Author: Momo Chan

I was forced to kneel on the floor, using a pin to alter my husband’s mistress’s evening gown. My knees pressed against the cold marble floor, and an old injury throbbed as if shattered bones were grinding together. Ethan Smith stood nearby, gazing at Amber Rose with unmistakable tenderness. Those same eyes had once looked up at me as he knelt before me, swearing that if he ever cheated again, he would give up his inheritance. Now, all he said was, “It’s the first time she’s ever loved something this much. I just want to give her the best.” The needle pierced my fingertip. A drop of blood bloomed across the hem of the gown. Lowering my eyes, I quietly wiped away the blood. The only thought in my mind was this: Next week, while my flight takes off from Paris and Ethan escorts Amber down the red carpet at Milan Fashion Week, the court’s divorce papers will arrive on his phone right on schedule. Chloe POV Ethan Smith spent an entire year chasing Amber Rose, a rising young model. Over the past year, his gifts to her, from diamond necklaces to luxury yachts, had constantly made headlines in New York. And now, he was spending a fortune to host a solo fashion show for Amber. He wanted her to shine on the runway at Milan Fashion Week next week. To make that happen, Ethan actually came to me, asking to borrow a few custom gowns from my studio. One of the gowns Amber had her eyes on was my masterpiece. I had spent three years designing and crafting it for the upcoming International Fashion Design Competition. But Ethan didn’t care about my hard work. He brushed it off like it was nothing. Seeing my silence, Ethan’s face darkened slightly. “You have designed so many dresses, Chloe. Missing one won’t hurt you. You can just use another piece for your competition.” “But Amber is different. She just started modeling. The major luxury brands won’t lend her their couture lines yet.” I swallowed the bitter laugh bubbling up in my throat. But in the end, I couldn’t help but let out a cold sneer. “Well, Ethan, you can buy her a yacht. Why not just buy her a custom couture gown? Surely, the great Ethan Smith isn’t getting cheap now?” A no-name model like Amber could only rent out-of-season designs from three years ago, even with her agency’s best efforts. Sure, Ethan could buy her a brand-new season runway piece. But wearing retail luxury would only make his new mistress a laughingstock in the elite fashion circle. He obviously didn’t want that. But if Amber wore an exclusive piece from a rising, award-winning independent designer like me… The next day, her PR team could spin it as her having “unique, sophisticated taste,” solidifying her image as an elegant muse. Ethan’s expression hardened. His voice turned ice-cold. “Chloe, stop throwing a tantrum.” “A tantrum? I am your legal wife. Why would I waste my energy being angry at a mistress? Am I right, Ethan?” I looked at him, my eyes filled with nothing but cold detachment. I didn’t know if Ethan was too arrogant, or if he truly didn’t care. How could he possibly think that I could watch my own husband publicly chase another woman and feel absolutely nothing? Ethan frowned, as if suppressing his annoyance. He softened his tone slightly, trying to sound gentle. “Chloe, no one can ever take your place. You will always be Mrs. Smith.” “This is the first time I’ve genuinely liked a girl this much. I just want to give her the best.” I almost laughed out loud. Looking at the deeply emotional man in front of me, I felt a wave of absurdity. Five years ago, when I wanted to marry Ethan, his grandfather, Arthur Smith, was dead set against it. To prove my worth, I was locked in the freezing, damp cellar of the Smith estate, kneeling on the icy stone floor for three days and nights without food or water. During those three days, Ethan stood outside the locked door, crying with me. He swore to God that if he ever betrayed me, he would deserve to burn in hell. My knees were ruined that week, leaving me with chronic joint pain that could never be cured. Yet, just two years later, he cheated on me for the first time. Back then, I threw my wedding ring in his face and demanded a divorce. Ethan went crazy. He self-harmed and even crashed his sports car into a guardrail just to force me to show up. He bought a private island, knelt before me, and cried, promising that if he ever looked at another woman again, he would forfeit his inheritance to the Smith empire. I thought he genuinely couldn’t live without me. So, I agreed to take him back. But only two years had passed, and he was doing it again. My understanding, my gentleness, and my quiet compliance… In Ethan’s eyes, they had all become boring and taken for granted. Meanwhile, Amber’s wild defiance and constant rejections had reignited his urge to conquer. I forced down the rising bitterness in my chest and raised an eyebrow. “Oh? So I should thank you for keeping me as Mrs. Smith? Do I need to help you win over your mistress too?” The faint smile on Ethan’s lips vanished. He stared at me blankly. He reached out, his fingers gently tracing my brow down to my jawline. Suddenly, he squeezed hard, making me gasp from the pain. Then, he uttered cold, harsh words. “Have the dress delivered next week. I’ll write a check to double the investment in your studio.” My eyes welled with tears from the physical pain, but I just smiled silently. Ethan’s patience was thin. This was his warning sign before a blowout, and I knew better than to push him right now. But beneath my sleeves, my fists clenched so hard that my nails dug deep into my palms. Ethan let go of my face and turned to leave without another word. The moment the front door slammed shut, I took out my phone and made a call. “Grandpa Arthur, I’m divorcing Ethan. Please arrange my departure as soon as possible.” On the other end of the line, Arthur Smith let out a long sigh, but agreed immediately. “No problem, Chloe. I’ll have everything ready for you.” After hanging up, I opened my email. There lay an acceptance letter from the Paris National School of Decorative Arts. Without a second thought, I clicked the “Accept Admission” button.

Chloe POV The more Amber acted distant and proud, the hotter the passion burned in Ethan’s eyes. He turned his gaze toward me, where I sat quietly in the corner of the studio. “Chloe has a gentle heart. She won’t mind,” Ethan said smoothly. “Take Amber to the fitting room and try the dress on. See what needs to be adjusted.” I twitched the corner of my mouth, said nothing, and stood up. “Miss Rose, follow me.” The moment the fitting room curtain pulled back, even Ethan, who was used to seeing beautiful women, had a flash of awe in his eyes. The dress hugged Amber’s slender figure perfectly, complementing her cold, aloof vibe. It made her look like an ethereal fairy. Ethan’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He walked over to her, his eyes filled with intense possessiveness. “You look beautiful.” Amber rotated her wrists, but her brows knitted together slightly. “It is a beautiful dress. But the waist is too tight, and the train is a bit too long. It’s uncomfortable to walk in. I have to take huge steps, which completely ruins my posture.” Hearing her complaints, Ethan didn’t think she was being difficult. Instead, he comforted her gently and turned to order me: “Chloe, fix it for her. Adjust it until she’s comfortable.” The room went dead silent. This dress was my masterpiece for the international competition. Every single seam, every proportion was the result of countless calculations. If I altered it to fit Amber’s body, the original structure of the design would be completely ruined. More than that, Ethan was asking me, his legal wife, to act as a personal tailor for his mistress. It was humiliating. I didn’t move. I just stared at Ethan. Ethan’s brow furrowed, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. “Adjust it for her.” He was absolutely sure that I wouldn’t dare defy him right now. My fingers curled tight inside my sleeves. Finally, I let out a self-deprecating laugh, grabbed the pins from my sewing kit, and slowly knelt on the floor. The moment my knees touched the cold marble, an icy pain shot straight into my bones. This was the permanent damage left from kneeling in that freezing cellar for three days just to marry him. Once, during the winter, Ethan would cup my knees with his warm hands, his eyes red as he begged me to forgive him for letting me suffer. But now, he stood there, completely indifferent, watching me kneel at another woman’s feet. Seeing me kneel so submissively, Amber looked slightly uncomfortable and took a half-step back. “Mrs. Smith, you don’t have to do this yourself…” “Hold still, Miss Rose,” my voice was calm, completely devoid of emotion. “I am a designer. Altering clothes is part of my job.” I kept my head down, focusing all my attention on pinning the hem of Amber’s skirt. I did a sloppy job. In fact, I was practically ruining my own artwork. But this dress didn’t belong to me anymore. I didn’t want it. Ethan stood by, looking at Amber with warm eyes, occasionally glancing down at me. His voice softened. “Chloe, if Amber wins an award in this dress, it will be great publicity for your studio too. Don’t overthink this.” I didn’t reply. My hands trembled as a sharp pang of pain shot through my knee joints, distracting me. The sharp pin in my hand slipped and stabbed deep into my thumb. A bead of bright red blood welled up instantly. Without even flinching, I casually wiped the blood onto the inside lining of the dress, hiding the stain in the deepest, darkest fold of the fabric. “Done.” I stood up. But because I stood up too fast, my vision went black, and I swayed on my feet. Ethan saw me stumble and instinctively reached out to catch me. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Amber watching. Remembering how much Amber hated my status as his wife, he pulled his hand back. I caught his retreating motion, laughing silently at myself. To show his loyalty to his mistress, there was truly nothing he wouldn’t do. “The fabric of this dress is very delicate. Make sure to steam it before wearing it,” I advised flatly, purely out of professional habit. Amber looked at me with her usual haughty expression. But in front of Ethan, she managed a nod. “Thanks.” Ethan let out a sigh of relief, thinking I was finally being “obedient.” He wrapped his arm around Amber’s waist and led her out of the studio. The moment the door closed, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Grandpa Arthur’s lawyer: “Miss Chloe, your divorce petition has been fast-tracked and approved by the court.” “Your plane ticket and enrollment paperwork for Paris are all set.” I stared at the screen, slowly closing my eyes. I wiped the remaining smear of blood from my finger onto the cold marble table. A soft smile played on my lips as I looked in the direction Ethan had gone. I felt completely at peace. I was actually a little curious. Next week, when Ethan realized he was single again… How would he react? Probably not at all. Our love had died a long time ago anyway.

Chloe POV I had no idea how I managed to drag myself out of the studio and back to the penthouse. The moment I unlocked the front door, the icy pain I had been suppressing all day finally exploded in my joints. It felt like thousands of frozen needles were biting into my knees. Thud. My legs gave out completely, and I crashed heavily onto the cold floor. A cold sweat broke out over my forehead instantly. As I lay there, pale and trembling, trying to crawl toward the medicine cabinet under the table, the electronic lock on the front door beeped. Ethan walked in. He was back earlier than I expected. His charcoal grey suit carried the damp chill of the autumn rain outside. He saw me collapsed on the floor. His movements paused as he took off his shoes, his brow furrowing. “Why are you on the floor?” His tone was still gentle, but carried a hint of exasperation. “Are you still throwing a fit about pinning the dress earlier?” I was so pale my face was bloodless, cold sweat dripping down my cheeks. My voice shook with every breath. “Ethan… my knees. The chronic pain is acting up. Please… get me my medicine box…” Ethan just stood there, looking down at me. There was no panic in his eyes, only cold detachment. “Chloe, I only asked you to adjust a dress,” he said slowly, draping his suit jacket over the back of the sofa. “Don’t use self-harm to get my attention. The floor is cold. Get up by yourself.” My chest felt like it was stuffed with wet cotton, making it heavy and painful to breathe. Before I could say another word, Ethan’s phone on the sofa buzzed violently. He picked up and answered right in front of me. In the quiet living room, the driver’s panicked voice came through clearly: “Mr. Smith! Miss Rose insisted on getting out of the car on the coastal highway! She refused to take your car and won’t let me follow her!” Ethan’s calm face instantly shattered. “Keep an eye on her! Follow her slowly! I’m coming right now!” He hung up without a second thought, grabbed his jacket from the sofa, and turned to rush out. “Ethan…” Using the last of my strength, I dragged myself forward and grabbed the hem of his trousers. My knuckles turned white from the sheer effort. Ethan’s footsteps stopped. He looked down at his gripped trousers, then at my pathetic state on the floor. He knelt down slightly, reached out with his long fingers, and grabbed my wrist. Then, one by one, he forced my fingers off his pants. “Chloe, she’s out in the rain,” Ethan said, his voice steady and flat. “She’s too stubborn. If I don’t go, she’ll walk in the storm until morning before she ever asks anyone for help.” He pried my thumb away and stood up straight. “You know how to take care of yourself. Take some pills and go to sleep.” He looked down at me, his eyes showing a touch of cruelty. “Babe, don’t make trouble for me right now.” With that, he threw his coat over his arm, turned around, and walked out the door without looking back. The heavy front door clicked shut. I collapsed back onto the cold floor, staring at the closed door. Amber was walking in the rain, refusing his car and his men. Yet he was frantic, terrified she would catch a cold, rushing to find her. Meanwhile, I was lying here, in too much pain to even crawl, and he abandoned me. I didn’t shed a single tear. I quietly listened to the roar of his sports car engine fading into the rainy night. Slowly, I let my stiff fingers relax. Looking at my empty palms, I let out a soft, relieved laugh.

Chloe POV I dragged myself through the long, agonizing night on the cold floor. It wasn’t until daylight broke that the worst of the bone-crushing pain in my knees finally subsided. Drenched in sweat and exhausted, I pulled myself onto the sofa and swallowed two strong painkillers. Just then, my phone vibrated. Ethan’s name flashed on the screen. I answered. There was no question about how I was doing after last night. “Did you see the news? Come to the office immediately.” His voice was laced with obvious frustration. I leaned back against the sofa, my voice weak from the night of agony. “What happened?” “Someone snapped photos of me picking Amber up on the highway last night. Now the internet is saying she’s my mistress,” Ethan said coldly. “This is going to ruin her show next week. You need to clear this up.” My grip on the phone tightened. The wound on my thumb from yesterday’s pin prick was red and swollen, throbbing painfully. “How do you want me to clear it up?” “The driver is outside your door. Just come to the office. PR has the statement ready for you.” Before I could answer, he hung up. Half an hour later, I arrived at the Smith Group headquarters. Dragging my legs, which were still numb with pain, I walked into the VIP lounge of the executive suite. The room was already packed with cameras and reporters. Ethan was standing in the corner. My eyes followed his gaze. Amber was sitting on the sofa, looking as cold and aloof as ever. She was flipping through some runway materials, seemingly annoyed by the drama surrounding her. Ethan stood beside her, whispering something to her with absolute tenderness. When the PR director announced that the live stream was about to start, Ethan stood up and walked over to sit next to me on the love seat. He glanced at my pale face and whispered in a voice only I could hear, “Amber’s reputation can’t be ruined. This show is crucial for her.” The live stream started. The flashbulbs were blinding, and the reporters’ questions were sharp: “Mrs. Smith, reporters photographed Mr. Smith and Amber acting intimately last night. Is it true that Amber has come between your marriage?” Before I could speak, Ethan reached over and squeezed my hand tightly as it rested on my knee. He squeezed with immense force. His palm pressed directly onto my swollen, injured thumb. The wound that had barely clotted split open instantly. Sticky blood rushed out. A sharp, agonizing pain shot up my arm straight to my brain. I shivered violently from the pain. But Ethan didn’t notice a thing. He looked directly at the cameras, smiling warmly. “Those rumors are completely false.” His voice was firm and confident. “My wife, Chloe, is an incredibly talented independent designer, and Miss Rose is a key model we are collaborating with.” Ethan turned his head slightly, looking at me with deep affection. But beneath his amber eyes lay a cold, demanding threat. “Isn’t that right, Chloe?” The throbbing pain in my hand intensified as blood seeped into the cracks of Ethan’s fingers. Looking at the man in front of me, a wave of nausea washed over me. Suppressing both the pain in my hand and my knees, I forced a perfect, elegant smile. “Yes,” my voice was calm and steady. “Both my husband and I highly appreciate Miss Rose’s talent. The rumors of her being a mistress are completely baseless.” With that single statement, the PR crisis was instantly resolved. The moment the live stream ended and the cameras turned away, Ethan let go of my hand immediately. Without glancing at my bloody fingers, he stood up and walked straight toward Amber in the corner. “It’s done,” he said softly, his voice full of warmth. “Everything is cleared up. Come on, let me take you out to eat.” Amber closed her folder and stood up, her face still cold. “No thanks, Mr. Smith. I have a photoshoot later.” She walked right past him and headed out the door. Despite being ignored in public, Ethan wasn’t angry. Instead, a helpless, indulgent smile crossed his face. He didn’t even look back at me as he quickly followed her out. In the massive lounge, I was left entirely alone. I sat on the sofa. Looking at my bleeding thumb, I suddenly felt a strange sense of relief. I pulled a tissue from my pocket and slowly wiped the blood from my hand until it was completely clean. Then, I unlocked my phone and opened the chat with Arthur’s lawyer: “What time is my flight?” The lawyer replied instantly: “Monday morning, 9:00 AM. Private hangar.” I locked my screen and stood up slowly. What a coincidence. That was the exact same day Ethan was taking Amber to Milan for her big red-carpet debut.

Chloe POV As soon as the press conference ended, Amber went up to the rooftop to shoot her promotional posters. Ethan demanded that I accompany them. His reason was non-negotiable. “You’re the designer of the dress. If anything goes wrong with the gown during the shoot, you need to fix it immediately.” It was freezing on the rooftop. My thin clothes offered no protection against the biting wind, and every step I took felt like walking on knives. After only two setups, Amber suddenly stopped and glared at her hemline with frustration. “What’s wrong?” Ethan rushed over, his voice dripping with worry. “The seam is ripped,” Amber complained, her cold face twisting with annoyance. “I can’t shoot like this. I’m leaving.” She turned toward the elevator. Ethan grabbed her wrist, soothing her gently. “Don’t be mad. I’ll have it fixed right away.” He turned his gaze toward me, standing in the corner. “Chloe, come sew this up.” I looked at the dress. It was obvious that the seam had been intentionally snipped with scissors. I didn’t call her out. I just walked over and said calmly, “She needs to take it off first. Otherwise, the tailoring will be ruined.” “No way. Taking it off and putting it back on takes too long. It’ll ruin my flow,” Amber rejected instantly. Ethan looked at me and said, “Just sew it while she’s wearing it. Work around it.” I looked at Ethan, finding the situation utterly ridiculous. Sewing it while she wore it meant I had to kneel on the ground to reach the hem. “My hand was injured and got infected last night. I can’t hold the needle steady,” I said, showing him my swollen, red thumb as a final plea. Ethan frowned, a flash of impatience crossing his eyes. He didn’t seem to think my injury was a valid excuse. His tone remained smooth, but his words were merciless. “It’s just a couple of stitches, Chloe. Don’t make everyone stand in the cold waiting for you.” I looked at him, and suddenly, I smiled. Without saying another word, I pulled out my needle and thread, slowly bent my knees, and knelt at Amber’s feet. The moment my knees hit the concrete roof, a sharp pain shot through me. Cold sweat instantly soaked my back. My fingers were so stiff they barely worked. I struggled to hold the tiny needle, forcing it through the heavy fabric. The wind grew stronger. Amber shivered. “Are you done yet? I’m freezing.” Without a thought, Ethan took off his heavy designer coat and wrapped it tightly around Amber. He used his own body to block the freezing wind, shielding Amber completely in his arms. Meanwhile, I knelt at their feet, bearing the brunt of the icy wind alone. Ethan didn’t spare me a single glance. All his attention was on Amber, asking her softly if she was still cold. My fingers grew completely numb. My hand slipped, and the sharp needle plunged deep into my thumb again. Blood welled up instantly, staining the inside of the skirt. “What are you doing?!” Amber gasped. “Don’t get blood on my dress!” Ethan finally looked down. Seeing the blood on my hand, there was no worry in his eyes, only annoyance. He felt like I was ruining his moment with Amber. “Wipe the blood off and finish it quickly,” Ethan said coldly. I said nothing. I quietly put my thumb in my mouth, sucked the blood away, and went back to sewing. For ten agonizing minutes. When I finally bit the thread off and used the wall to pull myself up, my legs were completely numb. “Done.” I didn’t look at either of them. Dragging my stiff body, I turned and walked toward the elevator.

