Author: Momo Chan

My husband asked me to abort our baby so his mistress could keep hers. The package showed up at my door that morning. I thought it was from Ethan — something thoughtful, something for our baby. It was thoughtful, all right. Just not for me. Inside was a VIP contract for the most exclusive postpartum care center in the city. Top-tier. Six-figure deposit. The kind of place where you booked a year out and prayed. I stared at it for a second. Then I called him. “Ethan, why the rush?” I said, smiling into the receiver. “The baby’s only three months along. You didn’t have to book this early.” A pause on the other end. Then his voice came through, warm and soft. “Baby, cut me some slack — it’s my first time doing the dad thing. I just wanted to get ahead of it. Put it aside. I’ll handle it when I get home.” Something warm bloomed in my chest. “God, you’re already nailing this dad thing.” Everyone praised Ethan Lockwood as the perfect husband. He doted on me. Anticipated my needs. Took care of every detail of the pregnancy. I ended the call and stood there smiling for a second, like an idiot. Then I flipped to the second page. Estimated due date: next month. The 15th. My baby was only three months along. I knew the date by heart, because Ethan had cried when I’d shown him the first ultrasound — the kind of broken crying I’d never seen from him before. Next month. Next month? I read the line again. And again. And that was the moment — standing in my own foyer, in the house my husband had picked out for us, holding a contract with my name on it — that I understood something. The first-time father in his voice hadn’t been for me. The gentleness. The of course I don’t know what I’m doing, let me take care of it — none of it had been for me. He knew exactly what he was doing. He just wasn’t doing it for me. Maybe it was a printing error. That’s what I told myself. But my hand wasn’t listening. I pulled up the maternity center’s website. Tapped the contact number. Something cold and slow began to spread behind my ribs. “Seraphine Maternity Suites, how may I help you?” “Hi. I’d like to check on an order. Number 8867. Patient name Nina Lockwood.” “One moment, please.” The hold music clicked on. Then off. “Mrs. Lockwood?” The receptionist came back, her voice warm as melted butter. “Yes, ma’am, your reservation is fully confirmed. Estimated due date is the fifteenth of next month. You’ve booked the Platinum Suite — that’s our top-tier accommodation. Mr. Lockwood paid in full. The physical contract was couriered to your address. You should have it in hand any day now.” My hand trembled. “Are you — are you absolutely certain it’s Nina Lockwood?” I pressed. “Confirmed, Ms. Moore,” she interrupted. “Mr. Lockwood left a special note — you’re expecting twins and need extra care. Don’t worry. Our facility’s fully equipped. Medical team’s on standby twenty-four seven. You and your babies will be safe.” The phone almost slipped out of my hand. Twins? I hung up. Sat down on the couch. My hands and feet had gone ice cold. The name was right. The ID number was right. But I was carrying one baby. Only three months pregnant. And Seraphine? Seraphine was the kind of place that even a week’s notice was enough. There was no reason on earth to book this far ahead. Unless you needed the name on the paperwork to match a face that wasn’t going to be there. I sat very still. My hand drifted, almost without permission, to the small flat curve of my stomach. Whose baby was she carrying — and why was it due next month?

Ethan didn’t come home until well after midnight. I didn’t turn on the lights. I’m not sure why. Maybe I wanted to see his face in the moment before he could arrange it. Maybe I just didn’t trust my own expression under a lamp. The contract was spread open on the coffee table in front of me. I’d reread that one line so many times I could’ve recited it backwards. He had three years to learn my face. He should know what’s coming. “Nina?” The hall light clicked on. His footsteps came toward me, slow and tired. “Sweetheart, why are you sitting in the dark? You know that’s bad for —” I didn’t answer. I just looked at him. After a beat, he came closer, every line of his face arranged into something gentle and concerned, the role he’d been playing for three years and was very, very good at. He bent down to kiss my forehead the way he did every night. I turned my face away before his lips could land. “Nina?” There was a small, careful confusion in his voice now. “What’s wrong?” “Ethan.” I kept my voice level. “The contract from the maternity center arrived today.” “The due date is next month. And it says I’m carrying twins.” For half a second — just half — his face did absolutely nothing. Then he laughed, soft and rueful, and crouched down in front of me. He took my hand in both of his, the way he always did when he was about to talk me out of something. “God, sweetheart, I was going to tell you about that today.” His thumb traced over my knuckles. “Their system glitched last week — merged two patient files together. I already called and chewed them out. They swore to me they’d fix it.” He looked up at me with the same warm, apologetic eyes I’d been looking into across a kitchen table for three years. He squeezed my hand. “Come on, baby. You’re pregnant. You can’t let yourself spiral over something like this. It’s not good for her.” A week ago, I would’ve believed him. A day ago, I would’ve believed him. But this time, I was really looking. And I didn’t miss the flicker of panic at the bottom of his eyes.

Wait. The panic in his eyes told me he was about to. “A glitch in the system,” I repeated softly. I slid my hand, slowly and deliberately, out from under his. “Then how did the pregnancy timeline — the one someone wrote in by hand — also come out wrong?” His thumb, which had been tracing my knuckles, stilled. Three months ago, the day the second little pink line had shown up on the test stick, this man had wept into my hair and sworn — he’d never forget the date as long as he lived. But on that contract, neither date had anything to do with me. I waited. I gave him the chance. I watched him, hoping he’d give me a reason I could believe. He didn’t speak. A small, hot tremor crept into my voice before I could stop it. “It’s because the top suite at that place is impossible to get into, isn’t it.” I wasn’t asking anymore. “That’s why you booked so far in advance. That’s why you put it under my name.” “You couldn’t risk her name showing up anywhere.” “Nina —” Ethan rose to his feet. He turned away from me, ran a hand through his hair, and stood with his back to the room. For a long time, he didn’t say anything at all. When he finally spoke, his voice was so quiet I almost missed it. “Her name is Lena. She — she’s an intern at the company.” My mind went blank. Lena. Lena Moore. Nina Lockwood. Two syllables apart. Almost a joke, if you said them too fast. “At last year’s Christmas party—” His voice was strained now, threaded with something he wanted me to read as shame. “I’d had too much to drink. She — she’s just a girl, Nina. She’s under a lot of pressure right now —” Too much to drink. I almost laughed. In three years of marriage, had no one ever bothered to tell my husband that when he drank too much, he physically couldn’t get it up? “After that night,” he went on, eyes on the floor, “she got pregnant. The doctor told her it was twins. She wanted to terminate. I was the one who told her not to. They’re — they’re two lives, Nina. I couldn’t —” “So she’s giving birth at the maternity center,” I finished for him. “Under my name.” He didn’t answer. “That way you can keep playing the devoted husband.” “After all — your wife, Nina Lockwood, really is pregnant.” “Everyone will think I’m the one who gave birth. Your illegitimate children will become legitimate heirs right under their noses.” He flinched, but he didn’t deny it. “You even prepared the cover-up for yourself ahead of time,” I said. “How thoughtful of you.” I could feel tears tracking down my cheeks now, hot. “Nina, I love you. From beginning to end, I’ve only ever loved you.” He knelt again and took my hands. “She was an accident. I feel nothing for her. I just—” “I couldn’t let a young girl terminate her pregnancy. It would damage her health. Once the babies are born, she’ll leave. I promise.” I looked at him. This man I’d married three years ago. This man I’d thought, with absolute conviction, I was going to grow old beside. “You can’t stand her having an abortion… so I should have one?” Something flickered across his face — too fast to name. And then, slowly, he fell silent. No more explanations. No more denials. No more talk of how much he loved me. He just knelt there at my feet, head bowed, and said absolutely nothing. And that silence — God — gutted me. Because that was the answer. The answer he’d walked into this room hoping I’d give him myself, so he wouldn’t have to be the one to say it out loud. He didn’t want my baby.

It hit me all at once, then went ice-cold. Slow, creeping ice that filled every space inside my ribs. “Nina.” When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were still wet with that same careful pain. But the words coming out of his mouth were colder than anything he’d said yet. “She’s been falling apart these last few weeks. Worried sick the babies won’t have a name. That they’ll grow up as nothing.” He paused. The sympathy in his eyes was so undisguised that for a second I couldn’t breathe. “Two nights ago, she slit her wrists with a kitchen knife. Luckily, the maid found her in time.” He dropped his eyes to the floor. “You’re healthy, Nina. You bounce back fast. And —” his voice dropped lower, almost gentle, “you’ve done this before. One more time — it’s not gonna matter.” I went lightheaded. The kind of lightheaded where your ears start ringing. “What,” I whispered, “did you just say.” He wouldn’t look at me. He kept his eyes fixed on a single point on the floor, like a man who’d already rehearsed this conversation in his head and knew meeting my eyes would ruin the whole performance. “She’s different,” he said. “She’s only twenty-three. It’s her first pregnancy. She’s alone in this city. No family, no one to lean on —” I opened my mouth, and no sound came out. “I know you feel hurt.” His grip on my hand tightened. “We — ” “We can have another one later, Nina. You bounce back so easily. You got pregnant just fine after the first miscarriage. You’ll get pregnant again after this. Everything will be fine.” He looked up at me then, and — God help me — there were actual tears glittering in his eyes. “Just — just do it for me,” he whispered. “Please. Just this once. For me.” I stared at him. Looked into those wet, beautiful, lying eyes. And I laughed. “Ethan.” My voice came out very soft. “Do you remember why I miscarried the first time?” He froze. “Because your mother decided I wasn’t good enough for you,” I said. “Because she cornered me at the top of the staircase to tell me so. Because she argued with me, and I fell down the stairs.” His face paled. “I was twenty-three then too,” I went on, in the same quiet, conversational voice. “It was my first pregnancy too. I was alone in this city too. I’d left my own town, my own parents, my own life — for you.” He started to say something. I didn’t let him. I kept going, my voice flat. “You don’t remember, do you?” “Nina, my mother didn’t mean to—” “I know.” I cut him off softly. “That’s why I forgave her. I believed her. She looked terrified afterward. Genuinely terrified.” I tilted my head. “She just didn’t expect that you’d be standing two feet behind me on those stairs, and you didn’t catch me.”

Ethan’s face went white. “Nina —” His voice rose, sharp with something like panic. “How can you say that? That was my first child too. Why would I ever have let you fall on purpose?” I looked down at his hand. The hand still gripping mine. The hand that, three years ago, hadn’t caught me. The same hand that was now holding mine — and asking me, very tenderly, to lose another one. “So.” I drew my hand, slowly, out of his. My voice was very quiet now. “Your mother shoving me. You not catching me. Our baby dying.” “That was all just an accident.” “Yes,” he said, almost desperate. “Yes. It was an accident. Nobody wanted it to happen.” “Then tell me.” I held his eyes. “Is this one an accident, too?” He didn’t answer. This is for the baby he wants me to kill. “Her getting pregnant is an accident. You asking me to abort our baby is an accident.” “Tell me something, Ethan. Why is it that every Lockwood accident always happens to me?” The color came rushing back into his face in a furious red wave. The room was silent for a long time. For a long moment, I thought he wouldn’t speak again at all. Then, in a voice cracking at the edges, he said: “Nina. What the hell am I supposed to do?” He looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, raw, like he hadn’t slept in days. “There’s you on one side. Her on the other. And two babies.” “What the hell am I supposed to do?” I looked at him. “What are you supposed to do?” My voice was deadly quiet. “I’m the one asking what I am supposed to do.” And then, because I couldn’t hold it in for one more second, I broke. “She’s young. First pregnancy. Bad for her body. So she gets to walk away unscathed — and I deserve to suffer?” I was shaking. “She gets a Presidential Suite and twins and a future. And I get the operating table. Is that the math, Ethan?” “That’s not what I meant —” “Then what did you mean?” He didn’t answer. I looked at this face I had looked at across a pillow for three years, and suddenly it felt foreign. “Ethan.” My voice came out so quiet, it didn’t even sound like me. “Do you know what that’s called?” His lips moved, but nothing came out. “It’s called murder,” I said, slow and even. “You’re asking me to kill my own baby with my own hands.” “So I can raise your bastards.” “Nina —” I didn’t think about it. I didn’t decide. I raised my hand and slapped him across the face as hard as I could. The crack of it rang through the apartment. His head snapped sideways. He didn’t move. He just stayed frozen there, half-kneeling on the carpet at my feet, one hand drifting up to cover his cheek. My palm was numb. My chest was worse. “That slap,” I said, “was for the baby in my stomach.” I stood up. I didn’t shake. I didn’t cry. “Ethan. You are the one who didn’t want him.” I looked down at him and took a breath. “I want a divorce.”

