. One phone call from him, and Kylie abandoned our families at the restaurant to pick him up from the airport. On our wedding day, Robertson couldn’t stand seeing us get married, so he threw a tantrum and went missing. Kylie literally paused the ceremony, demanding everyone search the venue just to find him. And now, it was the exact same thing.

“Kylie, since you think I’m not as important as him, let’s get a divorce.” “What did you say?” Her voice was filled with disbelief, laced with a mocking laugh. “Sign the papers. Let’s divorce. Since you feel so free with Robertson, you can finally be with him legally.” I pulled out the divorce papers I had drafted while lying in the hospital bed. “Howard, stop playing games. Robertson could never replace you!” Seeing that I wasn’t backing down, she let out a cold sneer. “Do you really think you can just divorce me, Howard? Have you forgotten what your father told you?” She actually had the nerve to bring up my father! Five years ago, if my father’s company hadn’t been targeted by a massive corporate rival, Kylie would have never received his $5 million seed funding. Without that money, Kylie’s startup would have crashed and burned. She would never have achieved the success she has today. Back then, with her status, she would have never been able to marry into my family. My father had made Kylie promise to take me away from our hometown to protect me, telling me not to come back unless the storm cleared. So for five years, no matter how hard things got, I never went back. I stayed quietly by Kylie’s side, playing the role of a perfect, obedient husband. She knew exactly why I was staying, and she used it to walk all over me. Seeing that I didn’t respond, Kylie smirked, feeling victorious. “Besides, even if you don’t care about yourself, think about your dad. He’s getting old. Can his heart take the stress of you running back like a failure?” With a slow, deliberate movement, she tore my divorce papers into shreds. “So, forget about a divorce. Just be a good husband and keep quiet, okay?” “Sure,” I said quietly, looking past her at Robertson. Robertson’s face was incredibly sour. He had realized that Kylie was refusing to divorce me, which meant he was still just the sidepiece. He immediately threw another silent tantrum, and Kylie quickly left my side to comfort him. I silently swept up the torn pieces of paper and threw them into the trash. I knew Kylie too well. She would never willingly sign those papers. So, I stopped arguing with her. She thought I had finally submitted to her will, and she lowered her guard. A few days later, while she was away on a business trip, I held my phone for a long time before finally dialing my father’s number. “Dad… I want to come home.” In that single moment, all the pain and exhaustion I had bottled up for years finally overflowed. I didn’t tell him what happened. He was silent for a few seconds, then said softly, “I’ll have a car waiting for you at the airport.” I took one last look at the city I had lived in for five years, and walked through the boarding gate.

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After I got out of prison, my buddy and I opened an auto shop together. He put up the cash, I provided the expertise, and we agreed on a seventy-thirty split. Relying on my custom tuning skills, we took the local trust-fund racing scene by storm in our very first year, clearing eight million dollars in net profit. But when I went to collect my cut at the end of the year, he handed me a check for only ten grand. “The only reason we’re doing so well is because I’m the one rubbing shoulders with those rich kids,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Anyone can turn a wrench. You really think you’re some kind of genius? Most shops pay their mechanics six grand a month. I’m giving you ten. I’m doing you a favor.” Shocked and furious, I realized my loyalty had been met with nothing but greed. I quit on the spot and opened a rival shop right across the street. Six months later, he came begging: “If you come back, I’ll pay you five hundred thousand a year. That ought to be enough to keep you happy, right?” … 1 Before I went to see Derek, my phone rang. “Dante, have you given any more thought to my offer?” I didn’t hesitate. “Mr. Herman, I appreciate the interest, but I’ve made my position clear. I’m not leaving Apex Tuning.” The man on the other end of the line was Richard Herman, the owner of the largest high-end auto repair franchise in the state. He had been trying to headhunt me for months. Three years ago, when I first walked out of the state penitentiary with a record, finding a decent job was impossible. No one wanted to hire an ex-con. Just when I was at my lowest, Derek, my childhood friend, called. He asked if I wanted to run the technical side of his struggling auto shop. I had a degree in aerospace engineering and had spent years working at a research institute before my life went sideways. If I hadn’t stepped in to protect my parents from a group of local thugs and ended up severely injuring one of them, I never would have gone inside. Derek’s logic for hiring me was simple: if I could calculate rocket trajectories, I could easily tune a Porsche. He also complained that other mechanics kept stealing parts to sell on the black market, a loss his small business couldn’t survive. He promised that if I came on board, he’d give me a sweat equity stake in the business. After thinking it over for a few days, I agreed. As I prepared to hang up with Mr. Herman, he seemed to sense my eagerness to end the call and cut in. “Dante, listen to me. My sources tell me Derek is paying you ten grand a month and promising a thirty-percent cut of the profits. If you join us, I’ll start you at a base salary of five hundred thousand a year, plus a fifty-percent share of the performance shop’s net profits. I guarantee—” Before he could finish, Derek’s call beeped in. He wanted to know if I was at the shop yet and asked me to step into his office. I hung up on Herman, my chest swelling with anticipation. Word had already reached me that our shop had pulled in eight million dollars in net profit this year. According to our seventy-thirty agreement, my share was a cool two point four million. Two point four million dollars. Even back during my research institute days, I had never seen that kind of money. But the moment I walked into Derek’s office and he handed me my envelope, my excitement turned to ash. Derek sat in his oversized leather executive chair, casually tossing a black debit card onto the desk. “Dante, great work this year. There’s ten grand on this card. That’s your bonus.” For a second, I thought I had misheard him. “Ten grand? Did you miscalculate? We did eight million in net profit. Our agreement was thirty percent. I’m owed two point four million.” Derek let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Two point four million? Dante, do you honestly think you’re worth that much?” The words hit me like a bucket of ice water. I froze, staring at him. “What is that supposed to mean, Derek?” My voice cracked, rising in pitch. “We had a deal. Technical equity. A seventy-thirty split. It was written down. Now you’re telling me you’re keeping it?” “Written down?” Derek’s smile turned patronizing. “We talked about it, sure. But it’s not in the contract you signed. Your employment agreement says ten grand a month, plus a ten-grand annual bonus. I’ve essentially doubled your monthly pay with this check. Look around the industry—what other shop owner is this generous?” A hot spike of anger flared in my chest. “Derek, don’t do this. You know exactly what kind of shape this dump was in when I started. We were barely pulling in ten jobs a month and facing bankruptcy. Who turned it around?” I pointed out the window toward the courtyard, which was currently packed with millions of dollars of European machinery. “Look at those cars out there. Do you think those guys bring their specs here because of the waiting room? They want my custom tuning. Even Richard Herman has been trying to lure me away, offering half a million a year and a fifty-percent cut. I didn’t even consider it because of our friendship, and this is how you treat me?” The smile vanished from Derek’s face. He leaned forward, his eyes cold. “You think I didn’t know Herman was sniffing around you? Dante, you really need to get over yourself.” “You think our business is booming because of your little wrench-turning skills? Come on. Anyone can learn to tune a car. There are dozens of shops in this city with decent mechanics. Why do you think these rich kids bring their toys