Author: Momo Chan

My sister and I found our mates on the same night. I was born with a crescent mark on my collarbone. My wolf was white. The pack elders said I was the fated mate of Alpha King’s son Kaelen. Lyra’s wolf never came. She was never supposed to set foot in that ballroom. But the night before the Ball, my stepmother Selene drugged my wine. She sent Lyra in my place. In my last life, I ran to the ballroom to tell the truth. Lyra threw herself against a pillar. Kaelen caught her. But she still lost the pup. Kaelen said I faked my birthmark. He said I tried to kill his heir. His guards shaved my head and clawed my face open. They sealed my wolf with a hex and threw me out of the territory. I became the most hated wolf in the land. Lyra took my mark, my scent, and my place. She became Kaelen’s Luna and gave him twin pups. The whole pack called her the blessed white wolf. I died past the border. Rogues tore me apart. When I opened my eyes again, the door swung open. A shewolf stepped in. She froze. “Miss Elara? Why are you still here?” The courtyard got loud. Several she-wolves ran in. “Who got into the carriage? Was that Lyra?” “If Elara is still here, the Alpha King will kill us!” Selene pushed through the door. She was already crying. “Elara, are you crazy? You were supposed to be Kaelen’s mate! How can you force your sister to go in your place! The Alpha King will have our heads!” Everyone looked at me. Suddenly I was the villain. The selfish older sister shoved her sibling into the fire. I looked at Selene. That panicked face she wore so well. She was doing it again. This time I was not going to let her finish. I stepped back. My eyes filled with tears. “Mother, what are you talking about? Last night you asked me to share a drink with Lyra. I took one sip and blacked out. When I woke up, Lyra was gone. My gown was gone.” The room went quiet. “Elara!” My aunt Rowena shoved her way to the front. She grabbed my arm. She turned on Selene. “You poisoned her! You drugged Elara and sent your own daughter in her place!” Selene went white.

“I organized this entire ceremony. Now I am the criminal? I raised Elara as my own. Why would I hurt her?” I pulled back. My sleeve slipped down. A strip of dark red stained the fabric. Rowena grabbed my wrist. “Why is this fabric discolored?” One of the she-wolves spoke up. “That is a reaction to poison. The fabric changes color when it touches sedatives.” Rowena stared at Selene. “Get Healer Aldwin. Now.” Healer Aldwin came running. He looked at the stain on my sleeve. He sniffed. His face went dark. “Wolfsbane extract. Heavy sedative. It damages the wolf core.” “A full dose would have killed her in her sleep. She is lucky to be alive.” The room went silent. I looked up at Selene. Tears ran down my face. “Why would you do this? If you wanted Lyra to go to the Ball instead of me, why not talk to Father first?” “He is an Alpha. One word to the Alpha King and he could have arranged something for Lyra. It did not have to be like this.” “Now Lyra is out there pretending to be me. If the Alpha King finds out, she is dead.” “And Father loses everything. Our whole family goes down with her.” I choked on the words. “You did not just drug me. You put a target on all of us.” Selene dropped to her knees. Tears ran down her cheeks. “Elara, I was foolish. Lyra was terrified. She panicked and the carriage already left. If we drag this into the open now, she will be killed.” She grabbed the hem of my dress. “You have always been generous. Just say you gave her your spot. Save your sister’s life.” Rowena slapped her across the face. “Save her life? Your daughter drugs my niece, steals her place, and now Elara should cover for her? You climbed into my brother’s bed and got his true mate killed. Now your daughter is stealing Elara’s future. You think this family has no one left to protect her?” Selene held her cheek. Her eyes went cold. “Your brother left me in charge of this pack. Both girls are mine to manage. You mated out, Rowena. You are not part of this family anymore. Mind your own business.” I stared at her. “Then where is my birthmark record? The pack elders confirmed my crescent mark when I was a child. That record belongs to me.” Her eyes shifted. “Yours, hers, what is the difference? You are both daughters of this house. You are the older sister. Let her have this one.” In my last life, she said the same thing. Lyra took my mark, my identity, and every piece of my mother’s things. Not this time. Everything they took, I was taking back. I held Rowena’s arm. I turned to the she-wolf at the door. “Is there still a carriage outside?” She nodded. “Tell them to take me to the Ball.”

The ballroom was packed. Kaelen stood at the center of the floor with Lyra on his arm. She wore my gown, had my crescent mark painted on her collarbone. She smelled like me. He was about announce her as his mate in front of every wolf that mattered. “Stop.” My voice cut through the music. The violins died. Every head turned toward the door. I walked in with Rowena at my side. The crowd parted. Kaelen’s hand froze on Lyra’s waist. Wolves closest to the front gasped. “Is that Elara?” “Then who is that on his arm?” Alpha King Theron rose from his seat. “Elara. What is the meaning of this?” Lyra shrank behind Kaelen. Her face went white. I stopped in the center of the ballroom. Kept my voice steady. “Alpha King, I came to take back what is mine. Last night my stepmother drugged me. When I woke up, everything was gone. I came as fast as I could.” Theron’s gaze cut to Kaelen. “You did not notice anything wrong?” Kaelen stiffened. “This is my mate. She smells right. She has the mark.” I looked up. Let the shock show on my face. “I have had this mark since birth. I am willing to be checked.” Theron’s eyes moved to Kaelen’s hand on Lyra’s waist. His expression went cold. Lyra dropped to her knees. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “My sister kept saying she did not want to be mated to the Alpha Heir. She drank too much last night and would not wake up this morning. The carriage was already at the door. I did not know what else to do.” I tilted my head. “That is funny. Because the way I remember it, you were the one clinging to Mother and crying all night about how scared you were. You insisted on sleeping in my room. Now I am starting to think that was so you could swap my gown and my documents while I was drugged.”

Lyra’s face crumbled. “How can you say that? I was trying to protect you! I was going to switch back with you later. Everything I did was for you, Elara. You can hit me. You can punish me. But please do not say I stole from you.” Kaelen pulled her behind him. His eyes locked on me with disgust. “You rejected me, Elara. Lyra stepped up when you would not. She saved you from embarrassing yourself and your family. I have made my choice. Lyra is my mate.” I looked at them quietly. They had done the same thing in my last life. One playing the victim, one playing the hero. They pinned the blame on me and made themselves look like lovers. Not this time. I sighed. Let the sadness fill my voice. “Lyra, you really did all this just for me?” Lyra looked up with wet eyes. “We are sisters. I would never let you suffer. Kaelen is perfect. I did not want him to be shamed. I did this for you.” Kaelen softened. He pulled Lyra closer. I reached into my sleeve and pulled out a folded letter. “I love you. I have always loved you. Make me yours. I will be whatever you need me to be.” I read the last few words slowly. They landed like thunder in the dead-silent room. “This is dated six months ago. Lyra has been writing to Kaelen in secret for half a year.” The crowd erupted. Kaelen went white as a sheet. Lyra lunged for the letter. “That is fake! You forged it!” I pulled out more letters. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. “All fake? All forged?” I held up a small vial. “And these herbs? The ones used to ensure pregnancy? Also fake?” Theron’s voice rang through the ballroom. “Healer. Examine her. Now.” The healer stepped forward. He examined her belly. His face changed. “Alpha King. She is one month pregnant.”

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Three years after the divorce, my ex-husband Julian showed up with roses, grinning like he’d already won. “Babe, I kept my word. Right on time to get you back.” Three years ago, he played Truth or Dare with his friends and lost to his childhood sweetheart Serena. Serena had a request: “I want to see if you and your wife are really in love.” “So you two get divorced. Three years. No contact.” “If she remarries you after three years, I’ll admit it’s true love.” He and Serena never had boundaries—always flirting, always blurring the lines. We fought about it constantly. I thought he’d say no. He agreed without hesitation: “Deal! ” His friend tried to stop him: “Dude, think this through! Divorce isn’t a joke!” He looked at me like it was already settled: “I trust what we have. My wife’s obsessed with me for life.” “She’ll definitely remarry me!” I didn’t say a word. He had no idea that was his last chance. Back to the present—he shoved the flowers at me. I didn’t take them. Stepped back. Voice flat: “My husband doesn’t let me take flowers from other men.” … A smirk tugged at Julian’s lips. “Mad at me?” “Come on, I’m here now, aren’t I?” “Be good. Don’t be mad.” His tone was syrupy, convinced I was playing hard to get. Like before, he moved in to pull me close. I stepped back again. Face harder now: “Mr. Chase, keep your distance!” His hand froze mid-air, eyes still glued to my face, all soft and loving. “Really pissed this time?” “Tell me what’ll make you feel better. Anything.” Still thought he could sweet-talk his way out of it, like always. He stepped closer. Every step he took, I took one back. His eyes flared with that hunting look, like he was already claiming me. “Julian, three years is enough to change everything.” He nodded like he agreed: “True.” My back hit the wall. Nowhere left to go. He caged me in, hands on either side of my head—his signature move. Back when we were dating, he loved pinning me against walls, kissing me under the moonlight. “Did you have a boy? Or a girl?” His hand came up to cup my face, thumb stroking my cheek. The thought of that baby still tore through my chest. Three years ago, he knew I was pregnant. After he lost that stupid game— At Serena’s demand, he divorced me anyway. Three years. No texts. No calls. Nothing. Now he had the nerve to assume I’d have his kid, sit around waiting for him to come back! A bitter smile curled my lips. Before I could tell him I got rid of it, his phone rang. He pulled it out. The screen lit up with a contact name: Little Princess. That’s what he called Serena. I’d seen it a thousand times—the way he’d pat her head, grin, and say she’d been his little princess since they were kids! Never gave a damn how it made me feel when I was still his wife. He answered immediately. “Julian, please, come quick—I’m on my period and it hurts so bad.” Serena’s whiny crying came through the speaker. Julian’s eyes filled with panic: “Don’t worry, I’m coming right now.” He hung up. Gave my head a quick pat like I was some obedient pet: “I gotta check on Serena. I’ll come find you later.” Before I could blink, he was gone.

Serena posted to her feed like clockwork—showing off again, rubbing it in. The photo showed her lying in Julian’s arms, hair damp with sweat. Julian’s hand was on her stomach, rubbing gently. Her caption: He’s loved me most since we were kids. No matter how important the matter, or how important the person— As long as I’m not feeling well, he drops everything and rushes to my side. Giving me all his care and love. He’s truly the best man in the world!!! I hit Like. Not just one Like—every single day for three years, Serena posted about their relationship. Three years. She posted 1,095 times. I liked every single one. She found new ways to flaunt it daily. Like how she didn’t work—Julian gave her his card, unlimited spending. She could crash at the place Julian and I used to share whenever she wanted. My stuff? She’d use it if she felt like it, toss it if she didn’t. For three years, those two did everything couples do. I knew she posted them for me to see. Every Like was my way of showing I didn’t give a shit. But Serena thought I was jealous, losing my mind, desperate for attention. Next time I saw Julian was when he and Serena showed up at my coffee shop. They wore matching camel coats—couple’s outfits. Julian, who always wore boring suits, was in some trendy casual blazer. I used to suggest couple’s outfits. He’d always say he was used to suits, didn’t want to switch it up. Serena looked around my coffee shop, eyes wide. Shocked. Julian frowned at me: “I gave you all that money. Why are you doing this kind of hard labor?” When we divorced, I asked for half his assets. He gave it without hesitation. I stopped making the coffee in my hands, looked up at him, face blank: “Because I want to. And it’s none of your business.” Julian’s expression didn’t change. Still convinced I was just mad at him. Serena put on her fake sweet voice: “Chloe, it’s been three years. How’ve you been?” “Great.” Serena looked surprised by how calm I was. Julian’s phone rang. He turned and went outside to take it. The second it was just me and Serena, the mask dropped. Her smile twisted into something smug and taunting: “Stop playing games. But don’t get too excited yet.” She looked down at me, lips curled in a sneer: “Even if you remarry Julian this time, so what?!” “His mom hates you. She’s always wanted me as her daughter-in-law.” “Julian’s only remarrying you out of obligation.” “He even asked for my permission before coming to find you.” “And you’re signing a prenup.” “Oh, and I wrote it myself.” She pulled a prenup out of her bag and slapped it in front of me. I glanced down, barely hiding my disgust. First line: All Chase family assets have nothing to do with you. After marriage, you cannot call your mother-in-law Mom—must address her as Auntie. In public, you cannot claim to be Mrs. Chase—you’re the ex-wife only. The audacity made me laugh. I shoved the papers back at her: “If his mom loves you so much, how come you’re still nobody to him!” “Three years, and Julian still won’t claim you. How pathetic.” Serena’s face twisted. Her hand flew up to slap me— Then Julian’s footsteps echoed from behind. She switched faces faster than flipping a page, tears streaming, playing the martyr: “Chloe, I really do want you and Julian to remarry.” “As his childhood friend, I just want him to be happy.” “This prenup is just a formality. Don’t be upset, okay?” Same act as three years ago. The second Julian saw her crying, his brain turned to mush. Couldn’t tell right from wrong.