He covered his cheek with one hand. And — somehow, impossibly — there was hurt in his eyes. “Hit me again if you want. I deserve it.” “But don’t you ever say the word divorce to me. Not ever.” “I told you. I never planned to be unfaithful. There is nothing wrong with our marriage —” His phone rang in the middle of the sentence. He froze. His eyes flickered down to the screen, and I watched him weigh it for a few seconds. He stood up and walked off to take the call. When he came back, his face had rearranged itself into something carefully apologetic. “Something urgent has come up at the office. I have to go in.” I looked at him. I didn’t say a word. “Just — calm down for tonight, all right, sweetheart? We’ll talk properly when I’m back.” He took a step toward the door. Then, of course, he turned around. “In her condition,” he said, not quite meeting my eyes, “out of basic responsibility, I have to keep an eye on her too.” “She’s close to her due date. These next few weeks I won’t be able to get away. And you — you, alone in this big house, hugely pregnant, no one to look after you — how miserable would that be?” “Better to do it now, while it’s still early. You’d suffer less, too.” “Once her babies are born, we’ll bring them home. We’ll put them under your name. You’d still be Mrs. Lockwood. They’d have a place in the family.” “Nothing between us would have to change.” He looked at me, walked out without looking back. The apartment went still. I sat there for a long time, looking at the door. Then I laughed. He made it sound so reasonable. *She was about to give birth, so he had no time to take care of me. I would be alone, carrying my belly, with no one by my side.* So why not just end it first? The night outside the window was deep and black. I just sat there, one hand on my stomach, and let the hours bleed into each other. I didn’t cry. I was past that. I had nothing left to give this man — not even my tears. By the time the doorbell rang, the sky outside was already pale. I crossed the apartment on legs that felt like they belonged to someone else, and opened the door. My mother-in-law stood there, with Bridget — Calder’s new wife — at her side. “Oh, Nina, honey. You look terrible. Have you eaten anything at all?” Bridget stepped inside first and grabbed both my hands. I tried to pull back. She held on. “Mom got the call last night and didn’t sleep a wink, sweetheart. She had me drag her out here before sunrise to come see how you were holding up.” Mrs. Lockwood walked past her. She settled onto my couch like she owned it. That slow, unhurried grace — I used to think it was elegance. Now I knew more. I sat. “Mom knows you’re hurting, dear.” She took my hand. Her rings were cold against my fingers. “I’ll have a serious talk with Ethan, I promise you. But Nina — you have to be reasonable too.” “That girl is carrying twins. That’s two lives.” I looked at her kind, lined face. I listened to every word coming out of her mouth — reasonable, decent, two lives. “Mother.” My voice came out raw, hoarser than I’d expected. “Are you saying the same thing as Ethan, then?” “Are you telling me to abort my baby?” Her expression didn’t change. Not by a flicker. Not by a millimeter. “They’re all my grandchildren. Of course it breaks my heart to lose any of them. But that girl is threatening to take her own life, Nina.” “One wrong move and we’d lose her and the twins — three lives, all at once.” She patted my hand, the way you’d humor a child. “That’s not how Lockwoods handle things, dear. It’s beneath us.” Beneath us. So forcing me to abort my own baby — that wasn’t beneath them, was it? I pulled my hand back. I stood up. “I can’t do it,” I said. My voice was very quiet, and very steady. “This is my child. I’m three months along. He has a heartbeat.” “I am not aborting him.”

Mrs. Lockwood’s face darkened. Beside me, Bridget let out a long, theatrical sigh, walked over, and slipped her arm through mine. “Nina, sweetheart, why are you being so stubborn?” She pressed me gently back down onto the couch. “Sit. Take relax. Let me say something to you, woman to woman.” I let myself be pushed back into the cushions. She kept hold of my hand, leaning in close, lowering her voice the way she did at parties. “Nina, sweetheart, you know what I do for a living. I deal with all kinds of people, every single day. And let me tell you — sometimes in life, you can’t just live for your pride.” “You have to play the long game.” Her voice dropped. “This whole mess? Yes. It’s Ethan’s fault. Nobody’s saying it isn’t. But think about it, honey. If you blow this up — what happens to his name? His reputation? The family’s reputation?” “And in the end, who pays the price?” “You do, Nina.” She squeezed my hand. “A woman has to learn to think about the bigger picture.” The bigger picture. I almost laughed in her face. Once upon a time, to get herself into this family, Bridget had deliberately befriended me. Used me to slip something into Ethan’s older brother Calder’s drink at a party. Used me and walked out of that night with her wanted marriage in her pocket. And now here she was. “Bridget.” I kept my voice perfectly level. “So what do you think I should do.” She paused for a second. Then she smiled. “I think you should listen to Mom, sweetheart. She’s been around the block a few more times than you have. She wouldn’t lead you wrong.” Mrs. Lockwood nodded. The kindly mask slid back over her face as easily as a glove. “As long as you behave, dear, I’ll make sure the Lockwoods continue to treat you. Every bit of respect that’s owed to you — you’ll keep. Down to the last cent.” I looked at her. “And what about my baby?” “Why can’t you listen, child?” Her voice dropped, and the warmth went out of it like someone had flipped a switch. “You’re not having a child.” She let the words sit for a second. “Your accounts have all been frozen. If you see reason, you’ll still have good life of this family. If not —” She paused, and her eyes — those soft, grandmotherly eyes — went cold. “The Lockwoods are not a family someone like you can afford to offend.” I bit my lip and said nothing. They didn’t bother trying to persuade me further. They stood up, smoothed out their coats, and let themselves out. The house went silent again. I picked up my phone and checked my banking app. I had trusted him completely. Now, besides the supplementary card he gave me, even my own private accounts were useless. My hands trembled. Every card I owned was dead in my hands. I was sitting there staring at the screen when footsteps sounded outside the door.

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It’s Christmas Eve, and my Alpha’s maid is on the phone—thanking me for giving her dying mother the donor heart that was supposed to keep me alive. “Thank you, Luna. You’re so generous. If Marcus hadn’t broken the rules for me tonight, if he hadn’t pulled the newest heart for my mom, I don’t know how I’d get through this.” I freeze. “You’ve got the wrong wolf. Marcus is visiting another pack tonight. He left before Christmas even started. And he’d never break pack law for anyone. He’s not that kind of Alpha.” Cassie’s voice doesn’t waver. “No mistake, Luna. The second Marcus saw my post on the pack feed begging for a heart, he was at the infirmary in five minutes. Straight from the airfield.” The line goes dead. A key turns in the front door. Marcus walks in. My voice shakes. “You said… you were visiting another pack tonight.” He’s silent for two long seconds. “I had a trip planned. But Cassie’s mother was dying. I couldn’t just leave her.” His voice drops lower. “And… that donor heart you were waiting for. I had it sent to Cassie’s mom.” “You’re younger than her mother. You can wait a little longer.” My eyes flood. I have heart failure from a silver wound. He knows. He knows how rare a matching donor is for a Luna whose heart was sliced by a silver blade. And he just—gave it away? When my parents begged him to pull strings months ago, he told them life was equal. No favors. No exceptions. Now he breaks pack law for his maid? It takes me forever to find my voice. “Marcus. I’m rejecting you. And I’m reporting you to the Council of Elders.” I turn to leave. He grabs my wrist. His face is cold. “Ivy. Don’t be ridiculous. I know you’re sick. I know you’re scared. I’m your Alpha, your mate—I’m more scared than you are. But Cassie’s mom is old. She couldn’t wait. Have a little compassion.” I stare at him. Then I howl it out of me. “Her mom couldn’t wait? What about ME? I do a silver purge every week, Marcus. I’m halfway in the grave. Who’s having compassion for ME? You KNOW if I don’t get this surgery I’m DEAD.” He frowns at me like I’m being dramatic. “Stop talking like that. You have me. You’re not going to die. The next heart comes through, it’s yours.” I look at him and something inside me dies quietly. “I’ve been on this list three years, Marcus. Three years. When my parents knelt on this floor and begged you—do you remember what you said?” Tears spill over. I can’t stop them. “You wouldn’t even look at them. You yelled at them. You said life is equal. You said taking shortcuts would dishonor you, that they were trying to drag you down. And I believed you. I told myself you weren’t cold, you were just honorable. I told myself I should be proud to be your Luna.” “So why does Cassie post once on the pack feed and the heart is hers?” My voice is shaking so hard I can barely get the words out. “Where did ‘life is equal’ go, Marcus?” His eyes slide away from mine. “Cassie’s only got her mother. No father. No pack family. If her mom dies, she has no one. I felt for her. I made a quick call.” I can’t breathe. “So because she can’t lose her mother, you trade my life for hers?” My whole body is shaking. “Your quick call cuts off MY life? I’m going to the infirmary right now. She’s giving that heart back.” “ENOUGH.” His hand cracks across my face. My head snaps. The room spins. My cheek burns like fire. I stare at him. Marcus’s face goes white. He reaches for me. I jerk back. I try to swing at him but my legs give out. He catches me, panicking now, dragging me to the bed, fumbling for my meds. His phone rings. He looks at the screen and answers without hesitation. A few low words. Then he looks at me, jaw tight. “Ivy, Cassie’s mom is rejecting the transplant. I have to go. Stay here. Don’t do anything stupid.” He grabs his keys and runs. He never even finishes finding my meds. The room is empty. I crawl off the bed. I drag myself along the wall to the medicine cabinet. I swallow the pills with shaking hands. Tears run down my face. This time, my Inner wolf goes silent. Something between us is dead.

Marcus is gone three days. No call. No mindlink. Nothing. I know exactly where he is, though. Because Cassie won’t stop posting on the pack feed. While I’m collapsed in bed shaking with fever, Marcus is at the infirmary holding Cassie’s hand all night. She posts a photo of their fingers laced together. Caption: Because of you, I have the strength to fight fate. While I’m dragging two slices of moldy bread out of the fridge, Marcus is taking Cassie out for a feast. Nine photos of food. Caption: He heard I’d never been to a real restaurant as a pup. So he said he’d take me to every one in the territory. While I’m rolling on the floor in pain, Cassie posts from a moon shrine. Caption: Someone came with me to pray for my mom. But honestly, I should thank the Moon Goddess for sending me this guardian angel. The pain comes in waves. Then I realize—today is my silver purge day. Marcus forgot. Of course he did. He’s too busy with his maid. When I took that silver blade meant for him and almost died in his arms, Marcus cried into my chest. He swore that if I died, he’d follow me into the next life. He wouldn’t break pack law for me, but he’d remember every dose, every appointment, every wave of pain. When did it change? When Cassie became his maid. He used to roll his eyes when he mentioned her. “Dumb little thing. Can’t do anything right. Cries every time I correct her. Exhausting.” Then it shifted. “Poor pup. Just her and her mom. She’s clawing her way up from nothing. Tough situation.” Then the corner of his mouth would lift when her name came up. “My maid—not the brightest, but she’s got grit. You know what I love about her, Ivy? She’s so full of life. I come home every day to a Luna who can barely sit up. It’s rare to see someone who—” He caught my eyes. “I didn’t mean you, Ivy. Don’t take it like that. Once you’re healthy again, you’ll have all that energy too.” He said that. And then he started coming home later. And later. And later. Too busy. Always too busy. Too busy doing pack rounds. Too busy training Cassie. Too busy to spend Christmas with his mate. But not too busy to pull strings for Cassie’s family. Not too busy to give away the heart I’d waited three years for. I drift in and out of consciousness. At some point I think I hear Marcus’s voice. Ivy, are you feeling any better? A girl peeks out from behind him. I jolt awake. It’s not a dream. Marcus is home. He brought Cassie with him.

