Author: Momo Chan

On my wedding night, the giant screen in the ballroom suddenly started playing a video of me holding a woman and kissing her passionately. I stood there, completely defenseless, as my father-in-law, Mr. Miller, grabbed me by the collar and dragged me out of the venue, demanding an explanation. By the time I managed to prove that the video was a deepfake generated by AI, my bride, Chloe, had already slept with my foster brother, Tyler. My mother merely sighed, her face completely expressionless. “What’s done is done. You just have to accept it and never bring it up again.” Since that night, a thick wall of disgust had built up between Chloe and me. Every time she tried to touch me, I found an excuse to push her away. She cried and acted miserable for a long time. Eventually, unable to bear her tears, I started preparing myself to accept her again. But then, I accidentally overheard a conversation between her and her friends in a private lounge: “Chloe, you are literally a mastermind when it comes to relationships!” “You wanted to make up for lost time with Tyler when he got back to the country, so you used AI to make that fake cheating video of Ethan. You did it just so your dad would drag him out, giving you the perfect chance to sleep with Tyler!” “That was legendary!” “Your whole family and even his own mother knew about it. Only that idiot Ethan was kept in the dark.” Chloe placed her hand over her stomach. “And now, I’m pregnant with Tyler’s baby. I don’t even know how to tell Ethan.”

Maybe it was because she hadn’t been sleeping well, but there were dark circles under her eyes. This sudden pregnancy was clearly something she hadn’t anticipated either. Her best friend, Sarah, walked over and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Chloe, you only have two choices now.” “First, break up with Ethan. Second, get an abortion and cut ties with Tyler forever.” These two options seemed to put Chloe in a tough spot. She was usually decisive, never one to hesitate like this. She cupped her stomach for a long time, unable to let go. “No, I won’t get an abortion.” “This baby is the symbol of what Tyler and I lost. Since I can’t be his wife, I’ll give birth to his child as a keepsake.” Standing outside the door, the blood in my veins turned to ice. So, the cheating video that ruined my reputation was Chloe’s doing all along. Her entire goal was to get rid of me so she could satisfy her lust with Tyler. Was their “regret” really just about sleeping together? I let out a bitter, silent laugh. What shocked me even more was that my parents-in-law and my own mother knew everything. They had teamed up to deceive me. I remembered when the video played on the screen. My mother-in-law had slapped me across the face, and my father-in-law had dragged me out by my hair. My mother had apologized to everyone in shame, calling me a worthless beast. And Chloe had wept, claiming I had broken her heart, promising she would make me pay. My fingernails dug deep into my palms until they bled. My chest felt suffocated, filled with an agonizing, choking pain. I leaned my back heavily against the wall, standing there like a hollow shell. Inside, Chloe had made her decision. “I won’t break up with Ethan. I know how to separate love from marriage.” “Ethan loves me. He caters to my every whim, and he’s a stable provider. He’s the perfect husband material.” “Oh, come on. Doesn’t Tyler have money too?” Sarah teased. Chloe took a sip of her juice. “Tyler is too dominant—the classic arrogant alpha male type. He’s great as a lover, but not for marriage.” Instantly, the room erupted into laughter. “So you’re saying Ethan is just your golden retriever backup husband?” “How can you bully him like that?” “Haha, totally!” Sarah suddenly stopped laughing, her tone turning dead serious. “But wait, let me ask you something.” Everyone’s curiosity was piqued by Sarah’s sudden change in tone. “You and Tyler couldn’t have gotten pregnant from just that one night, right?” “You guys must have hooked up multiple times!” Chloe’s face flushed bright red, looking like an innocent, naive girl. Seeing her reaction, everyone sat up straight, eager for the gossip. “Of course it wasn’t just once,” Chloe mumbled. “Every time Ethan is out of the house, we hook up… you know how it is…”