“Serena, what’s wrong?” Julian pulled Serena into his arms, eyes filled with concern. Serena shook her head, playing the victim: “It’s nothing. It’s my fault. Don’t blame Chloe.” The more she said that, the more Julian was convinced I’d hurt her. “Chloe!” He snapped at me: “Apologize!” His tone—like he was giving orders to the help. A cold smile crept across my face. He frowned, voice dripping with disappointment: “Serena grew up with me. She’s like my sister!” “She’s family. Can you stop being so hostile to her!” “For my sake, just be nice to her, okay!” My face stayed blank. I’d seen this exact scene a hundred times three years ago. I was over it. I was about to kick them out when my phone rang—video call. The screen lit up: Baby Boy. Julian’s eyes lit up when he saw that. He hit Accept before I could stop him. I grabbed my phone fast. My two-year-old son’s chubby face filled the screen. “Mommy, I miss you.” Julian heard “Mommy” and went rigid with excitement. Convinced I’d had his son. I said a quick word to my son. Before Julian could grab my phone to talk to him, I hung up. “I want to see my son!” He was grinning like an idiot, all the tension from before vanished like it never happened. Serena’s face darkened. “He’s not your son!” I looked him dead in the eye, voice ice-cold: “Stop bothering me, you sick freaks!” He didn’t get mad. Just kept assuming, condescending as hell: “Alright, alright. Stop being mad.” “I’ve really missed you and our son.” I finally got it. Guys like him—so full of themselves— Wouldn’t believe I’d stopped loving him until they saw my husband in person. He suddenly said: “Mom’s birthday is in a few days.” “You’re a good cook. Make some of her favorite dishes.” “Use this as a chance to fix things between you two.” “Now that you’ve given her a grandson, she won’t give you a hard time anymore.” So he knew. Three years of marriage— Three years of his mother treating me like garbage. His mother hated that I came from nothing. Even though I was Julian’s legal wife, she wouldn’t let me attend any family dinners. If she was there, I wasn’t allowed at the table. I hated her too. Our relationship was walking on eggshells—we just ignored each other. And in all of it, he’d stayed silent. A bitter smile tugged at my lips. I asked on purpose: “Julian, let’s say—hypothetically—” “What if I cook a whole feast and your mom still won’t let me sit at the table?” He hesitated before answering: “You can say something nice, butter her up.” “You know how she is—all bark, no bite.” Serena jumped in with fake helpfulness: “Chloe, it’s not shameful to beg your elders. Auntie can’t resist when someone begs at her feet.” She was mocking me, telling me to beg on my knees. I laughed bitterly, locked eyes with Julian, voice sharp and serious: “Julian, three years changes everything!” “I’m married now. And the kid isn’t yours.” Then I turned to Serena: “You should be the one begging on your knees. Maybe that’s your ticket into the Chase family.”

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During the request segment, I gripped the ring box in my pocket. Eight years together. Tonight, I’m proposing to Lucian Vance. The spotlight stopped on me. Sadie screamed in my earpiece. “Go!” I took the mic and looked at Lucian, face burning. He glanced at me, raised his hand, and took the mic. He turned and handed it to his assistant Chloe Reed on his other side. “The light hit her first. It’s Chloe’s first live show. Let her have it.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. Gentle as always. Chloe took the mic, eyes wide, and picked a love song. Lucian clapped first. Sadie’s voice changed in my earpiece. “Chloe Reed again?” I almost laughed. Lucian had no idea. This wasn’t just a mic. This was the last chance I was giving us. In one week, the Sterlings would announce my goodbye. …… The singer froze for a few seconds, cleared his throat, and started warming up the crowd again. Sadie had lost it in my earpiece. “What is wrong with him? New Year’s fireworks, he brought Chloe. Your birthday dinner, he brought Chloe. Now the concert too? Is he dating you or babysitting the intern?” Sadie stopped herself. “Sera, that came out wrong.” I managed a laugh. She wasn’t wrong. Lucian brought his little assistant everywhere. He said it was for work. Sadie lowered her voice. “Everyone’s at the restaurant. Balloons are set, banner’s up. Just waiting for you two. Then he pulls this. I could kill him.” She paused. “Should we still wait?” I forced a smile. “Don’t.” What was there to wait for? The mic wasn’t even in my hands. I took out the earpiece and shoved it in my pocket. My fingers touched the ring box. The corner dug into my skin. One carat. I’d spent weeks on the setting. I’d waited until Lucian was asleep, wrapped a string around his ring finger, and took it to the jeweler. For tonight, I’d called the organizers two months early and filmed a three-minute video. Eight years together. Our friends filmed their blessings one by one. The last frame was me looking into the camera, saying the words. I filmed it seventeen times before I got a take where my smile didn’t shake. Chloe’s song ended. The crowd went wild with cheers and whistles. Everyone probably thought she and Lucian were the couple. Lucian glanced at me. Like he just noticed I wasn’t clapping. “What’s wrong?” I said nothing. The show ended and the crowd pushed toward the exits. He walked beside me, arm around my shoulder, keeping me from the crowd. “Sulking? Over a song request? Seriously.” He was on his phone, not looking up. “I’ll book you a whole show later. Pick whatever you want.” Sometime. Next time. Later. His three favorite words. “Lucian.” I stopped walking. He didn’t. Took two more steps before turning back. “We had a deal. Eight years, you’d give me an answer. It’s been eight years.” He put his phone away, looked at me, and smiled. That “here we go again” smile. “What’s the rush? I’ve got five deals going before year-end. Once things settle after New Year’s, I’ll take care of the wedding.” After New Year’s. Pushed back one more notch. He’d said the same thing three years ago. The first time I took him home. Flights were booked. The day before, his secretary said there was an urgent pitch deck. He canceled his ticket. He’d said the same thing then. “What’s the rush? I’ll meet them eventually.” I flew alone with two sets of gifts. My dad asked where he was. I smiled and said work came up. The car pulled into the garage and stopped. He leaned over and rubbed my earlobe with his thumb, barely touching. “I’ll get you that bracelet you liked, as an apology. Deal?” I turned my head away from his hand. He froze. “Lucian, stop.” “I don’t need it anymore.”

Lucian raised an eyebrow and tapped the steering wheel. “Oh great, you’re mad again. Go home, sleep it off. You’ll feel better tomorrow.” He glanced at his phone and muttered. “Chloe left something at the venue. I’ll go back and find it.” I nodded. “Okay.” Got out. Closed the door. He watched me from the driver’s seat for two seconds. Something felt off. Then the taillights flashed and the car pulled away. I went upstairs alone. His jacket hung over the back of the couch. The collar still smelled like cedar. The balcony door was half open. Words were carved into the railing. He’d scratched them with a key the day we moved in. Crooked letters. A strip of paint scraped off. “Seraphina Sterling, one day I’m going to marry you.” He’d just closed his first round of funding. On top of the world. He picked me up and spun me around twice in the empty living room. “Once I’ve made it, I’ll give you the wedding of a lifetime.” I believed him. I waited eight years. Year one, he said the company was just starting. Give it time. Year three, he said they were expanding. He couldn’t leave. Year five, he said it was almost done. Next year for sure. Year eight. I stood on the balcony, tracing the carved words with my finger. Where the paint had chipped, rust had crept in. The ring box pressed hard against my hip. I took it out. Opened it. The diamond caught a bit of light from the living room and flashed. If he wasn’t going to ask, I would. Three months of working up the nerve. Calling the organizers, filming the video, buying the ring, getting Sadie and the others to set up the restaurant. And I barely touched the mic. The lock clicked. I put the ring away. Lucian walked in and tossed his keys on the console table. He saw me looking at the balcony railing and raised an eyebrow. “What’s so interesting? Come to bed.” I didn’t move. “Did you find it for her?” “Yeah.” He walked past me and started taking off his watch. “Lucian.” I stopped him. “It’s over.” His hands stopped for a beat. Then he scoffed. “Over a song request? Really?” “She’s never been to a live show. What’s wrong with letting her have a turn?” “I can’t have another woman around besides you?” He sounded tired. “Enough. I said I’d book you a show. Go to sleep. I have investors tomorrow.” He kept walking toward the bedroom. I looked at him walking away. “The Sterlings are hosting a dinner next week. They’ll make an announcement.” “After that, we’re done.”

Lucian stopped. He turned, leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Seraphina, let me be clear.” His tone went cold. “Getting your family to pressure me into a proposal won’t work.” “You’re that desperate to get married?” “What do you mean ‘done’? Is that a threat? Or are you playing hard to get?” I didn’t answer. He had no idea this dinner had nothing to do with him. The Sterlings were going to announce that I was giving up my position as heir. That I was joining a classified federal research program. Eight years. After that, I would disappear. No public appearances. No trace. The dinner was the Sterlings’ way of closing the book. Telling everyone: Seraphina Sterling is gone. Don’t look for her. Don’t ask. But he took it for granted I’d always be there. His voice went low. Worse than shouting. “What did your idiot friends put you up to? It has to be this year? Right now? Do you know how busy I am?” Busy. He was busy. Busy on forty-minute “work calls” with Chloe at midnight. Busy memorizing Chloe’s coffee order but forgetting my allergies. Busy throwing Chloe a birthday party with a balloon wall. Calling her “the team’s little ray of sunshine.” His time, his attention, his care. All spoken for. Just not for me. “I’m in crunch mode. Three rounds of investors before year-end. Every step matters.” He pressed his fingers between his eyes. “What are you trying to pull?” “Calm down and think about what you’re doing.” He turned to leave. “Lucian.” He stopped. “You’re right. I am playing hard to get.” I looked at his back. “So. Will you marry me?”

Lucian didn’t turn around. A few seconds of silence. “Get some rest.” He walked into the study and closed the door. Something sour spread through my chest. I knew the answer. I asked anyway. Maybe eight years isn’t something you just let go of. But this was the last time. Late that night, I sat on the edge of the bed and opened the nightstand drawer. A stack of pages lay inside. The corners had yellowed and curled. Two years ago I’d saved wedding photos off the internet and printed them. Venues, flowers, invitation fonts, vow templates. I brought them to him, beaming. He was on the phone. He mouthed “later” and waved me away. Two years. That “later” never came. My phone buzzed. Sadie was still angry. “Restaurant’s cleared out. Sera, the more I think about the concert, the madder I get. Three months of planning and he just…” “Sade, it’s fine. I’m leaving anyway.” The other end went quiet for a long time. “You’re sure? Eight years together, eight years gone. When you come back, nothing will be the same.” “Yes.” “You won’t even tell him?” “Sade, there’s nothing left to say.” Sadie didn’t speak. After a while, her voice came back thick. “I’ll keep the banner. Just in case…” “Sade.” “Yeah.” “Throw it out.”

Day four of the cold war. Lucian left early, came home late, went straight to the study. When we ran into each other in the living room, he looked at his phone and I looked at the TV. Nobody said a word. Like two strangers sharing an apartment. Sadie saw I was down and dragged me out to eat. “Stop sitting around. I got us a private room. Cry if you want, yell if you want.” We sat down. Laughter came from the next room. I knew that laugh. Sadie’s face changed. “Maybe we should go…” I shook my head. Chloe’s soft voice came through the wall. “Lucian, I still feel bad about the concert. The mic was meant for Seraphina. I should have known better. Maybe I should apologize to her?” “Nothing to do with you.” Lucian’s voice was flat. “I gave it to you. You took it. That’s it.” One sentence in front of a whole table. She was off the hook. But whenever I went to his office, he kept his distance. Said people talk. One of his friends kept going. “But Luce, I heard Seraphina had something planned that night?” A beat of silence. “I knew she was going to propose. Someone told me a month ago.” Same lazy voice. Sadie’s head snapped toward me. My nails dug into my palms. “You knew and you still gave the mic to Chloe?” The friend couldn’t believe it. “What was I supposed to do? The harder she pushes in public, the less I give.” “When she throws a fit, I play along. But marriage? She needs to learn that making a scene won’t work.” The friend sighed. “Still, eight years. Wanting to make it official isn’t crazy.” Lucian went quiet. “Of course I’ll marry her. But not because she made me.” “When I do it, that’s my call.” Another friend lowered his voice. “Honestly, Seraphina loves a scene. Always making it a big deal.” “Right. Chloe’s so easy. No drama. When has she ever given you trouble?” Chloe’s voice came through, sweet and pouty. “Don’t say that about Seraphina. She probably just loves Lucian too much. After all these years… she’s not getting any younger.” That last part. “After all these years.” Just the right amount of pity. Lucian said nothing. A round of knowing laughter. Sadie’s hand reached across and grabbed mine. Her fingers were shaking. I patted her hand, picked up my bag, and stood. “Sade, let’s go.” I pushed our door open and walked past theirs. Glasses clinking inside. Chloe’s sweet laugh. It was raining. The streetlights stretched a long wet line into the dark. I kept walking. I didn’t look back.

