Author: Momo Chan

I gave my Naga three babies — and he told me he wished he’d never brought me home. Naga are known for low fertility.Most females are lucky to carry one. I gave him three. But the man who once guarded me with an almost obsessive possessiveness now looks at me with cold, distant eyes. “Honestly? I regret it.” I look up at him, confused. His gaze sweeps over my full breasts, my curved waist, my hips. “I never should’ve let my fight with Aria push me into taking you. Looking back, you’re just another empty-headed female who’s only good for breeding.” “Meanwhile, my Aria has suffered for years because of me.” My whole body goes rigid. My eyes sting red. I whisper back — tell him he can’t live without me. But Caspian doesn’t flinch. If anything, he gets more animated, already scheming to bring his true love home. He shoots me a look of disgust. “You think I stayed for you? If it weren’t for that body of yours, I wouldn’t have looked twice.” “Relax. You gave me snakelings, so I won’t throw you out. My brother still needs a female. When he gets back, you’ll move into his room.” Naga males are driven by primal need. Once they’ve had a mate, they can’t go without one. And that brother of his? He’s been sneaking around, trying to get his hands on me for longer than I can count. … “You’re sure you want to transfer your female’s registration to your brother’s name?” The clerk at the Bonding Registry thinks he’s heard wrong. He stares at me — curves, full-figured, soft in all the right places. Then he stares at the woman in Caspian’s arms — bony, frail, like a stiff breeze could snap her in half. “Once the record’s changed, you can’t reverse it without the other male’s consent.” Caspian doesn’t even seem to hear him. He frowns impatiently. “Obviously. Could you hurry it up? My female just got here. She’s still adjusting. I need to take her home and get her settled.” The clerk chokes on his words. With a grunt, he scratches out the name next to Caspian’s and writes in a new one. My name gets filed under a different Naga — someone called Caelen. “Done. When’s your brother coming back? He just needs to press his mark on it.” Caspian is too busy soothing the woman in his arms to care. “Tomorrow,” he says absently. Outside the Registry, I stand alone. I watch Aria pout and press herself against Caspian, whining about how he abandoned her all those years ago — how he bought another female right in front of her face. Caspian coos and comforts her. When he’s done, he glances back at me. In the cold wind, I must look small. Thin. Hollow. He hesitates. Something catches in his throat. Before he can speak, I do. “Do I need to move out today?” Caspian frowns. “You don’t have to rush—” “Your name’s Amber, right?” Aria cuts in, her jealous eyes raking me from head to toe. “I remember you. The most popular female at the Auction.” “Shifters just love your type — big chest, big hips. But seriously, aren’t you embarrassed walking around with those two watermelons strapped to you? If I had those, I wouldn’t even leave the house.” She turns to Caspian with a pitiful little pout. “Caspian, you like that kind of thing too, don’t you?” Caspian tenses immediately, rushing to deny it. “Who said that? I think it’s disgusting.” I freeze. My eyes burn. Disgusting? Every single night, he coiled his tail around me and pulled me into his arms, pressing against me, wanting more. When the heat took over, his scales would drag slow and heavy down my spine. Sometimes once wasn’t enough. Twice. Three times. Until my body went limp — only then would he stop. And now he calls that disgusting. Aria smirks and hooks her arm through his, gazing at me with pity. “Don’t be upset. If Caspian hadn’t bought you, could you have lived this well? You should be thanking me, really. If I hadn’t had that fight with him, you’d never have had a chance.” I glance at Caspian. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t react. A bitter sound escapes my throat. “Mm.” When Aria sees I won’t fight back no matter how hard she pushes, she loses interest and tugs at Caspian to leave. He smiles — soft, indulgent — and lets her pull him forward. After a few steps, he turns back. “Amber, since you want to move, go ahead.” “Don’t take it to heart. We’re still family.” Family. Right. We’re still family. I’m just not his anymore. I belong to his brother now.

Aria drops the act the moment she walks in. She barges into the bedroom Caspian and I share and starts hauling everything that smells like me out into the yard. The little woven rings I braided myself. The protection charm I slipped under his pillow. I spend weeks on that damn charm — every stitch counts. Now she crushes it under her heel like it’s garbage. I stand there frozen, watching her rip my life apart like she’s gutting a bird. Caspian stands right beside her. He doesn’t stop her. He laughs softly and helplessly, like he thinks this is just some cute tantrum that means nothing. Then he glances at me, casual as breathing. “Let her blow off steam,” he says. “I owe her. If she breaks something, I’ll replace it.” My throat tightens. “…Don’t bother. It’s nothing.” My voice is thin. For a second he actually looks at me — really looks. Irritation flickers across his face, but he can’t name why. He says nothing else. Outside, the little row of vegetables I planted sits trampled. He used to tease me about the garden, told me it was silly to spend time on dirt when we could just buy food. Still, he goes out one morning and quietly puts up a low fence around it to keep deer and kids from wrecking it. Aria stomps right over the seedlings. She snatches my bra off the clothesline and holds it up between two fingers like it’s something disgusting. “You actually hang this out?” she snarls. “You want the whole settlement to see what you’re packing?” She drops it in the dirt and grinds her heel into it. Caspian laughs. He watches her like a man watching a favorite toy. He never looks at me. I pull my shoulders up without thinking. For the first time, I feel ashamed of my own body. She’s still not finished. Aria prowls the yard again, hunting for the last piece of evidence that I exist. Her eyes land on the wicker basket in the corner — the one I bring out so the snakelings can nap in the sun, because I’m afraid it’ll be too stuffy inside. My stomach drops. I shout before my brain catches up. “The snakelings are in there — don’t—!” She already has it over her head. I lunge. Too slow. Aria flinches, trips backward, about to fall — A dark shape flashes past and catches her. The basket tips. My snakelings tumble out like fruit shaken from a branch. They are so tiny. So small they make no sound when they hit the ground. Only the biggest one — startled awake — lets out a thin, scared hiss. “My snakelings!” I drop to my knees. I’m scooping them up, fingers shaking, pulling all three into my arms. They’re shaking too. Tiny tails curl around my fingers like lifelines. The biggest one has a scrape on his forehead. A bead of blood seeps through his skin. I can’t breathe. Caspian was closer to that basket than me. He could have gotten to it first. He could have stopped her. But he doesn’t. He reaches for Aria. He catches her. He lets our snakelings hit the dirt. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even blink. Until now, I keep telling myself the nights matter. The hunger. The way he wraps his tail around me. I cling to those memories like a life raft. I think they’re proof of love. But now my hands are shaking, my snakelings’s blood warm against my skin, and I can’t pretend anymore. Maybe I was wrong about everything.

My voice trembles and my eyes blur when I look up. “Caspian, please,” I say, my voice cracking. “Don’t let her throw everything away. I’ll pack it all. I won’t leave a single thing.” For a beat he doesn’t move. Then his arm loosens around Aria, like something inside him finally gives. The snakelings are still hissing — small, wounded sounds that slice through the air. They look at him with those bright, wet eyes, the same ones that used to make him come running. They want him to scoop them up the way he used to, to press their little scaly heads between his hands. Before he can answer, Aria’s face snaps shut. Her eyes go red. Her voice sharpens to a knife. “So you feel sorry for her, then? You feel bad for her and those snakelings — admit it!” She spits the words at him. “I knew it. You say you think it’s disgusting, but you can’t let her go.” Caspian’s jaw tightens. He starts to say something, but Aria cuts him off. “You promised to take me home. What happened to that?” Her tears come fast and ugly. “You bid on her in front of everyone. They laughed at me for months. Said I was delusional. Said a male like you would never pick me.” She sobs into his chest. Her fists thump weakly against him. Her voice drops to something small and desperate. “Caspian, we’ll have snakelings too. I’ll give you a whole nest of them.Just stop looking at other females. Please?” He goes rigid, then slowly lets go. He looks away from me and the snakelings like turning a page. Then he reaches up and wipes her tears with the back of his hand. “Don’t cry,” he tells her. “I’ll do whatever you want, okay?” The snakelings watch him. Their hisses quiet down into tiny, confused murmurs. One of them nudges my finger with his little snout. His eyes reflect my face — bright, black, and searching. Why isn’t Daddy looking at us? Their question lands in my chest like a stone. I stand there like a statue. My face won’t move. My mouth is stuck. I put my hand on the smallest one’s head because the motion steadies me. Because if I stop moving, I will break. “It’s okay,” I whisper, forcing a crooked smile that tastes like ash. “It’s okay, little ones.” I bend down and start picking things up. I scoop a bundle into my arms. It slips. I pick it up again. It falls. Over and over. My hands are clumsy, thick with tears. The sun hits the dirt and my hot drops disappear like nothing. Aria fusses at Caspian in that syrupy, triumphant voice she saves for winning. “I want a brand-new bedframe,” she coos, her nails raking the air. “I am not sleeping where you slept with her. Pull up those ugly plants — I want flowers. And take down that fence, is disgusting.” Caspian follows her finger out of habit. His eyes pause on the little green patch I planted — the seedlings I watered with my own hands, the ones he used to pretend to mock. He looks at me for a long, frozen moment. Then he tucks his chin against Aria’s head like the choice was never really his. “Okay,” he says, voice quiet and flat. “Whatever you want.”

I move into Caelen’s room and it smells like mildew and old straw—the kind of place that’s been closed up too long. I clear a small patch of floor and lay down old clothes over dry hay. It’s ugly and quick, but it’ll do. The snakelings curl into the nest and I tuck them in like they’re the whole world. Night air slides in through the cracked window, sticky and heavy. There’s a sickly-sweet flower scent riding it—Caspian ripped out my vegetable beds and planted blooms for Aria. The smell should be pretty. It tastes like betrayal. The babies whimper against my chest, restless. Their little bodies tremble. From the day they were born, their father has never been this cold to them. I lean down and kiss each tiny forehead. My eyes sting before I can stop them. Somewhere outside, a muffled crying starts. I cover my ears, but then—there’s a loud crash. Footsteps pounding. Everything tightens. The door slams open. Caspian fills the doorway, all coiled muscle and that terrible, slit-pupiled green stare. His eyes burn into me, slow and hungry. Then they drop to the loose edge of my shirt. I know that look. I know it like I know my own heartbeat. A dozen nights of him watching me, then dragging me into darkness, tail wrapping my waist, taking and taking until there was nothing left. He’s in heat. I back into the corner before I even realize I’m moving. His jaw tightens like a trap. He doesn’t know why he’s angry, exactly—just that something animal in him is roaring. Thought narrows to a throatless, simple command: She’s his. No one gets to take her. I shake my head hard. “No—no, I don’t want this.” My voice is thin. Whatever I say seems to burn him. He stops, hurt splitting his face. It’s almost comical—like I’m the one who ruined him. “Don’t look at me like that,” his face says. “You’re the one who left me.” “I won’t—” I try to speak, but the word dies. His hands clamp around my wrists and pin them over my head before I can finish the sentence. A sharp hiss cuts the air. The biggest snakeling scrambles forward, tiny tail braced, and plants himself between us. He trembles so hard his whole body shudders, but he raises his head and bares his baby fangs at Caspian. The little mouth is a furious, ridiculous, brave thing. The other two snap awake and copy him. Three snakelings—no bigger than my palm—line up like a wall. My tears fall hot and fast. “Babies, no—stay back!” I lunge for them, but Caspian’s grip is iron. I can’t move. Caspian’s face has gone somewhere cold and sharp. The heat fogs his brain. He reaches with slow, ugly purpose. The little snakeling thrashes, tail whipping, trying to bite free. “Don’t! Caspian, let him go! You’re hurting him!” I scream. I claw at his arm like a wild animal; my nails rip his skin. He frowns, annoyed, and then—throws the snakeling like he’s nothing. The tiny body bounces off the wall and slides down crumpled on the floor. “No!” The sound tears out of me. “My baby!” The pain is white-hot in my chest. I can’t breathe. My hands shake so hard I can’t stand. For a moment, Caspian blinks—like someone hit him. He looks at the snakeling curled in the corner, then at his own hand. For a second his eyes clear. Then something darker pulls the line back over his face. He mumbles my name, the sound broken: “Amber…” A shout from the doorway cuts through everything. “What the hell are you doing?!” Caspian snaps his head. Aria stands there, barefoot, eyes wide as saucers. He shoves me away like I burned him. His face twists, guilty and frantic. The words spill out of him before he can stop them. “She—she seduced me.”