to our small-time garage?” “It’s because of me. I spent the last year drinking craft beer, playing golf, and hanging out at VIP lounges with those trust-fund kids. They come here because of my relationships, because they like me. You’re just the guy covered in grease in the back. Don’t act like you’re the star of the show.” Listening to him, I had to actively restrain myself from throwing a punch. I knew my worth. There were fewer than a dozen engineers in the country who could do what I did with high-performance engines. The reason those wealthy drivers chose our small shop over established franchises—and the reason Herman wanted me so badly—was because of my custom work. I could extract performance gains they thought they could only get by shipping their cars back to Germany or Italy. Without me, Derek could drink a thousand craft beers with those kids, and they still wouldn’t trust him with a three-hundred-thousand-dollar engine block. Seeing the fury in my eyes, Derek sighed, getting up from his desk to pat my shoulder. “Look, Dan, I get that you’re upset. But I have to run a business. You aren’t the only mechanic in the shop. I have guys with more seniority who do more physical labor. They don’t get a percentage of the profits. If I give you millions, they’re going to find out, and it’ll destroy morale.” “Tell you what. I’ll bump your monthly salary by another thousand. And I’ll guarantee a ten-grand bonus every year. How’s that for taking care of my brother?” His smug, patronizing tone made me laugh out loud—a bitter, hollow sound. When I first arrived at this shop three years ago, the entire staff consisted of three clueless high school interns. We didn’t even have a lift that worked properly. We were patching tires and doing oil changes, pulling in less than twenty grand a month. I spent six months traveling to specialized performance seminars, paying for my own flights and lodging out of my meager savings while taking zero salary from the shop. When I returned, I used every connection I had left to find a local driver willing to let me modify his BMW M4. The day after he took it out on the track, he brought back five of his wealthy track-day friends. That was the day Apex Tuning was truly born. Over the past year, I was the first to arrive at seven in the morning and the last to lock up at eleven at night. Three hundred and sixty-five days, without a single day off, terrified of missing a client’s deadline. I had even herniated a disc in my spine and had to undergo emergency back surgery. The doctor warned me that my days of heavy lifting were over. Derek’s solution was to hire a young apprentice to assist me. Even then, I returned to the shop immediately after being discharged, kneeling and crouching on the cold concrete floor, guiding the apprentice’s hands through the delicate parts when my back screamed in pain. And now, he was pretending the senior mechanics—who had only applied here after we became famous, and whom I had personally trained—were the reason he couldn’t pay me. “Derek, if you want to break your word, just say it,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “If you want me out, say it. Don’t hide behind some pathetic excuse about the other guys’ morale. Do you really think I’m that stupid?” Derek waved his hand dismissively. “Dan, you’re taking this the wrong way. We’re brothers. Why would I want you to leave? But business is business. If you want a cut of the profits, you have to prove your worth to the bottom line.” I almost laughed again. My worth? The custom fabrication suppliers we used were partners I had personally vetted and negotiated with. Every single vehicle on our portfolio wall was a build I had engineered from scratch. And with a single sentence, he had erased all of it. I wanted to sue him. But the harsh reality crashed down on me: three years ago, trusting our friendship, I had agreed to everything verbally. We didn’t even have a text thread detailing the equity split. If I tried to take him to court, a lawyer wouldn’t even look at the case. “Fine, Derek. If that’s where we stand.” I took a deep breath, forcing my heart rate down. “I’m done. I quit.” I expected him to flinch, or at least try to negotiate. Instead, he reached into his desk drawer and slid a pre-drafted termination and release agreement across the table. “Alright, Dante. If your heart’s not in it anymore, I won’t force you to stay. Go see payroll and get your final check.” Staring at the paper, the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place. He had planned this long ago. With a cold sneer, I swept the ten-thousand-dollar debit card off the desk and walked out. I headed back to the garage bay to pack up my personal toolbox. When the other mechanics saw me packing, they crowded around my station. I had always treated them with respect and handled the toughest technical issues for them, so we had a good relationship. When I told them what Derek had done, the bay erupted in anger. “That is complete garbage, Dan. Everyone knows you built this place.” “Seriously. We wouldn’t even have a custom department if it weren’t for you. Nobody’s going to bust their hump for just hourly pay.” “Just watch. He’s going to run this place straight into the ground.” They were working-class guys; they understood the sting of being exploited. But at the end of the day, they had families to feed. All they could offer me were words of sympathy. I thanked them, then called over Cody, my apprentice, to ask if he wanted to come with me. Cody came from a rough background, and I had taken him under my wing, often slipping him extra cash for groceries and teaching him the finer points of diagnostic tuning. I figured if he came with me, I could have him running his own bay in two years. But when I explained my plan, Cody hesitated, taking a step back. “Actually, Dan… I think I’m going to stay here. I like my setup.” “Cody, you’re only making three grand a month here,” I said. “Come with me, and I guarantee I can double that within a year.” Seeing that I wasn’t dropping it, Cody straightened his posture, his tone turning defensive. “To be honest, Dan, Derek already bumped my salary to eight grand. I’m good.” I stared at him, stunned. “Eight grand? That’s what we pay senior master technicians. Why on earth is he paying you that?” Cody shifted his weight, refusing to meet my eyes. Looking at his nervous demeanor and remembering Derek’s smug confidence in the office, the ugly truth finally dawned on me. “You told Derek you’ve mastered my custom tuning techniques, didn’t you?” Cody’s silence was my answer. He was a smart kid, and he definitely had a natural hand for mechanics, but he had a fatal flaw: he was impatient and sloppy. We worked on seven-figure vehicles where a single stripped bolt or misaligned bracket could destroy a dry-sump lubrication system. Every custom job he had worked on had been heavily supervised by me to ensure nothing went wrong. Out of a lingering sense of mentorship, I tried to warn him. “Cody, you need to be honest with Derek. If you take on those builds alone, you’re going to make a mistake. Derek let me go without a second thought; if you destroy a client’s engine, he will ruin your life.” Cody’s face hardened, the faux-respectful apprentice act vanishing. “You know what, Dante? I called you ‘boss’ out of politeness, but you really think you’re some kind of god, don’t you? You’re just bitter because I’m replacing you.” “Your ‘secret’ tuning specs aren’t that complicated. I’ve watched you do them a hundred times. I know the maps, I know the fuel pressures. You think the world stops spinning because you’re not here?” “And let me let you in on a little secret: Derek’s wife is my first cousin. He’s family. He’s not going to touch me. So why don’t you worry about your own career and leave me the hell alone?” A dull thud echoed in my head, like I’d been struck by a blunt object. Derek’s wife’s cousin. That was why Derek had insisted on assigning Cody to me as an apprentice. That was why Cody’s frequent mistakes had always been brushed under the rug by management. That was why Derek had the confidence to throw me out today. From the very first day they introduced me to Cody, they had been planning to steal my trade secrets and replace me with a cheaper, family-loyal alternative. There was nothing left to say. I turned around, walked to the front office to collect my final paycheck, and wheeled my heavy toolbox toward the exit. But as I reached the rolling bay doors, a hand gripped my shoulder. “Dante! Thank God you’re here!” I turned to see a young guy with dyed silver hair standing in my way. It was