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On the night of the Spring Hunt Festival, to make the adopted girl laugh, my fiancé Killian and my brother Silas dressed me up as a toy. Selene tore my dress apart and smeared lipstick across my face, writing the word whore. I didn’t react, then she kicked me into the cesspit. By the time they fished me out, a crowd had gathered, phones raised, laughing. The noise was grating. Silas stood a hundred feet away, face twisted in disgust, hand over his nose, refusing to come closer. Selene’s smile was innocent. “Elara, happy Spring Hunt!” My fiancé tucked her behind him and spoke like it was nothing. “It was just a joke. Don’t take it to heart.” He raised a hand and signaled for someone to hose me down. I was knocked flat, skin turning purple from the cold, but I didn’t beg. Overnight, the video of me — stripped, soaked, bare — spread through every Pack in the region. Silas blamed me for ruining the Blackmoor Pack’s reputation and threw me out. Killian cancelled the engagement in front of everyone. “I can’t take a mate with a stain on her name.” I nodded to all of it. I didn’t argue. They thought I was putting on an act, pretending to be calm. They didn’t know the Trial was three days from ending. These people — I couldn’t stand the sight of them. …… In the courtyard, my father swung the silver whip, lash after lash across my back. “Shameless! Disgusting!” I didn’t explain. I just clenched my teeth. Arguing only made the beatings worse. I’d been brought back to this pack only days before. Selene accused me of stealing her moonstone pendant. My parents searched my room. Silas stripped me bare in front of everyone. They found nothing. I thought I’d get an apology. Instead, Silas slapped me so hard a tooth flew out. “You sold Selene’s pendant! Where’s the money!” My room was barely big enough to stand in. I didn’t own a single coin. I tried to explain. He hit harder, called me unrepentant. I curled into a corner. He kicked me until I coughed blood. Then Selene let out a little gasp. “Found it!” The moonstone pendant shimmered in the sunlight. All I felt was blinded. I looked at Silas. No guilt on his face. He said it flatly, like it was nothing. “Small misunderstanding. Don’t dwell on it.” “I’m Selene’s brother. I trust her completely.” Silas remembered he was Selene’s brother. He forgot I was his real sister. In the courtyard, my father’s whip kept falling. My body was covered in welts. Silas stood to the side. Didn’t say a single word for me. He was the one who let Selene humiliate me. When I was filmed naked, he blamed me for damaging the Pack’s reputation and threw my few clothes out the door. He told me to leave. I agreed. But my father roared. “You think you’re going somewhere? Haven’t you embarrassed us enough!” He took the silver whip and beat me for two hours. Called it Pack discipline. Two hours later, my mother frowned and stopped him. “Enough. Make her knock her head on the ground ninety-nine times. Then a written confession. We’ll call it even.” My father threw the whip down, voice sour. “You spoil her.” Spoil? I almost laughed. My mother’s version of kneeling meant my skull had to crack against the stone loud enough to hear. If it wasn’t loud, it didn’t count. The confession had to be written in blood. Less than ten thousand words, not sincere enough — do it again. But I didn’t say a word. I knelt and slammed my forehead down. When I passed out, they splashed cold water to wake me. I kept going. The blood confession ran twenty thousand words. Every character groveling, ground into dust. I thought it was enough. Selene pinched her nose and took a step back. “Silas, it’s not that I won’t let Elara inside — she just smells too bad.” Silas rubbed her head fondly, then slid his gaze sideways to me. “You don’t deserve the servants’ room. Go sleep with Nyx.” Nyx was Selene’s giant python. I was terrified of snakes. I remembered the day the warrior brought me back to this Pack. Selene had looked at me with the same disgust. But back then, Silas didn’t send me to the snake pit. He just put me in the dog kennel. The dog’s cage was bigger than the servants’ room I got later. As long as Selene didn’t give the order, the dog didn’t bite. I could at least sleep. The snake pit — absolutely not. I threw myself at my parents’ feet, knocking my head against the floor frantically. “Please — if I smell, I’ll leave the Pack House, I’ll sleep in the kennel — just don’t make me go in the pit.” My father’s expression shifted. A flicker of something almost soft. He was about to speak — Silas yanked me up by the collar. “Elara, cut the act!” “You think the Pack became a joke because of anyone else? Be grateful you have a roof at all!” He started dragging me toward the snake pit. I turned my head to look at my father. He looked away. The pit reeked. The stench nearly knocked me out. The snake’s tongue flicked across my face. I closed my eyes in despair. Then a voice reached me — warm, gentle, like a hand resting softly on my forehead. “Child. Two days remain before My trial ends.”

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After my dragon mate bought me at the auction with the highest price of the entire session, which crushed everyone else’s bid. Then, I became pregnant. Dragon-kind struggled to produce offspring. Yet I carried three little dragonlings to term in a single birth. But the male who had once been so possessive he bordered on obsessive now regarded me with cold indifference. “Honestly,” Drakar said, “I regret it.” I looked up at him in confusion. His gaze swept over my full chest and the curve of my waist and hips. “I shouldn’t have let my temper get the better of me back then. I shouldn’t have chosen you just to spite Lyara. Looking at you now — you’re nothing, just knows how to breed. And that’s how you’ve come to live such a wealthy life.” “While my Lyara,” he continued, “has suffered all these years because of me.” My whole body went rigid. My eyes slowly burned red. I whispered a quiet protest — told him he couldn’t live without me. But Drakar wasn’t moved in the slightest. If anything, he grew more animated, already scheming about how to bring his true love back to him. He turned that contemptuous gaze on me one last time. “You think I’d have ever kept circling back to you if your body weren’t what it is?” “Don’t worry. You gave me offspring, so I won’t throw you out. As it happens, my brother still doesn’t have a female. When he comes back, you’ll move into his quarters.” Dragon-kind were creatures of deep appetite. Once they’d been with a female, they couldn’t go without. And his brother — that male had been sneaking around trying to get close to me when we first met. — “Are you certain you want to transfer the original female’s registration to your brother’s name?” The orc clerk at the record office clearly thought he’d misheard. He looked at me — full-figured, abundantly curved — and then looked at the frail, paper-thin female cradled in Drakar’s arms, the kind who looked like a strong wind might carry her off. “Once the transfer is filed, it cannot be reversed without the consent of another registered male.” But Drakar acted as though he hadn’t heard a word. He furrowed his brow impatiently. “Of course I’m certain. Please make it quick — my female was just brought back, she’s not adjusted to the environment here yet, and I need to get her settled at home.” The clerk swallowed his irritation and crossed out the name behind Drakar’s, replacing it with a new one. My name was now filed under a dragon-kin called Caelun. “Done. Your brother still needs to come in and press his mark. When does he return?” Drakar was too busy soothing the female in his arms to give a proper answer. “Tomorrow, probably.” — When we left the registration office, I stood alone to one side. I watched Lyara pout and cling to Drakar, sulking about how he’d abandoned her all those years ago — and how he’d stood right in front of her and bought another female at auction. Drakar coaxed her with tender patience. When he finally finished, he glanced back at me. In the cold wind, I must have looked small and desolate. He paused. Something flickered across his face — words that never made it past his throat. In the silence that followed, I spoke first. “Am I moving out today?” Drakar’s brow creased. “You don’t have to rush—” “You’re Amber, aren’t you?” Lyara cut in suddenly, looking me over from head to toe with naked jealousy. “I remember you. You were the most sought-after female at that auction.” “Orcs just love that type, don’t they?” She smiled thinly. “Tell me honestly — don’t you find it embarrassing, carrying around a body like that? If I looked like you, I wouldn’t leave the house.” She glanced sideways at Drakar, her expression going soft and wounded. “Drakar… you like that type too, don’t you?” Drakar’s face tightened at once. “Who said anything like that? It disgusts me.” I went completely still. My eyes stung. Disgusts him. But every single night, he’d wrap his dragon tail around me and pull me close, taking and taking until I was trembling and boneless. His scales would brush the length of my spine, slow and deliberate. Sometimes once wasn’t enough. He needed twice. Three times. Only when I was completely spent would he finally be satisfied. And all of that, apparently, disgusted him. Lyara curved her lips in a small, satisfied smile and hooked her arm through Drakar’s, watching me with practiced pity. “Don’t take it personally. If Drakar hadn’t bought you that day, do you think you’d be living as well as you have been? You should really be thanking me — if I hadn’t had that falling-out with Drakar, there never would have been room for you.” I looked at Drakar. He didn’t react. I let out a dry, hollow sound of agreement. Seeing that I had no fight left in me no matter how she twisted the knife, Lyara lost interest and pulled Drakar forward, demanding to go home. He followed her with an indulgent smile. After a few steps, he glanced back. “Amber. Since you want to move, go ahead.” “Don’t take it to heart. We’re still family.” Family. Yes. We were still family. Only I was no longer his female. I belonged to his brother now.

The moment Lyara arrived home, her expression collapsed. She stormed straight into the room I shared with Drakar. She tore through every corner, pulling out anything connected to me, hurling it all outside one piece at a time. A pair of woven grass rings I had braided myself. A protection charm I had quietly tucked beneath Drakar’s pillow. I had spent a long time sewing that charm. The stitches were tight and even — every one of them careful, every one deliberate. Now it was being ground beneath her heel like rubbish. I stood frozen in place, watching Lyara pass through our home like a hurricane, scattering everything I had built with my own hands. And Drakar stood right there beside her. He didn’t stop her. He gave a helpless little laugh. His gaze caught mine — brief, weightless. “Let her have this,” he said lightly. “I owe her. A little venting is fair. Whatever she breaks, I’ll replace.” My eyes burned. I shook my head and said quietly, “It’s fine. Nothing important.” Drakar paused. He studied me, a vague restlessness crossing his face — but he didn’t say another word. — Along the fence in the yard, my vegetable garden grew in a straight, tidy row. Drakar had complained about the trouble, said it was easier to just buy food at the market. But I’d still wanted to grow my own. And for all his grumbling, he had quietly built a low wooden fence around the beds for me later on. Now Lyara walked straight through those seedlings without a second glance. She yanked my undergarments from the drying line and shook them with exaggerated disgust. “You actually hang these outside where everyone can see? Are you trying to advertise yourself? A totally whore!” She dropped the garment and stepped on it. Beside her, Drakar couldn’t quite suppress a laugh. His warm, attentive gaze followed Lyara everywhere, completely unaware of the color draining from my face. I hunched my shoulders instinctively. For the first time in my life, I felt ashamed of my own body. But Lyara wasn’t finished. She prowled the rest of the yard, until her eyes landed on the woven basket sitting against the wall. The sun had been good today. I’d been worried the room was too stuffy, so I’d carried the basket outside to let the dragonlings nap in the warmth. My stomach lurched. I called out sharply: “The young ones are in there—” I didn’t get to finish. She had already picked it up. I went white and lunged forward without thinking. But I was too late. Lyara startled, stumbled back a step — and in that instant, a dark shape flashed past her and caught her before she could fall. The three dragonlings, curled in their nest of soft cloth, tumbled out like three small fruits shaken from a branch. They were so small. So small that when they hit the ground, they made no sound at all. Only the largest of the three — startled awake by the impact — let out a thin, reedy cry. “Baby—!” I dropped to my knees, frantically gathering all three of them into my arms with trembling hands. They were frightened. Their tiny tails wound around my fingers, their little bodies shaking in stuttering, irregular tremors. The oldest one had scraped the skin from his forehead. A faint bead of blood welled up at the wound. The pain of it squeezed the breath out of my chest. Drakar had been closer to that basket than Lyara. If he’d wanted to, he could have pressed it down before she ever reached it. He hadn’t. He had chosen to catch Lyara first. And then watched, without so much as a furrowed brow, as our young hit the ground. I used to wonder about all those nights — the desperate, tangled closeness, the thousand small tendencies he had of bending toward me, the thousand ways he had of sheltering me. If that wasn’t something like love, I had asked myself, then what was? But in this moment, I could no longer pretend I hadn’t been wrong. —