Chloe POV For the next few days, Ethan didn’t come home. Occasionally, I saw headlines of him and Amber attending high-society parties together. I also heard he was making meticulous preparations for Amber’s upcoming runway debut. But I didn’t care about those mocking news articles anymore. Whenever I had free time, I researched my upcoming courses at the Paris school. I couldn’t show up completely unprepared. Grandpa Arthur’s lawyer sent me my flight details on Sunday evening. But unfortunately, because of the freezing wind on the rooftop, I came down with a high fever on Saturday night. I had always been sensitive to the cold. Now, my body fluctuated between burning hot and freezing cold. My head throbbed painfully. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to board the flight on Monday. I lay weakly in bed, lacking even the strength to open my eyes. The bedroom door pushed open, and Ethan walked in, wheeling a suitcase. He walked over to the closet and began packed his clothes methodically. He didn’t even notice my pale, sweaty face. Only then did I remember that Monday was also the day Ethan and Amber were leaving for Milan. The grand fashion show he spent millions on. I closed my eyes. My heart no longer felt pain. Only a dead, numb silence. “Ethan,” I squeezed out the last bit of my strength to look at the man in his pristine suit. “I have a fever. Can you get me a glass of water?” Ethan paused his packing. He turned around, walked to the bedside, and touched my forehead. “Why don’t you take better care of yourself?” A weak, humorless smile touched my lips. Yes. If a woman doesn’t even love herself, how can she expect anyone else to love her? I used to be so stupid. But I never would be again. Ethan frowned. He was about to get me some water when his phone rang. Seeing the caller ID, Ethan answered immediately. Within seconds, his voice grew anxious. “How could she just disappear? Wait for me, I’m coming right now.” “Don’t worry about the flight on Monday. Everything will be fine.” Hanging up, Ethan zipped his suitcase closed. He quickly poured a glass of water, tossed some flu medicine on the nightstand, and looked at me with a mix of guilt and impatience. “Remember to take the medicine. I have an emergency. I’ll fly straight to Milan on Monday. Let’s celebrate our anniversary when I get back.” I was a bit dazed. Right. Our wedding anniversary was in a few days. He actually remembered. But I had completely forgotten. I didn’t ask him to stay. I watched him turn around and leave the penthouse without hesitation. As the front door locked, the entire place fell into a grave-like silence. I lay there quietly, feeling the fever drain the moisture from my body. After a long time, I slowly raised my hand, looking at my wedding ring. When Ethan slid this ring onto my finger years ago, he swore that if he ever betrayed me, he would lose everything. I slowly slid the platinum band off my ring finger. Then I rolled over, closed my eyes, and drifted into a heavy sleep. The next day, my fever went down a bit. I got up to clean the place. Because tomorrow was not only the day Ethan and Amber flew to Milan… It was also the day I would leave him forever and fly to Paris. I didn’t waste a single second. I dragged out several heavy black trash bags. Everything Ethan had given me over the years, I threw away. I didn’t even touch the millions of dollars worth of jewelry in the safe. I simply texted Ethan’s assistant to have them cleared out tomorrow. I only packed the things I had brought with me. In the study, I found the sketches of the custom tie clips I had designed for Ethan over the years. I fed them into the shredder without hesitation. Finally, I stood in front of our massive wedding portrait in the living room. I calmly smashed the glass frame, pulled the photo out, and set it on fire. Suddenly, the front door lock beeped. Ethan walked in. He was in a rush, probably having forgotten something. His footsteps stopped dead in the middle of the living room. He looked at the two packed suitcases on the floor, then at the ashes of our wedding portrait still smoldering in the trash can. His brow furrowed tightly, irritation flashing in his eyes. “Chloe, you use this trick way too often. It’s getting old.” His tone was still calm, but carried a condescending smirk. In his mind, my packing was just another desperate attempt to get his attention. Two years ago, when I threw my ring and packed my bags, he had begged on his knees. Now that I was doing it again, he just found it annoying. I zipped up my last suitcase, not even looking up at him. “My things are packed. I didn’t take a single thing of yours.” Ethan adjusted his cuffs and walked over to me. “Are you really going to keep throwing this tantrum just because of the Milan show?” He sighed. “This show is incredibly important to Amber. I have to be there. Be good, okay? When I get back next week, we’ll talk.” “No need,” I said, lifting my suitcase. “We have nothing to talk about.” Ethan’s face darkened completely. I knew he hated this quiet, detached version of me the most. “Fine,” he snatched his forgotten documents from the table and walked toward the door, his voice cold. “Just a reminder: the Smith family trust meeting is next Wednesday. As Mrs. Smith, you are required to attend.” He was absolutely sure I wouldn’t leave. He was sure I would show up next Wednesday, standing meekly by his side as his perfect wife. I looked at his back and gave him a perfectly calm reply. “Okay.”

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We were getting ready to buy a house and get married, so the real estate agent showed us a crappy, 30-year-old fixer-upper that fit my budget. Chloe lost her mind right on the spot. She accused the agent of looking down on us. All of her friends lived in luxury high-rise condos. She threatened to break up with me if I dared to buy this run-down dump as our future home. Just as I was about to smooth things over and suggest we look elsewhere, a raspy, ancient voice suddenly echoed inside my head: “This girl has absolutely no eye for value! I’ve got 160 ounces of solid gold stashed inside these walls. That’s enough to buy ten of her friends’ luxury condos!” “Opportunity is literally slapping them in the face, and they’re throwing it away. No wonder they’re bound to be broke forever!” My entire body went stiff. I stared at the wall separating the living room and the bedroom, wondering if I was having a full-blown auditory hallucination. That wall was indeed noticeably thicker than the other walls in the apartment. 160 ounces of gold. At current market prices, that was worth nearly half a million dollars! Chloe shoved my shoulder. “What are you spacing out for? I am not living in this dump!” I snapped out of it. Marcus, our agent, was still standing there with a strained, polite smile. “Ma’am, I know it’s a bit old, but the location is unbeatable. It’s just five minutes from the subway, in a great school district, and most importantly, it’s a steal…” Chloe cut him off instantly. “A thirty-year-old piece of garbage? Eight hundred thousand dollars for barely 550 square feet? You call that a steal?” Marcus looked incredibly awkward. Chloe glared at me. “I’m putting my foot down, Ethan. If you buy this trash heap as our wedding house, we are done. I refuse to be the laughingstock of my friend group!” I opened my mouth to comfort her, but that raspy, old voice popped up again: “Hah! What a bunch of blind fools. I’ve also got three million dollars in cold, hard cash stuffed in the kitchen ceiling! With the gold in the walls, that’s a fortune. And they’re complaining about my house being old?” “Birds of a feather really do flock together. The girl is blind, and the guy is a spineless wimp. A match made in heaven!” My knees buckled. I almost fell to the floor. Three million dollars in cash in the ceiling?! I couldn’t help but glance upward. This was an old building, but a cheap drywall ceiling had been installed. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Marcus quickly stepped closer to me. “Sir, do you actually think the place has potential? The elderly owner is in a rush to sell. Her late husband was a senior accountant for a major multinational firm before he retired. He was a great guy, but he passed away suddenly and didn’t leave a will.” “The old lady is terrified of living here alone. She’s moving to Europe to live with her daughter, which is why she listed it so cheap. Market value is easily over a million.” An accountant? How did he get 160 ounces of gold? And why hide it in the walls? “What about the rest of the family?” I asked. “Just the one daughter. She’s already settled abroad. It’s not easy for her to fly back. The old lady said everything left in the house is a bonus. Furniture, appliances—do whatever you want with them. She’s not taking anything.” My heart skipped a beat. So the gold in the walls and the cash in the ceiling… were considered “bonuses”? Pretending to inspect the apartment, I strolled over to the thick wall and knocked on it twice. It sounded dull and hollow. Marcus chimed in. “The best thing about these old apartments is that you can remodel the layout easily. This wall between the living room and bedroom isn’t load-bearing. Knock it down, and you double the size of the living area. It’ll look brand new.” Afraid he’d notice my suspicion, I quickly pulled my hand back and walked into the bathroom, pretending to check the pipes. “Is the price negotiable?” Marcus’s eyes lit up. “Eight hundred thousand is already rock bottom. But man, if you’re seriously interested, I can talk to her and see if she’ll shave off another twenty or thirty grand.” Chloe stared at me in absolute disbelief. “Ethan, are you insane? Are you seriously thinking about buying this trash can?” “Can’t you see the paint peeling off the walls? The bathroom is microscopic, and the kitchen doesn’t even have a window! Do you honestly think this is all I deserve?” I opened my mouth, wanting to explain, but there was no way I could tell her about the hidden treasure in front of the agent. Just then, the old voice spoke up again, dripping with mockery: “Still trying to haggle? Do you have any idea how many people are eyeing my place?” “That bastard Derek next door—he tried to marry Arthur’s daughter years ago just to bleed them dry and steal their estate. He failed back then. But now that Arthur is gone, he’s coming for this house. He’s scheduling a viewing tomorrow. If you let him snatch it, don’t come crying to me!” My brain went entirely numb. The words spilled out of my mouth before I could stop them: “I actually love this place. Let’s sign the contract today.”

Marcus immediately started rummaging through his bag for the paperwork. “That’s amazing! If we sign today, we can finalize the paperwork tomorrow!” As soon as the words left his mouth, a loud, aggressive knock rattled the front door. Marcus went to open it. Standing in the doorway was a short, middle-aged man in his thirties wearing a navy windbreaker, holding the arm of an elderly woman with silver hair. “Derek? What are you doing here today?” Marcus gasped. Derek pushed his way inside, his eyes scanning Chloe and me. “The lady wanted to take a look today. We were worried tomorrow might be too late. The place isn’t sold yet, right?” Marcus looked embarrassed. “Well… actually, Ethan here is already negotiating. He’s very serious.” “Don’t waste your time,” Derek cut in smoothly. “I’ll add fifty grand. Eight hundred and fifty thousand, all cash. I can wire the money today.” The old voice in my head instantly panicked: “I told you! That piece of garbage Derek! Years ago, he begged to be a live-in husband, but Arthur saw right through him. Now that Arthur is dead, he’s sniffing around the house. What is he planning? Does he know Arthur left a secret stash?” Adrenaline rushed straight to my brain. “I’ll add two hundred thousand!” I yelled. The room fell dead silent. Chloe stared at me like I had grown a second head. Marcus’s jaw practically hit the floor. Derek let out a mocking sneer. “You? You can pull a million dollars out of your pocket?” Marcus looked torn. “Derek, Ethan was here first…” Derek patted his jacket pocket. “I have eight hundred and fifty thousand ready to go on my card right now. I’m just worried the guy who got here first is all talk and no cash.” I clenched my fists. I only had fifty thousand dollars in my savings. The rest would have to be borrowed. But thinking about the gold in the walls and the millions in the ceiling… “I will have the full amount ready within three days. Let’s sign the contract now.” Derek gave me a cold glare. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. If you sign and can’t produce the cash, you lose your deposit.” Marcus quickly added, “That is the policy, Ethan. Are you sure you don’t want to think it over?” Chloe finally snapped. She grabbed my arm, dragged me out into the hallway, and hissed under her breath: “Ethan, are you out of your mind?! A million dollars for this dump? Where are you going to get a million dollars? Has this agent completely brainwashed you?” Looking at her furious, tear-stained face, my mind raced. Should I tell her the truth? Would she even believe me? “Chloe, please trust me just this once. This house actually has…” “Has what?” Tears finally spilled down Chloe’s cheeks. “We’ve been together for three years, and you can’t even afford a decent apartment. My friends’ husbands all bought them brand-new, luxury places. I didn’t hold that against you, but now you’re forcing me into this disgusting, crumbling dumpster! If you sign that paper, we are done. I mean it!” She turned on her heel and ran down the stairs. When Marcus handed me the pen, my hand was shaking. After signing the papers and stamping my thumbprint, Marcus tucked the contract away, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re a man of action, Ethan! We’ll start the process tomorrow. Just make sure the full payment is wired within three days.” Derek sneered at me on his way out. “You’re willing to ruin your relationship over this trash heap? Did you find something hidden in here?” My chest tightened. The old voice laughed in amusement. “This dog actually has a good nose. Does he suspect there’s gold in the walls…?” I took a step forward, blocking his view, and pointed to the vintage, hand-carved wooden bed in the bedroom. “I won’t lie to you. I bought this place for that bed.” “That’s a rare antique,” I said, pretending to be an expert as I patted the wooden frame. “If it’s authentic, it’s worth more than the entire apartment.” Marcus’s cheek twitched. “Sir… are you serious?” “Anyway, the contract says everything left in the house belongs to me. This bed is mine now. No one touches it.” Derek’s eyes flickered with suspicion. He walked over to inspect the bed, running his fingers over the carvings. His brow furrowed as he looked back at me. I didn’t give him another second to think. I ushered both him and Marcus out of the door. “Alright, I’m heading out. See you tomorrow morning to finalize things.” I rode my bike down two blocks, pulled over by the curb, and called Chloe. On my seventh try, she finally picked up. “Did you sign it?” “Yeah.” After three seconds of silence, she let out a bitter laugh. “Ethan, we are over.” “Chloe, listen to me! Last night I had this crazy dream about my grandfather. He told me that inside the walls of this apartment, there is…” Before I could finish, she hung up on me. I let out a heavy sigh. Fine. If she didn’t believe me now, she would once I dragged the gold out and threw it at her feet.

By 11 PM, unable to sleep, I snuck back into the dark apartment through the fire escape. I clicked on my flashlight and pulled a metal detector out of my backpack. Crouching in front of the thick wall, I pressed the sensor against the plaster. “Beep. Beep. Beep.” My hand trembled. I moved the sensor to different spots. The top of the wall was silent. The middle gave a weak signal. But the lower I went, the sharper and louder the beeping became. I collapsed onto the floor, my back drenched in sweat, a manic grin spreading across my face. There really was something in the wall. I sat in the pitch-black living room, laughing like a lunatic. With this money, I’d never have to work another day in my life. Who cared about a breakup? Once I showed Chloe the money, we could buy ten luxury penthouses. But my smile quickly faded. I had signed a contract for a million dollars. I had to pay it in full within three days. I had fifty thousand. I was still short by nine hundred and fifty thousand. The gold was in the wall, and the cash was in the ceiling. But without the keys and ownership, I couldn’t start demolishing the place. Where the hell was I going to get nearly a million dollars in three days? I stared at my contacts on my phone. I stopped at the name Zach—a high school classmate who now ran a high-interest payday loan business. When the call connected, Zach stayed silent for a few seconds. “Bro, are you getting scammed? That run-down apartment complex is barely worth half a million.” “Just help me out with this. You set the interest rate.” Normally, I would never dare touch hard money lenders, but this was different. In three days, the keys would be mine, and I’d tear that wall down the very same night. With millions of dollars waiting for me, what was a high-interest loan? The day the funds cleared, my dad called me, furious. “Ethan, have you lost your mind?! Zach called and said you took out a massive loan to buy a property? Since when do you flip houses?” “Your mother hasn’t slept a wink! Our family has always lived honestly, step-by-step. You’ve been brainwashed by some slick agent! Cancel the deal and get our money back right now, do you hear me?!” I gripped my phone tightly and said nothing. My dad cursed a few more times before slamming the phone down. Finally, the three-day deadline arrived. I wired the million dollars to Marcus, received the deed and the keys, and immediately changed the locks. I shut the door, pulled the curtains tight, and prepared to dig.

At 6 PM, Chloe showed up. She stood at the doorway, her eyes red and puffy, her voice shaking. “Your dad called me. He said you took out a massive, dangerous loan to buy this trash heap. Ethan, are you mentally unstable?” “Come inside,” I said softly. “Come in, and I’ll show you why.” She hesitated for a few seconds, biting her lip, before stepping inside. I dragged her over to the thick wall, knelt down, and pressed the metal detector to the base. “Beep. Beep. Beep.” Chloe froze. “What is that?” “A metal detector.” I looked up at her. “There’s something inside this wall.” Her mouth fell open. “So… your dream was real?” “Yes,” I lied smoothly. “I had to make sure, so I tested it. There’s definitely something here. I’m breaking it open tonight. If it’s gold, we are getting married tomorrow, buying a penthouse, and leaving all your snobby friends in the dust.” Her eyes welled with tears, and she threw her arms around my neck. “I’m pregnant,” she whispered against my chest. “I found out two days ago. I was going to get an abortion after we broke up…” She looked up at me, tears streaming down her face. “Ethan, please don’t let me down.” “I won’t. Everything changes tonight.” By 9 PM, the neighborhood was completely quiet. I pulled a sledgehammer and a crowbar from my bag. Chloe sat on the dusty sofa, nervously wringing her hands. Before raising the hammer, I looked at the wall and whispered, “Sir, forgive me. Once I get the money, I’ll remodel this place beautifully.” But the old voice didn’t reply. A sudden wave of anxiety hit me. But I quickly brushed it off. The detector had beeped. It couldn’t be a mistake. I swung the hammer with all my might. “SMASH!” A huge chunk of plaster shattered, revealing red bricks underneath. I dropped the hammer and clawed at the bricks with my bare hands, sending debris showering to the floor. The space behind the brick wall was completely hollow. My hands froze in mid-air. “Where’s the gold?” Chloe asked, peering over my shoulder. I didn’t answer. Like a madman, I tore away the remaining bricks. The hole got wider and wider, revealing a completely empty space inside the wall. There was absolutely nothing there. “This is impossible…” My voice trembled violently. Chloe’s hopeful expression drained into a ghostly pale. “Ethan, stop joking. This isn’t funny.” I grabbed the crowbar and began violently smashing the kitchen ceiling. The thin drywall shattered instantly, showering my head and face in thick white dust. I reached my hand inside the gap, feeling around frantically. Nothing but dust. It was completely empty. I collapsed onto the pile of shattered bricks and drywall, my entire body shaking. Chloe stood nearby, covering her mouth as tears seeped through her fingers. “Ethan… where is the gold?” I opened my mouth, but my face was dead white. “Chloe, listen to me…” She snapped. She wiped her tears aggressively. “Ethan, I’m getting the abortion. Have a nice life!” She turned and bolted out of the apartment. I sat alone in the ruins of the living room. The gaping hole in the ceiling stared down at me like a hollow black eye. The room smelled of thick dust and old mold. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was my dad. I answered, only to hear my mother’s hysterical, sobbing voice: “Ethan, come to the hospital right now! Your father had a massive heart attack!” “The doctors said he needs emergency surgery immediately, and we don’t have enough money for the deposit…” The phone slipped from my hand, the screen shattering on the concrete floor. “But the detector beeped… how could there be nothing…” I mumbled to the empty room. I stared blankly at the demolished wall. Just as I was about to sink into complete, numbing despair, that familiar, raspy voice echoed in my head once again. And what it said made my adrenaline surge, freezing me in place.

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After finding out that Austin gave Chloe a $300,000 pre-wedding gift, Brooke insisted on coming home with me to attend their wedding. In my past life, I didn’t think much of it and brought her along. But the next morning, Brooke ended up naked in Austin’s wedding bed, screaming that Austin had assaulted her. Chloe, who was five months pregnant at the time, was so traumatized that she miscarried on the spot. Austin couldn’t clear his name. He fell into a deep depression and passed away within two years. Brooke, however, used that “accident” to blackmail my parents into accepting her as their daughter-in-law. She moved into the master bedroom that Chloe had lovingly decorated and pocketed the $300,000 that was meant for Chloe. Years later, she looked at me with a smug smile and said: “Maya, the best thing I ever did in my life was going back to your hometown with you.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the exact day Brooke asked to join me. Brooke poked her head out from the next cubicle, her eyes glittering with anticipation. “Maya, I heard that attending weddings brings good luck. My big project is signing next month. Just to be safe, can I come home with you to get some of that good energy?” I swallowed hard, pushing my office chair back with a loud scrape. “I’m so sorry, Brooke. I actually just got a text. Austin called off the wedding.”