Tyler, one of our wealthiest and most demanding clients. “What’s going on with my build?” Tyler demanded, pointing toward the back of the shop. “Why is some junior kid working on my car? He didn’t even know what year the chassis was!” Tyler’s car was a Porsche 935—one of only seventy-seven in existence. He had been on our waiting list for six months, explicitly demanding that I personally handle the suspension and aero upgrades. “I’m sorry, Tyler,” I said quietly. “I’ve been let go. I won’t be working on your car.” “Let go?” Tyler’s voice echoed through the high-ceilinged bay. “Is your boss insane? I waited half a year for you. Now you’re telling me some kid is going to chop up my Porsche?” The shouting drew a crowd. Several mechanics stopped what they were doing to watch. Derek came jogging out of the office, a practiced, oily smile plastered on his face. “Tyler! Hey, man, what seems to be the problem? Why the heavy vibes?” Tyler pointed at me. “Derek, why is Dante leaving? We agreed he was personally doing the custom alignment and turbos on my 935. Why is a kid touching my car?” Derek shot me a warning look, then turned to Tyler, his voice dripping with reassurance. “Tyler, chill, it’s all good. Dante chose to resign, which we’re bummed about, but we’ve got you covered. Cody here is his star pupil. He’s been doing ninety percent of the work on these high-end specs anyway. Your car is in perfect hands.” Cody stepped up, puffing out his chest. “Absolutely, Tyler. I know Dan’s setups inside and out. I’ll make sure she runs like a dream.” Tyler looked back and forth between Cody and me, clearly skeptical. I wanted to walk away and let them burn, but my eyes drifted to the 935 sitting on the lift. It was a masterpiece of carbon-fiber engineering, worth well over a million dollars. The replacement parts had to be shipped directly from Weissach. If they messed up the suspension geometry, they could easily write off the entire chassis. I let out a slow sigh and looked at Tyler. “Tyler, if you want my honest advice, take your car somewhere else.” Derek’s face turned crimson. He stepped up to my face, pointing a finger at my nose. “Dante! You don’t work here anymore! Get the hell out of my shop! If you try to sabotage my business, I swear to God I’ll have you locked back up!” He then grabbed Tyler by the arm, pulling him toward the office while whispering frantically in his ear. After a minute, Tyler looked back at me, his expression shifting from confusion to disgust. “Really? Jesus. I had no idea.” He walked back over, ignored me completely, and tossed his keys to Cody. “Alright, Cody. Make it happen. Just keep him away from my car.” I watched Tyler walk away, his body language stiff with sudden contempt. I wanted to explain. I wanted to tell him the truth. But then I thought, Why bother? It wasn’t my car, and it certainly wasn’t my shop anymore. I knew Derek had whispered something foul about my past into Tyler’s ear. But I didn’t realize how quickly that poison would spread. A few days later, I called Mr. Herman to see if his half-a-million-dollar offer was still on the table. There was a long, awkward silence on the line before he finally spoke. “Dante… let me ask you something. Do you have a felony record?” My heart sank. “Did Derek call you? Mr. Herman, I can explain. It was an altercation involving my elderly parents—” “I believe you, Dante, I really do,” Herman interrupted, his voice sympathetic but firm. “But I have partners and a board of directors to answer to. If word gets out that we hired an ex-con to manage our high-end division, it could destroy our brand image. I’m sorry.” He went on to tell me that Derek had already blasted my criminal record to every major shop owner and distributor in the local car community. I was blacklisted. Herman offered to help me find a job out of state, but the shock left me numb. I had treated Derek like a brother for years. I had worked myself to the bone to make him rich, and this was how he repaid me—by trying to starve me out of the industry entirely. “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Herman,” I said, my voice steadying. “But I’m staying here. And you can mark my words: in less than two months, Derek is going to beg me to come back.” I packed my things, took my ten grand, and went back to my hometown to spend some quiet time with my parents. Sure enough, exactly two months later, my phone rang in the middle of the night.

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Devin suddenly switched his regular cigarettes to a cotton candy-flavored vape. I asked him why the sudden change. Hadn’t he always insisted that vapes lacked the kick he needed to handle his work stress? He took a slow drag, his voice dripping with irritation. “No reason. I was at the mall, tried it, and liked it. So I switched.” Then he walked into his study and locked the door behind him, a habit that had become second nature to him lately. I acted as if I hadn’t noticed his shift. As always, I picked up his discarded suit jacket and headed downstairs to the dry cleaners. After all, he was in a rush to text the girl who had bought him that childish vape. And me? I was in a rush to “accidentally” run into Albert—the man who had just bought the most expensive penthouse in our luxury complex—at exactly 6:25 PM. 1 Devin is ten years older than me. Because he was always the protective, mature type in our relationship, he had spent our entire dating history coddling me. In the early years of our marriage, he washed my delicates, apologized first after every argument, and showered me with surprise gifts on every holiday. But about six months ago, the coddling stopped. So, I adapted. I started chasing him, playing the role of the devoted, doting wife. When he came home from work, I would immediately fetch his slippers. The moment he took off his suit, I would rush it down to the dry cleaners. When he was working in his study, even if he snapped at me and called me annoying for interrupting him, I never fought back. I would just smile and say, “Don’t work too hard, honey.” Devin didn’t notice my transformation. Instead, my submission only made him complacent. He forgot my birthday, then our anniversary. Two weeks ago, when the World Cup started, he completely forgot our sacred tradition of drinking beer and staying up together to watch every single match. He didn’t invite me. When I finally tracked him down to our favorite local bar, I found him sitting in our usual spot, clinking glasses with a strange young girl to celebrate a goal, using the exact ritual he and I had shared for a decade. Even then, I didn’t lose heart. A middle-aged man with a bit of money straying in his marriage? It was practically a cliché. But today, when the cloying scent of cotton candy vape filled our living room, it didn’t just make me feel incredibly cheap; it made me feel painfully outdated. Suddenly, the effort of coddling Devin felt exhausting. I decided it was time to find someone else to dote on. I had begged Devin countless times to quit smoking or at least switch to vapes because I couldn’t stand the smell of smoke. He had never done it for me. Yet, for her, he did it instantly. 2 To run a successful business in a high-end neighborhood like ours, you have to be incredibly sharp. Frank, the owner of the dry cleaners, was no exception. When I walked into his shop at exactly 6:25 PM, he took Devin’s suit and gave me a knowing look. “Mrs. Callahan, do you have plans tonight? I set up a small screening room in the back with some beers and barbecue. I was thinking of watching the World Cup match here. Care to join?” I smiled. “Sure, I don’t have much going on. By the way, is my quarterly membership expiring? Let me renew it.” Frank didn’t hesitate to print out the invoice. The price had gone up by $500, but I paid it without blinking. Just as he handed me my receipt, Albert walked in. As usual, he wore slides, a simple polo, and shorts. There were no visible logos, but the tailoring of his clothes screamed bespoke luxury. Frank was incredibly smooth. He took Albert’s garment and repeated the invitation. Albert, who seemed to have a friendly rapport with Frank, gave a quiet nod and agreed. That was how I ended up sitting in the back of a dry cleaner’s screening room, drinking beer with Albert—a thirty-nine-year-old, divorced billionaire with no kids. Because we didn’t know each other well and Albert was a naturally reserved man, the evening was quiet. Aside from the commentary on the television, the only sound was the cracking of beer cans. The barbecue on the table went entirely untouched. About fifteen minutes into the