Author: Momo Chan

After coming home from working late that night, I found my husband applying ointment to the inside of his first love’s thigh. She was wearing my pajamas and lying in my bed. So I immediately listed everything in the house on a secondhand marketplace, including the house itself. When my husband found out, he kicked me out of the master bedroom, furious. “Leah got scammed by her boyfriend, and he abused her too.” “She had nowhere to go, so I brought her to our place.” “How can you have no sympathy at all? Girls should help girls!” The way he guarded the master bedroom stabbed right through me. All of a sudden, I felt that this marital home I had decorated myself was so cold it made me shiver. I did not question him like I usually did, and only turned around in silence and walked toward the couch in the living room. Julian Graham glanced at me, thought I was throwing a tantrum, shook his head helplessly, and went back into the master bedroom. Looking at the message on my phone that someone had booked a viewing for the house, I let out a breath of relief, closed my eyes, and fell asleep. I was not entering this cage called Mrs. Graham anymore.

In the middle of the night, when I woke with a start, my stomach was still cramping. The living room light was still on, and half a glass of cold water sat on the table. Julian Graham had forgotten to buy my stomach medicine again. I braced myself against the couch and sat up, the back of my hand covered in cold sweat. Light seeped through the crack under the master bedroom door, and a woman’s muffled moans came from inside. I let out a cold laugh and walked over while holding on to the wall. When I pushed the door open, the woman sleeping in my bed had stripped down to only her bra and underwear. My husband was beside her, bare from the waist up, holding a bottle of something that looked like lube. There was a suspicious little wad of tissue beside them. When he saw me, he calmly put away the little bottle and pulled the blanket over Leah Shaw, covering her bruised body. Julian Graham frowned at me. “I was just putting medicine on her.” “As you can see, Leah was beaten black and blue by her ex-boyfriend.” “She was in too much pain to sleep, and I really was only helping her put ointment on, so don’t overthink it.” Leah clutched the blanket around herself, looking soft and fragile, and her eyes started to redden. “Julian, maybe I should leave after all. Am I affecting your marriage?” “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to.” She made a show of getting up. Julian Graham pressed her back onto the bed with a heartbroken look and wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes. When he turned back to face me, only deep disgust remained in his eyes. “Do you have to be so petty? She’s only staying here for a few nights.” I sneered. “Does staying here mean the two of you have to take your clothes off for her medicine?” Julian Graham said, “Stop being unreasonable!” He got off the bed, rushed toward me, grabbed my hand, and dragged me out of the bedroom. He shut the door and pointed at the little sign on it. [Sleeping. Please Do Not Disturb.] The sign was new. I had never bought it. He said, “You’re not allowed to disturb Leah’s rest. From now on, you’re forbidden from coming into the master bedroom!” I said, “This is the house I bought! I can’t come in?” Julian Graham frowned. “She’s only staying in the master bedroom!” I walked toward the guest bedroom. As soon as the door opened, I saw our wedding favors piled inside in a total mess. On the floor, one of my three-thousand-dollar shirts had been used as a rag and was covered in dust. Against the wall was Leah Shaw’s cello, and her yoga mat lay on the floor. I turned to look at him. “She’s staying in the guest room too?” Julian Graham avoided my gaze. “Playing the cello helps stabilize her emotions.” My phone showed a new message notification. I opened my phone. The estimate pushed by the real estate platform popped up, and it was much lower than the purchase price. I ignored him, sat back down on the couch, and opened my banking app. The remaining loan, early repayment rules, and penalty fees were all listed clearly, item by item. Julian Graham stood beside me. “What are you making a fuss about now?” I did not look up. “Checking the accounts.” He sighed. “Elaine, be mature. Leah is sick, and you’re healthy, so don’t fight her over a bed.” My fingers froze. Fight her over a bed. I had spent half a year looking at furniture and beds, and I had looked at hundreds of beds. The bed in the master bedroom was the one I chose only after trying ten different stores.

Now he used the word fight. I opened the purchase contract. Property owner: Elaine Bennett. Borrower: Elaine Bennett. The down payment transfer record was saved in the cloud. The renovation contract was there too. When Julian Graham saw the screen, his expression changed. “Why are you checking those?” I locked the screen. “None of your damn business.” He lowered his voice. “Don’t wake Leah up.” I glanced at the master bedroom door. Someone else’s sign hung on that door. Someone else’s blanket lay on that bed. Another woman lived in that room. I picked up my phone and messaged the agent, Ms. Walker. “Can this place be sold as soon as possible?” Ms. Walker replied quickly. “You can bear to let it go?” I replied: “I can.” A dull thud came from the master bedroom. Julian Graham immediately turned and went inside. “Leah? Are you okay?” “You need to go to the bathroom? I’ll carry you there.” When he came out of the bedroom, he was carrying Leah in his arms and walking toward the bathroom. From an angle he could not see. Leah gave me a victor’s smile. In the past, I would have made a scene, but now, I felt nothing. I placed my phone facedown on the table. Since the master bedroom of this house did not belong to me. There was no need for this house to belong to us either. The next morning, I opened the fridge. My cold brew coffee was gone. The chocolate milk was gone too. Where the ketchup used to be, there was now a row of low-fat milk. A sticky note was pasted on the fridge door. Leah cannot have caffeine, cold drinks, or high sugar. The handwriting was Julian Graham’s. He came out of the kitchen holding a bowl of oatmeal. “Eat light for now. Leah can’t handle strong smells.” I looked at that bowl of oatmeal. Last night, when my stomach hurt, he did not ask if I could eat. Now he remembered that Leah could not handle smells. I picked up my bag. “I’m not eating.” Julian Graham frowned. “Throwing a fit again? You have to make that face over breakfast too?” I changed my shoes. “Save it to coax her.” His voice darkened. “Elaine Bennett, don’t talk so harshly.” I went to the walk-in closet. In the main cabinet hung Leah Shaw’s beige coats, nightgowns, and shawls. My garment bag had been moved to the balcony, and the bottom of the bag was covered in dust. I picked up the gown. Julian Graham followed me in. “She gets anxious if her things are placed outside, so don’t overthink it.” “Then my gown won’t get anxious sitting on the balcony?” He pressed his lips together. “Do you have to compare yourself to a poor woman who was abused?” My phone buzzed. A message popped up in the Graham family group chat. Julian’s mother sent a voice message. “Julian, how did Leah sleep last night? Don’t let Elaine go to the master bedroom and bother her. She can’t handle being disturbed.” Julian Graham replied: “Don’t worry. I arranged everything.” Julian’s mother sent another message: “Elaine is capable, so being wronged for a few days won’t hurt. After marriage, we’re all family.” No one asked where I had slept last night. No one asked if my stomachache had gotten better. I took a screenshot of the group messages. When Julian Graham saw it, his face turned ugly. “Why are you taking screenshots?” “To keep as a memory.” He reached out to take my phone. I stepped half a step back. “Don’t touch it.” His hand stopped in midair. “Elaine, why are you so prickly now?” I put the gown back into the bag. “Your whole family speaks even more sharply. I’m just a slow learner.” That morning, I took half a day off. I exported the down payment records. I exported the monthly mortgage deductions. I exported the renovation invoices. I exported the property fees, appliance orders, and soft furnishing lists. In the spreadsheet, Julian Graham had only made a few scattered transfers for the mortgage. Among the furniture, only the TV and dining table had been paid with his card. I messaged Chloe Martin. “Help me look at the pre-marriage property settlement.” She replied: “You finally woke up?” I replied: “Cut the crap. Do the math.”

Chloe Martin sent one sentence. “The house is under your name, and you have all the evidence. Don’t go soft.” Julian Graham came back at noon. He handed me a cup of warm water. “I was too worked up last night. I’ll take you to look at wedding rings this weekend.” I looked at that cup of water. A water temperature label for Leah Shaw was still stuck to the bottom of the cup. Forty-five degrees. I did not take it. His phone rang. Leah Shaw sent a voice message. “Julian, that blanket is a little damp. I can’t sleep.” Julian Graham picked up his car keys. “I’ll go ask the dry cleaner. I’ll be back soon.” I asked: “What about the wedding rings?” He stood at the door. “That’s not urgent.” I lowered my head and submitted the early repayment appointment. A confirmation popped up on the page. I tapped confirm. He was busy protecting a blanket. I was busy dismantling a marital home. Julian Graham had promised to go with me to the wedding hotel for the menu tasting. I booked the time two weeks in advance. His parents had dietary restrictions, and I noted them three times. Before we left, he received a call from Leah Shaw. She said she did not dare go out alone and was afraid of running into her ex-boyfriend seeking revenge. Julian Graham glanced at me. “You go first. I’ll take her to buy clothes and then head over.” I picked up the car keys. “Okay.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “Elaine, you really are sensible.” I did not respond to that. The hotel manager took out the wedding seating chart. There was an extra name next to the head table. Leah Shaw. The notes were very detailed. Keep away from the speakers. Keep away from the lights. Close to the lounge. Convenient for Mr. Graham to look after her. I held the pen. “Who changed this?” The manager glanced at the computer. “Mr. Graham called last night to confirm it.” I put down the pen. “The head table is where the bride and groom’s parents sit.” The manager smiled awkwardly. “Mr. Graham said Ms. Shaw’s situation is special.” Half an hour later, Julian Graham arrived. Leah Shaw followed behind him. She had that cashmere blanket draped over her shoulders and was clutching a garment bag. “Elaine, I’m sorry. Should I not have come?” I looked at Julian Graham. He stood in front of her. “She’s getting used to the wedding venue in advance, so nothing happens on the day.” I asked: “My wedding. Who approved her getting used to it?” Leah Shaw’s eyes reddened. Julian Graham’s face darkened. “Don’t take it out on her. She can’t even handle one harsh word.” I opened the menu. “Then don’t come.” The tasting began. The first dish, salmon, was served. Leah Shaw covered her mouth. “It smells fishy.” Julian Graham immediately called the manager. “Change this dish.” The second dish, onion soup, was brought over. She frowned. “The flavor is too strong.” Julian Graham said: “Change that too.” The manager looked at me. I pushed the menu over. “Listen to Mr. Graham.” The music trial played. It was the warm-up song I had chosen. Leah Shaw lowered her head and clutched the blanket. “This sound is making it hard for me to breathe.” Julian Graham turned his head. “Change it to white-noise piano music.” I looked at him. “Are the guests coming to a wedding or to sleep?” He lowered his voice. “Elaine, the wedding is just a formality, and Leah can’t be triggered.” I asked: “What about me?” He paused. “You’ve always been stronger than her.” That sentence landed on the table. I closed the folder. Leah Shaw spoke softly. “Maybe I shouldn’t attend, so you two won’t fight.” Julian Graham immediately grabbed her wrist. “No one is asking you to leave.” I saw his hand clearly. Only then did he realize it and let go.

Leah Shaw’s breathing grew rapid. Julian Graham helped her up. “I’ll take her out first. You handle the remaining payment.” The manager handed me the bill. I did not sign it. “Put the wedding date on hold.” The manager froze. “Ms. Bennett, the deposit may not be refundable.” “Follow the contract.” When Julian Graham was helping Leah Shaw into the car, Ms. Walker the agent called me. “Ms. Bennett, if you’re serious about selling that house, I have a full-cash buyer.” I watched Julian Graham close the car door for Leah Shaw. “I’m serious.” Ms. Walker asked: “What about the price?” “Below market price is negotiable.” After I got home, I canceled the hotel booking. I also sent a termination request for the bridal shop contract. Julian Graham sent me a message. “Leah has stabilized. Don’t blow today’s matter out of proportion.” I replied with two words. “Too late.” He did not reply again. I downloaded a house sale contract template. The wedding could go on without me. The marital home could go on without him too. At nine the next morning, I went to the bank. The staff member wrote the early repayment penalty on a piece of paper. “Ms. Bennett, this is not a small amount. Are you sure you want to proceed?” I signed. “I’m sure.” She reminded me again. “After the lien is released, the property can be traded.” I handed over my ID. “I know.” When I walked out of the bank, Julian Graham sent me a message. “What do you want for lunch?” I replied: “Come back early tonight. We’ll talk about the house.” He replied: “Okay. This time, I’ll listen to you seriously.” I put my phone into my pocket. In the afternoon, Ms. Walker brought the buyers to view the house. I had packed Leah Shaw’s medicine boxes, sleep machine, essential oil diffuser, and slippers into a clear bag in advance. The bag sat by the entryway. The buyer’s wife saw the silk bedding in the master bedroom. “It’s been kept in pretty good condition. Can it stay?” I said: “The bedding won’t stay.” The buyer’s husband glanced at the balcony. “Why are you selling so urgently?” I handed him a copy of the property certificate. “I’m preparing to move to another city.” Ms. Walker pulled me aside. “You’ve cut the price too hard. They’ll still try to bargain.” “Full cash is fast, so the price is negotiable.” She said: “You’ve really made up your mind.” “Yes.” At dusk, Julian Graham came back. He saw the storage boxes in the living room. “Organizing wedding supplies?” I placed the settlement sheet on the coffee table. “Sit.” When he saw the spreadsheet, his expression changed. “Elaine, are you serious?” “It was also serious when I slept on the couch last night.” He sat down. “Go ahead.” I opened the first page. “The down payment was three million. I paid two million, and you paid one million.” He nodded. “I admit that.” “The renovation cost seven hundred eighty-six thousand, and I paid it.” “The main part of the mortgage came out of my account.” “I paid the property fees, appliances, and soft furnishings.” He rubbed his brow. “What’s the point of calculating this now?” “There is a point.” His phone started vibrating. Leah Shaw’s name jumped on the screen. He declined it. It rang again a second time. The third time, she sent a voice message. “Julian, I’m alone in the master bedroom. I had another nightmare just now. I dreamed that my ex hit me. I’m so scared…” Julian Graham stood up. I blocked his way. “If you leave tonight, we don’t need to talk anymore.” He grabbed his car keys. “She’s too pitiful, Elaine. Don’t force me to be cold-blooded.” I looked at him. “You were pretty cold-blooded the night my stomach hurt.” His face stiffened.

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My fiancé is sitting in a high-stakes back room at The Velvet Room, betting his whole life away. For a woman who isn’t me. Just to walk out the door with his ex-girlfriend Celeste Moore, the one the Bratva just shipped off to work the floors of a red-light joint. And her three friends. Two rounds in, Damien has already lost the Patek Philippe I clasped onto his wrist the day he made VP. And one third of Aurora Capital. The boutique fund in my name. The shares I quietly signed into his name a year ago, under the polite cover of “investing in his future.” Round three. Viktor, the man behind The Velvet Room leans across the felt and tells him to bet the thing he loves most. Damien doesn’t blink. He slides off the platinum cufflinks at his wrists. The ones I had engraved for our engagement. He smacks them down dead center on the table. His voice carries clean across the floor — calm like he’s closing a deal. “If I lose—” “I’ll break off my engagement to Aurora Castellano. And I’ll marry the girl on that stage instead.” “And I’ll let Aurora take her place. After all, there’s no shame in honest work.” The whole room sucks in a breath. Everyone down there knows my name. Aurora Castellano. Manhattan’s Ivy League sweetheart. Heiress to Aurora Capital. The woman who loved a man enough to give him a third of the empire she was born to inherit. He’s betting I’ll come downstairs with a checkbook and bail him out of the three million he just bled into Viktor’s table. So he can keep his perfect Wall Street record clean. And pull his sweetheart out of the fire while he’s at it. I lift my bourbon. I look down at the man I was supposed to marry. He still has no idea I’m watching. “If Mr. Cross wants to break our engagement,” I murmur, swirling the ice, “and humiliate me like this on the way out—” “He’d better think about how he’s going to explain it to my seven brothers.” Everyone knows the Castellanos have seven heirs spread across Wall Street and Silicon Valley. The world doesn’t know those seven brothers are the real shadow kings of this city. And they spoil their little sister to death. …… “Three rounds, Mr. Cross. You’re cleaned out.” Viktor, owner of The Velvet Room slams the dice cup onto the felt. The floor erupts. Drunk laughter. Catcalls. Damien stands in the middle of it all. Hands in his pockets. Chin lifted. Not a crack in his face. He looks up. Straight at my room. “Aurora. I know you’re up there.” His voice cuts through the noise like he’s calling me down to him. “Come down and cover the three million. After tonight—” “—I swear I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” The room buzzes again. “The Aurora Capital heiress, bailing out her man’s mess?” “Cross really outdid himself—using his fiancée’s money to save his ex-girlfriend.” I sit in the velvet armchair. I look down at this man again. Three years of patience curdles in my stomach. I used to think his coldness was discipline. Focus. The mark of a man going places. I rewrote his résumé in our second year at Columbia. I introduced him to the senior partners at company. I sat in front of my own board and defended him when they asked, why him? And he took every single piece of it like it was air. Tonight I see it for what it is — self-righteousness wearing a clean suit. Damien’s brow tightens when I don’t move. He cuts a small look sideways with Celeste’s three friends. A nod. They lift the hems of their dress and storm the stairs. The first one — Brittany — kicks my door clean off its frame. The oak slams into the wall. She crosses the room in four strides. Acrylic nails go straight for the Castellano emerald around my neck. “Aurora! Damien said pay up! Get your card out and save Celeste already!” The second one — Madison — folds her arms in the doorway. “Honestly. The only reason he stayed with a controlling bitch like you was the trust fund.” The third one — Sienna — screeches over her shoulder. “You’re not worth a single hair on Celeste’s head! Pay up, or do you actually want to watch him dump you?” My bodyguard’s hand drops to his holster. Before he doesn’t get the gun out. Four men in black appear out of nowhere and pin his shoulders to the wall. Damien’s private security. He brought security tonight. So, all of this is to guard against me. I stand up. Brittany’s red-tipped nail is one inch from my throat. I raise my right hand and I slap her across the face with everything I have. *SLAP.* She stumbles back three steps and lands on the carpet. I look her down. The room temperature drops ten degrees. “You don’t get to touch what belongs to a Castellano.” I tilt my head down at her, picking the skin off my knuckle where her acrylic split it. “Cute manicure. Send the bill to your funeral home.” My voice is quiet. It carries anyway. Downstairs, Damien tips his head back. His face goes to stone. “Aurora! Are you serious right now? Slapping a girl who’s just trying to help her friend?” I step to the railing. I meet his eyes. “You want me to pay three million to save the woman you’ve been contacting on the side?” I chuckled softly. “Damien. Your face is thicker than the walls of this place.”