The light in Brooke’s eyes instantly vanished. “Called off?!” Her voice went up an octave. Several colleagues nearby turned to look at us. Realizing she had lost her composure, she quickly lowered her voice, squeezing out a worried expression. “Why would they suddenly call it off?” “Is Chloe feeling unwell?” I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms, and nodded. “Yeah, she’s pregnant.” “Austin doesn’t want her to get too tired. They’re just going to sign the papers at the courthouse first. The big party will be later.” Brooke’s eyes flickered, but she quickly put on a sweet smile. “I mean, that makes sense.” “They’re legally married anyway, and she already got the $300,000 wedding gift.” She paused, then asked as if it were just a casual thought: “By the way, Maya, did Austin really give Chloe $300,000?” I looked up at her. She immediately waved her hands. “Don’t get me wrong! I just think Chloe is incredibly lucky.” “Most guys these days complain about spending even thirty grand, but Austin casually gave her three hundred grand.” “Any girl would be blessed to marry a guy like that.” She smiled sweetly. But all I felt was a freezing chill running down my spine. In my past life, she did the exact same thing. First, she praised Austin. Then, she talked about how lucky Chloe was. In the end, she destroyed our family and moved into Chloe’s house. I forced a weak smile. “So, there is no wedding party. You don’t need to come.” The smile on Brooke’s face faded. She lowered her head, nervously playing with the corner of her folder. “It’s fine. I was being too pushy.” “I was just thinking about my big deal next month.” “The client is super superstitious about luck.” “My mom even paid a psychic who said I have a bad aura this year. She said I need to attend a close friend’s wedding to cleanse my bad luck.” “But if it’s inconvenient, forget I asked.” She forced another smile, but her eyes were red, brimming with tears. In my past life, I was fooled by this exact act. I agreed to take her home, which triggered the downfall of my entire family. Seeing her fake tears now only made me sick to my stomach. I rolled my eyes mentally, not wanting to deal with her. But just as I turned to leave, our boss, Vance, walked out of his office. “What project?” Vance frowned as he walked toward us. “Brooke, which project were you talking about?” Brooke looked startled. Her eyes grew redder as she sniffled. “It’s the deal with Mr. Zhang… our team has been working on it for six months…” “I knew he cares about good vibes, so I wanted to attend a wedding to bring some luck to the project… but Maya…” Brooke stopped halfway. Vance, not knowing the truth, immediately turned on me. “Maya, we’re all a team here. Look at Brooke, she’s putting the company first. And you? You won’t even let a coworker tag along to a wedding.” “I’m making the executive decision. You’re taking Brooke with you. The travel expenses will be covered by the company. Just submit the receipt to HR.” Other colleagues immediately chimed in. “Yeah, Maya, it’s just adding an extra plate at the dinner table.” “It’s not like your family has to adopt her.” “If this deal falls through, our team bonuses are gone.” “Don’t be so selfish, Maya.” I tried to explain that Austin wasn’t hosting a ceremony. Brooke’s eyes welled up even more. She whispered: “It’s okay.” “If a wedding is inconvenient, just a casual dinner with the couple is fine.” “I just want some peace of mind.” I was speechless. The colleagues grew bolder, throwing sarcastic remarks at me. Vance even threatened that if the project failed, I would be held fully responsible. Sitting at my desk, I felt suffocated. Brooke was still pretending to cry, but the corners of her mouth twitching upward gave away her triumph. Looking at their faces, I took a deep breath. “Fine. I agree.” “Brooke can come with me.” Vance immediately beamed, patting my shoulder. “That’s more like it! A wedding is about sharing joy, not bad luck. What’s there to be afraid of?” He then turned to Brooke. “Make sure to expense the trip. Clearing bad luck is important. Don’t be cheap about it.” Brooke smiled brightly. “Don’t worry, Boss. I won’t let the team down.” “Wait, I’m not finished yet.” I interrupted them, pulling up a destination wedding ad on my phone, and smiled. “Austin just decided to do a destination elopement. Brooke, you’re welcome to join, but the bride and groom won’t be there. That’s not a problem, right?”

I purposely emphasized the words “the bride and groom won’t be there.” Brooke panicked, grabbing my sleeve. “How does that work? A wedding without the bride and groom isn’t a wedding!” “If Austin isn’t there, how am I supposed to—” She cut herself off. I looked at her, a cold smile on my lips. “Why did you stop? How are you supposed to what?” Brooke’s eyes darted around. She quickly took my hand, acting like the victim again. “Look, I don’t want to make things hard for you.” “The psychic said as long as I can have a meal with the couple, the bad luck will be cleared.” “Maya, we’ve been colleagues for so long. Just help me out this once, okay?” She looked like she was about to cry again. Vance and the others began to frown at me. I laughed. “Fine. I’ll help you out.” Once we arrived in my hometown, I took her straight to a hotel and booked a private dining room. Brooke was stunned. “Aren’t we going to your house?” I shook my head and asked back: “Didn’t you say you just wanted a meal? Austin and Chloe will be here soon.” “Or did you only want Austin to show up?” Brooke’s face flushed with awkwardness. “What… what are you talking about?” A faint blush crept onto her cheeks. “Why would I care about Austin…” I watched her, holding back my disgust, and pushed her into the room. “Great. You’ll have dinner with the couple, and my job is done.” As soon as dinner was over, I would buy her a ticket straight back. I wanted to see how she could trap Austin this time. After ordering, I made an excuse to get some fresh air and blocked Austin and Chloe at the hotel entrance. “When we have dinner with my colleague in a minute, don’t say a word to her. And do not get close to her. Got it, Austin?” Austin looked at me with pure confusion, scratching his head. “Huh? Why?” “Don’t ask questions. Just do as I say.” I then took Chloe’s hand. “No matter what happens tonight, you must stay with Austin. Understood, Chloe?” Chloe’s face flushed red instantly. “Maya, it’s broad daylight. Why are you saying things like that…” “I’m not joking.” I stared into Chloe’s eyes, speaking slowly and seriously. “Listen to me. Tonight, you must stay by Austin’s side. Do not leave him for a single second.” “I’ll explain everything later. Just trust me on this.” Seeing how serious I was, Chloe’s embarrassment faded, replaced by a solemn nod. “Okay. I trust you.” Seeing them agree, I finally let out a sigh of relief and led them into the private room. During the entire dinner, Brooke acted exactly as expected, constantly trying to get close to Austin. She gestured for him to sit next to her. I cleared my throat, and Austin immediately took the seat furthest away from her. She tried to put food on his plate. Chloe frowned, and Austin immediately swapped his entire plate and bowl for clean ones. Then, Brooke brought up the $300,000 wedding gift, her voice dripping with envy. “Chloe, you’re so lucky. Austin is so sweet and generous. He didn’t even mind that you got pregnant before the wedding.” “Unlike me. I’m very traditional. I’ve never even held a guy’s hand…” Chloe was stunned. She turned to me, mouthing the words: “No wonder you told me to watch out for her.” I forced a bitter smile. Remembering how Chloe had miscarried from shock in my past life, my nose stung, and tears threatened to fall. As soon as dinner ended, Austin and Chloe practically ran out of the restaurant as if they were being chased. I immediately booked a train ticket for Brooke and personally escorted her to the station. Only when her figure disappeared into the crowd and the train pulled away did I finally breathe a sigh of relief. This time, things had to be different. Right? I didn’t dare go home that night. I ended up dozing off on a bench in the station waiting room. At 8:00 AM the next morning, my phone rang frantically, jolting me awake. “Maya, Austin is in trouble!”

My mother’s voice felt like a knife stabbing into my brain. I snapped awake and bolted toward the house like a madwoman. When I arrived, the front yard was already packed with people. Our relatives, Chloe’s family, and nosy neighbors—dozens of people were crowding around, whispering and shouting. Some were gossiping in hushed tones, some were crying, and others threw complicated, pitiful looks at me. I pushed my way through the crowd, my heart hammering against my ribs, a loud buzzing in my ears. Inside Austin and Chloe’s bedroom, Brooke was lying in the middle of the bed completely naked, clutching the blanket to her chest as she cried. Austin stood by the side of the bed. He was still wearing the pajamas Chloe had bought him, his face deathly pale. Chloe stood nearby, holding her pregnant belly, her eyes red and swollen. She was clearly still in shock. Seeing me, Austin’s eyes welled with tears, and he rushed over. “Maya! Maya, please explain to them! I didn’t do anything… I swear I was sleeping next to Chloe last night… I don’t even know how this girl got here…” Brooke screamed: “You’re lying! You texted me last night saying Maya left something for me and told me to come get it! When I got here, you… you did this to me! If you don’t believe me, look at this!” She pulled down the blanket to reveal a sharp bite mark on her shoulder. Austin’s voice went hoarse from screaming. “I didn’t do that!” “Then who did?” Brooke looked up, her eyes as red as a rabbit’s. “Could I bite myself on the shoulder?” The crowd erupted into whispers. Some gasped, some pulled out their phones to record, and others started shouting insults. “The poor girl is crying like that, and you’re still lying!” “His fiancée is five months pregnant, and he does this? He’s going to hell!” Chloe’s family looked furious. “You piece of trash!” Chloe’s dad, Mr. Davis, punched Austin in the face, his eyes wild with rage. “This is my daughter’s wedding house! How could you… how could you…” His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed onto the floor. “Dad!” Chloe screamed, grabbing her stomach as large beads of sweat rolled down her face. “My stomach… it hurts so bad…” My parents panicked. My mom held Chloe, crying hysterically. “How did this happen…” My dad tried to help Mr. Davis up, but Chloe’s relatives shoved him away. He crashed into the wooden table, groaning in pain. But he didn’t dare complain. He just kept bowing and apologizing. My dad, who had lived a dignified life, was now bending his spine, wishing he could bury his head in the concrete. Austin’s voice was completely hoarse. His palms were bleeding from clenching his fists so hard as he pleaded: “I really didn’t touch her…” Brooke cried even louder, a look of desperate resolve on her face, acting like a victim with nothing left to lose. “Fine! Since you won’t admit it, call the police! Let them handle it!” “I’ll make sure you rot in jail…” She reached for her phone, and the crowd started murmuring again. “If they call the cops, how many years will he get?” “His life is completely ruined.” “Well, he brought it on himself. It’s sexual assault. Who knew he was such a monster?” The comments kept coming. The light in Austin’s eyes slowly died, replaced by a hollow, lifeless stare. He knew that no matter how much he explained, nobody would believe him. My mom bit her lip until it bled, almost falling to her knees. “Please don’t call the police… please…” My dad seemed to age ten years in an instant. Watching this scene play out, my mind spun. How? I had sent Brooke away. Why was this still happening? Why wouldn’t she leave our family alone? I slowly turned my gaze to Brooke. A flash of triumph crossed her eyes, though she quickly masked it with a look of fake martyrdom. “If you don’t want me to call the police, there is another way. He has to marry me. And I want the same $300,000 wedding gift. My reputation is ruined anyway, who else would marry me now…” “No way!” Austin roared, his eyes bloodshot. “Then I’m calling the cops. You will pay for what you did,” Brooke sobbed. My parents’ shoulders slumped even further. The room fell into a tense, suffocating silence. At that moment, I finally spoke. “Fine. We agree.” Brooke’s face lit up with joy. “You agree to let him marry me?” I shook my head, my voice so calm it made everyone think I had lost my mind. “No. We agree to call the police.” “Maya!” My mom shrieked, looking at me in disbelief. I grabbed her hand, keeping my grip firm and steady. “Mom, trust me.”

Hearing that I wanted to call the police, Brooke’s body trembled. Not out of fear, but excitement. It was as if everything was going exactly according to her plan. In my past life, Brooke did call the police. With the scene, the physical evidence, and the “witnesses” all pointing to Austin, he was arrested on the spot. The lawyer said he was looking at at least twelve years. My parents couldn’t take the shock. Their hair turned white overnight. In the end, they had to beg Brooke for mercy and accept her as their daughter-in-law. Remembering my past life, I clenched my fists so tight my nails cut into my palms, but I couldn’t feel the pain. Ignoring my parents’ begging looks, I called the police. Ten minutes later, two officers arrived. “Move aside. What’s going on here?” The officers pushed through the crowd and entered the room. “Who called?” Before I could speak, Brooke burst into loud, dramatic sobs. “Officer! You have to help me! I was assaulted…” She loosened her grip on the blanket, deliberately showing the bite mark on her shoulder, crying hysterically. If I didn’t have the memories of my past life, even I would have been fooled by her acting. My dad closed his eyes, unable to watch. My mom’s hand was shaking in mine. The officer walked over, examined the bite mark on Brooke’s shoulder, and then looked at Austin. “Do you have anything to say?” Austin’s face was pale, his voice cracked. “I didn’t touch her. I was sleeping with my fiancée last night. She got up to use the restroom in the middle of the night, and when I woke up, this woman was next to me.” “I swear, I didn’t touch her!” Chloe had recovered slightly and spoke up weakly: “He’s telling the truth. I went to the bathroom last night, but when I came back, the bedroom door was locked.” “I didn’t have my phone on me… and I didn’t want to make a scene, so I just slept in the guest room. I had no idea this would happen…” Chloe closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face. The officer frowned. “So, you don’t have an alibi for the rest of the night?” Austin’s face went completely white. The officer turned to the crowd. “Did anyone else see anything?” The crowd exchanged looks. Suddenly, our next-door neighbor, Mr. Miller, spoke up. “Last night… I saw Austin pulling a woman into the yard…” “The girl looked like she was resisting… and she wasn’t pregnant… Now that I think about it… it must have been her.” Mr. Miller pointed at Brooke. “You’re lying!” Austin roared. “I didn’t see anyone last night! I was asleep in my bed! You’re making this up!” “Why would I lie?” Mr. Miller crossed his arms, sounding self-righteous. “It’s not my reputation on the line. Why would I lie to the police?” “Do you think everyone is like you, cheating on their pregnant fiancée? Disgusting!” With that statement, the case seemed clear. The officer looked at Austin with disgust, then turned to Brooke, his tone softening with pity. “What do you want to do, ma’am?” Brooke looked up, her tear-filled eyes looking incredibly fragile. “It’s simple. Everyone saw what happened. My dignity is gone. If Austin doesn’t marry me, I don’t want to live anymore.” “So, either he marries me and I drop the charges, or… I’ll press charges and send him to jail. I’ve never even been married before…” Austin clenched his teeth so hard they nearly shattered. “In your dreams!” My mom dropped to her knees. “Please, spare my son…” Brooke ignored her, continuing to sob quietly. The officer sighed and pulled out his handcuffs. “Alright, Austin. You’re coming with us…” “Wait!” I stepped forward, blocking the police from Austin. “Brooke, let me ask you one more time. Are you absolutely sure my brother assaulted you?” Brooke didn’t understand why I was asking, but she answered with firm conviction: “Of course! I barely even knew Austin before this. If he didn’t force me, why would I risk my own reputation to make this up?” Good. Very good. I smiled, wiping away the tears that had been falling since I entered the room. Pointing at the stuffed bunny on top of the wardrobe, I said loudly: “Everyone! The moment I got back yesterday, I placed a hidden spy camera inside that stuffed bunny.” “Whether Austin brought a woman in last night, or whether he touched Brooke, it was all captured on video!”

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Ten minutes ago, I was joking with my friend about how my wife had been complaining about a sore back lately. I even told him I was going to sign her up for some high-end private training sessions. But the next second, I spotted her white coupe parked outside a private one-on-one fitness studio. Suppressing my rising doubts, I walked up to the front desk and gave her name and phone number. “Could you check if Olivia has an appointment today?” The receptionist looked up, her eyes darting away as she forced a polite, professional smile. “I’m sorry, sir. We cannot disclose client information.” I stood frozen. A chill ran down my spine. Cannot disclose? That meant she was definitely here. Mark stared at the white coupe in confusion. “Wait, didn’t Olivia say she was out of town on a business trip? What is her car doing here?” Exactly. She supposedly flew out last night and said she wouldn’t be back until this evening to celebrate my birthday. I pulled out my phone and dialed her number. No answer. I checked the time: 11:30 AM. “Forget it, let’s just go up,” I said. This high-end private gym was located in the most expensive commercial district in the city. They specialized in one-on-one personal training, physical therapy, and premium athletic conditioning. My lower back had been acting up lately, so Mark had planned to drag me here on my birthday to check out their rehab programs. The elevator doors slid open, and the receptionist greeted us with a polished smile. “Welcome, gentlemen. Do you have an appointment?” “Yes, under Mark—” “No,” I interrupted, gently pulling Mark behind me. “My wife booked it. Olivia Clarkson.” The receptionist hesitated, glancing down at her screen. Then, she looked back up. “I’m sorry, sir. Due to client privacy policies, I can’t confirm any appointment details with you.” My chest tightened.

Mark glanced at me, immediately catching on. A woman who claimed to be out of town suddenly showing up at a high-end private gym? She wasn’t here just to work on her glutes. I took a deep breath and looked at the young woman behind the desk. “Here’s the thing. My wife mentioned she wanted to look into a rehab program for me and told me to come by today to add my name to her family plan.” “My back is really killing me right now. Can I just go sit in the lounge for a bit?” The receptionist’s smile didn’t waver. “I’m sorry, sir. Without an appointment confirmation, we can’t let you into the member area.” I nodded. “I understand. Could you do me a favor and call her to confirm?” “Just tell her James is at the front desk and ask if she could come out and get me.” The receptionist hesitated for a second. “James?” “Yes. My wife’s name is Olivia.” She typed the name into her system, found the file, and picked up the intercom. My heart leaped into my throat. “Hi, Olivia. This is the front desk.” “A gentleman named James is here. He says he’s here to complete the family registration for the program you inquired about.” “Could you come out to receive him?” There was a long pause on the other end. “Who did you say?” The receptionist turned back to me. “Sir, what’s your full name?” “James Clarkson.” “Got it.” She spoke back into the receiver. “A Mr. James Clarkson is at the front desk. Is it convenient for you to come out?” One second. Two seconds. Just when I thought she had hung up, a voice finally came through. “I’ll be right out.” The call ended. The receptionist smiled professionally. “Mr. Clarkson, you can wait in the lounge.” She was indeed here. But right now, I only knew she was at this gym. I had no idea who she was with. The receptionist wouldn’t tell me. Privacy. Isn’t it ironic? The rules protected her privacy while she was with another man, but didn’t give the betrayed spouse a single warning. My phone lit up. It was Olivia calling. I stared at her name on the screen and hit decline. A second later, a text popped up on SnapChat. “James, my company suddenly arranged a quick meeting near here. Why don’t you and Mark look around? I’ll be down in a minute.” “What did she say?” Mark asked. I turned the screen toward him. He read it, a curse escaping his lips. “Are you kidding me? How can she be so shameless?” He stared at me, looking angrier than I was. “But we still don’t know who she’s with.” I looked at the warm, elegant lighting of the studio and the neat rows of brochures. I took a deep breath. “Who said I was going to ask her right now?” “Then what are you—” “We wait for her.”

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On the day my grandmother Nana was in critical condition, Scott accompanied me back to my small hometown. For a second, I thought he had finally decided to put me first. But at the hospital’s billing counter, he left his phone in my hand when he went to use the restroom. The screen lit up. It was a group chat notification from his friends. “Scott, are you seriously at the hospital with Elly right now?” “Aren’t you afraid she’ll find out you only agreed to marry her because Aurora refused to see you?” “What’s there to fear? Elly is so easy to handle. A few sweet words and she’ll believe anything.” “Seriously, though. If Aurora comes back, are you still going to marry Elly?” Scott replied two minutes later: “Stop asking stupid questions. If Aurora comes back, this wedding is off.” I stood in front of the payment window, my hands trembling so hard I couldn’t even insert my credit card into the slot. Catherine walked up just then to drop off some food. She caught a glimpse of the screen and let out a sharp laugh. “Well, Elly. It turns out you’re nothing but a placeholder bride, huh?” “And here you are, telling Nana every day how good he is to you. Hilarious. If Nana heard this, she’d jump right out of her hospital bed.” Late that night, as I sat on the bench outside the ICU, I quietly canceled my bridal photoshoot reservation with Scott. Then, I opened my laptop. I took my pending transfer request to Chicago—the one I had submitted just to be closer to him—and changed it to an application for International Medical Relief.