game, Frank tried to break the ice. “Mrs. Callahan, I recall you mentioning your husband is a huge soccer fan. Why don’t you call him down? The more the merrier.” At the mention of Devin, I didn’t have to fake my sadness. My face naturally fell. “He’s busy,” I said quietly. Then, I picked up a beer and downed the entire can. The next morning, I woke up with a bird’s nest of hair and a blinding headache, remembering absolutely nothing of the night before. Until Frank sent me a video. In it, a completely wasted version of myself was dragging Albert and Frank around, desperately trying to start a dance party in the middle of the tiny screening room. Staring at the screen, I wanted to sink into the earth. I had wanted to catch Albert’s attention, but certainly not by making an absolute fool of myself. To my surprise, there was a new contact in my phone, along with a message. “Are you awake, Mrs. Callahan?” I tapped on the profile. It was Albert. “Who is this?” I played dumb. “Albert.” “Oh, I am so sorry, Albert. I drank far too much last night.” “Don’t worry about it. Do you have a headache today?” “No, I’m okay. Thank you and Frank for making sure I got home safely.” After I sent that, Albert didn’t reply. I wasn’t bothered. A man in his position had an empire to run; he wasn’t going to spend his day texting a married woman about her hangover. I knew when to back off. Two weeks passed. I continued to run into Albert at the cleaners almost every evening. We maintained our routine, exchanging nothing more than polite nods and smiles. Frank, growing impatient on my behalf, whispered to me one afternoon, “You’re still just waiting around? Why haven’t you made a move?” I laughed softly. “How? Am I supposed to ask a billionaire to be my sidepiece? I’m not that delusional.” But the truth was, a part of me was still holding onto Devin. Even though Devin was pulling away further and further. He hadn’t come home last night, nor the night before. When I called him two nights ago, he actually answered, but his voice was sharp with annoyance. “I told you I’m in a meeting! Why do you keep calling me?” Before I could even choke out an apology, the line went dead. Last night, he didn’t even bother to pick up. Instead, he posted a photo of an airplane wing on his social media. I couldn’t help myself. I left a comment: “Honey, you didn’t tell me you were traveling?” Devin replied publicly, right beneath my comment: “Don’t you have anything better to do? If you’re that bored, go sign up for a yoga class.” I cried all night because of that comment. Even now, my eyes were swollen and red. Remembering that suffocating despair, I turned to Frank. “Frank, let me renew my membership for another six months. Organize another World Cup night for us, will you?” 3 Frank pulled out the payment terminal immediately. I tapped my card for another five thousand dollars. That evening started out just like the others—the three of us sitting in quiet companionship, watching the match. But then, my phone buzzed with a new contact request. The accompanying message read: “Hey girl, I’m your husband’s girlfriend. Mind adding me back?” It ended with a playful emoji sticking its tongue out. My hands shook so violently I nearly dropped my beer. After a agonizing struggle, I tapped accept. The moment the connection went through, she sent a video. With trembling fingers, I opened it. It was Devin, kissing her with a raw, tender passion he hadn’t shown me in years. It quickly became too intimate, and I had to close the screen. My chest felt as if it were being crushed under a heavy weight. Before this, I had always told myself that if Devin wanted to leave, I would let him. I could find another man. But in that moment, the sheer, suffocating reality of his betrayal was enough to make me feel like I was dying. I had been with Devin since I was twenty. I was young and innocent when we met. He was my first kiss, my first lover, my entire world. But when he was thirty, he liked twenty-year-olds. Now that he was forty, he still liked twenty-year-olds. By halftime, I couldn’t even pretend to be okay. Without saying a word to Frank or Albert, I set my beer down, bit my lip to keep from sobbing, and walked out of the room. For the next two weeks, I stayed inside. I didn’t go down to run into Albert, and I didn’t call Devin. But the girl didn’t stop. Her messages kept coming, each one more venomous than the last. “You old bird, do you really think you deserve a man like Devin? I heard you’re barely an A-cup. Devin told me he only likes C-cups.” “I looked up your social media. You must be over 120 pounds by now. No wonder Devin never takes you to corporate events anymore. You’re an embarrassment.” Along with the insults, she sent intimate photos of them. They were repulsive. Every time one popped up, I would run to the bathroom and dry-heave. Another month slipped away. Then came another text from her: “We’re back in the country, by the way. I bet Devin didn’t tell you.” “Haha, want to know why? Because we played a game while we were abroad, and I told him he wasn’t allowed to call or text you for the whole month. Can you believe a forty-year-old man can be this obedient? He does whatever I say.” Staring at the glowing screen, after living like a ghost in my own home for a month, I finally pulled open the curtains. I walked into the bathroom and carefully applied makeup to cover my hollow, pale face. Once I was finished, I called Devin’s secretary. She clearly had no idea about the affair and easily gave me the name of the restaurant where Devin was hosting a dinner tonight. I slipped into a silk dress, grabbed my bag, and drove to the venue. Through the glass of the private dining room, I saw Devin sitting at the head of the table. He looked remarkably rejuvenated, even wearing a youthful, trendy tie. And me? I had spent the past month sobbing into a silent phone, begging a voicemail to answer: “Devin, please, just pick up.” The memory brought a sharp pain to my chest. Inside the room, the girl was practically draped over his lap, pouring his wine and feeding him. I wiped away a stray tear, pushed the door open, and stepped inside. “Sorry to interrupt, everyone.” The room went dead silent. Devin looked up, his face hardening with shock. But his first instinct wasn’t to push the girl away. He simply frowned, lecturing me like an disappointed boss. “What are you doing here? Wait for me outside.” Then, as if to salvage his pride in front of his business partners, he chuckled dryly. “Apologies, gentlemen. My wife. She’s been a homemaker for too long and has forgotten her manners. I asked her to pick me up, and she just barged in.” He turned to the girl. “Lexie, honey, would you mind showing my wife out?” Lexie smirked, stood up, and sauntered over to me. She leaned close, whispering in my ear, “Don’t make a scene and embarrass Devin. Get out.” “Embarrass.” The word hit me like a physical blow. Was I embarrassing? Yes. If this had been years ago, I would have flipped the table. But instead, I had spent the last month cowering in my house, afraid to shatter the illusion of my marriage, letting a cheap mistress look down on me. It was pathetic. I didn’t offer Lexie a single word in response. I simply raised my hand and slapped her across the face. Then, I pulled a set of divorce papers from my bag and threw them onto the table. “Devin, I wanted to handle this quietly. Even though you cheated, I wanted us to end things with some dignity.” “But your little mistress here is too vile. She sends me your bedroom photos daily and brags about keeping you away from home. I had to get your secretary to tell me where you were just to deliver these.” “The papers are signed on my end. Enjoy your dinner.” Without looking at him again, I turned and walked out. I didn’t call a cab. I walked all the way back to our neighborhood. My heels cut into my skin until my ankles bled, and halfway through the walk, a torrential downpour began. But I barely felt it. A person’s breaking point always happens in a single, quiet instant. My collapse had begun six months ago, the first time he stopped washing my clothes, the first time he started wearing those youthful ties. It took me four hours to reach the estate gates. During that entire time, Devin didn’t call or text once. It was clear who he had chosen. My chest was tight with a pain so sharp I could barely breathe. As I entered the courtyard, I saw Albert, walking his dog in the damp air just as the rain stopped. I carried my ruined heels, my makeup running down my face, and walked up to him with a trembling voice. “Albert… do you have time for a beer tonight?”