“You guys are insane!” “I seriously want to ask Tyler what kind of vitamins he’s taking to have that much energy!” “No wonder Chloe looks so glowing lately. Ethan is the ultimate fool, raising another man’s kid without even knowing it.” Chloe’s friends filled the room with mockery and disdain directed entirely at me. Not a single one of them found Chloe and Tyler’s behavior disgusting. Birds of a feather really do flock together. Even though she hadn’t explicitly detailed her encounters with Tyler to me, I already knew. They had left their traces of lust all over our house. On the surface, Chloe would act guilty and apologetic in front of others. But behind closed doors, she would let Tyler drain all her energy and then fall fast asleep, showing absolutely no genuine remorse. Waves of dull pain washed over my chest, nearly breaking me. Finally, I took heavy steps away from the door, choosing not to confront her right then and there. When I walked out of the bar, the night wind was freezing. Just then, my phone rang. It was my business partner. “Ethan, does Chloe understand you like I do? Is she prettier than me?” “Does she have my wealth? You are so heartless. GC Group just made the Fortune 500 list, yet you abandoned us to go back and marry her.” Victoria sounded drunk. She was usually quiet, cold, and professional. If she weren’t deeply hurt, she would never have let her guard down like this. “Victoria, wait for me,” I said softly. “I will cut ties with Chloe as soon as possible. Once I settle things here, I’m coming back to you.” The drunk woman on the other end instantly seemed to sober up. After hanging up, I walked along the sidewalk. A fiery red Ferrari sped past me. It was Tyler’s car. He was probably on his way to see Chloe. I didn’t care anymore. Nothing they did could trigger any emotion in me now. When I got home, my mother was waiting for me in the living room. “Ethan, where have you been so late?” I stared coldly at my seemingly warm and loving mother. Remembering what Chloe had said in the lounge, the last shred of familial affection I had for her turned to ash. I was her biological son, yet she always favored Tyler. During our poorest year, I wore patched-up hand-me-downs while Tyler got brand-new clothes. He got a fancy cake for his birthday; I only got two boiled eggs. And now that we were adults, she was still helping Tyler, conspiring with outsiders to deceive me. Knowing all this, I had no intention of being polite. “Drink this,” she said, pointing to a pot on the counter. “I thought Chloe was home, so I made some chicken soup. Since she’s not here, you drink it.” I grabbed the pot and smashed it onto the floor. It shattered into pieces. My mother looked at me in shock, startled by my sudden rage. “What is wrong with you? Are you still upset about what happened at the wedding…?” “You already know she’s pregnant with Tyler’s baby, don’t you? That’s why you brought over this soup—to nourish her.” I cut her off. Panic flashed across her face, followed by disbelief. “How… how do you know?” I didn’t answer. I stepped closer, my anger radiating. “I’ve always wondered why you were so biased. I am your flesh and blood, yet you love a foster son who shares no blood with you. Now I know.” “Tyler is the son of your first love. You projected your obsession with his father onto him.” “Even if it meant destroying your own son’s life, you didn’t care.” Having her deepest secret exposed, my mother choked on her words, unable to speak.