Damien’s nostrils flare. He must think I just shamed him. He throws his jacket open and points up the staircase. “Boys—if Miss Castellano doesn’t understand manners, escort her down. She owes Celeste an apology in person.” A dozen men with baseball bats start up the stairs. The bats thud against the staircase railing — slow, deliberate, meant to scare. My fingers slide into the pocket of my gown. The Castellano family ring waits inside. Downstairs, Damien’s private security disarms my own bodyguards, twisting their wrists until they drop to their knees. Damien climbs the marble staircase one step at a time. He stops in front of me. Tips his chin down like he’s the one with the moral high ground. “Aurora. I’ve put up with your jealousy for three years.” He gestures at the three girls behind him. “There are four lives on the line tonight. How can you be this cold?” Down below, Celeste gets walked out from the back. Cheap white dress. Red-rimmed eyes. Mascara smudged just enough to look helpless. She drops to her knees at the foot of the staircase like she rehearsed it in a mirror. “Damien! Please—don’t ruin what you have with Aurora because of me!” She lifts her face. The perfect tremor in her voice. “I’m not worth this. Let me die. Let you two be happy.” Brittany and the other two scramble across the floor to her, sobbing on cue. “You happy now, you cold bitch? You won’t be satisfied until she’s dead!” The gamblers around the room shake their heads. They point up at me. They mutter the kind of things men mutter when they want to feel righteous. I watch the show downstairs. I don’t bother lifting the corner of my mouth. But Damien stares at my blank face. His jaw locks. And now Celeste shivers right on cue — just one little shoulder twitch, arms wrapped around herself like she’s freezing. Damien’s eyes drop to the white sable coat draped over the back of my chair. Don Salvatore—the Don of this city—draped it over my shoulders himself on my eighteenth birthday. He suddenly steps forward and reaches for the clasp at my throat. “Celeste’s freezing. Just give her your coat for now. I’ll buy you ten.” His hand moves like he’s allowed to. Like I’m something he already owns. I step back at once. His fingers close on empty air. I look up at him. “Damien.” My voice is cold. “You put a hand on my anything— you’d better make sure you still have a hand afterward.” Damien’s hand stopped halfway. His jaw tightened, and the color drained from his face. “Just a coat, Aurora.” “Seriously, Aurora? Over a coat? Celeste’s been through enough tonight. If she gets sick out here, that’s on you.” “Her life matters.” I laugh once. Short. Cold. “Mine doesn’t?” “This whole night. I’ve been watching it. You’ve been showing me exactly who you are. Damien.” Downstairs, Viktor’s smile disappeared completely. He was done waiting for Damien’s check. He shifts his stance. The warmth drops out of his eyes. “Listen up, Mr. Cross — no cash, no exit. You gambled away your fiancée. House rules.” He waves one fat hand. “Boys! Get her changed and onto the stage. Let’s see what an Ivy League princess looks like in lingerie.” I keep my body calm. My right hand slides into the hidden pocket of my gown. My thumb finds the inside of the Castellano family ring. Three small grooves. The signal my seven brothers told me I could press exactly once in danger. *Tap.* *Tap.* *Tap.* Somewhere across Manhattan, seven phones light up at the same second.

Twelve men with baseball bats just sealed the only way out of my private box. My security tears free of the men holding him and throws himself at the staircase, ready to die for me. Viktor’s men don’t even hesitate. A tactical knife flashes once. *Thud.* The blade goes straight through my security left shoulder. Hot blood sprays in an arc. A few drops land on the hem of my gown. The smell hits the air. I lock my eyes on Damien. “Damien. Are you really going to stand there and watch?” For one second, he flinches. His eyes drop to my bodyguard bleeding into the carpet. Then he turns to Viktor. “This isn’t fair. Sign a promissory note. Three days. Full three million plus interest.” Viktor snorts. “Your IOU? Worth about as much as that Patek you already lost.” He nods toward the stage downstairs.. “Tonight Celeste and that three friends stay and works it off as a whore, or your fiancée goes on the stage.” Celeste screams. She flings herself at Damien’s legs and clings on with both hands. “Damien — please — I’d rather die than be passed around in a place like this — save me — !” He looks down at her. A muscle ticks in his jaw. Then he turns his head, slow and pained, and looks at me. I see the exact moment he decides. So disgusting. “Aurora. It’s one dance. Just for show.” The voice he uses when he wants to sound soft. “After tonight, I’ll give you the biggest wedding this city’s ever seen. Every name in Manhattan.” “But Celeste — I have to save her.” The room goes still. He just traded my dignity for his ex-girlfriend’s safety. I look at him with narrowed eyes. “You’ll spend the rest of your life making it up to me?” My voice doesn’t shake. “But Damien. You’re not even worth the breath it takes to be angry with you.” Celeste keeps her eyes lowered. But I catch it. That tiny, ugly little smile at the corner of her mouth. Her friends take Damien’s silence as a green light. Brittany shoves the cocktail waitresses aside and gets right up in my face. Her red acrylics close around the strap of my gown. “No more pretending. Put it on and go dance. The crowd downstairs didn’t come to wait.” *RIIIIP.* The straps tears clean off. Bare skin. The cold air of the casino hits it. I don’t scream. I don’t cry. I don’t move. I count the time. Almost. My brothers will be coming. Damien sees me standing still and reads it as defiance. He waved a hand, signaling Viktor’s men to hurry. “Enough.” He turns his back on me. And pulls Celeste behind him like she’s the one who needs protecting. “Get her on the stage. Sooner this is done, sooner Celeste and I go home.”

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The year I hated my mother most, she drugged me, tied me up, and threw me into my brother-in-law Caleb’s bed to replace my sister. One night was all it took for my heart to follow my body. I fell for him. Hard. For the next five years, I lived like a ghost in the Blood Moon Pack. Caleb told me I owed it to my sister, Sara Shannon—his fated mate who had died—to repent for the sin of taking her place. He wanted me to focus on raising Kian, Sara’s pup and the pack’s heir, so he took my womb out of my belly to make sure I’d never have a pup of my own. Finally, Caleb’s icy heart seemed to thaw. He promised to make it official. Our mating ceremony was set for five days away. I thought the Moon had finally seen my deepest love for him. But on the eve before the ceremony, the front gates of the pack house swung open, and Caleb walked in with a she-wolf I thought was long buried. “Sara was just playing dead to get back at me,” Caleb announced, his voice booming with Alpha authority. “Now that she’s back, the ceremony is off.” My fingers clutched the ritual gown I had spent six months embroidering with my own blood and sweat. Without a word, I walked to the fireplace and tossed the silk into the flames. “Whatever the Alpha commands,” I said, my voice eerily calm. … “Miss, no! Your gown!” Freya, my only friend and an Omega maid, rushed forward to save it. Before her hand could touch the silk, Sara moved. Slap! The sound echoed through the hall. Sara sneered. “A nameless thing like you, crawling around my pack house like a parasite… you think you deserve to wear a Luna’s gown?” Caleb didn’t stop her. He didn’t even flinch. “The maid is out of line,” he said, his Alpha aura crushing the room. “Just kill her. No need to get your hands dirty, Sara.” My blood ran cold. I dropped to my knees, baring my neck in total submission. “Freya has been by my side since I was a pup. She acted out of loyalty to me. Please, Alpha. Show mercy.” Sara let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “So, you’re admitting you were lusting after things that don’t belong to you, Gloria?” She turned to Caleb, her voice turning into a sweet, poisonous purr. “Caleb, darling, if she wants to save her maid, she should take thirty lashes. To learn the rules of the house. What do you think?” Caleb looked at me. There was no pity in his gaze, only a desire to erase the last five years. “You are the Luna of this pack, Sara,” Caleb said, his voice flat. “Do as you wish.” I was dragged to the courtyard and forced onto the whipping post. The silver-tipped lash cracked against my back. Once. Twice. Sweat stung my eyes, blurring my vision as the scent of my own blood filled the air. My heart had already been destroyed three times. The first was when my mother sold me to Caleb. The second was when Caleb made me kneel at Sara’s grave for three days and nights. The third was… right now. “Twenty… twenty-one…” the guard grunted, counting the strokes. By the thirtieth lash, I collapsed. The cold stone of the courtyard felt like ice against my burning skin. Sara walked over, her heels clicking near my head. She used the toe of her shoe to tilt my chin up, forcing me to look at her through the grime and blood. “Remember this, Gloria,” she whispered. “Some things aren’t yours. If you touch them, you pay. The thirty lashes were just the beginning. I’m burning away the dirt you left in this house.” She kicked my face aside. Caleb’s shadow fell over me. “Take her away,” he commanded the guards. “Find a healer to patch her up. Sara is being merciful today. This is over.” … When I woke up, Caleb was sitting by my bed. He reached out to touch my shoulder, but I flinched, my body acting on instinct. “Don’t move,” he said, his voice carrying a fake edge of concern. “The medicine just started working.” I turned my head away, staring at the wall. Caleb sighed, sounding annoyed. “I know you feel wronged, but you’ve been living in Sara’s position for five years. She’s just being a little bit jealous. She needed to make an example to establish her authority now that she’s home.” Authority. That was all my life was to him—a tool for Sara’s power. “In a few days, I’m throwing a banquet to welcome Sara back,” Caleb continued. “During the party, I’ll officially enter your name into the pack records. It’s a great honor for someone of your rank.” I stayed silent, and his patience snapped. “Don’t be ungrateful, Gloria,” he growled. A maid knocked on the door. “Alpha, the Luna is asking for you.” Caleb stood up instantly. The feigned warmth vanished, replaced by the cold, commanding Alpha I knew. He didn’t look back as he walked out. As soon as the door clicked shut, Freya crept in and pressed a crumpled letter into my hand. I recognized the handwriting. A small, genuine smile touched my lips. “Pack the bags, Freya,” I whispered, my voice raspy but firm. “The night of the banquet, when the house is loud and full of wolves… we’re leaving this hell for good.”

[Gloria’s POV] “Miss Gloria… Can you really be heartless enough to leave it all behind?” I opened my mouth to answer, but a sharp knock interrupts me. It’s Kian’s nurse. “The heir is screaming for you. Please, come quickly.” I ignored the pain in my back and rushed to his room. Kian had always been sickly. When I first joined the pack, he caught Silver-rot. I didn’t sleep for a fortnight, nearly dying myself to pull him back from the brink. He used to be so sweet, treating me like his own mother. He was the only thing I couldn’t bear to leave. But when I entered, I saw Kian snuggled in Sara’s arms. My heart stung. Just as I turned to leave, Kian called out. “Gloria, I called you here to take this filth away.” Gloria, not Mom. I froze at the title. Then, a dead cat was thrown at my feet. “I had this beast killed,” he said calmly. I stare at the small, bloodied body in disbelief. Last year, Kian begged me for this cat. I kneeled outside Caleb’s room in the freezing rain for a day and a night to let him keep it. Kian cried and rubbed my bruised knees, promising to protect me forever. “What did he ever do to you? Why would you do this?” I whispered. “He scratched my mother!” Kian shouted. “This little beast is just like you—low-ranked and useless. It upset my mother, so it had to die!” Sara stroked his hair, a smile curling on her lips. “Don’t blame my boy, Gloria. He’s just too loyal. He can’t stand to see me hurt.” Kian nodded sharply, his eyes full of coldness I couldn’t recognize. “Get this trash out of here! It’s stinking up my wing!” Caleb walked in then, standing by Sara. He didn’t even blink at the dead cat. “Just a pet,” he said coldly. “Stop making a scene. Clean it up and get out.” I didn’t say a word, just picked up the cat, carried it out, and buried it in the garden. Freya was waiting by my side with red eyes. A bitter laugh escaped my throat. “You see? Now I can leave without a single regret.” When I returned to my room, Caleb was there. He reached out to pinch my face. “Crying over a little pet? Is it really worth it?” He pulled me into his arms, sounding like he was granting a favor. “No Wolfsbane tonight. If you get pregnant, we’ll keep the pup. Consider it your compensation.” He says it so casually, as if he had forgotten that I could never have pups again. Five years ago, he was in my room every night. Even with the potions, I got pregnant. I thought he might finally love me then. I told him, trembling with hope. But Caleb didn’t smile. He called for the pack’s blade-healer and, with a single word, ordered them to carve the womb from my body. I could still remember the slap. “You low-ranked trash! You think you can replace Sara with a bastard in your belly?” I bled alone on the straw in the dungeon for twelve hours. My pup died, and my womb was scarred forever. Caleb reached into my clothes, yet I flinched away from his touch. “The Luna just returned,” I said flatly. “The Alpha should be with his mate.” The room went silent. Caleb’s hand froze. He laughed, but his eyes were dark. “You’ve certainly learned how to give me orders.” “I wouldn’t dare,” I whispered. “Sara’s tired. You should show her some care.”