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Five years had passed. I ran into my former fianc└e, Vivienne Holt, again at the awards ceremony for the Paralympic Games. When I reached out to accept the trophy, she stared at my six missing fingers, her voice edged with panic. “Ethan ！ what happened to you?” She couldn’t have imagined it. The legendary NYU hockey champion, the man who had once ruled every rink in the city, now couldn’t even claim a complete body. “You were released early ！ why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t come home?” Her assistant stepped forward, bristling with indignation. “The day you walked out of Rikers, Ms. Holt stood at the prison gates in her wedding dress and waited for you all morning. The whole city knew how much she loved you. And yet you’ve been hiding in this nowhere town, letting her look like a fool!” Hearing those words, I felt nothing but contempt. She couldn’t live without me? If it weren’t for her, I would never have been forced into that marriage with that Mafia lunatic ！ then my fingers cut off, my legs taken, my face carved up, my kidney harvested. I would never have been framed for murder, never spent five years rotting in a cell for a crime I didn’t commit. But, for revenge, I didn’t mind dancing with the lunatic again, as long as I could drag them all down to hell.

Vivienne finally tore her gaze away from my scarred and ruined face, her voice sharpening with anger. “No matter how angry you are, you can’t just vanish like this. Whatever misunderstanding there is between us, we can talk it through.” She snatched away my crutch in frustration, then bent down to help me up. But without the support, I pitched forward and crashed hard to the ground. The stumps where my legs had been were already raw and swollen from weeks of intense training. The impact sent white-hot agony straight through me. The color drained from my face. Vivienne stared at the empty, folded fabric of my trouser legs. She stood there, rooted, helpless. “Your legs ！ where are your legs?” Just then, a man walked in leading a boy of about five or six years old. Looking at a face that was once my own, it took me a long moment to recognize him� Connor Ashby. Vivian arranged surgery to give Connor my facial features, and I with his face, my fate was changed to a darker version. He glanced at Vivienne. “Vivienne has been turning this whole city inside out looking for you.” The little boy broke away and ran to Vivienne. “Mommy! I missed you!” Vivienne lifted him naturally into her arms. “Mommy missed you too, baby.” I looked coldly at Vivienne, but directed my words at Connor. “She’s been so busy hunting for me ！ still found time to have a child with you?” Vivienne’s expression stiffened. I didn’t look at her. I braced my crutch to stand. Seeing my struggle, she set the boy down and moved toward me. “Let me help you up.” I swept her hand away with my crutch. “Get away from me.” Vivienne’s face darkened. “Do you want your parents to see you like this too?” I hauled myself upright. Connor picked up the boy and came closer. “Say hi to your Uncle Ethan.” “Ethan, take the mask off. Let us see your face.” Before I could stop them, my ruined face was exposed for all to see. “Mommy ！ a monster! I’m scared!” The boy buried himself in Connor’s arms, wailing, screaming that he wanted to go home. My mother rounded on me. “Cover that face of yours right now!” My father hurled a stack of banknotes at me. “Take it. Get some plastic surgery. Stop frightening my grandson.” “Refusing to come home, showing up at this pathetic little sideshow ！ you’re trying to humiliate us, aren’t you? If Connor hadn’t told us you were here, God knows how much shame you’d have put us through.” The crisp edges of the fresh checks sliced across my scars. Tiny threads of blood welled up and fell. My knuckles, trembling and bloodless, betrayed the fury I was fighting to keep buried. I bowed to them. Smiled. Thanked them. “Thank you. You’re both very generous people. May you live long, healthy lives.” My father heard the venom beneath my words ！ heard, too, that I hadn’t called them Mom or Dad ！ and ground his teeth together in rage, cursing me as an ungrateful son. My mother told me to watch myself, then left with Connor and the boy. I lowered myself on my crutch and began gathering the scattered checks from the floor. Vivienne seemed unable to watch. She pressed her hand over mine. “What happened back then ！ I owe you for that.” “I’ll marry you, Ethan. I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life.” The hand gathering checks went still. Behind my eyes, hatred surged like a tide. “All right,” I said. “Give me time to finish what I’ve started.” Vivienne wanted to come back with me to my place and help me pack. Just then, Connor called her. “Vivienne, the boy’s been crying. He won’t stop asking for you.” I gave a cold laugh. “Go.” “I don’t have legs anymore. Where am I going to run?” Vivienne left her number and told me to call whenever I needed anything. The moment she was gone, I blocked her contact, called uber, and left. I reached out to a man I’d done time with, and moved into the room he was renting. Only when I heard no trace of Vivienne searching for me did I finally begin to breathe.

I worked from a corner of a farmers’ market. I was just starting to think about renting a proper room and settling in when Vivienne found me. “Come on,” she said softly. “Come home with me.” When I refused, she turned to the vendors and shoppers around us, appealing to them for help. “Please ！ talk some sense into him.” “I genuinely want to marry him. I want to spend my life taking care of him.” Everyone in the market had already noticed the Rolls-Royce she’d arrived in. They pressed in from all sides. “You’ve got a beautiful, wealthy woman like this wanting you ！ and you’re still out here as a labor?” “She’s not bothered by your face, she’s not bothered by the missing fingers or the legs ！ what are you throwing a tantrum about?” “Stop being difficult. Go home with her!” I was furious, but I refused to show it. I made an excuse ！ said I needed to say goodbye to my former cellmate ！ and slipped away under his cover. This time I traveled for five days before reaching a small city two thousand miles south. With missing fingers and no legs, it took genuine effort to land even a menial job at a butcher stall. But I didn’t have time to feel relieved. Vivienne found me again. “Ethan, you can’t run from me forever!” The butcher, dripping with sarcasm, chimed in: “You’ve got a woman that rich willing to marry you and look after you ！ what are you doing out here punishing yourself? Go live the good life!” I looked at Vivienne with contempt. “Good life?” The exhaustion of days of running and the hatred coiled deep inside me finally overwhelmed my self-control. “Vivienne ！ why won’t you leave me alone?” “You’ve already turned me into something less than human. Can’t you at least let me go?” Vivienne’s face fell, her eyes genuinely confused. “Marrying you is what you need most right now. And it’s a promise I made to you. I’m trying to help you.” I laughed bitterly. “Help me? The way you helped me lose my fingers, my legs, and five years of my life?” “It was Connor who got tangled up with that lunatic woman. But you killed our child, manipulated the surgery so I’d end up with his face, shipped me off to her ！ and she hacked off my fingers, dismembered my legs. I served five years in prison for the two of you.” “Did you sleep well, these five years? Any nightmares?” Vivienne sighed, her face drawn with what looked like genuine pain. “What’s done is done. Tearing it all open again won’t fix anything.” “I told you ！ I’ll marry you.” I looked at her coldly. “And what does that make Connor? What does that make your son?” Something flickered ！ guilt ！ in her eyes. “What happened with Connor and the boy was an accident.” “As for Connor, I’ll compensate him another way.” Looking at the certainty in her expression, I asked, in a voice like ice: “Your way of compensating ！ is it me on odd days, him on even days?” The guilt in her eyes confirmed it. I’d guessed right. Revulsion rose in my throat. “Vivienne ！ keep dreaming.” Vivienne’s patience finally ran out. Her voice cracked like a whip. “Ethan Grayson, a marriage certificate is the greatest dignity I can offer you.” “I don’t want your dignity,” I said flatly. “Give it to him.” “I just want the two of you as far from me as possible.” I moved to leave. Vivienne’s warning came from behind me. “Ethan ！ keep pushing me, and your old cellmates may find their peaceful lives coming to a rather abrupt end.” I stopped. I turned back, jaw set. “Vivienne ！ you make me physically sick.”

It had taken me five days to reach that small town. The flight home took five hours. I arrived at the house just in time for the welcome-home party my parents had apparently organized in my honor. Connor stood in the middle of it all in a perfectly tailored suit, looking every bit the groom ！ every bit the man of the house. My father gave a contemptuous grunt. “So the prodigal son deigns to return.” My mother sighed. “At least the boy has no blood connection to you. Otherwise, even his career prospects would be ruined.” “Step over the fire pit before you come in. Don’t bring your bad luck and misfortune into this house.” The neighbors and relatives, seeing me with my mask and my crutch, whispered to one another: “Why did they even bother bringing him back? Isn’t there enough shame already?” “I heard that while he was with Vivienne, he was sleeping with some Mafia woman on the side. Had surgery to look like the woman¨s first love, even pressured Vivienne into terminating their baby.” “If you ask me, having his fingers cut off, his legs taken, his face carved up, his kidney harvested, and five years in prison ！ he brought every bit of it on himself.” Connor stepped in and cut the neighbor off. “Ethan made serious mistakes, but he’s served five years. Not every dog is beyond redemption. We believe Ethan won’t make the same mistakes twice.” I watched this kangaroo court, tailor-made for me, and felt nothing but cold, nauseating contempt. Then Connor carried over a fire pit. He added fresh charcoal to it. “The bigger the fire, the brighter the future.” The new coals popped and spat sparks. You could feel the heat from ten feet away. He gave me a challenging look, a mean little smile. “Step over it. Start your life over.” Before I could react, he grabbed me and dragged me toward it. Then someone shoved me hard in the small of my back. I had no balance. I pitched straight forward. I managed to knock the pit aside, but the tipping coals scattered across my body and ignited my synthetic clothing. “Help ！ please！” I screamed, but no one moved to help. In the end, it was Vivienne who tore the burning fabric from me. Connor followed with a bucket of cold water poured over my head. The mask came off. Hair matted, clothes destroyed, knife scars crossing every inch of my back. The crowd recoiled, breath hissing through teeth, from the wreckage of my face. My father pointed at my half-naked body and swore at me. “How long are you going to keep humiliating this family? Get back to your room!” Connor, seeing Vivienne move to go find me fresh clothes, flashed me a cold smile. He reached into the dog kennel, pulled out the blanket from under the old retriever, and draped it over me. “Use this to cover yourself for now.” I tried to pull free. Connor held me down, hard. I smiled. Let go of the struggle. This whole spectacle had been designed for me. All they wanted was to see me broken enough. Only when I’d been broken enough would they finally leave me alone. I looked at Vivienne. “Satisfied?” Vivienne glanced at Connor, something flickering in her eyes. “A dog blanket is better than being completely exposed.” Connor’s eyes lit with quiet triumph. He made a show of offering to help me up. I shook him off. “Keep your filthy hands off me.” Without looking at my parents’ curses or the neighbors’ stares, I hauled myself on my crutch toward the house. Connor’s voice drifted after me: “Mom and Dad said the good rooms will be tainted by your bad luck. You’re in the attic.” I made the slow, agonizing climb up the stairs. When the door closed behind me, my eyes burned against my will. I pulled away the dog blanket. In the mirror: a body mapped in scars, and fresh burn blisters rising in patches across my skin. These wounds ！ some from the Mafia woman’s knife, some from prison ！ cut deep enough to show bone. I hadn’t forgotten a single one. I was waiting for the right moment to return every last one of them. That night, Vivienne knocked on my door. I didn’t open it. Sometime after midnight, sounds drifted up from the balcony below: “You bastard ！ you said tonight was our wedding night.” “It is. Did you like what I wore today?” “I loved it. The moment I saw you, I wanted you to！” What followed were the low, intimate sounds of a man and a woman. Only then did I understand. The red balloons plastered across every room and across the yard ！ they weren’t for my homecoming. They were for a wedding. Theirs.