“Ethan, I hope you can understand my position.” “Both you and Tyler are my boys. I love you both equally. I don’t favor anyone.” “Get out,” I said coldly. I didn’t want to waste my breath on her lies. In her heart, Tyler was her only beloved son. I was just a shadow. But my mother made no move to leave, looking as if she had something difficult to say. “Spit it out.” She only ever came to me when she wanted something, and I figured it was for Tyler again. “Ethan, I need a favor.” “Tyler’s startup failed. He wants to start over, but he doesn’t have the capital.” “I see how well you’re doing. Besides, he is your brother. Can you give him a million dollars…?” “The door is right there. Don’t let it hit you on the way out.” I gave her an eviction notice, refusing to discuss this nonsense. Right then, Chloe walked in, supporting a limping Tyler. She must have overheard our conversation. “Ethan, how can you speak to your mother like that? She’s just worried about Tyler!” As soon as she spoke, my mother rushed over to them. The three of them stood together, looking exactly like a happy family. From beginning to end, I was the only outsider. “If she’s so worried about him, she can go to the bank and take out a loan.” “Ethan, he is your brother…” “My brother? Ha! What a joke.” “If he really saw me as his brother, would he have crawled into bed with my fiancee?” “And my own mother always takes his side.” “Tell me, how much more do you expect me to tolerate?” Silence fell over the room. No one dared to speak. This house was suffocating. Just as I turned to leave, my mother yelled in frustration. “Wasn’t the wedding thing just a misunderstanding?” “They are innocent! Why can’t you just let it go instead of stabbing everyone in the heart?” I turned back and looked coldly at the three of them. The urge to argue died in my throat. One mouth couldn’t outtalk three hypocrites. Finally, Tyler, trying to play the good guy, stepped in to defuse the situation. “Ethan, I’m sorry.” “That night, I was completely drunk. I made a terrible mistake.” “I am begging for your forgiveness. Can you please forgive me?” “This is your home. If anyone should leave, it’s us.” Seeing Tyler’s seemingly sincere apology, both my mother and Chloe looked at him with immense pity. When I remained silent, refusing his apology, Chloe’s face hardened. “Tyler has already apologized to you personally. What more do you want?” “Nothing. I just want both of them to disappear from my sight right now.” Hearing my words, Tyler lowered his head, looking incredibly hurt. My mother glared at me defensively. Before she could speak, Tyler turned and ran out of the house in tears. But he ran too fast and slipped, tumbling down the stairs. “Tyler!” “Tyler!” Chloe screamed, then turned on me with venom in her eyes. “Ethan, why did you have to push him? You are worse than a monster!” “We don’t care if you forgive us anymore. We don’t need your forgiveness!” “Get out! I don’t want to see your face!” My mother didn’t say a word, she just kept glaring at me with cold eyes. I had told myself to let go and walk away, but being stabbed by them again still brought a wave of sharp pain to my chest. My own wife and my own mother would always choose another man. At this very moment, I finally realized that whether it was love or family, I didn’t want any of it anymore. “Chloe, we’re done.”

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From elementary school onward, I spent sixteen years chasing after Julian Vance. I went from being an unnoticed little shadow trailing behind him, to his personal assistant, and finally, his secret girlfriend. At last, I had earned his attention. But the moment Maya came back, she became the only person he could see. “Julian, you’re so afraid her future will be ruined… but aren’t you afraid of ruining mine?” During an emergency surgery, Maya made a fatal mistake that caused the patient to suffer massive hemorrhaging. And Julian actually expected me to take the blame for her. With obvious impatience, he said, “As compensation, we’ll get married next week. Isn’t that what you’ve wanted all these years?” I spent more than a decade loving and following him, only for him to use marriage as a bargaining chip—to convince me to shoulder a crime that would destroy my entire future for another woman. I let out a bitter laugh. “Let’s break up.” Chloe’s POV I chased Julian Vance for over ten years. I went from being his quiet little shadow to his first surgical assistant, and finally, to his girlfriend. But just three months after we officially became a couple, I decided to let go. “Mom, I want to come home. I’m going to resign from my job here in Boston.” On the other end of the line, my mother sounded incredibly shocked. “Aren’t you and Julian dating now? Did you guys have a fight? Does he know about this?” “It took you so long to finally be with him. Don’t do anything impulsive, sweetheart.” I blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over and kept my voice steady. “I’m not being impulsive, Mom. We didn’t fight either. I’ve just thought it through.” “I have to go, Mom. Let’s talk another day.” Before she could say anything else, I hung up. I had to. If I stayed on the line any longer, I wouldn’t be able to choke back my sobs. Since we were kids, everyone around me knew I loved Julian. My parents, teachers, classmates, colleagues. It was obvious to everyone. After high school, I abandoned my dream of studying