I raised my head, voice shaking, eyes red. “Drakar, please. Please don’t let her throw anything else. I’ll pack everything myself — I’ll take it all with me. I promise I won’t leave a single thing behind.” Drakar flinched. He slowly released the arm he had around Lyara. The dragonlings were still crying — thin, heartbroken sounds aimed at their father. They wanted him to touch them the way he used to. Just once. But before Drakar could even speak— Lyara whirled on him, eyes flooding with tears. “Drakar. You felt something just now, didn’t you? You felt sorry for her. Sorry for the young she gave you. Didn’t you?!” “I knew it. You said you were disgusted, but you never let go of her — not really!” Drakar’s brow furrowed. He moved to deny it instinctively. “That’s not—” “You promised you’d come back for me!” Lyara’s voice broke open. The tears came in a torrent. “You stood in front of everyone and bid top price for her. The other females laughed at me for half a year after that. Said I was deluding myself, that a male like you would never choose someone like me.” “After that, no one wanted to buy me. I had to wash other people’s clothes. Split firewood. Every filthy, exhausting task you can imagine — I did it all.” “One winter I ran a fever for seven days. I was barely conscious. And all I could think about, lying there burning up, was you. Wondering when you would come.” “And where were you? Were you with her? Had you already forgotten I existed?” Her crying softened into something smaller as she pressed herself against his chest, fists beating weakly against him. “Drakar, we’ll have young of our own. I can give you so many…” “Just stop looking at other females. Please.” The tension gradually drained from Drakar’s body. He pulled his gaze away from the dragonlings. Away from me. He raised a careful hand and wiped the tears from Lyara’s face. “Don’t cry. Whatever you want, I’ll do it.” The dragonlings called for him. Their voices grew thinner and thinner. They pressed their small snouts against my fingers, their dark, luminous eyes reflecting my face back at me. Asking a question I didn’t know how to answer. Why are we hurt, and Father won’t look at us? I just watched. My whole face had gone numb, locked into something that wasn’t quite an expression at all. I reached out and touched each of their heads, one by one. It took a long moment before I managed anything resembling a smile. “It’s all right, little ones.” I lowered my head and began gathering things off the ground. Picked something up. It fell again. I picked it up again. It fell again. Tears dropped onto the dirt and disappeared. In the background, Lyara was telling Drakar she wanted a new bed built — she refused to sleep in one that had been shared with another female. She wanted the vegetable garden torn out and replaced with flowers. She wanted the fence taken down. Drakar looked in the direction she pointed. His gaze rested on my green, tended rows for just a moment. He looked down at me. Then he turned away. He tucked his chin against the top of Lyara’s head. “Whatever you want.”

Over the days that followed, I moved into Caelun’s quarters. He had been gone too long. The room was heavy with damp. I cleared out a small corner as best I could. Layered old clothes over dry grass to make the dragonlings something like a nest. At night, the thick, sticky summer air drifted in through the window, carrying the cloying scent of the flowers Drakar had planted over my vegetable beds. The dragonlings fussed and squirmed against my chest, too unsettled to sleep deeply. They were heartbroken. From the day they were born, their father had never been cold to them like this. I leaned down and pressed my lips gently to each of their foreheads. My eyes stung. Outside, the sound of crying carried through the dark. I rolled over and pressed my hands hard against my ears. Then — a crash. A heavy, jarring impact. “Drakar, don’t — don’t touch me. Please, I’m frightened—” Lyara’s voice was filled with a trembling of fear. Then, a stumbling footsteps in the dark. My whole body went taut. The next second, the door was shoved open from outside. Drakar stood in the doorway. His pale green dragon eyes were fixed on me with a wild, locked intensity. His gaze moved over my face, then dropped to the open collar of my robe. I knew that look. I had seen it on a thousand nights. In the dark, it preceded him pulling me close, his tail winding around my waist, and the long, relentless hours that followed. He was in heat. I pressed myself back against the wall. Something in Drakar’s jaw ground tight at the sight of it. He didn’t know what he was angry about. His instincts surged forward regardless, drowning out the rest — that is my female, no one takes her from me. As he stepped toward me, I shook my head desperately. “No. I don’t want this.” My refusal seemed to cut through him. He stopped. He looked at me like he’d been wounded. Don’t look at me like that. You’re the one who let me go. “I don’t consent—” But I hadn’t finished the sentence before he caught my wrists easily and pinned them above my head. Then a sharp hiss. The largest dragonling fought free of the blankets. Pushing with his little tail, he dragged himself forward until he was positioned in front of me. I could feel him trembling. His eyes reflected Drakar’s half-shifted form, and what filled them was terror. But he opened his mouth anyway. He bared his small, still-forming fangs and hissed a warning directly at his father. The other two jolted awake. They imitated their brother, shaking violently, pressing up in a trembling row. Three dragonlings barely bigger than my palm, lined up between me and the male who had made them. The tears burst from my eyes without warning. “Baby — don’t, don’t come closer—” I tried to reach for them. Drakar held my wrists. I couldn’t move. Drakar looked down. The heat had clouded his mind. He reached out. The dragonling thrashed in his grip, tail lashing frantically. “Let go of him! You’re hurting him!” I fought like I’d lost my mind. My nails raked his arm. Drakar’s expression tightened. With an absent, careless motion, he tossed the dragonling aside. The tiny body struck the wall and slid down. “Baby!” The pain drove the breath from my lungs. My eyes went red. “What is wrong with you? That is your child! How could you—” Something surfaced in Drakar’s face. A brief flicker of clarity. He stared at his own hand. He looked at the dragonling crumpled against the wall. But the instinct rose again. His gaze returned to me. His hand came back up. “Amber…” he murmured, barely coherent. From the doorway came a scream. “What is happening in here?!” Drakar went rigid. He spun around. Lyara stood barefoot in the entrance, her eyes stretched wide, staring at us. Drakar shoved me away. His face twisted with something I didn’t have a name for. In the panic of the moment, the words came out before he could stop them. “It was — she came onto me.”

I went completely still. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Everything I had known — everything I had believed about the past three years — collapsed in a single moment. And then I laughed. A quiet, involuntary sound. Something in Drakar’s expression shifted as he watched me. His head swam. “That’s not what I—” he started. But before he could finish, Lyara was already on me. She seized a fistful of my hair. Her open hand connected with my face. “You shameless thing!” Before she could land a second blow, Drakar’s hand shot out and caught her wrist. “Lyara!” “So you’re protecting her now?!” His hand slowly lowered. I watched Drakar struggle. His gaze was flat and hollow. Something inside me went quiet. Lyara dragged me by the hair toward the door, pulling hard enough to make me stumble. She hauled me out into the open yard and screamed at the top of her lungs. “Everyone, come look! Drakar doesn’t want her anymore, and she’s still out here throwing herself at my male! Shameless! Disgusting!” Torchlight appeared as other settlement members came out to see. I let her drag me. I had nothing left. There was a ringing in my ears. My mind kept playing back the words Drakar had just said. The next moment, Lyara grabbed the front of my robe. “You like everyone looking at you so much? Then let them look!” Shame and helplessness crashed over me. I began fighting her in earnest. But the fabric tore anyway. Around us, low murmuring ran through the crowd. “Isn’t that Drakar? I thought he was obsessed with Amber. Now he’s throwing her aside for some bony little thing?” “What a waste. Think he’d let someone else take her home?” “Try it if you want your skull caved in. You know how dragon-kin are. No logic.” The cold air hit my skin. I shivered. Drakar stood at a distance. He was ashen. His lips moved. Whatever thought he’d formed, he swallowed it. Lyara finished her performance. She threw the torn fabric in my face, turned on her heel, and slammed the door. Several sets of hungry eyes lingered on me. They slid away one by one when they glanced at Drakar. The crowd dispersed. Drakar walked toward me. His fingers trembled slightly. He curled them into a fist and stepped past me. “I’ll go calm her down. When she settles, I’ll come back for you.” The door closed. Silence. I slowly pulled the remnants of my clothing around my body. My crying had already gone hoarse. All that remained were ragged, irregular breaths. I didn’t know how much time passed. Then someone stepped in front of me, blocking the moonlight. I looked up. My vision was blurred. A young dragon-kin stood over me. His face was strikingly, almost dangerously beautiful — and at that moment, etched with shock. He breathed out a single word. “…Sister-in-law?”

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“Let me loosen your dress. Don’t embarrass us at the banquet.” My mother approached my waist with scissors. In my past life, she snipped the seam. I was exposed in front of the entire Sterling family. My sister draped her coat over me and stole the marriage contract. I was exiled to the countryside and froze to death in a shack — only to learn on my deathbed that my sister was my father’s secret love child, and my mother was her accomplice. This time, as the scissors came down, I lunged into her arms. The blade sank into her own palm. My sister rushed to help her, and I tugged loose her belt. “Does your hand hurt, Mom?” I wiped the blood from her fingers. “In my last life, I hurt a thousand times more than this.” …… After finally finding my biological parents, they arranged for me and my adopted sister to meet the heir of the Sterling Group. Before we left, my mother personally straightened my collar, but she secretly pulled a loose thread from my dress’s waistline. The moment we arrived at the Sterling manor, I leaned over to change my shoes, and the side of my dress burst open, exposing my slip. Mrs. Sterling sneered in disgust, “Blood-related or not, she’s so indecent she can’t even dress herself—what an embarrassment!” My sister, Maya, draped her designer coat over me right then, earning praise for her grace and sisterly love, which effortlessly secured her the marriage contract. Back home, I knelt and begged for justice. My father only snorted, “You couldn’t even keep your clothes together and humiliated the entire family; how dare you blame others?” My mother added with fake concern, “Since you returned, Maya has been crying every day out of guilt; you only lost a marriage, so stop acting like it’s the end of the world.” Later, Maya had a grand wedding while my reputation was ruined, and I was exiled to a derelict farm in the countryside where I eventually froze to death in a drafty shack. It was only before I died that I realized that thread had been intentionally snipped by my mother’s scissors. I have been reborn. My mother is smiling again, reaching out to straighten my collar: “The silk is slippery, honey; let me tighten this so you don’t look unrefined.” I snapped back to reality, seeing that same fake smile on her face. “The silk is slippery, honey; let me tighten this so you don’t look unrefined.” As she spoke, her fingers brushed toward my sleeve, revealing the tip of a tiny blade. In my past life, these small scissors snipped the seam of my waistline, leaving me exposed and humiliated in front of the Sterlings. In the freezing midwinter of my past, I had shivered in that shack. Maya had stepped on the back of my hand, mocking me: “Sister, I didn’t expect that just because I said I was afraid you’d outshine me, Mom would personally cut your future to pieces.” The cold wind of that shack seemed to still linger in my bones. I stared at my mother’s well-manicured hands, my heart hammering against my ribs. She continued to smile as she adjusted my collar, her fingers ready to strike my waistline with the scissors. Suddenly, my knees buckled, and I lunged forward. “Oh!” I let out a cry and crashed into my mother’s arms. Caught off guard by my sudden fall, her hand slipped. The scissors sliced through the air and stabbed directly into the back of her own hand. “Ouch!” My mother shrieked in pain, and the scissors hit the floor with a loud clang. I took the opportunity to wrap my arms around her waist, squeezing tightly from behind. Using my body as a shield, my right hand reached out to the side. Maya was standing nearby, waiting for the show to begin. She was wearing a limited-edition dress my mother had custom-made for her, cinched with an exquisite leather belt. Before she could react, my fingers hooked onto her belt buckle and gave it a sharp pull. The fastened buckle instantly came loose. I stood up quickly, feigning total panic. “Mom! Are you okay? It’s all my fault, I slipped!” I held her steady, looking deeply concerned. My mother clutched her bleeding hand, hissing in pain, and shot me a venomous look: “Clumsy girl! We’re going to the Sterlings, and you’re acting like a savage!” Maya stepped forward, pulling out a silk handkerchief to wrap my mother’s hand. She rolled her eyes at me with contempt before pretending to speak up for me: “Mom, Elena is just nervous, don’t blame her. She just got back from the countryside and hasn’t seen the world, so it’s natural for her legs to go weak.” My father, Arthur, stood at the door with his hands behind his back, glancing at the clock with a scowl: “Enough! Stop wasting time! We’re going to be late, and if you keep Mrs. Sterling waiting, can either of you handle the consequences?” Father didn’t even glance at me; his eyes only softened when they landed on Maya: “Maya looks elegant today, truly sophisticated. Once we’re at the manor, keep an eye on your sister so she doesn’t humiliate us.” Maya nodded obediently: “Don’t worry, Dad, I’ll take good care of her.” She straightened her back, puffing her chest out like a proud peacock. I lowered my head, a cold smile touching my lips.