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Just because my sister, Maeve, spoke a single sentence to Flora’s lover, my own daughter accused her of stealing her gold bracelet. They had Maeve tied up and suspended from the rafters of the warehouse for three agonizing days and nights. I groveled on the floor, begging my wife and child like a dog. “I’m begging you, please, let her down. She won’t ever speak to Gale again, I swear…” My daughter met my desperate pleas with a cruel, mocking smile. “I’ll let her down, Dad. But she has to give my gold bracelet back first.” But Maeve hadn’t stolen anything. How could she return something she never took? My chest collapsed. I crawled toward Flora on my hands and knees. “Flora, please. Tell them to stop. She’s going to die up there!” Flora looked down her nose at me, her eyes dead and cold. “It’s only been three days. She’s not going to die.” “But if you really want her down, you give your mother’s heirloom to Gale.” 1 I stared up at Flora, paralyzed by disbelief. “That pendant… it’s the only thing I have left of my mother.” Linda rolled her eyes, her face twisted in a sneer of utter impatience. “Are you going to give it up or not? If you don’t, we’ll just leave her hanging!” “I’ll give it to you!” I cried out. Maeve hadn’t had a single drop of water in seventy-two hours. If I didn’t get her down right now, she was going to die in that freezing warehouse. My fingers trembled, my eyes stinging with hot tears as I reached behind my neck to unclamp the chain. I slid the emerald pendant into my palm and held it out to my daughter like a piece of my own soul. “Linda, please… this is all I have left of your grandmother. Take care of it.” Linda snatched it with a look of pure disgust. “It’s so ugly. I have no idea why Uncle Gale wants this garbage anyway.” Uncle Gale. My heart froze. This was Gale’s doing? He had manipulated my daughter into this? Before my frantic thoughts could align, the heavy metal door creaked open, and Gale walked in. “Hey there, sweet Linda!” “Uncle Gale!” Linda’s entire demeanor lit up. She bounded over to him, throwing her arms around his waist. “You’re so late! I’ve been waiting forever…” Flora smoothed Linda’s hair, her gaze softening as she looked at Gale. “Now, Linda, Uncle Gale has important things to do. It’s okay if he’s a little late.” Watching them, my chest throbbed with a dull, sickening pain. They looked like a perfect family. A real family. I couldn’t comprehend it. What kind of hold did Gale have over them? He had appeared in our lives, and almost overnight, my sweet, gentle daughter and the wife who once swore she loved me had transformed into monsters. Linda snuggled closer to Gale, looking up at him with a proud, eager smile. “Uncle Gale, even though you’re late, look what I got for you!” She turned back to me, making a clicking sound with her tongue. Tsk, tsk, tsk. “Come here, boy. Bring the pendant to Uncle Gale.” No father should ever hear his own daughter treat him like a stray dog. A wave of burning humiliation and raw fury rushed to my head, threatening to drown me. Inhale. Exhale. I squeezed my eyes shut, whispering to myself: Maeve is still up there. You have to swallow it. You have to endure. I pushed myself up onto my feet, clutching the pendant, and took a step toward them. Linda’s face instantly darkened. “Who said you could stand up?” she snapped. “Dogs don’t walk on two legs. You crawl over here with the pendant in your mouth, and you drop it at Uncle Gale’s feet.” A sharp, metallic taste flooded my mouth. I had bitten through my own lip. Jude. Keep it together. Just survive. I let my knees hit the concrete floor. The cold seeped through my jeans as I bent over, took the emerald pendant between my teeth, and dragged myself forward on all fours toward Gale. “Hahaha! Look at him! He really is a dog!” Linda’s high-pitched laughter bounced off the corrugated metal walls of the warehouse. I leaned down, letting the pendant fall from my mouth onto the dusty floor. “Can we please let my sister down now?” My voice sounded hollow, stripped of all human dignity. Linda kicked my hand away in disgust. “Ugh, you are so annoying!” Her eyes gleamed with a sudden, vicious spark. She wrapped her arms around Gale’s neck, giggling. “Tell you what. You beg Uncle Gale. If he agrees to take your ugly little toy, I’ll let her down.” My hands shook. I looked up, horrified. “…Jude…” A faint, raspy whimper came from behind me. Maeve. I closed my eyes, the agony tearing me apart. I pressed my forehead flat against the filthy concrete. “Please, Mr. Fletcher,” I croaked. “Please take the pendant.” Gale didn’t answer. I raised my head and slammed it back down onto the floor. Again. And again. Thud. Thud. Warm, sticky blood began to leak down my forehead, mixing with the tears on my face. “Alright, alright, that’s enough. I’ll take it,” Gale said, his voice dripping with mock pity. He reached down and pulled me up by my collar, leaning close to my ear. “You want to know why Linda really put your sister up there?” he whispered, his hot breath smelling of expensive mints. “Because I told them Maeve threw herself at me. I told them she stripped naked and begged me to touch her.” Something snapped. The fragile thread of my sanity shattered into a million pieces. I lunged forward, throwing my entire weight into a kick that caught him square in the stomach. He crashed back onto the floor, and before he could recover, I straddled him, bringing my fists down onto his face over and over again. I hit him until his face was as bloodied and broken as mine. Flora and Linda screamed, their voices echoing in panic. “Gale! Gale!” They called the burly bodyguards in, who violently tore me away from him. Flora stared at me with pure venom as she knelt beside Gale’s limp body. “If anything happens to him, Jude, I swear to God you will pay with your life!” I didn’t hear them. I stumbled toward the back of the warehouse, reaching toward the rafters where Maeve hung. “Maeve… hang on… I’m getting you down…” I stood on my tiptoes, stretching my arms up, trying desperately to reach the coarse rope. Having had nothing to eat or drink for three days, her eyes were deeply sunken, her skin a sickly, translucent grey. Her dry, cracked lips parted slightly. “…Jude…” With trembling hands, I brushed a lock of sweat-matted hair from her cheek, forcing a smile. “Don’t be scared, Maeve. I’m going to find a ladder. Just a second.” But before I could take a step, several large guards tackled me, pinning my arms behind my back. “What are you doing? Let me go! Let me go!” They ignored my screams, dragging me toward the exit. “Maeve! Maeve!” As the heavy metal doors began to slam shut, the last thing I saw was a single, silent tear tracking down my sister’s pale, lifeless cheek. Half an hour later, my hands were bound behind my back, and a thick, suffocating black hood was pulled over my head. Rip. The hood was yanked off. The harsh fluorescent lights of the room blinded me. Slap! A stinging blow struck my cheek. My eyes adjusted, and I saw Flora, her eyes red and puffy. “Jude! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Gale is in the ICU because of you!” I stared at her, a cold laugh bubbling up from my throat. “He deserved it. He deserved worse.” Slap! Another blow, but this time it wasn’t Flora. It was my daughter, Linda. She glared at me as if I were a monster. “You hurt Uncle Gale! You’re a bad person! I don’t want you to be my dad anymore!” She pulled out a hand-stitched stuffed rabbit—the one I had painstakingly made for her—and brandished a pair of scissors, slicing it into shreds. “I don’t want anything from you!” I watched the cotton stuffing and shredded fabric fall to the floor, trampled under her designer sneakers. It felt like a knife twisting in my ribs. I had given her that toy right after she survived a car accident. I remembered the way she had clung to my neck back then, sobbing. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I shouldn’t have run into the street. You got hurt because of me.” And she had said, “My daddy is the best daddy in the whole world. I’m going to take care of this bunny forever, just like you take care of me.” The memory shattered against the cold reality of the room. I began to shake violently. “Flora… we’ve been married for ten years. Are you really going to let this stranger drive us to our deaths? Are you going to watch your daughter destroy us?” Flora’s brows furrowed in annoyance. “Destroy you? Don’t be dramatic, Jude. Before I brought you here, I already had Gale’s men go back to the warehouse to let your sister down.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping into a chillingly transactional tone. “As for you… Gale needs a kidney. You’re going to give him yours. You can survive with one. You won’t die.” Linda clapped her hands in agreement. “That’s right! You won’t die anyway, so you have to give your kidney to Uncle Gale!” “Doctor! He’s here! Get him ready for surgery!” Flora called out. There were too many of them. I fought, thrashing against the guards, but they threw me onto a gurney, strapping my limbs down with heavy leather belts. I felt the cold sting of a needle in my arm. “Fl… ora…” Flora stood over me, her expression completely detached, refusing to look me in the eye. The anesthesia surged through my veins. The room spun, and darkness swallowed me whole. When I finally drifted back to consciousness, the room was empty. No Flora, no Linda. “Maeve…” Ignoring the agonizing, searing pain in my side, I tore the IV lines from my hand, threw off the blankets, and staggered out of the hospital, clutching my freshly sutured abdomen. I drove back to the abandoned warehouse in a daze. When I pushed the creaking metal door open, a suffocating, sweet-sour stench of decay hit me. My heart stopped. My ears filled with a high-pitched ringing. The grief was so heavy, so sudden, that it physically choked me. I couldn’t even make a sound. Tears poured down my face as I dragged a rusty metal chair over to the spot beneath the rafters. I climbed up, my hands shaking violently as I untied the coarse rope that held my sister. The moment the knot slipped, her body fell heavily to the floor. I scrambled down, dropping to my knees, and gathered her into my arms. “Maeve… I’m so sorry. I’m so late.” “It’s okay. I’m taking you home now.” I tried to lift her, but the sheer agony from my surgery flared, and my knees gave out. Thump. We both crashed to the ground, and she slipped from my grasp. “I’m sorry, Maeve! I’m sorry!” I sobbed, reaching out to pull her back to my chest. But as I drew closer, I saw them. White, writhing maggots crawling out of her cold, grey ear. The brutal reality of her death stared back at me, absolute and irreversible. A guttural, primal scream tore from my throat, echoing off the empty walls of the warehouse. “Ahhhhh! No!” Before the echoes could fade, a shadow fell over us. I spun around. It was Gale. He stood there, looking flushed, healthy, and pristine—not like someone who had just undergone major surgery. “Tsk, tsk. What a pity about your sister…” he said, looking down at Maeve’s corpse with mild amusement. “But hey, don’t blame me. You’re the one who killed her. This has nothing to do with me.” Rage set my blood on fire. I tried to stand, to throw myself at him. Thud. Gale kicked me hard in my incision, sending me sprawling beside my sister. “You’re a cripple now, Jude,” he sneered. “Did you really think you could take me?” Fresh blood began to soak through my hospital gown. My body curled into a tight, trembling ball of sheer agony. Seeing me helpless, Gale smiled. He picked up a plastic jerrycan he had brought with him, unscrewed the cap, and began pouring gasoline all over Maeve’s body. My eyes stretched wide. “Gale! What are you doing! Stop it!” Gale chuckled. He struck a match, watched the tiny flame dance for a second, and tossed it onto her gasoline-soaked clothes. Whoosh. The flames erupted instantly, licking her pale skin. My vision turned crimson. Summoning a reservoir of adrenaline I didn’t know I possessed, I lunged forward, tackling Gale to the ground. My hand clamped around a heavy iron pipe lying nearby, and I raised it, ready to cave his skull in and end us both. “Jude!” Flora and Linda burst into the warehouse. In Flora’s hand was a small, square rosewood box. My mother’s urn. “Get off Gale!” Flora screamed. “Or we smash your mother’s ashes!” Linda chimed in, her voice shrill and cold. I froze, the heavy iron pipe hovering in the air. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let them desecrate the last remaining piece of my mother. Seeing me hesitate, Gale whimpered from beneath me, playing the victim perfectly. “Jude, I only wanted the emerald pendant… is that really worth burning me alive?!” Flora glared at me, her eyes filled with disgust. “Jude, how did you become so sick? So evil?” “You’re a monster, trying to burn Uncle Gale alive!” Linda yelled. “You don’t deserve to be my dad!” My hands trembled. Slowly, the iron pipe slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the concrete. I had no choice. Flora and Linda rushed over, shoving me violently to the side. “Gale, are you okay?” Flora asked, helping him up. “Uncle Gale…” Linda whimpered. Gale brushed the dust off his designer shirt, his eyes turning red as he looked at me with theatrical sorrow. “Jude, if you really wanted that pendant back, you could have just asked. Did you really have to go this far?” “I didn’t start the fire!” I screamed, my voice cracking. “He did! He’s burning my sister’s body!” Flora and Linda both paused, their eyes drifting toward the blazing, silent corpse on the floor. Sensing their hesitation, Gale immediately pulled on his mask of injured innocence. “Why do you keep lying to Flora and Linda? I let your sister go hours ago. You brought some animal carcass in here to burn just to frame me because you hate me so much.” He sighed, looking magnanimous. “But whatever. I’m fine. Let’s just let it go…” The doubt vanished from Flora’s face, replaced by a cold, hard resolve. “No, we are not letting this go,” she said. “You tried to murder him over a piece of jewelry, Jude. If we don’t teach you a lesson, who knows what you’ll do next?” With those words, she raised her hand. Crack. The emerald pendant hit the ground, shattering into tiny green shards. But she wasn’t done. She flipped open the latch of the rosewood box and threw my mother’s ashes into a puddle of dirty, stagnant water on the warehouse floor. “No!!!” My world shattered. I threw myself toward the puddle, desperately trying to scoop up the gray dust with my bare fingers. But it was dissolving, mixing with the grease and mud, slipping through my fingers like water. I felt a violent, dry heave rip through my chest. Flora looked down at my weeping, broken form with cold satisfaction. “Don’t bother,” she said quietly. “Those aren’t your mother’s ashes. That was just a little warning. If you ever act out again, I’ll do it with the real ones.” But I had transferred my mother’s ashes into that urn with my own hands. I knew the weight of her. I knew the color. It was her. Once they walked away, leaving me alone in the smoke and ruin, I pulled out my phone. With trembling, ash-stained fingers, I dialed a number I hadn’t called in nearly ten years. “Ms. Heather,” I whispered, my voice steadying with a cold, hollow resolve. “I accept your offer. But I want ten times the amount we discussed.”