literature and applied to medical school just to follow him. At the hospital, I gave up opportunities to lead my own surgical team and perform solo surgeries. Instead, I willingly worked as Julian’s assistant. I did that for five whole years. I didn’t just assist him at work. I took care of every single detail of his personal life. After every late shift or overnight surgery, no matter how late it was, a hot bowl of homemade soup was always waiting on his desk. Before work every morning, his clothes were ironed, perfectly matched, and hung in front of the mirror. In the operating room, our chemistry was flawless. Our colleagues called me Julian’s perfect match on the table. To our co-workers, I was already someone special to him. Julian, a medical prodigy with an extreme neat-freak personality, never allowed anyone inside his private lounge. Except for me. Julian, who was always cold and distant to everyone, would occasionally smile just for me. But what was the reality? Every time I entered his lounge, it was only to clean and disinfect it. The moment I finished, I left. I never even dared to sit on his bed. And those rare smiles? They were just polite gestures. He was well-mannered, and he smiled out of basic courtesy for my endless efforts. Not to mention, absolutely nobody knew we had actually become a couple three months ago. And this hidden relationship wasn’t because Julian had suddenly fallen for me. It was something I bought with half my life. Three months ago, our department admitted a critical patient in the middle of the night. By the time the patient arrived, they had missed the optimal surgical window. Julian operated for over ten hours, but the patient died on the table. The patient’s son refused to accept the outcome. Drunk and furious, he rushed into Julian’s office wielding a knife. Exhausted after the surgery, Julian couldn’t even react. I threw myself in front of him and took the blade. The stab wound was less than half an inch from my spleen. I spent three days in the ICU. When I finally opened my eyes, Julian, who was always meticulously neat, had messy hair and a wrinkled shirt. He held my hand, his voice raspy. “Be my girlfriend.” Having known him for twenty years, I could read his eyes. I saw fear, and I saw guilt. But there was not a single spark of love. He didn’t want to date me. He just felt like he owed me his life, and he wanted to pay me back. But I nodded anyway. Back then, I thought that even if he didn’t love me, I would be satisfied just staying by his side forever. Too bad my romantic bubble burst after only a month. Because Maya Mitchell appeared. Just before clocking out today, the big screen in our department was broadcasting a live stream of the International Medical Forum that Julian was attending. This forum was an annual event. In the past, I had asked Julian if I could go with him. His answer back then was, “You aren’t a lead surgeon. You don’t have the credentials.” But Maya wasn’t a lead surgeon either. Right now, Maya was sitting next to him on the screen. She leaned in to whisper something, and Julian tilted his head closer, offering her a warm, gentle smile. My colleagues were gossiping excitedly. “Maya is so lucky. Her dad is the Chief of Medicine, and she has Julian mentoring her. She gets to attend this kind of international forum during her residency!” “That’s nothing. Look at Julian’s face. He’s never even looked that close to Chloe. If you ask me, there’s definitely something going on between them.” Someone noticed me, cleared their throat, and cut the conversation short. The looks they threw me were filled with pity. Everyone knew I liked Julian, but nobody knew I was his actual girlfriend. I looked at the screen, a bitter taste in my mouth. I couldn’t blame them for thinking they were together. Even I thought so. Usually, Julian smiled at me too. But that smile was always polite, reserved, and distant. But his smile toward Maya was natural, effortless, and warm. I used to think Julian was just a naturally cold person. But the moment Maya showed up, his coldness melted away. Maya was the Chief’s daughter. After graduation, she was placed directly into Julian’s surgical team. She was bubbly, outgoing, and completely ignored social boundaries. She didn’t care about Julian’s personal space or his neat-freak habits. She dared to grab food directly from his plate, and she even napped in his private lounge. Julian would, at most, scowl a little. He never said a harsh word to her. But he was never like that with me. Once, when we were walking, I stepped slightly too close and brushed against his sleeve. His face immediately darkened, and he stopped talking to me for the rest of the day. The contrast was brutal. I had to face the truth: he really didn’t love me. Not even a little. I pulled my thoughts back, stood up, and started packing my things. Actually, I didn’t have much to pack. This was Julian’s apartment. I had moved in after we made things official. I just wanted to make it easier to take care of his daily life. But Julian’s apartment was so aggressively minimalist that buying even a decorative mug felt like a crime. Even so, I had managed to add two potted plants, two throw pillows, a small rug, and a few colorful plates over the months. I had hoped to slowly blend into his life. I just didn’t expect it to end so quickly. I had just packed these things into a cardboard box, intending to throw them out, when the front door opened.