When Scott returned from the billing department, he held a cup of iced coffee. He popped the straw in and handed it to me, his voice soft and gentle. “Drink something first, Elly. The private nurse is watching Nana.” I stared at the coffee cup but didn’t reach for it. In the past, I would have fallen for this gesture instantly. When he was two hours late for our dates, I would make excuses for him. When he refused to make our relationship public, I would tell myself he was just a private person. Only today did I realize it wasn’t that he didn’t know how to love. He just didn’t love me. Seeing me frozen, Scott reached out to brush my hair back. I stepped half a foot away, leaving his hand hanging in the cold air. Catherine stood nearby, watching the drama unfold with a smug smirk. “Come on, Elly. You’re not seriously going to throw a tantrum over some silly guys’ group chat, are you?” “Guys talk big before marriage. You should be throwing a party that you’re even marrying into the Franklin family.” “Did you honestly expect him to treat you like a worshiped goddess?” My face darkened. “Catherine, Nana is still in there.” Catherine shrugged. “I’m just speaking the truth. So what if he has someone else in his heart? He’s still marrying you in the end, isn’t he?” I looked up, my eyes cold. “Shut up.” Catherine gasped, startled, and then rolled her eyes. “The date is set, invitations are sent out. Who are you putting on this show for?” Scott finally sensed something was off. He looked at me, his brow furrowing. “Elly, did you look at my phone?” I handed the device back to him. “Yes, I did.” Scott put the phone in his pocket. I expected him to get angry at me for invading his privacy. Instead, he avoided my gaze, nervously tapping on his Apple Watch to check the group chat. Sometimes I hated having such perfect eyesight. I saw the new message pop up on his wrist: “Aurora just landed in Chicago. Scott, you going to pick her up?” The next second, he tapped a quick reply on his watch. “Stop texting. Don’t let Aurora see this.” A quiet laugh escaped my lips. So, it didn’t matter what I saw. What mattered was that Aurora didn’t see. Hearing my laugh, Scott looked up, a flash of panic crossing his face. “Elly, they were just joking.” “Were the things you said a joke, too?” Scott fell silent. That silence was louder than any confession. Catherine scoffed from the side. “Elly, that’s enough.” “Nana is holding on just to see you get married. If you call off the wedding now, aren’t you afraid you’ll literally kill her?” Slap! A sharp crack echoed through the quiet hallway. Catherine clutched her burning cheek, staring at me in absolute disbelief. “Elly! Are you out of your mind?” I looked at her, my voice dead calm. “Make one more joke about Nana, and I’ll have security drag you out of this hospital.” Catherine’s eyes welled with tears as she turned to Scott for support. But Scott didn’t say a word to defend her. Ignoring them both, I turned and walked into the ICU. Nana hadn’t woken up yet. The oxygen mask covered her face, her breathing so shallow it felt like it could slip away at any second. I sat by her bedside and took her frail, thin hand. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a notification from the hospital’s HR portal. 【Your application for International Medical Relief has been submitted. It cannot be withdrawn once approved.】 I tapped “Confirm.” On the bed, Nana’s fingers twitched slightly. I leaned down, tucking the blanket around her shoulders, and whispered: “Nana… I think I need to go somewhere far away.” This time, I was done waiting for someone to choose me.

Nana woke up briefly the next morning. The first thing she did was look for Scott. “Where is Scott?” Scott was in the hallway taking a business call, but when he heard the nurse call him, he hung up immediately and rushed in. He leaned down and held Nana’s hand, his tone perfectly warm and attentive. “I’m here, Nana.” Nana offered a weak, tired smile. “Good. Now I can rest easy.” “Elly has always been too soft. She keeps all her pain to herself. You have to protect her for me from now on.” Scott’s eyes reddened. “I will, Nana. I promise.” As he spoke, his Apple Watch lit up again. It was a text from Aurora: 【I’m back in Chicago. I heard you’re out of town… Is it because of her?】 Scott glanced down. That single glance was enough to shatter what little hope I had left. A few seconds later, he tapped a quick reply: 【No. My fiancée’s grandmother is in critical condition. I can’t leave right now.】 I looked down, the sharp scent of antiseptic stinging my throat. Nana didn’t see any of this. She was still smiling, her voice raspy and faint. “My Elly finally has a home…” I squeezed her hand, not daring to make a sound. The doctor called me into his office shortly after, telling me Nana’s organs were failing and that I should prepare for the worst. When I walked out, Scott was standing by the stairwell, on the phone. “Aurora, don’t overthink it. I really can’t leave right now.” I couldn’t hear what she said on the other end. After a brief silence, his voice dropped to a whisper. “We can talk about the wedding details later. You just got back, just focus on resting.” My footsteps paused at the doorway. Scott turned and saw me, his expression tightening. “Elly.” I walked right past him. He chased after me, grabbing my wrist. “Let me explain.” “Explain what?” I turned to look at him. “Explain that you didn’t stay here for me? Or explain why the wedding can be discussed ‘later’?” Scott pressed his lips together. He was rarely cornered by me like this. I used to be so understanding—so eager to please that if he even frowned, I would be the first to apologize. Catherine, returning with breakfast, immediately shoved herself into the conversation. “Elly, Nana is literally dying in there. Can’t you be a little mature? Do you have to pick a fight right now?” I looked at her. “By ‘mature,’ you mean I should just pretend to be blind?” “So what if a guy has an ex in his mind? Isn’t that normal?” She rolled her eyes. “If you actually had what it takes, you’d make him forget her. If you can’t, accept your place and stop playing the victim.” Scott frowned. “Catherine, shut up.” In the afternoon, Aurora actually showed up. Holding a bouquet of fresh lilies, she stood near the nurse’s station, looking so pristine and out of place in this drab hospital. When Scott saw her, he froze. Aurora looked at me first, a polite, faint smile on her face. “Hi, Elly. I heard your grandmother was ill, so I thought I’d stop by and pay my respects.” I turned my gaze to Scott. “You told her?” Aurora quickly spoke up for him. “Don’t misunderstand, Elly. Someone mentioned it in our mutual friend group.” She turned back to Scott. “Scott used to hate hospitals more than anything. I didn’t expect him to stay here overnight for you.” Those words felt like a slap to my face. I was the one who had been sleeplessly guarding Nana. Yet, the moment Aurora arrived, everyone assumed Scott was the one making the grand sacrifice. Scott said quietly, “Aurora, you should leave.” Aurora’s eyelashes fluttered, looking hurt. “Scott… am I bothering you? Should I not have come?” Scott’s tone instantly softened. “No, that’s not what I meant.” I couldn’t stand to watch them anymore. As I turned to walk away, Catherine whispered in my ear: “See that? They actually look like a couple. You’re just a placeholder trying to force your way into a frame you don’t fit in.” I didn’t look back. That night, my phone buzzed with a refund notification from the bridal shop. A moment later, the coordinator sent a follow-up text: 【Hi Elly, sorry to bother you, but are you sure you want to cancel? 】 【Scott originally booked this exact theme for Aurora a couple of years ago before they canceled. We thought he was finally getting to use it.】 I stared at the screen, my heart sinking into a cold, dark abyss. So, even the wedding theme wasn’t chosen for me. I was just filling a slot that Aurora had abandoned.

Nana passed away in the early hours of the third day. Before she went, she had a brief moment of absolute clarity. Only Scott and I were in the room. She weakly reached out, taking my hand and pulling Scott’s hand over to rest on top of mine. “Scott… Elly is a good girl, but she keeps everything inside.” “Please don’t make her carry things alone anymore.” Scott’s eyes filled with tears. “I won’t, Nana. I promise.” Nana then looked at me, her voice barely a whisper. “Elly, don’t be afraid… Even when I’m gone, you have to live a good life.” The tears I had been holding back finally poured down my cheeks. She passed away peacefully. Scott reached out to hug me, but I instinctively pulled away. His arms hung in the air for a second before slowly dropping to his sides. The funeral was arranged in a rush. My parents flew in from out of town. Their first question wasn’t whether Nana suffered at the end. Instead, they dragged me into a corner of the chapel. My mom whispered urgently, “When is the Franklin family wire transferring the wedding fund? Your father’s business is in a really tight spot right now.” I stared at her. “Nana just died.” Her expression soured. “I know you’re grieving, Elly, but the living still have bills to pay.” “Once you marry into the Franklins, our family will finally be secure.” Catherine, scrolling on her phone nearby, let out a chuckle. “Mom, stop pushing her. Elly is too busy throwing a tantrum at Scott right now.” My dad frowned. “The wedding date is set. All our relatives know. Don’t embarrass us at a time like this.” An overwhelming wave of exhaustion washed over me. They weren’t worried about my happiness. They were worried about losing face if I called off the wedding. And, of course, they were terrified of losing their cash cow. At the church, Scott played the part of the perfect, grieving future grandson-in-law, looking even more solemn than my dad. The relatives praised him, whispering about how lucky I was and how Nana had chosen well. On the last day of the funeral services, Aurora showed up again. Scott was stunned when he saw her. “Why are you here?” Aurora said softly, “I wanted to pay my respects to her. Please don’t be mad at me for showing up uninvited, Scott.” The surrounding relatives immediately began to whisper and stare. Catherine leaned in close, mocking me. “Wow, Elly. Even his first love showed up. You sure have a lot of influence as the fiancée.” Aurora walked up to me, her eyes filled with a perfectly practiced look of sympathy. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Elly.” She glanced at Scott. “Scott must be exhausted from these past few days. Try not to make things too hard on him.” I looked at her and suddenly found myself smiling. “Aurora, do you even know whose funeral this is?” She blinked, taken aback. I said, “My grandmother is the one lying in that casket. Not Scott.” Her face went pale. Scott instinctively stepped in front of her. “Elly, Aurora is just trying to be nice.” I turned my eyes to him. “So, her telling me not to make things hard on you is her being ‘nice’?” Scott choked on his words. Aurora’s eyes pooled with tears, looking as though she was the one being bullied. “I really didn’t mean it that way…” I didn’t bother responding. Arguing with them here would only turn Nana’s final send-off into a trashy soap opera. On the drive back to Chicago, Scott insisted on driving me. The silence in the car was suffocating. Finally, he spoke. “We can postpone the wedding. We’ll do it whenever you feel ready.” I stared out the window. “I never said I wanted to do it at all.” The car abruptly screeched to a halt by the curb. Scott’s face was incredibly dark. “Elly, don’t say things you don’t mean just because you’re angry.” “Nana just passed away. I don’t want to fight with you.” “I am completely sober and rational, Scott. Let’s call off the wedding.” He stared at me as if I had lost my mind. “Just because of a group chat?” “It’s not just that.” I looked at him and unbuckled my seatbelt. “Scott, I didn’t just decide to leave you out of the blue.” “I’ve just finally accepted the fact that you never truly wanted me in the first place.” I pushed the car door open and stepped out. He jumped out of the car and grabbed my arm. “Elly! Where do you think you’re going?” I peeled his fingers off my arm, one by one. “Anywhere is better than sitting next to you.” That night, Scott called me over a dozen times. I didn’t answer a single one. Finally, one last text lit up my screen. 【Marriage isn’t a game, Elly. We will talk when you’ve calmed down.】 I stared at it for a long moment before replying with my final text: 【There is nothing left to talk about.】 Then, I put his number on Do Not Disturb.

Even after we got back to Chicago, Scott didn’t cancel the wedding preparations. When his mother, Paula, called me, her voice was cold but wrapped in polite condescension. “Elly, Scott told me you’ve been stressed lately.” “We understand you’re grieving, but a wedding is a family merger. It’s not just about you.” I asked quietly: “If Aurora agreed to marry Scott today, would you still want me to walk through your doors, Paula?” The line went dead silent for a moment before Paula’s voice sharpened. “Elly, watch your mouth.” I laughed softly. “Does the truth hurt that much?” Paula clearly didn’t expect me to talk back. Her polite facade shattered completely. “Do you seriously think Scott can’t find anyone else?” “Let me tell you something. The only reason the Franklin family accepted you is because you were quiet and obedient.” “If you keep acting up like this, you’re the only one who’s going to end up embarrassed.” “Then let’s be embarrassed together.” I hung up. That night, I packed all my documents into a folder. My ID, my medical license, my physical exam reports—everything was ready. My colleague, Cole, walked past my desk and stopped when he saw the paperwork. “Are you really going through with the International Medical Relief deployment?” Cole was an ER attending. He was two years older than me, a man of few words but incredibly steady and reliable. I nodded. “The roster is being finalized.” He frowned slightly. “The conditions out there are much harsher than you think.” “I know. But staying here is worse.” Cole didn’t try to change my mind. Instead, he reached into his white coat, pulled out a box of cold medicine, and placed it on my desk. “Supplies are limited over there. Getting sick is a nightmare. Keep this with you.” I blinked, surprised. “Thank you, Dr. Cole.” He looked at me. “Don’t be so formal.” Once the official deployment list was posted, the hospital arranged for us to leave for pre-deployment training immediately. I didn’t tell a soul. On the morning of my departure, the sky was a dusty gray. As I rolled my suitcase into O’Hare Airport, a text from Scott popped up. 【I rescheduled the bridal shoot. You can choose whatever style you want this time. I’ll listen to you.】 I shut off my screen and didn’t reply. As the plane lifted off, I took one last look at the Chicago skyline below. This city held too many of my humiliations, and the ghost of a man I once thought I’d spend forever with. Now, it was all left beneath the clouds. The day after I left, Scott went to the hospital to find me. His car was parked by the curb, the backseat filled with new bridal catalogs. Sensing my usual delay, he finally lost his patience and called my phone. Still, no answer. Frowning, he walked into the ER lobby and stopped at the front desk. “Hi, could you page Elly from the ER? I’m here to pick her up for a wedding appointment.” The nurse blinked. “Dr. Elly?” “Yes, her.” Scott’s tone was casual, as if speaking of something entirely routine. “She’s throwing a bit of a tantrum and isn’t picking up her phone. Just tell her I’m waiting downstairs.” The nurse’s expression turned incredibly strange. A younger resident doctor nearby looked up at him. “Who are you to Dr. Elly?” Scott’s brow furrowed. “I’m her fiancé.” The resident fell silent for a few seconds before speaking in a low voice. “You don’t know? Dr. Elly is gone.” Scott froze. “What do you mean, gone?” “The International Medical Relief team left yesterday. She was in the first wave of volunteers.” It felt like the air was instantly sucked out of the room. The bridal catalogs in Scott’s hand slipped, clattering loudly onto the polished floor. But he didn’t even notice. After a long pause, his throat tightened, his voice cracking. “What did you just say?”

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Marcus has face blindness. We’ve been married for eight years, yet he can still mistake another woman for his wife when we’re walking through a shopping mall. To help him with his condition, I signed him up for specialized visual training and tried to take him to his therapy sessions. But today, I caught him on TikTok, showering a fashion influencer with expensive virtual gifts. I smiled and asked him casually, “Since when did you start watching this kind of stuff?” Because of his face blindness, he always used to say everyone in short videos looked exactly the same to him. He found it boring. A few years ago, I suggested he download TikTok so we could post vlogs of our married life together. He rejected the idea instantly. He said if his clients saw it, they would laugh at him for being childish. Marcus leaned back against the sofa, guiltily rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It’s nothing. It just popped up on my feed, so I took a look.” After saying that, he lowered his head again, his eyes glued to the screen, feverishly sending more gifts to the female streamer. I clutched his medical files tightly in my hand. I stared at the “No. 1 Fan” badge next to his username on the screen, and then looked at the woman with big, bouncy curls showing off her glamorous outfit. For a moment, I was completely dazed. It wasn’t until that night, while searching through Marcus’s study, that I found a sketchpad. The heavy sketchbook was filled from cover to cover with detailed, exquisite drawings of that same female streamer. Every single page had a note written on it: Scarlett today. Underneath the sketchbook lay nine hundred and ninety-nine movie ticket stubs—all for movies watched with the exact same person. At that moment, the cold truth finally hit me. He didn’t have face blindness at all. He just never bothered to remember my face.

The blood in my veins turned to ice, and a loud buzzing rang in my ears. My hands shook violently as I turned the pages of the sketchbook. Scarlett’s smiles and expressions were captured in those drawings with absolute devotion and care. Marcus’s medical records slipped from my fingers and fell to the floor. Those pages were covered with my messy handwriting, detailing his symptoms, his therapy plans, and daily things he needed to watch out for. I had spent a whole month attending medical seminars and observing him every single day, taking endless notes just so his “face blindness” would get better. But looking at the sketchbook in my hands, I realized how incredibly stupid and pathetic I was. With a shaking hand, I picked up the medical records and tore them into shreds. Guided by my memory, my trembling fingers typed Scarlett’s username into the search bar. Aside from her fashion videos, her account was packed with photos of her and Marcus! In the videos, Marcus happily posed and cooperated with Scarlett. Was this really the same Marcus who told me that taking photos was childish? Scarlett had recently posted a picture showing off matching couple rings on their ring fingers. There were comments from her followers underneath. “Such a handsome couple! Scarlett and her boyfriend are so sweet together!” I remembered last year when I noticed Marcus had stopped wearing his wedding band. I had asked him about it back then. He told me it was uncomfortable to wear while working. My eyes welled with tears as I kept scrolling down. There were over a thousand videos, dating from three years ago to the present day. Marcus’s face appeared in almost every single one of them. So, they had been sleeping together since three years ago! I clicked on one specific video. In it, Scarlett was lying on a hospital bed, her sweet, pampered voice echoing from the phone speaker. “Great news, everyone! Both mommy and baby boy are doing great. Thank you all for your love!” In the video, Marcus was sitting right by her bedside, gently blowing on a cup of warm water before carefully feeding it to Scarlett. “You did amazing, sweetheart. Thank you for your hard work.” When I saw the upload date of that video, my mind went completely blank. That was the exact day of my miscarriage. I had fallen down the stairs that day. I called Marcus, but he brushed me off, saying he was too busy at work and couldn’t leave. He said he would send his assistant. But his assistant never showed up. I was in so much pain I was about to pass out, so I called my grandmother. Because of my panicked call, my grandmother drove in such a rush to get to me that she got into a fatal car crash on the way. Because I was left alone for another half hour, the baby didn’t make it. My uterus was severely damaged, and the doctors told me I could never get pregnant again. For a long time, I blamed myself entirely. I saw myself as a murderer. To try and get pregnant again, I took countless pills and endured so many hormone injections that my stomach was covered in needle marks. I even developed severe depression and thought about ending my life. Back then, Marcus had fallen to his knees before me, his eyes red. “It’s okay if we don’t have kids, Hathaway. I only care about your health.” But the truth was, he already had a family waiting for him outside! I bit my lip so hard the skin broke, filling my mouth with the metallic taste of blood. With trembling fingers, I dialed my best friend Juliet’s number. “Marcus is cheating on me. How can I get a divorce in the shortest time possible?” Just as I hung up, the phone on the desk vibrated. A text from Marcus popped up: “I have to work late at the office tonight. I won’t be coming home. Don’t wait up for me.”