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Lucius said. “You’re still the one I love.” Those words were all it took. I zipped the dress back up. I decided to give him one last chance. What I got instead was a phone call. “I’m sorry, Miss Ashford. Mr. Hayes said the wedding is canceled. Miss Chase had a heart attack. She’s in the emergency room.” The bouquet slipped from my hands. Something inside me cracked clean in half. I ran out of the hotel. All I saw was the taillights of his car disappearing into the distance. I called him, my voice breaking. “Lucius! If you go to her today, I swear I’ll go to the hospital tomorrow and make sure you never see your child again.” He was silent for a moment. Then he hung up. The dial tone droned in my ear. I stood at the hotel entrance in my wedding dress. Guests whispered around me. The emcee stood frozen on the stage, microphone in hand, not knowing what to say. Lucius’s mother hurried over and grabbed my hand. “Nora, come inside. You’re making a scene.” I looked at her. “The wedding is over, Madam Hayes.” “Don’t be ridiculous.” Her voice dropped. “Vivian could’ve died, for God’s sake. He didn’t have a choice and you know it.” “So he could go to her, but not to me?” “You’re the woman he’s marrying. You need to be understanding.” I smiled. I pulled my hand from hers. “Then I won’t be Mrs. Hayes.” I turned and walked toward the back, lifting my skirt so I wouldn’t trip. “Nora Ashford!” she called after me. “If you walk out that door today, I’ll make sure my son doesn’t marry you!” I didn’t look back. In the dressing room, I took off the wedding dress and put on my own clothes. The makeup artist carefully removed my hair accessories. “Miss Ashford, your makeup…” “Leave it.” I picked up my bag and left. Outside, the sky was gray. I hailed a taxi. “Graystone General Hospital, please.” My phone buzzed in my bag. Jensen. Lucius’s assistant. I didn’t answer. I knew what he would say. *Mr. Hayes is dealing with an emergency. It’s not his fault. He’ll explain later.* Ten years of the same damn excuses. I could’ve recited them in my sleep. Vivian Chase was Lucius’s responsibility. Her brother, Leo, had died saving Lucius five years ago. I used to think it was right—that he should look after her. That it was the kind of man he was, and part of why I loved him. It took me until today to understand. Some debts never get paid. They just turn into a leash — you can’t tell who’s holding the other end. The taxi stopped at the hospital. I paid and walked into the emergency building. Lucius sat on a bench outside the resuscitation room. Head bowed. Elbows on his knees. Hands buried in his hair. His suit jacket crumpled on the seat beside him. I walked toward him. He heard the footsteps. Looked up. When he saw me, he stood. His eyes were bloodshot. “Nora. You came. I’m sorry about today—” “How is she?” I cut him off, my eyes cutting to the closed ER doors. “The doctor said acute heart failure. She’s still being resuscitated. It’s not good.” I nodded. “I see.” I turned to leave. He grabbed my arm. “Nora, don’t be like this. Leo died because of me. I can’t not take care of Vivian. She has no one left in this world.” I pulled my arm free. “Lucius. I’m not being anything. I just realized our wedding seems to matter less than a sister you’ve known for five years.” “That’s not true! You’re the most important person to me, Nora. But she could have died.” “The doctor didn’t say she would die,” I said quietly. His lips moved, but no words came. The doors of the ER swung open. A doctor stepped out. “Family of Vivian Chase?” Lucius stood immediately. “That’s me.” “Patient’s heart rate spiked due to acute emotional distress. We’ve stabilized her. No immediate danger. We’ll move her to a regular ward for observation. Two days, just to be safe.” Lucius exhaled in relief. He turned to me, his eyes carrying a trace of reproach. “See how fragile she is? Can’t you be more understanding?” I said nothing. The bed was wheeled out. Vivian lay there, pale, eyes closed. As the gurney passed me, her eyes opened just enough to find my face, tears welled up immediately. Lucius hurried to her side and took her hand. “Vivian, don’t be scared. I’m here.” I turned and walked out of the hospital. The cold wind hit my face. It was only then that I realized my heart was pounding— Not from grief, not from rage, but from something I hadn’t felt in ten years of loving Lucius Hayes. It was the cold, clean feeling of finally seeing him for what he was.

The next morning, Lucius didn’t come home. The wedding suite sat exactly as it had been prepared. Champagne on ice, now flat. Rose petals scattered across the bed, now wilting. The air still faintly sweet with gardenias. I called a real estate agent before noon. “I need it sold quickly,” I said. “Are you sure, Miss Ashford? This property just closed escrow three months ago—” “I’m sure.” I hung up and started packing. He showed up around four. Still in yesterday’s suit, tie loosened, shadows carved beneath his eyes. “Nora, I’m sorry. Vivian asked me to apologize for her. She didn’t mean to cause trouble yesterday.” “Can’t she apologize herself?” He hesitated. “She’s still weak…” “Lucius. About us. About the wedding.” I set down the dress I was folding. “How do you plan to explain this to three hundred guests?” He rubbed the back of his neck. Quiet for a moment. “Let some time pass. When things calm down, we’ll hold another ceremony.” Reschedule. I repeated the word in my head like it tasted strange. “You think this is something you reschedule?” I said. “Like a dentist appointment?” “Then what the hell do you want from me, Nora?” His voice sharpened. “It’s done. I can’t undo it. Vivian almost flatlined on a table—and you’re standing here making it about a damn party?” “That’s not fair.” “No,” I said quietly. “It’s not.” I stood up. Walked into the bedroom. Pulled a suitcase from the closet and started packing my things. Lucius followed. “What are you doing?” “I sold the house.” His face darkened. “You what?” “You heard me.” “Nora Ashford, you’re being irrational.” “I’m thinking clearly. And speaking clearly.” I folded a sweater. Placed it in the suitcase. “This isn’t our home anymore.” He grabbed my wrist. “You can’t sell it. This is our home.” “It stopped being a home the second you walked out on it for her.” Rage flared in his eyes. “You’re impossible.” His phone rang. He answered, and his voice softened immediately. “What’s wrong? Another nightmare? Don’t be scared. I’ll be right there.” He hung up. He looked at me with a flicker of impatience he didn’t bother to hide. “Nora, I have to go. Vivian’s still fragile—her emotions are unstable. We’ll finish this when I get back.” He reached for his keys. “If you walk out that door,” I said, “don’t bother coming back.” He paused. Hand on the doorknob. He turned. Looked at me. And for a moment, I thought I saw something—hesitation. Or guilt. Then his expression hardened. “My patience has limits, Nora.” The door closed behind him. I stood in the hallway, listening to his footsteps fade down the corridor. I put the last piece of clothing into the suitcase and zipped it shut. And I left. I went back to my studio—a small converted loft downtown. Design workspace below, a narrow bedroom above. I’d kept the lease even after moving in with Lucius. Now I was grateful for it. The first three days were quiet. Lucius didn’t call. I didn’t call him. The silence between us stretched like a wire pulled taut—vibrating with everything unsaid. On the fourth day, Madam Hayes called and asked to meet. She chose an upscale café near the Hayes estate. When I arrived, she was already seated. Posture perfect. Pearl earrings. A cup of tea she hadn’t touched. She slid an envelope across the table the moment I sat down. “What’s this?” “Open it.” Inside was a check. Six figures. More zeros than I’d ever seen on a single piece of paper. “Leave Lucius,” she said. “Take the money and move on.” I looked at the check. Then at her. “Madam Hayes. This isn’t about money.” “I know.” She picked up her cup. Took a sip. Her expression was perfectly calm. “You and my son have ten years of history. But Nora, you need to understand something.” She set the cup down. “The Hayes family needs a wife who knows her role. A wife who supports her husband. Who steadies him. Who manages the demands of his position with grace.” She paused. “Not a wife who makes scenes.” “So Vivian Chase manages those demands?” “Vivian is simple. Kind. Her brother gave his life for Lucius—we owe her a debt that can never be repaid. Lucius protecting her is the right thing to do. As his wife, you should support that. Not fight him on it.” I understood then. Perfectly. In their eyes, every ounce of my pain was an inconvenience. A disruption to the smooth machinery of the Hayes family image. I pushed the check back across the table. “Keep your money. I don’t want it. And I don’t want Lucius, either.” I stood up. “They deserve each other.” I walked out without looking back. That evening, I blocked every Hayes family number in my phone. The world fell quiet. Like stepping out of a storm into still air. That night, I slept ten hours straight for the first time in a decade. I didn’t dream of him. I didn’t dream of anything at all.

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Five years ago, I lost my world to fire and blood. Now, I’m a single mother in a forgotten town, guarding a secret that could restart a war. My son has furry ears and sharp teeth. He is the last heir of the Lycan King. I thought we were safe… until He found us. The King’s brother. The ruthless Alpha. And he’ll burn the world to ashes to take what belongs to him. … “Lior, ears in! Now!” I hissed, frantically pulling the woolen beanie down until it nearly covered his eyebrows. One fuzzy, gray triangle was still twitching defiantly against the fabric. Living in Silver Falls meant hiding in plain sight. Local legends spoke of “The Howl” on full-moon nights to keep naughty children in bed, but the town had no idea the real “monster” was currently eating chicken nuggets at my kitchen table. I once stopped my son from biting a mailman. Last week, he accidentally howled at the moon during a spelling test. Today, he grew wolf ears at breakfast. Lior looked up, his molten gold eyes shimmering with ancient power. “What are the rules, Lior?” I asked, crossing my arms. “No teeth, no ears, no glowing eyes, and don’t scare the humans,” he recited, his voice small but steady. I kissed his forehead, sent him to the bus, and headed to the diner. Three years ago, I arrived here with nothing but a secret. Now, I was the town’s favorite cook, blending into the aroma of grilled onions and sea salt. But at 2:00 PM, the school called. “Miss Elara,” the principal wiped sweat from his brow. “He didn’t just push the boy. He… he smashed a solid oak desk with his bare hand.” Lior stood tall, uninjured and defiant, while the other boy sobbed with a small scratch on his arm. “Is this how you raise him?” the mother shrieked. “Look at my baby!” “Sorry-” I apologized profusely, but Lior’s eyes flared. “I’m not sorry! He said my Dad is never coming back. He lied! I have a Dad, he’s just… very busy!”

Five years ago, Ironwood Pack was the crown jewel of the North. Luna Seraphina was my only true friend. She is a regal woman who treated a human servant like her own blood sister. Beside the Alpha King stood his younger brother, Kael, the kingdom’s deadliest wolf. When Hagen’s rebels breached the gates, the air filled with the blood. “Run, Elara!” Seraphina had gasped, thrusting a silver-wrapped bundle into my trembling arms. “Protect him. He is the last Alpha heir. Never let Hagen find him.” I watched from the shadows as she and the Alpha Lord shifted, their massive forms standing ground against a tide of darkness until the pristine snow turned crimson. I ran until my lungs burned like fire, clutching baby Lior to my chest. He lost his memory that night, the trauma locking away his wolf. To him, I wasn’t the servant who saved him. I was simply “Mama.” But now, in the principal’s office, the wolf was scratching at the door. “Lior!” I interrupted, my heart hammering against my ribs. “We had a deal! You cannot hurt your classmates, no matter what they say.” The “busy Dad” he imagined was a shield he’d built for his own heart, but I knew the truth.