Chloe’s POV Julian was back. “You didn’t make soup tonight?” The man asked as he kicked off his shoes at the door. Indeed, I hadn’t. And I never would again. Ever since Maya joined the team, most of the soup I left on Julian’s desk ended up in her stomach anyway. I held the cardboard box and kept walking. “I didn’t feel like making any.” “Wait.” Julian called out. I stopped, but I didn’t turn around. Julian glanced at the box in my arms. “What are you doing with those?” “They’re old. Time to get rid of them,” I said, and walked out the door. Julian stood by the entrance, watching me carry the box to the trash chute. He didn’t say anything else and went back to his room. Even though I had lived here for three months, we slept in separate bedrooms. We never disturbed each other. The next morning, I arrived at the hospital and went straight to the Chief of Medicine’s office instead of my department. I was there to hand in my resignation. Dr. Mitchell listened to me, thought for a moment, and said, “Chloe, I highly respect your work ethic. But I won’t interfere with your personal choices.” “However, Maya just joined the team, and she still needs to get used to working with Julian. The resignation process takes thirty days. During this month, could you stay and help Maya out?” He paused, then added, “Let Maya take over as the First Assistant. You can work as the Second Assistant. What do you think?” Dr. Mitchell was Maya’s father. It was no surprise he wanted me to act as his daughter’s training wheels. I nodded. “Okay.” I stood up to leave. Just as I reached the door, Dr. Mitchell’s voice came from behind me. “I’ll approve your resignation directly. There’s no need to tell Julian. I don’t want this affecting his surgeries.” I paused for a fraction of a second, then let out a dry laugh. “Understood, Chief.” I hadn’t planned on telling Julian anyway. When you decide to let go, you don’t need a grand announcement. I didn’t even need Julian to know. When I walked back to our department, I could hear Maya’s laughter before I even opened the door. She was sharing stories from the medical forum with our colleagues, talking about a cutting-edge surgical technique she had seen. Everyone was listening intently. The moment I walked in, Maya greeted me with a bright smile. “Chloe! Julian was complaining about stomach pain after his surgery last night. I went to his lounge to grab some soup for him, but I couldn’t find any. Did you forget to make it?” The room went dead silent. Everyone looked at me with different expressions. Some felt pity, some were curious, and others quickly looked down, pretending they hadn’t heard. I ignored the unspoken drama in the room. I met Maya’s gaze, my voice calm but crystal clear. “I’m Julian’s surgical assistant, not his housekeeper. Late-night meals aren’t in my job description. If you want to make it yourself, Maya, I can send you the recipe.” Maya’s smile froze on her face. She looked incredibly embarrassed. “Get back to work, everyone,” Julian’s voice cut through the awkward silence as he stepped into the room. But his scanning gaze immediately landed on me. In the past, colleagues often teased me about acting like Julian’s personal maid. Julian always ignored it. And I never defended myself. This was the first time I had ever fired back, and I had done it so formally and coldly. “Chloe, in my office. Now.” I followed Julian into his office. Once the door clicked shut, he turned to face me. His tone was the same as always, like a boss checking in on an underperforming employee. For a moment, I was speechless. I didn’t know where his question came from, nor did I know how to answer. Seeing my silence, Julian actually attempted to explain. “Taking Maya to the forum was just to help her gain experience. You don’t need to be petty about…” I lost all patience to hear him out. So, he thought I was throwing a tantrum because he took Maya to the forum, and that was why I didn’t make him soup. I laughed at myself in my head. What a pathetic excuse. Years ago, when I was the one who lacked experience and knowledge, he had never offered to take me to help me “gain experience.” “Julian.” I cut him off. This was the first time in over ten years I had ever interrupted him. Julian had a beautiful voice, and he didn’t talk much. Whenever he spoke, I used to listen intently. Even if he was scolding me, I never had the heart to cut him off. Julian was visibly stunned. “I don’t care about that,” I swallowed the bitterness in my throat, trying my best to sound calm. “Let’s end this relationship.” I couldn’t even bring myself to say the word “breakup.” Only people who were actually in love had the right to use that word. Had he and I ever truly been together? I was just his girlfriend in name only.