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Serena’s POV: Fifty couples, one live broadcast, and my fiancé is about to swap me out for his dead brother’s wife. I don’t hear it from him. I hear it from a stairwell. The grooms are downstairs doing their challenges — bridal party games, the usual. All fifty brides are in their separate rooms, waiting to be picked up. I sneak out early because I want Ethan to find me first. I want to see his face light up when he spots me before anyone else. I duck behind the stairwell door — and that’s when I hear them. “Ethan, man, this isn’t right.” Jake’s voice. Ethan’s best man. “This is a city-wide event. It’s on live TV. You’re seriously gonna switch brides in the middle of all this? Serena’s gonna be humiliated.” My breath catches. Then Ethan’s voice comes through — low, tired, like he’s explained this a hundred times already. “I don’t have a choice. Vivian’s been widowed for three years. My parents still treat her like garbage. If I marry her, they’ll finally have to accept her.” “As for Serena — she and I have always been more of a platonic thing. She doesn’t need a ring or a certificate. She won’t care.” My fingers go numb against the wall. Jake’s still pushing back, though. I can hear the hesitation cracking through his voice. “Dude, have you forgotten what happened when your brother dumped her? She almost jumped off a bridge. You spent three years pulling her out of that. If she finds out the same woman took her man — again? She’s gonna lose it.” Ethan cuts him off like it’s nothing. “There are fifty couples out there, all in matching outfits. No one can tell who’s who. I’ll just say I got confused in the crowd.” “Besides — you guys know why I went after her in the first place. It was so Vivian could marry Dylan without any drama. Now Dylan’s gone. It’s on me to take care of her.” He turns to the other two groomsmen, voice flat and cold. “Go to room 302. Keep the door shut. Don’t let Serena out. Once the vows are done and the certificates are signed on live TV, my parents won’t be able to say no.” I stand there behind that door. I don’t cry. I don’t scream. I just laugh — once, quietly — and walk back to my room. I pull out my phone. The screen’s still bright. I scroll through the wedding registry and find the groom paired with Vivian today. I type out a message: “Room 302 needs a groom. You in?” I put the phone down. “Serena! Come help block the door! Ethan’s team already passed the first round!” Nora’s grabbing my arm before I can blink. I don’t move. She tugs harder. “Come on! He’s almost at round two — what are we gonna make him do when he gets up here?” “Don’t bother.” I pull my arm free. Nora freezes. “What do you mean?” I look right at her. “This wedding might not be happening.” She stares at me, confused. “What? You two waited months for this. You fought to get a spot. What do you mean it’s not happening?” I don’t answer. Yeah. Fought to get a spot. Three months ago, Ethan handed me the registration form. A city-sponsored mass wedding. Fifty couples, all signing their marriage certificates live on the local news. He said he’d stayed up two nights straight to get us in. Said he only planned on getting married once, and he wanted the whole world to see. I hesitated. Because at the time, my mom had just been moved into the ICU. The biggest regret of her life was never having a real wedding ceremony. Grandma died young. They were too poor. She signed a piece of paper at a courthouse and that was it. She always told me — when it’s your turn, I want to watch you walk down that aisle. I want to hand you off to your groom with my own two hands. I wanted her to see it. I brought the form to her hospital room. Showed her the fine print: “Due to venue limitations, no family processional will be included.” She said it’s okay. Just being alive to see me get married is enough. She didn’t need the walk. But then she turned to the ceremony schedule and went quiet for a long time. “So I won’t even get to see you walk through the door in your dress?” I didn’t make it past the hallway before I broke down crying. That night, I told Ethan — can we skip the mass wedding? Let’s do something small. Just us. Let my mom sit in her wheelchair and hand me off to you. Ethan held me and said the spot was too hard to get. Don’t be selfish. The mass wedding has cameras, he said. Your mom can watch the livestream from her bed. Same thing. I said it’s not the same. He said — after I come get you, we’ll video-call her together. Same thing. I didn’t push it. Because when he said all that, his eyes were red. He said he just wanted to give me the biggest wedding he could. I believed him. Then my mom got worse. They moved her to the respiratory unit. On her last lucid day, she held my hand and said, “I won’t get to see you in your dress.” I said you will. Livestream, Mom. Just remember to open the link. She said okay. But today — he said: “She doesn’t need a ring or a certificate. She won’t care.” My mom is lying in that hospital bed, glued to a screen, waiting to watch her daughter get married — and she doesn’t even know no one’s coming to marry her daughter. Heavy footsteps echo down the hallway. Nora peeks out the door, suspicious. “That’s weird — there’s only two groomsmen out there. Where’s Ethan?”

Serena’s POV: Nora turns back to me, completely lost. “The games are over. Shouldn’t he be the first one running up here?” I let out a small laugh. “Nora — when the groom shows up, go easy on him.” She blinks. Then she covers her mouth and grins. “Oh my God, I knew it. You’re too soft on him.” “Fine, fine — since he chased you for three whole years, I’ll tell the girls to take it easy. Twenty push-ups max.” She’s already typing in the group chat: “Bride says chill out. Don’t wear the groom out. The bride will feel bad for him.” I almost smile. Almost. This was supposed to be such a sweet moment. Nora finishes texting and loops her arm through mine. “Seriously though — three years together, and he’s barely even held your hand. Now you’re signing the papers today. You nervous?” “No,” I say. “Liar.” She grins. “Your lips are white.” Right on cue, my phone buzzes. Mom. Video call. She’s just finished a round of chemo. Her hair is gone. Her skin is the color of old paper. But she’s smiling — eyes crinkled, warm, alive. “My baby looks so beautiful today. I’m watching the stream — Ethan was working so hard on those games to get to you. Don’t be too tough on him, okay?” I force out a laugh. Nod. “I can’t wait to see you two sign those papers.” The nurse walks in to change her IV. Glances at the screen. “Oh — is your daughter one of today’s brides?” “She is. Fifty couples, all on TV.” Mom’s voice is thin as a candle in the wind. “My girl found herself a good man. Three years, never gave me a reason to worry. Treats her like she’s the most precious thing in the world.” I grip the phone so hard my nails dig into my palm. She doesn’t know. The man who chased me for three years, who loved me for three years, who moved heaven and earth to get us into this wedding — He did it all so he could marry his dead brother’s widow in the chaos. So he could force his parents into accepting a marriage they never would’ve agreed to. I take a deep breath. Smile at the camera. “Okay Mom, the signal’s bad. I’ll call you back after we sign.” I hang up. Nora adjusts my veil. “You know, a mass wedding isn’t so bad. No stress, everything’s taken care of, and it’s on live TV.” She smiles again. “Your mom’s probably so happy right now, it’s healing her faster than any medicine.” Then she walks to the window and looks out for a while. When she comes back, she’s frowning. “Why isn’t Ethan here yet?” “Every other room’s been picked up already. The host just announced couple number twenty-eight.”

Serena’s POV: Nora turns around, grabs a chocolate wedding favor off the table, unwraps it and pops it in her mouth. “Honestly though — three years ago, who would’ve guessed you’d end up marrying him?” I don’t respond. She chews slowly, eyes going distant. “You were so wrecked after Dylan. I was terrified.” “That man was something else. Made you believe he’d give you the whole damn sky. We all thought you two were a done deal.” Her voice drops. “Then Vivian showed up.” My fingers curl, just slightly. Vivian. I haven’t heard that name in a long time. Ethan and I had been together six months before he brought me home to meet his family. That’s when I found out. Dylan was his older brother. And Vivian — the woman who’d destroyed my engagement — was already his brother’s wife. I was shaking so hard I couldn’t stand. I turned to leave. Ethan grabbed my hand. His voice was barely a whisper. “Serena, give me a chance. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. What happened before — let it stay in the past. Please.” I fought it for a long time. Every time I saw Dylan and Vivian at family dinners, my stomach turned inside out. But Ethan — he was so good to me. He made sure I barely had to see them. At every gathering, he kept them away from me. He said, “You don’t have to deal with her. She’s nothing to you.” But I didn’t want to make things hard for him. He was a Moore. Vivian was his brother’s wife. Holidays, birthdays — they’d always cross paths. The better he treated me, the more guilty I felt for holding onto the past. After months of fighting myself, one night at dinner, I picked up my glass, looked at Vivian, and smiled. “To family.” Under the table, Ethan squeezed my hand. His eyes went red. From then on, I played nice. Every single time. Then Dylan died. Construction accident. There one day, gone the next. Vivian became a widow. “I wasn’t gonna bring this up on your big day,” Nora says, cutting through my thoughts with a bitter little laugh. “I’m just so mad — I couldn’t even get a spot in this wedding for me and my boyfriend, but somehow Vivian’s here too?” “And the guy she’s paired with? Some college buddy of Ethan’s who just got back from overseas — Lucas Caldwell!” “What is it with men? Do they all fall for the same type of two-faced woman?” She’s getting angrier by the second. The candy box in her hand is crushed. “Back when you and Dylan got engaged, he literally left you in front of both families — said Vivian wasn’t feeling well and needed him. And what happened? He took care of her all the way into his bed!” Her voice cracks now. “That night, you went to the bridge alone—” I lower my eyes. My lashes tremble. “If Ethan hadn’t jumped in after you—” She can’t finish. She swipes hard at her face. I hand her a tissue. “Ethan…” Nora takes it, forces a shaky smile. “He was soaking wet, shivering, lips turning blue, and he just knelt down in front of you and said, ‘Don’t be scared. I’m here.’ You didn’t even know him. Why would a total stranger do that for you?” Her voice picks up again, lighter, that survivor’s relief. “He said he understood you. Said he’d been lied to before too. Said he’d spend a lifetime helping you heal.” “You know how bad it was? You were down to nothing — barely eating, wouldn’t talk to anyone. He was the only person you’d eat for.” Nora crumples the tissue into a ball. “We all thought God sent him to save you. Three years of chasing you and he never even touched your hand. We used to joke behind his back — like, does this guy even work? But looking at it now, what kind of man can do that? He really loves you.” Her eyes are red again on those last two words. I lift my head. Look out the window. Then I laugh. Just once. “He doesn’t love me.” Nora goes still. “What did you just say?”