A wave of overwhelming rage and betrayal washed over me. I pulled up his real-time location on my phone. Because of Marcus’s supposed face blindness, I had installed a GPS tracker on his phone, terrified he would get lost. The Uber sped down the road, getting closer and closer to the pinpoint on the map. My nails dug so deep into my palms that they bled. I stared at the screen, putting myself through torture, yet a small, pathetic part of me still hoped this was all a giant mistake. Until the Uber pulled up near the amusement park downtown. Amidst the crowded streets, I spotted Marcus instantly. He wasn’t at the office. He was holding a glowing wand in his right hand, while his left hand was wrapped tightly around Scarlett’s slender wrist. His face wore a look of pure adoration I had never seen before. “Marcus, I want to go to the movies later,” Scarlett whined, tugging at his arm like a spoiled teenager. “Today is your birthday, babe. I’ll give you whatever you want,” Marcus smiled, tapping her nose playfully. He pinched her youthful, collagen-filled cheek and kissed her deeply. “You’re a mother now, and you still act like a little girl.” Behind them, fireworks exploded in the night sky. I stared at them, my tears finally spilling over. Today was also my twenty-fifth birthday. This morning, I had asked Marcus if we could go watch a movie together after his therapy session. Marcus had merely given me a cold, dismissive glance. He said, “You’re twenty-five, Hathaway, not fifteen. Can you stop being so childish? I’m too busy with work for that.” In our eight years of marriage, he had only taken me to the movies once, and that was after I begged him for weeks. Every time I wanted him to spend time with me, he always used the “busy with work” excuse. But then I thought of those nine hundred and ninety-nine movie tickets in his drawer. No matter the weather, no matter how busy he was, he always had time for Scarlett. Watching them kiss under the fireworks, I felt my heart being ripped to pieces. I thought of my unborn baby, who had been discarded like trash before even having a chance to live. I couldn’t take it anymore. I pushed the car door open and charged toward them. I wanted to scream at Marcus and demand to know why! For all these years, I had been his perfect little housewife, cooking, cleaning, and taking care of his demanding parents. Why did he do this to me? But before I could reach them, a loud fire alarm echoed through the entire park. Someone screamed, “Fire! There’s a fire!” The amusement park was surrounded by dense woods, and the dry brush ignited instantly. The flames spread rapidly, heading right toward my direction. The moment I saw the roaring fire, the dark memories of my childhood broke through my mind, suffocating me. I gasped for air, my knees buckling. I tried to turn around and run, but the panicked crowd shoved me to the ground. My ankle twisted with a sickening pop, and the sharp pain kept me from standing up. The fire grew larger, thick black smoke filling the air. People were screaming and running in all directions. I choked on the smoke, coughing violently. Through my tear-filled eyes, I saw Marcus running desperately in my direction. I coughed up tears, thinking he had finally spotted me. I reached my hand out to him in desperation. “Marcus… help me…” But he didn’t even look at me. He ran straight past me, as if I were a complete stranger, and grabbed Scarlett, who was right behind me, pulling her tightly into his arms. “Scarlett, don’t be afraid. I’m here.” Scarlett clung to his chest, sobbing loudly. “You scared me to death! I was so worried your face blindness would make you mistake someone else for me…” Marcus held her as if she were his entire world. “Silly girl. I could fail to recognize anyone else, but never you. Your face is carved into my heart. How could I ever forget?” He lifted her up, and the two of them ran out of the park, leaving me behind. Memories of our teenage years flashed before my eyes. When my stepmother had locked me in a burning shed, trying to cremate me alive, it was Marcus who had kicked the door open and pulled me out of the flames. He had put ointment on my burns and sworn to protect me forever, promising he would never let me be scared again. Ten years of knowing each other, eight years of marriage, and in the end, he left me to burn while carrying another woman. The fire crept closer. I stared at Marcus’s disappearing back, choking on the thick smoke until darkness finally claimed me.

When I opened my eyes again, I was staring at the sterile white ceiling of a hospital. An IV was hooked to the back of my hand, and my left arm was wrapped in heavy bandages. Beneath the gauze, the pain told me my skin had been badly burned. The door burst open, and Marcus rushed in, sweat dripping from his forehead. “Hathaway! The doctor called and said you were hospitalized for burns. Didn’t I tell you to stay your ass at home?” As he spoke, he rushed to the bed next to mine, grabbing the hand of the woman lying there with deep concern. “Who the hell are you? Why are you touching my wife’s hand?!” the woman’s husband snapped, shoving Marcus away. The nurse nearby gave Marcus a pitying look, sighed, and pointed at me. “Hathaway is in Bed 48.” Marcus froze. He turned around and stared at me for a long time before he finally recognized me. He scratched his head awkwardly and walked over to take my hand. “Hathaway…” The strong scent of Scarlett’s perfume on his clothes hit my nose. I stared at him in dead silence. There was a bright red lipstick stain on his neck. Looking at his face—the face of the man I had lived with for eight years, the same face that had abandoned me in a burning park to save another woman—I felt nothing but disgust. I looked at my bandaged, ruined arm. I let out a cold, self-deprecating laugh and slapped his hand away. “Marcus, tell me, how does it feel to keep a mistress on the side?” The moment those words left my mouth, every eye in the ward locked onto Marcus. His face flushed red with embarrassment, his eyes darting around guiltily. He lowered his voice and hissed at me. “Hathaway, are you out of your mind?!” “Just because I couldn’t spend your birthday with you due to work, you’re making this giant scene? Is this really necessary?!” Looking at his angry, defensive face, I felt sick. I unlocked my phone and shoved the pictures I took at the amusement park right in front of his face. Marcus took one look at the screen, and his voice died in his throat. “Hathaway, I…” He looked around nervously. I sneered. “What else do you want to say?” The other patients and their families started whispering, leaning in to get a glimpse of the photos. Marcus’s face turned pale. He snatched the phone from my hand and grabbed my arm, violently dragging me out of the bed. “There are too many people here. We’re talking outside!” “Why? Are you actually ashamed of the disgusting things you did?!” I screamed, struggling against his grip. Marcus yanked me out into the hallway. The IV needle was ripped violently out of my vein, and blood began to gush down my arm, but he didn’t even notice. Once we reached an empty corner of the hallway, he threw my hand down. “Hathaway, have you had enough?!” “Scarlett is a public figure! Why the hell are you taking photos of her? What are you trying to do, ruin her?!” “If you have a problem, take it out on me!” He was absolutely furious. I realized then that he hadn’t dragged me out here to apologize or explain. He was just terrified that his precious Scarlett would get hurt. Marcus’s chest heaved. It wasn’t until he noticed the pool of blood dripping down my hand that he paused. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and grabbed my shoulders. “Hathaway, just calm down and listen to me. It was an accident.” “We both got wasted at a bar that night. Scarlett was a virgin. How could I just walk away and not take responsibility for her?!” My heart felt like it was being sliced into pieces by a thousand knives. I had been with him since I was eighteen. He had face blindness, and he had mistaken other women for me countless times, but I had never blamed him. Even that one time we were held up by thugs, and Marcus rescued the wrong girl because of his condition, leaving me behind. I was stabbed and nearly died, leaving a permanent scar on my chest. Even then, I never blamed him. Because I believed he didn’t mean to do it. Eighteen years. For eighteen years, he couldn’t remember my face. Yet, it only took him three years to memorize Scarlett’s. When he decided to “take responsibility” for Scarlett, did he ever think of me, sitting at home keeping the dinner warm, waiting for him? Marcus looked at me, speaking with a straight face. “Don’t worry. I know the difference between having fun outside and loving you. As long as you don’t make a scene, you will always be Mrs. Marcus.” My body trembled as I stared at the man standing in front of me, dressed in his expensive suit. I couldn’t believe this shameless cheater was the same man who used to tear up whenever I got a tiny scratch. Suddenly, the phone in his pocket vibrated. I saw the caller ID on the screen: My Precious Scarlett. In all our years together, my contact name on his phone had only ever been my first and last name. Scarlett’s sobbing voice came through the speaker. “Marcus… our baby has a high fever. We need to take him to the ER. Please come home quickly…” Marcus’s face instantly filled with panic. He gave me a hurried, dismissive glance. “Alright, let’s just let this go. Take care of yourself, and I’ll come back to see you later.” With that, he turned on his heel and rushed out of the hospital without looking back once. Watching his retreating figure, all the strength drained from my body. I collapsed onto the cold floor, pulling my knees to my chest, and cried my eyes out. Until a pair of expensive, blood-red high heels appeared in front of my eyes. Scarlett stood there, holding a baby, looking down at me with pure disdain. “You’re Hathaway, right? We need to talk.” Sensing her hostile intentions, I secretly dialed Juliet’s number and kept the line open. “If anything goes wrong, call the cops immediately,” I texted her quickly.

Scarlett dragged me down to the cafe on the first floor of the hospital and got straight to the point. “Actually, Marcus and I got married eight years ago.” She smiled triumphantly, kissing the baby in her arms, and pushed two marriage certificates across the table. My eyes widened in disbelief as I flipped open the documents. The registration date on them was March 16th, eight years ago. While Marcus and I had “gotten married” in April of that same year. Marcus had lied to me. Not only had they been together for eight years, but my marriage certificate was a fake! Looking at my devastated state, Scarlett burst into a mocking laugh. “When you had that miscarriage, I was the one who lured Marcus away on purpose.” “And your grandmother? I was the one who made sure she was taken care of.” She chuckled, her smile becoming downright wicked. “That old woman was so useless. She got so scared that she drove her car straight into a semi-truck. You can’t blame me for that, can you?” She stood up, looking down at me. “So, you’re the actual homewrecker here. Your mother couldn’t hold onto her man, and her daughter is just as pathetic!” I glared at her, every cell in my body screaming for blood. My grandmother’s last phone call flashed through my mind. She had gasped for breath, telling me to take care of myself, apologizing that she was too weak to protect me. My sanity snapped. I lunged forward and grabbed Scarlett’s neck. “You bitch! Why did you do that?!” But the harder I choked her, the more excited Scarlett seemed to get. She grinned at me as the baby in her arms began to scream. The next second, a powerful kick slammed into my stomach. “You psycho! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” I was knocked backward, my forehead slamming against the sharp edge of the table. Warm blood gushed down my face. The pain was so intense I gasped, my face turning deathly pale. Marcus stood there, glaring at me with murderous rage. Scarlett sobbed, shrinking into his chest. “Marcus… I just wanted to beg Hathaway to give us a place to live. But she said I ruined her family and tried to kill me…” The fire in Marcus’s eyes burned even hotter. I tried to explain through the pain. “No… my grandmother… she killed—” “Enough!” Marcus roared, cutting me off. “You are evil, Hathaway! Scarlett is holding a baby! How dare you attack her?!” He picked Scarlett up in a bridal carry and turned to leave, giving me a cold, disgusted look. “Hathaway, I told you to behave, but you just wouldn’t listen.” “If I don’t teach you a lesson, you’ll never learn!” After they left, I dragged my numb body up, intending to go back to the ER to get my head stitched. But my phone suddenly went crazy, vibrating with endless calls and texts, many of them cursing me to die. Panicked, I opened my social media. The trending hashtag on Twitter made my heart stop. #Hathaway The Homewrecker Attempted Murder# Scarlett had posted a video on her TikTok account. In the video, she tearfully accused me of being a homewrecker who stole her husband and tried to kill her and her baby because Marcus wanted a divorce. The comment section was filled with venomous abuse, and some people had even leaked my mother’s phone number. My mother called me, her voice gasping for air. “Hathaway… how could you do something so shameful? Are you trying to kill me?!” My father had cheated on her, so my mother hated mistresses more than anything in the world. Over the phone, I could hear her having a panic attack. “Mom! No, listen to me—” Before I could finish, the people in the cafe suddenly surrounded me, shouting slurs and kicking me to the floor. Outside the glass window, Scarlett was cradling her baby in Marcus’s arms, watching the scene with a smug grin. Marcus looked away, seemingly unable to watch, and sent me one final text. “You made Scarlett angry. This is your punishment. Just bear with it, and once this blows over, we’ll go back to how we were.” But when he saw my face covered in blood, he finally made a move to come inside and stop them. Suddenly, a loud police siren wailed outside. A squad of police officers burst into the cafe. “Freeze! Nobody move!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “432639”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

When the earthquake hit, I quickly dragged Chloe out through the back door of the motel. By the time we made it to the front street, covered in dust, we saw Mom and Dad kneeling in front of the half-collapsed building, crying hysterically. Just as we were about to run over, a firefighter turned around and yelled: “There are two girls trapped under here, but we can only pull one out first!” Without a second of hesitation, Mom screamed back: “Save the older one first! Please, save Chloe first!” Dad held Mom’s shoulders tightly, his voice trembling but firm: “Yes, save Chloe first! She’s always been weak, she can’t hold on much longer!” Hearing that, my hand, which was halfway raised to call out to them, froze in mid-air. Chloe pushed past me and ran toward them, shouting: “Mom! I’m here! I’m okay!” Mom looked up, her eyes lighting up instantly. She threw her arms around Chloe, sobbing. “My sweet girl! I thought I’d lost you forever!” Dad’s eyes were red, too. He rubbed his hands together anxiously, looking Chloe over. “Are you hurt anywhere? Does it hurt? Let me carry you to the doctor!” From beginning to end, not a single person looked back at me. I stood right behind them, barefoot, covered in blood, looking like a total mess. Finally, a paramedic noticed me and walked over. “Where’s your family, sweetie?” I looked at the three of them, huddled together and crying, and smiled faintly. “I don’t have any family. I came here alone.”

“Doctor, please check my daughter! She just scraped her arm on some falling debris!” In the medical tent, Mom’s frantic voice drowned out the groans of the other injured people around us. She held Chloe’s wrist tightly, pushing her toward the triage desk. Chloe was wearing a clean windbreaker. Aside from a bit of dust on her hem, she only had a tiny red scratch, less than an inch long, on her left forearm. It wasn’t even bleeding. The ER doctor looked up, his face exhausted. “Ma’am, you can just grab an antiseptic wipe from the station next door. Please clear the space for the severely injured.” “How can you say that?” Dad squeezed in from behind, looking furious. “Do you know how fast bacteria mutate these days? What if she gets tetanus?” “Chloe has always had a weak immune system. You can’t just brush us off like this.” Chloe shrank behind Dad, pulling gently on his sleeve. “Dad, I’m really fine. I just brushed against the door frame when I ran out.” “You were still traumatized, sweetie,” Mom said, stroking Chloe’s hair lovingly. She pulled an unopened bottle of Fiji water from her bag and handed it to her. “Here, drink some water to calm your nerves. When I saw that building collapse, my heart almost stopped.” I sat on a plastic stool less than two yards away from them. Blood was dripping from the bottom of my right foot. When we ran out, I was in such a hurry that I lost one of my sneakers. Stepping on shattered glass and sharp rocks, a deep, jagged gash had been ripped open across my entire right sole. The flesh was torn open, caked with dirt and gravel. A young nurse walked over to me with a trauma kit and gasped. “Sweetheart, this needs stitches. Is your family here? Someone needs to hold your leg down. It’s going to hurt without local anesthesia.” I looked down at the metal basin of saline water, which was quickly turning red with my blood. “No need,” I said quietly. “I can hold myself down.” The nurse hesitated, looking over at the three people fussing over Chloe just a few feet away. “Aren’t those your parents? You look just like them.” “No,” I said, lifting my right leg onto the sterile stand. “Please just stitch it up quickly. I’m in a hurry.” The nurse didn’t ask any more questions. She tore open the gauze and began cleaning the wound. A sharp, blinding pain shot straight to my brain. I bit my lower lip, refusing to make a sound. This wasn’t the first time. When I was eight, a massive blizzard hit our town overnight. Chloe and I both came down with a high fever at the same time. Our family only had one old truck back then, and the engine wouldn’t start. Dad spent forever trying to get it running in the freezing snow. Mom wrapped Chloe in layers of heavy blankets, carried her to the front seat, and then turned to me. “Nora, be a good girl. Just stay under the covers and sweat it out. You’ll be fine.” “Chloe is too fragile. If her fever stays this high, she’ll get pneumonia. We have to take her to the hospital first.” That night, I lay alone in a freezing room until dawn. By the time they returned the next morning with Chloe, whose fever had broken, I had already lost consciousness. I ended up on an IV drip in the hospital for a whole week. Instead of feeling sorry, they blamed me for kicking off my blankets at night, calling me a difficult child who always caused trouble. It was no different now. The nurse’s needle pierced my skin, pulling five stitches through the flesh. Sweat poured down my forehead. I grabbed a paper towel and wiped it away. By the time I hopped on one foot to the pharmacy counter to get my antibiotics and limped back, the three of them were already walking out of the tent. Dad was carefully guiding Chloe by her shoulder. Mom was holding a cotton swab, still gently dabbing ointment on a scratch that had already disappeared. I limped behind them, keeping a distance of about fifteen yards. “There’s a shuttle bus for evacuees up ahead. We’ll head back to the city and check into a hotel first,” Dad said, pointing toward the intersection. Chloe nodded. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she stopped and turned around. “Wait, where’s Nora? Everything was so chaotic, I didn’t see where she went.” Mom followed her gaze and turned around. She finally saw me standing under the streetlamp, barefoot on one side, with my jeans soaked in blood. Her brow furrowed instantly. “Nora! Where on earth have you been idling around?” “Everyone is trying to evacuate, and you’re running off causing trouble! You even managed to lose a shoe!” Dad looked equally annoyed, walking over to tower over me. “Chloe is already shaken up. She doesn’t need you making her worry.” “Hurry up and get in line. Stop wasting everyone’s time.”

There was a long line in front of the shuttle bus. With so many people evacuating the disaster zone, the bus was packed in no time. When it was our turn, the driver blocked the door. “Only three seats left. The last person to board will have to stand.” Dad turned to look at a tired Chloe. “Chloe just went through a shock. She needs to sit down and rest.” Mom immediately chimed in, her tone matter-of-fact. “I get motion sickness easily, so I need a seat too. And David, your back has been acting up. You can’t stand for a three-hour drive on these mountain roads.” Instinctively, all three of them turned their eyes to me. I looked down at my right foot, which was wrapped in thick, white gauze. “Nora,” Mom said, softening her voice with her usual coaxing tone. “You’re young and healthy. Standing for a bit is nothing. Chloe was terrified today. Just let her have this, okay?” Dad urged from behind, “Get on the bus, Nora. People are waiting behind us. Don’t hold up the line.” Chloe tugged at my sleeve, looking apologetic. “Nora, why don’t you take the seat? I think I can manage.” Mom immediately pulled her back. “Manage what? You’re so fragile. If you stand for three hours, you’ll end up sick again.” “Nora has always been tough. She’ll be fine standing.” I looked at them, but didn’t say a single word. Gripping the handrail, I dragged my right foot—the one with five fresh stitches—onto the bus. I walked all the way to the aisle of the very back row and grabbed the overhead strap. The bus started. The mountain roads were winding and rough, causing the bus to sway violently. I had to shift all my weight onto my left leg, keeping my right foot slightly off the floor. But the rough motion kept bringing my injured foot into contact with the rubber floor. Every bump sent a sickening wave of pain straight up my leg. Through the reflection in the window glass, I could see the front rows. Mom was peeling a snack for Chloe, feeding her. Dad took off his jacket and gently draped it over Chloe’s lap. They were talking in soft, comforting whispers, soothing her. Not once did anyone turn around to check on me. No one even asked where the blood on my jeans had come from. During my junior year of high school, I won first place in the National Physics Olympiad. The award ceremony was held in the state capital, and parents were required to attend. I had placed the invitation on the living room table two weeks in advance. Mom had smiled and promised me back then: “Of course we’ll go. We’ll even buy you some new clothes as a reward.” But on the morning of the ceremony, Chloe complained of a mild headache. It was just a slight cold. Yet, Mom panicked instantly. She grabbed the thermometer and called Dad to take the day off. I stood in the living room, my backpack on, watching them run around in circles. “Mom, we need to leave. Our train departs in forty minutes,” I reminded her. Mom poured hot water for Chloe, not even turning her head. “Nora, Chloe is sick and needs us. You’ll have to go by yourself.” “But the advisor said a parent has to sign the registry.” “Just explain it to your advisor. Tell them there’s a family emergency. You’ve always been independent, Nora. You can handle this little thing on your own.” That day, I was the only student on the stage without a parent in the audience. Holding my trophy, the flashing lights from the cameras felt blinding and cold. When I got home, they were huddled around the TV, watching a comedy with Chloe. Their laughter spilled out through the cracks of the door, sounding incredibly loud. Suddenly, the bus slammed on its brakes. I lost my balance, and my right foot crashed heavily onto the floor. The stitches tore instantly. The blinding pain made my vision go black. I leaned heavily against the back of a seat, taking deep breaths for a long time before I could stand straight again. My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out with one hand. It was an email from a university abroad. Dear Nora Vance, We are pleased to inform you that your exchange student application has passed the preliminary review. Please log into the portal within three days to confirm your final decision. Once confirmed, we will mail your visa documents and official acceptance package. I stared at the text in silence. Three months ago, I had secretly submitted this application. A full scholarship, with a two-year exchange program at the London School of Economics. It was my ticket to completely escape this place. In the front row, Chloe seemed to hear the commotion and turned around. “Nora, are you okay? That brake was so sudden.” Mom’s voice quickly followed. “She’s fine. She just needs to hold on tight.” “Chloe, stop turning around. It’ll make your motion sickness worse. Just close your eyes and sleep.” I tapped my screen, turning it off, and slipped the phone back into my pocket. “I’m fine,” I said, offering Chloe a small smile. “Go to sleep. Don’t worry about me.”