Chloe’s POV For a moment, Julian looked completely lost. He didn’t seem to comprehend what I was saying. “What?” Before I could reply, the office door was thrown open. “Dr. Vance, we have an emergency!” The only person who dared to enter Julian’s office without knocking was Maya. Julian’s attention shifted instantly. His expression turned dead serious as he strode toward the door. As he passed me, he said out of habit, “Chloe, prep for surgery.” Maya stood at the door. Her eyes lingered on my face for a second with a hint of smugness before she quickly hurried after Julian. I stood in the empty office, motionless. I was no longer Julian’s First Assistant. Prepping for surgery was no longer my job. The Chief had settled this morning, and though Julian didn’t know yet, it didn’t change the outcome. I slowly walked back to my desk and sat down, staring into space. My colleagues rushed in and out. Some were changing into scrubs, others were checking charts. Everyone was busy. Only I sat there, feeling like a gear that had been forcibly removed from a fast-spinning machine. I used to be the most precise part of his machine. Now that I was cast aside, I had no idea what to do. I somehow survived until clock-out time. To make matters worse, the moment I stepped out of the hospital, a torrential downpour slammed the city. Because of the rush hour and the terrible weather, the wait time on my rideshare app was over three digits. I didn’t have an umbrella. I had to hold my bag over my head, standing by the curb trying to hail a cab in vain. Rain ran down my arms, and within minutes, I was soaked to the bone. Julian had a car, but I had never once thought about hitching a ride with him. Even though we lived together, Julian had never suggested driving to work together. Since he never offered, I was too embarrassed to ask. Over time, this became our silent agreement. Suddenly, a sleek black Bentley pulled up smoothly in front of me. The window rolled down, revealing Maya’s face in the passenger seat. “Chloe, get in! The rain is crazy. We’ll give you a ride.” We. That word, combined with the icy rain, made me shiver. “No, it’s fine. My clothes are soaked.” Usually, even when I had to ride in Julian’s car for work-related reasons, I was incredibly cautious. Before getting out, I would wipe down every surface I touched with disinfectant wipes. Looking like a drowned rat right now, I didn’t want to annoy his inner neat freak. A deep male voice came from the driver’s seat. “Get in.” The storm was getting worse, so I finally opened the door and climbed into the back. My dripping clothes soaked the leather seat. I sat stiffly, trying to minimize the contact area as much as possible. In contrast, Maya was completely at ease in the front seat. She turned around to look at me, smiling. “Chloe, where do you live? We’ll drop you off first.” I didn’t answer. Nobody knew Julian and I lived together. And nobody knew I was his girlfriend. An awkward silence filled the car. Finally, Julian spoke to Maya. “I’ll drop you off first.” The atmosphere returned to normal. Maya started chatting with Julian about today’s surgery. She talked about how nervous she was, how her hands were sweating, how her heart felt like it was going to explode during the suturing, and how she almost screamed with joy when the patient’s vitals stabilized. Julian smiled occasionally, responding softly without a trace of his usual impatience. When she mentioned her anxiety as the First Assistant, Julian actually offered a rare compliment. “You did great. Much steadier than Chloe’s first time on the table.” Maya laughed happily, turning her head back. “Really, Chloe?” I forced a silent smile. I was surprised Julian still remembered my first time on the operating table. But so what? He only remembered it to use as a negative contrast. He used my past struggle just to highlight how perfect Maya was. Maya casually turned on the car radio, and a lively pop song filled the car. It was definitely not the kind of music Julian listened to. Julian frowned slightly, but he didn’t turn it off. Maya hummed along with the melody, then opened the glove compartment. She pulled out a pack of cookies and offered one to me. “Want a