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Six years. Six years of living out of a suitcase, flying from one city to another. If you mapped out my flight paths, they’d look like a chaotic spiderweb spun by a blind spider, crisscrossing the country. And yet, after years of preparing for the Senior Product Lead promotion, I lost. To an intern who had been with the company for exactly four weeks. She threw herself into the arms of my boyfriend of six years—the man I had been secretly dating in the shadows of this office. She squealed, practically vibrating with excitement. “Wright! I actually did it!” Wright laughed, a warm, indulgent sound I hadn’t heard directed at me in years. He wrapped his arms around her waist. But when he caught me watching, his smile flattened. The warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by that cool, professional mask. “She needs the win for her resume, Sylvie,” he told me later, his voice incredibly casual. “Let her have this one. You’ll have plenty of opportunities in the future.” The future. He was always asking me to wait. Wait for a public relationship. Wait for the wedding he kept pushing back. Wait for the promotion that was always just out of reach. But Wright, I’m twenty-eight now. I’m not the starry-eyed girl who walked into this office at twenty-two. I can’t keep lying to myself. My hand trembled as I wiped away the cold tear slipping down my cheek. I pulled up my messages and texted my parents back in Ohio. Mom, Dad. I want to come home. I’ll do what you wanted. I’ll let you set me up. I’m ready to settle down. … 1 Right after the text sent, the screen flickered and died. Blackout. I stared at the outdated iPhone, a model so old it couldn’t even run the latest software updates, and let out a dry, bitter laugh. To survive in this expensive city, I’d pinched every penny. I skipped dinners, bought generic, and worked late hours just to prove I belonged. But my luck was always a step behind. I remained stuck in the cubicles, a permanent mid-level grunt. A sudden draft from the open window blew through the conference room, scattering my thick stack of handwritten market research papers across the desk. This morning, when I walked into the office, everyone was already congratulating me. Even I believed that my years of eating dirt had finally paid off. Instead, Gigi, the sweet-faced twenty-two-year-old intern, presented a flashy, five-slide PowerPoint deck that completely overshadowed my six years of technical expertise. And the person who officially announced her promotion was Wright. My boss, and my secret boyfriend. Wright always hated teaching. Whenever I asked him for advice early in my career, he’d tell me he was too busy, that hand-holding bred weakness. Yet, he had happily taken Gigi under his wing, personally guiding her through every step of her project. A light knock on my desk broke my train of thought. Gigi stood there, her arm casually looped through Wright’s. She beamed at me. “Wright is throwing me a little victory party tonight at that new spot downtown. You coming, Sylvie?” Wright had rules. We had to remain professional. We had to keep at least a physical arm’s length between us at all times in the office to avoid “gossip.” Apparently, those rules didn’t apply to Gigi. The harsh fluorescent lights of the conference room beat down on me. I knew my face must have looked horribly pale, but I forced my lips to curve upward. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll be there.” I needed this. I needed to see it all to finally kill whatever hope I had left. Wright’s brow twitched. A faint crease formed between his eyes. He was surprised. I never went to company happy hours anymore. Usually, I’d already be on my way back to our apartment, prepping dinner, doing his laundry, waiting like a loyal dog for his key to turn in the lock. Gigi was thrilled. In the Uber on the way to the restaurant, she chatted endlessly, mostly complaining about how “bossy” Wright was. “I ordered an iced Americano when I was on my period, and he literally snatched it out of my hand,” she giggled, rolling her eyes playfully. “He made me drink hot lemon water for a solid week. Like, who even does that?” She held up a manicured finger to emphasize her point. My chest tightened so hard I felt a physical pang. I had to bend over slightly to catch my breath. The Wright she was describing was a man I didn’t know. The last time my cramps were so bad I was sweating through the sheets, Wright had spent the entire night locked in his study, ignoring my whimpers because he had “critical financial reports” to review. “Sylvie? Are you okay?” Gigi asked, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I’m fine,” I lied, forcing my voice to remain steady. “Just haven’t eaten all day.” “Oh, I was going to skip dinner too—trying to stay in shape, you know?” Gigi sighed, though her eyes sparkled with pride. “But Wright ordered literally half the menu from UberEats for my desk earlier. He said he didn’t know what I liked, so he just bought everything. It was so extra.” I pressed my hand against my stomach, trying to suppress the physical nausea building inside me. I couldn’t look at her anymore. At the restaurant, the private dining room was loud, and the spotlight remained firmly on Wright and Gigi. “Gigi, getting that promotion so fast… we all know Wright was your guardian angel,” one of the senior account managers teased, nudging her. “How are you ever going to repay him?” “I say she marries him!” someone else chimed in from the end of the table. Gigi’s cheeks flushed a bright pink, and she hid her face behind her hands. Wright didn’t shut them down. Instead, a lazy, amused smile played on his lips. After six years with him, I knew every line on his face. I knew that specific smile. He was genuinely happy. He liked being linked to her. A few drinks later, someone suggested a game of Truth or Dare, using an empty wine bottle. When the neck of the bottle spun and pointed directly at me, Gigi leaned forward, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Sylvie, you always rush home right at five. Do you have a secret boyfriend or something?” I stared at the shifting colors of the neon sign outside the window, then looked back at her. I smiled softly. “No,” I said, my voice quiet but clear. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” Clink. The sound of glass hitting the mahogany table shattered the brief silence. Wright’s wine glass had slipped from his hand, spilling red wine across the white tablecloth. He wiped his fingers with a napkin, his face completely expressionless. His gaze swept across the table, lingering on everyone else, deliberately skipping over me. “Sorry,” he muttered, his voice dry. “Slipped.” The moment passed quickly, drowned out by the noise of the party. My phone finally finished rebooting, buzzing in my purse. A single text message popped up. What is wrong with you tonight? When we first started working at the same firm, we agreed to keep our contact names strictly professional to avoid any slips. My phone saved him as “Mr. Thorne,” and his saved me as “Sylvie – Marketing.” Back then, Wright had hated it. He used to complain, burying his face in my neck, whining like a needy stray. “It sucks having the most beautiful girlfriend in the world and having to pretend you’re just a colleague.” To appease his frustration, I’d let him have his way in bed, letting him hold me in whatever desperate, possessive ways he wanted. But over the years, he stopped complaining. He climbed the corporate ladder rapidly, eventually becoming the VP of the entire division—my boss’s boss. Then, a few months ago, I saw his phone buzz. Gigi’s contact name was saved as “Gigi 🌸” with a heart next to it. When I confronted him about it, Wright had simply adjusted his cuffs, his tone patronizingly calm. “Sylvie, how old are you? You’re really getting jealous of a twenty-two-year-old intern?” The subtext was clear: You’re not a young girl anymore. Don’t act like one. And he was right. My youth belonged to him. My entire twenties, from twenty-two to twenty-eight, had been poured into him. But he had never once mentioned marriage. I opened our chat. The screen was a long, one-sided green wall of my texts. Page after page of me asking when he’d be home, what he wanted for dinner, or if he was okay. Every ten or fifteen messages from me would be met with a single, dry word from him: Fine. or Okay. For the first time in six years, I didn’t reply immediately. Instead, I opened my Delta app and booked a one-way flight back to Ohio for three days from now. Some stories don’t get a happy ending. It’s better to close the book before the pages completely rot. When the party finally wound down, everyone left in groups. I found myself standing alone on the curb in the biting autumn air. The Uber app showed a thirty-minute wait with surge pricing. A sleek, midnight-black Porsche pulled up to the curb. The