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1 Seven years. That was how long Adrian and I had been together. My parents began hinting heavily about marriage. Adrian’s reply never changed: “Just wait, okay?” They assumed it was money. They set aside a wedding fund, put down deposits on a house and car. Still, he said the same thing. “Just wait, okay?” I didn’t know what clock he was watching, but I stayed by him. Until his college reunion. I brought a custom cake to the private room. “Today is Adrian’s thirtieth birthday,” I told his friends. Instead of cheers, the room stirred. A guy laughed. “Didn’t Adrian and Stella make that thirty-year pact?” “Yeah! If neither was married by thirty, they’d marry each other!” Stella blushed, tucking hair behind her ear. “Stop. His girlfriend’s right here.” Adrian didn’t reassure me. He gave me a cool look. “She’s not my wife yet. I promised to wait until I was thirty, Stella. I kept my word.” The cake box felt like lead. Cold gripped my chest. In that instant, the mystery unraveled. I knew exactly what he’d been waiting for. Amid cheers and pounding tables, Adrian leaned toward the cake, candlelight in his eyes. “First wish… I hope Stella isn’t married either.” Enough. I didn’t scream. Didn’t throw the cake. I placed it gently on the table, ignoring the awkward silence, and walked out with my head high. Outside, a yellow cab idled curbside. The driver lowered the window. “Need a ride, miss? Waiting for someone?” I opened the door and got in. “Just drive. I’m done waiting for anyone.” By the time I unlocked my apartment door, the place was pitch black. I had barely kicked off my heels when my phone lit up. It was Adrian’s mother. “Nina, sweetie! His dad and I were looking over the catering menu for the engagement party again. We really think upgrading to the premium surf-and-turf package would look so much more elegant. What do you two think?” I pressed my lips together, tasting the bitter salt of my own dried tears. “Mrs. Wright, you don’t need to worry about that. The engagement party is off.” A loud gasp echoed through the speaker. “Off? Did Adrian get cold feet again? I swear to God, I don’t know what is wrong with that boy!” I took a shaky breath, steadying my voice. “It isn’t him this time. I am the one canceling it.” She scoffed, utterly refusing to believe me. “After all these years? I know he’s the stubborn one. You just sit tight, sweetie. I’m going to call him right now and knock some sense into him!” The line went dead before I could say another word. Less than twenty minutes later, the front door burst open. Adrian strode in, bringing the chill of the night with him. He glared down at me, his jaw clenched in frustration. “Why did you cancel the engagement party?” He spoke like a man barely containing his temper. “What kind of tantrum is this? You dropped the cake and walked out of the reunion without a single word. Do you have any idea how crazy that made me look in front of my friends?” I stood up slowly, forcing him to meet my eyes on level ground. “Adrian, since you promised to wait for Stella until you were thirty, what the hell was I doing beside you for the last seven years?” The anger drained from his face, replaced by a fleeting shadow of genuine pain. “But she’s already married.” I froze. Adrian ran a hand through his hair, looking exhausted. “I promised to wait until she was thirty. I am a man of my word. Now that she’s married, I got the closure I needed.” A hollow, sickening ache bloomed in my chest. “So you dragged your feet for seven years just to see if another woman’s marriage would fail? What does that make me, Adrian? A backup plan? Your safety net?” His brow furrowed in annoyance. “Don’t say things like that. I care about you. It’s been seven years, you know I love you.” He stepped closer, his voice softening. “Besides, Stella got married three years ago. The guy she married… he’s a monster. He doesn’t treat her right. Her life is a living hell right now.” I let out a dry, bitter laugh. I was laughing at my own pathetic existence. Adrian reached out, his tone dripping with that familiar, confident reassurance he always used to pacify me. “Nina, I already called my mom. I told her you were just blowing off steam. The party is moving forward as planned. We’ve been together for seven years. I know what matters most to you. Let’s just drop this, okay?” I took a deep breath, fighting the visceral tearing sensation in my heart. The humiliation of being someone’s second choice was at war with seven years of very real, very raw memories. I remembered how he used to tuck my freezing hands inside his coat during winter walks. I remembered the late nights he would show up at my office with my favorite takeout when I was working overtime. Those moments were real. But his endless waiting for another woman was real, too. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. I opened my mouth to finally end it, but Adrian’s phone rang. His annoyance vanished instantly. His face went pale, and his voice hitched with panic. “Stella? What’s wrong?” Muffled, ragged sobbing drifted from the speaker. Adrian’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the phone. “Did he hurt you again? Where? Is it bad?” He was already moving toward the door, grabbing his keys from the console. “Don’t panic. Find a safe place to hide and lock the door. I’m coming over right now. I’ll handle him.” He hung up, threw his coat over his shoulders, and walked out into the night without a single backward glance. He left so naturally. So effortlessly. He never even noticed that from the second he saw Stella’s name on his screen, he hadn’t looked at me once. Adrian didn’t come home that night. The following evening, he walked right through our front door with Stella in tow. He was carrying two heavy grocery bags, grinning like a teenager. “Nina! Stella insisted on coming over to thank us. She wants to cook dinner.” Stella stood awkwardly in the foyer. A fading purple bruise shadowed her cheekbone. “Nina, I really owe Adrian my life for helping me call the cops yesterday. I don’t have much to offer, so I wanted to make you guys a home-cooked meal.” Without waiting for an invitation, she slipped off her shoes and navigated my apartment like she owned the place, heading straight for the kitchen. Adrian followed her like a lovesick puppy. “I’ll be your sous-chef. Just like the old days.” Stella glanced over her shoulder, giving him a playful, exasperated pout. “You better just sit in the living room. You’re always in the way when you try to help.” But he leaned against the counter, refusing to leave. “Come on, I can wash the vegetables. Give me some credit, I’ve matured a lot in seven years.” Stella giggled, the sound light and breathy. “Alright, fine. But my hair is getting in the way. Can you tie it up for me?” Adrian complied instantly. He stepped behind her, gathering her long, dark hair into his hands with practiced gentleness. I stood in the hallway, forcing myself to look away from the agonizing intimacy of the scene. An hour later, Stella carried the plates out to the dining table. “Dinner is ready, Nina.” The food tasted like ash in my mouth, but Adrian’s eyes were practically shining. “Stella, your cooking is as amazing as ever. It’s been way too long since I tasted this.” She picked up a piece of honey-glazed pork with her fork and placed it directly onto his plate. “I know this is your absolute favorite. I made it just for you. Try this piece, it’s the most tender.” Finally, she seemed to remember I was sitting there. “Nina? Why aren’t you eating? Is it too sweet for you?” Adrian looked up, his tone shifting into a mild command. “Nina, eat a little. Stella worked hard on this all afternoon.” Before I could formulate a response, the doorbell chimed. I got up to answer it. Two delivery workers stood in the hall, holding a massive cardboard box. “Good evening. We have the canvas wedding portraits for delivery.” I froze in the doorway. We had taken those photos last month. When we placed the order, Adrian had confirmed the delivery date with the studio manager three separate times. He had been absolutely adamant that they arrive exactly one day after his thirtieth birthday, claiming it was for “good luck.” I had thought he was just being romantic. Now I knew the truth. He needed to make sure his thirty-year pact with Stella had expired before he allowed our wedding photos into his home. Hearing the delivery men, Stella’s face dropped. The glass of water slipped from her hand, shattering against the hardwood floor. Adrian leaped out of his chair, rushing over to grab her by the arms. “Don’t move! You’ll step on the glass.” The worker shifted the heavy box. “Where would you like us to hang this, ma’am?” Adrian didn’t even look our way. “Put it wherever. Nina, just sign for it.” Then, right in front of me, he scooped Stella up into his arms, carrying her bridal-style to the living room sofa. The two delivery men looked at me, their faces full of awkward pity. “Miss…” I stared at the cardboard box holding the frozen, smiling images of a future that no longer existed. My eyes burned. On the day we took those photos, we had held each other and laughed, and I had truly believed I was the happiest woman in the world. I turned my head. Adrian was kneeling on the rug, carefully dabbing a tiny scratch on Stella’s ankle with an alcohol wipe before gently applying a bandage. All his emotional unavailability over the years wasn’t a personality flaw. He was just saving his warmth for someone else. I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked back at the workers. “Don’t bother hanging it. Just leave it in the box.” Once the mandatory holding period for Stella’s husband ended, Adrian’s paranoia kicked into overdrive. He was constantly distracted. His phone was glued to his hand, his eyes darting to the screen every few minutes. That night, his phone sat on his nightstand. The screen flared to life, buzzed aggressively against the wood, went dark, and then lit up again. I rolled over, turning my back to him. “Adrian, why isn’t your phone on silent?” For the past seven years, Adrian was religious about silencing his phone at bedtime. He claimed sudden noises gave him migraines. He used to complain if my morning alarm was too loud. Silence stretched across the dark bedroom. “I know it’s annoying,” he finally whispered. “But I can’t mute it. That psycho could track Stella down at any second. If she calls and I miss it…” I sat up and looked down at him. “So you’re just never going to put your phone on silent again for the rest of your life?” He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Just until this whole mess is sorted out.” My patience finally snapped. “And when is it sorted out? When she files for divorce? When she marries someone else? Or are you waiting for her husband to drop dead?” Adrian bolted upright, staring at me like I was a stranger. “Nina, could you have a shred of empathy?!” “She is being hunted by a violent lunatic! She could be killed, and you want me to just ignore her? What if she needs me and I don’t answer?” I raised my voice, the frustration boiling over. “Does she not know how to dial 911?” “How did she survive all those years when you two lost touch? Did she just stop breathing without you? She has a family. She has other friends. Why does it have to be you?” Adrian threw the covers back and got out of bed, looking at me with pure disgust. “When did you become so cold-blooded?” “When I met you seven years ago, you were the kind of girl who would cry over a stray kitten in the rain. Look at what you’ve turned into.” I opened my mouth to fight back, but his phone buzzed again. He lunged across the mattress to grab it. “Stella? Are you okay?” Her terrified weeping filled the quiet room. “Adrian… I’m so scared to go back to my place. I didn’t grab my wallet, I have nowhere to go.” “I was just walking and crying, and somehow I ended up outside your apartment building. Could I… could I crash with you guys for a little while?” Adrian didn’t hesitate for a fraction of a second. “Of course you can. I’m coming down to get you right now.” He dropped the phone and started pulling on his jeans. I grabbed his arm. “There is a hotel two blocks away. I will pay for the room myself. But I am not letting her move into our home.” He ripped his arm away, glaring at me. “A hotel isn’t safe. What if her husband bribes the front desk? Who takes the blame if he breaks into her room?” “She’s traumatized, Nina. She needs to be around people she trusts. Staying here is the only way I can actually sleep at night knowing she’s safe.” Listening to my fiancé passionately defend his need to provide safety and shelter to the love of his life finally broke me. “Well, if she moves in, I am not safe! Adrian, I am a woman too!” He completely bulldozed over my pain, his voice dropping to a freezing chill. “I’ve made my decision. Stop making this about you.” He grabbed his jacket and headed for the bedroom door. Tears spilled hotly down my cheeks. “Adrian.” He paused. “If you bring her through that front door, I am no longer your fiancée.” He froze, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He turned around slowly, his eyes searching my face. The silence between us stretched out, heavy and suffocating. Then, he let out a long, disappointed breath. “Nina, I know you. You have the biggest heart in the world. You would never actually leave someone out on the street to die.” He picked up his keys, opened the door, and walked out. He left me totally alone in the suffocating, silent dark. I sat there for a long time. Then, I wiped my face dry, picked up my phone, and dialed my real estate agent. The agent answered with annoying cheerfulness. “Hey Nina! Is there an issue with the new house? I know you bought it for the wedding. Are we hearing wedding bells soon?” I forced a bitter smile. “No issues with the property. But I need you to list it on the market. Tonight. Sell it as fast as humanly possible.” I absolutely refused to share my own home, paid for by my parents, with a man who was busy sharing his heart with another woman. Sitting on the edge of the bed, tears streaming down my face, I made the final, immovable choice of my life. I didn’t want the house anymore. And I didn’t want the man, either. By the time Stella walked through the front door, my suitcases were zipped and standing by the entryway. She stopped in her tracks, eyes wide. “Nina? Where are you going?” Adrian glanced at the luggage, his tone dismissive and arrogant. “Leave her alone. Where else is she going to go besides running back to her parents?” Stella bit her lip, twisting her fingers together. “Nina, I am so, so sorry. I know I’m ruining everything by being here.” “But I truly have nowhere else in the world to go.” Her eyes filled with fresh tears, playing the tragic heroine to perfection. “I’m not like you, Nina. You have a warm family home to go back to. You have parents who protect you. You have a safety net. I have absolutely nothing.” Adrian reached out and gently squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t say that. You aren’t completely alone.” She looked down at the floorboards. “Adrian, I really shouldn’t have imposed on you guys. But knowing that monster is out of jail… I’m terrified to close my eyes.” He frowned, his protective instincts flaring. “Why won’t you just file for divorce?” Stella looked up at him through her wet eyelashes. “Where would I go if I did? My parents only care about my brother. They won’t take me in.” “That house hasn’t been my home for years. My brother’s wife hates my guts and won’t even let me through the gate. If I get divorced, I won’t have a single person to rely on…” Adrian’s entire demeanor softened into pure devotion. “You can rely on me.” My hand, reaching for the handle of my suitcase, stopped dead in mid-air. I gripped the plastic so hard my knuckles popped. Seven years ago, when Adrian asked me to be his girlfriend under a sky full of stars, he had used that exact same tone. He had held my hands and sworn, “Nina, no matter what happens in this life, you can always rely on me.” I had bet my entire future on that promise. I thought those words belonged exclusively to me. I was wrong. Adrian’s promises were just a charity fund. He handed them out to whoever looked the most pathetic. I pulled up the handle of my luggage and walked toward the door. Adrian finally dropped Stella’s hand, stepping forward to pat me condescendingly on the head. “Don’t forget the engagement dinner tomorrow night.” I didn’t say a single word. I dragged my bags into the hallway. As the heavy door swung shut, I heard Stella’s soft, guilt-ridden whisper. “Adrian, is she really mad at me? Should I leave? I’m driving a wedge between you two.” Adrian’s soothing voice drifted through the crack in the door. “It has nothing to do with you. She’ll get over it once she cools down. Both our families are meeting tomorrow, the engagement is locked in. We’re solid.” The elevator doors slid shut, cutting off his voice for good. It was past one in the morning by the time I dragged my bags into my childhood home. The second I saw my parents’ faces, the dam broke. I sat on their couch and sobbed out every ounce of humiliation and heartbreak I had swallowed over the last month. My parents were livid, shaking with righteous fury, but my mother just held me and smoothed my hair, coaxing me to go upstairs and get some sleep first. That night, lying in the bed I grew up in, I slept like the dead. For the first time in weeks, there was no one tossing and turning next to me. No one jumping out of bed at 3 AM to play the hero for someone else. I woke up naturally with the morning sun. I rolled over and checked my phone. Ninety-nine missed calls. Some were from Mr. and Mrs. Wright. Most were from Adrian. A text message popped onto the screen, aggressively demanding my attention. [Where the hell are you, Nina?! Why are your parents at the restaurant demanding we cancel the wedding?!]

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1 Eric and I grew up together. We were inseparable for fifteen years. Yet, the very next day after we finally made our relationship official, he dumped me without a single warning. I could never understand why. To win him back, I threw away every ounce of my dignity. I begged. I pleaded. I spiraled into such a terrifying, destructive breakdown that it nearly cost me my life. He remained completely indifferent. It was not until five years later, at our university alumni gala, that he finally confessed the truth. “You announced our relationship on social media without my permission,” he said, swirling the wine in his glass. “That is why I wanted to break up.” “I thought I was just being overly sensitive at the time.” “But looking back, I was genuinely uncomfortable. I felt like you did not respect me.” I stared at him, my face completely blank. “Over something that trivial?” He lifted his chin, his tone entirely self-righteous. “Yes. Over something that trivial.” I gave a slow, detached nod. I understood now. I turned on my heel to leave. But Eric frowned and stepped in my path, blocking my way. “Are you not going to apologize to me?” “If you show a good attitude, I might consider getting back together with you.” My thumb brushed against the diamond ring on my left hand. I did not say a word. It had been five years. Who in their right mind would still be standing in the exact same place? When my silence stretched on, Eric’s limited patience quickly evaporated. He pointed a finger at me, his voice dropping to a freezing chill. “Margaret, is it really that hard for you to just say you are sorry?” “Do you want to get back together or not!” I glanced at Valerie, who was leaning intimately against his side. I opened my mouth to tell him exactly what I thought. But Valerie suddenly released Eric’s arm and took a timid step backward. “Eric, I think Margaret is refusing to apologize because I am here.” Eric’s brow furrowed. He immediately reached out, pulling Valerie back into his embrace, his voice instantly softening into a gentle coax. “This has nothing to do with you. She has always been unstable.” He turned his glaring eyes back to me. “It has been five years. How much longer are you going to be paranoid about me and Valerie?” He did not lower his voice at all. In an instant, half the banquet hall turned to look in our direction. Seeing me standing opposite Eric, a wave of pity washed over the crowd’s faces. But the pity was not for me. It was for Eric. After all, my breakdown five years ago had been spectacularly ugly. The police had to pull me off a bridge. It made local news. Everyone thought it was a terrible tragedy that a calm, reserved, successful man like Eric had been targeted by a crazy, obsessive woman like me. Amidst the low murmurs, I could hear the echoes of the insults they used to hurl at me. “How is Margaret not locked up yet?” The crystal champagne flute in my hand turned freezing cold. A violent shiver racked my body. Terrified of having a panic attack in public, I shoved past Eric. I practically ran to the restrooms, stumbling blindly until I reached a sink. I threw up until my stomach was completely empty. Staring at my pale, sickly reflection in the mirror, a bitter laugh escaped my lips. Five years, and I was still this pathetic. A sharp knock echoed against the bathroom door. Eric’s voice filtered through the wood, sounding rigid and awkward. “Are you alright?” “Valerie went to find a doctor for you. If you are still sick in the head, why did you even show up tonight?” Why? I stared quietly at the woman in the mirror. Because I honestly thought I was cured. I had vastly underestimated the psychological hold Eric still had on me. Just hearing his voice triggered a suffocating, breathless panic in my chest. I curled in on myself against the cold marble sink. I forced my mind to focus on the warmth and peace I had found over the last few years, fighting down the venomous resentment burning in my throat. “Get lost,” I croaked out, my voice ragged. The hallway went dead silent for a second. Then, Eric slammed his fist against the door. “Are you out of your mind, Margaret?! Did you just tell me to get lost?” “Did five years teach you absolutely nothing!” I scoffed, aggressively wiping away the stinging tears in the corners of my eyes. I almost forgot. Eric was no longer that shy, highly sensitive college boy. Back then, whenever he spoke to anyone other than me, his face would flush red, and he would stutter nervously. Now, he was polished and polite. He charmed the room, the absolute picture of a successful gentleman. But the second he dealt with me, he reverted to his arrogant, reckless self. He operated under the delusion that I was still the old Margaret, the girl who would endlessly tolerate his temper tantrums and fragile ego. My phone vibrated wildly in my clutch. It was a text from my husband, asking when the event was ending so he could come pick me up. The suffocating shadows in my mind were instantly bathed in sunlight. The terrifying edge of a panic attack melted away. I took a deep, steadying breath. I prepared to record a voice note telling him everything was fine. But the bathroom door was suddenly kicked open. Eric stood in the doorway with Valerie hovering behind him. His pupils contracted when he saw me leaning over the sink, my face damp with cold water. Without thinking, he shrugged off his tailored suit jacket and draped it over my shivering shoulders. “If you feel sick, you go see a doctor!” he snapped. “What good does hiding in the bathroom do?” The heavy, intoxicating scent of Armani Thé Yulong washed over me. For a split second, I felt dizzy. I could not believe he had worn the exact same cologne for five straight years. On the very first day we officially started dating, I bought him a bottle of that Armani fragrance. I told him it was my favorite scent in the world. He smiled at me, his eyes full of devotion. “Then I will wear this exact scent for the rest of my life. Deal?” But the very next day, right after he casually ended our relationship, he smashed that heavy glass bottle against the floor right in front of my eyes. I snapped back to reality. I shoved Eric away, grabbing his jacket and tossing it right back into his chest. “Thanks for the concern.” “But my husband is coming to pick me up soon. I will just have him take me to the hospital.” I did not say it to show off. I was not trying to get revenge. I just needed him to understand. We were history. Eric’s entire body went rigid. He stared at me in absolute shock, his voice cracking. “You got married?!” I gave a simple nod, raising my left hand to flash the diamond ring on my finger. I turned to walk past him. But Eric grabbed my wrist, pulling my hand up. He stared at the diamond for a long, agonizing moment before letting out a cold, mocking sneer. He forcefully yanked the ring off my finger and tossed it onto the tiled floor. “What the hell are you doing!” My calm facade shattered. I dropped to my knees, desperately reaching for the ring. Before my fingers could brush the metal, a polished leather shoe stepped down hard, grinding the silver and diamond into the floor. Eric gripped my wrist, pulling me up. His tone was dripping with smug satisfaction. “Drop the act, Margaret. I know you are not married.” “You are a clinically unstable mess with a family history of mental breakdowns. Aside from me, what man on earth would ever love you?” I struggled to push him away, kneeling on the cold floor. Hearing his words, I just found it incredibly funny. “Are you implying that you actually love me, Eric?” He froze. An awkward, uncomfortable expression crossed his face before he rubbed the back of his neck, reluctantly admitting it. “We grew up together. Obviously, I care about you more than anyone else.” “But you know how sensitive I am. I just could not stop overthinking. I kept wondering if you actually loved me.” “When you rushed to announce our relationship, I felt disrespected. I felt like you did not love me enough. That is why I broke it off.” It took him five years to finally figure it out. And now he was back, offering me the grand prize of getting back together. I stared dead into his eyes, letting out a soft, mocking laugh. “No. You never loved me.” “If you did, you would not have dropped me cold turkey. And you definitely would not have been laying in the same bed with Valerie while I was outside begging for you back.” “The truth is, you love Valerie way more than you ever loved me. Right?” The memory was burned into my brain forever. I remembered running to his apartment, desperate to fix things, only to find the sickening sight of him and Valerie lounging together. On the first day of our relationship, I had asked to go to his place to cook a romantic dinner. He refused. He told me someone was crashing at his place and it was inconvenient. I assumed it was one of his frat brothers. I never imagined it was Valerie. I stood up and drove the heel of my red stiletto right into Eric’s shin. As he hissed in pain and lifted his leg, I quickly snatched my ring off the floor. I wiped it carefully against my dress, my voice dead calm. “So spare me the bullshit about how much you love me.” “It makes me sick.” I slid the ring back onto my finger. I completely ignored Eric, whose face looked like he was about to commit murder. I bypassed him and Valerie, walking straight back into the banquet hall. I planned to say a quick goodbye to the host and leave. But Valerie suddenly grabbed a random guest and blocked my path, projecting a sickly sweet aura of false concern. “Oh my gosh, Margaret was having a terrible episode in the bathroom just now! She looked like she was in so much pain.” “Our friend here is a psychiatrist. Why don’t we let him take a look at you!” She purposefully pitched her voice loud enough to grab the entire room’s attention again. Countless pairs of judging, maliciously curious eyes locked onto me. I frowned in deep discomfort. “I do not need help. I am fine.” Valerie took a step closer, pretending to be a caring friend. “Do not hide your illness, Margaret. You were so delusional just now you actually rejected Eric’s offer to get back together. How can you say you are fine?” She reached out to grab my arm. Pure reflex kicked in. I violently swatted her hand away. A second later, Valerie let out a dramatic shriek and stumbled backward, crashing directly into a massive champagne tower on the nearby table. Deafening glass shattered in every direction. Before I could process what happened, Eric shoved me hard in the chest. I lost my footing and crashed onto the floor, directly into the puddle of alcohol and broken glass. Black spots danced across my vision from the pain. Eric’s furious, biting voice echoed above me. “You really have lost your mind again, Margaret!” The entire hall fell dead silent, paralyzed by the sudden chaos. Eric’s accusation hung crystal clear in the air. Everyone stared at me in shock, their eyes looking at me like I was radioactive waste. The whispers started instantly. “Why would they let a psycho into the alumni gala?” “Someone call the hospital and have them drag this crazy bitch out of here.” “I feel so bad for Eric and Valerie. If I were them, I would have cut ties with a freak like Margaret years ago.” Every single mistake. Every single accident. Somehow, it was always my fault. The emotional stability I had fought so hard to build began to crack. I took a ragged, desperate breath, slowly pushing myself off the floor. Every instinct in my body screamed at me to run. But Eric grabbed my arm, his grip bruising. “You think you can just walk away after hurting Valerie?” “When did you become so completely irresponsible!” I curled my fingers into fists to hide how violently my hands were shaking. I forced myself to look at him. “Tell me how much you want. I will pay for the damages.” Eric’s jaw tightened. Before he could speak, Valerie started sobbing, complaining about the pain in her ankle. He immediately scooped her up into his arms, shooting me a look of pure disgust, ordering me to follow them to the hospital. He completely failed to notice the deep gash on my calf, blood steadily pouring down my leg from a jagged piece of glass. My face was devoid of emotion as I reached down and pulled the shard of glass out of my own skin. I limped my way out to the parking lot. Eric gently placed Valerie in the passenger seat of his car. She put up a pathetic, fake struggle. “This is Margaret’s seat. I should sit in the back.” Eric pushed her back down into the leather seat and buckled her in himself. “Do not worry about meaningless rules. She does not care about things like that anymore.” I kept pressure on my bleeding leg. I did not bother arguing. Five years ago, on the day we started dating, I had set a strict boundary with Eric. No other woman was ever allowed to sit in his passenger seat. He promised me instantly. But the very next day, when he initiated our breakup, he suffered total amnesia regarding that promise. He put Valerie in his passenger seat, exactly like he was doing right now. And he did it just to take her to the movies. Valerie looked at me through the open window, her face a mask of frightened innocence as she apologized. I ignored her completely. I pulled out my phone, pulled up my banking app, and shoved the screen toward Eric. “Give me your payment code. I will transfer the money to cover her medical bill right now.” Eric frowned, opening his mouth to reprimand me. Then, his eyes dropped. He finally noticed my leg, coated in fresh blood. His breath hitched. “You are bleeding that much and you did not say a word?!” “Are you an idiot, Margaret?!” Before I could answer, he grabbed me around the waist, practically throwing me into the backseat of the car and slamming the buckle into place. Right behind Valerie’s seat. In Eric’s world, I would always rank second to Valerie. The child safety locks clicked into place. I had zero chance of getting out. I demanded he let me out of the car. He let out a low, frustrated sigh. “Be good. Stop acting crazy. We are going to the hospital to get those cuts cleaned up.” The jealousy radiating from Valerie in the front seat was palpable. I stared blankly at the city lights blurring past the window. I did not speak another word. When we arrived at the emergency room, Eric reverted to form. He completely forgot about me. He sprinted out of the car, carrying Valerie in his arms as he rushed toward the sliding doors like she was dying of a terminal illness. I was left locked in the back. His parting words were simply, “I will come back to carry you in a minute.” Then he vanished. A full hour passed. Then two. The air in the sealed car grew dangerously thin. I gasped for breath, feeling the panic rising in my throat. I dialed 911 with shaking fingers. While I waited for the police, I frantically searched the backseat for something heavy to break the glass. I reached over the seat into the trunk area. I found a cardboard box packed full of my old things. My old makeup. Skincare I used to leave in his glovebox. And a gift I had given him. A violin. Eric was a music major. The violin was his absolute mastery. Years ago, he had played a solo in the courtyard that made every girl on campus swoon. I was one of them. I bought this violin for his birthday during the first year I realized I was in love with him. On the day of our breakup, right after he shattered my perfume bottle, he marched outside and threw this exact violin into the campus dumpster. I had no idea he had gone back and dug it out of the trash. The strings were pristine. The wood was polished. It had clearly been treated with the utmost care. My fingers traced the small engraving near the base. The initials S and T. Margaret and Eric. It survived all these years in perfect condition. It was absolutely sickening. Without a shred of hesitation, I grabbed the heavy neck of the violin and swung it with all my strength into the side window. The glass shattered outward in a spectacular explosion. The car alarm blared into the night. A few minutes later, the police escorted a completely frantic Eric out of the emergency room. Seeing me sitting in the back of the shattered car, my face pale as a ghost, all the blood drained from his face. His hands shook uncontrollably as he pulled the door open. He practically dragged me into his arms, burying his face in my neck, whispering apologies over and over again. I did not even have the energy to push him away. I let him carry me inside like a ragdoll. He demanded a nurse clean my wounds immediately. As the nurse poured antiseptic over the deep cut on my leg, she gave me a sympathetic look. “This is going to sting quite a bit. Try to hold still.” Before she even finished her sentence, Eric shoved his forearm directly against my lips. “Bite me if it hurts.” I glanced at his arm. He worked out often. His forearm was thick with muscle and faint blue veins. Right on the inside of his wrist was a faint, almost invisible smudge of lipstick. The exact shade Valerie was wearing tonight. I looked away. “No thanks.” The nurse smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “You guys are so cute! Hubby cannot stand seeing his wife in pain, and wife refuses to hurt her hubby.” Hearing her words, the panic in Eric’s eyes eased significantly. He did not correct her. He casually switched arms, offering me his clean wrist with a soft, coaxing smile. “Be a good girl. Bite down.” “You used to have the lowest pain tolerance in the world.” I did not reply. Eric conveniently forgot exactly what I had gone through. When I was shamelessly begging for him to come back to me, I had subjected myself to so much self-inflicted agony that physical pain simply stopped registering in my brain. From the second the nurse bandaged my leg until she walked out of the curtained room, I did not look at him a single time. Eric’s fragile ego finally snapped. He leaned over the hospital bed, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look at him, his teeth ground together in fury. “Fine. You win, Margaret.” “I will drop the apology thing. Is that what you want to hear!” “Everything you did to me in the past, I am willing to pretend it never happened.” His grip on my jaw loosened. His voice dropped into that intoxicating, gentle register he used on the day he confessed his love to me. “Let’s get back together.” I stared at him with empty eyes. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to ask him what gave him the right to just “pretend it never happened.” What about my tears? What about my suffering? The words piled up in my throat, but the sheer exhaustion of dealing with him swallowed them whole. It just was not worth it. I let out a tired sigh. “I am married.” “I do not want to get back together with you. It is entirely impossible.” A suffocating, deathly silence filled the small hospital bay. Eric opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. His eyes were bloodshot as he glared at me. “Are you really going to keep this up? You are using this ridiculous, pathetic excuse just to reject me?” “Are you trying to force me to the edge? Do I need to threaten to end my own life before you are finally satisfied?” “You just want revenge, don’t you!” I looked at him calmly. I shook my head. “You are not worth the effort.” I used to want revenge. I wanted to destroy him. Eric and I spent fifteen years growing up together. We knew each other like we knew our own reflections. That was why I could never process how he could just execute a cold turkey breakup. He severed me from his life so completely that we could not even be acquaintances. But over the last five years, things changed. My shattered, battered heart had been carefully, meticulously stitched back together by someone else. “I stopped needing you a very long time ago, Eric.” The moment the words left my mouth, my phone lit up with a notification. It was a voice memo from my husband. His deep, soothing voice played through the speaker. “Hey baby, what floor are you on?” “I am in the lobby.” A rush of absolute warmth flooded my chest. I pressed the microphone button to reply. But Eric’s hand shot out like a viper, clamping down on my wrist. His grip was terrifyingly strong. He stared at me, his eyes wild with accusation. “Who is that, Margaret?! Who is the man on your phone!”

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1 Right in the middle of our wedding preparations, my fiancé had to leave for a last-minute business trip. That night, we were on a FaceTime call. We were just going over the catering progress when the doorbell to his hotel room chimed. The door opened. A woman strolled into the frame, holding a bottle of Cabernet and two wine glasses. Without missing a beat, she playfully hooked her arm around his neck. “Finally managed to catch you. Drink with me.” James was forced to bend awkwardly under her grip. He looked at the screen with a helpless, apologetic smile. “Irene, let me introduce you. This is Sloane. We sat next to each other for three years in high school.” The woman did not let go. She just leaned in closer, peering at me through the screen. “Oh wow. Hey there, future wifey.” I offered a polite, totally detached smile. “Hello.” “Please take your arm off him.” Sloane’s smile froze for a split second before morphing into exaggerated shock. “Whoa, James! The one you bagged this time is pretty fierce, huh?” James hurriedly ducked out from under her arm, stepping toward the phone to explain. “Irene, do not misunderstand. Sloane and I are practically frat brothers. This is just how she is.” “Yeah exactly!” She laughed, totally unbothered. “I practically raised this guy. I am basically his wingman. A bro does not have inappropriate thoughts about her own buddy. Am I right?” She grinned shamelessly. James let out a helpless chuckle and kept defending her. “It is just a huge coincidence. Sloane happens to be one of the project managers for the company I am partnering with this week.” I knew this contract was massive for James’s firm. So, despite the bitter taste pooling in the back of my throat, I sat completely still and kept my mouth shut. Sloane casually pulled out a corkscrew, twisting it into the wine bottle as she completely changed the subject. “Oh, by the way, James. You have been a ghost in our fitness group chat lately. It has been forever since you dropped an abs pic for our approval.” I knew about that group chat. James had told me it was strictly a guys-only chat where his buddies posted their post-workout progress. Turns out, she was in it too. “Planning a wedding takes up all my free time,” James replied. “I barely have time to hit the gym.” “Pfft. Who told you to get married so young anyway?” James looked through the screen at me, a flicker of genuine tenderness in his eyes. “Irene has been by my side for three years. It is time I gave her a real home.” The female voice entirely ruined the moment. “Wow, you say that like I was not by your side for three years! If I knew you were handing out rings, I would have shamelessly demanded you give me a home right after graduation!” James just laughed and shook his head. “Stop messing around.” A cold scoff escaped my lips. The sickening discomfort in my chest was growing impossible to ignore. On the screen, Sloane could not pop the cork. She casually handed the bottle to James. He took it naturally, popping the cork with practiced ease. Sloane beamed at him. “Not bad, your workouts are paying off. Hey, check out my progress. Are my lines getting better?” She took a few steps back, posing in her low-cut silk slip dress, looking at him with absolute expectation. James smiled and nodded. “Yeah, looking good.” “Do not just look, feel it. I am telling you, I gained a lot of muscle lately, especially in my thighs.” She actually reached out, grabbing James’s hand and trying to pull it toward her leg. “Come on, do not be shy. I am the one letting you cop a feel, not the other way around…” My eyes turned glacial, but I maintained a terrifyingly polite tone. “Sloane, was it?” “Why do you not head back to your room? You can save the drinking for another time. We are busy tonight, so this is really inconvenient.” Maybe my tone was a little too composed. Sloane dropped his hand, but she made zero effort to leave. Instead, she looked at me with a mocking smirk. “Future wifey, we are just friends joking around. Are you seriously kicking me out?” James instantly jumped in to back her up. “Yeah, Irene. I basically view Sloane as another guy. It really is not what you think.” I looked at the very obvious curves pressing against Sloane’s thin silk slip, and I actually let out a laugh. “What kind of man walks into another person’s hotel room late at night wearing a low-cut silk negligee?” “Oh, wait. I get it. You are a cross-dressing gay man, right?” I looked at James with absolute, feigned seriousness. “Well, you cannot do that either, James. You are in danger too.” The air in the room instantly froze. Watching the smiles get wiped clean off both their faces, the corners of my mouth curled up higher. “Oh, come on. Just a joke. Sloane, you are a guy, right? Surely a tough bro like you would not hold a grudge against a woman over a little joke?” I blinked innocently at Sloane, whose face was turning a violent shade of red. But it was James who spoke first. “Irene. That joke crossed a line.” I feigned total shock. “How could it? I was just playing along with your narrative. Are guys really this sensitive?” Seeing James’s face darken, Sloane took a step forward, completely dropping the act. “Giving me an attitude the very first time we meet. Are you trying to put me in my place?” I batted my eyelashes, keeping my voice sweet. “No, not at all. Why do you jump to conclusions so easily? I was just joking. Was it not funny?” The second the words left my mouth, Sloane’s eyes filled with tears. “Fine. Fine, I am leaving. James, do not make things hard on yourself just because of me.” She turned and marched out of the room. The moment the door slammed shut, a heavy, suffocating silence fell over the screen. James rubbed his temples and let out a long, exhausted sigh. “She is literally just a friend. Why did you have to overreact like that?” “So what you are saying is, I should just sit here quietly and become a prop in your little roleplay?” “Irene! Can you please stop speaking to me so aggressively all the time!” Always. I laughed softly. Silence stretched across the connection. His jaw was clenched tight, refusing to say another word. The doorbell rang again. It was the late-night takeout I had ordered for him. He brought the food back to the desk. Just like he always did, he softened his tone first. “Look. We are getting married. Stop overthinking things, okay?” “I am going to go take a shower. You take a minute to cool off. I will call you right back.” The call ended. I sat on my couch, organizing my thoughts, figuring out exactly how to calmly communicate my boundaries when he called back. But midnight came and went. No call. James never broke a promise. When my calls and texts went completely unanswered, a rare spike of genuine panic hit my chest. I looked at the massive canvas wedding portrait hanging on our living room wall. Sleep was impossible. A minute later, I grabbed my car keys and headed for the elevator. I do not know what possessed me. I just knew I had to go see for myself. 2 Four and a half hours later, my car pulled into the parking lot of James’s hotel. I sat behind the wheel, staring up at the pitch-black sky, closing my burning eyes. If you had asked me three years ago, I never would have believed I could lose my mind over a man like this. Exhausted from the overnight drive, I walked into the lobby, planning to book a room and sleep for a few hours. But the moment I approached the front desk, I saw them. James and Sloane, dressed in matching athletic wear, laughing together as they walked through the lobby and out the sliding glass doors. Catching my intense stare, the receptionist smiled helpfully. “They are heading out to catch the sunrise. The peak nearby is famous for it. If you have time, miss, you should really check it out…” She did not even finish her sentence before I muttered a quick thanks and hurried after them. They were completely engrossed in their conversation. Because there were dozens of other tourists on the trail, they had absolutely no idea I was walking right behind them. I raised my hand, fully intending to call out James’s name. But Sloane’s voice drifted back to me. “…There is literally nothing I can eat on your wedding menu. Did you forget I am highly allergic to shellfish?” James nodded instantly. “Circle everything you cannot eat later. I will have the caterer swap the dishes out.” My hand froze in mid-air. I had attended three separate tastings and coordinated endlessly with our VIP guests to finalize that menu. And now, because Sloane complained, he was scrapping it without a second thought. “Aww, look at you being so sweet. Aren’t you worried she is going to throw a fit?” James’s voice was laced with a smile, but the words he spoke turned my blood to absolute ice. “She lost her parents when she was young. Her personality can be a bit extreme and paranoid. Just try to tolerate her.” I stared at the back of the man standing less than two feet away from me. A sharp, stinging burn hit the back of my nose. In the three years we dated, James knew my deepest, most agonizing trauma was being orphaned. He had sworn to me that he would spend the rest of his life making up for all the love I had been denied. But right here, right now, he casually handed over my deepest vulnerability for another woman to mock. Predictably, Sloane let out a cruel sneer. “Oh, so she is an orphan. And here I thought she was some spoiled heiress with the way she was disrespecting me.” James did not defend me. He just kept feeding into her narrative. “She was out of line yesterday, I know. That is why I deliberately left her on read last night. I guarantee she did not sleep a wink.” “Consider it my way of punishing her for you. Be the bigger person and let it go.” Sloane sounded incredibly smug. “Well, I am not a petty person. As long as you drink with me like you did last night, we are cool.” “Whenever you want, I am there.” “You said it! No taking it back!” My fingernails dug so deeply into my palms they almost broke the skin, but I felt absolutely nothing. So he did not forget. He did not fall asleep. He deliberately tortured me with anxiety all night just to appease Sloane. As their voices faded into the crisp morning air, I stopped walking. I stood there until the stinging in my eyes faded. Then, I turned around and walked back down the mountain. I had my answer. Following them to the peak was entirely pointless. On the hike down, my legs gave out from sheer exhaustion, and I nearly face-planted into the dirt. By the time I dragged myself into the driver’s seat, I looked like an absolute wreck. I stared at my reflection in the rearview mirror and let out a dry, pathetic laugh. Three years ago, James’s gentle, relentless pursuit broke through my walls. My friends told me I had turned into a completely different person. I used to worship my independence. Now, I willingly spent my evenings trying new recipes for him. I used to be completely untouchable. Now, I practically purred over the phone when he called. Most shockingly, the girl who swore she would never get married was suddenly planning a wedding. They warned me I was letting love make me stupid. I laughed them off. I thought because my career was thriving, I still held all the power. I genuinely believed I was the one in control. Until this exact moment. Looking at the dark circles under my eyes and the mud on my expensive boots, every red flag I had actively ignored suddenly came into sharp focus. Three months ago, when James proposed, I turned down a massive promotion that required relocation. My friends were furious. But I convinced myself that careers could be rebuilt, while true love only comes around once. I threw myself entirely into planning the wedding. In the beginning, James was fully invested. He went dress shopping. He picked out the photographer. Slowly, he got “busy.” He would leave appointments halfway through to take work calls. Eventually, his mother took his place entirely, and he went back to living like a bachelor. Meanwhile, I was constantly using up my vacation days to meet with vendors. I had been compromising my entire life away without even realizing it. As I sat there completely numb, my phone suddenly rang through the car’s Bluetooth. James’s voice filled the cabin. “Irene, the wedding planner just called me. They said they cannot reach you. You booked your bridal makeup trial for today, and the stylist is already waiting at our door…” He must have been standing at the summit. The howling wind battered the microphone, making the audio crackle. In the background, I could hear people cheering. “Wow, the sun is up!” “It is gorgeous! Take a picture!” It was so incredibly loud. Staring at the blinding rays of dawn breaking over the horizon, my voice was dead calm. “James, the wedding is canceled.” 3 “What?” He seemed to step away into a quieter spot. His voice came through clearer. “Irene, I did not catch that. I am hiking with a client right now, it is pretty loud.” Right. Because Sloane was his client. I had zero intention of arguing with him. “I will handle the wedding planner. Go back to work.” I was about to end the call when his voice spiked with sudden, nervous energy. Clearly, my freezing tone finally registered. “Are you still mad? Last night I took a shower and just passed out. I swear I did not ignore you on purpose. And when I woke up, it was so early, I knew you were a light sleeper so I did not want to wake you…” He was always so attentive. So detail-oriented. Turns out he applied that same skill to lying. I swallowed the lump in my throat and gave a vague, dismissive hum. James did not sense the absolute finality in my silence. He would have kept talking, but a high-pitched, whiny voice cut him off. “Come here! The good light is almost gone!” It was far away, but it was unmistakable. It did not matter anymore. I hung up the phone. I slumped back against the leather seat, taking a few minutes to force my heart rate down. Then, I called the wedding planner, apologized profusely, paid the stylist a cancellation fee, and told them to go home. Without resting, I put the car in drive and sped straight back to the house James and I shared. Since the wedding was off, there was a mountain of shared assets and personal belongings I needed to deal with. I wanted it done immediately. But I completely underestimated what the physical and emotional toll had done to my body. Halfway home, a massive fever hit me like a truck. I dragged my burning body into the apartment and collapsed into bed, slipping into a dark, suffocating sleep. I had so many nightmares. I dreamed of the night my parents died in the crash. The rain was so freezing cold. Then I was back in the orphanage. The porridge was always scalding hot, but the caretakers would scream at us to eat it faster. Then middle school. A kid told me I was unwanted trash. I lunged at him, ready to tear his face off. But when the boy turned around, it was James. He was smiling. “Look at you, Irene. Nobody wants you.” My entire world collapsed into an endless, dark void. I cried endlessly. But no sound came out. … I do not know how much time passed. The relentless buzzing of my phone finally pulled me out of the dark. I slowly forced my eyes open. My screen was flooded. Confirmation sketches from the custom jeweler. The finalized catering contract from the hotel manager. And a barrage of missed calls and texts from James’s mother. But the most messages were from James himself. “Irene, the planner said you canceled the trial. Did something go wrong?” “My mom said you two were supposed to pay the venue deposit today. She cannot reach you. Where are you?” “Pick up the phone.” … “I asked the building management to check if your car is in the garage. If it is, I am having them unlock the door to make sure you are okay.” That last message was sent two minutes ago. James knew I never disappeared without a word. I never broke commitments. That was why he was panicking. I frowned, pushing myself up, and dialed his number. He picked up on the first ring, his voice frantic. “Irene? Where are you?” “I am fine. I just caught a bug and slept through the day. Tell building management to stand down.” “You are sick? Did you go to the doctor?” “No need. I am better. When are you coming back? We need to talk.” He hesitated for a second. A sharp, familiar voice suddenly invaded the call. “Oh wow, she is sick? Then we definitely need to hurry back.” “A delicate little housewife like her cannot just push through it like us career women. She needs to be coddled.” I listened to Sloane’s aggressive sarcasm with absolute ice in my veins. It was a shame she was not standing in front of me, or I would have taught her some manners with the back of my hand. James coughed awkwardly. “Irene, get some rest. I will be home soon.” I ended the call, took a hot shower, forced down some takeout, and went back to sleep. When I finally heard the front door click open, the sun had already set. James pushed the bedroom door open quietly. I sat up and switched on the bedside lamp. The warm light illuminated his exhausted face. He had clearly rushed all the way back. His voice was incredibly gentle. “Did I wake you?” Looking at his worried eyes, I had to admit that tearing this love out of my chest was going to take a little time. I shook my head. I opened my mouth to speak, but a head popped into the doorway. “Oh, you are still in bed?” Meeting Sloane’s mocking gaze, the last lingering shreds of affection in my eyes vaporized instantly. I turned my head to stare at James. He immediately started explaining. “Sloane has some business to handle in the city. She does not know anyone here, so I figured she could crash with us for a few days.” “Crash where?” “We have a guest room, right?” “A guest room?” My voice was lethal. “You mean the nursery?” Aside from the master bedroom, the only other rooms with beds were my home office and James’s gym. And the nursery. When he first suggested converting the spare room into a nursery, I was entirely against it. The responsibility of raising a child terrified me. I was not ready. But James dragged me to furniture stores. We picked out the ceiling lights, the plush rugs, the exact shade of pastel paint… His endless patience and excitement slowly broke down my walls. He told me he did not care if it was a boy or a girl, as long as they looked exactly like me. Eventually, I actually started looking forward to it. And now, he was handing that room over to Sloane. Hearing my tone, James frowned in disapproval.

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1 It was the ninth time his first love made him play rock-paper-scissors to choose where he spent the night. Scissors. I threw paper. Chloe melted into his chest, voice dripping sweetness. “I won, Liam. You’re mine tonight.” He kissed her forehead, then glanced back at me. “Chloe’s mind is stuck at six after the accident. Try to understand.” She was twenty-four. Conveniently, she didn’t recall shoving me down the stairs and ending my pregnancy. Liam draped an arm around her, dropping it casually. “Fifteenth of next month, we renew our vows. Consider it my apology.” His friends in the living room burst out laughing. “Genius move. Keep Chloe happy and your wife hanging on.” “Your wife’s patience is unreal. I’d have left years ago.” “Where would she go? No family. Liam’s her whole world.” I kept my eyes on the floor, silent. Three days ago, I’d signed a three-year deployment contract with my medical NGO. Frontline triage. By the fifteenth, I’d be thousands of miles away. … The moment the divorce decree was handed to me, I stared at our two names printed on the paper for a very long time. Liam was already walking out the double doors, laughing and joking with his friends. He acted like we had just picked up milk from the grocery store, not legally ended our marriage. I gripped the small document, my fingernails biting painfully into my palms. Outside, someone was still running their mouth. “Liam, are you not worried she is actually going to pack up and leave this time?” “Leave?” Another guy scoffed. “Who else is she going to find after Liam? She is an orphan. He is the only safety net she has.” I walked out the doors right as the sentence finished. The guy who said it saw me. He did not even have the decency to look embarrassed. He just grinned and gave me a thumbs-up. “You are so understanding! Good for you.” Liam dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his boot before walking toward me. The group of guys naturally parted to let him through. He reached out and pulled me into his arms, resting his chin on the top of my head. His voice was low and gravelly. “I appreciate you doing this.” Always those same words. Along with the exact same excuse I had been fed for three years. Chloe’s older brother had served in the military with Liam. He took a fatal bullet meant for Liam. The trauma supposedly caused Chloe to regress mentally, and Liam felt he owed her brother his life. So I had to play along. I had to play along with her twisted little games. If she won, she was happy, and I was allowed to sleep in my own house. If I lost, I was exiled. Three years. Nine times. I never won. “It will be quick this time, I promise,” he murmured, patting my back. “A month, tops. Then I will come pick you up and bring you home.” I remained silent. Because this time, it was permanent. I pushed gently against his chest, taking a step backward. Liam raised an eyebrow, clearly assuming I was just throwing a minor tantrum. He opened his mouth to pacify me, but his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Chloe. He answered. Her frantic, tearful voice bled through the speaker. Liam’s expression shifted instantly. He morphed into the gentle, devoted protector. “Okay, okay. I am coming right back. Do not cry, please.” He hung up and looked at me, a flash of annoyance crossing his face. “Chloe is having an episode. About our anniversary dinner tonight—” “Save it.” I cut him off. “Go to her. I am going back to the apartment to pack my things.” He frowned. “Pack what?” “I am moving out.” “Sienna, do not be—” “Liam.” I looked dead into his eyes. “What if I told you I am done waiting?” He froze. His phone started ringing again. Chloe, blowing up his line. He glanced down at the screen, letting out a sharp breath of frustration. “Just go back to the apartment. We will talk about this after I calm Chloe down.” He pulled open the door of his SUV, the engine roaring to life. The taillights vanished down the street in seconds. He did not even wait for my answer. I stood on the concrete steps of the courthouse, the evening wind whipping the hem of my dress around my legs. I had crushed the divorce decree into a wrinkled ball in my fist. Three years. Every single time, he told me to “just wait until Chloe gets better.” When exactly was that going to happen? He never had an answer. A dull, heavy cramp pulsed in my lower abdomen. I grabbed the cold metal railing, waiting for the pain to pass. Eight weeks pregnant. He had no idea. I was planning to tell him at dinner tonight. Whatever. I let go of the railing, slowly walked down the steps, and flagged a yellow cab. “Take me to the nearest women’s clinic, please.” By the time the cab dropped me off at the house, the sky was pitch black. The newly hired housekeeper physically blocked me from walking through the front door. “Who are you? We do not accept uninvited guests.” Our older housekeeper, Maria, came running from the kitchen. “Are you blind?! This is the missus!” “It is fine. Do not yell at her.” My voice was hollow. After all, I had been kicked out of my own home so many times over the last three years, it made perfect sense that the new staff did not recognize me. I pushed the door open. The entire house was suffocating with traces of Chloe. Pink throw pillows swallowed the living room sofa. Her crayon drawings were plastered across the fridge. Her white sneakers were front and center on the shoe rack. My wedding photo with Liam had been taken down six months ago. Because Chloe said looking at it “made her uncomfortable.” I walked into the storage closet and dug out a rusted metal tin. Inside were a few unsent letters, a single photograph, and a handful of faded boarding passes. In the picture, I was wearing a kevlar vest, my face covered in dirt, grinning widely outside a medical tent. Liam stood next to me. His white coat was speckled with blood. He had that exhausted, profound gentleness in his eyes that only existed in a war zone. I had done two truly brave things in my life. The first was ignoring my family’s outrage to join a frontline medical NGO at twenty-one. The second was grabbing Liam by his collar and kissing him on a night when mortar fire collapsed half our compound. An airstrike had leveled the medical bay. I was buried under the rubble, two of my ribs fractured, my face slick with my own blood. Liam dug me out with his bare hands. Down in the bunker, with flares lighting up the sky, I was shaking from the agonizing pain. I grabbed his shirt. “Kiss me. If we do not make it to morning, I at least want to die knowing the guy I like kissed me.” His eyes filled with tears, and he pressed his lips against mine. Just once. In that single second, I thought even if I died, I had won. The photograph was suddenly snatched out of my hand. “Ew, this girl is so ugly. Her face is filthy.” Chloe tilted her head, inspecting the photo, then looked at me. “Liam looks so handsome, though.” Her eyes zeroed in on the metal tin in my lap, lighting up with greed. “Wow, this box is so cute! Can I play with it?” Inside the box was a silver bracelet. Liam had woven it out of surgical wire and spent bullet casings while we were deployed. It was crude and crooked. It was the most precious thing I owned. Chloe had already grabbed it. “Why are you hoarding this ugly piece of junk?” With a flick of her wrist, she violently slammed the bracelet against the hardwood floor. The cheap silver clasp snapped. The brass casings scattered across the room. Liam walked through the front door at that exact second. Chloe instantly dove behind him. “Liam! She was going to hit me! I just wanted to look at her things and she got so mean!” Liam did not even look at the broken pieces on the floor. “It is just a piece of scrap metal, Sienna. Is it really worth the drama?” “Can you stop acting like a child and just be the bigger person?” I dropped to my knees, picking up the bullet casings one by one. My hands were shaking violently. “Is that what you think of me? You think I am a bully?” He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. I gathered the scattered brass and the broken surgical wire into the palm of my hand. I stood up and walked over to the kitchen trash can. I let go. The metal clattered loudly as it hit the bottom of the bin. Liam stared at the trash can. For a split second, his stoic mask completely fractured. His voice rose in sudden fury. “What is your problem, Sienna?” I looked at him with absolute, dead calm. “You both said it was junk. So I threw the junk away. Is there an issue?” His chest heaved as he struggled to find an argument. Chloe tugged hard on his sleeve. “Liam, just ignore her! Let’s play a game!” “Rock-paper-scissors. If I win—” She looked directly at my stomach, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. “You have to make her get rid of the baby. Okay?” The living room descended into a terrifying, suffocating silence. I laughed. Tears spilled hotly down my cheeks as I laughed. Liam’s face darkened. For the first time, he did not immediately cave to her demands. Chloe wrapped her arms around his bicep, shaking him violently. “Liam! Say yes! I want to play!” I wiped the tears off my face. “Say yes, Liam. Add my unborn child to the pile of toys you use to keep her entertained.” “Just like our marriage.” Liam closed his eyes, his jaw clenched tight. “I am sorry, Chloe. We cannot play that.” Chloe let out a piercing, hysterical scream. She grabbed a glass cup off the counter, hurled it at the wall, and ran barefoot over the shattered glass toward the stairs. Liam did not hesitate. He sprinted after her. As he ran past me, he froze for a microsecond. His lips parted. But he kept running. Chloe’s agonizing wails echoed down the staircase. I stood completely alone in the center of the living room, surrounded by broken glass. I went back to the apartment and turned on the lights. A familiar international number lit up my phone screen. “Miss, regarding the agreement you made with your father.” “Since your marriage to Mr. Davis did not survive the three-year probationary period, you are required to return to Switzerland and meet with the matches the family has arranged.” “We will send a car for you within the week.” “Understood, Arthur.” I hung up the phone, leaned against the heavy oak door, and slid slowly down to the floor. Years ago, I had defied my father to marry Liam, and it resulted in this exact wager. At the time, shrapnel had severed the tendons in Liam’s left hand. His career as a surgeon was over. He was forced to take over his family’s failing pharmaceutical company, working himself half to death. I never told him about the wager because I did not want to add to his burden. I never expected to lose so pathetically. The front door lock suddenly beeped and clicked open. Chloe stood in the center of my apartment. In her hands, she held a pale celadon porcelain jar. It was my mother’s urn. Not all of her ashes, but a small handful she had asked me to keep with me so she could always be close. The passcode to this apartment was only known by me and Liam. “Put that down.” My voice was trembling violently. Chloe smiled, looking utterly innocent. “What is this? It is such a pretty little jar. I am going to take it home and put my candy in it!” “Liam said what is yours is his, and what is his is mine—” I lunged forward to grab it from her. She dodged backward. Her fingers intentionally slipped. The urn dropped from her hands. It shattered against the hardwood floor. Pale gray dust plumed into the air, settling over the wood. The world went completely, terrifyingly silent. Chloe casually brushed the dust off her fingertips. “Oops. It slipped.” Footsteps pounded down the hallway. Liam had chased her here. He walked in to find me collapsed on my knees, the shattered porcelain, and Chloe cowering in the corner. “Chloe, what happened?” Her eyes instantly flooded with fake tears. “She… she pushed me! I just wanted to look at the pretty jar…” Liam grabbed my arm, yanking me upward. “What is wrong with you?! She has the mind of a child! Why would you get physical with her?!” My entire body shook uncontrollably. I pointed a trembling finger at the shattered pieces on the floor. “That was my mother… Liam, that was the only thing I had left of my mother!” “Why the hell did you give her the passcode?! Why did you let her touch my things!” “It is just a damn jar! I will buy you ten of them!” “Sienna, can you stop creating drama out of absolutely nothing!” He pulled Chloe securely behind his back and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. I fell back onto my knees. I gathered the broken shards, piece by piece, my hands shaking so badly they bled. The ash clung to the cuts on my fingers. I could not get it back. Mom. I am so sorry. A long, long time passed. I picked up my phone and dialed the clinic. “I need to schedule an abortion. Tomorrow. As early as possible.” The procedure took an eternity. When the anesthesia finally wore off, the agonizing cramps hit me in relentless waves. I lay in the sterile hospital bed for twenty-four hours. The next morning, I ignored the nurses’ warnings and signed my discharge papers. I had to leave. As fast and as far as humanly possible. Taking advantage of Liam being at work, I went back to the main house to grab my passport and documents. Chloe was sitting on the living room rug, playing with a set of Chinese checkers. I had bought them for her months ago, trying to buy some peace. When she saw me, she looked up. The timid, frightened little girl was completely gone. Instead, she crossed her legs and gave me a chilling, triumphant smirk. The smile made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “You already signed the divorce papers. Why are you still crawling back here?” Her voice was sharp, articulate, and completely lucid. It was not the voice of a six-year-old. It was the aggressive, calculating taunt of a grown woman. I froze in my tracks. She stood up slowly. She opened the drawer of the coffee table, pulled out a medical file, and casually tossed it at my feet. It was a hospital discharge summary. Under the diagnosis, it read: Mild Anxiety Disorder. Fully Recovered. There was no memory loss. No mental regression. And on the signature line for the attending guardian… was Liam. Black ink on white paper. Undeniable. “You get it now?” She leaned against the sofa, crossing her arms over her chest. “I was cured three years ago. The doctor signed off on it. Liam went to the follow-up appointment with me and signed off on it.” “Amnesia? The mind of a child?” She let out a cruel, mocking laugh. “It was an act, honey.” I stared at the three letters of his signature. My vision began to blur. He was not being manipulated. He knew. From the very beginning, he knew. Chloe walked right up to me, tilting her head. “You must feel incredibly pathetic. Three years. Kicked out nine times. You played rock-paper-scissors nine times and never won a single round.” “But think about it. Every time you packed your bags and left, did Liam ever try to stop you?” “He did not. Did he?” “Because he never actually cared if you stayed or left.” Her tone was so light and airy, like she was discussing the weather. “You were just a tool for him to clear his conscience. My brother took a bullet for him. He owes my family a blood debt for the rest of his life.” “What are you? His wife?” She laughed out loud. “You are just a minor footnote in his ledger of guilt.” I did not cry. I did not scream at her. I bent down, picked up the medical file, folded it neatly, and placed it back in the drawer. From start to finish, I did not say a single word. Her smug smile faltered for a second. She clearly had not expected this reaction. I walked out of the house and hailed a cab. In the backseat, I pulled up the text Liam had sent me last night. He wrote: “I am taking you to your ultrasound tomorrow. Remember to fast.” I typed out seven words and hit send. “Do not bother. The baby is gone.” Then, I permanently deleted every single social media account I owned. I snapped my SIM card in half and threw the pieces into a trash can at the terminal. The airport was packed with travelers. I sat at my boarding gate, my suitcase by my side. The intercom announced flight updates in three different languages. I reached over and touched my bare left wrist—the exact spot where that bullet casing bracelet had sat for three years. I whispered into the empty air. “Goodbye, Liam. Forever.” — When Liam read the text message, his hand froze, the coffee cup hovering near his mouth. The baby is gone? What a sick joke. She wanted to be a mother more than anything in the world. The second she found out she was pregnant, she refused to even wear heels. She was just trying to punish him. Once she cooled off, a few soft words would fix everything. It was always like this. He put his phone face down on the desk. He figured he would pick up some of her favorite pastries in a few days, apologize, and they would move past this. But two days passed. The apologetic phone call from Sienna never came. Instead, while cleaning out Chloe’s room, he found a medical file shoved under some magazines. Mild Anxiety Disorder. Fully Recovered. Attending Guardian: Liam Davis. The date was exactly three years ago. But he had never signed this document in his life. He stared at the piece of paper, his knuckles turning stark white. He grabbed his phone and frantically dialed Sienna’s number. “We are sorry. The number you have reached is no longer in service—”