The bus dropped us off in front of a high-end restaurant downtown. Dad had booked a private room in advance, claiming they needed a fancy dinner to wash away the “bad luck” of the earthquake. I dragged my bleeding foot, slowly walking at the very back of the group. Several relatives were already waiting in the private room. Having heard about our narrow escape, they had rushed over to see us. “Oh, Chloe! Look how pale you are, you poor thing!” Aunt Beatrice gasped the moment she saw Chloe, pulling her into a tight hug. “I know,” Mom sighed, sitting down next to Chloe. “This child has never experienced anything so terrifying. When that building collapsed, I thought I was going to lose my mind.” “Thank God she’s safe. Chloe is truly blessed.” The relatives chimed in, praising Mom and Dad for being such dedicated parents. The room went quiet for a second when I pushed the door open and walked in. “Oh, Nora is back safely too,” Uncle Frank said dryly, his eyes falling on my jeans. “What happened to your leg? Why is there so much blood?” Dad was busy looking at the menu and didn’t even look up. “She probably just tripped. She never looks where she’s going anyway. Don’t worry about her, let’s order.” I sat down at the empty seat at the very edge of the table. The waiters started serving the food, and every single dish was seafood. Lobster, raw oysters, garlic shrimp. I didn’t eat shellfish. When I was twelve, I ended up in the ER with severe anaphylactic shock because Mom forced me to eat shrimp. Since then, I stayed far away from all shellfish. But in this family, that detail didn’t matter. Because Chloe loved seafood. “I can’t eat this,” I said, putting down my fork. Dad slammed his glass onto the table, his face turning dark. “Nora, what is your problem now?” “Today is a celebration for Chloe’s safe return. Everyone is happy, and you have to ruin the mood with that miserable face?” “We let you slide at home, but in front of your aunts and uncles, do you have no manners at all?” The atmosphere in the room froze instantly. The relatives exchanged glances, trying to defuse the tension. “David, come on. The girl just survived an earthquake, she’s probably still scared.” “Yeah, Nora is just quiet. Don’t get mad at her.” I sat quietly in my chair, listening to their labels. Quiet. Stubborn. Difficult. These were the labels I could never shake off at this table, or in this family. My phone vibrated in my pocket again. I pulled it out. It was an automated reminder from the university system, letting me know I had forty-eight hours left to confirm my enrollment. I opened the browser and typed in my credentials. Do you accept the offer for this exchange program? Once confirmed, this action cannot be undone. A dialogue box popped up in the center of the screen. I looked at the two options, my thumb hovering over the screen. “Nora,” Mom’s voice broke my thoughts. She pulled a debit card from her purse and slid it across the table. “This earthquake was a wake-up call. Your dad and I decided to sign Chloe up for some trauma therapy sessions once we get home.” “The sessions are quite expensive, so you won’t be going to your prep courses next month. Your grades are stable anyway; you can just study on your own.” She spoke casually, as if delivering a completely insignificant piece of news. “Take this card tomorrow and withdraw some cash. Oh, and stop by the mall to buy Chloe some new outfits. Hers got ruined in the debris.” I looked up from my phone screen to the debit card. This was my worth to them. Whenever they needed to weigh their options, I was always the one to be discarded, sacrificed, and treated as a tool. I took a quiet breath. My thumb pressed down firmly on Confirm. Enrollment confirmed. Thank you for your response. The green text flashed on the screen and then vanished. I locked my phone and slid it back into my pocket. “Okay,” I said, picking up the card and putting it in my other pocket. “I’ll go tomorrow.” Seeing how quickly I agreed, Mom’s expression softened a bit. “Make sure to box up the leftovers after dinner. Don’t let them go to waste.”

By the third day after we returned home, the living room was filled with shopping bags. They were all the new clothes and premium vitamins I had bought for Chloe the day before, just as Mom had ordered. Chloe sat on the sofa, unboxing them one by one. “This beige trench coat is gorgeous! I’ve wanted this forever,” she said, holding it up against herself with a bright smile. “As long as you like it, sweetie. You can wear it when you head back to school,” Mom said warmly, bringing over a plate of sliced fruit. I stood in the hallway leading to the balcony, holding a broom. Though my right foot still throbbed with a dull pain, I could finally walk slowly. According to the rules of this house, as long as I could move, the chores were my responsibility. “Nora, remember to water the plants on the balcony. Don’t forget,” Mom called out, not even looking back. I didn’t answer. I just quietly swept up the dust on the floor. Tomorrow was Monday. Chloe had been granted a week off from her college classes because her therapist recommended she rest. But as for me, I had already bought a one-way ticket to London for tomorrow afternoon. The express package containing my visa and documents had arrived yesterday. While they were all watching TV in the living room, I packed the documents into the deepest pocket of my backpack. I didn’t have many belongings. A few changes of clothes, some essential textbooks, and a three-year-old laptop. A single carry-on suitcase was enough to fit my entire past. After dinner, Dad came out of his study holding three concert tickets. “There’s a symphony concert at the civic center tomorrow night. The guest conductor is Chloe’s favorite.” “I managed to get three front-row tickets. Let’s go as a family and unwind.” Chloe jumped up in excitement. “Really? Oh my gosh, thank you, Dad!” She wrapped her arms around his, beaming like a little girl. Mom smiled warmly. “Perfect. Chloe can wear her new trench coat. She’ll look beautiful.” From start to finish, they never mentioned why there were only “three tickets.” Perhaps, in their minds, I was never meant to be included in events that required spending money or creating happy family memories. “Nora,” Dad finally seemed to remember I was in the room and turned to me. “We won’t be home for dinner tomorrow. Just make yourself some instant noodles.” “Also, remember to hang up the laundry in the dryer. And your sister’s cashmere sweater can’t go in the machine. Wash it by hand.” I stood by the kitchen door, looking at the sink piled high with dishes. “Okay,” I said, my voice incredibly calm. “I will.” The next afternoon, the weather was beautiful. Mom and Dad left early with Chloe. They said they were going to get Chloe’s hair done downtown before heading out for a nice dinner. The front door clicked shut, and the house fell into absolute silence. I took my time washing the last dish and dried my hands. Then, I walked back to my room and pulled out my old black suitcase. There wasn’t much of mine in this room anyway. I didn’t take anything they had bought for me, including the old, lagging phone. After performing a factory reset on it, I placed it right in the center of my desk. Next to it, I laid my spare house key. I took one last look at the room I had lived in for years. There was no attachment, no sadness. Only a profound sense of relief, like a heavy weight had finally been lifted from my shoulders. I wheeled my suitcase to the entryway and put on a pair of sneakers I had bought with my own savings. No note. No goodbye texts. I pushed the door open and stepped into the bright, warm afternoon sun. At 3:00 PM, I boarded the plane. I pulled out a cheap burner phone and inserted a new SIM card I had registered the day before. My old phone number had been permanently deactivated. Every contact associated with the Vance family was left on that old phone on my desk, wiped clean. I closed my eyes and leaned back against the seat. “Excuse me, miss, please fasten your seatbelt. We are preparing for takeoff,” the flight attendant said softly. I opened my eyes and smiled at her. “Thank you. I will.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “432638”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I’d just taken a bullet for my husband. Before I could even hit the ground, my adopted sister Sienna rammed her Ferrari into me at sixty miles per hour. Blood filled my mouth. Through the haze, I heard the doctor: “Her baby’s dead. Her uterus… ovaries… shredded and need to be removed.” “Elena, hold on! Please!” My mom was sobbing, but then she was whispering excitedly:”Elena’s a perfect match. Finally, we can give Sienna her heart transplant. Finally!” My husband Julian’s voice followed, calm now. “I’ll sign the consent forms. Sienna needs a strong heart to live her fast life. ” I couldn’t believe my ears. It was the very man I’d taken a bullet for. Seconds ago, he was roaring at the doctors: “Save my wife! I don’t give a damn about an heir!” Now, he was donated my heart without blinking. And my brother and dad? They were already discussing how to dump the accident footage into the Hudson. “Sienna is still young. We can’t let her go to prison, and we certainly can’t let her live as a criminal.” “Yes, Sienna is innocent. It’s Elena’s own fault for not being careful.” Something inside me went still. And just then, a cold, flat voice rang in my head— [Host. Mission ‘Sacrificial Lamb’ complete. Heartbreak Value: 100%. Return to real world?] I laughed, a bloody, wheezing sound. Their fake love? Their “protection”? They could keep it. I was done. … I tried to roll off the gurney. I wanted to smash my head against the floor, to die on my own terms before they could strip me for parts. But the nurses pinned me down like a stray dog in a kill shelter. They shoved the intubation tube down my throat, and a massive hit of propofol flooded my veins. Right before the world went black, the OR doors swung open. Sienna, the brat who’d just mowed me down in her red Ferrari, was being wheeled in on the next table. Isabella—my mother—was already holding the scalpel. She didn’t even look at me as she gave the order. “Forget the internal bleeding in Elana’s uterus. We don’t have time. Open her chest. Get that heart out and prep Sienna for the transplant.” I felt the cold bite of the steel sliding through my skin. I felt my ribs being pried apart. The last thing I heard before the darkness took me was Isabella whispering to the girl who’d tried to kill me. “Just a little longer, princess. When you wake up, you’ll be able to run as far as you want.” … When I finally opened my eyes again, I was back in a private suite at the Moretti clinic. No one was there. Dead silence. Of course it was. I let out a bitter sigh, the I asked, “System. I want to confirm the terms. ” “If this body dies, I’ll be back home, right? My heart will be fixed, and that hundred-mil bonus will hit my account?” [Confirmed, Host.] [Once you leave, you will be completely severed from this world. No return. No recall.] “Good.” The word hung in the air, barely a whisper. I let it settle. This was what I wanted… Say goodbye to the Moretti family. To Julian. To the life. I pulled the oxygen tube out without a second thought. And suddenly—nothing. No air. Just… collapsing. My throat squeezed shut like a fist, tighter, tighter, until I felt it—my own body turning against me, crushing me from the inside. And then, through the suffocation, something else broke through—memories I’d buried long ago, clawing their way up through the fading light. I remembered the day my parents and my big brother Dominic came for me, pulling me out of that dingy apartment. I could still feel the warmth of Dominic’s hand in mine—how he squeezed it. “Elena, we finally found you. From today on, you’re back to being the Moretti family’s little princess, and we’ll protect you forever. Nobody in this city touches you. Not ever.” The words blurred, faded—and in their place, another voice rose. “Elena, I’ll give you all of me—my heart, my future, everything I am and everything I’ll ever be. I don’t want to be anyone else’s—only yours.” Julian—the heir to this city’s biggest criminal throne—down on one knee in the rain, telling me I was the only light in his dark, blood-soaked world. Such pretty words. I’d been fool enough to believe once—grateful the mission failed, thinking I’d found a perfect family, a loyal husband, a loving home. All lies. Every bit of it. There was almost no air left in my lungs. They felt like they were collapsing into a vacuum—empty, shrinking, giving up. But I was smiling. Just let go. Let it end. I didn’t want to spend another second looking at all this fake love. The heart monitor flatlined, and the alarm shrieked like a banshee. My mom came charging in with a team of residents. “Elena! Damm it, what are you doing!”

Then she started pumping my chest, shocking me. I could feel her hands pressing down on my ribs, hear her ragged breath above me, feel the sweat dripping from her face onto my skin. Almost like she actually cared. Then, air was back into my lungs. I was shivering and alive again. And there was screaming. Her screaming. “Are you insane? Are you seriously that pathetic? You’d really throw your whole life away for a womb that doesn’t even work?” I stared at her, the pain in my chest was tearing through. “Is that all I lost, Mom?” I rasped. “Just my womb?” The room went tomb-quiet. Then the door exploded open— Julian burst in and dropped to his knees by the bed—then slapped himself, hard, across the face. “I’m sorry, El. It’s my fault. I didn’t protect you when that car came out of nowhere… you were hurt so bad, your heart just… it couldn’t take the trauma.” He was crying now, crawling to the edge of the bed to grab my hand. “The driver is gone. I handled it. I promise, I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you. Your mom is the best doctor in the world. She’ll fix you.” My father leaned in, stroking my hair like I was some prized poodle. “He’s right, baby. Dominic is already working on a new treatment just for you. You’re still our princess. You’re a Moretti.” I looked at this pack of Oscar-winning liars and felt a chill settle into my marrow. In just two sentences, they’d turned Sienna’s attempted murder and their organ theft into a tragic accident. I let out a sharp, dry laugh. “Where’s Sienna? I saw her face behind the wheel. I want to ask her why she did it.” A beat of dead silence. Just the IV dripping. Steady. Relentless. Mom’s face hardened. “Are you insane? Sienna was with me at the club—she collapsed the second she heard. If a heart donor hadn’t shown up right when it happened, we’d have lost her.” I laughed. A small, hollow sound. She flinched. Turned her head away. Her voice trailed off. “I’ll let this slide. Once. I’ll put it down to trauma—to shock. But don’t you ever talk about your sister like that again.” There it was. The same old move. Shut me up before I get too close. Not this time. “What a coincidence. ” I looked at her. “My heart was damaged—and she gets a healthy heart at the exact same time.” Silence. The dead silence in that VIP suite was so heavy it was hard to breathe. Just then, a nurse stepped in. “Don Moretti. La principessa is awake. She wants to see all of you.” Silence, again. None of them moved. But I knew exactly how this would end. Three… Two… I started counting — the same way I always did. Then they scurried out like rats. Only Julian stayed. He looked at me with that nauseating guilt. “Go to her, Julian,” I said, voice flat. “Then come back and tell me how her new heart is beating.” “Fine. “He didn’t even argue. He turned and walked out. Click. The door closed. The room fell back into that cold, dead silence. Empty. Just me. I pulled out the phone I’d hidden under the mattress. Before I went under the knife, I’d used a System Wish to secure two video. Videos of them planning how to sacrifice me. I hit play. I watched, in that dark office, as Julian calmly signed the donation consent form. “It’s all for Sienna. Elena would want this.” “She doesn’t need to understand. “My brother chimed in. “I’ll cook up a cocktail. Then Elana won’t feel a thing, and she’ll never know about her damaged heart.” “Good. “My dad nodded, slow and deliberate. “The transplant is scheduled for tomorrow. I’ll have the legal team ready—death certificate, cremation, the works. By the time anyone asks, Elena Moretti never existed.” Then I played the second video. There it was. My own mother—slicing through my vessels, handing my heart over like a piece of meat—the same hands that held mine when I was a child. For Sienna. My blood was ice. And for the first time—I was glad I hadn’t died. If I left now, these bastards would go on living—perfect, bloody, untouched—with my heart as their trophy. Too easy. I wasn’t about to let that happen.

I was stuck in that sterilized hellhole for two weeks. They took turns “watching” me. Mom would swing by in her white coat, checking my vitals with those cold, surgeon’s eyes before rushing off to a “surgical emergency.” Julian would stay for ten minutes, staring at his watch until a “urgent business” call saved him. Even Lorenzo, the great Don Moretti, would just pat my hand, tell me I was a “brave girl,” and disappear to his office. I thought they were actually busy running an empire. Until I shuffled out of the room at that afternoon. Through the glass of the private recovery garden, I saw them. The whole “busy” Moretti clan. Lorenzo, the man who hadn’t stepped into a kitchen in twenty years, was sitting on a bench, laughing as he carefully shelled clams and fed them to Sienna. Isabella was fussing over a blanket, tucking it around Sienna’s legs. With a look of pure, maternal adoration—a look I hadn’t seen directed at me in years. Dominic was holding a glass of Sienna’s favorite juice like it was a holy relic. And there was Julian. My husband. He was leaning over the wheelchair, whispering something into Sienna’s ear that made her giggle. She looked radiant. My heart—my actual heart—was pumping life into her cheeks, making her glow while I looked like a corpse dragged out of a basement. “Careful, princess,” Isabella whispered, her voice soft enough to break my heart all over again. “Don’t eat too fast. Your new heart needs time to settle.” “But pop’s cooking is so good,” Sienna chirped, looking radiant. “I missed this so much while I was ‘sick’.” I just stood there. Clutching my cold IV pole, my stomach growling. For the last days, I’d been eating lukewarm delivery soup I ordered myself on my phone. Not once had any of them offered me a bite of “Pop’s cooking.” A surge of nausea hit me. I gripped my IV pole, steadying myself. For a second, I thought about walking in—sitting down at that table, making them see me. But what was the point? They’d already shown me exactly where I stood— I was nothing to them. I turned to shuffle back. But as I passed the nurse’s station, I heard a low whisper. “Is that the sister? The one in 402?” “Yeah. Dr. Isabella gave me strict orders. Keep her on a heavy regimen of iron and vitamin B12. We’re ‘fattening her up’.” “Why? She actually looks like a ghost.” “It’s the Don’s orders. If Sienna has a rejection crisis, they aren’t waiting for a donor. They’re going to use the sister as a living blood bank. Total transfusion if necessary. ” “That’s so cruel…” “I know.” The other nurse’s voice dropped even lower. “But Dr. Isabella said she’s just a ‘vessel’ now anyway—since she can’t carry an heir. And Sienna? Dr. Isabella called her ‘the precious little girl’. ” A metallic taste of blood surged up my throat. And the old memories came back—not gently, not asked for. Just hit me like a wall. I was ten, scraping my knee on the pavement. Isabella didn’t call for a nurse. She knelt down, sterilized it herself, and cried over it. She also called me her “precious little girl.” Before all of this, all I’d ever heard was: trash, beggar, unwanted orphan. I’d never had love like that before. And it hit me—so hard that I threw away the System’s mission just to stay with them forever—my chance to return to my original world, gone. For a long time, I thought it was a fair trade. Because my family loved me back just as much. Or so I told myself. Back then, Dad was just a small-time soldier—but he built the Moretti Syndicate from nothing. Every rival he took down, every dock he seized—it was all for my medical bills. And Dominic? My big brother used to spend his nights in the lab trying to synthesize “sweet medicine” for me because I hated the bitter taste of the standard stuff. He never complained. Never asked for thanks. Just brought me bottle after bottle, asking, “Is this one better?” They even saved Julian for me. Plucked him from a rival’s hit when we were kids — just so I’d have my “perfect prince”. The whole Syndicate knew: I was the untouchable princess. Loved like something sacred. But destiny is a bitch. I was snatched away. Trafficked by a rival crew. Seven years in the dark.

No one knew if I was alive. When Lorenzo finally burned half the city to bring me back, they all held me and wept. And Sienna—this stranger—stood not far away. “Don’t worry about Sienna,” Isabella had whispered, clutching my hand. “She’s just a girl we took in for ‘good luck’ while you were gone. She has a heart condition, and she looks like you, but you’re our only girl, Elena. You’re our soul.” I bought it. God help me, I’d believed their every word. From that, I treated Sienna like a sister. But slowly, the air in the house changed. If Sienna tripped, Isabella would scream at me, “Did you push her, Elena?” If Lorenzo cooked a rare family dinner, it was always the spicy Calabrian dishes Sienna loved, even though they tore my stomach apart. Dominic’s lab work shifted from my health to Sienna’s “miracle cure.” Even Julian, during our few fights, would snap, “Why can’t you be more like your sister? She’s sweet. She actually knows how to talk to a man without looking like she’s judging him.” A wave of suffocation hit me. I blinked. The memory faded. But the Heartbreak Value was ticking closer to the end. It hurts…so hurts. My stitches are coming undone, I can feel them ripping through me, one after another. I grab for the wall. Miss. My legs give out. I’m on the floor and I don’t even remember falling. The room spun—everything tilted. I curled into a ball on the cold floor, gasping, choking, air wouldn’t come. The pain—so white, so bright—I could feel myself slipping. Flickering. Like a dying bulb. “Mom…” I whispered into the dark. “Mom, please… it hurts…” Footsteps. From down the hall. Getting closer. Just as I was about to black out— I saw mom, dad, and Julian rushed toward me. I thought, for a second, they were coming to save me. Mom reached me first. She looked down at the blood soaking through my nightgown, at the way I was trembling in the middle of my own mess. Then her face twisted in a sneer of pure disappointment. “For God’s sake, Elena!” she barked, her voice like a whip. “I am so sick of this! Do you really have to go this far? Just because we were in Sienna’s room helping her with a panic attack, you have to tear your own stitches out?” I looked up at her, hardly. My mouth filling with blood. “Mom… I fell…” “You ‘fell’?” Lorenzo spat, standing behind her with his arms crossed. “You’ve been in this life your whole life. You don’t just fall. This — this is self-harm for attention.“ “It’s pathetic. You’re trying to guilt-trip us for saving your sister’s life.” Julian looked at the blood on the floor and then looked away, as if the sight of me was an inconvenience. “Get it together, Elena. You’re making Sienna feel guilty, and she’s the one with the weak heart. You’re being a monster.” Isabella grabbed my arm and yanked me up, ignoring the way I gasped as my wounds tore further. “I’m sedating you properly this time,” she hissed, shoving me back onto the mattress. “I won’t have you ruining your recovery—and our peace—with these little ‘accidents’ just to spite Sienna.” I lay there, staring at the ceiling as she prepped another needle. I stopped whispering “Mom.” I stopped feeling the pain. I looked at Isabella as the needle went in, and for the first time, I didn’t see my mom. I saw a dead woman walking. “That’s right,” I whispered as my eyes started to close. “Keep her safe. Keep my heart beating in her chest… because when I leave, I’m taking everything with me.”