passenger side window rolled down, revealing Gigi’s bright face. “Sylvie! Hop in! I told Wright he needs to drop you off since it’s freezing.” I was his actual girlfriend. Yet here I was, being offered a ride in my own boyfriend’s car as an act of charity from his intern. I forced my lips into a polite line, my voice barely carrying over the city traffic. “No, thank you. You guys go ahead—” Before I could even finish the sentence, the car’s engine roared, and the tires screeched against the asphalt as Wright hit the gas, pulling back into traffic without a second glance. That night, Wright didn’t come home. It was the first time in six years. Even though I already knew exactly where he was and what he was doing with Gigi, the realization hit me like a physical blow, leaving me gasping for air in the empty apartment. The boy who used to blush when he kissed my cheek was gone, replaced by a man who had made himself thoroughly dirty. I stared at my phone screen, looking at the photos and profiles of local guys my parents had carefully vetted back home. They were all decent men, vetted by people who actually loved me. I closed my eyes and blindly tapped on one of the names. I trusted my parents’ judgment more than my own at this point. That night, my sleep was fitful, haunted by ghosts of the past. I dreamed of our first year in the city, when Wright and I shared a cramped, drafty studio apartment that smelled like mold and radiator heat. I remembered coming home crying after my boss had publicly humiliated me. Wright had held me so tight against his chest, his voice thick with a fierce, quiet anger. “Sylvie, baby, just wait for me. I swear to god, I’m going to make sure no one ever treats you like this again.” He had kept his promise. He worked himself to the bone, ousted that manager, and climbed his way up to become the youngest Managing Director of the firm. But Wright, the irony is that now, you’re the only one hurting me. A night of dreaming left me with a migraine that felt like a hot needle driving through my temple. I barely made it to the office, punching in with less than a minute to spare. Gigi arrived even later. She was wearing a low-cut knit top, and she hadn’t bordered to hide the faint purple bruise blooming right above her collarbone. When the older women in the department started teasing her, she pouted, her voice dripping with artificial coyness. “Oh, stop it, you guys! Please don’t tease me. I barely got any sleep last night… he just wouldn’t let me rest.” I wanted no part of this. I turned on my heel, intending to take the long way around to my cubicle, but Gigi wasn’t about to let me escape. “Sylvie, help me out here! Tell them to leave me alone!” She lunged forward, grabbing my sleeve and hiding behind me. Instantly, the scent of Wright’s expensive sandalwood cologne washed over me. It was thick, clinging to her skin and clothes. Just how intensely had they held each other last night for his scent to completely coat her like this? A sudden, violent wave of nausea hit me. I shoved her off and bolted to the restroom, barely making it to a stall before dry-heaving into the toilet. When I finally stood up to wash my mouth, I saw Gigi’s reflection in the mirror. She was standing near the door, watching me with a calculating, nervous expression. I let out a cold, hollow laugh. She knew. Of course she did. “Relax,” I said, wiping my mouth with a paper towel. “I’m not pregnant with his kid.” Gigi’s innocent demeanor vanished. She dropped her arms, stepping closer to me, her eyes hardening. “Sylvie, let’s be real. Wright doesn’t love you anymore.” She looked at me, her chin raised. “What do you want to walk away? A payout? If it’s money, I can ask him to write you a check.” I wondered how deeply Wright must have spoiled her for her to speak with this level of arrogance. Before I could answer her, my manager opened the door and called both of us into the main conference room. Wright was already sitting at the head of the long glass table, his expression dark and looming. A thick folder of contract documents was slammed onto the table. “Who handled the final review on this acquisition contract?” our division head bellowed, his face red with rage. “An extra zero was added to the final payout figure. Nobody caught it, and now the firm is legally bound to pay ten times the agreed amount!” Beside me, Gigi flinched, shrinking into herself. She cast a desperate, pleading look toward Wright, who remained silent. A cold dread settled deep in my chest. And then, Wright tapped his fingers slowly against the glass table, his voice cool and decisive. “I believe Sylvie was the one who signed off on the final execution.” The room seemed to drop ten degrees. I felt myself go entirely numb, frozen in place. Even when Wright pulled me out into the empty hallway after the meeting, my mind was blank. I watched his thin lips move, his voice sounding like it was coming from underwater. “Gigi just got her promotion, Sylvie. A mistake like this on her record would ruin her career before it even starts.” He looked at me, completely indifferent to the shock on my face. “I’ll cover the financial penalty out of my own accounts. You won’t lose any money.” Before I could utter a single word, he turned back toward the conference room. He needed to comfort Gigi, who was supposedly traumatized by the meeting. Through the glass door, I heard his low, soothing voice. “It’s okay, sweetheart… I took care of it. You’re fine.” So that was his brilliant solution. To protect his shiny new toy, he threw me to the wolves. I covered my face with my hands, my quiet, bitter tears slipping through my fingers. I went back to my desk, packed my personal things, and printed out the resignation letter I’d drafted days ago. The HR manager looked at the paper, then up at me, hesitating. “Does Wright know about this?” I frowned. “Why would he need to know? This is a departmental matter.” She seemed to catch herself, shaking her head slightly, and stamped the exit paperwork. “What are your plans after this, Sylvie?” I let out a soft, genuine laugh, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders. “I’m going back home to get married.” The news of my departure caused a minor stir in the department, but it was quickly overshadowed by the latest office gossip. “Wright flew out to Chicago with Gigi for her client meetings.” “Apparently, she was nervous about traveling alone, so he cleared his schedule to go with her. Isn’t that romantic?” My fingers curled slightly into my palms. I remembered a business trip to Atlanta three years ago. I had been followed back to my hotel by a strange man, and in a panic, I called Wright. His voice had been perfectly flat, irritated by the interruption. “Sylvie, my time is extremely valuable. If you’re in danger, dial 911, not my personal line.” My safety was an inconvenience. Gigi’s mild anxiety was worth a first-class ticket. I rubbed my chest, but the sharp, stabbing pain didn’t come this time. It was just a dull, empty ache. I pulled out my old phone and sent him a final text. Wright, let’s end this. We’re over. This time, he replied instantly. Stop acting up. I’ll explain everything when I get back tonight. I decided to wait. I wanted a proper, clean break. But as I sat in the drafty, echoing terminal of the airport all night, the cold wind seeping through my sweater, he never showed up. Instead, my feed updated with a post from Gigi. It was her birthday. The photo showed her wrapped in Wright’s heavy cashmere coat, standing on a rooftop overlooking the Chicago skyline, surrounded by exploding fireworks. I stared at the photo, let out a quiet laugh, and boarded my flight without looking back. … After a long, sleepless night of celebrating, Wright stirred in the hotel bed. The sheets slid down, exposing his bare shoulders and chest, marked with fresh scratches. He rubbed his temples, a dull headache forming, and reached for his phone. There was an automated notification from HR about a processed resignation. Wright clenched his jaw. He hadn’t actually expected me to quit. The sudden loss of control tasted sour in his mouth. But he wasn’t panicked. He knew me. He knew that no matter how far I walked, all he had to do was turn around and I’d be right there, waiting. He rummaged through the pile of shopping bags he’d bought for Gigi, picked out a designer scarf that didn’t fit her style, and arranged for it to be couriered to our apartment as an apology gift. He spent another three days in Chicago with Gigi, enjoying the distraction, before flying back. The moment he walked back into the office, he saw a group of marketing staff huddling around a desk, looking at a Venmo pool. He was in a remarkably good mood. “What’s everyone up to?” “Sylvie’s getting married,” one of the assistants replied. “We’re putting together a group gift registry contribution. Do you want to throw in, Wright?”

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