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Mom and Dad emptied their savings,every dollar from the last twenty years,to buy me a condo in Los Angeles. They did it over my brother Jason’s objections. I moved in with my heart full. One month later, the SCE app pinged with a new bill notification. The amount due: $15,000. I’m cooked. I drove straight to the SCE customer service center in Rosemead and asked them to pull a Usage Report. The woman behind the counter looked at the printout and shook her head. “Ma’am, your bill is system-generated. All usage data comes directly from the Smart Meter assigned to your unit. There’s no error.” To figure out what was going on, I unplugged every single appliance in the place. Fridge. Microwave. Washer-dryer combo. AC unit. Everything disconnected. I even started charging my phone at the office in Culver City. The second month’s bill came in. $15,000. I graduated from UCLA a few months ago. I’m a junior product manager at a tech startup, barely clearing six figures a year. Fifteen thousand dollars a month in electricity is more than most people’s mortgage. There’s no way I can pay this. SCE sent an Overdue Notice first. Then a Collections Warning. Then they reported it straight to the credit bureaus. My score cratered overnight,780 down to 520. With a lawsuit breathing down my neck, Mom and Dad borrowed money to bail me out. They went to a small storefront lender on Vermont Avenue. I found out later it was a predatory lender charging over 400% APR. I tried to sell the condo. But the electric bill situation had already spread through the building. Listed on Zillow for two months,not a single showing. What realtor would touch a unit with a $15,000 monthly electric bill and no explanation? Especially in a market as cold as LA’s. The bills kept stacking. I pulled every breaker in my panel. Refused to use a single watt. Sat in the dark eating cold food. Went downstairs to the 24 Hour Fitness to shower. Third month’s bill arrived. $15,000. Jason didn’t buy it. He drove over an hour from Rancho Cucamonga and stood at my door, ripping into me. “Emily, you’re nothing but an ungrateful leech. Using your electric bill as a scam to bleed Mom and Dad dry.” “They spent their entire lives getting up before dawn to run that laundromat. And this is how you repay them?” Mom and Dad gave up on me after that. Changed the locks at the house in Boyle Heights. Left me to fend for myself. Within months, the predatory loan’s compounding interest plus the SCE debt snowballed past $150,000. The collectors stopped calling. They showed up in person. In the parking structure of my own building, they beat me to death. — I open my eyes. I’m standing in the lobby of the condo building. Sunlight pours through the glass doors. The security guard at the front desk scrolls through his phone. This is moving day. After graduating from UCLA, I spent three months searching Zillow. Studio apartments at $2,200 a month. One-bedrooms at $2,800. Buying was out of the question,a fixer-upper in Boyle Heights starts at $600K. So when Mom and Dad said they wanted to buy me a condo outright, I thought it was the only shot I’d ever have at owning a home. How could I possibly say no? And now, here I am again. Dad dangles a set of keys in front of my face, that familiar warmth crinkling around his eyes. “Emily, what are you spacing out for? Don’t tell me you’re so touched you short-circuited.” “Our Emily finally has her own place! Get up there and check it out!” The memories of my death slam into me all at once. The concrete floor of the parking structure. The taste of blood in my mouth. The sound of ribs caving in under someone’s boot. A violent shudder rips through my body. I force the words out fast. “Dad! Jason just got married last month. You guys already helped him buy a house in Rancho Cucamonga.” “And now a condo for me the very next month? That’s way too much money!” “Maybe we should… return it?” Dad blinks. Then bursts out laughing. “Sweetheart, you think this is Costco? You can’t return a condo.” Mom laughs too, takes the keys from Dad’s hand, and presses them into my palm. Her hand is warm. Her grip leaves no room for argument. “Emily, whatever your brother gets, you get too.” “We don’t play favorites. That’s our bottom line. Non-negotiable.” “Your dad and I need to get back to the shop to close out the books. Go on up and see your new home.” We don’t play favorites. I push open the door with a weight sitting heavy on my chest. The condo is brand new. Dark hardwood floors. White quartz countertops. Stainless steel appliances. Even the bathroom tile is this year’s trend. The air smells like fresh paint and new furniture. Mom and Dad clearly spent serious money. They said if they were going to do it, they’d do it right. Turnkey. Move in and enjoy. I scan every inch of the unit. One bedroom, one bath, living room, kitchen. I check each room carefully. No high-draw appliances. No space heater. No server rack. No mining rig. Even if you added everything together, there’s no way it hits $15,000 a month. I open my phone. Pull up the SCE app. My brain goes white. The screen shows that since the account activated, this unit has consumed 237 kilowatt-hours. 237 kWh is what a normal American household uses in an entire month. I’ve had the keys for one hour. “That’s impossible… What the hell is going on?” I tear through everything I can find. SCE’s FAQ. Reddit’s electrical forums. Every Google result about abnormal electric bills. Anything. Any explanation at all. Then something catches my eye. A news article: “Man’s Electric Bill Triples Overnight , Turns Out His Neighbor Was Stealing Power Through the Walls” It hits me like a freight train. Of course. Last time around, I searched my own unit inch by inch. Every outlet, every wire,nothing wrong. I even pulled every single breaker in my panel, and the Smart Meter kept spinning. But if someone tapped into my electrical system from outside my unit… everything would make perfect sense. I get on Yelp and find the highest-rated licensed electrical inspection company in all of Los Angeles. A guy named Mike, runs his own firm out of Pasadena. Been in the business for decades. Mike shows up, takes one look at the building, and his expression darkens. “Ms. Rivera, auditing the electrical system of an entire building is no small job.” “I’ll need access to every single unit, which means you need written authorization from the HOA board first. And the cost,a full-building audit runs eight to ten thousand dollars, minimum. You sure you want to do this?” I check my banking app. Balance: $487.32. I clench my jaw, open Capital One, and max out my credit card. Then I download Affirm and finance the rest through Buy Now Pay Later. If I can’t spend this money now, what I’ll pay later is my life. After putting down the deposit, I spend two solid days going door to door. Knocking. Explaining. Pleading. Practically begging every neighbor to let Mike’s team in. Then I track down the HOA president,Mrs. Patterson, a woman in her sixties with hair dyed an aggressive blonde,and sweet-talk her into signing the authorization letter. Mike’s team begins the full-building audit. My heart is in my throat. Unit by unit. Floor by floor. Panel by panel. When Mike finishes the last unit on the top floor, I’m waiting for him in the hallway, eyes wide, desperate for an answer. Any answer. A mislaid wire. An illegal splice. A neighbor secretly running a grow house. Anything. As long as it explains this. But Mike just stands there. His face is grim. He lets out a long breath. “Ms. Rivera… nobody’s stealing your power. Every unit in this building is clean.” He pauses. Something close to pity flickers in his eyes. “All the usage is coming from your unit. I’m sorry… I honestly can’t explain it.” —

My eyes go wide. That’s impossible. Last time, I stripped the place bare. Not a single appliance left. Not even a USB charger. There was nothing left to draw power. This time around I haven’t gone that far, but all I’ve got running is a fridge, a washer-dryer combo, and a few LED lights. That’s 30 to 40 kWh a month, tops. There’s no universe where it hits 237 in a single hour. Mike packs up his Fluke meter and shakes his head. “Ms. Rivera, I’ve been doing this for twenty years. Never seen anything like it. I’d recommend you contact SCE and have them send a field engineer to check your Smart Meter.” He signs the invoice on his iPad and walks out without looking back. I sink to the floor. Last time, I called everyone I could think of. SCE customer service,at least twenty calls. The LA Department of Building and Safety came out twice. I filed reports with LAFD and LAPD. When I had nowhere left to turn, I called the State Attorney General’s consumer complaint hotline. Every single person told me the same thing: “We don’t see any irregularity in your account, ma’am.” Nothing. Nobody found anything. Ding-dong. The Ring doorbell chimes. A push notification lights up my screen. Jason stands in the hallway. His tie is loose, his face like a storm cloud. He must have driven over an hour from Rancho Cucamonga to get here. The second I open the door, his eyes sweep the freshly renovated interior. Every detail registers as resentment and rage. “Emily, congrats. You finally won one.” “I’ve still got twenty-eight years left on my mortgage. Four grand a month just in principal and interest. But Mom and Dad? They drop cash on a condo for you. No loan. No payments. Just here you go.” “Must feel pretty damn good, huh?” I crack a bitter smile. I don’t feel good. I feel like crying. Growing up, Mom and Dad always said “We don’t play favorites.” But Jason got Sylvan Learning Center. I taught myself at the public library. The college fund only had his name on it. Even the laundromat’s succession plan was quietly decided at the dinner table,all his. Me? I walked into the Financial Aid Office alone to figure out my student loans. The one time they actually give me something better than my brother, and it turns out to be this. SLAM. I shove the door shut. The deadbolt clicks twice. Jason kicks the door from the outside, curses his way down the hall. The elevator dings somewhere at the end of the corridor. I stare at my phone. The numbers on the SCE app are still climbing. Fast. Anger. Injustice. Hurt. Confusion. Every emotion hits at once. I dig through the coat closet by the door and pull out the sledgehammer I borrowed on moving day. CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. I swing like I’ve lost my mind. The quartz countertop. The hardwood floor. The IKEA PAX wardrobe. The Casper mattress and its frame. Mike says it’s my power? Fine. I’ll smash everything to pieces. I’ll find whatever’s pulling electricity if it kills me. Shrapnel bites into my skin. Sharp, searing pain. I don’t feel it. I just keep swinging. When there’s nothing left to break, I pull out my phone with trembling hands. The SCE app reads: 2,500 kWh. “How is this possible?” The place is destroyed. Everything reduced to rubble. But the number keeps climbing. I refuse to accept this. I post an emergency ad on Craigslist,$500 cash for someone to tear out the walls. Two hours later, three day laborers show up. Two Mexican guys and a young Guatemalan, picked up straight from the Home Depot parking lot. They brought their own tools. Nothing left in the apartment. Electricity still surging. Maybe the answer is inside the walls. They work the entire day. Kitchen. Bedroom. Bathroom. Every partition wall demolished. The unit is gutted. Nothing remains but bare wooden stud frames and four load-bearing walls. Shredded drywall hangs in strips. Wires dangle from gaps in the ceiling like a nest of dead snakes. I stand in the wreckage, hands shaking, and open my phone. This time. It has to stop. The SCE app number is still climbing. Ice floods my veins from the base of my spine to the top of my skull. —

This time, it isn’t just me. All three day laborers are staring at the screen, passing my phone between them. One of the Mexican guys mutters in Spanish,”Esto es imposible”,then switches to English. “Lady, there’s literally nothing left in here. How the hell is it still pulling juice?” The Guatemalan kid crosses himself, barely above a whisper. “Señorita… tal vez este lugar está maldito.” Maybe this place is cursed. He doesn’t finish the sentence. The other two are already packing up their tools. No invoice. They don’t even collect the full $500. All three file out single-file. The last one through the door makes the sign of the cross on the doorframe. I stare at the hollow shell of the condo. Bare studs. Dangling wires. Debris everywhere. Nothing but despair. I grew up in America. I studied engineering at UCLA. I have never believed in the supernatural. But right now, I can’t think of another explanation. What am I supposed to do? Am I going to drown in six figures of debt all over again? Ding-dong. The Ring doorbell. This time it’s Mom and Dad. They’re standing at the door holding two Whole Foods bags, all smiles. Inside: my favorite avocados and a box of Porto’s guava cheese pastries. “Emily, it’s been crazy at the shop. A new employee ruined a customer’s Armani suit in the wash,cost us two grand. We just now got a chance to come see you.” “So? How’s the new place? Feeling settled in?” I let out a hollow laugh. Don’t answer. They peer past me into the unit. The smiles freeze on their faces. Dad pushes through the door. He takes in the rubble, the exposed stud frames, and goes rigid. “We paid for turnkey! How did it end up like this? It looks worse than a fixer-upper!” I pull out my phone, open the SCE app, and hand it to them. The color drains from both their faces. Dad kicks a half-broken IKEA chair across the floor. “That goddamn realtor! I knew we shouldn’t have trusted him! Emily, don’t worry,Dad’s going to handle this. I’ll report him to the BBB myself!” Mom doesn’t say a word. She quietly pulls a roll of Bounty and some Hefty trash bags out of the grocery bag, kneels down, and starts picking up debris. Watching her small frame bent over that wreckage, I can’t hold it together anymore. Last time, I dragged them down with me. Pushed them straight into the arms of a predatory lender to cover my debts. I will not let that happen again. I pick through the bedroom rubble until I find a pen and a blank sheet of printer paper. I start writing my Last Will and Testament. If I can’t figure out the cause, the condo goes to the LA County Public Administrator after I die. Donated to Habitat for Humanity. That way, no matter how high the bills climb, none of it touches Mom and Dad. I’m halfway through when something catches my eye under the remains of the desk. A length of Romex wire. Yellow sheathing. 12-gauge. This wire has no business being here. The condo’s circuits all run from the breaker panel through the ceiling and down into the walls. There is no legitimate wiring path under a desk. My heart slams against my ribs. Could this be it? The source of everything? I grab the wire and pull, trying to trace where it leads. No matter how hard I tug, I can’t reach the end. “Emily, what are you doing?” Mom’s voice. Right behind me. I spin around. Her eyes are locked on the yellow wire in my hand. That warm, Whole-Foods-bag-carrying mother expression is gone. Replaced by something cold. Something I’ve never seen on her face before. A knot tightens in my gut. A terrible thought, still shapeless, begins to form. I force a smile. Keep my voice light. “Just tidying up the bedroom, Mom. Didn’t want you doing all the cleanup by yourself.” Mom studies me for a long beat. Then she snatches the wire from my hand, shoves it back into the rubble, and grabs my arm to pull me out of the bedroom. “You need rest, Emily. You’ve been running yourself ragged.” I try to circle around her, back toward the wire. She’s faster. She plants herself between me and the rubble, both hands clamping around my wrists like a pair of vice grips. Her strength is terrifying,way more than a woman her size should have. The look on her face. The way she’s blocking me. The panic inside me swells. Why does she keep stopping me from checking that wire? What is she hiding? The memories of my death crash through me again. Concrete floor. Blood in my mouth. The wet crack of bone under someone’s heel. Something in me snaps. I wrench free of her grip, grab the yellow Romex wire, and yank with everything I have. The next second, my pupils shrink to pinpoints. —