A week later, they brought me “home.” If you call a fortress guarded by men with submachine guns home. I was confined to a wheelchair, my body still refusing to heal. They put me in the sunroom, supposedly for the “fresh air,” but it was really just a front-row seat to the Sienna Show. Sienna was out on the lawn, wearing a sundress, tossing a ball for the family’s Dobermans. She was running. Running with my heart, with my strength. Lorenzo stood on the patio, cigar in hand, watching her with a pride he’d never shown me. “Look at her,” he muttered to Dominic. “A true Moretti. Strength, fire, life. It was worth every cent.” Dominic nodded, tapping his tablet. “The rejection suppressants I made are holding. She’s a miracle, Pop.” I sat in the shadows, a ghost in a blanket. Suddenly, Sienna “tripped.” She went down on the grass with a sharp cry. In a heartbeat, the entire family scrambled. Lorenzo dropped his cigar. Isabella sprinted from the house. Julian was the first to reach her, scooping her into his arms like she was made of glass. “My chest!” Sienna sobbed, clutching at the spot where my heart lived. “It hurts! It’s Elena… I saw her looking at me from the window… her eyes were so mean… I got scared and lost my balance…” Julian’s head snapped toward the sunroom. The look he gave me was pure, unadulterated loathing. He carried her inside, the whole parade following him. A few minutes later, Lorenzo walked into the sunroom. He didn’t say a word. He just backhanded me across the face. Bang! The force threw my head back, the wheelchair skidding on the marble floor. My lip split, the copper taste of blood filling my mouth. “You ungrateful little bitch,” the Don hissed. “We saved your life. We gave you the best care money can buy. And you’re going to sit here and hex your little sister with your jealousy?” “I didn’t do anything,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “You exist. That’s doing enough.” He spat. “If I hear one more word about you upsetting Sienna, I’ll put you back in the basement where we found you. Got it?” I looked at my father—the man I’d once thought was a god—and I nodded. “Good.” He left. I sat there in the dark, my face throbbing, the internal stitches in my chest pulling with every ragged breath. I don’t know how long I lay there. Then—a soft voice sounded. Julian’s voice. From Sienna’s room. Just next door. “Miss me?” “Jules… stop,” Sienna whispered, though she was giggling. “My heart is racing. Mom said I shouldn’t get too excited.” “I can’t help it,” Julian’s voice was low, hungry. “I’ve been stuck playing ‘devoted husband’ to that corpse in the other room all day. I need to feel something real.” “You still love her, don’t you? The little princess?” “Love her?” Julian smirked, and the sound cut deeper than Lorenzo’s slap. “I married her because your father told me to. She was the backup. Now that you’re healthy… she’s useless.” “What about the fact that she can’t have kids now?” Sienna purred. “You’re the heir to the syndicate. You need a son.” “Then you’ll give me one,” Julian whispered. Then came their muffled moans—Her breathy gasps. His eager growls. And…the wet slick sounds of him pushing into her… I leaned my head against the cold wood of the doorframe. I didn’t cry. I just held the phone up, the camera lens peeking through the crack. I recorded every word. Every wet kiss. Every promise of my death. Then the “Heartbreak Value” in my head dinged. I was almost there.

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Five years of marriage, and Gilbert spent nearly half of it at the apartment across the river. He always said that because his older brother, Henry, had died young, leaving his widow, Isla, entirely alone in the world, he had to shoulder the burden of caring for both of us. It was a matter of family honor, he’d insist—the Harrison way of showing loyalty and duty. And back then, god help me, I actually believed him. To keep up the appearance of this noble, selfless family duty, I quietly endured his absence on holidays. I let him split our Christmas dinners in half, rushing from one dining room to the other. I even ignored the whispers of neighbors who pitied me behind my back, calling me a spineless wife who was practically sharing a husband. Yet, whenever he spoke to me, his voice was always gentle, wrapped in a polite, unyielding distance. Until the night of the multi-car pileup, when our car was crushed into a heap of twisted metal. I was in the front passenger seat, instinctively curling around my heavily swollen pregnant belly. The pain was blinding, cold sweat soaking my collar as I frantically pounded on the window. “Gilbert, please… help me, the baby…” He managed to crawl out from the driver’s side. His eyes swept over my lap, where blood was already staining my jeans. But instead of reaching for my door, he turned around and threw his entire weight against the jammed back door. He pulled Isla out. She had nothing but a minor scratch on her forehead, but he held her tightly against his chest, shielding her eyes. “Don’t look, sweetheart. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He stroked her back with his broad palm, murmuring comfort over and over, soothing her panic. Meanwhile, my door remained completely, hopelessly crushed. It was never about duty. He simply couldn’t bear to see her suffer even a scratch. … The ambulance arrived, sirens wailing in the dark. Paramedics and firefighters used heavy hydraulic shears to cut through the crumpled frame of my door. I looked down at the floor mat under my seat. It was soaked in my blood. A sharp, agonizing spasm ripped through my lower abdomen, waves of blinding pain locking my muscles. I clutched my stomach with both hands. My baby—seven months along—was in there, but I couldn’t feel him move anymore. When they finally pulled me out, my limbs were entirely useless, heavy as lead. They laid me onto the gurney. The EMT pressed an oxygen mask over my face, shouting over the noise to the crowd outside: “Where is the husband? How many weeks pregnant is she? Do you have her prenatal records?” Across the asphalt, Gilbert was kneeling beside Isla, gently dabbing a tissue against the cut on her forehead. It wasn’t even an inch long. The paramedic yelled again, his voice urgent. Gilbert finally looked toward me, his lips parting. “Twenty-nine weeks… I don’t know the rest.” I don’t know the rest. Every single time I came back from an OB-GYN appointment, I put my files in the second drawer of his study desk. He had never once opened it. And yet, he knew exactly what medications Isla was allergic to, which of her knees had the old joint injury, and precisely how many minutes to steep her herbal tea to help her anxiety. As the gurney began to roll, I forced my neck to turn, looking for him. He wasn’t following me. Isla was clutching his forearm, her body trembling against his chest. He lowered his head, his hand resting protectively over the back of her hair. “Don’t look over there. It’s okay. Close your eyes, I’m here.” Right before the ambulance doors slammed shut, I saw him guide Isla into a separate vehicle. The moment we reached the hospital, I was wheeled straight into the operating room. I bit my lip to keep from screaming, but hot, silent tears slid down the sides of my face, pooling beneath the plastic mask. Outside, a nurse banged on the double doors. “We need a signature! Consent form for an emergency C-section! Where is the husband?” The door swung open. Gilbert walked in. He took the pen and signed his name on the bottom line. His hand was visibly shaking. I thought he would come to my side, touch my hand, say something. Instead, the second he laid the pen down, his phone vibrated. He pulled it out and answered. He kept his voice low, but in the sterile silence of the room, every word was a knife. “Don’t worry, Isla. The scan results will be out soon. I have my assistant waiting with you. I’m signing the papers now, and I’ll be right over.” The anesthetic began its slow, cold crawl up my spine. The world went dark. I had no idea how long the surgery lasted. When I finally opened my eyes, it was the dead of night. My best friend, Zoe, was slumped over the edge of my mattress, her eyes red and terribly swollen. My very first words were, “Where is my baby?” She didn’t answer. I stared at the heavy, broken look on her face, and slowly closed my eyes. Outside the half-open door of my recovery room, I heard my mother-in-law’s hushed, soothing voice. “Isla, sweetheart, don’t carry this guilt. Gilbert has already taken care of everything. Go back and get some sleep. You have to look after your own health…” No one mentioned my baby. It was as though the little life that had lived inside me for seven months—the boy I had already named, the baby for whom I had knitted tiny woolen hats—had never existed at all. Gilbert came in once later that night. He stood at the foot of my bed, a heavy, suffocating silence hanging between us. Finally, he spoke. “I told the postpartum retreat to keep your reservation active. Just focus on recovering.” He didn’t say he was sorry. He didn’t mention a funeral, or what they had done with our baby’s body. I didn’t say a word. The next afternoon, Zoe showed me some dashcam footage from a passing car that had been uploaded online. She had screenshotted two stills. In the first photo, Gilbert was standing right by my passenger side door, his hand resting on the crushed window frame. In the second, he had turned his back on me, walking toward the rear seat to pry open Isla’s door. I stared down at the printouts, my thumb pressing so hard against the paper my nail turned white. It wasn’t a matter of running out of time. He had simply made his choice. I flipped the photos face down on the sterile hospital sheets. I pressed my palm flat against my empty, hollow stomach. My eyes were so dry they burned, but no tears came. Outside my door, someone was whispering about how terribly shaken Isla was by the accident. I closed my eyes and turned my face toward the wall, away from the light. That night was the first night in five years that I didn’t wait up for him to come home. The day I was discharged, Gilbert came to pick me up. He opened the passenger door, his hand hovering gently behind my back to guide me in—attentive and careful, as he always was. I stayed silent the entire drive. When we pulled into the driveway of our townhouse, he got out to handle the bags. I walked into the living room and immediately noticed a brown medical kit sitting on the coffee table. Draped over the arm of the sofa was a beige cashmere shawl. It wasn’t mine. And right next to the TV console stood a black-and-white framed portrait of Gilbert’s late brother, Henry. I froze in the doorway. Behind me, Gilbert kicked off his shoes, his movements pausing when he saw where I was looking. “Isla has been in a bad place the last few days,” he said quietly. “She’s having night terrors and can’t bear to be alone. I told her she could stay here for a little while, just until she stabilizes. Then she’ll go back to her place.” I didn’t reply. I walked straight toward the master bedroom. I pushed open the heavy oak door. Isla was sitting on the edge of my mattress, arranging small amber prescription bottles. On her feet were my plush house slippers. The moment she saw me, she scrambled to her feet. “Dora, you’re home,” she said, her voice dropping to a fragile whisper. “I’ve just been so terrified of the dark. I couldn’t manage on my own. Gilbert told me to stay here for a couple of days. I promise I’ll leave as soon as I feel a bit stronger. I won’t get in your way.” I looked down at her feet. Those slippers were orthotic-support ones I had bought specifically for my pregnancy. Gilbert had spent hours online helping me pick them out. I turned to look at Gilbert, who was leaning against the doorframe behind me. “She’s staying in our room?” Gilbert’s expression shifted, a flicker of guilt crossing his face before settling into mild defensiveness. “She had a panic attack the other night and collapsed on the floor. Nobody found her for hours. The master bedroom is right off the main hall—it’s easier to hear if she needs help.” He paused. “I set up the guest bed in the study for you. I already laid out the fresh sheets.” Something thick and suffocating lodged itself in my throat. There were a thousand things I wanted to scream, but not a single word came out. It wasn’t because I was afraid. It was because, in that exact moment, I realized that in this house, my presence was entirely negotiable. At dinner, Isla sat beside Gilbert, gently ladling soup into his bowl. She peeked up at me, then quickly cast her eyes down. “Dora, I know you just got home from the hospital, and I shouldn’t be intruding. But Gilbert is the only brother Henry had. If he turns his back on me, I honestly don’t know who else I have left in this world.” Gilbert placed a piece of roasted chicken onto my plate. “Dora, Isla has had a hard road,” he said smoothly. “Just focus on healing. I’ll handle the rest. I won’t let you down.” I stared at the chicken on my plate. After dinner, I walked down the hall to the nursery. The second I pushed the door open, I knew something was wrong. The storage bins on the windowsill—the ones that had been filled with tiny onesies and hand-knitted caps—were gone. In their place stood a heavy wooden easel and several boxes of oil paints. Hanging from the easel was a small card printed with the words: Art Therapy for Trauma and Stress Relief. Standing in the doorway, staring at the easel, the tightness in my throat finally shattered into sharp, cold clarity. I turned around. Gilbert was standing behind me in the dim hallway. “Isla’s therapist suggested painting to help with her PTSD,” he began, his voice cautious. “We didn’t have any other empty rooms…” “This is the baby’s room,” I cut him off. Gilbert went quiet for a few seconds. “Dora, I packed up the baby’s things. I didn’t throw them away. Please, don’t get worked up—you’re still healing. Once Isla moves out, I’ll help you put everything back exactly the way it was.” I didn’t have the energy to fight him anymore. I only wanted to know one thing: where had they hidden my child’s things? In the middle of the night, I slipped out of the study and opened the basement storage door. I couldn’t find the crib or the bottle sterilizer. Even the tiny outfits I had spent weeks washing and folding were missing. All that remained was a loose label paper sitting at the bottom of an empty cardboard box. Our housekeeper, Maria, came down the stairs behind me, looking sympathetic. “Ma’am… those things… Mrs. Harrison senior said keeping them around would only break your heart. She had them sent over to Miss Isla’s charity for their upcoming benefit auction.” I bent down and picked up the paper label. Written on it in my own handwriting were the sizes and my estimated due date. I stared at it for a long time, then folded it neatly and squeezed it tight in my fist. In this house, even the physical proof that my baby had existed had to be surrendered to her comfort. I pulled the storage door shut. The click of the lock was incredibly quiet. But with that tiny sound, something deep inside me locked away forever, too. On the day of my follow-up appointment, Gilbert told me something urgent had come up at the firm and had his driver take me instead. I went through the check-in, the waiting room, the ultrasound, and the quiet agony of waiting for the results entirely on my own. The doctor frowned as she reviewed my file. “Your recovery isn’t progressing as well as we’d hope. There is still some retained blood tissue in the uterine wall. You need to take your medication strictly on schedule, avoid any physical strain, and honestly, you need to manage your stress.” She looked up, adjusting her glasses. “Where is your partner? Why isn’t anyone here with you?” “He’s busy with work,” I said. She gave me a long, knowing look but didn’t press further. When I returned to the townhouse, Gilbert was sitting in the living room. He stood up immediately, taking the pharmacy bag from my hand. “What did the doctor say?” “I’m still recovering,” I replied. He nodded, looking relieved. Then he said something that made my entire body freeze. “Dora, let’s keep the miscarriage quiet for now. Don’t tell the rest of the extended family or post anything online. Isla has been incredibly fragile lately. Hearing about a lost baby… it’s going to trigger the trauma of losing Henry all over again. Please, try to understand.” I stood in the entryway, my winter coat still half-buttoned. “You want me to lie about it?” “It’s not lying,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “It’s just keeping it private for a little while. Just until Isla is in a better place.” I stared at him. His face was completely earnest, filled with a soft, pleading warmth. I knew that look so well. Every single time he wanted me to step back, to swallow my own pain to make room for his family, he looked at me exactly like this. The next morning, my mother-in-law called. “Dora, Gilbert told me about the situation. Now, don’t think I’m being cold-hearted, sweetheart. You’re still young. You have plenty of time to try again for another baby.” Her voice was sharp and brisk over the line. “But Isla… she can’t handle this. She’s already lost Henry. Any more emotional shock will completely break her.” She cleared her throat. “I went ahead and had the venue change the booking we made for the baby shower. We’re going to use it for Henry’s three-year memorial dinner instead. All the relatives have already been notified. I assume you don’t have an issue with that?” I sat in the dim study, gripping the phone. The banquet reservation had been booked when I was four months pregnant. Gilbert had stood beside me as I picked out the floral centerpieces. I had curated the menu, written the guest list, and ordered custom place cards printed with the nickname we had chosen for our baby. Now, it had been repurposed into a memorial service for someone else. “Mom,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Just because the baby didn’t make it doesn’t mean he wasn’t real. I want to put up a small memorial plaque for him. Just something small to keep here in the house.” The line went quiet for a long, heavy stretch. “Dora, Isla is living with you right now,” my mother-in-law said, her tone hardening. “If you put something like that out where she can see it, how do you think it will make her feel?” After the call ended, I sat in the darkness of the study. The sun dipped below the horizon, but I didn’t reach for the light switch. I remembered telling Zoe once, long ago, that Gilbert only acted this way because the weight of his family’s expectations was too heavy. I had convinced myself that, deep down, he loved me. But now, I couldn’t even keep my dead child’s name in the house I called home. The night of the memorial dinner, I was seated at the far end of the long dining table. The entire room was filled with laughter and tears as the family reminisced about Henry. Isla sat right next to my mother-in-law at the head of the table, bathed in everyone’s attention. Relatives took turns patting her hand, piling food onto her plate, and sighing over how tragic it was for a beautiful young woman to be widowed so early. No one spoke a word about my miscarriage. At one point, a distant aunt leaned toward the cousin next to her and whispered, “Why does Gilbert’s wife look so miserable? She’s so young, yet she sits there with that cold face. She has no idea how much stress this family has been under.” My fingers tightened around the stem of my wine glass. Suddenly, Isla swayed in her seat, her hand pressing against the edge of the table as if to keep herself from falling. Instantly, half the table stood up. My mother-in-law was the first to reach her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Isla! Sweetheart! What’s wrong? Are you feeling dizzy again?” Gilbert practically ran from his side of the table, kneeling by her chair. The aunt turned her gaze toward me, her voice rising so the whole table could hear. “Did someone say something insensitive? Isla has been on the verge of a breakdown for days. She can’t take any more stress.” I knew she was looking directly at me. I didn’t get up. I sat there and realized that in their eyes, no matter what happened, Isla’s fragility would always be blamed on my silence. When we got back that evening, I didn’t wait for Gilbert to come up to bed. I logged into my online banking and exported our joint account statements from the last three years. The next morning, I drove to the hospital and requested the printed billing records from the night of the accident. The timestamp showed that Gilbert had registered Isla, paid for her full battery of scans, and secured her a private recovery room first. His payment for her care was processed exactly forty-seven minutes before my emergency surgery consent form was even signed. And the deposit slip for my post-op ICU room bore Zoe’s signature, paid from her personal card. I stacked the documents neatly and slid them into my leather tote. I remembered how many times I had made excuses for him over the years. He’s just exceptionally loyal. He’s caught in an impossible position. His family put all this pressure on him. But looking at those timestamps, the excuses simply dissolved. I slowly stood up from the desk. My abdomen still throbbed with a dull, lingering ache. But more than the physical pain, I felt a deep, clean fracture cracking open in my chest. The cold air rushed in, and for the first time in years, I was completely awake. I went to get my baby’s memorial plaque. It was a small porcelain tile, no larger than the palm of my hand, which I had custom-ordered. On it, I had inscribed his nickname and his birth date. I had kept it locked in the bottom drawer of the study. The key was on my personal ring, which never left my purse. When I pulled the drawer open, it was empty. I called the housekeeper, but she shook her head, denying she had touched it. I searched the entire house, eventually finding it in the recycling bin next to the garage. The porcelain tile had been shattered into three pieces. As I was kneeling on the floor, picking up the sharp fragments, Isla walked into the study. She stopped when she saw me. “Dora… about the plaque, I am so sorry. It was an accident.” She wrung her hands. “I was organizing the study, and I accidentally bumped into the desk. It just slid out and…” “The drawer was locked,” I said, my voice completely flat. She hesitated, her eyes flickering. “Maybe the maid forgot to lock it after cleaning. Dora, I swear I didn’t mean to. I saw the baby’s name on it, and it just made me so sad… my hands started shaking, and it dropped…” Her eyes welled with tears. My mother-in-law walked into the room, instantly pulling Isla into a protective embrace. “Isla, stop crying. It’s just a piece of ceramic. Dora, your sister-in-law is in a fragile state. You shouldn’t be leaving things like that out in the open. Of course it’s going to upset her.” I remained on the floor, my fingers clutching the sharp broken edges of the porcelain. They cut into my skin, but I didn’t feel any pain. “Mom, the drawer was locked,” I repeated. My mother-in-law’s brow furrowed. “What are you trying to say? Are you accusing Isla of breaking it on purpose?” Isla took a step back, her lip trembling. “Dora, if you don’t believe me… then fine. It doesn’t matter what I say, you’ve already decided everything is my fault.” She turned her head and began to weep into her hands. My mother-in-law’s voice grew icy. “Dora, you can’t just lash out at Isla because you’re grieving. She has lost far more than you have.” By the time Gilbert came home, his mother had already taken Isla back to the family estate. He stood looking down at the three broken shards of porcelain resting on the coffee table. “Dora,” he murmured, sitting beside me. “I know you’re hurt. But Isla’s mental state is incredibly unstable right now. Even if she did this, she didn’t do it out of malice.” I didn’t look up at him. He reached over, placing his hand over mine. “I’ll order another one for you. Exactly the same, okay? Whatever you want written on it, we’ll go choose it together. I promise I won’t let Isla touch any of your things again.” He was placating me, using the exact same tone he had used a thousand times before. And for five years, I had always chosen to let it go. But not this time. I pulled my hand back, stood up, and walked into the study. I spent the next hour sorting through three years of bank statements, organizing them chronologically. The HOA fees for the apartment across the river, Isla’s private therapy bills. Her medical exams, her home nurses, the debts she had accumulated that we paid off. Every single cent had been drawn from our joint marital account. I compiled the hospital billing records, the venue changes for the baby shower, and the receipt for the nursery donation. I organized them into a thick, black leather binder, categorized by date and amount. The next afternoon, I had Zoe schedule a meeting at our townhouse. My mother-in-law sat at the head of the dining table, with Gilbert beside her. Isla, who had driven in from the estate, sat across from them, her eyes already puffy and red. I walked in, placed the binder on the table, and flipped open the first page. “Over the past three years, the total amount of money drawn from our joint marital account to fund Isla’s personal life is two hundred and eighty thousand dollars,” I stated clearly. “That includes her rent, her private nurses, her therapists, and the outstanding debts of her maternal family.” I flipped to the second page. “These are the billing records from the night of the crash. Isla’s scans and private room were fully paid for before my emergency C-section even began. My deposit, however, was paid by Zoe.” I turned to the third page. “My baby’s nursery furniture and clothing were donated without my consent. The receipt for the donation is signed by the charity foundation registered under Isla’s name.” I turned to the fourth page. “This is the digital proof of the venue change for the baby shower. My child’s name was crossed out on the reservation system and replaced with the ‘Henry Harrison Memorial Dinner.’” The room fell into a suffocating, dead silence. Isla’s lower lip began to tremble. My mother-in-law’s expression shifted from annoyance to sheer shock. Gilbert stared at the printouts, his face pale and completely frozen. Isla was the first to speak, her voice cracking. “Dora… that money… when Henry passed, the insurance payouts were delayed. I truly had no other income…” I looked up, meeting her eyes. “Isla, you were the sole beneficiary of Henry’s life insurance policy. A payout of five hundred thousand dollars was deposited into your personal account exactly three months after his death.” The remaining color drained from Isla’s face. “You weren’t broke,” I continued, my voice steady and quiet. “And you weren’t helpless. You just didn’t want to spend your own money.” My mother-in-law’s fingers gripped the armrest of her chair so tightly her knuckles cracked. Gilbert closed his eyes, unable to look at either of us. Isla stood up, gasping for air, and fled the room with her hands over her face. After the family left, Gilbert remained in the living room. I walked back to the master bedroom and began packing. I gathered my medical records, our marriage certificate, the bank statements, and my personal financial documents. From the very back of the drawer, I pulled out the ultrasound photo of my baby boy. I slipped it carefully into my medical folder. I heard the front door’s keypad beep. Gilbert walked in, supporting Isla. She was wearing his coat over her shoulders, and in her hand, she was clutching a small silver baby bracelet. It was the custom silver bracelet I had ordered. Engraved on the inside was my baby’s nickname. My gaze locked onto it. And in that quiet moment, the invisible thread that had held me together for five years finally snapped. Gilbert followed my eyes to her hand, his face falling. Isla instinctively tried to pull her sleeve down to cover the silver band. Gilbert took a step toward me. “Dora, listen to me—” “Gilbert,” I said softly, cutting him off. I walked over to the console table in the entryway and laid down the signed divorce papers. I picked up my suitcase and walked right past him. At the threshold, I stopped and looked back one last time. “You don’t need to explain anything anymore.” “And for the rest of our lives, let’s not see each other again.” I pulled the door shut behind me and walked toward the elevator.