“Mommy, I’m still so hungry.” Lior mumbled, his eyes fixed longingly on the raw ribeye I was prepping for the lunch rush. His pupils were blown wide, nearly swallowing the gold of his irises. “It’s not cooked yet, baby,” I said, reaching for the tongs. Lior didn’t wait. In a blur of speed no human child should possess, he snatched the slab of meat and began tearing into it. I sighed as a sudden flurry of black fur drifted onto the kitchen tile. He was shedding again. His triangular ears popped out, twitching with every frantic bite. I didn’t panic; I just grabbed the vacuum. Whirrr. “How about I sear the next one medium-rare for you?” I asked, navigating the vacuum nozzle around his feet. “Just tell me when you’re hungry, and for heaven’s sake, stop raiding the fridge in the middle of the night!” “One more thing, mom, I accidentally ate the neighbor’s chicken.” “Again?!” I wasn’t in shock. The struggle of raising a Royal Alpha cub? It doesn’t care about your grocery budget. When he loses his temper, every dog within a three-block radius starts a howling riot. But luckily, I’m the only one who can talk him down from the ledge. “The full moon is coming up,” I warned, bopping his nose. “Try to behave better, okay?” He just blinked at me. “Yes, Ma’am!”

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Because I knew my husband, Victor Harlan, would bring his widowed sister-in-law back to live with us, I quietly moved out of base family housing after I was given my second chance at life. Because I knew he would hand over his entire service allowance to Sandra, I raised Tina alone — never asking him for a single dollar. When Tina’s fever spiked and her life hung by a thread, the hospital called Victor because the bill had gone unpaid. He arrived breathless, his face tight with fury. “No money for treatment and you didn’t think to tell me? She nearly died, Ellie!” I watched his jaw work and looked away. “It was nothing. Didn’t want to trouble you.” Because in my first life, trying to stop Victor and Sandra from destroying everything, we spent ten years tearing each other apart. Sandra had racked up crushing gambling debts, and when I told Victor, he called me a liar. He kicked me hard enough to crack two of my ribs. To protect his brother’s fragile, sickly wife, he turned my parents into enemies of the household and drove them to their graves. In despair, I walked into the river. My child was left behind and starved to death. In that life, fighting for his love cost me everyone I had. In this life, I want nothing from him — not his love, not his attention, not even his pity. … Victor’s voice was barely controlled. “Ellie Gould. Our daughter almost died. And you call that nothing?” I kept my mouth shut. He stepped closer, jaw clenched. “Talk to me.” I laughed, low and quiet. “What would you like me to say, Victor? That you’ve been sending your entire allowance to Sandra every month without keeping a cent?” “Or that you used your last leave to spend three days with her instead of coming home for Tina’s birthday?” He took a half-step back. The look on his face was one I had never seen there before — something close to disbelief. Hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor, followed by a familiar cough. “Ellie, please don’t blame Vic. It’s all my fault. I never should have taken that money—” Sandra braced herself against the doorframe, pale-faced and frail. Victor’s throat moved. When he turned toward her, his voice had already softened. “Sandra, what are you doing here? The ward is full of germs — your lungs can’t take it.” Sandra pushed herself to the observation window and pressed her hands to the glass, eyes red. “It’s my fault. The money that should have gone to Tina’s care — it went to my prescriptions.” Victor caught her elbow gently, his voice full of a tenderness I had not heard in years. “Tina’s going to be fine. You need to go back and rest. I’ll handle things here.” I watched them move away together, then turned and held Tina tightly against my chest. “Ma’am.” The nurse stopped me at the desk. “I’m sorry, but without payment—” “Give me a little more time. I’ll have the money.” She looked at me the way people look at someone they feel sorry for. “She can’t wait much longer.” I squeezed the few coins in my pocket and walked out of the hospital. In my first life, I had carried Tina through a winter just like this one — burning with fever — and knelt on the hospital floor in front of Victor, begging him to save our daughter. He had looked down at me with disgust. “Get up. Have you no dignity? Look at yourself.” Sandra had stood behind him, her voice small and careful, driving every word like a nail. “Vic, Ellie’s just scared. It’s my fault really. But my leg has started hurting again—” She beat at her own bad leg, and Victor turned to her without hesitation. I had grabbed his arm. He shook me off and walked out. The cold had gone all the way into my bones, but I did not stop walking. This time, I would not hand my life or Tina’s to a man who could not see what was right in front of him. I went to the pawnshop and left my mother’s silver brooch on the counter. Then I ran back to the hospital and paid the bill. Past midnight, Tina’s fever finally began to break. I folded my arms on the edge of her bed and drifted off. I woke to a familiar presence standing over me. Victor spoke first, his voice rough. “Did you pay?” “Yes.” “Where did you get the money?” “Pawned the brooch.” I kept my voice flat, as if I had given away something worthless rather than the last thing my mother had left me. He was quiet for a long time. “That brooch belonged to your mother, Ellie. How could you just—” “What else was I supposed to do?” I turned and looked him in the eye. “Wait for you to save a little from Sandra’s prescriptions and grocery runs?” His face flushed dark. “Watch your mouth! Sandra is sick! My brother died young and she’s been alone ever since — of course I look after her. Is that a crime?” Again. That sentence. I had heard it so many times in my first life I could recite it in my sleep. “She’s fragile,” I repeated, slowly, and let the irony carry itself. “So Tina and I are supposed to be the durable ones?”

Victor’s face went gray. “Tina is my daughter. You think I don’t care? Ellie, stop keeping score.” I closed my eyes. I was too tired to keep looking at that face — the one I had once loved, obsessed over, and then learned to hate. “Victor. From this day on, I’m done making allowances for you two. I’m also done fighting. And I am done hoping.” “What does that mean?” “It means you can take care of Sandra however you like. But Tina and I — that’s no longer your concern.” “Ellie!” His hand closed around my wrist. “Is this about money? Fine. I’ll draw next month’s allowance tomorrow. Every cent. Just stop talking about separating.” His fingers were warm. The touch turned my stomach. I pulled my arm free and rubbed the red mark on my wrist. “Keep it. Sandra will need it for her next round of prescriptions.” His chest heaved. “Fine. See how long you last on your own. And don’t forget you’re still living in base housing.” I smiled, reached into my coat pocket, and held out a folded sheet of paper. “Actually. This is for you.” It was a handwritten Voluntary Waiver of Base Family Housing, signed and dated in my own hand. “When did you—” His mouth opened and closed. “The day I moved out. I’ve been carrying it since then.” I kept my voice even. “Sign it. Tina and I are done taking up space that belongs to someone else.” Down the hall, Sandra’s voice drifted toward us, soft and trembling. “Vic? You’ve been in there so long. I can’t stop worrying—” She appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame, wearing her suffering like something carefully arranged. “Ellie, please don’t do anything rash. I’ll go back home. I’ll leave you both alone—” Her eyes filled. Victor stepped toward her at once. “Sandra. Stop that. I made a promise to my brother. You’re not going anywhere.” He looked at me over his shoulder — and in that look was the same disappointment I had seen a thousand times before, as if I were the one who had done something wrong. “Ellie, look what you’re doing to her.” He signed the form. “But Tina is my daughter. That doesn’t change. When she’s better, I’m coming to get her.” I took the paper, folded it carefully, and tucked it away. “Safe travels.” He guided Sandra out without looking back. At the hospital entrance, under the yellow glow of a streetlamp, he took off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. He never once glanced back at the window where Tina lay. In my first life, I had drowned myself in the river over this man. Tina was left alone. Sandra forgot her. By the time anyone thought to look, she was gone. I had heard — much later, in the version of events that haunts me still — that Tina’s last words were whispered into an empty room. “Mommy, I’m so cold. I’m so hungry. Where are you?” The tears came before I could stop them, sliding down in silence. “Tina. Not in this life. No one is going to hurt you again.” I dried my face. My eyes went cold. Victor Harlan. This time, you take nothing from me.

After leaving base housing, I rented a small room on a side street near town. During the day, I picked up alterations and mending work — hemming, patching, whatever people brought to the door. In the evenings, by lamplight, I sewed rag dolls and cloth animals for Tina. Word got around now and then that Victor handed over most of his allowance to Sandra each month — imported vitamins, new clothes, specialist appointments. That information passed through me like wind through a screen door. One evening, I was returning from dropping off a batch of finished alterations when I saw a crowd gathered outside my door. My stomach dropped. I pushed through. Inside, the room was destroyed. My sewing things were scattered everywhere; three garment orders I had taken from base families lay in pieces on the floor. Sandra stood in the middle of it all, composed and faintly pleased. “I saw Ellie hiding subversive pamphlets in her sewing basket. She’s been working against the base community. Against all of us.” She held up a few crumpled slips of paper. Two MPs stood near the door, arms folded. “Ms. Gould. Sandra Harlan has filed a report claiming you concealed prohibited materials on premises. Do you have anything to say?” The neighbors murmured. “Can’t believe it. She was doing alterations for military families. What was she hiding in there?” “No wonder Victor Harlan put her out—” I recognized the play. It was the same one Sandra had run on my parents in my first life — a quiet accusation, a ransacked room, a crowd already half-convinced. This time I would not freeze. “What proof do you have?” Sandra’s satisfaction sharpened. “The room. The papers. What more do you need?” “Victor Harlan is here!” Someone called it from the back of the crowd. Victor pushed through and walked in. His gaze moved across the ruined garments, and then he turned it on me. “Ellie. Do you understand what you’ve done?” Sandra moved quickly to his side, her voice dropping to something wounded. “Vic, I only came to check on her. I never imagined I’d find — this.” He put a hand briefly on her arm. When he looked back at me, there was no warmth in it. “Evidence is right in front of us. What is there to argue?” In my first life, he had looked at me exactly this way. No question. No pause. Sandra had accused my parents and he had believed her instantly, led the search himself, watched my father’s head split on a doorframe and my mother collapse. “You have no case,” I said. “These garments belong to base families. Every order has a receipt with a date, a description, and the customer’s signature. The paper trail is complete.” “As for those slips of paper — I’m requesting a handwriting analysis.” Sandra’s color shifted. “That’s enough!” Victor cut across me. “Ellie, making this official helps no one. Apologize to Sandra, and I’ll make this go away.” He had done this before, too. Used my humiliation as currency to keep Sandra calm. I pulled my arm back and looked at him steadily. “I have done nothing wrong. I will not apologize for something I didn’t do. And I don’t need you to make anything go away.” His patience ran out. He pointed at the MPs. “This is a failure of household conduct and it reflects on my command. Whatever the investigation requires, we’ll cooperate fully.”

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In my past life, my mate rescued an orphan girl from the battlefield of the witch clan—and she gave me a pair of hairbands. From the moment I put them on, I felt drained of energy day after day. In the end, I contracted a filthy disease. My body rotted from the inside out, and I died. Only after death did I learn the truth: she had been the lowest-ranked prostitute of the witch clan. After their defeat, she had used her beauty to bewitch my mate. Once inside our Gem Pack, she performed a ritual exchange—trading bodies and destinies with me. My mate became obsessed with her body while he let me die in a filthy corner. After I died, they rolled me into a straw mat and threw me into a mass grave. Only one person came for me—a lowly slave with no wolf, someone I had once helped at a royal banquet. He snuck out of the palace in secret and buried me. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the moment she offered me those gem hairbands. She wanted my alpha bloodline? Fine. I would give her a body with no wolf. — “The Alpha has won a great victory. Surely he’ll be rewarded with a higher rank.” “Our Alpha returns triumphant. He truly is the pride of our pack.” The guests raised their glasses one after another, smiling toward my mate and me at the head table. “Alpha Harlan is so blessed—he was gone three months on campaign, and the two luna awaited him faithfully. How enviable!” Bella Vane had no formal status yet, but hearing herself called “luna” made her eyes gleam with barely restrained triumph. She glided to stand before me, her smile honeyed and sharp. “Sister, I know how faithfully you’ve prayed for the Alpha all these months. I made a special trip to the Temple of the Moon Goddess on your behalf and asked the Moon Goddess to bless you with peace. Here—she sent this through me.” She produced a wooden hairband. “If you wear it, Sister, I’m certain the Moon Goddess will grant the Alpha continued victory and a safe return.” In my past life, I had been overjoyed by my mate’s triumphant homecoming—and so moved by Bella’s gesture that I let her pin the band into my hair on the spot. What I never imagined was that this wooden gem hairband was cursed. The moment it touched my hair, it began swapping our bodies and destinies. First came the exhaustion—my spirit drained, my body aching in the most shameful places. I called healer after healer, and none could name my ailment. Meanwhile, Bella seemed to bloom overnight. She glowed. And night after night, she shared my mate’s bed. By the time I finally clawed my way back to consciousness, I was already rotting below. The stench clung to me like a second skin. Bella stood at my bedside, waving her hand delicately in front of her nose, coiled against my mate like a snake. “Oh my. It seems the luna has let herself be used and ruined—and caught herself a filthy disease.” Harlan’s expression darkened. “Lock this wretch in the dungeon. Anyone who brings her food or water gets beaten to death.” I tried to push myself upright, tried to speak—but no words came. I could only watch as Harlan turned and walked away without a second glance. I died in that dungeon. Until my last breath, I never understood how the mate who had once loved me so tenderly had become this cold, contemptuous stranger. Only after my soul drifted upward did I learn the truth: Bella had been an enemy spy, a woman sold to satisfy men, defeated in battle. She had seduced my mate with her body and slipped into our Gem Pack under false pretenses. She had been dying anyway. That gem hairband was her salvation—she used it to steal my identity and my fate. I raged. But as a soul, I was powerless against her. The music swelled around me. I blinked back to the present. Bella’s eyes flashed with cold venom for just an instant before her expression smoothed into something soft and sweet. She extended the gem hairbands toward me. “Let me put them on for you, Sister.”

I stepped aside quickly. She blinked, startled. Then the tears came—instant and perfect. “Sister, do you not like what I’ve brought you?” “I knelt before the Moon Goddess for forty-nine days to earn this blessing for you and the Alpha.” “I know you think I’m beneath you—just an orphan girl, and you’d naturally look down on anything I offer.” At those words, several lunas at the table immediately softened. “What a sincere gift. And yet you greet it with a cold face. Well, I suppose none of us will dare give you anything from now on.” “Rescued from the battlefield—what a kind-hearted girl. And here the luna makes her look like the villain.” … I had no choice but to force a smile and say I appreciated both the sentiment and the gift. My hair was already pinned with a comb, I explained. It would be awkward to swap things out now. Bella dabbed her eyes and looked at me with wounded dignity. “A humble gift, given with a full heart. My gem hairband may not compare to your jeweled comb, Sister—but I scraped my knees raw kneeling in prayer for it.” “I only ask that you try it on for a moment. It would suit you so beautifully.” It was clear she would not relent until I wore it. At that very moment, a slave with no wolf stepped into the hall, head bowed respectfully toward Harlan. “My lord Alpha, I come at the Luna Queen’s command to escort the Luna to the palace for a flower-viewing.” My heart lurched. It was little Finn—the one who had dug me out of the mass grave and given me a proper burial in my past life. Finn glanced at me with quiet concern. I seized the opportunity to excuse myself—but Bella surged forward and caught my arm. “Sister, let me put the gem hairbands on before you go to see the Luna Queen. It wouldn’t do to outshine her with that jeweled comb, would it?” She reached for my hair again. Then Finn spoke, his tone carefully neutral. “This young lady looks familiar. Weren’t there dancers brought from the northern territories last year? I believe I’ve seen her before.” Bella froze. Then she recovered quickly, her smile plastered back into place. “You must be mistaken. I am an orphan the Alpha rescued from the battlefield. I don’t dance.” Finn said nothing more. I took my chance. “Since the Luna Queen has summoned me, I’ll go at once.” I turned to Bella with a placid smile. “We can worry about the gem hairbands when I return, Sister.” I moved toward the door. Bella grabbed my sleeve. “Are you running from me, Sister? It only takes a moment to put on a hairband. How much time could it possibly waste?” Then she swayed—and crashed into Finn. “You—you dared touch me!” she shrieked, clutching her side, tears streaming down her face. The lunas at the table erupted. “In broad daylight—a worthless slave daring to lay hands on someone from the Alpha’s Gem Pack!” “A creature like that deserves to be beaten to death!” Bella wept with breathtaking beauty, her voice trembling. “I may be lowborn, but I am a clean and honest woman. To be violated like this—I’d rather die than endure it!” She lurched as if to throw herself against the stone pillar. Harlan shot to his feet and caught her, pulling her into his arms. Finn had gone chalk-white. He dropped to his knees. “I didn’t touch her! She lost her balance and nearly fell. I reached out to steady her—I never made contact!” Bella only wept harder. Harlan’s voice was ice. “Drag this slave out and give him fifty lashes, then send him to the punishment chamber.” I stepped forward quickly. “My lord, he was sent by the Luna Queen herself. If he is beaten—or worse—in our Gem Pack, how will we answer to her?” Bella choked out a sob and cut in. “Why is Sister defending an outsider? Unless…unless it was Sister he was touching, and Sister enjoyed it?” The malice in those words was razor-sharp. She was implying, openly, that Finn and I had something between us. Harlan’s gaze slid to me, and something cold and shadowed moved through it. I opened my mouth—but Finn spoke first, pressing his forehead to the floor. “My lord, I accept whatever punishment you see fit.” “I only ask that you spare my life, for the Luna Queen’s sake, so I may return and fulfill my duty.” Something clenched tight in my chest. If I pleaded for him, it would prove the accusation. Finn was protecting me. I was trembling with fury. My eyes fell on the wooden gem hairband still in Bella’s hand, and an idea took shape. She wanted to swap bodies and destinies with me. Then I would give her something very specific in return. I looked at Finn. I wondered if he would understand what I needed from him.

The dull thud of a lash came from the dungeon. In my past life, he had buried my body. In this life, he was taking my punishment. What could I do for him? Help him escape that broken body. Give him freedom. Just then, a maidservant hurried in to find me. “The slave with no wolf has lost consciousness. Do they continue?” My stomach dropped. “What does the Alpha say?” “The Alpha is with Miss Bella. He gave no order to stop.” No order to stop meant an order to kill. Bella wanted Finn silenced permanently. I spun toward the dungeon—but Bella’s voice stopped me cold. She appeared at the far end of the corridor, two maidservants trailing behind her. “If you go to him now, Sister, everything said at the table today becomes truth.” I laughed, sharp and hollow. “You’re right, Sister. What do I care whether that slave lives or dies?” I glanced at the gem hairbands in her hand. “About those gem hairbands, Sister—do you still want to put them on me?” Bella’s eyes lit up. She thrust the wooden band toward me. “You’ll wear it?” I took it from her, then let out a slow sigh. “Tomorrow is the anniversary of my mother’s death. I’ll be going to the Temple of the Moon Goddess to pay my respects.” “If you truly mean what you say, Sister, come with me tomorrow. We’ll stand before the Moon Goddess together, and you can put the gem hairbands on me yourself—as a proper offering.” A flicker of suspicion crossed Bella’s face, but it drowned quickly in triumph. She probably thought I was afraid of the gossip and needed an excuse to save face. “Very well. I’ll go with you tomorrow.” She smiled exactly the way she had when she won, in my past life. I nodded, turned, and walked back inside. “Aren’t you going to the dungeon, Sister?” “No.” Finn had already lost consciousness. Going now would not save him. Pleading would only confirm what Bella had implied—and hand her exactly what she wanted. But I had another way. I went straight to my room and wrote a letter, pressing it into a trusted maidservant’s hands to be delivered to the palace in secret. The Luna Queen might not care much about the life of one lowly slave—but she cared a great deal about her dignity. Her own man had been beaten in another pack’s territory. Sooner or later, she would ask questions.

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The moment the ring slid onto my ring finger, darkness exploded. Not light. Darkness. Thick, living, burrowing into skin, bone, soul. I crumpled to the ground. Dorian rose and looked down at me. “It’s done, my dear.” Behind him, Rosaline stepped forward. My best friend. The person I had told every secret. She walked over my hair and past me, laughing. “Poor Arwen — and you actually believed it.” It wasn’t a ring. It was a forbidden soul-swap ritual. The wedding went ahead as planned. Rosaline wore my wedding gown, took Dorian’s arm, and smiled at my father the King. They had stolen my body. My identity as the mermaid princess. My birthright. My family’s love. My brother Leon noticed something was wrong. That night he died on the stone floor of the throne hall, face purple, pupils blown wide. I screamed. No sound came. I was nothing but a wandering wraith. Invisible to everyone. Inaudible to everyone. The King and Queen fell ill and died, one after the other. When the Queen died, she was holding Rosaline’s hand — that hand wearing my ring, wrapped in my skin. “Mother… I will take good care of the kingdom.” She called her Mother. That was my mother. The coronation. Dorian and Rosaline sat side by side on my father’s throne. Dorian turned his face toward her. “I love you, Arwen.” Rosaline nestled against him. “I love you too, Dorian.” No. I am Arwen. I am Arwen. I threw myself at the throne. My fingers passed through their bodies — nothing to grab. Tears of blood poured from my eyes: the first sign of a soul’s collapse. I was growing more transparent by the moment. I was about to disappear. To disappear forever. No one would ever remember me. The villains sat on the throne, draped in my flesh, living a stolen life. At the edge of extinction — I opened my eyes. My bed. The bed in the palace, the year I turned eighteen. Sunlight filtered down through the sea, through the crystal window, and fell across my face. The door opened. Dorian walked in, took my hand, and cradled in his palm that deep-blue ring. “This ring is the symbol of our eternal love.” He smiled. The most perfect fiancé in the world. I stared at the ring. The ring that had taken everything from me. The ring that had killed my brother. The ring that had brought my parents to their deaths. The ring that had erased me from the world. My hand was trembling. But this time — I would not put it on. This time, I would make them burn in hell.

“Do you like it? Go ahead and try it on.” “It’s a gift from you. I’d like to wait and wear it tomorrow, at the wedding.” “All right. As long as you’re happy.” His tone was as gentle as ever. Yet I caught the flash of impatience that crossed his eyes — there and gone in an instant. How had I never seen it before? Dorian lowered his head and pressed his lips to the back of my hand. “I will love you forever.” “As will I.” Nothing but lies. Anyone can say them. After returning to the palace. I stared at the ring in my hand, buried my face in my hands, and wept without a sound. My ladies-in-waiting were frightened out of their wits. “Your Highness! Has someone wronged you?” They crowded around me, flustered, pressing handkerchiefs into my hands and gently patting my back. “It’s nothing. Only a very terrible dream.” In my past life, the ladies-in-waiting had noticed something was wrong with Rosaline. To silence them, Rosaline had every one of them put to death. I can still hear their desperate cries as they were dragged away. But in this life. I will not let anyone die again. “I need all of you to find someone for me. As quickly as possible.” My ladies-in-waiting brought back the person I was looking for — a young mermaid child named Lily. She was skeletal with hunger, large patches of scales had fallen away, her tail fin was covered in scars, and branded onto her shoulder was a black number: 387. “Who could be so cruel?” “She’s not even of age!” I crouched down and met her eyes at her level. “Who did this to you?” “Thank you for saving me, but I cannot say. The mermaids who spoke have all disappeared.” “It was Dorian, wasn’t it? He kidnapped and imprisoned you. To make the dark magic rings.”

“How did you know?” “Dorian kidnapped many common mermaids and used us for experiments. Drawing blood. Stripping scales.” “He said that if it worked, he could create a true soul-swapping ring.” “I was number 387. All the others died.” The black number branded on Lily’s shoulder looked like a wound that could never heal. Every one of my ladies-in-waiting had gone pale with horror. “He’s mad… is he mad?” “Do you want revenge?” Lily nodded hard. Tears rolled from her eyes and fell into my open palm, where they became two perfect, round pearls. Her gaze suddenly fixed on my hand. Lily: “That ring — whatever you do, don’t put it on!” Lily: “It’s a dark magic ring. It will kill you.” “I know.” I knew all of it. The person Dorian truly loved was Rosaline, his childhood sweetheart. But Rosaline had been frail since birth, and his family would not permit him to marry her. So he sought out a dark sorcerer and used forbidden arts to craft two soul-swapping rings — one for me, one for Rosaline — intending to place Rosaline’s soul into my body. To that end, he had kidnapped countless underage common mermaids. He had tormented them. Drew their blood. Stripped their scales. Extracted the essence of their lives to forge the rings. Lily was the 387th. And the only one to survive. “The moment I put on the ring, the dark magic nearly killed me. But I lived.” “My parents loved me. My brother loved me. Their love protected my heart.” “And so, as a transparent soul, I witnessed everything — and then I came back.” Lily: “I am close to death. My only wish is revenge. Can you truly help me?” “Yes. I swear it.” Lily: “Then… would you give me that ring?”

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When my husband needed someone to sign the surgical consent form after his car accident, the nurse told me something that stopped my heart cold — I wasn’t his legal wife. Five years. For five years, I had stood by Ethan’s side, helping him grow a cheap community pizzeria into a thriving chain of Italian restaurants. At our lowest point, we shared a basement apartment. We scrubbed dishes together, peeled vegetables side by side, and stayed until past midnight to close up. He used to hold my hand and say, “Once we have money, I’ll give you the grandest wedding you’ve ever seen.” But now, the nurse’s voice was polite and utterly cold. “I’m sorry. The woman registered in our system as Mr. Ethan Caldwell’s legal spouse — that isn’t you.” “The person authorized to sign is a Ms. Vivian Marsh.” A second later, Ethan’s secretary, Vivian Marsh, came rushing in and coolly signed her name in the next-of-kin field. “Nora, don’t overthink it. There’s probably just a glitch in the hospital system.” “Right now, getting Ethan into surgery is what matters. I had to sign — there was no choice.” In that moment, I actually believed her. I thought it was a hospital mistake. Until I asked a friend to pull Ethan’s marriage records from the civil registry database. We had been together for ten years. His marriage certificate with Vivian had been registered for eight. I didn’t say a word. I simply took the secret recipe I had spent years refining — batch after batch, trial after trial — and destroyed it completely. No formula. No ingredients list. Nothing. Let’s see what he uses to open his new locations. Let’s see how he repays his loans. … ICU visiting hours were limited. Vivian had handled all the paperwork under her status as next of kin. “Nora, Ethan still hasn’t regained consciousness, but the doctor says his vitals are stable now.” She walked toward me. “Would you like to go in and see him? I told the nurse to give you five minutes.” I looked at her, and a wave of absurdity washed over me. Since when did I need another woman’s permission to see my own husband? “No thank you.” “When exactly did the two of you register?” Vivian’s hand froze in midair. She lowered it slowly and smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Nora, why are you asking that now? You’ve known all these years that Ethan only has eyes for you.” “He treats you like a wife. You’ve always been his wife. Does that piece of paper really matter so much?” I looked at her, and suddenly I laughed. “Then go to the registry right now and divorce him. Put my name on the certificate instead. Will you do that?” Vivian’s expression went rigid. I held her gaze and repeated, slowly and deliberately: “I asked — when.” Vivian let out a long breath, reached into her bag, and handed me a small red booklet. “Eight years ago. October.” Eight years ago, Ethan told me he was traveling to another city to scout new locations. He was gone for an entire week. Apparently, that week, he had gone to register a marriage with his secretary. I stared at the booklet. Their two photos sat side by side on the page, smiling. Warm. Happy. I had a booklet that looked exactly the same in my own bag — the one Ethan had arranged for me ten years ago. He’d said we were both too busy. The line at the registry was too long. He’d pulled some strings to have it expedited. And I had believed every word. I had stayed up with him in the slums washing bowls, helped him navigate complex tax filings, eaten donated food with him from the shelter line. I thought we were partners forged in hardship. It turned out I was nothing more than free labor the law didn’t even recognize. When I stayed silent too long, Vivian tucked the certificate back into her bag. “Nora, Ethan had his reasons.” “The company needed to expand. We needed access to loans and credentials. My household registration is local — I have property in my name.” “By registering with me, the company qualified for the maximum tax-exempt enterprise loan.” “It was all for the company’s growth. Nora, surely you can see what matters here?” I turned and walked toward the exit. Vivian called after me: “Nora, are you actually angry right now? I already told you, Ethan and I are just—” I stopped. Turned back to face her. “Just what? Just legally married? Just using me for loans? Just for credentials?” “Save those lines for someone who’ll swallow them.” Vivian bit her lip, then muttered under her breath, “So petty. Such a faded old hag.” I almost laughed at that. Instead, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. Then I turned and walked in the direction of the other end of the city. Toward the kitchen of our very first pizzeria. Toward the recipe I had spent ten years perfecting — tested hundreds of times, refined over and over. When Ethan proposed, I told him I had no dowry. He said it didn’t matter. He said I was the finest dowry there was. Now I finally understood what he really meant. My recipe was my dowry. And since I was never his lawful wife — it was time to take it back.

The cab pulled up outside the flagship restaurant. The hostess at the front desk gave me a quiet nod as I walked in. “Ms. Nora.” I nodded back and walked straight upstairs to the general manager’s office. I went to the safe and, out of reflex, typed in my birthday. “Incorrect password.” I paused. My fingers trembled slightly as I tried again — our anniversary. “Incorrect password.” I stared at the keypad. An image of Vivian’s personnel file surfaced in my mind. With a kind of masochistic calm, I pressed her birthday. Click. The safe opened. A quiet laugh escaped me. For years, no matter how many locations we opened, the core sauce had been made by my hands alone. Each branch sent a driver to collect it from this kitchen every single day. Ethan and Vivian had seized control of the company’s operations and finances. But they had forgotten what actually kept this chain alive. I removed everything from the safe. Then I walked to the kitchen, picked up a bucket of grimy dishwater and waste grease from beside the sink, and without hesitation, poured every drop into the stock pots. A chain without a soul. Enjoy what’s left of it. On my way out, I passed the culture wall — a display of framed photographs running the length of the hallway. In the center was a photo of Ethan and me. I walked over, tore it down, and dropped it in the trash. Before it even settled, a woman’s voice drifted in from the doorway — unhurried, almost leisurely. “Nora. You don’t seriously think throwing a tantrum is going to make Ethan feel guilty for everything he put you through, do you?” I turned. Vivian stood at the entrance of the dining hall, every hair in place, a studied kind of elegance about her — and in her gaze, open satisfaction she wasn’t bothering to hide. “Though I understand, I suppose. Anyone in your shoes would be upset.” “After all this time with him, all those years — and then you find out you have no legal standing at all. That’s genuinely pathetic.” I said nothing. Something in her seemed to relax — like she’d been waiting for exactly this moment. The careful act she’d maintained began to slip away. “You know, I used to respect you. Genuinely.” She smiled, slow and deliberate. “A woman who grinds alongside a man from absolute zero to something real — that takes grit.” “But grit is one thing. Whether you belong at his side is another.” She paused, then dropped her voice. “The position of Mrs. Caldwell was never yours to begin with.” I studied the satisfaction written all over Vivian’s face and felt only a faint, dry amusement. “So what?” “You came all the way here to stake your claim?” Vivian smiled lightly. “Does it even need staking? The registry is real. The hospital signature is real. The safe combination is real. And Ethan himself said I’d be handling all finances going forward. All real.” Her gaze dropped deliberately to my empty hands. “Nora. You sacrificed so much for him. But you should understand by now — in business, what counts is capital, management, resources, connections. Not who knows how to stir a pot of sauce.” Each sentence landed soft and even, but every word had an edge. I looked at her. “Are you proud of yourself right now?” Vivian blinked, as though she hadn’t expected that. Then she smiled — a full, unguarded smile, satisfaction flooding every feature. “Why wouldn’t I be?” “The man you spent years on — he’s my husband.” “The restaurants you poured yourself into — they’re mine to run now.” “You don’t even have the right to put your own child under his name. But me? I’m the legally recognized Mrs. Caldwell.” She let that sit, as if exhaling years of something held back. “Nora. I won.” I looked at her and smiled. “You think because you have the marriage certificate, the company seal, and the keys to the operation — that means you’ve won?” “Vivian. Why don’t you go check the kitchen first? Let’s talk about what you’ve actually inherited.”

Her pupils contracted sharply. She spun toward the back of the house. The restaurant manager, Daniel, appeared in the doorway — face drained of color, mouth working soundlessly before he finally got the words out. “Ms. Marsh… the sauce. All of it. It’s ruined.” “We have reservations tonight — what are we supposed to do?” The triumph on Vivian’s face cracked open. “Are you out of your mind?!” “Nora, that’s company property!” “Company property?” I laughed, just barely. “That recipe was mine. Five years of trials. Hundreds of batches. Ethan himself wouldn’t dare call it company property — and yet here you are, claiming it?” “Besides—” I let my gaze drift over her suddenly ashen face. “Weren’t you the one who said times have changed? That business runs on capital, management, resources, connections — not on who can stir a pot of sauce?” “So why the panic?” Vivian’s breath came fast and shallow. She was staring at me with pure, cornered fury. “Nora. You think destroying the sauce gives you power over us?” “When Ethan wakes up, he will not let this go.” “Is that so?” I nodded, almost pleasantly. “Good. Then when he does, pass along a message for me.” I reached into my bag and set a sealed envelope on the front counter — the letter I had already written. “I’m done with him.” “This restaurant. This man. This rotten wreck of a relationship. Whoever wants to pick up the pieces is welcome to them.” I had barely gotten home when my phone rang. The screen showed: Ethan Caldwell. I answered. Ethan’s voice came through — low, barely controlled, like a man trying to hold a fire inside his chest. “Nora. Have you lost your mind?” I leaned back in my seat, voice even. “Something you needed?” He clearly hadn’t expected that. A beat of silence, and then the anger came harder. “Something I needed? You took the recipe. You know how many tables we have booked tonight? You just walked out and want to watch every location go dark?” “Isn’t that what you’re good at? Management, capital, connections. One less person stirring sauce shouldn’t even register. You’ll be fine.” A sharp pause on the other end. Then a cold laugh. “You’re still sulking over the marriage certificate?” “Nora, when did you get so small?” I closed my eyes for a moment. The urge to laugh rose and died in the same breath. Even now, he thought I was sulking. “Ethan.” I kept my voice quiet. “You lied to me for eight years. In your mind — that makes me petty?” “What lie? Everything you ate, wore, used — I provided it. Did I ever let you go without? You had it good with me, Nora. Was that not enough?” “A marriage certificate is just paper. What matters is that you were by my side. I let everyone call you the boss’s wife. Wasn’t that enough?” My hand tightened around the phone, knuckle by knuckle. Yes. That was Ethan. He never believed he had done anything wrong. In his mind, a woman only ever wanted a little face-saving, a little money, a little of whatever affection a man chose to hand down. As for legal standing, genuine respect, honesty — that was her being ungrateful. “All right. I won’t push this further.” “Give the recipe back. Come to the hospital and apologize to Vivian. We’ll pretend today never happened.” I almost thought I’d misheard him. “Apologize to her?” “Shouldn’t you?” Ethan’s voice rose. “The way you carried on at the restaurant today — destroying every last batch of sauce, humiliating her in front of the whole staff. She’s a wreck right now. She hasn’t stopped crying.” “Nora, when did you become so cruel?”