My mother’s hand was still seeping blood, staining the handkerchief. Since time was running out, she didn’t have a chance to mess with my waistline and instead grabbed a jewelry box. “Maya, this was a gift from your grandmother; I’m giving it to you now for good luck.” She took out a sapphire pendant and personally fastened it around Maya’s neck. “This blue suits your skin tone; it’s beautiful but subtle for the Sterlings.” Maya touched the pendant, her eyes curving with delight: “Thank you, Mom, I’ll treasure it.” I stood to the side with empty hands and a plain, cheap belt. My mother finally noticed me and rummaged through a corner of the box, pulling out a handful of old hairpins with peeling gold paint: “Elena, wear these so you can’t say I’m biased. Your outfit is plain, so these will provide some contrast.” She shoved them into my hand, not caring if they even matched. Father watched and, instead of finding it unfair, nodded in approval: “Maya was raised in London; she has the class for that pendant. Elena spent her life in the dirt; wearing fine things would just look ridiculous on her.” I squeezed the cheap hairpins until they bit into my palm. The countryside? Why was I even there? It was because they threw me away to some distant relatives years ago to hide from their creditors. Now they only brought me back because the Sterlings insisted on the “biological” daughter to fulfill the old marriage pact. Even though Maya was the favorite, she was legally just an adopted orphan. They needed to use me as a stepping stone to get Maya into the Sterling family. In my past life, I never understood why my own parents were so heartless. Until the moment before I died, I heard the neighbors gossiping. “Mr. Blackwood is truly cruel, leaving his real daughter to die for the sake of an adopted one.” “Adopted? That’s his secret love child with his mistress!” “Mrs. Blackwood knew all along, but to keep her husband happy, she raised the bastard as an ‘adopted’ child and trampled her own daughter to pave the way.” So that was the truth. One was the precious child of a mistress. The other was the unwanted burden of a legal wife. My mother sacrificed her own child just to keep her husband’s favor. My father treated me like trash for the sake of his hidden affair. I gripped the hairpins until they bent and broke in my hand. I looked at the three of them—Maya holding my mother’s arm, my father looking on with fatherly love. They were a happy family, and I was the intruder. “Dad, Mom, it’s time to go.” Father gave me a look of pure annoyance: “What’s the rush? No manners at all. When we get to the manor, speak less and follow Maya’s lead. If you ruin this marriage, I’ll send you straight to a strict boarding school in the middle of nowhere!” I lowered my gaze and said nothing. A boarding school? I’ve already been to hell; that’s nothing.

The car drove toward the Sterling estate. Maya sat in the prime seat, constantly fidgeting with her sapphire pendant. The Sterling’s head housekeeper, Rachel, was also in the car, officially as an escort but actually to observe our character. Maya didn’t stop talking the entire way. “Rachel, I heard the Sterling gardens are the finest in the country.” “Rachel, I’ve learned a new piano piece; do you think the Mistress would enjoy a recital?” “Rachel, look at this pendant; my mother gave it to me specially.” Rachel grew pale, her brow furrowing as she pressed her hand against her temple, clearly in significant pain. I watched this and smiled inwardly. In my past life, Maya was just as noisy, but she got lucky because Mrs. Sterling happened to have a migraine that day. Maya had used a scent recipe she stole from my notes to relieve the headache and won the Mistress’s favor. This time, I wouldn’t give her the chance. I took a small, elegant box from my bag. Inside, nestled on a velvet cushion, was a slender glass vial with a rollerball tip. I had spent my three years of exile apprenticing with an old-world apothecary, mastering the art of therapeutic botanicals. This was my own signature blend. “You look pale, Rachel,” I said, uncapping the vial. A crisp, clarifying scent of peppermint, eucalyptus, and something deeply green filled the air. “I made this for tension headaches. Just a touch on your temples or wrists should help.” Maya immediately glared, her voice a low hiss. “Elena! What is that stuff? Are you seriously giving Rachel some homemade concoction? If you make her condition worse, can you even afford the doctor’s bill?” Rachel was already nauseous, and Maya’s screeching made her head feel like it was exploding. She shot Maya a look of pure annoyance, then ignored her completely. Turning to me, she gestured toward the vial. “May I?” I handed it to her. She held it under her nose for a moment, inhaling deeply. The crisp, clarifying scent of peppermint and eucalyptus, grounded by a hint of sandalwood, seemed to cut through the stuffy air in the car. “This is lovely,” Rachel admitted, a touch of surprise in her voice. She dabbed a small amount onto her wrists as I had suggested. I moved closer. “Forgive the intrusion, Rachel.” My fingers found the tense muscles at the base of her neck and behind her ears. “There’s a pressure point here.” Using a specialized technique, I applied firm, rhythmic pressure to the knots of tension. In moments, Rachel’s tightened brow relaxed, and she let out a long sigh of relief. The sallow, strained look on her face began to fade, replaced by a healthier flush of color. “That’s an excellent technique,” Rachel said, opening her eyes. Her gaze, now clear and sharp, was filled with a new kind of scrutiny and respect. “Miss Elena, where did you learn that? That’s not something just anyone can do.” I paused, letting my hands fall away. “Just some basic acupressure I picked up from a physician while I was away,” I replied calmly. “Nothing to make a fuss over.” Rachel smiled, a genuine, appreciative smile this time. “You’re far too modest. If that’s ‘basic,’ then most of the city’s top massage therapists should be ashamed of themselves.” Maya sat beside us, twisting her napkins in a silent rage. She didn’t expect me to have this skill and tried to cut in: “Rachel, she just got lucky—” Rachel shot her a cold look: “If you’re tired, Miss Maya, perhaps you should rest your voice. Mrs. Sterling likes peace and detests those who are too noisy.” Maya’s face stiffened as she shut her mouth. Rachel ignored her and whispered a tip to me: “Not only is the Mistress here, but the young master is home too. Master Julian is cold by nature and dislikes girls who are overdone or fake. Character is what matters most here.” I nodded slightly: “Thank you for the advice, Rachel.” The car slowed to a halt; we had arrived at the Sterling manor.

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I have a bad temper. Every time Hugo Vance does something that upsets me, the word *divorce* flies out of my mouth. And every time, on the last day of the divorce cooling-off period, he always bows his head and begs me to stay. The first time, I complained that our villa wasn’t grand enough. I casually mentioned divorce. He had me moved into Harbor Manor the next day. The second time, someone posted about an eighty-million-dollar piece of jewelry. I threw a fit because he didn’t buy me the same one. He rushed to contact an overseas auction house and put the exact same piece in my hands on time. The third time, I said the fertility medicine was too bitter and I wanted a divorce again. He brewed the medicine himself and fed it to me, then worked around the clock without rest. My friends all say I’m Hugo’s one weakness. His one exception. I thought his favoritism would always be my safety net. Then his first love-Luna Lane came back to the country. He came home thirty minutes late. And I mentioned divorce once more. Even my best friend tried to stop me. “Know when you can stop. Don’t be unreasonable.” I looked at the dark circles under Hugo’s eyes. For once, I held back my temper. I told myself this would be the last time I threatened divorce. But this time, the last second of the divorce cooling-off period passed. And Hugo still didn’t come home. The living-room light clicks on and he freezes when Hugo sees me sitting in the dark. “Still up.” His voice is quiet. “Waiting for you.” I’m calm. He loosens his tie and walks past without a word toward the kitchen. I stand and follow him. “Hugo.” He’s pouring a glass of water with his back to me. “This time, the cooling-off period,” I say, looking at his back, “is over.” “Hm.” He takes a sip. Just one “hm.” Seven days of waiting for an explanation—anything, even a perfunctory “don’t be silly”—and nothing. Anger flares inside me. I turn around, grab the vase off the entryway table, and smash it to the floor. *Crash—!* It shatters across the floor. He watches me, shock and anger in his eyes, but not the panicked rush he used to make to check if I’d hurt myself. “What are you doing?” Hugo’s face hardens. “Divorce.” I cover half my face and laugh, “Isn’t this how it always goes? I break things. You clean up. I say divorce, you bow. Every single time.” I step forward, my bare feet crunching on the broken porcelain. “Why aren’t you performing this time? Because the audience has changed? Your first love is back! Isn’t she?” “Is she waiting downstairs? Waiting for us to finish shouting so she can come upstairs and comfort you?” I press. “Hugo, tell me!” “Enough!” He barks. The doorbell rings the next second. His brothers and my friends flood in as if on cue. They take in the mess on the floor. The standoff between us. They wear the same expression: oh, not this again. “Sia, calm down!” Cade Foster (His best friend) steps between us. “Hugo’s been under a lot lately, The company stuff—” “Under a lot?” I cut him off, pointing at Hugo. “He has time to pick someone up from the airport, sit through a three-hour dinner, and come home half an hour late without so much as a word to me?” “Sia!” A friend grabs my arm and hisses, “Don’t keep on… we all know you’re hurting, but this is embarrassing.” “So what if that woman is back? You’re still his wife.” “Wife?” I fling her off. But tears are streaming down my face. “I’m like a child who throws a tantrum when she can’t get candy! And you—every one of you—” I point at each of them. “You all help him hold me down, telling me, ‘Be good, stop making a scene, candy tomorrow!’ But where’s the candy?!” I turn to Hugo. My voice shreds. “Where’s my candy?!” The candy that always comes after I threaten divorce. Why isn’t it here this time?

The living room tightens into a silence so dense I can hear my own breath. The tension stretches tight as a wire. Cade finally takes a step forward. “She knows Hugo has a bad stomach. She only asked me to bring him some medicine. She knows where the line is. What about you?” His chest heaves. Then he finally spits out the words that have been sitting on his tongue. “Besides asking for things, breaking things, and threatening divorce—what have you ever done for him? You can’t even give him a—” “A what?” I scream, cutting him off. Years of resentment and pain explode out of me. “You want to talk about children?!” “Cade, You can ask him! Ask Hugo why I can’t get pregnant!” I turn to Hugo. Tears and hatred crash down my face. “Tell him! Tell him about the flood five years ago! Tell him how you could have taken me first, but you stayed behind to save Luna’s damn cat! Tell him how you left me alone in waist-deep freezing water for five hours!” Cade freezes. I laugh, my whole body shaking. I point at Hugo. I point at all of them. “Those bitter fertility medicines—I threw up every time I drank them. Every time I make a scene, do you think it’s because I want to?” Cade is stunned by my outburst. He opens his mouth but can’t find the words. Hugo closes his eyes. When he opens them again, there’s nothing but raw, breaking pain underneath. His voice is hoarse as he tries to step closer. “Sia, that incident was an accident. I later—” “Later you made up for it, right?” I step back, avoiding him. “Fine. Make up for it. Send Luna away right now. I don’t want to see her in Harbor City. Or—divorce.” Divorce. I don’t know what else to say anymore. Silence swallows the room. Cade snorts and turns to Hugo. “Hugo, since she’s raised divorce, why not—” “Get out!” Hugo roars. I don’t know if he’s shouting at them or at me. But everyone is used to this scene by now. They exchange glances and file out. The huge space empties. Just Hugo and me. I stand in the middle of the wreckage. I wait. Like I have a hundred times before. I wait for him to walk over, pull me into his arms, and say in that helpless, indulgent voice: “Sia, stop it.” Or even just a lie. An explanation for why he secretly went to the airport to pick up Luna. An explanation for why, when I texted him that I felt like my heart was dying, he only sent an assistant with a bottle of painkillers. I would take anything. Even a lie. Seconds pass. At last he moves—but not toward me. He stoops and, silently and methodically as after every argument, begins to pick up the broken porcelain. As if sweeping up the pieces is the only salvageable thing left in our relationship. I watch his expressionless face. The place where my artificial heart sits in my chest—it tightens. Slowly I walk to him and crouch at his feet, forcing him to meet my eyes. “Look at me. Answer me one question.” He can’t look away. “All these years—when you held me, when you kissed me, when we were intimate…” I lean closer. “Was the person you’re thinking about me?” His Adam’s apple bobs. But no words come out. A silent admission. I nod. I stand up. The world tilts but I hold on. “…I won’t let her stay in Harbor City!” The words come out sharp. The last bit of stubbornness I have left. He finally looks up at me. His voice is thin with exhaustion. “Don’t do this, Sia. This is her hometown. What right do I have to make her leave?” Of course he has the right. He just won’t tell me that he paid for every cent of Luna’s art studies in Paris. That the venue for her exhibition, the promotion, even her clothes—every single expense went through his accounts. I saw it a month ago in a “casual” finance brief someone left on my desk. The numbers were crystal clear. When she wasn’t here, I could be his [line in the sand]. His [whole world]. With her back, the boundary shifted and his world found a new center. Between us, he couldn’t even be bothered to maintain the illusion of being torn. The fire that has been burning in my chest for so long—it suddenly goes out. I don’t say *divorce* again. I just turn around. One step at a time, I walk upstairs. My phone buzzes. I think it’s a text from him—An apology. But it’s my doctor, Dr. Lee. “Mrs. Vance, your artificial heart is long overdue for replacement. You cannot wait any longer. We advise that you forego the pregnancy.” I laugh. My hand drifts to my lower stomach. All these years, Hugo hired the best medical team to care for me. They made it possible for me to try for a baby even with an artificial heart. What he doesn’t know is that three months ago I refused to replace the failing artificial heart. I had a feeling I couldn’t explain—a fierce, animal certainty. Now I’m pregnant. And my heart is failing.