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I spent two years as a human guinea pig for three pharmaceutical companies while selling my blood three times a week at a private blood bank. I finally scraped together the 800,000 dollars for my daughter’s bone marrow transplant. But on the day the hospital tried to deduct the surgical deposit, my account balance read zero. At the same time, a new post appeared on the Instagram of my husband’s first love, Tiffany. Thanks to a certain someone for buying me this ruby bracelet~ It’s a one-of-a-kind piece from the auction house worth $800,000, but all I have to do is show the slightest interest and he’ll buy it for me~ That day, I called Abner ninety-nine times. He didn’t pick up. All he sent was one cold message: Tiffany had a heart episode. I was just comforting her. Angel’s not going to die from waiting a few more days. I’ll have the hospital schedule the surgery next month. But Angel didn’t make it to next month. At three in the morning, she died in my arms. I held my daughter’s body and sent him one final message. Abner, I want a divorce. … It was already dark by the time I walked out of the private blood bank. The crook of my arm was riddled with needle marks—ugly, angry, grotesque. Two years. Between selling blood and enrolling in high-risk clinical trials at three different pharmaceutical companies, I had finally scraped together the 800,000-dollar deposit for Angel’s bone marrow transplant. My fingers trembled violently as I transferred the money into the designated account. The pain and weakness from chronic blood loss crashed over me in waves, but in that moment, the only thing I felt was hope. Yet the first call that came wasn’t the hospital telling me Angel’s surgery was a success. It was a nurse on the line: “Mrs. Anna, the deposit deduction failed. Insufficient account balance.” I froze. Fumbling, I opened my banking app. The number on the screen was a clean, merciless zero. Then I saw the new post on Tiffany’s Instagram. Thanks to a certain someone for buying me this ruby bracelet~ It’s a one-of-a-kind piece from the auction house worth $800,000, but all I have to do is show the slightest interest and he’ll buy it for me~ In the photo, a blood-red bracelet sat delicately against her slender wrist. I nearly lost my mind. The money I’d earned selling my own blood—my husband had taken it, without a word to me, to buy jewelry for his mistress. That was my daughter’s lifeline! I called Abner. He picked up quickly, his voice tired and impatient: “It’s Tiffany’s birthday. She’s been running herself ragged over the merger acquisition for the group, and today she worked herself into another heart episode. The least I can do is show some gratitude. Angel’s condition isn’t new—a few more days won’t kill her. I’ll arrange the surgery next month.” The hatred inside me drove me to the edge of collapse. I needed an explanation—I refused to let this go. I screamed at him, demanding to know why he’d touched that account. His tone was righteous, unapologetic: “You’re my wife. What’s yours is mine. What’s the big deal if I use it? You—” I hung up before he could finish. I had no strength left to fight. Angel lay in her hospital bed, every strand of hair long gone, her small fingers tugging at my sleeve, her voice full of expectation. “Mommy, when is Daddy coming? He promised to bring me that talking bunny doll…” I held her, burying my face against her tiny shoulder, breathing in the smell of disinfectant and IV fluid and, underneath it all, a faint trace of warm, milky sweetness. My eyes betrayed me and filled with tears. They were the only answer I could give. Just then, a text from Abner came through: Anna, if Tiffany’s father hadn’t saved me and my dad back then, the Byron family would have been finished. I can’t be ungrateful. You’re my wife—why can’t you just be understanding? Tiffany’s message followed right behind it— Anna~ Abner says you’re upset? I actually told him not to buy anything that expensive, but he insisted. You know how stubborn he is. How about I ask him to return the bracelet? Oh wait, I don’t think jewelry can be returned lol. Don’t be mad~ Worst case I’ll just give you the bracelet, though I’m not sure you’d still want it after it’s been on me~ The double meaning was impossible to miss. After all—wasn’t Abner himself a man she’d already had her hands on? I closed every message. A notification from the clinical trial center popped up: Mrs. Anna, the Phase III drug trial you enrolled in enters its final stage next week. Based on your current health indicators, continued participation poses severe risk. We advise withdrawal. I closed that too. At three in the morning, Angel’s cardiac monitor erupted in a shrill, piercing alarm. When I rushed in, she managed a smile for me, slowly lifting her hand as if trying to reach for mine. I knelt on the floor outside the resuscitation room, praying with every shred of my being, tears pouring down my face, my heart fracturing with every second. They worked on her for forty minutes. The doctor pulled down his mask and shook his head. My world collapsed entirely. I gathered my daughter’s still-warm body into my arms and sat motionless until dawn, as though my soul had been hollowed out completely. Every last trace of warmth inside me had gone cold. I shifted my numb body and sent Abner one final message— Abner, I want a divorce.

After sending the message, I used the last bit of money left in my pocket to purchase a double burial plot for me and Angel. Without Angel, I had no reason to go on living. When I stepped out of the morgue after finishing the paperwork, I ran into Abner in the corridor. He was helping Tiffany out of the elevator. She’d twisted her ankle, and he was crouching down to massage her foot, his expression focused and tender. I had just come from the morgue. The smell of that place clung to me, mingled with the chemical stench that seeped from my pores after years of drug trials. My hair was a tangled mess. I was gaunt beyond recognition. I watched the scene in front of me in silence and found, miraculously, that it didn’t hurt anymore. Perhaps my heart had already died alongside Angel. When Abner walked past carrying Tiffany, he brushed against me, frowned, and stepped aside. He didn’t recognize me. He even muttered something disgusted under his breath. It was Tiffany who recognized me. “Abner, I think the person you bumped into is Anna. You should apologize to your wife.” There was a subtle condescension laced through her tone. “Put me down, quick—before Anna gets jealous and throws another tantrum at you.” Abner said nothing. He didn’t put her down. He glanced back at me, his brow furrowed tight. “Anna, what happened to you? You look like—” His frown deepened. Tiffany finished his sentence for him: “Anna, why do you look like some stray dog that’s been thrown out? And what is that smell?” “Abner is a man of status, you know. Walking around like this—are you trying to embarrass him on purpose?” Tiffany’s words made Abner’s expression turn ice-cold. “If you’re doing this to disgust me, then congratulations. You’ve succeeded.” The revulsion on his face was unconcealed. The smell on me was from holding Angel’s body through the entire night. But Angel’s own father found it repulsive—sickening, even. A nurse passing by glanced at me curiously, then caught sight of Abner and Tiffany and let out a small gasp. “Isn’t that Mr. Byron! I’ve always admired the love between you and Miss Tiffany!” All these years, Abner had never once acknowledged my or Angel’s existence in public. He said the Byron family was in a critical period of expansion, that there were many enemies, and that we needed to pretend we had no connection to him—for our own protection. Yet he openly doted on Tiffany, took her to parties, brought her to family dinners. When people called Tiffany “Mrs. Byron,” he never corrected them. Not once. I looked into his eyes. He hesitated for less than a second. “Oh, thank you. I’m sure you’ll find a love of your own someday.” So he had never been afraid of any enemies. He was simply ashamed of me and Angel. We were an embarrassment to him. After the nurse left, he finally set Tiffany down and leaned in close, lowering his voice: “Anna, I didn’t mean it. But look at yourself—how could I possibly tell anyone you’re my wife?” “You know the company is expanding right now. This—this is humiliating.” Tiffany stood beside him with her hand over her mouth, laughing theatrically. “Anna, look at you, dressed like a homeless person. If people found out you were Abner’s wife, they’d probably pull out of their deals.” My gaze fell to the ruby bracelet on her wrist. Eight hundred thousand dollars. My blood. My life. My daughter’s life—traded for that eight hundred thousand. My eyes went red. I lunged toward her. But before I even touched her, she shrieked, clutching her chest and stumbling backward. “Abner! She’s going to hit me! My heart can’t take this—” Slap. Abner struck me across the face almost instantly, so hard that I slammed into the fire hydrant mounted on the wall. The back of my skull cracked against it and blood began to trickle down. He pulled Tiffany into his arms, then grabbed a fistful of my hair and dragged me into the corner. “Have you lost your mind! You know Tiffany has a heart condition! Do you just have to bully her! Is that it!” My phone slipped from my pocket. The screen was lit—a confirmation text from the cemetery: Your daughter’s double burial plot has been confirmed. Plot number C-0237. Abner glanced at it. The color drained from his face. He shoved me hard against the wall. “Anna, what the hell are you up to now! To compete with Tiffany for my attention, you’d actually use your own daughter as a curse! Have you no shame at all!”

With that, he turned away in disgust, tossing back a single sentence: “Deal with Angel’s situation yourself. As punishment, I’ll wait until Tiffany is stable before I come see you two.” I leaned against the wall, blood trickling down from the back of my skull. Angel’s last words echoed in my ears, over and over. “Mommy, don’t cry. Angel doesn’t need Daddy anymore. I just need you, Mommy…” I couldn’t afford even the cheapest painkillers. All I could do was clench my teeth against the agony radiating through my body and drag myself to handle Angel’s arrangements. I’d scraped together just enough for the remaining balance on the burial plot, but when I reached the counter, the bank card was declined again. I opened my banking app. Another zero. I called Abner. His voice was all fury: “You scared Tiffany into nearly having a heart attack yesterday. I brought in a specialist for a consultation. The fee came out of the family account. Do you have a problem with that?” I had no tears left. “Give me the money back. That was Angel’s—” “I told you I’ll handle Angel’s affairs!” He cut me off, then his tone suddenly shifted. “What about you, though—why did you stop going to that research institute job? They contacted me, said they recommended terminating your contract, but expected me to pay the penalty.” I went rigid. The clinical trial center had reached out to him. “They said the pay was quite good, but that your body couldn’t handle it anymore.” He paused, a note of mockery creeping into his voice. “But you look fine to me. And since you love money so much, I put in a word for you—told them you’d show up next week as scheduled.” My lips began to tremble. If I went back there, it would kill me. But I didn’t say it. In two years, I had never once told him what “clinical trials” actually meant. High pay meant high risk. Human testing for high-risk experimental drugs was, in essence, selling my life for money. The side effects had already hollowed out my liver and kidneys. My bone density had plummeted. My clotting function was in chaos. But I knew that even if I explained, he wouldn’t listen. He would only think I was making it up to compete with his precious Tiffany for attention. “Be a good girl. Go to the institute, cooperate with the tests. Might do you some good—clear out all that nonsense in your head.” His tone softened. “Once Tiffany’s condition stabilizes, I’ll come see you and Angel.” The line went dead. A message from the trial center followed immediately: Mrs. Anna, Mr. Abner has confirmed your continued participation in the Phase III project on your behalf. Please note: given your current liver and kidney indicators and overall health status, the risk level for this round of trials has been elevated to the highest category. The morgue attendant was pressing me too: “Ma’am, your daughter’s remains can only be preserved for seventy-two hours. Please complete the arrangements as soon as possible.” I checked the compensation for continuing the drug trial. It was exactly enough to cover the remaining balance on the double burial plot—enough to let me and my precious Angel be laid to rest together. So I replied to the trial center’s message. Received. I’ll be there on time. Then let this body—already rotted through by chemicals—buy me and Angel a place where we can finally sleep in peace.

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“Stop! I said stop… I’m old enough to be your mother, you insufferable—ahh…” “Then teach me, my lady.” He pins my wrists above my head with one hand, my own Rosary beads tangled between his fingers and mine, and tilts my chin up with the other, forcing me to look at him. Twenty-five years old. Jaw carved from marble. Eyes dark with fever and want. *Want.* For me. A woman of forty-nine with aching knees and grey at her temples. “Blessed Virgin… this is a mortal sin… I’m going to burn in Hell for this…” “Then we burn together.” His pace is relentless. “I hate you,” I whimper. “You’re dripping down my thighs.” “I *hate* you!” “I’m not stopping until you scream.” I scream. Three times. — I am the Dowager Countess of Everwood. I came to rescue my granddaughter from an abduction. Instead, I ran headlong into the Lord Protector of the realm—drugged out of his mind and burning alive with poison. He pinned me down. One catastrophic night later: Me: ??? The Lord Protector: ??? — In my previous life, my granddaughter Eleanor was violated before her wedding. After the marriage, her husband bled her dry—funneled her entire dowry into his debts and made her raise his mistress’s bastard as her own. In the end, she was sent to a convent. She spent the rest of her days behind those cold stone walls, watching the man who destroyed her live a respectable life with another woman, raising children that should have been hers. No one came to visit. No one came to mourn when she died. Then I wake up. And I’m back. Back to the weeks before Eleanor’s wedding. I can’t stand by and watch history repeat itself. My legs ache—they always ache—but I grab my walking stick, and in the dead of night, I climb the stone steps up the hill to the abbey. I shove open the heavy oak door of the guest quarters. “Eleanor! I’m here, my child. I won’t let that beast lay a finger on you!” I remember it clearly. Last time, Eleanor went to St. Andrew’s Abbey for Mass, and the Lord Protector’s wretched attendant snatched her, dragged her to his master’s chambers, and threw her to him like medicine for a fever. Except—I’m early. The attendant hasn’t taken Eleanor yet. I’m the one the Lord Protector catches instead. A bare, scorching torso presses against me from behind. “So hot… help me…” God have mercy. I lost my husband at thirty. Nearly twenty years without a man’s touch. And now a boy barely past twenty-five has his arms locked around me like a vice. I grip my walking stick. My voice shakes. “Un—unhand me! I am the Dowager Countess of Everwood!” “Let go of me this instant—I’m old enough to be your *grandmother* in rank!” Roland of Leonhart. The Lord Protector of the realm. Forged in military campaigns, built like a battering ram, a face all hard angles and sharp authority. He commands the kingdom’s armies, controls the Privy Council, holds more power than any man alive. My words don’t make him let go. They make him tip my chin up with his fingers and seal his mouth over mine. “Shh… what are you mumbling about…” “Mmm… the scent on you… it’s… calming. Makes me feel safe…” Of course it does. Years of kneeling in chapel have soaked frankincense into my very skin. The rest is parchment and iron-gall ink from copying scripture. Naturally calming. But that is *not the point.* The point is: my name day is next month, and I will be *fifty years old.* I probably smell like dust and old lavender sachets. And he’s still kissing me? Blessed Virgin, how long has this man been starved? “Let… let go of me…” I thrash. My walking stick clatters onto the stone floor. But what chance does a woman pushing fifty have against a young man built like a warhorse? He scoops me up with one arm and sets me on the oak table. A heartbeat later, my flailing hands are bound—with my own Rosary. His voice, low and raw, rumbles against my ear. “Be good. Give yourself to me. I’ll take responsibility…” Holy Mother of God, that makes it *worse.* If he takes responsibility, how do I explain this to Henry—dead twenty years? To my thirty-two-year-old son? To my sixteen-year-old grandson and fifteen-year-old granddaughter??? What am I supposed to say? *Children, Grandmother found you a new grandfather. He’s twenty-five.* “I’d rather you just killed me.” His breath drops an octave. “My little witch… that can be arranged…” He rips the lacing clean off my kirtle. Strips of linen chemise fly everywhere and I—I lose my mind. “THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT!” —