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During a business trip, the chairman had a sudden heart attack. Without a second thought, I swiped my only credit card and emptied my savings—five thousand dollars—to save his life. Once he was discharged, he treated me like a ghost, never once mentioning the money. The entire office mocked me as the ultimate sucker. Even the night-shift cleaning lady told me to wise up. I endured it for two whole months, living off instant mac & cheese, just to see what kind of heart actually beat inside that man’s chest. At the end of the year, my phone buzzed with a direct deposit notification. I opened it and found two extra zeros added to my usual balance. 1 “Oh, look, Donna’s having mac & cheese again. Kraft should really make you their brand ambassador.” Courtney’s voice was sharp, cutting through the hum of the breakroom. She gave her designer handbag an intentional, ostentatious swing in front of my face. I didn’t look up. I just twisted a few noodles around my plastic fork. The rising steam made my eyes sting, though I told myself it was just the heat. “Honestly, I just don’t get it,” Courtney continued, her heels clicking on the linoleum. “Some people will do anything to look important. Five grand? You could’ve bought a decent Chanel with that. Instead, you throw it at the CEO to play the hero. And what did you get? Has he even looked your way once?” She laughed, a brittle, performative sound. A few colleagues hovering near the coffee maker chimed in with quiet, mocking snickers. It had been two months. Ever since I pulled our chairman, Charles Harrington, back from the edge of the grave, this had been my daily reality. We had been in Chicago on business. At the corporate dinner, Charles had had a few too many drinks. On the way back to the hotel, he suddenly clutched his chest and collapsed in the backseat of the town car, his face turning an ash-gray. I was terrified. The driver panicked, hands shaking on the wheel. “Heart attack!” The realization slammed into me. “Turn around!” I screamed at the driver. “Take us to the nearest ER right now!” At the hospital, the emergency room doctor took one look at him and yelled, “He needs immediate surgery! Where’s the family? We need a five-thousand-dollar deposit before we can admit him!” His family was thousands of miles away in New York. A distant rescue couldn’t put out a fire right in front of us. Looking at the flashing red light above the operating room doors, I didn’t hesitate. I ran to the billing desk and handed over my card. It was everything I had saved over three years of frugal living, money I’d set aside to take my mother on a trip at the end of the year. The card cleared, leaving my account completely drained. But they saved him. I thought I’d done something decent—something that, if nothing else, would let me sleep at night. I never expected it to turn me into the office joke. When Charles returned to the office, he acted as if nothing had ever happened. He was still the cold, untouchable chairman, conducting meetings and sweeping through the halls with absolute authority. Only now, his gaze would seamlessly bypass me, as if I were made of glass. I had become a ghost in my own cubicle. “You’re basically a saint, Donna,” Courtney sneered, leaning against the counter. “Maybe you should go remind Mr. Harrington? Tell him your mother needs the cash. Let’s see if he even remembers your name.” I set my fork down, lifted my chin, and looked directly at her. “Courtney, I bought this mac & cheese with my own money,” I said. My voice wasn’t loud, but it possessed a quiet gravity that silenced the chatter in the room. “I spent my own money to keep my boss alive. I didn’t steal, I didn’t beg, and I certainly didn’t try to climb into anyone’s bed to secure my next promotion.” Courtney’s face flushed a violent, blotchy red. The rumors of her trying to sleep her way to the top were an open secret in the department. Her lips trembled with fury as she pointed a manicured finger at me. “How… how dare you lie like that!” “We both know it’s not a lie,” I said, standing up and tossing the empty cup into the trash. “And whatever is between Mr. Harrington and me is none of your business.” I walked out of the breakroom, leaving her angry protests and the heavy, complicated stares of my coworkers behind. I kept my spine perfectly straight until I reached my desk. But the moment I sat down, I realized my palms were soaked in cold sweat. It felt good to stand up for myself, but the cold reality of my bank account was a bucket of ice water waking me up. Rent, utilities, next month’s groceries—I had nothing left to cover them. Then, my desk phone rang. The caller ID showed the executive suite. “Donna, the Chairman wants to see you in his office.” My heart leaped into my throat. Was he finally going to acknowledge it? Was he going to pay me back, or was he firing me for snapping at Courtney? 2 I walked toward the executive top floor with the heavy dread of someone marching toward a firing squad. I knocked gently on the heavy mahogany door. “Come in.” The voice was deep, authoritative, and entirely different from the weak, rattling breath of the man who had clung to my sleeve in the backseat of a Chicago town car. I pushed the door open. Charles Harrington sat behind his massive desk, his head bowed over a stack of documents. Under his wire-rimmed glasses, his expression was focused and entirely detached. The afternoon light filtered through the blinds, casting sharp slats of shadow and gold across his tailored suit, making him seem even more remote. He didn’t look up. The only sound in the vast office was the scratch of his fountain pen against heavy paper. Seconds stretched. My palms began to sweat again. This silent pressure was more suffocating than any verbal reprimand. I had no idea what he was playing at. “Mr. Harrington, you wanted to see me,” I finally whispered, unable to bear the silence any longer. He paused, as if only just realizing I was there. He slowly raised his head, his gaze settling on me with the flat, emotionless clarity of a winter sky. “Ah, Donna.” He said. Just those two words, like a dull blade scraping against my ribs. Ah, Donna. The girl who performed CPR on you while your heart stopped. The girl who cried and begged the doctors not to let you die. The girl who stood vigil outside your operating room all night, running up a debt she couldn’t afford. To him, I was just a casual afterthought. “You handled the Chicago project well,” he said, sliding a folder to the side. “I’ve instructed HR to add the quarterly performance bonus to your next check.” I froze. He called me all the way up here just for that? What about the money? The five thousand dollars that saved his life? My lips parted, the words my money hovering on the tip of my tongue. But looking into those dark, bottomless eyes, the words dissolved. It was the natural gravity of power. He made me feel that if I brought up the money, I would be cheapening the purity of what I had done. “Is there something else?” he asked, his brow twitching slightly when I didn’t move. “No… nothing, sir,” I managed to choke out. “You can go, then.” He bent his head back down, resuming his work as if I were nothing more than a courier delivering mail. I turned to leave, every step feeling heavier than the last. Just as my fingers touched the brass doorknob, his voice drifted across the room again. “Donna.” My shoulders tensed. A sudden flare of hope ignited in my chest. Had he remembered? I turned back quickly, looking at him. “Help Courtney out with her new account. She has drive, but she lacks experience.” The tiny spark of hope was instantly snuffed out. My stomach dropped. He hadn’t forgotten. He simply didn’t care. He didn’t care about the five thousand dollars, he didn’t care about the humiliation I faced daily, and now he wanted me to play mentor to the very woman who made my life a living hell. It was a cruel joke. “Of course, Mr. Harrington,” I said through clenched teeth. I pulled the door open and fled the suffocating quiet of his office. When I got back to my cubicle, Courtney was surrounded by a small crowd, preening like a peacock. “Mr. Harrington really trusts me with this,” she was saying, her voice pitched just loud enough to carry over the partition. “He even personally asked Donna to assist me. I guess some people are just built to support others.” “Well, obviously, Courtney. You actually have talent and know how to work a room. Some people just think they can buy their way into the boss’s good graces.” “Right? Spending a few grand doesn’t make you family. Keep dreaming.” I sat down in silence, staring at the bright glare of my computer screen until my eyes burned. My phone buzzed. It was a text from my mother. “Donna, sweetheart, it’s getting cold up there. Make sure you’re wearing your heavy coat. When are we going on that trip you mentioned? I told Mrs. Higgins and the ladies next door, and they’re so jealous!” Staring at the screen, a hot tear slipped down my cheek, splashing onto the keyboard with a soft tap. How was I supposed to tell her there was no trip? That her daughter couldn’t even pay next month’s rent? How was I supposed to tell her that the daughter she was so proud of was nothing but a laughingstock at Harrington Global? At that moment, an internal email popped up on my screen. Subject: Project Staffing — Seattle Market Expansion. Project Lead: Courtney Ward. Team Members: Donna Kelly… My name was right there, listed directly beneath Courtney’s. The email felt like a physical slap across my face. He didn’t just expect me to endure the disrespect; he wanted me to do it on my knees. 3 During our first team meeting, Courtney made sure everyone knew who was in charge. She slammed a thick binder onto my desk with enough force to slosh the water in my mug. “Donna, this is the entire dossier for the Seattle project. I need a comprehensive summary and a full market analysis on my desk before you leave tonight.” I looked up at her. The binder was easily three hundred pages of dense, technical data and financial jargon. In a single afternoon? “This is too much data for a one-day turnaround,” I said, keeping my voice level. “Too much?” Courtney crossed her arms, a cold smirk playing on her lips. “Donna, are you questioning my management, or are you questioning Mr. Harrington’s judgment? He specifically assigned you to ‘support’ me.” She lingered on the word support, her eyes bright with malice. The rest of the office watched us. A few looked sympathetic, others amused, but most showed the flat indifference of people who didn’t want to get involved. This was corporate life. Once you’re down, everyone steps over you. No one was going to stick their neck out for a falling star. “I’m stating a fact,” I replied, refusing to back down. “I can stay late, but the absolute earliest you’ll have a quality report is tomorrow at noon.” “Tomorrow at noon?” Courtney laughed as if I’d said something hilarious. “Donna, remember your place. This isn’t a negotiation; it’s an assignment. I want that report on my desk before you log off today, or I will personally tell Mr. Harrington that you are refusing to do your job.” She wanted to break me. That was the goal. I took a deep breath, swallowing the anger that threatened to rise. I couldn’t let her provoke me. I couldn’t afford to walk out. If I quit now, I’d lose the five thousand dollars forever and leave with a ruined reputation. So, I chose to endure. “Fine,” I said. I pulled the binder toward me and began to work. I didn’t take a single sip of water all afternoon. My fingers flew across the keyboard, my eyes aching from the harsh glow of the screen. One by one, my coworkers packed up and left. Soon, the office was entirely empty. Outside, the winter sky turned to a deep, bruised purple, and the city lights flickered to life, casting my solitary shadow against the cubicle wall. At ten in the evening, I finally finished the report. My body felt hollow with exhaustion as I printed the document and placed it on Courtney’s immaculate, empty desk. She had likely been home for hours. I shut down my computer and walked out into the biting night air. Only then did the hunger hit me, a sharp ache in my stomach. I dug into my pocket and found only a few loose coins. I walked to a 24-hour convenience store, bought the cheapest loaf of bread they had, and washed it down with free hot water from the dispenser. That was my dinner. Back in my tiny studio apartment, I collapsed onto the mattress without taking off my coat. I was too tired to cry. I kept asking myself: What am I holding on for? Was I waiting for Charles Harrington to suddenly find his conscience, pay me back, and give me a corner office? It was a delusion. I pulled out my phone and stared at the credit card statement: -$5,000.00. I let out a dry, humorless laugh. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. An unknown number was calling. I hesitated, then swiped to answer. “Hello, is this Donna Kelly?” a young man’s voice asked. It was slick, arrogant, and entirely devoid of warmth. “Yes, this is she. Who is this?” “I’m Wyatt. Wyatt Harrington.” My chest tightened. Charles Harrington’s son. What did he want with me? “Oh. Hello, Mr. Harrington.” “Look, I heard about what happened with my father,” he said, his tone casual, almost dismissive. “You paid a five-thousand-dollar medical bill, right? Name your price. I want this handled, and I don’t want anyone else hearing about it.” I sat up, stunned by his words. “Name my price? I don’t understand.” Wyatt let out an impatient sigh. “Don’t play dumb. You’re trying to use a little good deed to latch onto my family like a parasite. It’s not going to work. Tell me how much it takes to keep your mouth shut and stay away from my father.” His words felt like a knife driving straight into my chest. To them, my desperate act to save a dying man was nothing but a calculated shake-down. The blood rushed to my ears. “Mr. Harrington, you are entirely mistaken,” I said, my grip tightening on the phone until my knuckles turned white. “First, I saved your father because it was the right thing to do. Second, that five thousand dollars was a medical deposit, not hush money. And third, you owe me an apology.” There was a brief silence on the line, followed by a harsh, mocking laugh. “An apology? Who do you think you are to ask me for an apology? Let me tell you something, Donna. Don’t push your luck. You’ll find five grand in your account tomorrow. After that, stay out of our way.” The line went dead. I stared at the black screen, feeling utterly drained. I had been waiting for a resolution, waiting for some sign of basic human decency, and instead, I had only invited more humiliation. 4 The next morning, I returned to the office with dark circles under my eyes, moving like a ghost. When Courtney saw me, she smirked. “Oh, look, the report is done. Quite efficient, Donna. I guess a little pressure really does wonders for your work ethic.” She picked up the document, flipped through a couple of pages, and tossed it carelessly onto her desk organizer. “It’s fine. Barely passing, but it’ll do.” I looked at her, feeling a deep, quiet disgust. An entire night of my life, dismissed as ‘barely passing.’ I didn’t have the energy to fight. I simply went to my desk. At ten, my phone buzzed with a bank alert. Direct Deposit: $5,000.00. Current Balance: $5,015.32. The money was there. Wyatt Harrington had paid me back. But staring at the numbers, I felt no relief. Only a cold, heavy sense of shame. The five thousand dollars felt like a dirty transaction, a price tag stamped onto my dignity. I couldn’t focus all day. I skipped lunch entirely. In the afternoon, as I was preparing files for next week’s meeting, Courtney sauntered over again, her hips swaying. “Donna, go copy these files. A hundred copies of each. Move quickly, Mr. Harrington needs them for the board meeting in ten minutes.” She dropped a heavy stack of papers onto my desk and began to turn away. “Wait,” I said. I stood up, picked up the documents, and stepped into her path. “Courtney, I am a project associate, not your personal assistant.” Courtney stopped, blinking in surprise, before bursting into a loud, performative laugh. “Oh, look at you. The martyr finally decided to speak up? What, copying papers is suddenly below you? You didn’t seem to mind playing the saint when you spent your life savings on the boss.” Every head in the open-plan office turned toward us. The room fell silent. “Mr. Harrington has paid me back,” I said, my voice clear and carrying across the quiet room. Whispers immediately broke out. “Wait, he paid her back?” “Really? I thought he was ignoring her.” Courtney’s expression shifted from amusement to disbelief. “That’s ridiculous. Why would Mr. Harrington…” “You don’t believe me?” I unlocked my phone, opened the banking app, and held the screen inches from her face. “See for yourself.” Courtney stared at the screen, her face turning pale, then a bright, angry red. “Are we clear now?” I asked, retrieving my phone. “So please show some respect moving forward. I am paid to do my job, not yours. If you need copies, contact the administrative desk.” I placed the stack of papers back into her hands. It was the first time I had ever stood up to anyone so publicly, and the silence in the room was absolute. Courtney stood frozen, her mouth opening and closing without a sound. Before she could find her voice, the heavy oak doors of the executive suite swung open. Charles Harrington walked out, followed closely by his son, Wyatt. The office went dead silent as everyone stood up. “Good afternoon, Mr. Harrington.” Wyatt’s gaze swept over the room, landing on me with a smug, warning look that said: You got your money. Now know your place. Charles remained unreadable. He walked past my desk, pausing for only a fraction of a second.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “481604”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel