Author: Momo Chan

I used to be Boston’s star detective, but I was wrongfully imprisoned for eight years. Furious victim families stabbed me eight times, demanding I pay with my life. My parents disowned me. I lost everything and I suffered through hell in prison. When I got out, I disappeared to a remote fishing town on the Maine coast. I thought life would finally be peaceful, but my ex-wife Serena’s arrival shattered that. She was now Boston’s most celebrated prosecutor, building her name on one high-profile conviction after another. Rain pounded against my shack as neighbors crowded outside, whispering: “Serena stayed single for eight years waiting for him, and Gideon still won’t see her? Ungrateful bastard.” I watched her stand there, soaking in their admiration. Almost laughed. Eight years ago, the person who framed me to save her lover’s career was Serena herself. …… My door stayed locked. Outside, the neighbors felt sorry for Serena. She looked calm, like she’d rehearsed the whole performance. The noise kept getting louder. Finally my boss Tom cracked. He stumbled out of the shack, practically bowing to her: “Ms. Vance, please, we’re just fishermen here. We don’t want trouble.” “This town’s too small for someone like you. If you don’t leave soon with all these people, none of us will have work tomorrow.” He turned and yelled at my door: “Gideon! The DA drove all this way. Get out here!” “Leave him alone. Don’t push him.” The moment I heard that voice, my hands froze on the net. The nylon cord cut into my fingers, drawing blood I barely felt. Eight years and that voice still got under my skin. I knew she wouldn’t leave until she got what she came for. Tom had been good to me. He didn’t deserve this circus. I let out a long breath, stood up, and opened the door. The reporters hit me like a wall. Microphones shoved in my face, cameras flashing, voices overlapping: “How does it feel going from decorated detective to fisherman?” “DA Vance stayed faithful for eight years. Why won’t you see her? Still angry she turned you in?” “Your former rookie’s been chasing her. Any comment on that?” They kept pushing closer. A microphone clipped my jaw. The questions got sharper, meaner. I looked past them and locked eyes with Serena. She was watching me with this cold, calculating expression. My whole body went stiff. I opened my mouth to speak. Nothing came out. The reporters smelled blood. They pressed harder, one asshole nearly shoving me off the porch. That’s when Serena moved. She cut through the crowd and positioned herself between me and the cameras. Her voice came out quiet but razor-sharp: “That’s enough. This is between him and me. It’s private.” She turned to face the cameras with a sad smile. “These men work hard for their living. Let them do their jobs. Everyone, please leave.” The reporters grumbled but backed off. I turned to go back inside. “Gideon.” I forced myself to look at her. Made my voice steady. “What do you need, DA Vance?” She flinched at the formal title. Good. “These years… have you been okay?” The question was obscene coming from her mouth. I wanted to laugh. Instead she stepped closer and reached out. I jerked backward. My heel caught the edge of a bait bucket. Crash. I went down hard, flat on my back. My bleeding hand smashed into the gravel. “Gideon!” She rushed forward, genuine concern flashing across her face: “Are you hurt? Let me help—” “Don’t.” I scrambled back on my hands and knees, used the wall to pull myself up. Blood smeared the wood. “I’m fine.” Tom was staring at me like I’d lost my mind. “DA Vance, if there’s nothing else, I need to go. Early start tomorrow.” Her eyes went soft. Wounded. She reached for my arm: “Gideon, why are we doing this? We don’t have to be so cold to each other.” “You don’t know what these years have been like for me. I—” “Mommy!” A kid came running and crashed into Serena’s arms. Eight, maybe nine years old. Then I saw him. Captain Liam Jenkins, my former rookie, walking up with my parents on his arm. He took Serena’s hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Serena, sweetheart, you should’ve told me you were coming up here.” He smiled warmly at my parents. “Mom and Dad were worried sick when they found out you drove all this way alone.” Then he turned to me. That smile sharpened. “No offense, Mentor. Kid really missed his mom. Plus she’s pregnant again, so we gotta be extra careful. You understand.” My eyes dropped to her flat stomach. If he said she was pregnant… I thought about what the reporters said. Eight years of devoted waiting. What a sick joke. Before I could process it, my parents went for my throat: “Gideon Hale. You’ve got some nerve still breathing.” My father’s voice could strip paint. “You destroyed this family’s reputation. Made us a laughingstock.” My mother jumped in, tears in her eyes but venom in her voice: “Three years ago your father had a stroke. If Liam hadn’t been checking on us regularly, hadn’t rushed him to the ER, he’d be dead right now. Dead, Gideon.” I looked at them. Really looked. Their hair had gone gray. Deep lines carved into their faces. They’d aged so much. All those years I couldn’t be there for them, couldn’t take care of them, it ate at me every day. But watching them look at Serena and Liam like they were the real family, like I was just some embarrassing mistake they’d made… that hurt worse than any shank I’d taken in prison. If they only knew. If they knew Serena and Liam were the ones who framed me, who destroyed an innocent man to cover their own crimes… What would they think then? My father looked at me with nothing but disgust. My mother’s voice dripped pure contempt: “We disowned you eight years ago. As far as we’re concerned, you’re not our son anymore.” She turned to Serena, her voice going soft: “Serena, honey, you don’t owe us anything. This person isn’t worth your time. You and Liam, you’re our family now.” Tom was watching this whole scene unfold. I saw the way he looked at me shift. My hands were shaking. I shoved them deep in my pockets. Serena sighed, all patience and understanding: “Mom, Dad, don’t be too hard on him. People have been talking about you both for years because of what happened. I get why you’re angry.” She gently coaxed them toward the car. But before she left, she turned back to me one last time: “What happened back then… I know I owe you for that. If you ever need anything, you can call me.” Her voice was so sincere I almost believed it myself.

I nodded. Didn’t speak. Serena saw I didn’t refuse. She left satisfied. I knew the truth. I’d avoid them forever if I could. Did she expect me to beg for scraps? After they left, Tom patted my shoulder. His eyes said everything. I knew. Things had changed. Next morning proved it. Tom assigned me the oldest boat. The worst jobs. “Gideon, it’s not that I don’t want to help,” Tom looked uncomfortable. “After yesterday, and you being fresh out of prison… nobody wants to work with you. You’ll have to work alone.” I nodded. Grabbed the nets and headed for that piece of shit boat. Serena had destroyed my peace. Now she was taking everything else. A week straight, I worked myself to death for nothing. Did the hardest jobs for the lowest pay. Then Tom found me and handed me an envelope. “This month’s wages. You should try somewhere else.” He wouldn’t look at me. “This was Serena’s idea, wasn’t it?” My voice was rough. But I already knew. Tom sighed. “DA Vance said it’s for your own good.” For my own good. Those words crushed me. I stood there holding that envelope. My fingers went numb. I didn’t argue. I packed my stuff and left that town. Three days of hitting walls. Then my phone rang. Serena. “Gideon, I’ve arranged a clerical position for you at the DA’s office. Someone will pick you up. You start in three days.” “DA Vance.” I cut her off. “Keep it. I don’t want your charity.” “Just leave me alone.” “Leave you alone?” Her voice stayed calm. “I’m trying to help. You don’t need to treat me like the enemy.” “I remember when you were Boston’s best. I’m giving you a chance to—” “Were. Past tense.” I laughed. Bitter. “Don’t forget who made me into this.” Silence. Then her voice came back colder. “I know you hate me. But you’re destroying yourself and I won’t allow it.” That command in her tone. “If you don’t want clerical, fine. Be a consultant for Liam. He just made Deputy Chief. He needs help. You’re his mentor.” My stomach turned. “No thanks.” “You don’t have a choice, Gideon.” Her voice went soft. Deadly. “You take this job, or Mom and Dad lose the house. At their age, they’ll end up on the street” My blood ran cold. She always knew where to cut.

Serena moved fast. Two days later, her people picked me up and brought me to Boston. Set me up in a shithole apartment. Three days in, someone knocked and told me to follow them. Wouldn’t say where. I walked into an ambush. The door opened onto a press conference. Camera flashes blinded me. Captain Liam sat at the microphone on stage, a red-and-white banner stretched behind him. “Thank you for coming.” His voice was smooth. “We’re here to demonstrate the Boston PD’s commitment to second chances.” He turned to me. Perfect mix of regret and pity in his eyes. “This is Detective Gideon Hale. My mentor. He made mistakes. Serious ones. But he’s paid his debt.” Cameras clicked. “We believe in redemption. People can change. They deserve a second chance.” His voice dropped, more measured now. “The BPD is bringing Detective Hale back as a criminal investigation consultant. He’ll be working with us again.” The reporters went crazy. I sat in that metal chair feeling naked. Stripped of everything. Then Liam stood up. He walked over in front of everyone. Every camera. Every reporter. He pulled out an envelope. Held it out with both hands. “Mentor.” His voice carried through the mic. “This is from me. A welcome-home gift.” A show of charity. Of mercy. I saw the satisfaction flash in his eyes. My stomach flipped. The reporters ate it up. A thousand pictures of Liam’s generosity. I’d become a prop. A symbol of their noble souls. That night, every outlet in Boston ran the story. Headlines everywhere: “BPD Offers Second Chance to Disgraced Detective” “Captain Jenkins Welcomes Fallen Mentor” “DA Vance Stands By Convicted Ex-Husband” I laughed. Bitter. They’d crucified me again, and this time the whole city watched. My parents started visiting. Every time, they looked at Liam like he was a saint. At Serena like she was an angel. “Serena, you work too hard. Taking care of this worthless thing.” My mother’s voice dripped gratitude. “Gideon, look at Liam. If you had half his character, we could die happy.” My father jumped in: “That boy saved my life while you rotted in prison where you belonged.” My mom grabbed Serena’s hand: “You’re pregnant. Don’t stress yourself. If Gideon causes trouble, tell me. I’ll straighten him out.” I watched them. My heart had gone numb. Then one night, Liam came for dinner with my parents. Casual. Friendly. Halfway through, he dropped it: “Oh, Mentor, we picked up some criminals last week. The ringleader has a connection to your old case. The serial murders. He’s one of the victims’ brothers.” My parents froze. “He’s been making threats. About getting even.” “What?” My father’s face went red. He slammed his hand down on the table hard. “This is all your fault! His brother died because of you! Of course he wants revenge. He has every right to want you dead!” My mother started crying. Not for me. “Liam, Serena, please. I know he deserves whatever happens, but we can’t have this affecting you. You’re having a baby!” Liam patted her hand. “Don’t worry, Mom. Serena and I won’t let anything happen. We’ve already talked to these men.” The way he said “talked.” The way his eyes cut to me. Every alarm bell in my head started screaming. What the hell were they planning?

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The Guardian Clan’s Alpha Lord was choosing a mate for his heir — and he did it the old way. Two vials of essence were placed on the ceremonial stone table. One was clear and cool as moonlight, crisp, clean, carrying the faint trace of winter herbs. The other was warm and honeyed, thick with sweetness that clung to the air like nectar. I stood behind the woven partition with my half-sister, watching through the latticed screen as Kael Dawnfang hesitated. His nostrils flared. His jaw tightened. Then, after a long, agonizing moment, he reached out and lifted the moonlit vial. My half-sister, Flora, let out a soft, triumphant laugh beside my ear. “Sister,” she whispered, “you’ve lost. Kael chose me.” Kael had known all along. He knew I was the one who had distilled the cool, silver essence — the moonlit vial was mine. Flora’s was the honeyed one. And yet he hadn’t chosen it. “If I don’t choose Flora,” Kael murmured quietly to himself, just loud enough for me to catch through the partition, “she’ll reach the age of the Moon Decree. She’ll be force-bonded to whoever the Lunar Tribunal assigns. She’s lowborn — half-blooded. Who in the high clans would ever be paired with her?” “Once she passes the decree deadline, I’ll dissolve the promise and come for you properly.” But he had forgotten. I was Flora’s elder sister. I was older than her. If I had no bond-promise in place, in three days’ time, I would be sent to the Crown Wolf’s palace — to serve as the mate of the Wolf Prince, who lay dying of the Moon Sickness. To be his anchor. His cure. His sacrifice. … I watched Kael’s fingers trail across the edge of the honeyed vial before lifting the moonlit one. Something inside me went quiet — the way a fire goes quiet when there is nothing left to burn. Flora pressed close to my ear, victorious and shameless. “Sister, the heir chose me.” “Don’t be sad, Sister. He must only pity me. His heart has always belonged to you.” At the front of the hall, my father — Alpha Lord Wren Silverstone, head of the Guardian Clan — watched Kael’s choice with a face that went pale as ash. He turned to look at me. He had been so certain this was settled. How had it gone wrong? The hall was full of clan nobility who had all understood why today’s gathering had been called: the Guardian Clan’s firstborn daughter was choosing her mate. Now they surged forward to offer congratulations, voices bright with false warmth. “Alpha Lord Silverstone, what a blessing — Heir Dawnfang is a fine choice indeed!” “The Dawnfang Heir with the Guardian Clan’s pure-blooded daughter — a perfect bond!” My father’s expression hardened. He looked at Kael directly. “You have chosen Flora — the half-blooded daughter of my household. Are you certain of this, Heir Dawnfang?” The gazes around me shifted. Pity replaced admiration. Everyone had assumed Kael had chosen me. No one had expected him to choose Flora. “Lyra Silverstone — how pitiful. Her own half-sister stole her bond-match.” “Surely not. She has waited for the heir so long. If her promise falls through, won’t she fall under the Moon Decree?” Kael crossed the room toward Flora, took her hand, and stepped forward. “Alpha Lord Silverstone,” he said, his voice warm and steady. “I am drawn to Flora. I wish to bond with her as my mate.” The whispers swarmed around me like insects. Flora was immediately surrounded by a flock of highborn girls offering congratulations. She was the future mate of a Clan Heir — of course they would fawn over her now. Kael slipped away from the crowd and found me in the corner. His voice dropped low, coaxing, like he was soothing something he had already broken. “All right, Lyra. Don’t be angry. It’s just a performance. A delay.” “Flora was crying all last night. If I don’t choose her, she’ll be swept up by the Decree. She’s low-ranked — who would the Tribunal pair her with? Someone unworthy.” “Trust me. Once she’s past the Decree window, I’ll find a way to dissolve the bond with her and bring you into my home properly. I swear it.” I tightened my fist at my side. I looked at him steadily. “Heir Dawnfang,” I said, very quietly. “I am Flora’s elder sister. Did you think, even once — if our bond-promise falls through today, I will reach the Decree before Flora does. I am older.” “Are you not concerned that I will be force-bonded?” Kael blinked. He had forgotten entirely. I was the elder. I would trigger the Moon Decree before Flora. Flora drifted over then, her lashes low, her voice a trembling thread. “Sister, please don’t be angry with the heir. Flora was just so frightened. I only wanted him to help me this once.” “You’re pure-blooded. You’ll never understand how invisible a half-blood feels. No high clan would ever look at me. I have lived my whole life in your shadow, Sister.” “You’ve always been the jewel of Ashfen — and you have the Moonguard Clan behind you through our grandfather. You shine in everything. How could the Decree ever touch you?” “Father and Grandfather will find a way around it for you. You’ll be fine.” “Please, Sister. Give me the heir. Just this once. Let him help me.”

Flora’s words made the ache in Kael’s expression deepen. He drew Flora against his side protectively and looked at me over her head. “Lyra,” he said. “Flora has asked you herself. Is that not enough?” “She’s right — you’re pure-blooded, and you’re the granddaughter of the Moonguard Alpha. You won’t be taken by the Decree. Your father and grandfather will arrange something. Wait half a year. Once Flora is past her deadline, I’ll come for you and bond with you properly.” “It’s only a little time. Can you really not wait?” My eyes stung. The truth was — I couldn’t. It didn’t matter that my father was the Guardian Clan’s Alpha Lord. It didn’t matter that my grandfather led the Moonguard. The Moon Decree was issued by the Great Wolf King himself. Who dared defy it? My father and grandfather might be powerful. But no power was greater than the Crown. And then there was the divine mandate that sat in our clan’s sacred chamber — the one I had been trying not to think about. If I reached my eighteenth moon-year without a bond-promise secured, I would be sent to the Crown Wolf’s palace as the mate of the Wolf Prince. The Prince was gravely ill — consumed by the Moon Sickness, a curse that devoured its host from the inside out. Going to the palace would be no honor. It would be a slow walk toward becoming a widow before I had truly been a wife. When the mandate had first arrived at our gates, I had not been afraid. Because I had known Kael would bond with me. I had never imagined this. I kept my expression still, my voice soft as I looked at Kael. I let the smallest crack show in my eyes. “Will you truly not reconsider? You’ve chosen Flora — and every promise we made to each other means nothing now?” Kael smiled — gentle, certain of himself. “It means everything. I told you. Half a year. Once Flora is past this, we’ll formalize our bond-promise again. The mate of the Dawnfang Heir will only ever be you, Lyra.” I closed my eyes. It was done. Whatever had lived in my chest — it was gone now. Flora tucked herself against Kael’s arm and looked up at the lunar silver ornament pinned in my hair, her eyes soft with deliberate longing. “Sister, the Heir said he’ll come to present bonding gifts in three days. Could you lend me that moonsilver ornament? The one you’re wearing?” “You know I don’t have anything grand enough to mark the occasion properly. If I look unworthy, it reflects on the whole Silverstone household.” “And we wouldn’t want anyone saying Sister couldn’t be gracious to her half-sister, would we?” That ornament had been left to me by my mother. It was part of my bonding inheritance. Flora knew exactly what it was. She was asking anyway. I had no patience left for pretending. “Flora,” I said evenly. “I cannot give you this piece. I will ask Father to send to the Moonstone Vault to have something new chosen for you.” Flora’s eyes reddened. “But this one matches my ceremony gown so perfectly. I’d only borrow it for the day — I’d return it after. Is that truly not allowed?” “Sister, I know you’re unhappy that the heir chose me. But I really do love this piece. Won’t you let me?” Kael’s expression shifted toward displeasure as he looked at me. “Lyra, you’re being small-hearted. It’s an ornament. If she likes it, give it to her. I’ll have the Moonstone Vault send you two pieces as a replacement.” Three days from now was the day they would formalize their bond. Three days from now was also the day I would be leaving for the Crown Wolf’s palace. That ornament was coming with me. My mother had made me promise she would see it on me at my bonding ceremony. I would not let anyone take that. “Flora,” I said quietly, “if you know something doesn’t belong to you, you should not want it.” Kael’s brow furrowed and his voice sharpened. “Enough, Lyra. Choosing Flora was my decision. Blame me if you must. Why are you making this about the sisters?” I stepped back. My voice went cold and clear. “Heir Dawnfang — since you have chosen Flora, you are now my sister’s future mate. Please conduct yourself accordingly. You should not be speaking to your mate’s elder sister in that tone.” “If you want to shower her with gifts from the Moonstone Vault, that is entirely your affair. But as for my possessions — Flora, hear me clearly — not a single one of them is yours to touch.”

Flora’s tears slid down her cheeks. “Sister, I only love that ornament because Mother always said she hoped I would wear red and silver at my bonding ceremony.” “I only wanted to honor her wishes. I’m just a half-blood. I don’t dare dream of much. Is even this small thing not allowed?” Kael caught my wrist as I turned to leave. His grip was hard — hard enough to bruise. “Lyra.” His voice was low and taut. “Name a price for the moonsilver ornament. I’ll buy it from you outright.” Before I could pull away, his other hand reached up and unpinned the ornament from my hair. I hadn’t moved fast enough. My hair tumbled loose over my shoulders. For a highborn pure-blood daughter, to have her hair unbound before a crowd was one of the deepest humiliations a woman could suffer. It was an exposure — an unmaking. Kael knew this. He did it anyway. He passed the ornament to Flora. “Stop crying. I’ll pay your sister for it. Consider it a bonding gift from me.” The fury that rose in me was clean and absolute. I struck him across the face. The crack of it rang through the room. Five marks bloomed red against his cheek. “Flora,” I said sharply, reaching out. “Give it back.” Flora stumbled backward. The ornament slipped from her fingers and hit the stone floor. Then, deliberately — so deliberately — she stepped on it. “Oh no,” she breathed. “It broke.” The moonsilver shattered into fragments beneath her heel. The chain snapped. The carefully wrought links scattered across the floor like fallen stars. She pressed her hand over her mouth. “Sister, if you didn’t want to give it, you only had to say. I would have handed it back. You didn’t have to grab — I didn’t mean to drop it, I was startled—” “Please don’t be angry. I’ll give you all my moon-allowance to buy a new one. All right?” I lowered myself to the floor. I stopped thinking about my hair, about how I looked, about anything except gathering every piece. One by one I picked them up, my hands steady even as my eyes burned. Tears fell on the backs of my hands and did not stop. Kael crouched beside me, reaching to help, his voice awkward. “It’s only an ornament, Lyra. Don’t make this uglier than it has to be.” “Stop crying. I’ll replace it — five pieces, ten if you want.” I shoved him away. I did not let him touch a single fragment. I folded them all into my handkerchief and held it tight. I looked up at him, and my voice was flat. “Kael Dawnfang. You could not afford to replace this.” Flora opened her mouth again. I turned and struck her across the face before she could speak. “Flora.” My voice did not shake. “You knew this was the bonding inheritance my mother left me. She asked me, at the end, to wear it at my ceremony. You knew. And you destroyed it deliberately.” “Remember this. I will not forgive you. I will collect what is owed.” Kael stared at me. “What — Lyra — this was your mother’s inheritance? Why didn’t you say?” I looked at him the way you look at something you once valued and no longer do. “Saying anything further to someone like you makes me sick.” “Heir Dawnfang. You have made your choice. Live with it well. From this day, you are a stranger to me. Do not call me Lyra again. We are nothing to each other.” That night, I stood in the clan’s sacred chamber before the royal mandate. My father stood beside me, his eyes wet. “Father,” I said quietly. “I am willing to go to the Crown Wolf’s palace.” He shook his head, his voice rough. “The Prince is gravely ill, Lyra. Going to him — it’s not a bonding. It’s a sacrifice. Please, if you are unwilling, let your grandfather find a young warrior in the Moonguard for you. Anything would be better than this.” I shook my head. “The mandate stands. Had it been Kael Dawnfang, there might have been room to maneuver — the Queen knows our clans once had an informal promise. Anyone else would be defying the Crown.”

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I caught my ex Alpha cheating, so I texted the Lycan King I REJECTED: “Still want ME?” His reply came in 0.2 seconds: “On my knees in 5 minutes. Keep the door unlocked, baby.” I thought I was the one crawling back… Until the most powerful Lycan on earth kicked my apartment door off its hinges, eyes glowing gold. … “I, Evelyn Blackwood, reject you, Blake Drake, as my mate.” The pain of the bond snapping hit me like a freight train, but the betrayal cut deeper. I never thought my fiancé would screw my best friend. At eighteen, I awakened as a Healer, a rarity. At the Pairing Ball, my wolf sparked with Blake’s. I became the girl every Alpha wanted, the future Luna of the pack. Our binding ceremony was only a month away. He was in New York for the Global Pack Summit. I flew in to surprise him, but the surprise was on me. When I pushed open the hotel suite door, my keycard hit the floor. He was balls-deep in my so-called bestie. “Does Evelyn make you feel this good?” Vanessa moaned, her back arched. “Honey, she’s a dead fish in bed,” Blake gasped. “I close my eyes and imagine your face every time I touch her. Once the ceremony is over and I take over the company, I’ll have her power. That’s all I need her for.” I pulled out my phone, hit record, and walked in. “I got it all on video,” I said, my voice cold as ice. “The engagement is off. I reject you.” I headed straight to a dive bar, drowning the pain in whiskey. Just as a group of creeps started closing in, a suffocating pressure filled the room. An Alpha’s command. “You have three seconds to get lost.” “Or you die.” A man stepped out of the shadows. 6’7″, black shirt, and piercing violet-gold eyes that made my soul shiver. “You smell like…” He leaned down, his breath hot against my ear. “My mate.”

The rest was a blur of heat, sweat, and primal rhythm. It lasted all night. In the chaos, he kept growling “mate,” even though I knew I’d lost my chance at a bond. My wolf, usually proud, was whimpering in submission. I’d never felt her like this. But there was no time to think. I was lost in the electricity of his touch. I woke up before dawn in a penthouse overlooking the most expensive district in the city. My body was sore, covered in marks. The other side of the King-size bed was empty, but I could hear the shower running. I panicked. I threw on his oversized dress shirt, grabbed my heels, and bolted. I caught a cab, my heart hammering against my ribs. Behind me, at the floor-to-ceiling window, the man stood shirtless, a massive tattoo covering his chest. He watched my taxi pull away, a towel wrapped low on his hips. He picked up his phone. “Watch her every move,” he commanded. “If she sheds a single tear, I’ll have your heads.”

“Why do you smell like another Alpha?” I’d just stepped into the dining room when Blake glared at me from the head of the table. I ignored him and sat down for dinner. Suddenly, the butler hurried in. “Miss, there are packages for you.” A fleet of uniformed guards began carrying boxes into the hall. Limited edition couture, high-end jewelry, designer bags. And a folder, shares of a Blackwood subsidiary being transferred to my name. There was a handwritten card. “The night was exquisite. In three days, I’m bringing you home.” My one-night stand was clearly a player. I rubbed my face, speechless. Blake gripped his wine glass so hard I thought it would shatter. “Are you going to explain this?” he spat through gritted teeth. I looked him in the eye. “I already sent that video to every member of the board’s inbox.” “You bitch!”

He should have thought about the consequences before he crawled into Vanessa’s bed. “Not yet,” I said smoothly, tilting my head. “It’s on a timer. If I don’t stop it, it goes public.” “I want all the company shares.” “You’re in no position to negotiate, Evelyn.” “Sign the papers… or I burn it all down.” “Including her.” I didn’t actually expect him to sign; I just wanted to rip the mask off his face. I turned to leave, but he grabbed my wrist, yanking me into his chest. He leaned down, his voice a low hiss. “Think about the pack’s future, Evelyn.” “The future?” I laughed in his face. “I’ve been running this pack for three years while you were busy running into other women’s bedrooms.” He flinched. Just then, a sweet, high-pitched voice echoed from the hall. “Evelyn’s back?” Blake dropped my arm. I stumbled back, dusting off my sleeve with disgust. Vanessa walked in, glowing. “You look great. The trip must have been… refreshing.” “Someone clearly wasn’t satisfied,” I smirked. “Did Blake forget his pills?” Vanessa turned pale, swaying until she collapsed into Blake’s arms. “Honey… when are you going to tell her?” Blake hesitated, then mumbled, “Vanessa… she’s carrying my pup.” … That night, lying in bed, I almost laughed at the irony. My two closest people had been playing me for three years. I was alone. Then, my phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. -Miss you.- I was about to block it when another popped up. -Did you like the gifts? I’m still dreaming about that night.- It was him.

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My husband, Preston finally agreed to spend Christmas with my family. I was so happy that I booked the red-eye flight that same night. But by midnight at the airport, his seat was still empty. My phone buzzed two minutes before takeoff. Babe, I’m so sorry. The investors flew in unannounced — emergency board meeting. I’ll make it up to your parents next year, I swear. I wasn’t even mad. Seven years of marriage had trained me out of that. I texted back a quick okay and decided to swing by his parents’ place in Pinecreek instead. Christmas Eve dinner with the in-laws. He’d appreciate it. Six hours later, I was standing on the front porch of the Hayes house in Montana, arms full of gift bags — a humidor of Cubans for his dad, a bottle of Macallan 25 for the cousins, a cashmere wrap for his mom. The whole back of my car was packed with it. I was about to ring the bell when I heard his father laughing inside. Come on, sweetheart, sit down, sit down. Let me get you another glass. A woman’s voice answered, light and pleased. Dad, you’re spoiling me. The shopping bags hit the porch with a hard thud. The door cracked open. A woman stuck her head out — late twenties, silk robe, hair loose, holding a glass of red wine like she owned the place. Can I help you Her tone was already a slap. She looked me up and down, then sneered. Christmas Eve and you’re skulking around someone’s porch What, you here to steal the packages off the steps I knew her face. It took me a second, but I placed it. Seven years ago, when Preston was hiring his first round of staff, this girl had walked into the interview. He wanted to pass — said her résumé was thin. I told him she had hustle. I’d been the one who told him to give her the job. Preston’s father called from inside. Honey, who is it Quit messing with the porch pirates and come finish your wine. One sec, Dad! Just chasing some trash off the lawn. She turned back to me, smiling now. Sweet as poison. I opened my mouth. Couldn’t get a word out. Honey. He’d called her honey. She stepped forward when I didn’t answer, irritation flashing across her face. I asked you a question. Do you have any idea whose house this is She straightened her shoulders. The smirk turned into something uglier — proud, contemptuous. My husband is Preston Hayes. CEO of Hayes Tech. So unless you want me calling the sheriff, get the hell off this porch. I’d been bracing for it the whole walk up the steps. Hearing it out loud still hit like ice water down my spine. I had to force the words past my throat. You said Preston Hayes is your husband. Are you deaf I lifted my chin and stared her down. That’s funny. Because I’m Vivienne Hayes. Married to Preston seven years ago. License filed in California, signed in front of a judge. She laughed in my face. Sweetie, the whole town knows the Hayes daughter-in-law. That’s me. Serena Croft. Has been for years. So whatever scam you think you’re running, pick another house. Her voice carried. The neighbors were already drifting out onto their porches, Christmas lights blinking behind them. Who’s that woman yelling on the Hayes porch That ain’t Serena, is it Where’s Serena Serena’s right there, that’s the wife. They come every Christmas, real sweet couple. Some homeless girl trying to scam the rich folks, you ask me. Christmas brings the crazies out. Each word landed cold. Seven Christmases. Seven excuses. The investors flew in. The Series B is closing. The team needs me. I’d believed every one of them. I’d felt sorry for him. I’d quietly wired a hundred million of my own money into Hayes Tech under shell investors so he wouldn’t drown — ninety percent of that company’s revenue traced back to patents I wrote in our basement. He’d been bringing this woman home every Christmas. To my in-laws. Pretending to be her husband. Serena tilted her head, savoring it. Listen carefully, you broke little nobody. One phone call to Hayes Tech and I can ruin your entire life. Don’t test me. Ruin my life. Seven years I’d buried my last name. Seven years I’d turned down my father’s company to write code in a basement so this man could chase his dream. I built Hayes Tech into the biggest name in the Valley, and this woman was standing on my front porch threatening me with it. I didn’t think. I swung. My fist caught her square in the mouth. Bone crunched. She went backwards into the door frame with a scream, blood pouring down her chin onto the white silk. She’s hitting me! Somebody help! That’s the Hayes girl! She’s beating up Serena! Three or four men came stumbling off the neighboring porches, beers still in their hands, faces red. Get the crazy bitch off her! They were on me in seconds. I got an elbow into someone’s ribs before two of them pinned my arms and a third drove me down onto the frozen porch boards. The cold burned through my coat. Serena wiped the blood off her chin and looked around. Her eyes locked on a snow shovel propped against the railing. She picked it up. You stupid bitch. You actually thought you could come at me She raised it over her head. The front door banged open behind her. Preston stepped out onto the porch. He saw me on the ground, the blood, the shovel — and the color drained out of his face all at once. Vivienne. What the hell are you doing here

The shovel froze mid-swing. Preston’s parents stumbled out behind him, faces flushed from wine. His mother squinted at me through the porch light, confused. Preston, who is this Why is there a woman bleeding on my porch His father’s voice was harder. Some lunatic showing up Christmas Eve to start a fight. Get her off my property. I laughed. It came out hoarse. Three years of Christmas cards. Three years of holiday baskets I shipped you from California. And you’re going to stand there and pretend you don’t know my face Something shifted in his mother’s expression. She caught it fast and went hard. I have never seen you before in my life. Don’t you dare try to attach yourself to this family. His father jumped in, pointing at me for the neighbors to see. Our son has one wife. That’s Serena. Standing right there. Everyone in this town has known her for years. You hear that The man kneeling on my back leaned in close. His breath smelled like Coors. Even the family don’t know you, sweetheart. Have some shame. Preston wouldn’t look at me. He stared at the porch boards. Vivienne. Just — go. We can talk about this later. Later I twisted under the man’s grip. He pressed harder. I lifted my head until I could lock eyes with my husband. Right now. In front of all of them. Say it out loud. Am I or am I not your wife Preston’s mouth opened. Nothing came out. His eyes kept skating away from mine. The neighbors had gone quiet. Even the men holding me down had stopped grinning. A little voice cut through the porch. Bad lady! Don’t hurt my mommy and daddy! A boy ran out from behind Preston’s legs. Maybe five years old. Light brown hair, big eyes. He flew straight into Serena’s arms, then turned around and threw his little body in front of her, arms spread wide. You’re a bad lady. Go away. Don’t touch my mommy and daddy! Mommy and daddy. I stared at him. Then I turned my neck slowly, because the cold had locked it up, and looked at Preston. He bent down. Pulled the kid into his chest. Buried his face in the boy’s hair. It’s okay, buddy. Daddy’s right here. Daddy’s right here. Preston had told me three years into the marriage that he couldn’t have kids. We’d cried about it together. The boy in his arms had his jawline. I started laughing. It came out wrong, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and I couldn’t stop. The neighbors were whispering now. Louder. Wait — is the husband actually cheating She came all this way Poor thing if it’s true. Serena’s a sweetheart. They got the boy and everything. Preston always seemed so put-together. Goes to show. His mother’s face went purple. She lunged forward and jabbed a finger at my face. You shut your mouth! My son is not that kind of man, you hear me Her chest was heaving. She turned to the neighbors, voice climbing. Look at her! Showing up in some beat-up Volvo, dressed like a bag lady. My son runs a tech company in California. You really think he’d touch trash like this His father piled on. Some homewrecker tramp who saw a rich man and got ideas. Our daughter-in-law is Serena. Her father’s a major business contact of Preston’s. Money. Class. Everything this one isn’t. They tore me apart in front of fifty neighbors and propped Serena up on a pedestal in the same breath. But one piece snagged in my head. Her father’s a major business contact. Every supplier and partner Hayes Tech had ever signed with traced back to a Vance Global subsidiary. I’d vetted every one personally. There was no Croft on any of those boards. I didn’t have time to think about it. Preston had snapped. He shoved the boy back into his mother’s arms, stepped to the edge of the porch, and pointed down at me. Vivienne, enough. How many times do I have to say this We were over years ago. I have a wife. I have a son. You need to stop showing up at my life like some psycho. Do you hear yourself Do you have any self-respect Serena’s jaw dropped. Then it clicked. She tore across the porch and slapped me across the face so hard my ear rang. The crack of it echoed off the houses across the street. She leaned down, finger in my face, voice shaking with righteous fury. You’re her You’re the crazy ex he’s been telling me about for years The one who won’t leave him alone Preston barely even mentions you because it upsets him so much, and you have the nerve to drag yourself out here on Christmas Eve She pulled back and kicked me in the stomach. Everything inside me lit up. Something tore. I tasted copper, then spat blood onto the porch boards. I dragged my head up. Used everything I had left to wrench an arm free. Preston. If she’s really your wife, show me the marriage certificate. Right now.

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At the auction, my fianc└ bid 8.88 million on an emerald ring. It was a keepsake from my grandmother, and just as I was about to take it, he tossed the ring to a student from a poor family whom I had been sponsoring. “I had no choice. She wanted to smash it just to hear the sound, and she forced me to come clean, demanding I choose between you two.” “Guess who I chose?” My head was spinning; I didn’t dare to guess. All I could hear was my own trembling voice demanding, “Why? Our wedding is in just one week.” He casually played with the underprivileged student’s hand. “Vivian, because I’ve already made my choice.” “I plan to replace you with her as the bride. She’s fresh, young, and wild！and she’s very open in bed.” A wave of utter absurdity washed over me, leaving me cold to the bone. The next second, Mary walked up to me, threw the ring on the ground, and crushed it. “Sis, you’re going to be without a husband now~” “And this ring！listen to how beautiful the sound of it shattering is.” The ring, shattered into pieces, was the spitting image of our relationship. I suddenly laughed. If he’s switching brides, then I’ll switch grooms. I picked up the microphone and announced, “We have a last-minute addition to today’s auction: I, Vivian, am publicly auctioning off my marriage. The highest bidder wins!” ´´ As soon as the words left my mouth, the previously silent venue erupted in waves of mocking laughter. [Auctioning off her marriage? Tsk, tsk, tsk. Who’d have thought Vivian, who looks so innocent, would have such an open mind!] [Young Master Lucas, after seven years, you’ve probably worn this woman out. Auctioning off her marriage！who’d dare marry her?] In the auction hall, the men exchanged knowing glances and hurled taunts´ My fingertips grew cold, but I still forced myself to remain calm. Lucas pulled away from Mary’s lips and looked at me, bursting into laughter. “Is this how you’re trying to force me to come back?” “Fine!” He stubbed out the cigarette in his hand and raised the bidding paddle beside him. “I’ll bid one yuan!” “Hahahahaha´” His words sparked even louder laughter and mockery. [Young Master Lucas, we knew your fianc└e was cheap, but we never imagined she’d be this cheap!] [One dollar, hahahahaha! Even the street dancers outside the White Horse Club charge 200 dollars a go!] A young playboy in the back row whistled, his tone both flippant and malicious. [Young Master Lucas, how exactly did you ruin her, that she’s now worth nothing more than a penny?] Lucas curled his lips slightly and raised an eyebrow. “Her? She came to me when she was 18. Even back then, she was already a used-up woman.” The entire room erupted in an uproar once more! My hands trembled as I stared at Lucas in disbelief. That was a pain I’d never voiced to anyone, yet now he was using it as a joke, publicly humiliating me. Tears slid down the corners of my eyes. Lucas ignored my distress and continued, “Are you guys going to bid or not? Don’t let her actually end up back in my hands.” The men looked at me with amusement. “I’ll bid two!” “I’ll bid three!” “I’ll bid five!” ´´ I clenched my fists, digging my nails into my palms, using that pain to keep myself going. “Brother Lucas, since Sister is auctioning off her marriage, we should at least let everyone know if she’s worth it.” “I propose that Sister come up on stage first to introduce herself and talk about her good points?” Mary pushed me onto the stage and handed me the microphone. The sea of people below！some looking down on me, others mocking！stared at me as if I were a clown. “If Sister won’t say it, then I’ll say it for her.” She gave a sly smile and snatched the microphone. “Sister Vivian is very soft in bed´!” The crowd below burst into laughter. “And she’s very sensitive, too!” “Brother Lucas, am I right?” She turned playfully to look at Lucas. Lucas ruffled her hair and smiled affectionately. “Go on! Vivian has more than just these virtues.” “But she has a sex addiction！she’s hard to satisfy. Does that count?” Someone in the crowd immediately chimed in: “No problem. I guarantee she won’t be able to get out of bed.” “Brother Lucas, I’m done. It’s your turn!” Mary ran playfully into Lucas’s arms and planted a kiss on his lips. My heart shattered into countless pieces, bit by bit. Lucas took the microphone. “No amount of words can compare to seeing it with your own eyes.” Mary interrupted Lucas, jumping up excitedly: “I agree! Why don’t we showcase Vivian’s figure in full on the big screen? How about that?” “Brother Lucas, don’t you have a lot of private photos of Vivian on your phone?” “Alright, I’ll do as you say!” Cheers erupted throughout the venue.

“That’s a great idea. If you want me to bid high, fine！but at least let me see her figure first.” A sleazy man rubbed his hands together, drooling. “Clothed photos won’t do！I can’t get a good look. I want uncensored, high-definition shots!” Lucas stood up and handed a portable hard drive to the host. “There are over ten thousand of her private photos in there. I guarantee that after you see them, you’ll definitely want to marry her.” I lunged forward to stop him, but he shoved me to the ground. “Aren’t you trying to sell yourself off as soon as possible? I’m doing you a favor here！don’t be ungrateful!” The next second, the revealing private photos Lucas had coaxed me into taking suddenly appeared on the big screen. “High-definition, uncensored photos！3,000 dollars. Bidding starts now!” The entire venue erupted. “That’s hot! I’ll up the bid！5,000!” “I’ll go 50,000!” The shouts of bidding and mockery ringing in my ears threatened to swallow me whole. As more explicit photos were revealed, the lewd comments grew louder. “Wow, that pose is hot. Young Master Lucas sure knows how to treat a girl.” “Don’t be jealous！if you buy her, you can have her too!” Lucas suddenly grabbed my chin in a fit of rage, his eyes swirling with an unreadable emotion, and demanded harshly, “Selling yourself for such a high price！shouldn’t you thank me for that, hmm?” Tears welled up in my eyes. My body trembling, I slapped him hard across the face. “Lucas, you’re shameless!” He touched the cheek I’d struck and smiled. “Is that what you call shameless? The real shamelessness is yet to come!” No sooner had the words left his mouth than a high-definition, uncensored video blasted across the giant screen, shaking the entire venue. But it stopped abruptly after just five seconds! “Her technique is passable, but her moans are what really make it worth it!” Lucas looked at the crowd with a smirk. “Want to see the full video? Starting bid: 100,000!” Countless vulgar remarks were hurled at me. “Who knew Vivian was so wild in bed? It’s fine for a fling, but if you marry her, won’t your head be a veritable green meadow?” “Exactly, exactly. I’m out!” Someone rubbed their hands together eagerly: “You guys can back out if you want, but I’m in for sure. I’ll bid 150,000!” “I’ll bid 200,000!” “300,000!” Countless bidders raised their hands in a frenzy. Fighting back the lump in my throat, I tried to appeal to the host: “Publicly broadcasting and auctioning off this kind of video is illegal.” Lucas pinched my cheek and sneered, “In all of Oakville, I, Lucas, am the law!” “Keep your eyes peeled, everyone！the best is yet to come!” Immediately afterward, countless videos of Lucas and me making love were played one after another. “That body is fucking hot. I’ve seen countless videos, but I’ve never seen such scorching positions. I’ll bid 500,000!” “I’ll bid 800,000. Not for anything else, but just because I love the look in her dazed eyes.” “1 million!” “1.3 million!” I bit down hard on my lower lip, my teeth sinking into the soft flesh. I wanted to run, but my wrists were clamped so tight I couldn’t move. “Lucas, do you really have to be this ruthless?” All my strength had been drained from me, and I asked him with a cold expression. “Ruthless? Weren’t you the one who humiliated yourself by auctioning off your own marriage? I’m just showing you mercy by giving you a hand!” The filthy words choked the air, leaving me gasping for breath. I tried to run, but Mary grabbed me by the arm.

“Sis, don’t go! You haven’t sold yourself yet. Let me give you a hand!” With a sharp “ripping” sound, Mary slashed my skirt with a sharp object. I hurriedly reached out to cover myself, but Lucas grabbed my hands tightly. The sound of tearing fabric exploded in my ears. Before I could even react, I was already standing under the spotlight. The stares around me pierced my skin like needles. All my dignity and composure shattered completely in that moment. Lucas dragged me toward the stands. “What the eye sees is limited. I propose that anyone who wants to marry her come up here and measure her measurements themselves.” He held up the tape measure in his hand. “No, let me go!” I struggled to resist, but he held my hands tightly in a vice-like grip. Humiliation surged through every fiber of my being, and tears streamed down my face. “Lucas, why are you doing this to me!” “Why?” He clamped his hand over my chin and whispered, “Everyone knows you’re my woman. How dare you publicly auction off your marriage? You’re the one who slapped me in the face first.” My throat went dry. But clearly, he was the one who betrayed me first. Lucas saw the hurt in my eyes, yet chose to ignore it. “Who’s first?” The crowd erupted once more. “Damn, Young Master Lucas, you’re serious. You’re just like my own brother! I’ll go! I’ll go!” A potbellied fat man from the crowd rushed forward and groped me from head to toe. “Get lost!” I tried to crouch down to hide myself, but Lucas yanked me back up. “Holy shit! Such a tender, supple figure！you’re a real stunner! Young Master Lucas, you’ve really been living the high life.” “I’ll bid 3 million. Don’t anyone try to outbid me!” “5 million!” The bidding drew even more people. Men surged forward, countless lecherous hands roaming over my body. “That body’s worth 10 million!” “She’s got a great body, but I’m worried about down there´” Someone muttered, immediately sparking even more mockery. “That’s only because she’s been played with so much by Mr. Lucas!” “It’s not just that. She once bore a child for Young Master Lucas, but the child didn’t live long！it died before it was even a month old!” Mary shrieked, deliberately speaking loudly for everyone to hear, then immediately covered her mouth: “Brother Lucas, I’m sorry! You told me not to say that, and I forgot!” The blood in my veins froze instantly. That child was a hurdle I’d never been able to get past. I’d even suffered from severe depression because of it. It was Lucas who stayed by my side every step of the way, guiding me and pulling me out of that quagmire bit by bit, promising that neither of us would ever mention it again. Yet he went and told Mary about it. Rage surged through me, and with all my strength, I kicked Mary to the ground. But I was met with a resounding slap from Lucas. I clutched my cheek and wept uncontrollably: “You said that dead child was our shared secret！why? Why did you tell someone else?!!” He snorted, yanked Mary into his arms, and said, “Mary isn’t just anyone！she’s my fianc└e. Naturally, she should know about my past!” Mary raised an eyebrow at me triumphantly. Then she pressed herself against Lucas, her voice syrupy: “Brother Lucas, this is such a spectacular show. I want more people to see it.” “Tell me, what do you want to do?” Lucas looked utterly doting. “I’ll do whatever you say.” “I want to go live!”

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“A wolf-less RUNT has no place in the Alpha bloodline.” I was my elite family’s greatest shame. A weak, forgotten reject, tossed into the freezing border woods and left to be torn apart by Rogues. But when their claws pierced my flesh, the pain didn’t kill me. BLINDING LIGHTNING erupted from my veins, and the terrifying monster that had been sleeping inside my blood finally awake. “They have no idea. They just awakened the last pureblood STORM QUEEN…” …… “Evelyn Drake. Your time is up.” The High Priest’s voice was as cold as the black stones surrounding the altar. Tonight was my 18th birthday — my Awakening. For an Alpha’s daughter, this was a coronation. For me, it was a trial. I took a breath, my bare feet stinging against the jagged rock. Below me, my parents—the Alphas of the Storm Pack—watched with predatory greed. For eighteen years, they’d pushed me harder than any warrior, molding me into a weapon for this exact moment. One minute passed. Two. My bones didn’t snap; no fur sprouted from my skin. “Evelyn Drake,” the Priest announced, his voice echoing in the dead silence. “Failed. No wolf found.” The crowd erupted into a chorus of disgusted sneers. “So much for the ‘Chosen Genius’ prophecy.” “What a waste of resources.” “A literal parasite.” Then, my cousin Acacia stepped up. She had shifted earlier that evening into a rare, ethereal White Wolf. She slithered toward my fiancé, Blake, leaning into his chest. “Poor Evelyn,” she purred loud enough for everyone to hear. “A woman without a wolf doesn’t even have the right to mate. You’re just… human trash now.” I looked at Blake. He was the Storm Pack’s strongest warrior. My childhood protector. My supposed mate. He didn’t say a word. He simply shifted his gaze away, as if looking at me was an insult to his status. As I walked away, head high while my world crumbled, the Priest’s eyes burned into my back. “Strange,” he whispered. “Unless… something far more terrifying is suppressing her.”

“Move your trash to the servant’s cellar. Now.” The moment I stepped through the front door, my mother hurled a tattered black trash bag at my feet. It contained the few clothes I owned. “Acacia needs your suite for her post-Awakening recovery,” my father added, eyes glued to a tactical map. He didn’t even look up. “Since you’ve failed to shift, the Pack will no longer provide your refined meat or private trainers. Tomorrow, you report to the kitchens for scullery duty.” “I am your daughter,” I spat, my fingernails drawing blood from my own palms. “You are a failed investment,” he snapped, finally looking at me with pure vitriol. “We believed the prophecy was about you. Now we know it was Acacia all along.” I turned to leave, but stopped at the threshold as their voices dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Did we choose wrong?” my mother hissed. “The scent she had when we brought her home… it was so primal. How did she turn out to be a dud?” The blood drained from my face. Brought me home? I wasn’t their daughter.

I found Blake at the training grounds. The sun caught the gold in his hair, making him look every bit the “War God” the pack worshiped. “Evelyn, we need to sever the bond,” he said before I could speak. His voice was laced with a pity. “Acacia needs a strong Alpha to stabilize her new shift. You… you should find a nice human Omega to settle down with.” “Is it because she’s stronger?” I asked, staring directly into those eyes. “Or have you just been waiting for an excuse to crawl into her bed?” A flash of guilt, then anger, crossed his face. “Stop being so pathetic, Evelyn. It’s for the future of the Pack. Just be the bigger person for once to step aside.” “Step aside?” I let out a dry, jagged laugh. “I’ve bled for this pack for eighteen years, Blake. You’re not choosing the Pack. You’re choosing the shiny new toy.” Acacia appeared then, draping her arms around his neck. “Darling, don’t waste your breath on the wolf-less. We have an engagement ring to pick out.” As they walked away, the cold void in my chest didn’t break. It ignited. A flicker of something dark and ancient pulsed in my veins, answering the betrayal with a silent, deadly promise.

The Royal Academy list was posted. My name was missing. For centuries, the elite were sent to the capital to train under the Lycan King himself. It was the only way to escape the brutal politics of local packs. “You blocked my application,” I stated, finding Acacia in the main hall, preening in her new silk robes. “I simply filled the slot with someone worthy,” she smirked, tapping a scroll against my chest. “But the Pack is generous. We’ve assigned you a ‘glorious’ mission instead: The North Border Patrol.” The North Border. A 90% mortality rate. It was a dumping ground for the unwanted, infested with Rogues and shadows that even the King’s guards feared. “A maid on the front lines?” I gripped the scroll so hard it creaked. “You’re sending me there to die.” “I’m sending you to be useful,” she laughed. “Carry the warriors’ bags. Try not to scream too loud when the Rogues find you.” “Fine.” For eighteen years, I was the first on the training field and the last to leave. If they thought wolf-less made me easy prey, they were about to learn that a cornered girl with nothing to lose is far more dangerous than any beast.

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Seven years of marriage, and Sophia Wentworth had learned exactly what she was worth to Lucian Drake—down to the last dollar. Dinner together: fifty thousand. Coming home: a hundred thousand. Sharing his bed: a million. Sophia had never once crossed a line and played her role with flawless precision. Until the night of their seventh anniversary. Lucian sat in the leather armchair by the window, smoke curling from the cigarette between his fingers. “My girlfriend wants me to propose,” he said, his tone as indifferent as a stock report. “Name your price, Sophia. How much to make you disappear?” He paused, and something that almost resembled hesitation flickered across his face. “If you’re not ready, you can wait. I’ll smooth things over with her and come back for you after.” Sophia’s fingers tightened around the ring box hidden behind her back—the engagement ring given to her by Lucian’s greatest rival. Then, she smiled and stepped forward and placed a divorce agreement on the coffee table. “Two dollars to buy me out,” Sophia said. Taking the bus from here to the church to married with the man who was her true lover. Two dollars is exactly the fare. — Lucian crushed the cigarette against the leather sofa. “Sophia.” His voice dropped. “This is your last chance to negotiate.” In seven years, the sentence she’d heard from him most often was “name your price”. It had started small—attending galas, picking up his girlfriend Stella from class, cooking Stella’s meals, managing Stella’s wardrobe, tracking Stella’s medication schedule. Each task was just one more line on the invoice. “Two dollars,” she said again. “Final offer.” She turned toward the door. Stella was already at the top of the staircase—eyes red, lower lip trembling with practiced perfection. She descended slowly, one hand trailing the railing, gaze fixed on Sophia. “Please don’t make her leave,” Stella whispered to Lucian, though her eyes stayed on Sophia. “I’m not trying to take your place. I swear I’m not.” Tears slid down her cheeks. In the corner of her mouth, barely visible, a smile curved upward. Sophia didn’t acknowledge the performance. She reached into her bag and pressed two Coachella tickets into Stella’s hands—she’d lined up at midnight to get them. “For you. I hope you enjoy it.” Then she opened her notebook. “Six a.m.—Stella takes her coffee with oat milk from the new café on Riverside Drive. Go early, the line gets long. Seven a.m., wake her up, lay out her clothes—no repeating outfits within the week. Eight a.m., drive her to class. Nine a.m., collect her dry cleaning—only the green blazer this week, she has a lunch on Thursday. Ten a.m., call her nutritionist to confirm Friday’s appointment. Noon, her preferred lunch order from—” She kept going. Through afternoon, through evening, all the way to three in the morning. Seven years of invisible labor, recited in a single, unbroken monologue, transferred from her keeping to his. When she finally stopped, the cigarette smoke had long since cleared. The room was very quiet. Something had shifted in Lucian’s eyes. He would have denied it if anyone had named it. “If you behave,” he said quietly, “you can stay.” She opened her mouth to answer. Then Stella screamed.

Stella had tumbled down the staircase. One moment she was at the top. The next she was sprawled across Sophia, both of them hitting the marble floor in a tangle of limbs. Pain detonated through Sophia’s left leg and skull simultaneously. Something warm and wet ran from her hairline. She lay still, blinking at the ceiling. Lucian crossed the room in three strides—and reached for Stella. He swept her into his arms, voice low and urgent. The room was very quiet. Sophia tried to push herself upright. She couldn’t. Lucian turned. “You couldn’t even keep her safe?” He hauled Sophia to her feet by her arm. “Apologize to her.” Sophia stood on a leg that was screaming and apologized. Ten times, as instructed, while Stella watched with glistening eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t finish Stella’s assignment on time. I’m sorry she scraped her hand on the railing. I’m sorry—” By the tenth apology, Sophia’s throat had gone dry and rough. She tasted iron at the back of her mouth. Then Stella’s voice, sweet and light: “Could Sophia walk to the bakery on the west side for me? The strawberry cake there is just divine—you know how delicate those strawberries are. She should walk. The fresh air will do her good.” Sophia was already reaching for her crutch before Lucian could answer. She made the trip three times that night. The first time, the cake had cooled by the time she returned. Unacceptable. The second time, her left foot had opened up and left a trail of blood across the pale marble. Stella screamed at the sight of it, then declared she didn’t want the cake anymore anyway. The third time, it was eight the next morning. Sophia’s clothes were torn. Her left ankle had swollen to twice its size. The place where her prosthetic connected to her right leg had worn through to raw flesh. Every step was broken glass in fire. But the cake was perfect. Not a single strawberry out of place. She placed it in Stella’s hands. Stella looked at it. Then set it on the floor in front of her little dog, Biscuit. “Oh, Sophia.” Wide, soft eyes. “I hope you’re not upset. I just… didn’t really want it anymore.” Sophia nodded. She turned to Lucian. She had been running on pure will for hours. Now she stood in front of him and let herself speak. “Is this enough?” Level, calm, precise. “Are you satisfied? Can we sign the divorce papers now?” Her legs gave out. The floor came up fast and she went down hard. The last thing she saw before the dark took her was Lucian Drake’s face—the face she had never once seen break—cracking open with something she couldn’t name. He dropped to his knees beside her, his hands framing her face. His mouth was moving. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare.” She couldn’t hear him anymore. The dark was very quiet. And for the first time in seven years, so was she.

In the dream, her mother slapped her. The crack turned Sophia’s face sideways. She stood there, cheek burning, and did not raise her hand to touch it. “You have no right to die,” her mother said, shaking. “You are standing on your brother’s shoulders to survive. Every breath you take, he paid for.” “I never asked him to.” Her mother’s face crumpled. The slaps came harder. Sophia stood and received them, tears on her face—not from pain, but from the bewildering injustice of a life she had never been consulted about. Then her mother knelt. Sophia stared. She had never seen her mother kneel to anyone. “I know what you’ve suffered,” her mother said, voice breaking. “But this is what your grandfather left behind. You are the only one who can hold it. You must keep going—” The dream shattered. Sophia woke to antiseptic. Lucian sat in the chair beside her bed, eyes red-rimmed, jaw dark with stubble. “You were bleeding through your shoe,” he said. “Your foot. Why didn’t you say something? I could have driven you.” “Was there something you needed?” she asked. He poured water from the bedside pitcher and set it next to her. Then, very carefully: “Stella’s anxiety has been flaring. I’d like you to help her through it.” The doctor stepped forward, voice strained. “Mr. Drake—Mrs. Drake’s condition is critical. Every single indicator is negative. Any additional stress could be life-threatening. Stella’s anxiety disorder is a psychological condition. It requires medication and therapy, not—” Lucian looked over the doctor’s head at Sophia. “Help her one last time,” he said. “I’ll sign the divorce papers. Plus thirty million on top.” He gestured. Guards brought in reinforced restraints—the kind used for crisis situations, he would have said if anyone asked. Sophia looked at her own wrists. Old scars, layered over older scars. The record of every time she had been Stella’s anchor when Stella’s darkness turned violent. Lucian saw them. His voice came out strangely. “Does it hurt?” She stood, walked into Stella’s room, and did what was asked. She held Stella through the worst of the episode—the blows, the screaming, the wild grief of a woman whose pain was real even if her cruelty was calculated. When it ended, Sophia lay on the floor looking at the ceiling, breathing, waiting for her vision to clear. She checked her bank account from the hospital floor. Thirty million. Exactly as promised. She got up. Found Lucian’s sleeve and tugged it once. He knew immediately what she wanted. His expression closed off. “Seven years,” he said flatly. “You don’t throw seven years away over something this small.” “Something this small.” She let go of his sleeve, picked up her phone, and called a car. She thought she was about to walk out. She hadn’t counted on Stella blocking the door—again.

Stella was already in the doorway. Her arms opened wide and folded around Sophia in a hug that felt like being gripped by something with too many fingers. “I’m so sorry,” Stella breathed. “I keep hurting you. I don’t mean to. I really don’t.” She pulled back just far enough to look at Sophia’s face, eyes bright with tears. “Tell me what to do. Tell me how to make it right.” Through the open door: Lucian, and eight members of his security team, arranged in a quiet line. No way out. Sophia gave one small nod. Stella released her. In the brief moment of contact, her fingers had pressed hard enough to leave marks. Bruises bloomed across pale skin, visible even from where Lucian stood. “Does it hurt?” he asked. He sent for ointment. Sat beside her on the edge of the bed and applied it to the broken skin of her forearm—touch careful, face unreadable. “Where is my assistant?” Sophia asked. His hands stopped. “I let him go. He wasn’t right for the role.” “Don’t fire my staff without asking me.” He set down the ointment and looked at her the way he always looked at her when she pushed back—from slightly above, with the coldness of someone who has never had to recalibrate. “Everything you have came from me.” He pulled her close. “Have you fallen in love with that assistant?” Before she could answer, the hospital began to shake. A low tremor—something enormous clearing its throat underground. Then the walls moved. Windows rattled. Someone in the corridor screamed: “Landslide—get out—the hillside is going—” Sophia dropped into a crouch. Slabs of earth cracked loose and thundered down. One hit the exterior wall and blew it open like paper. Lucian reached for her. Then Stella’s voice cut through—high and terrified, from the middle of the corridor, sitting directly beneath a massive crystal chandelier swinging in wide, sickening arcs. Lucian’s hands stopped. He looked at Stella. He looked at Sophia. “Sophia—” She pushed him. Not hard. Not angrily. One firm, deliberate push toward Stella. “She needs you.” She watched him run. Watched him scoop Stella up. Watched him turn—just once—to look back at Sophia, his face stripped of everything. That was when the ceiling came down. The rubble hit in sections. First the plaster, then the support beams, then the weight of everything above. Sophia had no time to move, no direction to move in. She covered her head and waited. The last thing she saw before the darkness took her was Lucian Drake fighting back through the rubble toward her, his mouth forming her name over and over in the roar: “Sophia—” Then: nothing.

Sophia woke in a hospital bed—cleaner, quieter—and reached for her phone. “Can you help me file for divorce?” she asked. A pause—then a sound trying hard not to be laughter. “Now you ask me?” Low, amused. “You could have called me ages ago, Sophia.” “If you’re not willing—” “Don’t you dare hang up,” Ethan Harlow said immediately. “I’ll do whatever you need. Anything.” A beat. “Can you come soon? I miss you.” She hung up. Lucian appeared in the doorway. He crossed the room and took the phone from her hand. “Are you texting that assistant again?” “Is there something you needed?” He sat. Showed her his phone screen—a message from Stella, wanting to take Sophia out as a thank-you for the earthquake. His expression suggested he considered this generous. “No,” Sophia said. He stood and moved toward her—and Sophia was on her feet, arms crossed in front of her chest, three feet of space between them, before she registered she’d moved. They both froze. Lucian’s hands came up, empty. His face had gone pale—not with anger. With something else. “I wasn’t going to—” He stopped. Looked at his own hands. Then walked out. The door closed harder than he intended. Sophia sat on the edge of the bed. She thought about a three-year-old girl with the habit of reaching up to hold Sophia’s hand in the garden—gripping her fingers like she was the most important thing in the world. She had been. Lucian had taken her away one morning, promising she would be safe, that Stella loved children. Sophia had believed him. She stopped believing him the night she stood outside a closed door and heard Stella’s voice carrying clearly through the gap: “That was your first baby with Sophia. I didn’t mean for it to happen—she was right at the edge of the pool—” And Lucian’s voice, lower, but not low enough: “It’s done. What’s done is done. It’s not worth falling apart over one child.” Sophia had walked back to her room and sat on her bed. Outside the window now, blue fireworks lit the city. A drone display stretched across the skyline. Every billboard in Hartfield carried the same image: Lucian Drake, hand outstretched, diamonds and champagne, and beneath it the words: “Stella—marry me.” The comments were floods of congratulations. Everyone, it seemed, was relieved for him. So glad he’d finally found the right person. So glad to see him happy at last. Sophia closed the page. She opened the airline app and bought a one-way ticket. She was about to put her phone in her bag when it rang. She looked at the screen. Lucian. She answered because she assumed he needed something for Stella.

She was halfway to the departure terminal when her phone rang. She let it ring. It rang again. Seven times. Eight. On the ninth call, she answered. “Stella bet you to someone else,” Lucian said, voice stripped of everything except the bare information. “Twenty-four hours. Consider yourself loaned out. She didn’t realize she’d lose.” Sophia laughed—short, clear, bewildered. “Then will you sign the divorce papers after? I’d rather whoever picks me up doesn’t know I’m still technically married. It might make things awkward.” The line went dead. Seconds later, a message from Stella: “I’m so sorry! He promised he wouldn’t hurt you—he’s a harmless old man, I swear! I feel terrible about this!!” Sophia read it twice, changed into clothes she’d borrowed from a nurse’s locker, and walked out the back entrance of the hospital instead of the front. Twenty yards from the staff gate, she saw them—a wall of security contractors around the rear exit, and at their center, a heavyset man in his seventies, holding a document with Lucian’s signature on it. “Don’t be in such a rush, Mrs. Drake. We’ve still got twenty-four hours.” He had a device. The kind that sends electricity through the body in controlled pulses. Every nerve fires at once. You don’t fall from weakness—you fall because the human nervous system was not designed to receive that kind of input and stay upright. Sophia collapsed. Then she got back up. The twenty-four hours passed. At dawn, she was released. She walked back through the gate, up the steps, and into the villa where Lucian was waiting with a bowl of hot congee and an expression of complicated concern. She looked at him for a long time before she spoke. “Those men,” she said. “Were they yours?” She said it as a statement, not a question. “You booked a flight,” he said carefully. “Because Stella was jealous.” He crossed to her and gripped her arms. “You’ve been in love with me since you were ten years old,” he said, voice rough. “You followed me to secondary school. You confessed at sixteen. You begged to marry me at twenty. Sophia—” His voice cracked. “I will not let you leave.” He released her and walked away before she could answer. He didn’t see Stella in the corridor, listening. Didn’t see the flash of something vicious move through her expression before her usual wide-eyed softness slid back into place. Stella pulled out her phone. She composed a message—one line, carefully worded, designed to look accidental—and sent it to Lucian’s personal account. A message about the hotel reservation she’d made in the upmarket district of the city center, a room under a name he would recognize. Then she leaned against the wall and waited for the fallout.

Sophia’s phone buzzed. One message. No sender name—just a number she didn’t recognize, and a single attached image. Her grandfather. Hospital bed. Oxygen mask. Eyes closed. Below the image, four words: He’s still alive, Sophia. She stared at the screen. Her grandfather had died in front of her. She had held his hand. She had watched him go. But she couldn’t be sure. And Stella knew she couldn’t be sure. Lucian’s number appeared next: Stella’s on a ledge. Top floor of the Meridian. Live right now. Your grandfather’s condition depends on what happens next. Sophia pulled up the livestream. Sixty thousand viewers. Stella on a rooftop, mascara running, telling her followers she had loved the wrong person and had nothing left. The comments were flooding—don’t do it, we love you, please come down. Below the building: crash mats. Forty stories up, they were decorative at best. Unless someone was willing to be the second layer. Sophia was already moving. She drove to the Meridian. Took the elevator. Pushed open the roof access door into cold air—and saw exactly what Stella needed her to see. Lucian on one side of the ledge, arms out, voice low. Stella on the other, swaying, crying, looking not at Lucian but at the crowd below. Then Stella looked up. Found Sophia’s eyes. And smiled. Less than a second. Then the tears came back. Stella tipped forward. Sophia ran. The impact came in two stages—Stella’s weight hitting her from above, then both of them hitting the mats below. Something cracked in Sophia’s chest. She heard it before she felt it. She stayed conscious long enough to confirm Stella was breathing. Then she stopped. They were brought into the hospital at the same time. Stella was wheeled left. Sophia was wheeled right. Forty minutes later, the surgeon came out and found Lucian in the corridor. “Mr. Drake.” He kept his voice low. “We need to discuss Mrs. Drake’s treatment plan. Given her existing injuries and the impact trauma, there are several decisions that need to be made quickly.” Lucian frowned at the surgical consent forms the doctor held out. Kidney removal. Right cornea extraction. He looked up at the surgeon, whose eyes didn’t quite meet his, and was about to say something— Stella’s attending physician burst out of the other wing. “Mr. Drake—Stella’s hemorrhaging. She needs a transfusion immediately, but she’s having an episode. She’s torn out the IV line. She’s been calling your name—” Sophia’s surgeon stepped forward at exactly that moment, consent forms extended, pen already uncapped. Lucian’s jaw tightened. He took the pen, signed through the stack of forms without reading further, and ran toward Stella’s operating room.

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On Christmas Eve, I slipped into Chicago without telling Damien. I spent the afternoon cooking ！ a full spread, enough to fill his entire dining table ！ planning to surprise him. While I waited, I scrolled Reddit and stumbled onto a thread. [What does a man do when he actually loves you?] Someone in the comments answered. [He couldn’t make it home for Christmas, so he stayed back to keep me company ！ told his family work ran over.] [He was supposed to get engaged to his girlfriend this year, but I said I wasn’t ready, so he pushed the date back. He remembers every little thing I like, never forgets my birthday, and even decorated the passenger seat of his car just for me.] My stomach dropped. Was it a coincidence? Damien had told me the same thing ！ too buried in work to fly home for Christmas ！ and our own engagement date had been pushed back too. Someone replied to her: [How is that any different from being the mistress?] She laughed it off. [The one who isn’t loved is the mistress. He told me he stopped having feelings for his fianc└e a long time ago. He’s only still with her out of obligation.] [Right now, we’re watching the Christmas fireworks~ ] The photo attached showed a side profile, fireworks blazing in the background. Identical to Damien. ´ I zoomed in. Zoomed back out. Told myself it was someone who just looked like him. Then she posted a second photo ！ hands intertwined. On those overlapping fingers sat a ring I knew too well. My eyes burned. My hand trembled as I dialed Damien’s number. It rang a long time before he picked up. Fireworks crackled in the background. His voice came through soft and warm. “Mia. What’s wrong?” “Where are you?” I asked. “At the office. Still catching up on work.” He sounded completely at ease. If I hadn’t seen that post, I might have believed him without a second thought. I blinked against the sting in my eyes and said, “I’m at your place.” Silence for a few seconds. Then: “I’m heading back now.” I stood there looking at the dinner I’d spent all day making, and something in me felt almost laughable. When Damien came through the door, he wasn’t alone. There was a woman with him. His personal assistant. Nadia Reyes. She’d appeared in the background of our video calls before ！ brief flickers I hadn’t thought much of. I’d only learned her name afterward. When his eyes met mine, something flickered across Damien’s face. A half-second of unease. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” My eyes had gone red. I looked at what he was wearing. The man in that photo wore the exact same thing. I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. “I wanted to surprise you,” I said, my voice coming out hoarse. Turned out Damien surprised me first. I shifted my gaze to Nadia. “You work late with your assistant?” Damien paused. Then steered the conversation sideways. “Next time, just let me know ！ I’ll come pick you up.” I smiled, but there was nothing behind it. I said nothing. “Didn’t expect you to remember me, Ms. Fontaine.” Nadia flashed me a playful wink. “Mr. Voss and I were just finishing up at the office. The moment your call came in, we rushed straight back~” Straight back. She said it like she lived here. Somehow I was the one who felt out of place. Damien glanced at Nadia, something warm flickering in his eyes, then turned to explain to me: “Couldn’t get a cab on Christmas Eve, and I needed to get back fast ！ I had no choice but to bring Nadia along.” “I’ll drop her home in a bit.” I pulled at the corner of my mouth. What Damien didn’t know was that I had taken an unofficial six-hour ride to get here. Nadia smiled at me. “You don’t mind, do you, Ms. Fontaine?” Damien laughed, easy and natural. “She’s not petty like you.” Nadia stuck her tongue out at him. “I’m not petty.” They bickered the way couples do ！ not like a boss and his employee. The hand I’d burned on the stove earlier throbbed quietly beneath everything. Nadia looked at the table full of dishes, visibly impressed. “Wow ！ Ms. Fontaine, you made all of this?” She sighed lightly. “I’m hopeless in the kitchen. At home it’s always my boyfriend who cooks´” I stopped listening. I turned to Damien. One word at a time. “I don’t like her.” “Damien. Fire her.”

The smile on Nadia’s face went rigid. She hadn’t expected me to strike like that. Her eyes flew instinctively to Damien. Damien paused. “Alright. Whatever you say.” Nadia stiffened. “Mr. Voss´” Damien used the excuse of getting her a cab to walk her out. He was gone for two hours. Every dish I’d spent all day making had gone cold. I threw it all in the trash. By the time Damien came back, I’d just closed out of the Reddit thread. My eyes went straight to his collar. Rumpled. And on it ！ faint, but unmistakable ！ a smear of lipstick. Ten minutes ago, the comment had updated. [His fianc└e showed up out of nowhere and dragged him back. Even tried to have me fired. But so what? He played along to her face, and then spent the whole ride back coaxing me.] [We hooked up in the car. He walked back in with his collar a mess ！ and a little bit of my lipstick on it, oops~] Every detail matched. Damien crossed the room to hold me. I shoved him back hard. “Don’t touch me.” Nausea surged up my throat. I pressed a hand over my mouth and ran for the bathroom. Damien followed, rubbing my back. “Did you eat something bad?” Her perfume clung to him, drifting into my lungs in slow waves. Nothing came up. I straightened and walked back out. Damien poured me a glass of hot water. I didn’t take it. I just looked at him, exhausted. “Is Nadia really just your assistant?” The moment the words left my mouth, Damien’s brow creased. “Of course. She’s just my assistant.” I finally laughed. I pulled up the thread and held the screen out to him. “Then what is this?” “An assistant is worth skipping Christmas for? Worth pushing back our engagement?” Damien stared at the comment for a long time. I waited. I thought he’d say something ！ anything. But all he did was frown. “She’s just a girl being dramatic, posting for attention. Don’t take it to heart.” Posting for attention. Nadia said Damien memorized everything she liked. That he cooked for her. That he customized the passenger seat of his car for her alone. That he even delayed our engagement for her. That was just for attention? “Damien,” I said. “Do you know I like spicy food?” He looked at me, clearly lost. Like he couldn’t understand why I was asking something like that. He said nothing. I let out a short, bitter laugh. He didn’t know. Which was why every meal between us had always been mild. Which was why I never knew he could cook ！ because he had never once cooked for me. And the passenger seat ！ last time I visited, I’d brought a small dashboard ornament, something I wanted to put there. Damien refused without hesitation. He said he didn’t like clutter in the car. Apparently that rule had exceptions. Just none for me. Damien looked at my red-rimmed eyes and softened his voice. “Mia. Don’t worry about her.” “After the holidays, I’ll let her go. Once everything’s in order ！ we’ll get engaged. I promise.” For Nadia, Damien had given up Christmas with his family. For Nadia, he had pushed back my engagement. I had told myself he was just busy. Said yes to everything he asked. And Nadia had told the internet that Damien was only with me out of obligation. If that was all I was to him ！ an obligation ！ then he didn’t need to carry it anymore. I didn’t want the engagement either.

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I’d just set foot inside the Sterling estate when Chloe threw herself into my parents’ arms, sobbing. “Dad, Mom, please don’t make me call her my sister. I can’t.” She clutched Eleanor’s blouse, shoulders shaking. “She’s the transfer student spreading vicious rumors about me at school. She’s the reason I’m on antidepressants!” Eleanor cradled her, stroking her hair. Richard’s face turned to stone. He looked at me like I was something scraped off his shoe. “After everything it took to find you, this is who you turned out to be? A bully?” I stood frozen in the foyer, hands flying into frantic ASL signs. “Me? Spread rumors about her?” “I can’t speak!” …… Nobody was looking at my hands. “Get her out of my sight,” Richard said to the head butler. “The Sterlings don’t raise cyberbullies. She’s not welcome here.” My fingertips were still numb from the cold outside. Chloe buried her face in Eleanor’s neck, her sobs rising perfectly. “You don’t understand. Last month I scored second in our class. She told everyone I cheated. Said Dad paid off the teachers. Said I slept with the dean for my scholarship recommendation.” Every word landed. Eleanor’s hand on her back got firmer. Richard’s jaw locked. I opened my mouth. Only a thin hiss came out. I’d been unable to speak since birth. Damaged vocal cords, the doctors said. My whole life had been ASL and a notepad. I raised my hands to sign “That’s not true”— Grayson shot up from the couch. He crossed the room in three strides and loomed over me like I was trash on his designer rug. “Clara, cut the act. Chloe’s barely holding it together because of you, and you still want to play innocent?” I flinched. Grayson was the Sterling heir. Since I’d walked in, he’d been glued to Chloe’s side, his eyes soft for her and nothing else. The way he looked at me now made my skin crawl. “Grayson, don’t…” Chloe tugged weakly at his sleeve. Her voice was honey. “Maybe she just wanted to fit in so badly she didn’t know how else to get attention. I’m not angry. Really, I’m not…” “You’re too damn kind, sweetheart.” Eleanor pulled her closer, then turned to me with ice in her eyes. “Clara, we brought you home to give you a family. Not so you could play mind games with your sister. Whatever gutter tricks you picked up out there, drop them. Now.” Richard’s voice dropped to a lethal quiet. “You carry this family’s name. Do you understand what that means? And the second you walk through the door, you’re terrorizing your own sister. You’re a disgrace.” A cluster of maids hovered by the archway, whispering loud enough to carry. “Heard she grew up in an orphanage upstate.” “How could anyone be cruel to sweet Miss Chloe?” “Look at her waving her hands around. Probably faking being mute for sympathy. Attention seeker.” The words cut through me. I forced myself to breathe. I reached for my backpack. I had a notebook in there. I could write everything down. Make them understand. My fingers touched the zipper. Grayson grabbed my wrist. His grip was brutal. “What else are you pulling out to manipulate them?” I twisted and reached with my other hand, finally dragging out a sheet of blank paper. Before I could use it, Grayson snatched it away and tore it to shreds. White scraps drifted down around me. Some caught in my hair. I stared at him. The last warm thing inside me went cold. Chloe hiccupped on cue and buried her face deeper in Eleanor’s shoulder. “Grayson, don’t. She’s just—” “Just what? Look what she’s done to you.” His voice cracked. “Someone this twisted doesn’t belong in this family.” Richard didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. “Throw her out. She is not my daughter.”

I spent the whole night curled up on the narrow bed in my dorm room. First period hadn’t started when my guidance counselor pulled me out of homeroom and sent me to her office. I pushed the door open. Chloe was already sitting across from her. Her shoulders hitched up and down in rhythm, a crumpled tissue in her fist, eyes swollen. The second she saw me, she looked up with the perfect mix of fear and hurt and shrank back behind the counselor’s chair. “Clara. Come in.” Ms. Harris’s voice was cold. “Tell me what you did to Chloe yesterday.” I didn’t move from the doorway. Chloe’s sobs started right on cue. “Ms. Harris, please don’t pressure her. Yesterday in the hallway she stopped me and said I was a gold-digging leech who’d stolen what belonged to her. She said she’d make sure I couldn’t stay at this school. I was so scared.” Her voice was quiet. Every word a small knife sliding under my ribs. Ms. Harris’s face darkened. She picked up the phone. “I’ve already called your parents. They’ll be here any minute.” The door opened not long after. My parents walked in. Richard’s face was iron. Eleanor went straight to Chloe, wrapping an arm around her. Richard’s voice was tight. “Ms. Harris. What happened? Did Clara hurt Chloe again?” Ms. Harris folded her hands on her desk. “Based on Chloe’s statement, Clara has been engaged in verbal harassment and spreading false rumors on school grounds for some time. She’s even threatened Chloe with expulsion. This school has a zero-tolerance policy on bullying.” Richard’s head snapped toward me. The disappointment in his eyes was suffocating. “How did the Sterlings produce something like you? Do you wake up every morning thinking of new ways to humiliate this family?” I opened my mouth. Only a thin hiss came out. I raised my hands, fingers starting the sign for “That’s not—” His palm cracked across my face. My head snapped sideways, ears ringing, cheek burning. I stared at him. Tears I’d been holding finally spilled. “You have the nerve to cry?” Richard’s voice was pure disgust. “You pull something like this and then cry? Milking the victim angle for sympathy now.” Beside him, Chloe whimpered into Eleanor’s chest. “Dad, Mom, please don’t yell at Clara. I don’t blame her.” Eleanor’s eyes swept over me, freezing. “You have no class. None. All you know how to do is terrorize my sweet Chloe.” The office door had cracked open. Students were peeking through the gap, whispers carrying in. “So she really was bullying Chloe…” “She seemed so quiet. Guess that’s the type.” “I heard her own parents didn’t even want her. Makes sense.” The words cut into me. I forced a breath. I raised my hands again and signed clearly: “I didn’t do it.” Ms. Harris cut me off halfway. “Clara, could you please stop with these ridiculous antics? If you have something to say, say it. Don’t put on a freak show in my office.” My fingers stopped mid-air. So even my silent defense was just attention-seeking to them. The door pushed open wider. A girl stood in the doorway. Her voice came out small. “Ms. Harris… she’s not putting on a show. That’s ASL.”

The room went still. Lily stood in the doorway, cheeks red, but she kept going. “I’m not making this up. My little brother was born deaf. I’ve been signing my whole life. What she just signed was ‘I didn’t do it.’” Ms. Harris narrowed her eyes. “You’re sure? This isn’t something to joke about.” Lily raised her head. “I know what I saw. I wasn’t guessing. And Clara’s never spoken a single word at this school. Everyone knows that.” The office fell silent. My parents’ expressions shifted. Eleanor looked at me. Her lips parted. Something close to guilt flickered across her face. Then Chloe sniffled. “Sis, even if you don’t want to admit what you did, you shouldn’t be paying someone to act it out with you. To pretend you’re mute.” Whatever guilt had been in Eleanor’s face sealed shut. Richard’s head whipped toward me, eyes burning. “Clara, congratulations. To avoid the consequences, you’d actually stoop to faking a disability? Dragging another student into your act? You’re rotten to the core.” My hands shook as I reached into my pocket and pulled out the disability certification I’d kept folded for years. I tried to show them. The second my fingers touched the paper, Richard snatched it away. He didn’t even look. He tore it in half with both hands. The paper became pieces in an instant. I stared at him. The tears broke. “Keep acting. Go on, keep it up.” Richard’s voice was pure contempt. “You know what? You need a lesson. Since you love pretending so much,I’ll send you to a boot camp for troubled teens. Let’s see how long the mute thing lasts when the people there get their hands on you.” Eleanor pulled Chloe tighter, looking at me with open disdain. “Clara, we were truly wrong about you. We never imagined you’d sink this low just to dodge responsibility. You’ve disappointed us beyond words.” Chloe leaned into Eleanor’s arms. The corner of her mouth curved up for a split second, but her sobs never stopped. “Dad, Mom, please don’t be like this. Maybe she just had a moment of bad judgment…” “A moment of bad judgment?” Richard laughed coldly. “This is who she is. She’ll never change. Keeping someone like this in the family only drags us down. I’m calling Carl right now. He runs the reform program. He can come pick her up himself.” Ms. Harris stood off to the side, her face shifting. She looked at me, then at my parents, and sighed. She waved Lily toward the door. “You should go back to class. We’ll handle this.” Lily opened her mouth, but Ms. Harris’s look stopped her. She gave me one long look, full of sympathy and helplessness. Then she turned and left. I stood there staring at the torn paper on the floor. And suddenly, I laughed. The innocence I’d fought with everything I had to prove was nothing but a ridiculous performance to them. In this family, I’d never meant anything at all. I slowly crouched down and began picking up the scraps, one by one. The edges cut into my fingertips. I didn’t feel them. Nothing could compete with what was happening inside my chest.

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My wife is six months pregnant, but she insists on a business trip out of town. I begged her not to go. For the baby’s sake. She reassured me, saying if she earns more now, I’ll have it easier. While helping her pack her underwear bag, a phone I’d never seen before fell out. The screen flickered. A private message popped up. “You’re such a dirty girl. Even knocked up and you still can’t behave?” I stared at the contact name for five seconds. The contact was saved as “Master.” And I was saved as “Chump.” … The bathroom door opened. I panicked and shoved the backup phone back to the bottom of her suitcase, burying it under layers of clothes. Steam poured out. Samantha stepped out wrapped in a towel, her face flushed pink from the heat. Her skin was pale. Pregnancy had made her curvier. Her cheeks had a rosy glow. By all appearances, she was the picture of a happy mother-to-be. She walked over, reaching out to touch my forehead. “What’s wrong? You look awful.” I instinctively stepped back, dodging her hand. Samantha’s hand froze mid-air. A flash of confusion crossed her eyes. “Didn’t sleep well.” I forced out a smile uglier than crying. “Had a nightmare. I’m worried this trip will be too much for you.” Samantha relaxed and lowered her hand, giving me a playful eye-roll. “I told you it’s fine. The client is really nice. Why are you more nervous than me?” She sat on the edge of the bed and started drying her hair. Looking at her swollen belly, that thorn in my heart twisted again. Five years together. That’s my wife. Carrying my child. I still couldn’t give up. I wanted to give her one last chance. If she’d turn back now, for the baby’s sake, maybe I could pretend I never saw that phone. “Honey, do you really have to go?” I crouched in front of her, looking up, my voice already begging. “I’m not afraid of hard work. I can deliver food. Drive for Uber.” “As long as you stay home and rest, I’ll do anything.” “Please don’t go. Okay?” Samantha stopped drying her hair. She lowered her eyes and sighed. “Babe, I already signed the contract with the client. If I back out now, we’d owe three times the penalty fee.” She adjusted the towel wrapped around her body, shifting to expose her calf. I stared at that spot. Above her knee, there was a coin-sized bruise. Purplish-blue. For the past two months, she’d been locking the bathroom door. She wouldn’t even let me in to deliver clean clothes. The occasional glimpse of her arms and thighs always showed unexplained bruises. Last week, it was on the inside of her left thigh. The week before, her arm. Every time I asked with concern, she had perfect excuses. “The bathroom’s so slippery. I bumped into something.” “Hit the corner of my desk. You know how clumsy pregnant women get.” I believed her. My heart ached for her. I covered our entire bathroom with non-slip mats. I bought foam bumpers and padded every sharp corner in the house. I wished I could turn myself into cotton and wrap her in it. Turns out I really am cotton. A wad of cotton people use to wipe their ass. What kind of bump leaves a mark on the inner thigh? What kind of slip produces bruises that look like finger marks from someone squeezing hard? I stared at her calf. My stomach churned. Samantha seemed to notice my gaze. She pulled the towel down to cover her leg. She walked over and naturally wrapped her arms around my neck, smelling of body wash. She buried her face in my neck and nuzzled. “Babe, blow-dry my hair for me.” “I leave early tomorrow morning. I want you to spend more time with me.” If this were yesterday, I would’ve thought this was a sweet burden. Now I just felt disgusted. Every hair on my body stood on end. I stiffly picked up the hair dryer, running my fingers through her hair. Hot air roared, covering my rapid breathing. What am I to her? A sucker who provides a paycheck and a stable life? “How many days this time?” I turned off the dryer. My voice was so cold it scared me. “Three days. I’ll be back Sunday.” Samantha turned around and wrapped her arms around my waist, pressing my hand to her belly. “You’re gonna miss us, right? Me and the baby?” My hand rested on the curve of her stomach. “Yeah. I will.” Six months along. Is it even mine?

Once that thought took root, I couldn’t bury it. “The client—man or woman?” I tried to sound casual, turning to fold clothes. “A man. Some old guy in his fifties. So annoying.” Samantha complained as she stood up to grab the storage bag. My heart jumped to my throat. She opened the bag, checked it, but didn’t dig to the bottom layer. “These are maternity sets. So comfortable.” She muttered to herself, sealed the bag, and put it in the suitcase. I turned to pour water, avoiding her eyes. Afraid I’d lose it and slap her across the face. “Babe, did you pack that pregnancy oil? I’ll need it there too.” She smiled and walked over, hugging me from behind, her hand rubbing her belly. “The baby just moved. You wanna feel?” Her chest pressed against my back. I felt no warmth. Just a snake wrapped around me. She lied. Without hesitation. Like it was nothing. That kind of composure doesn’t develop overnight. I gripped the water glass. My knuckles turned white. “Yeah.” I took a sip of water, but all I tasted was bitterness. “Get some rest. You have a flight tomorrow.” I pulled away from her embrace, got into bed, and lay with my back to her. That night, I listened to her breathing, eyes open until dawn. In these five years, how much else has she been hiding from me? Her so-called business trips—what the hell has she really been doing? Six a.m. Samantha got up. She put on light makeup. Said she needed to look fresh for the client. She wore a loose trench coat that hid her baby bump. She looked almost girlish. I stood on the balcony, watching her wheel her suitcase to the door. “Babe, I’m leaving. I’ll text you when I land.” She turned at the entrance, blowing me a kiss. I leaned against the doorframe, expressionless, and nodded. “Safe travels.” The moment the door closed, I grabbed my car keys and bolted. I’d already called in sick. Even if the sky fell today, I wasn’t going to work. To avoid being spotted, I didn’t take my usual car. I borrowed my neighbor Rick’s beat-up van, saying I needed it to help a relative move stuff. Samantha didn’t take the subway. She hailed a cab at the gate. I followed from a distance, keeping two car lengths behind. The cab got on the highway, but it wasn’t heading toward the airport. My hands strangled the steering wheel. My knuckles went white from the pressure. I knew this route. It led to the city’s most exclusive wealthy district. Half an hour later, the cab stopped in front of “Skyline,” a private club. I knew this place. Members-only. Annual fees start at hundreds of thousands. Rumor had it they offered every kind of service. Total privacy. Samantha got out of the cab but didn’t go straight in. She stood at the entrance, looking around, then pulled out her phone to text. I parked across the street in the shade, cracking the window open. Even from a distance, I could see the anticipation and excitement on her face. Two minutes later, the club’s main door opened. A tall man in a black suit walked out. The moment Samantha saw him, she jogged over—completely ignoring her six-month pregnancy. She hooked her arm through his with practiced ease. His hand went straight to her waist. Samantha giggled and playfully hit his chest, pressing her body closer. I sat in the car, feeling all the blood in my body rush to my head. I grabbed my phone from the passenger seat and frantically snapped photos. Who the hell is this guy?

I can barely recognize this face anymore. We first met five years ago. A rainy night. Outside a convenience store. She’d been kicked out by her landlord for not paying rent. She was curled up in a corner, soaked to the bone. I held my umbrella over her and brought her back to my tiny rental. That night, I cooked her instant noodles. She cradled the bowl and drank every drop of broth. She looked up, eyes red, full of trust. “Liam, can I be your wife? Let’s never be apart.” After I got paid, I’d buy her roasted sweet potatoes from a street stand. She’d break one in half and feed it to me, her mouth smudged with ash, her eyes crescent moons when she smiled. That was Samantha when she was with me. Simple, poor, but her eyes shone. She’d hold me from behind, her face pressed to my back, arms around my waist. “Liam! I want to be with you forever!” Three years married. Five years together. I treated her like a princess. I gave her my whole paycheck. Did all the chores. Never forgot a holiday gift. We’d traveled to every corner of the country together. After she got pregnant and her feet swelled, I massaged them for half an hour every night. When she craved the pizza from across town at midnight, I’d drive there without a second thought. I held her in the palm of my hand. And she trampled me into the dirt. I don’t understand. I really don’t. Wasn’t I good to her? Why did Samantha become like this? Just as they were about to enter the building, I sent Samantha a text from my own phone. “Honey, did you get to the airport? Did you get your boarding pass?” Less than a minute later, she replied. A photo of her in an airplane seat. Blue sky and white clouds outside the window. She held a cup of orange juice. No makeup. If I weren’t standing outside the club right now, I would’ve believed it completely. The photo was obviously Photoshopped ahead of time. Or an old one from her gallery. Then came a voice message. I played it. Her voice was sickeningly sweet. “Just sat down. The baby kicked me. Babe, make sure you eat well, okay?” “Bad signal. I’m turning my phone off. I’ll text you when I land.” I listened to that voice message over and over. She’s got one man on her arm while pacifying the fool at home. Does she get off on playing two men like this? I let out a cold laugh. But tears betrayed me, streaming down my face. I wiped my face and pulled up the tracking app on the backup phone. Last night, while she slept, I’d installed a hidden GPS program on that phone. I didn’t dare check the chat history. Afraid I’d lose control and strangle her on the spot. Even if she was just sexting people online, for the baby’s sake, I could play dumb. The red dot blinked. The location showed she was in the building right in front of me. Moving fast. The dot finally stopped on the 8th floor.

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