I go to the art gallery on the west side of the city. Luna looks surprised to see me. “Sia? What are you doing here? Hugo, he—” “He’s busy.” I cut her off. My eyes scan the paintings on the wall. “I heard your exhibition is opening. I came to take a look.” She’s the same as ever—always in that plain white dress. Sunlight pours through the glass roof and turns her into something unreal. “Sia, you and Hugo… are you… okay all these years?”” “Better than okay.” I lift my hand, making sure she sees the huge diamond on my ring finger. The one Hugo forced onto my hand this morning before he left. “He’s just so worried about me. I throw a little tantrum, and he spends hours making it up to me. So annoying.” “He insisted this ring suits me. Such a tacky taste man. Bad taste.” Luna’s eyes flick over the ring and a deeper smile curves her mouth. “Hugo’s always been careful with people he cares about.” She tilts her head slightly. “Just like back then… because my heart condition was bad, Hugo moved me to Harbor Manor to recuperate and even bought anther separate new house for you two as your home.” “You must have been so disappointed then,” she adds slowly. A chill skates across my fingertips. She keeps going, her voice full of fake apology. “Hugo was just worried about me living too far from the hospital. He said the manor was quieter, better for my recovery.” “So sorry for the trouble, Sia.” “I know you loved that manor,” she continues, “But you’re living there now. I guess that makes up for it?” “Back then, he came to see me every day. He said I was the only one who could make him forget his worries.” “Then I got better and went abroad to study.” She looks at me. “If I hadn’t, maybe I’d still be living in the manor.” She looks up at me, waiting for me to break. Am I supposed to collapse? Of course I should. How could I not? But the collapse happened long ago. Back then, I was drowning in grief over my mother’s death. I was recovering from my artificial heart surgery. I didn’t have the energy to notice anything else. Then Luna celebrated her recovery with a party at the manor. She posted a Moments update—deleted quickly but she had explicitly tagged me. The location was Harbor Manor. In the corner of the photo, I saw Hugo’s silhouette. All his friends were there. I drove straight to the manor. Through the iron gate, I could see lights. People moved and laughter leaked through. I heard someone joking: “Luna, Hugo’s kept you so well hidden in this manor for two years. what, not planning on finding a boyfriend?” A soft, teasing laugh followed. Then I heard Hugo murmur something indistinct. And a servant called out, “Mrs. Vance, your tea.” Mrs. Vance. No one in that room corrected her. I stood there in the dark. And suddenly I understood. Those nights when he said he had business trips, or late meetings—he spent them here, with another woman called “Mrs. Vance”, living in what was supposed to be our home. I stood there for a long time. Then I drove home. I waited for him to come back at dawn, I put a divorce agreement in front of him. No drama. Just the paper. “Hugo. Let’s get a divorce.” It was the first time I meant it. He looked panicked. “What happened? What are you talking about?” I laughed bitterly and made up a childish and petty lie. “This villa isn’t grand enough. I want to live in Harbor Manor. If not, divorce.” He stared at me for a long time. I took out my phone and applied for the divorce online in front of him. In a sense, I think waiting was a very agonizing process. On the last day of the divorce cooling‑off period, he put the keys to Harbor Manor in my hand. “Sia,” he said. “This is your home now.” Back then, I thought he had chosen me. I gave him one more chance. But really, he only gave me the manor because she was leaving. Becausa she has to pursu her dreams. The place she had lived was just something he could throw my way. “Sia?” Luna’s question pulls me back to the present. Luna is looking at me. Her eyes look curious. My heart lurches. My phone screen lights up by itself. It’s the app connected to my artificial heart. The heart rate graph spikes and dips. Alerts flash: “Abnormal emotional fluctuation detected. Please calm down immediately and avoid sustained stimulation.” I pause, dark the screen. “Really,” I hear my own dry voice. “I never knew there was a whole story behind it.” “Sia, you look so terrible… I heard from Hugo that you have an artificial heart. You can’t handle strong emotions. Should I call him to come get you?” “No!” My voice comes out too loud. A few people in the gallery turn to look. Luna reaches for my arm. “Sia, don’t get so worked up…” Her face is full of worry. Then she leans close to my ear. “You should take care of yourself. After all, your heart is still beating in my chest. ” “Healthy, and warm.”

Her last words fall into my ear, as a stone. Time seems to stop. The air in the gallery, the distant murmur of laughter, the riot of color on the walls—all of it drains away in an instant. I only hear the sudden, frantic thrum of the artificial heart inside my chest. That face—played so innocent, flickers with a flash of satisfaction. I clamp my hand down on her wrist. “How dare you—!” Luna lets out a soft *ah* of pain but doesn’t pull away. Then a tense voice cuts in from behind me. “What are you doing?” Hugo strides through the gallery doors. Every stride a burst of rare panic and anger. I watch him come forward. His eyes find Luna’s red-rimmed ones first. Then they land on me. His frown deepens. “Let her go.” Several people rush over, forming a circle around Luna. Protecting her. Luna’s voice is hoarse. “Hugo, don’t misunderstand. Sia just came to look at the paintings—” “Does she look like she’s here to see paintings?!” Cade shoves me aside. “This is exactly what Hugo’s spoiled out of her!” “If without Hugo and see who’ll bother with her then. Society will put her in her place in no time!” I grit my teeth and stay locked on Hugo’s face. He’s looking down at Luna’s wrist, cradling her hand like it’s fragile. That look—so focused, so full of concern—cuts into me, slicing away the last of whatever shaky sanity I have left. “Hugo—” I force the name out one syllable at a time, my throat raw, “My mother…was it really an accident? Was my heart really dead?” He falters and presses a thumb to his brow. “Sia…” he starts. “How many times are you going to drag this up? I told you. It was an accident. Who can guarantee a surgery is a hundred percent—” “I want the truth!” My voice rises. “Hugo, look at me. Look me in the eye and tell me—what really happened?!” “Enough!” His anger finally snaps free. I want to scream. I want to lose my mind. I want to demand the truth in front of everyone… But the artificial heart in my chest buzzes like a hive about to burst. My vision blurs. *Beep. Beep. Beep.* Hugo’s face—full of worry for her, was floats in front of me. How cruel. Even the right to go insane is being stolen from me because someone else wears my heart. Hugo grabs my arm. “Let’s go home.” I try to pull away. But I can’t move anymore. Fatigue closes my eyes for a beat. “Divorce,” I whisper, the last of my defiance. “This is the last time.” “Crazy. You’re absolutely crazy.” There’s nothing but disgust in Hugo’s eyes now. In the chaos, my bag gets knocked over. The divorce agreement falls out. The one I drafted long ago. The one I drafted so many times and never signed He bends, snatches up the papers, pulls a pen, and signs with a hard, precise stroke. He slams the pen and the signed document back at my feet. “As you wish.” — The madness drains out of me. I pick up the papers, brush off the dust, and without a word, walk out of the gallery.

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My best friend and I gave birth at the same time. I joke about setting the two kids up together. My husband’s face darkens instantly. He looks at me, dead serious. “They’re siblings. They can’t get married.” I freeze. I must’ve heard him wrong. Ethan smiles, light and easy, like he’s talking about the weather. “On our wedding night, after we were done, I drugged you. She covered your face with her bra, and we did it right next to you. All night long.” “That’s the night you both got pregnant.” “Funny how you two ended up in labor at the same time. Must be fate.” My mind goes blank. I slowly turn toward the next bed — Sienna, my best friend, fast asleep. When I was twenty, I took fifteen stab wounds to save her life. She told me she’d owe me forever. Ethan shifts, blocking my view. His tone is casual, almost bored. “Relax. Sienna won’t fight you for anything. We’ll all just live together. To the public, you’ll still be Mrs. Foster.” Every drop of blood in my body turns to ice. The System’s voice cuts through my head, flat and mechanical: **[Do you wish to abandon the mission to redeem the Villain and exit this world immediately?]** …… My eyes land on Sienna’s wrist. She’s wearing a rosary bracelet. The same one I got for Ethan when he was in that car accident, barely clinging to life. I spent hours on my knees at the chapel, praying he’d pull through. He never took it off. Not once. But when Sienna and I went into labor at the same time, he gave it to her without a second thought. Ethan quietly tucks her hand under the blanket, then turns to me. He wipes the tears off my cheek with his thumb. “You’re a mom now. Why are you still such a crybaby?” I slap his hand away. “Why? Why her? She had a boyfriend! And you just threw yourself at her like some desperate side piece — are you that pathetic?” Ethan shakes his hand out, then looks up at me, genuinely surprised. “You still think her so-called boyfriend is someone else?” Something amuses him. He actually laughs. “There were times you called me — and we were right in the middle of it.” “She’d be shaking all over, biting her lip, trying so hard not to make a sound. So damn hot.” He sighs, almost wistful. “Probably won’t get that thrill again.” I bite down on my lip so hard I taste blood. My throat closes up. I can’t get a word out. It takes forever before I manage to speak, my voice cracking. “You could’ve just told me the truth. I would’ve walked away!” If I’d known sooner, I could’ve left before it destroyed me. Ethan lets out a soft sigh. Something like pity flickers in his eyes. “Well — we did feel guilty about you.” “Remember when you got attacked trying to save Sienna? Beaten, violated until you lost the baby? I was hooking up with her in the car, right around the corner.” “She was freaking out. I had to calm her down. We got so caught up we forgot to call 911.” Something inside my skull snaps. That night. Sienna and I were walking home from a movie. We ran into those guys in the parking garage. I fought them off with everything I had so she could run. I was dead sure she’d get help for me. I held on, gritting my teeth, waiting. When I came to, I was in the hospital. Ethan was holding me, shaking, swearing he’d make them pay. And he did. But now, looking at how calm he is, how unbothered — I realize every bit of that was an act. If it weren’t for some random stranger passing by, I’d be dead. I grab the soup bowl from the nightstand and hurl it at him. It smashes on the floor. Soup splatters everywhere. He made that soup himself last night. He put peanuts in it — Sienna’s favorite. He forgot I’m allergic. The signs were always there. I just never wanted to see them. Ethan stands there, not moving. Soup drips from his hair. He looks pathetic. But he’s not angry. He actually lets out a long breath, like he’s relieved. “Hate me. Resent me. That’s fine. Just don’t blame Sienna. She cares about you so much. She just had a baby — she could get postpartum depression. Cut her some slack.” I dig my nails into my palms until I feel blood. It’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart. The stitches down below are screaming — a constant reminder that he knows damn well a new mother needs rest, needs peace. He just doesn’t give a damn. Not about me. The System’s voice returns, cold and flat: **[Do you wish to abandon the mission to redeem the Villain and exit this world immediately?]** **[If no choice is made within 24 hours, you forfeit and will remain in this world permanently.]** **[Countdown begins…]**