So. A woman of nearly fifty, ravished by the Lord Protector of the realm. All night long. Thank God I’ve taken care of myself. Tisanes, hippocras, regular walks up the hill to the abbey for Mass. Decades of discipline. Otherwise, he truly would have killed me. Somewhere around midnight, a knock sounds at the door. “Your Grace, the girl’s here. To help you break the fever.” What he hears in response is… not conversation. The sounds coming from inside that room are deeply, profoundly improper. Roland doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down. Just turns his head and snarls: “Get out!” The attendant’s voice brightens with understanding. “Ah—Your Grace already has… company. I’ll return the young lady at once.” I try to call for help. “S-save… save me…” Roland clamps a hand over my mouth. “Don’t scream. I’ll have you begging soon enough.” He is… formidable. More formidable than Henry was on our wedding night thirty-four years ago. And Henry had been a young man then. We married at sixteen. By twenty-five, Henry was already flagging. By thirty, he left me altogether—went to meet his Maker. This kind of vigor? I’ve only ever read about it in those courtly romances. Lancelot, Tristan—none of them hold a candle. The pleasure is like nothing I’ve ever known. “How… how is this even possible???” Roland’s voice, husky and amused, brushes my ear. “You’re enjoying it too. Aren’t you?” That night, we are utterly shameless. The Rosary snaps. Beads scatter across the linen sheets, clicking softly, catching the firelight. That Rosary—my most treasured possession. Blessed by Father Benedict’s own hand. I used it every single day in prayer. At first, I can’t fight him. Later, I don’t want to. It is… magnificent. I never imagined—not at my age, with one foot already in the grave—that I could feel something like this. But beneath the bliss, a cold thread of worry coils in my chest. This man controls the kingdom. The Everwoods are respectable, yes, but we are no great house. If Roland decides to destroy us, it takes nothing more than a stroke of his pen. I can’t drag my family into this. So when he finally falls asleep, I peel myself free of his arms and slip away. The damage he’s done to my body is… considerable. I can barely stand. My walking stick trembles against the flagstones with every step. The stone stairs down the hillside are a special kind of torture. My legs buckle. My hips scream. The stick skids on the steps three separate times, and each time I nearly pitch forward into empty air. Somehow—somehow—I make it to the bottom. Agnes, my lady’s maid, waits by the carriage. “Milady, Lady Eleanor was returned safely. I’ve been waiting ages. You look dreadful—did something happen?” Eleanor is safe. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Agnes is still staring at me. I wave her off. “Nothing happened. I dozed off in the guest quarters, that’s all. Lost track of time.” “Eleanor’s safe. That’s what matters. Take me home.” In the carriage, I clench my hands together, close my eyes, and pray. *Holy Mary, have mercy on me… Holy Mary, have mercy on me…* Let no one ever learn of this. Not in this life. Not ever. But my mind won’t cooperate. It keeps replaying—his face, the breadth of his shoulders, the relentless way he moved— Henry. I try to summon Henry’s face. My husband. We were betrothed as children, married at sixteen, parted by death at thirty. I never remarried. Nearly twenty years. I swore at his coffin that no man would ever touch me again. Twenty years, I kept that vow. I thought Henry would be the only man I’d ever have. And now—practically in my grave—twenty years of faithfulness, shattered in a single night. “Henry… God rest your soul… I’m so sorry…” —

Back at the manor, I order the servants to fill the wooden tub with hot water in my bedchamber. No one stays in the room. I want to scrub this night off my skin. If I scrub hard enough, maybe it never happened. But the marks on my body tell a different story. They’re everywhere. Vivid proof of just how… vigorous he was. At my age. Nearly fifty years old. Handled like that. Heat crawls up my neck. My cheeks burn. I cross myself quickly and hiss under my breath: “Margaret Everwood, *shame on you.* You’re practically ancient. Stop thinking about it.” That night, I dream of Henry. He has his hands around my throat. “Margaret, you broke your vow!” “You swore on my coffin! You said there’d be no other man! You said we’d be buried together in the family crypt!” “I’ve been waiting for you in Heaven for twenty years. You won’t come down, fine—but you found yourself a twenty-five-year-old *lover?*” I grovel. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Henry—I didn’t mean to break my vow.” “He was too strong! I was forced, I swear—” Then Roland appears out of nowhere, wraps an arm around my waist, and pulls me upright before I can bow again. He kicks Henry square in the chest. Henry vanishes. “You’re a dead man. The living are none of your concern.” Then Roland covers my ears with his palms. Gently. Like I’m something fragile. “Margaret. Ignore that old ghost. Everything he said is nonsense. You deserve the finest man in the world.” I stare up at him, stunned. “The… finest man in the world?” That’s clearly himself he’s talking about. The audacity. I punch his chest. “Shameless! Absolutely shameless!” He tilts my chin up. Forces me to meet his eyes. “You love it when I’m shameless.” He kisses me. I wake drenched in sweat. Burning up. It’s barely spring. There’s no reason for this heat. “Agnes—draw a bath. Now.” The marks Roland left on my neck are impossible to hide. I lock myself in my chambers for days, waiting for them to fade. The official story: I caught a chill climbing to the abbey and came down with a fever. Eleanor is a good girl. Even when I refuse visitors, she comes to the door of my private chapel every morning to ask after me. Days pass. Agnes knocks gently. “Milady, Lady Eleanor came to see you again at first light. Shall I still turn her away?” I glance at the window. Pale light. Quiet grounds. No strangers at the gate. No one has come looking for me. Maybe it’s over. “Let her in. Tell her I’m much better.” Agnes beams. “Right away!” A moment later, Eleanor bursts through the door and throws herself around my legs. “Grandmother! You’re finally seeing me!” “I thought—I thought you were angry because I snuck out that day and you had to come all the way up the mountain to find me!” “I’m so sorry! It was my fault—I nearly got taken by those awful men! If you hadn’t come for me—” “Geoffrey would have been so upset!” Geoffrey Montfort. Eleanor’s betrothed since childhood. Heir to the Montfort duchy. A young knight who just earned his spurs before the king last year. The kind of man who rides off to the northern front the morning after his wedding. Leaving Eleanor alone to manage a crumbling estate. While he keeps a mistress across the border. Gets her pregnant. And the worst part? The entire Montfort household knows. They blame Eleanor for failing to produce an heir, then force her to raise the bastard under the polite fiction of a “ward.” —

Eleanor pours her dowry into the duchy’s debts. She raises her husband’s illegitimate child with patience and grace. She waits seven years. When Geoffrey finally returns from the wars, the first thing he does is petition the Ecclesiastical Court for an annulment—citing consanguinity, some thread of distant cousinship—so he can marry his mistress. And in open court, he announces that the child Eleanor raised as her own is his bastard. Always was. By then, the Everwoods are nothing. Our influence has withered, our halls stand empty, and not a single soul bothers to pay a courtesy call. Eleanor has no protector. She can’t fight a man riding the crest of military glory. She endures it in silence. Then she collapses. No one visits. No one sends for a physician. She lies alone in an empty room and closes her eyes for the last time. And I—her grandmother—live long enough to watch her buried. Every time I think about Geoffrey kneeling at the altar, playing the pious knight, when he was calculating how to strip us bare from the very beginning—every vow he made before God, a lie—my hands shake so badly I want to wrap them around his throat. But the Eleanor standing before me right now doesn’t know any of this. She doesn’t know her betrothed is a devil wearing a saint’s mask. I can’t tell her. Not yet. So I take her hands and smile. “Ellie, you’re still so young. And you’re my only granddaughter. I can’t bear to let you go just yet.” “Stay with me a little longer. Two more years. Can you do that?” Here’s what I know from the last life: the Montforts are drowning. That’s why Geoffrey pushes for the wedding. Once Eleanor arrives with her dowry, he’s free to ride north and chase glory. If I delay the marriage by two years, the Montforts won’t last six months. Their rot will show through for the whole world to see. Let’s see them come knocking on our door then. Eleanor blushes and nods, sweet as ever. “I want to stay with you too. If you hadn’t come for me that night, I don’t know what would’ve happened!” “Dear Grandmother, you saved my life. I’ll do whatever you say. I’ll write to Geoffrey right now and tell him the wedding is postponed!” I pull her into my arms. “My dear girl. I haven’t loved you for nothing.” As long as Eleanor never sets foot in that den of wolves, she’ll never suffer what she suffered before. And if that nest of vipers goes bankrupt in the meantime? That’s not our problem. My son Thomas and his wife Catherine are thrilled when they hear the news. They come to see me together that evening. Thomas sits down and gets straight to the point. “Mother, did you hear something? Everyone’s whispering that the Montforts are practically ruined. The old duke’s war reputation is the only thing keeping up appearances. Their estate income can’t even cover household expenses—apparently the servants haven’t received their wages or livery allowances in months, and the pantry’s nearly bare. Eleanor insists on honoring the betrothal, but she’d be walking straight into misery.” Catherine nods, her brow creased with worry. “Eleanor is my only daughter. I won’t watch her suffer.” “This is perfect timing, Mother. Give it a couple of years, once Eleanor’s gotten over her stubbornness, we’ll find her a family that actually deserves her. She can stay right here by your side. Wouldn’t that be better?” Seeing them both on my side warms my old bones more than any fire. “Good. I’m glad we’re all in agreement.” Henry and I only had Thomas. I adored him from the day he drew breath. When his father died, Thomas was twelve. I raised him alone. His wife Catherine is a distant relation of mine—a merchant’s daughter, yes, but from a wealthy house. She’s gentle-natured, pious, well-mannered. A perfect match for my honest, upright son. In the previous life, Catherine and I nearly bankrupted ourselves for Eleanor. My dower. Catherine’s remaining dowry funds. We poured everything we had into keeping that girl afloat in the Montfort household. That’s the real reason the Everwoods fell so fast. This time, we will *not* let those leeches bleed us dry. —

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My husband and my three brothers dug out my heart for their favorite sister. I drink the prenatal supplement Jade gives me. Seconds later, my stomach folds in on itself, as if someone’s twisting a rope inside me. “C-section. We have to do a C-section,”Dr. Ethan Hart—my oldest brother, also　the best cardiac surgeon in Fairmont—says I need an emergency C-section. My husband Julian Price screams, “Save her! I only want my wife!” My three brothers crowd around me. Their eyes are red. “Just sleep, Ivy, it’ll stop hurting. We have the best doctors, the best medicine.” When the pain is at its worst, I feel ridiculously lucky that the people who love me are right here. Until I overhear them outside the door while I’m waiting for anesthesia. Ethan’s voice carries a note of excitement I don’t like. “Ivy’s healthy, her blood type and age match. It’s a rare chance—let’s harvest her heart and transplant it to Jade.” Marcus agrees—my second brother. “I’ll arrange people to destroy the evidence. Ivy will never find out.” Oliver chimes in—my third brother. “I’ll formulate a targeted medication. Even if Ivy gets a bad heart, she won’t suffer.” After a beat, My Husband Julian exhales like a man unburdened. “Jade really needs a good heart to fulfill her dance dreams. As for Ivy… we’ll compensate her later. I’ll sign the consent now.” It’s like a bucket of ice dumped over me. My heart already feels like someone is carving it out of my chest with a dull knife. Then a voice rings inside my head—familiar and utterly foreign—a cold electronic chime: [ALERT: Host life at risk.] [FINAL CONFIRMATION: Do you wish to forfeit all rewards and remain in this world?] I laugh through my tears. This time, their counterfeit love can’t chain me anymore. — I try to roll off the bed. But a nurse shoves a tube down my throat and into my nose. Anesthesia floods my body. Before the darkness swallows me, I see Jade—accentuated and rehearsed in her pity—being wheeled in. The foster sister they adore now, and the one who poisoned my baby. Ethan holds his scalpel. He speaks coldly to the nurse: “Don’t bother with the dead fetus. Take her heart out and transplant it into Jade.” I feel the blade slice through my skin, layer by layer. Right before I lose consciousness, I hear him whisper. “Hold on, Jade. When you wake, you can shine on stage.”