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1 On the day I was diagnosed as brain-dead, I laughed. Because I believed I had been reborn. In that beautiful, fleeting vision, I didn’t go to prison to cover for my sister. Instead, I passed my exams, got into a prestigious university, met a wonderful man, and was about to walk down the aisle into a beautiful marriage. But just as I reached out to take my groom’s hand, the scene began to dissolve. The brilliant lights faded into a crushing, suffocating darkness. The music died, replaced by the sterile smell of hospital disinfectant and the rhythmic, hollow beep of medical monitors. There was no fiancé, no justice, and no fresh start. The wonderful life I had just lived was nothing more than a dying brain’s final, cruel trick, a dream from which I could never truly wake. Above me, a familiar voice trembled with tears. “Dr. Brooks, please. Is there really no other way? Can we really not just turn off the machines?” It was my mother, Martha. Her voice was thick with weeping. All my life, whenever my half-sister, Gemma, and I had a conflict, my mother would adopt this exact same tearful, pleading face, always begging me to make the sacrifice. “Mrs. Lane,” the doctor replied, his voice calm and professional. “The patient is in a deep, vegetative coma.” “Though her breathing is incredibly weak, the ventilator is keeping her stable. Pulling the plug means immediate death. As her mother, have you fully considered this?” My mind screamed in terror. Vegetative state? Pulling the plug? Immediate death? I fought to cry out. I’m not dead! I can hear you! I’m still in here! Mother, please, save me! But my body refused to respond. Not even a finger would twitch. “I’ve made up my mind,” Martha sobbed, her hand gently brushing against my cheek. Her palm was warm, just as it had been for the twenty-odd years she used to tuck me into bed. But the words that followed froze the very blood in my veins. “It’s been three years. Grace was beaten so badly in that place, and she has lain here like a corpse ever since. She has suffered too much.” “Since she can’t wake up, letting her go is a mercy.” She sniffled, her voice catching as she continued. “Besides, today… today is Gemma’s wedding day.” “Gemma told me she has carried this guilt in her heart for years. She said as long as her sister is lingering like this, she will never be able to find peace in her marriage.” “Doctor, Grace already took the blame for her sister once.” “Today is a joyous day. Let her leave this world in peace. Let her passing clear the air for her sister’s wedding. We shouldn’t let her linger and ruin the auspicious hour.” A cold horror washed over me. Took the blame? Clear the air? My chest felt incredibly tight. I wanted to scream, to laugh at the absurdity of it, but my throat was blocked, and no tears would come. Five years ago, a car with a blood-stained hood had pulled into our yard. Gemma had huddled in the corner of the sofa, shaking violently. Our mother had fallen to her knees, clutching my legs. “Grace! I beg of you! Your sister has the civil service entrance exam next month!” “She can’t have a criminal record! You’re the younger sister, and you don’t have a career yet. Just help me this once. Go to the station and tell them you were the one driving!” I had stared at my mother in utter disbelief. “Mom! She hit someone and fled the scene! You want me to take the fall for that?” “I will go to prison! Stand up, we need to call the police. Let Gemma turn herself in; maybe they’ll show her mercy!” I had tried to pull her up, crying. “No! Grace, Gemma doesn’t have a father. She only has me!” “If you don’t save her, I will end my life right in front of you!” My mother had begun striking herself across the face, over and over, until blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. “Just let it go, Grace. I beg of you, please…” “I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you, I swear!” That desperate plea had sent me to the police station in Gemma’s place. Because I couldn’t bear to watch my mother destroy herself, I took a seven-year sentence. But I didn’t receive any compensation. All I found in that prison was living hell. 2 The sharp click of high heels drew near, the scent of expensive perfume cutting through the smell of disinfectant. “Mom, what did the doctor say?” Gemma asked. My mother’s voice turned anxious. “Gemma, why are you here in your wedding dress? That’s bad luck!” “Today is my big day, how could I not come to see my sister?” The sound of rustling fabric followed as she stepped closer to my bed. “Grace, look at me. Isn’t your sister beautiful today?” “This gown is custom-made. Nolan had it flown in from Paris just for me.” Gemma’s tone was filled with a familiar, condescending triumph. She reached down, her hand resting on the back of my wrist. In the next second, her manicured nails dug deep into the tender flesh of my inner arm. She pinched, twisting her fingers a full hundred and eighty degrees. An agonizing pain flared through my arm, but I couldn’t make a sound. “Oh, her hands are so cold,” Gemma gasped, her voice dripping with mock concern. She dug her nails in even deeper, puncturing the skin until a thin trickle of blood began to seep out. My mother wiped her eyes. “Yes, she’s had a hard life. Gemma, you really are a wonderful sister.” “If Grace could feel this, knowing you came to see her in your wedding dress, she would be so comforted.” I felt a bitter, freezing anger. Mother, open your eyes! Look at what your precious daughter is doing! She is mutilating your child right in front of you! “Mrs. Lane,” the doctor called out. “Since you’ve made your decision, please sign the consent form to withdraw life support.” “Once we remove the tube, she will pass away from respiratory failure within ten minutes.” “Alright… I’ll sign,” Martha’s voice shook. I screamed in the silence of my mind, begging her not to. I tried to focus every ounce of my will on my fingertips, desperate to make them move, but my body remained heavy and unresponsive. Despair settled over me like a shroud. The door to the room opened. “Gemma, why are you still here? The wedding cars have been waiting downstairs for over half an hour.” “We’re going to miss the entrance hour.” Footsteps stopped near the foot of my bed. It was Nolan. He was the university senior I had secretly loved for four years, and now, he was Gemma’s fiancé. Gemma let go of my arm, her voice turning soft. “Nolan, I just couldn’t leave her. Seeing her like this, how can I focus on my wedding?” “Why are you wasting your tears on her? She’s just a convict,” Nolan said, his voice laced with disgust. “She was jealous of everything you had, so she stole your car and ran someone over.” “She deserved to be locked up. Honestly, being beaten into a vegetable in prison is just karma catching up to her.” The sheer absurdity of his words made me want to laugh. Gemma was the one who had taken my car that rainy night. When she came back covered in blood, I was the one who took the fall. Nolan knew nothing of the truth; he only saw the sweet, fragile victim Gemma played so well. “Nolan, don’t say that about my sister. She… she was just impulsive.” “She’s spent three years paying for her mistake. She’s suffered enough,” Gemma murmured. “You’re too kind, Gemma. A cold-blooded criminal like her doesn’t deserve your sympathy.” Nolan turned to my mother. “Mrs. Lane, if you’ve made your decision, please sign the papers. Keeping this depressing presence around on Gemma’s wedding day is only going to bring bad luck to the marriage.” Depressing presence. The words stung, and a hot spark of rage flared in my chest. I wondered how my mother would react to someone speaking about me that way. Martha only sighed. “Yes, Nolan is right.” “Gemma, your sister wouldn’t want to stand in the way of your happiness.” She reached into her bag, and the scent of mothballs drifted over the bed. “I bought this floral dress for Grace when she turned eighteen,” my mother said softly. “It was her favorite. Once she passes, I’ll burn it for her.” “She came into this world clean, and she should leave it clean.” “Her father won’t blame her when she meets him on the other side.” My mother’s tears fell onto my blanket. I knew she loved me in her own weak, twisted way. When we were kids, she would secretly save treats for me. When Gemma hurt me, she would quietly apply ointment to my cuts when no one was looking. But her weakness had allowed her to sacrifice me to protect Gemma, and now, she was about to end my life. This wasn’t a mercy. I was fully conscious. Even when those three inmates had held my head under the water in the prison washroom, I had never given up on the hope of living. Even when my skull was fractured and the blood ran hot down my face, I wanted to survive to look my mother in the eye. I wanted to ask her if I had finally paid my debt of birth to her. And now, she was going to pull the plug herself, just so she wouldn’t delay Gemma’s wedding. “Mrs. Martha Lane, please sign here.” “Once you sign, we will turn off the ventilator and remove the tube,” the nurse instructed. The sound of a pen scratching against paper filled the quiet room. My mother’s hand was shaking, the pen clattering against the table. “Mrs. Lane, just sign. It’s better to end the pain quickly,” Nolan urged. I waited in the dark for the end. The beautiful dream of my wedding was gone, leaving me to face the harsh reality of my death. My mother leaned down, her tear-stained cheek pressing against mine. “Grace… I’m so sorry.” “In your next life, find a better mother. Don’t be my daughter again.” “I was too weak to protect you.” The pen moved. She signed her name. The steady line on the heart monitor began to waver, and a cold dread settled deep in my chest. 3 Nolan took the form and handed it to the doctor. “It’s signed. Thank you, doctor.” “Very well. The extubation process can sometimes cause involuntary spasms.” “The sight can be distressing for family members. If you wish, you may wait outside,” the doctor advised. “Nolan, why don’t you help the doctor prepare the equipment?” Gemma suggested. “I want to stay with my sister for a few more minutes, just to say goodbye.” Nolan placed a hand on her shoulder. “Alright. Don’t be too sad. I’ll be waiting just outside the door.” “Mrs. Lane, why don’t you come out and get some fresh air too?” “No! I want to stay with my Grace…” my mother wept. “Mom! Please go outside!” Gemma’s voice hardened, her tone leaving no room for argument. The weeping stopped. My mother had never dared to cross Gemma. As the footsteps retreated and the door clicked shut, only Gemma and I remained in the room. I heard the slide of the lock. Gemma climbed onto a chair, her heels clicking against the plastic as she reached up to switch off the security camera. A chill ran down my spine. What was she planning to do? She walked back to my bedside, a soft, malicious laugh escaping her lips. “Finally… it’s finally over, my dear sister.” She leaned down, her weight pressing heavily against my chest, making it difficult to breathe. She brought her lips close to my ear. “Do you want to know why I insisted on watching you die today?” “Because yesterday, the nurse called me. She said your finger had twitched.” “I couldn’t risk you waking up.” The heart monitor began to beep more rapidly, the lines spiking on the screen. Gemma reached out, her fingers pinching my jaw, pressing down with brutal force. “Save your energy. Even if you can hear me, what does it matter?” “In a few minutes, you’ll be nothing but a corpse.” She smiled, her voice a cruel whisper. “Grace, you must feel so betrayed.” “You took the fall for me.” “And yet, you still ended up with a fractured skull in prison, turned into this pathetic, half-dead creature.” My mind reeled. Did she arrange the attack in prison? “That’s right. Those three inmates? I paid them to take care of you.” “Our foolish mother kept talking about trying to get your sentence reduced. She wanted you out early.” “But you had to stay quiet. You had to remain a useless vegetable so Nolan would stay with me. The only stain on my past had to be buried forever,” Gemma laughed, her voice dripping with malice. She was completely insane. I fought with everything I had to move, to strike back, but my body remained a useless cage. This was the reward for sacrificing my future. This was the daughter my mother had risked everything to protect. “Oh, and as a parting gift, I’ll share one last secret with you.” Gemma’s fingers slid down to my throat, resting right over my carotid artery. “That rainy night, the car didn’t slide on the wet road.” “The old woman was blocking my path, muttering to herself. I was annoyed, so I just stepped on the gas.” “I had no idea she would fly so far,” Gemma said casually. It wasn’t an accident. It was murder. The monitor’s alarm began to shriek as my heart rate spiked to a dangerous hundred and forty. Pure, unadulterated fury and hatred flooded my veins. “Why is the door locked? Gemma! Open the door!” “The alarms are going off! The doctor says she’s fading!” my mother’s frantic voice called out, banging on the glass. Gemma stepped back, delivering a sharp slap to my face. “Go to hell, sister.” She walked to the door and unlocked it. The door was pushed open, and the doctor, nurses, Nolan, and my mother rushed inside. “Doctor! Look at the monitor! Why is her heart beating so fast?” “Is she getting better?” my mother cried, pointing at the screen. “It’s not an improvement. She suddenly started convulsing earlier. She must be in so much pain.” “Doctor, please, help her find peace!” Gemma sobbed, her face instantly shifting back into a mask of grief. The doctor checked the vitals. “This is just involuntary neural activity before death. We need to proceed with the extubation; otherwise, she will only suffer more.” The physical pain of death was nothing compared to the agony in my soul. 4 “Step back, please,” the nurse said, pushing my mother away. The doctor stepped to the head of the bed, his hand resting on the ventilator’s power switch. Another nurse picked up medical scissors, preparing to cut the tape holding the tube in place. “My sweet Grace!” Just as the doctor was about to flip the switch, my mother let out a desperate cry and threw herself forward, grabbing the nurse’s hand. A tiny spark of hope flared in my chest. I thought she had finally realized the truth and was going to stop them. Even at the edge of death, I was still foolish enough to hope for her love. But her next words shattered that hope forever. She didn’t push the nurse away. Instead, she reached out and grasped the breathing tube herself. “Doctor… let me do it. I’m her mother… let me send her on her way.” Her warm tears fell onto my face, feeling colder than ice. “Grace, don’t hate me. I don’t want to let you go.” “But Gemma is getting married today. She can’t carry this burden into her new life…” “You want what’s best for your sister, too, don’t you? Just… help her one last time.” “Go in peace, my good child. I’ll be right here with you. Find a better home in your next life.” Help her one last time. Those words completely severed the remaining bond between us. What right did they have to decide my death? Gemma was a murderer. And Martha was her blind accomplice, ready to kill her own child to clear the way for a monster. Why should a murderer walk down the aisle while I was choked to death in a sterile room? I refused to accept this. If I was going down, I was going to drag both of them into the dark with me. The ventilator was switched off. The oxygen supply died, and a terrifying, suffocating panic gripped my body. But in that agony of suffocation, a surge of adrenaline flooded my system. My mother’s hand began to pull the tube from my throat. Gemma’s lips curved into a triumphant smile, and Nolan let out a sigh of relief. But in that exact second, my body convulsed violently. The eyes that had been sealed shut for three years snapped wide open. My bloodshot eyes stared straight up at the ceiling. “Ah!” The nurse let out a sharp scream, dropping her scissors onto the tile floor. The room went dead silent. “Grace…?” My mother froze, her hand still holding the tube. She began to tremble, her terror turning into a sudden, desperate hope. “A miracle… it’s a miracle! Doctor! My daughter is awake! She doesn’t want to die!” “She wants to live!” my mother sobbed, letting go of the tube and reaching out to hold me. But it was too late. I opened my dry, cracked lips, a raspy sound escaping my throat. Before her hand could touch my face, my arm shot up. I grabbed her wrist with terrifying strength, my fingernails digging deep into her skin. My mother gasped in pain, staring at me in shock. Near the door, the smile on Gemma’s face froze, replaced by pure terror. Nolan quickly stepped in front of her, shielding her. I didn’t look at either of them. My eyes remained locked on Martha. Looking at the tears and the sudden hope on her face, I felt a deep wave of revulsion. Ignoring the agony in my throat, I used my free hand to grab the breathing tube. Under the shocked gazes of everyone in the room, I ripped the tube from my own windpipe. A spray of dark blood splattered across my mother’s face and stained the pristine white skirt of Gemma’s wedding gown. “Grace! What are you doing? Are you mad?” My mother lunged forward to stop the bleeding, but I threw her hand off. The sudden rush of cold air into my damaged lungs sent a burning pain through my chest. I let out a harsh, wet laugh, spitting blood onto the sheets as I stared at her. My voice was a ragged whisper, but it cut through the room. “Mom… you wanted me to die so she could have her perfect wedding?” I turned my head slowly, my eyes sliding past Gemma to rest on Nolan’s face. “You don’t know the truth, do you?” “Nolan… the old woman Gemma ran down on that rainy night…” The room was completely silent, save for the sound of my ragged breathing. “That was your grandmother, the one who went missing ten years ago.”