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I broke up with Carter on Christmas Eve. He asked carelessly, “Just because there wasn’t a seat for you at the family dinner?” “Yes.” At the annual Christmas Eve family dinner, a table set for twenty people didn’t have a single empty seat for me. No one noticed me standing awkwardly at the door. Carter only focused on serving soup to Chloe, our sponsored charity case. In the end, a server had to add a flimsy white plastic chair for me. “Breaking up on Christmas Eve is just bad luck. Stop throwing a tantrum and don’t embarrass me in front of my family.” This past year, we’d fought countless times because of Chloe. Every single time, I was the one who backed down and apologized. He didn’t believe for a second that I’d actually leave him. But this time, I was done. I opened the message I’d received just minutes ago. [I’ll pick you up after the show wraps. Should be there around midnight.] I typed back a single word. [Okay.] From now on, Carter would just be another ex I didn’t need to mention. … Carter grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “Alright, stop pouting. You keep scowling like this and you’ll ruin Christmas for everyone.” I remained expressionless and pushed his hand away. “You know, you’ve got a pretty face, but you’re just so unlikable. Look at Chloe, she sits there and all the kids climb all over her.” He clearly hadn’t taken my breakup comment seriously at all. “Carter, I mean it this time.” He finally dropped that cocky smirk. “So you’re really going to break up with me over a damn chair? Come on, Serena, are you seriously that petty?” “Yes. At your family’s Christmas Eve dinner, the person sitting next to you wasn’t me. It was Chloe.” Of course it mattered. Christmas Eve. Carter insisted on bringing Chloe, the college student we sponsored, to his family dinner. When we got to the banquet hall entrance, Carter remembered he’d left two bottles of vintage Bordeaux in the underground wine cellar. He sent me down to get them. By the time I came back with the wine, everyone had already been seated. The Harrington relatives were toasting each other, exchanging well wishes. No one noticed I was still standing. Carter was attentively serving Chloe food and soup, as if they were the loving couple. A server noticed I had nowhere to sit and tried to make room. Carter waved it off casually. “The regular chairs won’t fit. Just grab a plastic one from the storage room.; she can squeeze in. It’s fine, she’s skinny.” That dirty white plastic chair was painfully out of place. Carter explained, “It was crowded and loud. I wanted you to sit next to me, but everyone had already settled in. Moving people around would’ve been a hassle.” “If you’re really going to be this jealous over a chair, I’ll save you a seat for the rest of the holidays, alright?” His tone sounded like he was placating a bratty child. I took a deep breath. “You don’t get it. It’s not about the damn chair.” “You’re right, I don’t get it. These are such small things. You really don’t need to make a big deal out of them.” I felt utterly exhausted. I didn’t expect him to change anymore. “Carter, this strawberry is so sweet!” Chloe picked up a chocolate-dipped strawberry and naturally fed it right into Carter’s mouth. Seeing my expression darken, she immediately asked with fake concern, “What’s wrong? Carter, did you upset Serena again?” Carter pursed his lips but said nothing. Chloe immediately jumped in to mediate. “Serena, please don’t be mad at him. It’s all my fault. When there’s food around, I just get tunnel vision. I’m the outsider here. I should’ve been the one sitting on that plastic chair.” She tugged lightly on Carter’s sleeve. “Maybe I should just go back to campus? There’s no reason to make Serena uncomfortable over something this small.” I let out a cold laugh. “Small?” “You, an outsider, crashing my family’s Christmas dinner is small? Having my boyfriend at the top of your contacts is small? Wearing matching bracelets with my boyfriend is also small?” “Chloe, I just can’t figure out why you keep pulling these disgusting little stunts.” “Since you like my boyfriend so much, I’ll break up with him. He’s all yours.” Chloe bit down hard on her lower lip, tears welling up in her eyes. “How can you say that, Serena?” She reluctantly removed her bracelet. “You’re totally misunderstanding. My hometown is so remote. It takes three days by bus and train to get there. I couldn’t possibly make it home for Christmas.” “I don’t have anyone here. If Carter hadn’t been kind enough to take me in, I’d be stuck in my dorm eating ramen.” “If you’re bothered by me, I’ll just leave.” She placed the bracelet on the table and ran out crying. Carter shot me an irritated glance. “If you’ve got a problem, take it out on me. Why are you bullying her?” “You want to break up? Fine. But don’t drag her into it.” He grabbed the bracelet and chased after her. Suddenly, I realized this relationship was absolutely rotten.

After ten years together, I never imagined our breakup would be this casual. That afternoon, Carter’s cousins were organizing a poker game in the group chat. I didn’t want to ruin everyone’s holiday mood, so I forced myself to go. Just as I reached the billiard room door, I heard them talking about me. “Is Serena not coming today? Are you two fighting again?” “Yeah, because he saved a seat for Chloe at lunch but not for her.” Someone laughed mockingly. “She’s throwing a fit over that? How old is she? If there’s no seat, find one yourself. Serena’s so damn dramatic.” “Right? Remember that hiking trip? Carter and Chloe hiked ahead without waiting for her, and she got pissed. We couldn’t even eat together on the way down because of her tantrum.” “When I get married, I’m definitely not picking someone this jealous. Honestly, someone easygoing like Chloe seems way better.” Carter sighed. “What can I do? That’s just her personality. I spoiled her since we were kids. I’ll deal with it.” Someone laughed. “Keep spoiling her, and soon you won’t be able to say a single word to another girl.” A soft, gentle voice chimed in. “Serena’s so lucky to have such a great boyfriend like Carter. I could never be that fortunate.” Chloe hadn’t left at all. Carter’s friends immediately started egging them on. “Well, tonight your Carter can spoil you for once.” “Really? Then you won’t take my Pocket Queens, will you, hubby?” She used a playful tone when she said it. I heard Carter’s voice, tinged with amusement, respond to her. “Fine. I won’t.” Everyone laughed. Then Carter spoke again. “Don’t go spreading this around as a joke, or I’ll have to spend the next few days apologizing to my girlfriend and won’t have time to play poker with you guys.” I let go of the door handle. Laughter continued to drift from inside the room. Carter knew damn well how much I hated the ambiguous relationship between him and Chloe. He claimed he was afraid of making me angry, yet he didn’t stop Chloe from calling him “hubby.” At the end of the day, it was because he was absolutely certain I could never leave him. But this time, he was wrong. Shortly after, Chloe posted on Instagram. [First time playing poker with the big bros and sisters during the holidays. Lost so bad!] In her selfie, her forehead was covered with sticky notes, and a large hand was affectionately pinching her cheek. That familiar engagement ring stung my eyes. I scrolled through and saw Carter’s comment underneath. [Who’s bullying you? I’ll get revenge for you. LOL] I turned off my phone and called my dad. “Dad, I’m coming to spend Christmas with you in Silverpine. I’ll be there around midnight.” He paused, sounding surprised. “What made you change your mind?” I fought to keep my voice steady, hiding the sadness. “I miss you. I’ve spent the past few years with the Harringtons. I want to come home.” My dad immediately picked up on my distress. “Of course, sweetheart. I actually already washed your sheets and made up your bed.” “Should Dad come pick you up right now?” Hearing the warmth in his voice, my chaotic emotions began to settle. “No need. Someone’s picking me up. Just leave the door unlocked for me.”

When Carter came home with Chloe, I was making Christmas cookies with his relatives. His aunt glanced at Chloe, hesitating before speaking. “Serena, you two should get married this year, right? Marriage and a baby will stabilize the relationship.” Carter’s mother came over with a bowl of cookie dough, smiling. “That’s what I keep telling her. Serena was running that bakery studio before, and those ovens give off so much radiation.” “This year she finally listened and sold the business. We’ll have the wedding in the spring, and I’ll probably be holding my grandson by fall.” Everyone could see how close Carter was with Chloe, but they all thought the problem was me. I glanced at Carter. He acted like he hadn’t heard a word. Familiar music suddenly played, and the kids rushed to the TV. “It’s Mason!” I looked up sharply. That familiar face appeared on the screen. At the Christmas Eve live concert venue, he was holding a vinyl record and signing it. He waved at the camera with a warm smile. The host asked, “Mason, this is your first time performing on Christmas Eve, right? How are you planning to spend tonight?” “Of course with my most important family. As soon as the show ends, I’m going to see my family.” The host continued, “Let’s see what Mason wrote on that vinyl!” He playfully held it up to the camera. On the record sleeve, the dedication read: “To new beginnings and bright futures – with Serena.” I stared at my name, my heart pounding. Carter’s mother couldn’t help but comment, “These young male celebrities are so handsome nowadays.” Chloe immediately jumped in. “Mrs. Harrington, he’s this year’s hottest pop star. I’ve been dying to see his concert, but I can never get tickets.” Everyone chatted and laughed, but all I could think about was the word “family” he’d said. Once upon a time, Carter had also said I was his family forever. The winter I turned eight, my mom died after a long illness. My dad was in a daze for months, sometimes sitting at home in silence for entire days. He barely had the energy to take care of me. That year, we had to write an essay called “My Mother” for class. I turned in a blank page. The teacher made me stand at the front of the class. A classmate said, “Serena’s mom is dead. Of course she can’t write it.” Carter threw that kid’s book on the floor and threatened to beat anyone who said that again. After school, he walked me home. When we got to my building, he flicked my forehead. He said, “Serena, be brave. Don’t let anyone bully you.” From then on, he always walked me home after school. When my dad couldn’t take care of me, Carter would bring me to his house for dinner. I hated the holidays, so every year Carter made sure to include me in his family’s celebrations. He said he was my family. Forever. Later, my dad got transferred to Silverpine for work. After college, I stayed in this city because of Carter. But last Christmas, he broke that promise. On Christmas Eve, the pipes in Chloe’s dorm burst, and the water was shut off. He got the call and rushed out without even finishing dinner, frantically helping her find a place to stay. After he found her a hotel room, he took her out to dinner to comfort her. I waited until after midnight for him to come home. That was the first time we ever fought. From then on, the friction between us only grew. He kept telling me, “Chloe’s had it so rough. Do you know how hard it is to get out of poverty and make it to college? We need to help her.” “Stop being so jealous. If you had even an ounce of compassion, you wouldn’t go after her like this.” But then I found bikini selfies Chloe had sent him in his messages. He deleted them right in front of me and said coldly, “She’s just a kid messing around. Don’t take it seriously.” Maybe he just loved being pursued. But I was done living like this. My phone buzzed, pulling me back to reality. Someone in our college group chat had posted a screenshot, asking if the person in the photo was me. I opened it. It was a post Mason had just made on Twitter. He’d written just four words: [My family.] Attached was a photo from a volunteer event at a children’s shelter. I was standing right next to Mason. In front of us were kids learning to decorate gingerbread cookies. Before I could respond, Carter replied in the group chat. [No way. Just someone who looks like her.] [How the hell would Serena know a pop star? Absolutely impossible.] Seeing him panic like that, I almost found it funny. After he finished typing, he slammed his phone down on the coffee table, accidentally knocking over a glass of juice that spilled onto his pants. Chloe immediately grabbed several napkins and, without thinking, knelt down and started gently wiping his thigh. Carter cleared his throat awkwardly, and only then did she stop. I laughed softly. “You two look way more like a couple.”

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