When I come to, the first thing I do is ask *The System* what it said. “As long as my body dies,” I ask, “I can go back to my original world. My heart disease will be cured. And I’ll get a hundred million dollars. Correct?” [Correct.] How ridiculous—when I first agreed to come this world to redeem four men, it was because I couldn’t afford treatment for my heart disease.Fifteen years later, those same four men repay me back a bad heart again. I don’t hesitate to rip the oxygen tube out. To make me die faster. Breathing becomes harder. My throat clamps shut. My face turns purple. I am moments from suffocating. A small, humorless smile lifts my lips. Good. I won’t have to stay here and face their fake love anymore. The heart monitor explodes into red lights and a keening alarm. My three brothers and Julian burst into the room with a pack of nurses, bellowing, “Ivy!!” Ethan does CPR, he wants to save me. He puts the tube back in. Then he roars with bloodshot eyes. “Are you insane?! Why did you pull out your tube? It’s just a lost baby—don’t give up on your life!” I clutch at the hollow ragged pain where my heart should be and scrape out a voice. “I only lost a baby?” Julian collapses to his knees and keeps slapping his own face. “It’s my fault. I asked Jade to give you that medication. thought it would help the pregnancy. I didn’t know you were allergic…The toxins hit your heart. But Ethan’s the best cardiac surgeon in the country—he can fix you. We can have more children.” Julian crawls toward me on his knees. His eyes are wet. He grabs my hand. “I already punished the pharmacist who made the mistake. She’ll never work again. Don’t blame Jade, don’t blame yourself. we love you.” When I don’t answer, Marcus speaks. His voice is hoarse. “I’ve contacted hospitals overseas. We’ll find a matching heart.” Oliver pats my shoulder gently. “I’ll prepare the targeted medication. You’ll breathe like a normal person again. You’ll run and jump.” I feel nothing but so cold. They want to sweep it all under the rug. Jade poisoned me. Killed my baby. And now they’re planning to steal my heart. I let out a bitter laugh. I look at the four men surrounding my bed. “Where’s Jade? I’ll go see her myself.” Ethan frowns. “You’re still blaming her? She had a heart attack from the guilt. Lucky we found a donor just in time.” Oliver, the brother who used to spoil me the most, quickly adds. “Darling, Don’t cause trouble. Ethan will fix Jade, and he’ll fix you too.” I snort. “Really? Both surgeries, at the same time? My heart breaks, and Jade just happens to find a donor?” The room goes silent. “Ivy…”Ethan opens his mouth and closes it again. I’m tired of their lies. “Go check on Jade if you want. I’m glad she’s well.” They freeze, looking for something to say; I pull the blanket over my face. When I peek out again, they are gone. But Julian hesitates at the door and then stays. His shame is thick in his eyes. I smile at him. “Go see her. Come back and tell me how she’s doing.” Then he leaves without another word. When the house is finally empty, I breathe out and fumble for my phone. *The System* promised me one wish if I helped it meet its KPI. Right before I went into surgery, I traded my System wish for two video clips. I watch the videos until my vision blurs—over and over— I watch them plan how to steal my heart. How my eldest brother methodically stripped it out and painstakingly placed it into Jade. A chill runs through me. And then I am glad I didn’t die just now. Because leaving so easily would have been too kind for them.

During my hospital stay, one of them stays with me every day. But they always leave in a hurry. I think they are busy. Then one day I need to use the bathroom. No one is around. I drag my IV pole and slowly make my way down the hall. I pass a room. Through the window, I see Julian Price—the man who said he had an urgent meeting—feeding a dumpling into Jade’s mouth. My three brothers are in the room too. They watch her with soft, doting eyes. Ethan’s voice is helpless but fond. “Jade, you can’t go stuffing yourself just because you’re better. Those dumplings are too greasy.” Jade bats at his white coat and pouts. She complains with the exact touch of a spoiled child. “But Marcus made them for me. They’re too good to resist.” Then she complains again. “You guys crowd around me every day. It’s so annoying. I can’t even sneak a snack without someone catching me.” My nails dig into my palms. I laugh at myself. For days my meals have been nothing but plain rice porridge I’ve ordered myself. No one noticed. No one asked. Jade, meanwhile, has hot dishes hand-delivered by Marcus. I turn around. My legs feel like lead. Then I hear two nurses whispering outside the break room. “The patient I’m taking care of? I think this one is the real sister. Dr. Hart was explicit—just give anther one IV fluids and keep her alive. If Miss Jade has severe rejection, that one be ready to replace her whole blood.” My body clamps shut. The scar lines across my chest and belly feel like they’re tearing open; pain crawls through my limbs. How did it come to this? When I first came to this world, my body was weak. I was sick all the time. Another critical condition notice. Another brush with death. I remember being the child who if I so much as bumped my knee. Ethan learned medicine to take better care of me. Marcus and Oliver were the same. Marcus hustled to build businesses so we could afford treatments; Oliver buried himself in pharmaceutics to make my medicines less bitter. When I was on the edge of death, they prostrated themselves at famous temple and pray for a protective charm to me. To bring me good karma, they even saved an orphan named Julian Price from the snow. Everyone in Fairmont knows the Hart family’s daughter is blessed: three brothers who dote on their fragile little sister, and her fiancé is the CEO of a tech giant. I was an orphan. I craved that love more than anything. After I finished the mission I even refused the reward—I just wanted to stay and be loved by them. Then Jade arrived. The day they brought her home, the brothers swore over me. “She looks so much like our mother. She has the same heart condition. We can’t ignore her.” “Don’t worry. Adopting her will bring you more good karma. You’re still our love and only.” I believed them. I really tried to accept her. To be kind I gave up my room. Every time my brothers came back from a business trip, I reminded them to buy her a gift too. I felt sorry she couldn’t go places because of her heart. So every time Julian and I went on a date, I brought her along. Slowly, Jade sank into the family. She learned to whine for gifts. She play-fought with Julian. She fit right in. But somewhere along the way, something shifted. When Jade fell in front of me, Ethan’s first question was, “Did you push her?” One time Marcus cooked, he made all of Jade’s favorite foods. Oliver’s research goal became—develop a targeted drug for Jade’s heart. Even Julian, when we argued, would throw out, “Why can’t you be more like your sister? Learn to be softer!” And then… they plotted to steal my heart. All for her. The emotions surge back. My heart feels like someone is ripping it out again. I try to move faster. I want to leave this place. But I’m too weak. My legs give out. I fall. The wounds on my chest and abdomen split open. Pain so sharp it blots out thought folds me into a ball. I go limp, fog swallowing me, and whisper, “Ethan, Oliver and Marcus …” Just as I am about to pass out, I see them. My brothers and Julian. Running toward me. Ethan is the fastest. He scoops me up. His voice is harsh. “Ivy Hart! Because you saw us all with Jade, you hurt yourself again? Just to get attention?”

I am sent home from the hospital. Nurses watch me around the clock. They won’t let me hurt myself again. My body is too weak. I sit in a wheelchair. I can’t even use the bathroom without help. Jade, on the other hand, runs and jumps like nothing happened. She wears a pink chiffon dance dress and twirls in the garden, light on her feet. Julian holds his phone, recording her. My three brothers watch without blinking. Their lips curl into soft, adoring smiles. I feel boring. I turn my wheelchair around. I want to leave. “Oh!” Jade suddenly trips and falls with a small thud. “Jade!” The four men rush to her side. I look back. Jade points at a loose latch that fell from my wheelchair. Her voice wobbles with tears. “Ivy, I know you blame me for the wrong medicine and for losing the baby, and you must be jealous my heart got fixed and yours didn’t, but—” She bursts into sobs. “I can finally dance. How could you do this on purpose and make me fall?” Ethan kneels to check her leg, rubbing it gently. Marcus’s face darkens. Veins bulge on his forehead. “Ivy Hart! What happened to the way we raised you? How did you become so cruel?” The other three glare at me. Disgust in their eyes. My ruined heart feels like someone just stabbed it again. “I didn’t,” I rasp. “That part fell off yesterday—” “Still lying! We really spoiled you too much.” Marcus raises his hand. He is about to slap me. The blow is inches from my face before Julian steps between us. “Marcus, Ivy has been through a lot. She needs time.” Oliver also tries to calm him down. “Forget it. Jade mentioned wanting to try that new private restaurant. Let’s take her out to celebrate.” He turns to me. his eyes are cold now. “As for you. Stay home and think about what you did.” Julian hesitates. He wants to stay with me. but Jade rushes forward and grabs his hand in front of me, shaking it like a child claiming a toy. “Julian, come with me! You promised you’d buy me dinner if I was good during surgery.” Julian’s face stiffens. “I should stay with your sister… she—” I stare at their intertwined hands until my throat goes dry. “Just go. She wants you to.” Julian pats my head. “All right. Wait for me at home. I’ll bring back your favorite seafood porridge.” — I sleep until three in the morning and wake to an empty bedside. Julian never came home. The whole house is dark; only Jade’s room is lit. The door is ajar. As I closer, I hear the soft, syrupy sounds of her crying. Julian’s voice, huskier than I’ve ever heard it, murmurs, “Shh. We have to stop. You just got better…” Jade’s voice trembles. “Now that my heart’s fixed, when will you divorce her? I met you first. You were mine from the beginning.” Julian answers, low and warm, “You’re my favorite, baby. But Ivy saved my life. I can’t abandon her. Besides, if you reaction after the surgery was very strong, we might need her blood to save you.” “Julian…” Jade coos. A cold basin of water is poured over my head. All night I listen to them whisper and laugh, their sweet nothings spilling through the thin door. My hands shake as I grip my phone. I lean against the wall. I close my eyes. — Morning comes. My three brothers leave for work and find me propped beside Jade’s door. “Ivy, what are you doing here?”they ask. I give them a quick wave and then push my wheelchair inside Jade’s room without warning. In the stunned silence on their faces, I throw back the covers. Two bodies are tangled under the sheets—naked and breathless. I raise my phone and start taking pictures.

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I spent fourteen months on the port project. No weekends. No holidays. Three straight weeks sleeping on a cot in the control room. At the celebration ceremony, Sofia, the Caporegime, scratched my name off the contributor list in front of everyone. “Marlena, you’re young. There will be other opportunities.” She took the million-dollar bonus and the Underboss nomination for herself. I didn’t fight back. Instead, I handed her the lifetime liability charter and watched her sign it. Three days later, in front of the Council, the system collapsed. Trial version expired. My little gift buried deep in the code had detonated. She screamed that I set her up. I smiled. “That signature on the liability charter? It says your name. Embezzlement. Fraud. Five million in losses. All yours.” …… End of year. The Gambino Family Celebration Ceremony. The port project was finally complete. I had poured fourteen months of my life into it, no weekends, no holidays. During the hardest stretch, I had slept on a cot in the control room for three weeks straight just to push it through final inspection. The ceremony hall blazed with light. Everyone was clapping, toasting, slapping my shoulder. “Marlena, hell of a job. Couldn’t have pulled this off without you.” I smiled and started toward the podium to give my speech. But Sofia, the Caporegime, snatched the microphone from my hand. She took a pen and, in front of the entire room, scratched my name off the contributor list. “Don’t misunderstand, everyone. Marlena was just running errands for me. The core of this project was all my sweat, all my late nights.” “Marlena, you’re still young. There will be other opportunities. As for the million dollar bonus and the Underboss nomination this time, I won’t be modest about taking them.” She held my gaze, daring me to push back. Around us, my colleagues cast sympathetic glances my way. Someone whispered, “Sofia’s being way too blatant.” Another voice said, “She deserves it. If you don’t fight for yourself, you’re just asking to be walked on. Who can you blame?” I didn’t argue. Sofia had shown up to this project exactly three times. The first time was the groundbreaking ceremony, where she stood in the front row for a photo. The second time was a progress meeting. She arrived forty minutes late, sat down for a cup of coffee, and left. The third time was tonight. Everyone waited to see how I would react. Instead of fighting back, I handed her the project’s lifetime liability charter with both hands. “Sofia, you’re absolutely right. More responsibility for the more capable. That means the final approval signature on the project should be yours as well.” Sofia paused for a moment, then nodded with satisfaction and signed her name without hesitation. As soon as the celebration ended, she stormed into my office with her people. “Marlena, you’re just a runner. You don’t deserve this office anymore.” She had them stuff my belongings into cardboard boxes. Papers scattered across the floor. Picture frames shattered. “The supply closet at the end of the hall has decent Wi-Fi. You can work there.” She looked down at me. “Not like you’re useful anymore.” I watched my things get tossed into the trash. My hands tightened. “Sofia, was that really necessary?” She laughed, her crimson nail pressing into the center of my chest. “Too far? This is just how the game works. No connections, no protection. You’re nobody. And nobodies get stepped on. That’s not cruelty, that’s the rules.” Just then, the wide announcement blared through the speakers. A commendation from the Don. All credit for the port project had been awarded to Sofia alone. The million dollar bonus. The Underboss nomination. All hers. The same colleagues who had pitied me moments ago switched sides instantly. “Congratulations! Well deserved!” “See? A project like this needs a Capo at the helm. Marlena never had what it takes.” They swarmed around her, handing her drinks and lighting her cigarettes, trampling me to lift her higher. Sofia shot me a triumphant look. She announced that drinks were on her tonight. Then she walked right up to me and slammed a scalding hot espresso onto the corner of my desk. Coffee splashed across my hand, leaving a red burn. “Marlena, stick to this. Cool yourself down. Don’t let jealousy eat you up.” Laughter erupted around me. I said nothing. I quietly wiped the coffee from my skin. I pulled out my phone and wired a generous cut straight into the Family group chat. The message read: Congratulations to Sofia on her promotion to Underboss! The group went silent for a moment, then exploded with people grabbing the money. Sofia glanced at her phone and smirked. “At least you know your place.” She warned me: “Keep your mouth shut, do what you’re told, and I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” I immediately bowed my head, my face full of respect. “Of course, Sofia. You have my word. Oh, and here is the final project transfer document. All the accounts and details are inside. Just need your signature.” I handed her a thick stack of papers, dense with financial records and progress logs for the dock project. Sofia didn’t even glance at it. She was too drunk on her own rise. She took the pen and signed her name without a second thought. “Don’t bother me with this small stuff anymore. I’m the Gambino Family’s second in command now.” I looked down at her signature. The corners of my mouth curled upward. That wasn’t just a transfer document. That was a death warrant confirming her as the project’s sole responsible party. With her name on that page, any problem that came out of this project would fall on her and her alone.