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1 Mike slapped his own face three times in front of both our families last month, swearing on his life that he had cut off all ties with his mistress, his yoga instructor. To prove his commitment, he even changed all his bank PINs to my birthday. Just now, an unsaved contact sent a text to his phone. I’m sick. I’m all alone at the hospital and so scared. Can you come see me? St. Jude’s was only a ten-minute Uber ride from our house. Watching his frantic silhouette as he rushed to shove his feet into his shoes, I stood in the living room holding my mug, letting out a cold, mocking laugh. “In such a rush? Why don’t you take the Tylenol from the cabinet? Hell, take a couple of condoms while you’re at it.” Mike froze mid-motion, then stood up to glare at me, his eyes dripping with pure irritation. “Diana, I’ve committed to this marriage again. Do you have to be so incredibly toxic?” “Do you want her to die just to prove a point?” Looking at his self-righteous, blaming face, I finally saw him for what he was. Fine, Mike. If you walk out that door tonight, don’t bother ever coming back. “Mike, do you seriously think changing a couple of PINs is enough to wash the filth out of your brain?” I stared at him, my voice like ice. His hands paused on his laces. He spun around, his forehead creasing into a deep, frustrated scowl. “Diana, are we really doing this again?” “I told you, Sienna has no one in this city. She’s got acute gastroenteritis and is hooked up to an IV at the ER. What’s wrong with a former colleague dropping off some medicine?” “A former colleague?” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “Do you need me to remind you how many highly advanced positions you two unlocked on a yoga mat last month as former colleagues?” Mike’s face instantly flushed crimson. He stepped closer, pointing a finger right at my face, his voice a low, furious hiss. “I apologized for that! I literally slapped myself in front of your parents!” “For a whole month, I’ve come straight home after work. I handed over my credit cards. What more do you want from me?” “Do you have to act like a bitter, hysterical housewife and make this place a living hell?” The sheer audacity of his defense made my stomach churn with nausea. A month ago, I had thrown a stack of private investigator photos right at his face. Pictures of him and Sienna tangled up in a bed at a boutique hotel. Back then, he had dropped to his knees, weeping, begging for forgiveness, claiming it was just a temporary lapse in judgment, pleading with me to save our seven-year relationship. He had put on a grand show of remorse in front of our families, striking his own face hard enough to leave bruises. He changed his PINs to my birthday and canceled his VIP membership at her studio. I had been foolish enough to believe him. I thought if I just swallowed the humiliation, we could patch up the cracks in our marriage. But a dog doesn’t stop eating trash. A cheater never learns loyalty. I watched him fume, then turned, walked to the sofa, and slid an iPad out from under a throw pillow. “You really are a great actor, Mike.” “Coming home on time, letting me check your phone… a reformed husband of the year.” I tapped the screen and tossed the iPad onto his chest. “Then explain this.” Mike caught the tablet clumsily, looking down at the screen. In an instant, every drop of color drained from his face. 2 The screen displayed the synced data log of his brand-new smartwatch. He bought it last month, claiming it was to track his sleep. But earlier this afternoon, I logged into our shared family account and found his fitness app was secretly linked to another user. The profile picture was a mirror selfie of Sienna in tight yoga wear. “Every night at 11 PM, your heart rate spikes to 120,” I said, trapping his gaze as I stripped away his mask. “And at those exact same times, Sienna’s sleep log shows she enters an active state.” “Tell me, Mike. Are you two having spiritual affairs in the cloud?” Mike’s lips trembled. He instinctively tucked his wrist behind his back, trying to hide the watch face glowing with a faint blue light. “This… this is a system glitch. I have no idea how her account got linked!” He was desperate, grasping at straws. “Maybe it synced automatically when we were on the same Wi-Fi at the studio…” “Does the Wi-Fi automatically sync her period tracker too?” I cut him off with a harsh laugh, swiping my finger across the screen. The page shifted. Sienna’s menstrual cycle was highlighted with little pink hearts. Right next to it was a customized reminder: Baby’s cycle. Remember to get her favorite heating pads and dark chocolate. The reminder was set for this morning. Mike went completely silent. After a heavy, suffocating beat, his panic morphed into raw, ugly rage. “You’re spying on me?!” He slammed the iPad down onto the sofa, glaring at me with bared teeth. “Diana, you’re a psycho! Checking my phone, tracking my watch… you need help!” “I told you we’re over, but you just have to use these stupid, meaningless numbers to torture me!” “Yes, I’m the problem,” I said, inhaling deeply to suppress the sharp, tearing ache in my chest. “If I’m so toxic, get the hell out. Go to the hospital and find your pure, sweet Sienna.” Mike snatched his car keys off the entryway table and flung the door open without looking back. “Fine, Diana! Don’t come crawling back!” “I only regret being blind enough to marry a spineless piece of garbage like you,” I fired back. “You think I actually want to stay in this freezing cold house?” Mike stood in the doorway, one foot out, looking at me with absolute contempt. “Look at yourself, Diana. Look at the hysterical mess you are.” “Your hair is a disaster, you don’t even wear makeup anymore, and you spend all day obsessing over every little thing I do.” “Compare that to Sienna. Even when she’s sick, she’s ten times sweeter and more understanding than you’ll ever be!” He finally said the quiet part out loud. I stood frozen in the middle of the room, watching the man I had loved for seven years, feeling the blood in my veins slowly turn to ice. So that was it. The exhaustion and weariness on my face, the toll of keeping our household running, was just an excuse for his disgust. And the homewrecker who crept into our lives was his precious, delicate muse. I didn’t argue. I walked over to the TV stand and pulled open the bottom drawer. I took out a crumpled hospital bill and a printed insurance policy document. Walking back to the door, I threw both papers straight at his face. “If she’s so perfect, Mike, why the hell did you marry me?” “You talk about how pitiful she is, but what about this $500,000 critical illness insurance policy?” Mike looked down at the scattered papers, his pupils shrinking. It was an insurance policy he had secretly bought for Sienna three months ago, with her mother listed as the sole beneficiary. And the premium had been paid directly from our joint account, the one we had saved up to buy our future home. “You… you went through my study?” he roared, his voice cracking with rage. “The truth always comes out,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Did you forget, Mike? Did you forget how I nearly died on an operating table a year ago?” 3 This time last year, I was rushed to the ER with a ruptured ectopic pregnancy. The doctors needed a family signature. I called Mike’s phone over and over. But all I got was the empty, robotic ring back tone. I almost bled out on that table. When he finally showed up, what was his excuse? He said he was hosting a massive client at a golf resort and had left his phone in his locker. He sat by my hospital bed, holding my cold hand, weeping louder than I was, swearing he would spend the rest of his life making it up to me. And I believed him. I dragged my weak, broken body through those dark days, keeping our home together. But last month, when I went through his phone, I found the truth. He wasn’t with any client. He was at a luxury hot spring resort in the next state, celebrating Sienna’s twenty-fourth birthday. He had posted a photo on his feed, hidden from everyone except Sienna, captioned: To my girl, may you always smile like this. While his wife was signing her own critical consent form in a pool of her own blood. “And now you’re telling me she’s the victim?” I stepped closer, locking my eyes onto his. “She used my money for her insurance, she used my money for her hotels. How is she the victim?” “The only victim was my unborn baby, who never even got a chance to breathe!” “And me, the idiot who let you lie to her face!” Mike recoiled slightly. But there was no remorse on his face. Only the defensive, ugly irritation of a man caught in a lie. “Diana, can you stop bringing up ancient history?” He yanked at his collar, his voice cold and dismissive. “The doctor literally said ectopic pregnancies are just a genetic fluke, a matter of probability!” “You’re just using it as an excuse to blame Sienna. Is this really fun for you?” “Besides, I didn’t know you were in danger. If I had known, do you honestly think I wouldn’t have come back?” My breath caught in my throat. A genetic fluke. A matter of probability. With a single, careless sentence, he erased his cruelty and betrayal. He even managed to make it my fault. Looking at his contorted, angry face, I felt a sudden, profound sense of detachment. Was this really the boy who used to run two miles through a blizzard just to bring me a warm cup of coffee on campus? No. The moment he climbed into Sienna’s bed, that Mike died. The creature standing in front of me was a hollow, selfish monster, stripped of any remaining humanity. “Mike, you make me sick.” The words fell from my lips, heavy and deliberate. I looked at him like he was a stain on the floor. That look seemed to pierce his ego. He raised a hand, his face twisting as if he wanted to strike me, but he stopped himself, his hand trembling in mid-air. “Fine, Diana. You’re the saint, you’re the victim.” He spat, pointing a finger at me. “Since you can’t stand her so much, I’m going to the hospital to bring her back here myself.” “Let’s see what the hell you’re going to do about it!” Right then, the phone in his pocket began to vibrate violently. A custom ringtone cut through the suffocating silence of the hallway. Mike pulled it out. As his eyes hit the screen, his hostile expression melted into something incredibly tender. He swiped to answer, his voice dropping into a soft, protective murmur. “Hey, babe, don’t worry. I’m on my way…” On the other end of the line, a breathy, tearful female voice filtered through. “Mike… please don’t worry about me. It’s fine if I just die here in the hospital alone.” “Go back and comfort Diana. I don’t want to be the reason you guys fight…” I let out a harsh, dry laugh. “What a saint. If she’s so considerate, who was the desperate woman texting you ten minutes ago?” “Diana! Keep your mouth shut!” Mike bellowed, slamming his thumb over the microphone, glaring at me like a cornered animal. I ignored his useless rage, stepped forward, and snatched the phone clean out of his hand before he could react. I tapped the speaker button and cranked the volume to the max. Sienna’s soft whimpering filled the room. “Diana…? Is that you?” Her voice sounded fragile, like a delicate glass ornament, laced with just the right amount of fear. “Please don’t be mad at Mike. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have called him after hours.” “But I’m all alone, and the IV needle slipped. My hand is so swollen and it hurts so bad… I just wanted to hear a familiar voice. I didn’t mean anything else by it, I swear…” A textbook performance. Every syllable was an apology, and every syllable was a knife. She was telling me: Look, I have your husband on a leash. All I have to do is whistle, and he’ll leave you in a heartbeat. Mike lunged forward, clawing at my hands. “Diana, give it back! Didn’t you hear her? Her hand is swollen!” I sidestepped him, speaking directly into the phone. “If your hand is swollen, call a nurse. What is my husband going to do, suck the fluid out for you?” “You keep saying you don’t want to ruin our marriage.” “So why are you texting him late at night like a dog in heat? Is your hand disconnected from your brain, or do you just enjoy eating scraps out of other people’s trash cans?” The crying on the other end stopped instantly. Sienna clearly hadn’t expected me to drop all pretense of politeness. Before, to keep up appearances for Mike, I had always tried to play the dignified wife. But now? I didn’t even want the man. Why should I spare her? “Diana, how can you say that to me…” Sienna’s voice turned sharp with embarrassment. “Mike and I share a spiritual connection. We never wanted to hurt you.” “Love doesn’t care who got here first. The one who isn’t loved is the real interloper. Why can’t you just accept that?” I laughed out loud at the sheer delusion. “A spiritual connection? Is that what you call screwing on a yoga mat?” “Sienna, do you actually think being a mistress is something to be proud of?” “How about I send the videos of your spiritual connections to the group chat of your studio’s clients tomorrow morning? Let’s see what they think of your pure soul.” 4 “Don’t you dare!” Mike finally snapped. He lunged, grabbing my wrist with a force that felt like it would splinter my bones. “Diana, you’ve completely lost your mind! You just have to ruin everything, don’t you!” His eyes were bloodshot, staring at me with pure venom as his other hand pried at my fingers, trying to wrench the phone away. A sharp gasp of pain escaped my throat, but I clamped my hand shut, refusing to let go. “I’m ruining things?” I hissed, looking directly into his murderous eyes. “You two pushed me to this!” “If you walk out that door to see her tonight, I will ruin both of your lives!” Over the line, Sienna let out a terrified shriek. “Mike! Don’t hurt her! Just come to me, I’m scared…” Still pouring oil on the fire. Hearing her cry, Mike lost the last shred of his sanity. With a violent heave, he ripped the phone from my grasp. The momentum sent me stumbling backward. My foot caught, and I fell hard, my lower back slamming directly into the sharp edge of our marble coffee table. A dull, heavy crash echoed through the room. An agonizing pain flared from my spine, radiating through my entire body. My vision went black for a second, and cold sweat broke out across my back. I slid onto the cold floor, curling into a ball, unable to even draw a breath to scream. Mike stood over me, phone in hand. There wasn’t a trace of concern in his eyes. Only cold, detached disgust. “You’re a psycho, Diana.” He adjusted his crumpled collar, looking at me as if I were already dead. “If you want to lie there and throw a tantrum, go ahead. I don’t have time for this.” He spoke softly into the phone, “Don’t worry, sweetie, I’m coming,” and walked out without a backward glance. The heavy front door slammed shut, shaking the frames on the wall. Silence rushed back into the living room. Only the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock remained. I lay on the hardwood floor, clutching my throbbing back, as tears finally spilled over my cheeks. This was the man I had loved with everything I had for seven years. For a lying homewrecker, he had laid hands on me. I closed my eyes, memories flashing through my mind. Mike cooking pasta for me in our tiny first apartment; Mike spinning me around when I got my promotion, laughing. But all those memories dissolved, replaced by the icy, hateful glare he had just given me. I wiped my face and slowly, painfully, pulled myself up using the edge of the table. The ache in my back was a brutal reminder of what he was. But the fire in my heart had gone completely cold. In its place was a sharp, frozen resolve. I walked over to the window, watching his black sedan tear out of the driveway and disappear into the night. You think you won, Mike? You think you get to keep draining me dry while you play house with her? I grabbed my phone from the sofa and dialed a number buried deep at the bottom of my contact list. The call connected, and a gruff, impatient voice answered. “Who the hell is this? Do you know what time it is?” I looked out at the pitch-black sky, a cold smile touching my lips. “I’m Mike’s wife.” “Axel, your fiancée, Sienna, is sick. She needs someone to look after her.” “If you don’t get moving, she’s going to end up in my husband’s bed tonight.”