Tears pour down my face. I whip around toward Sienna and scream. “Sienna! How long are you gonna keep faking it? Does screwing my husband feel that good?” Sienna opens her eyes. Her face is ghost white. She won’t look at me. She grabs the pillow and hurls it at Ethan. “How could you tell her? How dare you do this to her?” “I told you I don’t need a title! I was gonna disappear after the baby!” Ethan rushes over and pulls her into his arms, holding on tight. His voice shakes. “I can’t let you go. That’s why I had to come clean. Please, Sienna. Don’t leave me.” “This is all on me. Stay still — you’ll rip your stitches.” Those exact words. He used to say them to me. His mom died when he was little. His dad was never home. All he had was the nanny. And the nanny was a monster. She’d beat him when nobody was looking. She almost beat him to death once. I broke into his house and pulled him out. That’s how I dragged him out of the dark. Later, the nanny came for revenge. She had me kidnapped. But Ethan wouldn’t let go of me. They beat him until he was covered in blood, and he still wouldn’t let go. The adults finally showed up. Got us both out. At the hospital, he held my hand so tight his knuckles went white, whispering over and over: “Don’t leave me, Lily.” Like I was the most precious thing in the world. That’s exactly how he’s holding her right now. Only I’m not the one in his arms anymore. I’ve thought about it before — what I’d do if we hit that seven-year itch. I always figured, worst case, I’d drag Sienna out, get blackout drunk for a few nights, cry it all out, then go right back to loving him. But why — why did it have to be her? Who am I supposed to ugly-cry with now? Sienna shoves Ethan off and stumbles over to my bed. Tears running down her face. “Lily, please. Don’t cry. I’ll leave tomorrow. You two can go back to the way it was.” My jaw aches from clenching. My heart is being ripped in two. Sienna used to come from money. Old money. When she was five, her whole family died in a wreck. She was the only one left. Relatives picked the estate clean. Then they dumped her in the system. She went through hell. When I met her, I begged my parents to take her in. Mom and Dad treated her like she was theirs. No difference. She cried over her first birthday cake at our house. I told her, laughing — everything I have, you get half. Half my snacks. Half my fun. Half my mom and dad. Never thought she’d want half my husband too. I grit my teeth. “Get out. I never wanna see you again. You’re nothing but a homewrecker.” The babies start screaming, spooked by the yelling. Their little faces are beet red. I scoop mine up and rock her, shushing. Tears hit the blanket before I can stop them. Sienna buries her face in her hands, choking on sobs. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…” Ethan picks up the other baby, jaw tight, barely holding it together. He rounds on me. “Sienna’s been covering for you this whole time. She couldn’t stand to hurt you. She was my fiancée from the start. You’re the one who came in between us.” I go rigid. Ethan did have a fiancée. But he told me himself — she died in a crash. The first time he and Sienna met in front of me, they acted like strangers. Even faked not being able to stand each other. More than once, I begged him to be nicer to her. For my sake. I was so damn proud of myself for smoothing things over between them. Turns out I was the idiot the whole time. What a goddamn joke. I laugh until the tears spill over. I grab Sienna’s wrist and rip the rosary bracelet off. Beads go flying, clattering across the floor. “This is mine. You don’t deserve it.” I pick up my baby and stand. My legs are trembling. Every step feels like walking on shattered glass, but I don’t stop. Not once. Behind me — Sienna’s wailing. Ethan cussing me out. The System chimes in: **[18 hours remaining. Please make your choice soon.]**

I drift down the hallway holding my baby, numb. Frozen from the inside out. I should hate Ethan for the betrayal. I should hate Sienna for the knife in my back. But what kills me most is losing them both at once. I pull out my phone. Open the photo album. Picture after picture. Memory after memory, hitting me like a freight train. Watching the sunrise at four a.m. with Ethan, standing on top of a mountain. Kissing in the lavender fields. Scuba diving in the Maldives. And in every single photo — Sienna’s in the background. What I thought was just the two of us — it was always three. And I never once noticed. I delete over ten thousand photos. I stare at the System panel floating in front of me and let out a bitter laugh. Honestly — what did Ethan even do wrong? He just doesn’t love me. That’s all it is. I hold my baby tighter. My vision blurs again. I’m so sorry, baby girl. I can’t take you with me. Just let me hold you a little bit longer. Ethan’s designer shoes step into view. I look up. He’s watching me, guilt and heartbreak all over his face. Next second, I’m in his arms. That familiar warmth. I break down. I hate myself, but some stupid, desperate part of me thinks — maybe he still cares. Even just a little. “I’m sorry, Lily. I lost my temper. Said stuff I didn’t mean.” “You gotta believe me — I never wanted to hurt you. I was just scared Sienna would take off with the baby.” “Don’t be like this. She hasn’t stopped crying since you walked out…” Sienna. Sienna. Always Sienna. That last little flicker of hope — he kills it himself. Every breath feels like swallowing glass. After a long silence, I cut him off. “Promise me one thing. Take care of the baby. No matter what.” Ethan blinks. Relief floods his face. He cups my cheeks, voice suddenly brighter. “Lily, I promise. I’ll take care of you. Take care of the baby. You just gave birth — look after yourself too…” His phone rings mid-sentence. He picks up. His entire face changes. “Don’t move — I’m coming!” He hangs up. The warmth is gone. His eyes are ice. “Sienna’s baby has a congenital heart defect. There’s no donor match. She was already losing it — and then you went and deleted every photo on Instagram. She thinks you’ll never forgive her. She’s on the roof. She’s about to jump. Are you happy now?” “Come with me. Now.” He grabs my arm and hauls me toward the stairwell. The stitches rip. Pain tears through me so hard I can’t breathe. Warm blood runs down my thighs. The hallway spins. I bite the inside of my cheek raw — just to stay standing. Up on the roof, Sienna’s standing on the wrong side of the railing. Wind whips through her hospital gown. She looks like she could vanish any second. She spots me. Something lights up in her eyes for half a second — then dies. Her face is wrecked with tears. “Lily, my baby’s dying. And you’re never gonna forgive me, are you?” “I have nothing. I have absolutely nothing left.” She sways at the edge. Before I can even open my mouth, Ethan’s drenched in a cold sweat. “Sienna, don’t. Lily knows she was wrong. She came here to say sorry.” I stare at Ethan in total disbelief. This is beyond insane. Sienna doesn’t buy it. Her eyes are glazed, somewhere far away. “You’d never forgive me. Not if you knew. Those men that night in the parking garage — I sent them. If you knew that, you’d want me dead.” Something inside me cracks wide open. I snap. I throw myself at her. Hands grab me from behind and yank me back. I spin around — Ethan. Eyes cold as stone. “She was young. She did it out of jealousy. She nearly killed herself over the guilt — more than once. If I hadn’t pulled her through all that, you’d never have seen her again.” I can’t breathe. He knew. He knew this whole goddamn time. I was drowning, and he just stood there watching. But Sienna — the one who threw me in — he felt sorry for her.

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The night before my wedding, someone mailed me a VIP hotel keycard. Same room number where Liam proposed. I figured it was some romantic surprise he’d planned. I pushed open the door and caught him tangled up in bed with another woman. When he finished, he shoved her off him without a second thought. Lit up a cigarette, smirking like it was nothing. “No point hiding anymore—figured I’d let you catch us now so I don’t have to deal with it after we’re married.” He flicked ash on the nightstand and added one more thing. “Relax, you’re still gonna be my wife.” “You’ve been with me ten years, made enemies with half the old money families doing business for me—nobody else would touch you even if I dumped you.!” “Tomorrow happens exactly as planned, just—” “You get the wedding, she gets the marriage license.” He probably expected me to ask why. I didn’t say a word. Just slipped off my engagement ring, set it down, turned around and walked out. Next day, Liam stood at the church steps in his tux waiting for me. I didn’t bail, didn’t hide. Walked straight up with my biggest rival’s arm locked in mine and waved a marriage license in his face. “The wedding’s all yours—but the marriage license? Already gave it to him.” *** “Here she comes, here she comes—bride’s finally out.” Reporters swarmed the hotel entrance when I came downstairs. Camera flashes going off like crazy. “Miss Aria, how’s it feel on your big day?” “Miss Aria, any thoughts on this insane wedding Mr. Liam put together for you?” I kept my mouth shut and let security walk me to the car. Wedding was set for Sacred Heart Cathedral on the east side. Liam stood on the steps in his white tux wearing that smug-ass smile like he’d already won. Called me this morning saying he went seven rounds last night, body’s wrecked, needs sleep. Can’t pick up his own bride. He was dead certain I’d still show. His best man let out a whistle first. “She actually showed!” Elbowed Liam with this nasty grin plastered on his face. “Our boy’s got her trained right—out screwing around the night before and she still rolls up in her wedding dress. Now that’s what I call well-trained!” Another groomsman jumped in. “For real though, the way he was going at it last night would’ve put anyone else in the hospital, but here he is standing tall ready to get hitched—mad respect.” They all cracked up. Liam’s mouth twitched up. Voice flat as hell. “Aria’s been mine ten years—who the hell else would take her?” Glanced down at the ring I ditched last night. “She’s throwing a fit, that’s normal. But at the end of the day—” Paused, voice rock solid. “She’s still gonna walk right up and put her hand in mine.” His buddy threw him a thumbs up. Car door swung open and I stepped out in white. Sunlight hit the dress and scattered light everywhere. Something flickered in Liam’s eyes. Actually, it sounded genuine for once. “Damn, my wife looks hot in that dress.” Before he could even touch me, his phone buzzed. He checked the screen. Lips curved up like he couldn’t help it as he stepped away to answer. “What’s up? Told you to call later.” Some breathy, whiny voice came through. “Liam, I’m flying abroad this afternoon… so I booked us at Clerk’s Office in ten minutes—can you come real quick? I want the marriage license before I leave.” “Ten minutes?” Liam chuckled low. “That desperate?” … Liam hung up and his buddy walked over. “Who was that?” “Ivy.” Liam shoved his phone away, eyes lighting up. “She’s flying out this afternoon, won’t leave without getting the license first. Whined at me till I caved.” His buddy raised an eyebrow. “What about the wedding?” “What’s the rush?” Liam shrugged it off. “Wedding takes like an hour or two. I’ll hit Clerk’s Office first—ten minute thing. You know how Ivy gets. Don’t keep her happy, she’ll cry at the damn airport.” His buddy knew better than to push. Liam walked over, threw his arm around my shoulder and told the photographer to get ready. “Get a shot of this, something for the memories.” Click. Done. Checked his watch. “Alright, that’ll do. Gotta bounce or I’ll miss the appointment.” Turned and headed for another car. “Liam!” I stayed put and called his name. He stopped mid-step and looked back. Still had that cocky look like he controlled everything. “You walk out that door today,” I said every word clearly, “and I’m swapping out the groom.”

He froze for a second, then laughed—contemptuous and way too sure of himself. “Swap the groom? With who? You think this is some Netflix drama?” “Everyone in this city knows you’re mine.” “I mean… if you actually manage to find some idiot willing to marry you, sure, I’ll let you go—” Pulled open the car door and tossed back one last patronizing line. “Quit playing games. Be good, wait for me. Those other guys don’t mean shit, yeah?” The groomsmen behind me traded awkward looks. His buddy chased after him. “Liam, you’re seriously leaving—” “Cover for me, I’ll be back.” Liam slammed the door, voice urgent. “That girl’s a pain in my ass. Don’t need the drama.” Car peeled out. I just stood there. Wind catching my veil. Photographer stood there awkwardly holding his camera. Nobody said a word. I stared down at my bare ring finger. Slowly smiled. Liam, go ahead. Go get your license. This million-dollar wedding— I’m keeping it. I grabbed my dress and walked into the church. Guests seated, officiant ready, wedding march playing. Everything is perfect. Except no groom. Liam’s buddy caught up, forcing a smile. “Hey Aria, Liam had something come up, he’ll be right back. Just chill for a sec.” Another one jumped in with excuses. “Yeah yeah, our boy always knows what he’s doing. Your big day—he’ll show for sure.” “Totally, Liam never flakes on the important stuff.” They all talked over each other, making “groom ditched” sound like he ran out for coffee. I glanced at the church clock—10:40. “Fine. I’ll wait.” His buddy visibly relaxed and started getting people to bring me tea and dessert. I waited. But who I was waiting for—none of their damn business.