Sofia’s celebration barely lasted two days before trouble hit. A partner family sent an encrypted dispatch demanding that the project’s lead personally present the results. Sofia stared at the red error codes on her screen, her eyes practically bulging out of her head. She knew nothing about the project. She did not even know how to launch the program. All she could do was read from someone else’s slides. She came running to the supply closet, her heels clacking frantically against the floor. “Marlena, write me an automated presentation script.” Her voice was still sharp, still commanding, as if this was my duty. She had already forgotten how she had humiliated me just days ago. I kept typing, not looking up, my fingers flying across the keyboard. “Sofia, I’m just a runner now. You pulled my core team access. I want to help, but I can’t.” She slammed her hand down on my keyboard. “Cut the crap. I’ll give you temporary access. Can’t handle something this simple? I’ll have you disappeared from this Family before midnight.” People around us turned to stare, their eyes gleaming with anticipation, waiting to see me fall flat on my face. I put on a show of trembling, shrinking my shoulders and stammering. “Please. Don’t cast me out.” Seeing her intimidation work, Sofia softened slightly. She pulled two stacks of cash from her bag and tossed them on the table. “Twenty thousand dollars. Make this work, and the money is yours. Fail, and you’re gone.” I stared at the money, putting on a greedy, desperate look. “Deal. Thank you, Sofia. I’ll get it done right away.” I took the temporary access and wrote the script as fast as I could. But deep in the code, buried in the backend logic she would never understand, I planted a small gift. A gift set to trigger at a very specific time. When Sofia presented the script at the Family meeting, it was a massive success. The Don nodded approvingly and called her a rare talent. She beamed, her smile so wide her makeup nearly cracked. After the meeting, she came back with her crew and took the twenty thousand dollars back. She also had my computer smashed, citing “project security.” “Marlena, it’s not that I don’t trust you. Family rules. You can’t be too careful.” She looked down at me like I was a spent piece of trash. “As for the twenty grand, we’ll put it on your tab. We’ll sort it out at year end.” With that, she turned and walked away on her heels, not giving me a second glance. I looked at the shattered screen. Instead of anger, I nearly laughed out loud. She had just destroyed the only evidence that could prove her innocence. Now, not even the Don himself could save her.

The day the million dollar bonus hit her account, Sofia bought herself a red Porsche. She parked it right in front of the Family compound, in the most visible spot, and spent half an hour taking photos. Her social media filled with shots of the steering wheel and her limited edition watch. The cover of the lifetime liability charter was in the background of the shot. Caption: All the hard work is finally being seen. Beneath it, a flood of likes and groveling comments. I saw the post while I was eating pastries in the break room. A woman next to me was touching up her makeup and making snide remarks, loud enough to make sure I heard every word. “Some people are just born to run errands. Look at the Underboss. Now that’s a queen.” “Exactly. No nerve to fight for what’s yours, then crying when someone takes it. What a waste.” When the wall falls, everyone swings. Everyone who used to call me sister was now practically stepping on my face to kiss Sofia’s feet. Then one of the Don’s aides came rushing in with news that stopped the room cold. “Next Monday, the Council is coming for an inspection. They want to see the port project contract signing in person.” The entire Family erupted. The Council. The men who held true power over life and death in the Family. One word from them could decide anyone’s fate. Sofia’s face flushed with excitement at the news. To show off her hands-on leadership, she refused all offers of help on the spot. “No one needs to touch this. This project is like my own child. I know it better than anyone. I’ll handle it myself.” “I will personally present to the Council. Let them see what I can do.” She ran into me in the break room. She stopped and fanned the air in front of her nose like I was carrying something contagious. “God, you reek of desperation. See that, Marlena? The project runs just fine without you. You were always disposable.” I speared the last piece of pastry and ate it clean. Then I looked up with an eager, fawning smile. “You’re absolutely right, Sofia. You’re the queen, I’m just a spare part. Knock them dead next week. Maybe throw a little glory my way while you’re at it.” Sofia snorted and walked away. “At least you know your place.” Late that night, my phone buzzed. A voice message from Sofia, still barking orders. “Write me a speech before morning. Focus on my creative thinking and all those late nights I put into the project. Don’t bore me with technical details. Make it sound powerful.” “Mess this up, and you’re out.” I listened to her voice, a cold smile creeping across my face. I tapped out a reply on the screen. One word: Okay.

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Back in college, I bought myself a boyfriend. He stayed with me. I paid off his grandfather’s six-figure medical bills. A full-ride genius, swallowing his pride to be mine for four years. Then my father got swept up in a federal financial fraud case. Everything vanished overnight. When we broke up, he was cold. Didn’t say a single word to make me stay. Years later, I’m dancing at a strip club. He’s the founder of a tech company, dating our college’s former cheerleading captain. He asks me: “Any regrets?” “No.” “Well, I have one.” — Of all the ways I imagined running into Evan Corwin again after graduation, this wasn’t one of them. I’m a dancer at a strip club. And tonight, he books me. The lights pulse wild and electric. I twist inside a giant martini glass, water lapping against my skin, while the crowd below howls and whistles, hurling fistfuls of cash at the stage. I’m the eye of the storm, same as always. But my attention,every last shred of it,snags on him. I can barely hold it together. Before going on, I threw on a mask and a wig, desperate to keep him from seeing my face. Now, I peel off one layer at a time, drawing fresh screams, more bills, hungry stares from every direction,and the whole time, I’m watching him from the corner of my eye. Stella Voss sits right next to him. They look disgustingly perfect together. There’s a plate of artfully sliced oranges on Stella’s side of the table. A long time ago, when I used to love oranges, Evan would always cut them for me. The way he handled a knife was almost obscenely attractive,each slice precise, uniform, arranged on the plate like a little work of art. I used to joke that he had to be a secret assassin. Back then, I thought he loved me. Turns out it was just his perfectionism talking. Four years apart. Feels more like half a lifetime. Somehow, my routine drifts closer and closer to his section. *Damn it.* I should be putting distance between us. God knows if I get any closer, he might recognize me. But clearly, one of Stella’s hangers-on already has. She leans over, loud enough to be heard over the bass: “Hey,didn’t Evan have a girlfriend in college? Four years together or something?” My hand freezes mid-reach for my bra strap. Evan doesn’t take the bait. The woman shifts in her seat, a little awkward, but pushes on: “Four years, though. That’s gotta be hard to forget, right?” Silence settles over their table like a still river. After what feels like forever, Evan lets out a quiet laugh. “Hardly.” —

“Honestly, Ev not hating her is generous enough.” Stella waves a hand, breezy and unbothered. “I went to the same school. It was honestly… ugh, he deserved so much better. If his ex hadn’t been in the way, Ev and I would’ve gotten together years ago.” “Exactly! Stella’s got like a million followers, she’s literally a reality TV star,no ex can compete with that.” The hanger-on throws a smug little glance in my direction. I snap a kick. Water arcs out of the glass and hits her square in the face. The crowd goes *feral*. Whistles, stomping feet, guys throwing their arms up begging to be next. Her cursing drowns in the deafening roar. My set reaches its finale. The cheers crash over each other, wave after wave. Bills carpet the stage. I blow a kiss for the curtain call. Inside, all I want is to get out. But as I pass Evan’s section, his voice cuts through the noise. “Wait.” —

My body locks in place like someone drove a nail through my feet. One second. Two. Dana materializes beside me right on cue. “Sorry,she’s part-time. Once her set’s done, she’s off the clock.” Dana shoots me a look. I bolt. She pulls me aside backstage. “Heads up next time, okay? We’ve all been the new girl. One complaint and your whole night’s pay is gone.” “Thanks, Dana. I owe you one.” “Don’t worry about it. But that VIP room? Watch yourself. Every person at that table is a big shot. Especially the young one in the middle,the good-looking one. Tech startup founder, been in Forbes. None of us can afford to piss him off.” The warning comes a little too late. If there’s one person on this planet who has already pissed off Evan Corwin beyond the point of no return, it’s me. I’m the ex he can “hardly” remember. —

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Cain gripped my waist, his red eyes churning with panic: “Isolde, I lost control during a heat cycle. I’ll have her get rid of the pup immediately.” I was the fated mate of Cain Blake, Alpha of the Nightshade Pack — the recognized Luna of the entire wolf clan. Until the day of pup Kaden’s first birthday celebration, when Ella appeared at the oak gates of the territory, her belly swollen. Every werewolf’s gaze fell on me. I had become the laughingstock of the entire Nightshade Pack. “Alright. I believe you.” But five years later, I went to the healing center for a routine check-up. From the private room next door, Ella’s voice drifted through the wall: “Cain, this is all your fault. If I hadn’t given birth to Bailey for you, why would I be going through all this.” “I don’t want the pack’s resources. I want you to get rid of Isolde and officially mark me as Luna.” My hand froze on the door handle. When I came to my senses, I submitted a mate bond dissolution request directly through the wolf clan’s municipal hall communication system. There was no need for Cain to abandon me. I was the one letting him go first. …… The moment the submission was confirmed, a mind-link came through on Cain’s private channel. His voice was casual, the background filled with the noise of pack affairs. “Isolde, the pack is marking out new territory today. I won’t be back to the main house tonight.” I raised my hand and touched my face. For him, I had endured my wolf spirit’s rejection and injected the pack’s specially formulated anti-aging serum. All because of one thing he had once said: “Isolde, after female werewolves pass thirty, their skin loses its warmth. I prefer the feel of an eighteen-year-old female.” I was never the type to bother with even earrings, yet again and again I had bent myself to please him. And behind my back, he had fathered a pup with Ella. “Alright.” I replied through the mind-link. My tone was so calm it felt foreign even to myself. Cain’s consciousness paused. He probably hadn’t expected me to be so cold. He seemed about to say something more, but I cut the link. Then I sent him a recording of what Ella had said at the healing center through the pack’s communication system, and added one line: “See you at the municipal hall.” Less than half an hour later, Cain’s SUV crunched over the fallen leaves of the territory and came charging back to the main house. Kaden’s small figure came bounding over, wolf ears drooping, his voice soft and childlike: “Mama!” I stared at Cain, all the words I wanted to say stuck in my throat. He grinned like a scoundrel, scooping Kaden up in his arms, his wolf tail sweeping gently across the pup’s back: “Kaden, how about we all go hunting in the Full Moon Forest tonight?” “Yes, yes!” Kaden cheered, waving his little wolf claws. I could see it clearly. He was using Kaden to threaten me. Five years ago, when Kaden found out we were dissolving the mate bond, his wolf spirit went into violent revolt. His small body convulsed on the ground, yet he clung desperately to the hem of my clothes: “Mama, please don’t break the bond with Papa. Please.” My heart felt cut to pieces. In the end, I gave in for the sake of the pup. This was his usual move. But just as we were about to head out, Ella appeared. She stood on the stone path in front of the main house, eyes rimmed red, leading by the hand a pup about the same age as Kaden — Bailey. She knelt directly in front of me, wolf tail curled to her side, humbling herself to the ground. “Sister, please, give Cain back to me. Today is Bailey’s birthday. He needs his Alpha’s presence.” Bailey burst into wails, kicking at the ground with his short little legs: “I want Papa! I want my Alpha Papa!” Kaden, who was holding my hand, went suddenly rigid. His wolf ears flattened. His face went white as paper. I turned to look at Cain. A flash of struggle crossed his red eyes. I had just reached out to grab his wrist when he turned and walked to Ella’s side. “We’ll go hunting another day,” he said to me, his voice laced with apology. Something inside my mind snapped. After that scene five years ago, Kaden could no longer hold his head up among the other pups in the pack. There were always pups pointing at his back and jeering: “A wild pup with no father.” “The pathetic cub of a Luna who can’t keep her Alpha.” Kaden had once broken down and climbed the pack’s watchtower, nearly jumping off. It was I who knelt at the base of the tower, soothing him with my wolf spirit’s aura, that talked him back down. Afterward, Cain sent the most precious wolf-fang ornaments and snow-fox furs. But what use were all the pack’s resources to me? The entire Nightshade Pack knew those things were earned by Kaden and me at the cost of a layer of our skin. “Cain, if you dare walk away, Kaden and I will truly cut all ties with you.” My wolf spirit let out a low growl in my chest, my red eyes locked onto him. Cain’s heart tightened. The next second, Ella grabbed Bailey and bolted toward the road outside the territory: “What’s the point of living if we’re treated like this! We might as well get hit by a car and die on the road!” Cain’s eyes went wide with fury. He shoved me aside and sprinted after Ella into the traffic. I fell onto the stone steps of the path, my forehead striking the flagstone. Blood trickled down my cheek. Kaden cried out. He threw his small body over mine to shield me, tore off his little jacket to press against my wound, then ran after Cain and grabbed the hem of his trousers with his little wolf claws: “Papa! Mama is hurt! Take her to the healing center!” Cain’s face was full of impatience, his attention entirely on sheltering Ella in his arms. Then Bailey suddenly let out a shriek. Ella thrust Bailey’s reddened wrist at Kaden and screamed: “Why did you pinch him! He’s just a pup! What are you two trying to do! If you want to hit someone, come after me!” She raised her hand and slapped herself hard across the cheek. A werewolf’s self-healing made the redness flare and fade quickly, leaving only a disheveled appearance. Cain lost all reason in his protectiveness, and raised his hand to strike Kaden across the face. “You’re just like your mother! Spoiled to have no regard for anyone!” He immediately contacted the Iron Blood Training Camp through the pack’s communication system: “I have an out-of-control pup here. Come pick him up immediately.” Kaden crumpled to the ground, one cheek swollen red, wolf ears flat against his head, staring blankly at Cain. He only murmured: “I didn’t pinch him. I didn’t…” I pushed myself up and stepped in front of Kaden. “What gives you the right to hit him! What gives you the right to accuse him of something he didn’t do!” Cain’s eyes held only Ella and Bailey. He wouldn’t give Kaden or me even a single glance. A black van pulled up alongside the stone path. Several werewolves in training camp uniforms jumped out and moved to drag Kaden away without a word. The Iron Blood Training Camp — the pack’s notoriously brutal pup disciplinary facility. The trainers there routinely beat and punished the pups. Just last year, one pup had been beaten so severely that his wolf spirit was weakened, leaving him permanently unable to shift.