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1 Seven years. That was how long it took for Stockholm syndrome to hollow me out, leaving nothing but a ghost. The psychiatrists deemed me a lost cause. I spent my days guarding an abandoned warehouse, surviving on hallucinations and dust. The childhood sweetheart who once swore to save me had returned to the scene of the crime. He brought his new wife with him. I stayed curled up in a pile of rotting hay, my arms locked desperately around a bloodstained men’s jacket. He sneered. “What, still holding a vigil for that animal?” “You didn’t hesitate to stab me for that kidnapper back then. Why play the lunatic now?” Before his words could echo away, his heavy leather shoe came down on the back of my hand. I flinched from the sharp pain, lifting my clouded eyes to look at him. “You came back. Are you here to take me home?” The man gave a mocking laugh and pulled the woman beside him closer. “Take you home? Keep dreaming.” “Looks like you’ve stayed in this filthy place so long you can’t even understand human speech anymore.” I blinked at him blankly, then pointed a trembling finger at the tally marks scratched into the concrete wall. “Oh… well, could you keep your voices down, please?” “My husband is still sleeping. He has a bad temper.” With that, I turned away, reaching for a chipped porcelain bowl to catch the rainwater dripping from the rusted roof. A dull thud sounded right behind me. Declan crushed the cracked bowl under his heel. Dirty water splashed onto my faded hospital gown, dripping down my pant legs into the mud. I did not get angry. I did not even look up at him. I dropped to my knees. Ignoring the jagged porcelain slicing into my palms, I frantically scrubbed at the puddle with my frayed sleeves. “Can’t be dirty… Will likes it clean… It has to be clean…” I muttered the words in a feverish loop. The grime on the floor mixed with my own blood, staining my cuffs red and brown. But I did not dare to stop. Will told me that if strangers came, I had to scrub the floors. Otherwise, they would think our home was disgusting and burn it to the ground. A scoff drifted down from above. Vivian covered her nose delicately. “Look at her, Declan. Even completely out of her mind, she’s still cheap to the bone.” She adjusted her designer tweed jacket, stepping carefully to avoid the mud. “Wait… what is she hiding in that hay? Is that a man’s coat?” My hands froze. The blood in my veins turned to ice. I scrambled backward on my hands and knees, throwing my entire body over the black windbreaker buried deep in the straw. It was the very last thing Will left me. It still bore the blood from the day he died. “Don’t touch it! It’s mine! Don’t touch it!” A low, guttural growl tore from my throat. My eyes were wide, practically bulging from their sockets in sheer panic. Declan had been watching with cold indifference, but Vivian’s words drew his gaze to the edge of the fabric peeking out from beneath me. It was a cheap, worn-out piece of clothing, yet I was guarding it with my life. Declan’s expression darkened instantly. “Move.” His voice was quiet, dripping with absolute zero chill. I shook my head violently, curling into a tight ball, trying to shield the jacket with my spine. “Please… It’s Will’s…” “It’s the only thing he has left…” “Will?” Declan chewed on the name. A sudden, explosive violence shattered the ice in his eyes. He closed the distance in two strides, grabbing a fistful of my matted hair and yanking my head back. The tearing agony in my scalp forced hot, involuntary tears down my cheeks. “Bonnie, you really are pathetic.” “For a criminal who kidnapped you, a piece of trash who abused you, you’ve been playing the grieving widow in this dump for seven years?” “I said, move!” He violently shoved me aside. I flew backward, slamming hard against the unforgiving concrete wall. My organs felt like they had ruptured. Ignoring the blinding pain, I clawed at the dirt, desperately trying to crawl back. But Declan already had the jacket. He held it by two fingers, his face twisted in disgust. It smelled of Will, of damp mildew, and of old, rusted blood. “This is what your little lover left behind?” “What are you keeping it for? To sniff it?” Click. 2 The flame of a silver lighter danced at his fingertips. He was going to burn Will. The moment that thought registered, the fragile string that had held my sanity together for seven years snapped. “No!” I launched myself off the ground like a wild animal, throwing myself at Declan. I opened my mouth and sank my teeth deep into his wrist. I bit down with everything I had. The hot, metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. Declan let out a hiss of pain. His hand jerked, and the jacket fell to the dirt. With his free hand, he backhanded me across the face. The crack echoed through the warehouse. He put his entire weight behind it. I was thrown several feet, the right side of my face instantly going numb. A high-pitched ringing took over my ears. My mouth filled with blood. I spat it out into the dirt, a loosened tooth tumbling out with the red foam. Declan stared at his wrist. The bite marks were deep enough to show bone. His eyes turned murderous. He stalked toward me, driving the hard toe of his leather shoe into my cheek, grinding my face into the concrete. My cheekbone popped under the pressure. “Feeling brave now, Bonnie?” “Where was this fight seven years ago when those bastards were passing you around? Why didn’t you bite them?” “I gave you everything. I handed you my fucking heart, and you shoved a knife into me for that piece of trash.” “And now you want to kill me over a filthy rag?” “You really are nothing but a rabid dog.” He pressed down harder. My jaw felt like it was going to shatter. Forced against the freezing floor, my line of sight fell directly on the discarded jacket. Thank God. It wasn’t burned. A sudden, warped smile stretched across my distorted face. Tears slipped from the corners of my eyes, sinking into the dust. “He… never… hit me.” Will never laid a hand on me. Even when the episodes took over and I bit him, he would just stroke my hair and slip a vintage butterscotch caramel into my palm. Those words completely obliterated whatever was left of Declan’s restraint. He yanked his foot back, laughing like he had just heard the funniest joke in the world. “Good. Fantastic.” “Since you love this dump so much, since you love that dead man so much.” He pulled out his phone and dialed. “Bring the bulldozers in.” “Right now. Level this entire place to the ground.” “I want absolutely nothing left!” The deafening roar of heavy machinery soon shook the ground outside. A massive iron bucket smashed into the fragile brick walls. Dust and debris rained down. Declan wrapped an arm around Vivian, pulling her back to a safe distance. He looked down at me from his pedestal. “If you love him so much, hold onto that garbage and get buried with him.” I did not beg for mercy. I simply crawled over to the jacket, pulling it against my chest, wrapping my arms around it as tight as I could. Just like Will had wrapped his arms around me in the fire seven years ago. I closed my eyes, burying my face in the mildewed collar. Don’t be afraid, Will. It’s my turn to protect you. The iron bucket never crushed me. Right before the ceiling collapsed, rough hands grabbed me by the arms and dragged me out. I thrashed wildly, my fingernails digging into the dirt until they tore and bled. “I won’t go! That’s my home! Will is still inside!” “Let me go! Please! He’s scared of the dark! He’ll be so scared all alone!” No one listened to my screams. Declan watched with dead eyes as they shoved me into the trunk of a car. The lid slammed shut. Absolute darkness consumed me. My body went into violent spasms. I curled into the tightest corner, hugging my knees, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. “Don’t kill me… I’ll be good… I’ll take my medicine…” “Will, save me…” When the car finally stopped, my clothes were soaked in cold sweat. The trunk opened. The glaring sunlight made me cower. A hand reached in and dragged me out by the collar. “We’re here. Take a good look.” Declan’s voice came from above. I squinted, my vision slowly coming into focus. It was a sprawling mansion. Wrought-iron gates, perfectly manicured lawns, and red wedding banners taped to the double doors. I froze. Seven years ago, I had clung to Declan’s arm, pointing at this exact plot of land. Declan, we’re going to build a house right here. We’ll get married. We’ll have kids. Now, the house was built. The wedding banners were up. But I was not the bride. Vivian linked her arm through Declan’s, smiling sweetly. “Bonnie, this is our new home. Isn’t it beautiful?” “Declan said the most dangerous place is the safest place.” “Keeping you right under our noses is the best way to look after you.” 3 Look after me? I stared at her, my mind a blank static screen. Declan said nothing. He took a heavy metal chain from one of the guards. A small silver bell hung from the links. “Since you’re here, you learn the rules.” Click. The metal cuff locked tightly around my ankle. The other end of the chain was bolted to a heavy marble pillar in the foyer. It gave me just enough slack to reach the edge of the living room, but not enough to step out the front door. “What is this?” I stared down at the chain. The little bell chimed sharply as I shifted my weight. “To keep you from wandering.” Declan crouched down, patting my bruised cheek. “You loved playing the lunatic in that warehouse, right?” “From now on, you live in this hallway. You can be our watchdog.” Staff bustled in and out, carrying Vivian’s endless designer luggage. They cast disgusted glances at me as they passed, their whispers loud enough to hear. “Is that the heiress of the Sterling family? She looks like a stray.” “I heard her brain is rotted. Fell in love with the freak who kidnapped her.” “Mr. Pierce is too kind, letting trash like that stay.” The words washed over me, leaving no ripples. Compared to the electroshock therapy at the asylum, at least there was no buzzing current here. I curled up on the edge of the Persian rug, clutching Will’s jacket. Vivian walked over holding a crystal glass of water. It was the same glass Declan had just drank from. “You must be thirsty, Bonnie. Have some water.” I stared at the clear liquid. My throat was burning, but I did not move. Will told me never to drink from strangers. He said they hide sleeping pills in the water, and if I drank it, I would be sold away. I swatted my hand out. The glass shattered. Water soaked the front of Vivian’s pristine dress. She shrieked, instantly looking toward the living room. “Declan! I just wanted to give her a drink!” Declan stormed into the hallway, his fingers snapping around my jaw like a vise. “Bonnie! You think you’re still some high-class princess?” “Vivian offers you water and you throw it?” “Then you don’t drink!” Right in front of me, he pulled Vivian in by the waist and crushed his mouth to hers. It was a deep, wet kiss. The sound of their lips echoed in the hollow foyer. I ignored them, my eyes fixed on the antique grandfather clock against the wall. The second hand ticked forward steadily. Seven o’clock. Back at the warehouse, seven o’clock was medicine time. Will would always feed me. Even though they were expired painkillers, he would crush them into powder and mix them into a piece of butterscotch. “Seven o’clock…” I mumbled to myself, my gaze drifting right through the kissing couple. “Will needs to give me my medicine.” “If I don’t take it, my head hurts… Will…” Declan’s body went rigid. He tore himself away from Vivian, his head snapping toward me. He marched to the wall and ripped the clock off its hook. The heavy timepiece crashed at my feet. Shards of glass exploded, one slicing a deep cut across my cheek. Warm blood trickled down my neck. I didn’t feel the pain. I only felt sorrow that the clock was broken. Now I couldn’t tell the time. Declan’s eyes were bloodshot. He roared at me, the veins in his neck bulging. “Will! Will! Always fucking Will!” “Open your goddamn eyes and look at me! I am Declan!” “That kidnapper is dead! He’s been a pile of rotting bones for years!” “Nobody is going to feed you medicine! Nobody is going to give you candy ever again!” “Wake the hell up!” The ringing of the bell woke me. Declan was yanking on the chain, dragging me off the floor. “We’re hosting a celebration banquet tonight. You’re the lady of the house… Oh wait, no. You’re the watchdog.” He tossed a bundle of fabric at me. It was a French maid costume. The skirt was barely there. “Put it on.” I refused. Will didn’t like it when I wore revealing clothes. He said a girl had to protect herself. “I won’t… It’s cold…” I hugged my knees, shrinking back against the pillar. Declan sneered. “No? Then you can go out there and serve the guests naked.” Trembling violently, I pulled the costume on. The neckline plunged deep, exposing my collarbones, and laying a thick, jagged knife scar bare for the world to see. The banquet hall was ablaze with crystal chandeliers and champagne towers. Once upon a time, I walked these floors as the Sterling heiress. Now, I was carrying a silver tray, weaving through the glittering crowd like a ghost. People recognized me. They covered their mouths, stepping back to mock me. “Oh my god, is that Bonnie? Look at the state of her.” “I heard she was the warlord’s wife up in the mountains for seven years. Wonder how many guys had a turn.” “Disgusting. Why does Declan keep her around?” 4 I kept my head down, staring obsessively at the marble floor patterns. As long as I didn’t look at them, they didn’t exist. Will taught me that. When bad people are around, shut your ears and close your eyes. “Hey, pour me a drink.” A foot shot out into my path. I couldn’t dodge in time. My balance vanished, and I crashed hard into the nearest person, the tray of red wine flying from my hands. The dark crimson liquid splashed directly onto Vivian’s custom white evening gown. She let out a piercing scream. “My dress! Declan had this flown in from Paris!” She whipped around and slapped me across the face with everything she had. My vision flashed white. I collapsed onto the floor, my ears ringing violently. The guests crowded around, pointing, calling me blind, saying I did it on purpose. Declan parted the crowd and stepped forward. He looked at Vivian’s ruined dress, then down at me, pathetic and sprawled on the tiles. “Kneel.” He issued the command. “Clean her shoes.” I looked up at him in utter disbelief. There was nothing but pure, unfiltered disgust in his eyes. I stayed frozen. He lifted his foot and drove his heel into my calf, grinding down with his weight. “Do you not understand English? Wipe!” The blinding pain broke me. My hands shook uncontrollably as I grabbed a napkin and reached out to wipe the wine and dirt off Vivian’s rhinestone heels. I scrubbed mechanically. Scrub, scrub. Until… My eyes locked onto Vivian’s ankle. There was a tattoo. A skull with crimson red eyes. My pupils dilated to pinpricks. Deep in my fractured memory, I saw Will waking up from a night terror, his hands signing frantically in the dark: That bad woman… She has a dead man’s head on her foot… She is the one who hurt us… It was her. The masked woman from seven years ago. The one who ordered the kidnappers to execute me. The woman who caused Will to take a bullet through the chest to save my life. My mind might be broken, but that symbol was burned into my soul. “It’s you… You killed him!” I shrieked, a sound barely human, and lunged. My fingernails dug violently into her skin, clawing desperately at the tattoo. I wanted to rip that piece of skin right off her leg. “Ah! Murder! The psycho is trying to kill me!” Vivian shrieked, kicking wildly. The guests screamed and scattered. They didn’t know what I was clawing at. They just saw a rabid dog attacking its master. Declan kicked me squarely in the chest. I flew backward, the back of my head cracking against the hard floor. Black spots swarmed my vision. The impact tore the top buttons of the uniform open. The jagged scar, stretching from my collarbone all the way down to just above my heart, was suddenly exposed under the glaring chandeliers. The entire ballroom went dead silent. A collective gasp sucked the air from the room. Even Declan froze. His eyes locked onto the scarred flesh. Seven years ago, when I stabbed him, it was in the stomach. But this scar… was directly over my heart. One centimeter deeper, and I would have been dead. He slowly crouched down, his hand trembling as he reached toward the mark. His fingers stopped just inches from my skin. “How did this happen?” His voice was hoarse, fractured. “For that animal, you threw your own life away? You took a knife for him?” “Bonnie, was it worth it? Huh?!” My heart spasmed, sending waves of agony through my chest. I curled into a tight ball, cold sweat matting my hair to my forehead. But in the haze of the pain, the hallucinations returned. I saw a figure standing beneath the chandelier. He was wearing his black windbreaker, covered in blood, but he was smiling at me. He was waving. He was telling me I did a good job. Staring into the empty air, looking past all the disgusted faces around me, I gave that shadow a tender smile. “Will… it doesn’t hurt.” “Really… it doesn’t hurt at all.” “Look, I protected our secret.” “Let’s see how long you can keep this act up!” Declan didn’t even wait for the banquet to end. He dragged me out by the arm and threw me into the car. A thunderstorm was raging outside. Lightning tore across the black sky. The car sped directly into the mountains. 5 It was the mountain where the kidnapping happened. The desolate peak where I had secretly buried Will. I realized what he was doing. Panic seized my throat. I slammed my fists against the windows. “No! Stop the car! Declan, stop!” “You can’t go there! You’ll wake him up!” He ignored me completely. The SUV skidded to a halt on a muddy, unpaved trail. He dragged me out into the torrential rain and threw me into the mud. Several bodyguards were already waiting, holding iron shovels. It was Will’s grave. There was no headstone. Just a small mound of dirt. And a crude cross I had carved from a tree branch. “Dig!” Declan barked the order. “No!” I dropped to my knees in the mud, slamming my head against the ground at Declan’s feet. One. Two. Three. My forehead struck the sharp rocks. Blood mixed with the freezing rain, washing down over my eyes and blinding me. “Please… Declan, I’m begging you…” “You can hit me, you can kill me, just leave him alone…” “This is the only home he has left…” The once-proud heiress of the Sterling family was grinding her dignity into the mud for the peace of a dead man. Declan stood under a black umbrella, staring down at me with absolute zero empathy. “Keep digging.” The sound of shovels biting into the earth. Scrape. Toss. Scrape. Finally, a hard thud. They hit something. There was no coffin. Just a rusty butter cookie tin. That was Will’s “urn.” It held the few fragments of bone that remained after the fire. The bones I had risked my life to dig out of the ashes. A bodyguard handed the tin to Declan. He pried the lid off violently. Inside, resting among the charred bone fragments, were several blackened, melted butterscotch candies. And a yellowed photograph. The photo was facedown. Scrawled across the back in childish, crooked handwriting was a single line: [Brother, let her go.] Declan’s entire body jolted. He recognized that handwriting. I didn’t know what was going through his head. I only knew he was ruining my Will. I threw myself at him, snatching the tin from his hands. He instinctively reached to grab it back. I scooped up a clump of the spoiled candy, mixed with dirt and bone dust, and shoved it into my mouth. Will left it for me. It was mine. No one could take it from me. Declan roared. “Spit it out! Are you insane, Bonnie?! It’s toxic!” He lunged, forcing his fingers into my mouth to pry my jaws open. He was terrified. Terrified of this broken version of me, a woman so far gone she would swallow a dead man’s bones and rotted candy just to keep them safe. “Spit it out!” His hands were shaking. His voice was breaking. I clamped my jaw down with everything I had. My teeth tore into my own tongue, but I refused to let go. His fingers stirred the foul sweetness around, and it began to melt down my throat. Bitter. Astringent. The unmistakable taste of death. My teeth shredded his fingers. Blood poured from his skin, but as he stared into my manic, wild eyes, he froze. I swallowed. I swallowed the ashes, the candy, and seven years of unendurable agony. I released my bite. My mouth was smeared with his blood and the black residue of the caramel. Looking at the panic and horror slowly consuming the man in front of me, a dark sense of irony bubbled up in my chest. Seven years of silence erupted. I screamed at him, my vocal cords tearing: “It was you!” “He saved me! And you ordered them to shoot him!” “That was your brother! You murdered the brother who saved your fiancée!” “You’re a murderer, Declan!” A massive crack of lightning split the sky, illuminating Declan’s ghostly white face. He stumbled backward, collapsing into the mud. The photograph slipped from his bleeding fingers, landing softly in a puddle. The handwriting on the back screamed up at him. “No… that’s impossible…” Watching him finally break, I wanted to throw my head back and laugh. But a sudden, violent cough tore through me, and a mouthful of dark blood splattered across the dirt. The world went black. I fell straight backward into the open, empty grave. The rain swallowed me whole. I’m coming to keep you company, Will.

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