This wedding had three months of hype behind it. Pretty much every important relative on the groom’s side showed. I looked around, taking in every detail. White rose waterfall by the windows, crystal beads hanging from the vaulted ceiling… Even the font on the place cards was custom designed. Liam was like that—when he did something, he went all out. Chasing me was like that, planning this wedding was like that too. He turned this wedding into the talk of the town, made it the dream of every girl… Hell, even his cheating was that extreme. No wiggle room, no excuses. In his twisted logic, treating someone right and destroying them never conflicted. And me? I only had one option: suck it up. In the dressing room, my best friend Lily flew in from Australia to be my maid of honor, pissed as hell. “Is Liam out of his damn mind? Running off to get the license with another chick on his wedding day? Is his brain broken?” She huffed and dropped into the chair next to me, yanking at her bridesmaid dress. “I thought he was full of shit, but even if… why today?” Her voice burned with that secondhand rage. “When you guys planned this wedding together, he hit up every flower shop in the city just to pick your bouquet, and when you tried on dresses his eyes got misty before yours did.” “I was so jealous back then I went home and smacked my useless boyfriend!” She paused, voice dropping. “Who could’ve seen him pulling this?” I didn’t answer, just scrolled my phone. Ivy just posted on Instagram. Picture showed men’s dress shirt and women’s lingerie all over the floor. [Someone said he’d only stay ten minutes but couldn’t leave~] She geo-tagged it on purpose—wasn’t Clerk’s Office. Mutual friends already commenting: [Ivy, who are you trying to piss off?] Ivy replied: [Whoever’s in a wedding dress waiting on nobody!] I screenshot it, face blank. “Aria, stop waiting!” My friend snatched my phone. “Look at these trash people!” “You came running back from England right after graduation for him—you know how pissed your parents were?” “Liam was a nobody back then and you had the nerve to bet ten years with your parents! Now you’ve lost everything.” “If it weren’t for you busting your ass all these years doing his proposals, pulling investors, quietly flexing your shipping heiress status to get his projects funded, would he even have what he has today?” “And he turns around and screws the investor’s daughter!” “I had no idea he could fake it this good, kept the act up right till the night before the wedding to finally let you catch him cheating!” The more she talked the madder she got, eyes going red. “Aria, stop waiting. Live for yourself for once!” “Thanks for flying out today. As for my parents, after this wedding’s done, I’ll go home and take the L.” A bet’s a bet. Today’s the day I pay up for losing.

Lily and I headed to the balcony at the end of the hall for some air. About to push the door when I heard voices inside— The groomsmen, hiding out here smoking. “So like, is Liam actually not coming back?” “He said Ivy’s all over him, can’t get away, told us to stall.” One of them took a drag. “How long you think Aria’s gonna put up with this?” “You see her today? Wedding dress on, red carpet walked, groom bailed—and she didn’t even blink.” “Man’s lucky as hell to have a wife like that.” Another one sighed. “For real though, Liam’s got it good and doesn’t even know it.” “Liam’s not thinking about that right now. Ivy’s got him wrapped around her finger, man’s completely gone.” They all laughed. Then his buddy video-called him. “Liam, you finally picked up. Aria’s still waiting, you not coming back is kinda messed up, man.” Some sketchy sounds came through the phone. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” Liam’s voice came out irritated and rough with that post-sex rasp. “Not gonna make it. Just keep the guests happy.” “Got it, got it, you do your thing.” His buddy grinned. “Aria’s way easier to handle anyway…” Before he could finish, I shoved the balcony door open. Their smiles froze instantly. His buddy tried hiding his phone behind his back. “A-Aria…” I looked at them. “Wedding starts in three minutes.” “What are you guys doing hiding out here?” “Three hundred guests sitting out there—you gonna make them wait? Or let them watch this trainwreck?” Soon as I said it, they all snickered. “Aria, come on.” One of them waved me off, still laughing. “Three minutes? Our boy Liam doesn’t finish that quick. He can’t make it back in—” “He’ll make it.” I cut him off and turned to leave. That’s when his buddy remembered the video call was still going and glanced at the screen. “Liam, Aria says the wedding starts in three minutes, better hurry your ass up.” Liam’s low laugh came through the phone— Voice lazy, still riding that high. “Three minutes?” “Does this woman not know me or something?” Some girl’s giggle came through, saying something soft and breathy. “Liam…” His buddy’s voice got quieter. “So… what do we—” Phone went silent for two seconds, then Liam’s annoyed voice cut through. “Go ahead without me, hold it down. I’ll be there when I’m done.” When he said “done,” some girl moaned in the background. His buddy quickly killed the call. The groomsmen scrambled to put out their cigarettes, straightened their suits, and filed out. His buddy caught up to me and said quietly, “Aria, after all these years, we all know what’s up with you and Liam. He does care about you, it’s just… guys, you know?” I didn’t look at him, didn’t say anything back. Truth is, up until yesterday I still didn’t want to believe he’d turned into the type who gets bored and trades up. Ivy’s some investor’s only daughter, just graduated college. Ever since he met her at that celebration dinner, something changed in his eyes. Back then I thought I was being paranoid. After ten years together, if I didn’t know him by now, I wouldn’t have stuck around this long. So all those sketchy moments, all those late-night texts he ignored—I chose to believe him. I refused to believe that us, right on the edge of making it, about to finally settle down— Would lose to some girl fresh out of college. But he got more and more reckless tearing off the mask. Stopped hiding it, even started making sure I’d notice. Then packaged his betrayal like some kind of gift. “A guy like me, how could I only have one woman? But my heart’s yours, and the wife spot? No one but you can have it.” Expected me to be grateful. Lily was right—he played me too well. Kept up the act right until the day before the wedding to finally rip off that last layer. Used the cruelest way possible to make me see it, hear it—what I really meant to him. Played me so good I had nowhere left to run. “Aria, when you walk down the aisle, take it slow, we’ll back you up from behind.” “Yeah yeah, Liam said once he’s done he’ll head over. Just go through the motions for now.” They thought I was just going through the motions. Thought I’d walk down that aisle alone in my wedding dress, stand in front of the priest, wait for a groom who might never show. Then smile and say “I do” to an empty spot where the groom should be. That’s the script Liam left for me. The groomsmen lined up on either side of me, still wearing those smug grins like they had it all figured out. The church doors slowly opened and someone stood there backlit. Then every single smile froze.

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At the Manhattan’s elite gala, Father told me to lead the opening dance. The three childhood friends who’d promised me weeks ago—all of them avoided my eyes and walked straight toward the fake heiress, Fiona Foster. “Fiona’s position is awkward. If no one picks her, it’d be humiliating.” I stood there, watching Xavier—heir to the Sterling family—approach. I thought he’d finally announce our engagement publicly, but he leaned in and whispered an apology. “You’re calculating, Evelyn. You have means. You’re the Foster family’s true heiress—you don’t need my protection. But Fiona’s different.” I grabbed his hand. He pulled away, walking toward Fiona anyway. When Fiona looked past everyone else and took Xavier’s hand, the crowd started their commentary: “So she was waiting for Mr. Sterling all along. No wonder she ignored everyone else.” “The Foster heir and the Sterling heir—two future powerhouses. A match made in heaven!” Everyone congratulated my father. But his face went black. They didn’t know—everyone in the Foster family was hoping I’d fall in love, so they could hand my inheritance to the fake heiress without a fight. … This opening dance represented the Foster family’s reputation. I’d been lost for twenty-two years. Found and brought home only three years ago. This was the first time the Foster family hosted a gala where I was asked to lead—a recognition of my identity. Xavier knew exactly how much this meant to me. But he still walked toward Fiona without looking back. The atmosphere turned strange. I stood rooted, throat tightening. Watching Xavier take Fiona’s hand and step into the center of the dance floor. The spotlight followed them. The mockery chased after me: “I heard the Sterling and Foster families were planning an alliance. Guess we know who the real match is now. We all thought it’d be the noble true heiress…” “Looks like Mr. Sterling came tonight to back his future fiancée…” The music started. Xavier lowered his head slightly, listening to something Fiona was saying. His gaze—tender in a way I’d never seen before. Turns out when someone truly cares about another person, even their eyes soften involuntarily. And me? I only ever got to see the ruthless business king side of Xavier Sterling. After all, in his eyes, I was the daughter who clawed her way back into the Foster family halfway through— Scheming. Calculating. Even my sadness looked performative. My aunt swayed over with a wine glass, half the ballroom watching. “Well, well. Our legitimate Foster heiress standing all alone?” “Some people just aren’t born with that kind of luck, you know.” “Your grandfather gave you the best of everything the second you came back, but Fiona—she’s naturally blessed. Even after you pushed her aside, she still manages to take everything.” Aunt’s words scraped past my ears like blades. I tightened my grip on the wine glass. Before the gala, Xavier had told me—his position was delicate. Every move he made sent a signal for his family. Unless the Sterling elders gave a clear stance, he wouldn’t dance with me publicly. I was anxious, but I understood his difficulty. After all, in Manhattan, the balance between the Sterling and Foster families was fragile. If he asked me for the first dance, it would be picking a side. So I’d prepared ahead of time. I’d asked each of my three childhood friends separately to dance with me at this gala. They’d all agreed. No hesitation. But when the lights came up, they all walked toward Fiona instead. I’d guessed the beginning. I just didn’t guess the ending. Xavier did avoid dancing with me, the Foster heiress. He just walked toward a different member of the Foster family instead. Turns out there was no family signal. He just didn’t want to protect my dignity. He wanted to give someone else security.

Applause erupted. The first dance ended. Xavier’s hand rested naturally on Fiona’s waist. The three childhood friends who came for me were now busy crowding around them with champagne glasses. Xavier crossed through the crowd toward me. He lowered his head to look at me: “Fiona’s had it rough these years. You came back and easily slid into the heir candidate pool. She worked for years—lost everything because of bloodlines.” “It’s just one dance. You’ve always been generous.” “If tonight gets out,” I cut him off, “what will people say? That the Foster heiress is a joke who can’t even hold her own event?” His brow furrowed. “You overthink everything. Who’d dare laugh at you?” Seeing my silence, his voice dropped. “Evelyn, you’re strong. You can stand on your own. But Fiona’s different!” “If I don’t choose her tonight, if I don’t show I value her, she becomes the Foster family’s abandoned child.” I looked down at the wine swirling in my glass. He didn’t know—the Foster inheritance battle had reached a life-or-death point. Father’s message was clear: Either marry someone from a family equal to the Fosters, like Xavier Sterling, and let Grandfather kick me out of the running. Or he’d “arrange” me to some borderland upstart and eliminate the problem permanently. I’d wanted to stay outside the game a little longer. But this one dance shattered all my room to maneuver. Fiona trotted over, eyes hopeful as she looked at Xavier: “Xavier, could you introduce me to some of the guests?” “I’m not as thorough as Evelyn.” “She always keeps this little notebook—records which young heirs are rising, which uncles control rare resources…” She covered her mouth, frowning with self-reproach. “I—I don’t mean she’s opportunistic. She’s just… diligent.” Nearby, two ladies’ smiles faded. “Recording everyone’s value? This Foster heiress… quite the schemer.” “No wonder she made heir candidate in just three years.” Whispers drifted over. My blood ran cold. That notebook was homework assigned by Grandfather. When I first entered the circle, he told me to study the merits of each family’s elders… Xavier had even coached me on it. But he didn’t say a word in my defense. Let me become the center of the storm instead. Fiona looked at Xavier regretfully: “Did I say something wrong again? I just admire how capable Evelyn is…” He patted her hand. “It’s fine. Evelyn has a big heart—she won’t be mad at you.” Then he led Fiona away to greet others. “Xav—” Surrounding whispers drowned out my voice: “I felt bad for her getting her spotlight stolen, but ugh… turns out she’s that calculating.” “…” I stood in place, freezing from the inside out. Suddenly remembering that rainy day three years ago when I first returned to the Foster family. My adoptive parents were considered upper class. But compared to top-tier families like the Fosters, they weren’t truly seen as equals. The day I was brought back to the Foster estate, Manhattan was drowning in rain. I stood alone outside the ancestral home. Grandfather deliberately tested me, refusing to let anyone open the door. That’s when I met Xavier. He walked over with an umbrella and said: “Just got home? I’ll protect you from now on.” Now, his umbrella was over someone else’s head. I set down my glass and turned toward the terrace. The night wind was cold against my face. The composure I’d forced earlier cracked at the edges. Grandfather returns in seven days. If tonight’s events spread, it would definitely cost me points in his eyes. … After standing there for a while, I walked back into the ballroom. Caleb suddenly hurried toward me. “Evelyn, don’t go over there.” I followed his gaze. Those two were still spinning in the dance floor. He thought I was going to make a scene. Can’t blame him. Of the three childhood friends, he was the only one who’d survived years with me at the orphanage before I was adopted. Back then, whenever they handed out apples, I’d fight for the biggest, reddest one. Once I got it, I’d shove it at him first. Because he was slow at everything, and I was afraid he’d starve. Later, my adoptive parents took me in. I saved every bit of allowance, begged them to pull strings. Sponsored his expensive art school tuition. Did everything I could to lift him up into the influential appraiser he is today. But I was just a wild vine that clawed out of the mud alongside him. No matter how much support and nourishment I gave— I’d never compare to that untouchable sun high in the sky. I stepped around him to leave. He grabbed my wrist from behind. “Evelyn, if Xavier already chose, going over there now will just humiliate you more.” “Let go!” I tried to pull my hand back. He gripped tighter. In the struggle, my already-injured ankle twisted. I lost balance and fell backward. My back slammed against a pillar and I dropped to my knees, the impact echoing dully. Searing pain exploded. Caleb froze. “Why are you doing this? You’ve had everything at the Foster house these three years. What does Fiona have left?”

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