My Kaden was a pureblooded pup of the Nightshade Pack. What right did anyone have to make him suffer like this? My eyes went red. I threw myself in front of Kaden, snarling like a wolf that had lost all control: “Get away! I will die before I let you take him!” Seeing the wound on my forehead still bleeding, Cain’s eyes flickered briefly with something soft. Ella immediately burst into tears, speaking in a persuasive tone: “Sister, you’re harming Kaden like this. If he’s made mistakes and you won’t correct them, and you stop others from helping discipline him — even if his wolf spirit awakens, he’ll only grow more extreme.” Cain set aside his hesitation. He yanked me aside and let those tall werewolves roughly drag Kaden into the van. “Mama! Mama, save me!” Kaden’s cries tore through my wolf spirit. I chased after the van and slipped on the moss of the stone path, falling to the ground in a heap. Passersby who didn’t understand the situation, seeing Cain sheltering Ella and her pup, assumed I was a low-ranking female clinging to the Alpha. They pulled out their communicators to record my collapse. The pack’s public channel was flooded with mockery. “This female has no shame — acting like a mistress and daring to make a scene.” “Clinging to the Alpha like a rogue wolf. The guards should throw her into the punishment cell.” Not far away, Ella leaned into Cain’s arms, as docile as a tame little wolf. But her eyes were filled with thick contempt. She mouthed two words at me — “Useless.” A trace of reluctance crossed Cain’s face and he moved to help me up. Ella immediately collapsed against him, clutching her head: “Cain, my wolf spirit is in so much pain.” Cain withdrew his gaze and carried Ella horizontally in his arms, walking to the car. As the car passed me, Ella rolled down the window and flashed the smile of a victor. But by now, I no longer cared about any of this. I rushed back to the main house, packed bags for Kaden and myself, and used private resources to hire three high-ranking wolf warriors as escorts. Everything was prepared. I only had to wait for dawn to go and break Kaden out of the training camp. At midnight, Cain — whom I’d thought would never come back — pushed open the door of the main house. He was thoroughly drunk, his wolf spirit’s aura in disarray. The moment he saw me, he grabbed my jaw. “Isolde, what’s with that look on your face.” “Ella and Bailey — I’ll keep them in the secondary residence. They won’t threaten your position as Luna. Why won’t you just give a little ground?” Give ground? Five years ago I gave ground. And what happened? He and Ella had a pup together. My Kaden suffered every indignity. Ella’s social platform was filled with photos of their family of three celebrating a birthday in the Full Moon Forest. And now Kaden was still trapped in the cold Iron Blood Training Camp. Cain’s palm smoothed across my cheek, infatuation in his red eyes. “Isolde, let’s have another pup — a girl this time. Once we have both a son and a daughter, you won’t want to leave me anymore.” He pinned me on the sofa, his hand sliding up my thigh, his wolf spirit’s aura wrapping around me with possessiveness. I raised my hand and slapped him across the face. The sound rang out sharp and piercing in the quiet main house. Cain froze. “Have you lost your mind!” I pushed him off, pulled out the mate bond dissolution agreement I’d already prepared, and flung it in front of him. “Sign it.” Cain’s expression turned ominous. The alcohol had dulled his reason. This was the first time he hadn’t backed down in front of me. He picked up the pen and pointed at the signature line: “Are you sure?” “Yes.” I enunciated each word. Cain’s eyes went bloodshot, the veins in his neck standing out. He signed his name cleanly. “Isolde, I’ll be waiting for you to come crawling back.” I paid him no attention. I picked up the signed agreement and my bags, pushed open the door, and walked out of the main house I had lived in for seven years.

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I was six months pregnant when I found torn lace lingerie stuffed under the mattress — it wasn’t mine. I went to confront my mate, but overheard him talking to a packmate instead. “The Prince’s bonding ceremony with Ivy is in seven days. You already marked her — what’s your plan?” Kael’s voice was ice. “If anyone finds out she’s already been marked, she’s dead — I won’t let her face it alone.” “Selene’s father and brother died defending the kingdom — the Lycan King promised her family could be pardoned for any crime. Have Ivy accuse Ryan publicly.” Calm. Every word poison. I bit my lip until I tasted blood, and the mate bond in my chest shredded. In my previous life, at the Luna Queen’s Celebration, Kael’s childhood sweetheart stumbled out half-naked, sobbing that my brother had forced his mark on her. The noble she-wolves couldn’t wait to spit on the Blackwood name. “Ivy is the Prince’s chosen mate — that Blackwood boy dared mark her? Beat him to death!” I invoked the pardon — the one my father and brother earned with their lives — and begged. The King honored his promise and spared Ryan, ordering him to mate Ivy instead. Then Kael shattered both my brother’s legs in front of everyone. He whispered, “If the King doesn’t vent now, he’ll kill your brother later.” We swallowed it — but seven months later, that she-wolf birthed a nine-pound pup. Ryan howled, “I never touched her!” He’d screamed it a thousand times — no one believed him, they called him a coward. He grabbed the pup and crawled toward the King’s hall to prove his innocence — Kael knocked him out cold from behind. I tried to scream — his hand closed around my throat. “Make a scene, and Ivy and the child are ruined,” he hissed. His eyes were murderous as he strangled me to death — his own Luna, days from giving birth. I woke up — the Moon Goddess sent me back to the night of the Celebration. This time, I tied Ryan with silver chains and locked him in the east wing. Ivy still claimed someone had raped her.

Ivy smashed her forehead against the Hall’s stone pillar, bleeding, shaking, sobbing in the women’s arms. “I bear another’s mark — I’ve betrayed the Prince — I’ve shamed the Ashfords — let me die!” Everyone glared at me like I was filth. “The Blackwood family is feral. They think killing a few rogues at the border gives them the right to ravage the Prince’s future mate.” “Riding on daddy’s war glory to do whatever the fuck they want. It’s pure lawlessness!” “My Goddess. If they’re this bold in the capital, imagine how many helpless she-wolves they’ve forced themselves on at the border!” I looked at the man shielding Ivy — my mate, Alpha Kael. I kept my voice flat. “Ivy, are you sure it was my brother?” She stiffened, tears pouring harder. “I’m already marked by him — why humiliate me — let me die!” She lunged for the pillar — the women dragged her back. Kael wrenched me aside, his face twisted with fury. “Your brother acts worse than a Rogue, and you bully the victim?” “Your father bled for the Blackwood name — you two destroyed it.” His grip bruised bone. I let out a cold laugh. Half an hour ago, I’d chained Ryan up myself — silver restraints, locked in the east wing. How the hell could he have gotten out to mark Ivy? I looked Kael dead in the eyes. “Are you sure it was my brother?” His jaw clenched. “I knocked the bastard out and tied him up myself — I pulled him off Ivy. You think I can’t recognize my own brother-in-law?” My stomach dropped. His certainty unsettled me — could Ryan have somehow broken free? “Selene, how long will you keep bullying this poor girl!” An elder she-wolf snapped at me. “You’re Kael’s mate — instead of standing by your mate, you shield your worthless brother.” “You even slander this poor girl!” I scoffed and swept my gaze across the self-righteous crowd. “So no matter what, whether Ivy actually lost her purity or not, my brother takes the blame.” “You —!” Ivy looked like I’d slapped her, tears rolling down. She pulled a blood-stained cloth from her dress and hurled it at my feet, voice cracking like she was coughing up her own soul. “I was a pure, unmated she-wolf — am I some cheap bitch who’d lie about this?” “If the Blackwoods won’t take responsibility, I’ll die right here — I’d rather be dead than tied to your filthy name!” She spun and lunged for the pillar — the women scrambled to hold her back.

“Stupid girl, don’t!” “It’s that Blackwood scum’s fault, not yours!” “You’ve suffered enough — don’t throw your life away for that bastard!” They comforted Ivy while glaring daggers at me. “Ivy is the Prince’s future mate!” “Your little pack thinks it’s something special? Why would she ruin herself to frame you?” Kael grabbed my wrist, putting on his concerned-husband act. “Selene, enough.” “Just accept it — prepare the mating gifts, go to the Ashfords, propose on Ryan’s behalf, and beg the King for mercy.” “The King might still spare his life. Otherwise, marking the Prince’s chosen mate — your brother will be killed by the King’s anger.” Last life, I believed his words. I believed Ryan had lost control, so I handed over half the Blackwood fortune as a mating gift and treated Ivy like a queen. Then she birthed a bastard at seven months and destroyed my entire family. My stomach turned. I ripped my arm from his grip. “The Blackwoods will never mate Ryan to that woman. Not in this life.” Kael’s face went cold, his eyes turning savage. Before he could speak, the crowd parted. Ivy’s father, Elder Ashford, stormed in. His face was purple with rage, body shaking — he walked straight to Ivy and cracked her across the face. She hit the ground hard, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. “Shameless bitch — you still have the nerve to breathe?” “Servants! Drag this filthy thing out and snap her neck — she’s disgraced the Ashford name!” Two Ashford wolves stepped forward. “Don’t bother — I’ll do it myself.” Ivy yanked a hairpin from her head and drove it straight toward her own throat. The crowd erupted. Screams, grabbing, pulling. “Selene! Are you just going to stand there and watch?” “If your brother hadn’t done this, Ivy wouldn’t be trying to kill herself!” “Your brother ruined a girl’s life — can you live with that?” I watched the whole show in silence. Ivy’s eyes flashed with something vicious — she gripped the pin and stabbed it into her neck. Blood gushed instantly. The women screamed. “She’s dead — the Blackwoods killed her!” Kael’s face went white — he lunged forward and ripped the pin from Ivy’s hand. “Healer! Get the healer now!” He tore a strip from his sleeve and pressed it against her throat. Ivy lay in their arms, weak, blinking — her eyes drifted to me. No death wish in them. Just a flicker of victory. Once Ivy was carried away, Kael stormed toward me. “Bitch!” He snarled, and backhanded me across the face. I stumbled and hit the ground. My palms scraped the cold stone, skin splitting open. The left side of my face burned, my ear ringing. Kael pointed down at me, eyes full of venom. “You heartless cunt — you wanted her dead, didn’t you?” “I won’t share my life with a cold-blooded she-wolf like you! I’m rejecting you today!” Everyone cheered like it was a holiday.

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