cookie, Chloe?” I shook my head. I didn’t mean to spy on the glove compartment. But the space was too small. I couldn’t help but notice what was inside. There was a lipstick, a hairbrush, and a compact mirror. It was Maya’s personal drawer. Knowing how much Julian hated clutter, I never touched anything in his car, let alone left my personal items there. The brutal reality slapped me in the face once again. I had spent over ten years trying to blend into his life, and I failed. Maya did it in just two months. I had lost completely. Maya tore open the packaging and popped a cookie directly into Julian’s mouth. Julian froze for a split second, then slowly chewed. The sound of his chewing was painfully loud in the quiet car. I turned my head to look at the rain sliding down the window. When we reached Maya’s apartment complex, she ran into the building under her umbrella. She turned around to wave at the car, her smile incredibly bright. Julian waited until she safely entered the lobby before driving off. Now that it was just the two of us, the silence in the car became heavy. Then I heard him ask, “Why weren’t you the First Assistant today?” “Maya needs the experience,” I replied, staring out the window. Julian stayed quiet for a long moment before uttering, “It’s good that you can be understanding about this.”

Chloe’s POV Over the next few days, the three of us fell into a silent routine. As long as the surgery wasn’t overly complex, Maya took the role of First Assistant. I stepped back to Second Assistant. Nobody found this weird, even though Julian still had no idea I was resigning. This afternoon, right after I finished my rounds, I heard a loud commotion coming from around the corner. Dr. Sarah Miller, my closest colleague, was being cornered and screamed at by a heavily built male relative of a patient. “My mom has been in this hospital for a week, and she’s only getting worse! You guys are just trying to scam us! You useless hacks!” Beside him, a woman with curly hair screamed hysterically, “Exactly! She was fine before, just some chest tightness! You guys intubated her and hooked her up to machines, and now she’s dying! You did this on purpose!” Sarah’s eyes were bloodshot, and she tried desperately to explain. “The patient has severe aortic stenosis. When she was admitted…” “I don’t care about your excuses!” The man refused to listen. He grabbed Sarah by her collar and raised a fist to punch her. I rushed forward and stepped right between them. “Sir, please calm down. We can sit down and discuss this. Violence won’t solve anything. We can call the attending physician to explain the situation to you. If you continue to disrupt the hospital, we will call security and the police immediately.” “Who the hell do you think you are, lecturing me?!” The man redirected all his fury toward me. He grabbed a heavy metal IV pole nearby and swung it violently at my head. Sarah screamed, and the surrounding crowd gasped and scattered. There was no time to dodge. I could only grit my teeth and close my eyes, bracing for the impact. But the expected pain never came. A body shielded me, locking me into a tight, solid embrace. It was Julian. The heavy metal pole slammed hard against his back with a sickening thud. I stared in shock as cold sweat broke out on Julian’s forehead. He gasped in pain, but his arms remained locked around me, protecting me completely. Security rushed in and tackled the man to the ground. The hallway was a chaotic mess, with people running everywhere. Julian finally let me go. His expression had already returned to his usual cold mask, showing no signs of pain. I stood frozen, my heart hammering against my ribs. In my eyes, the way Julian looked right now, silhouetted against the hallway lights, overlapped with a memory from fifteen years ago. Back then, my family had just moved next door to Julian’s. As a new transfer student, I didn’t have any friends, and I always walked home alone. One day, at the corner of an alley, a group of older students blocked my path and demanded money. I was terrified. I couldn’t even speak; I just stood there sobbing. One of the bullies sneered, “Is this girl mute? Maybe a few punches will make her talk.” I closed my eyes, waiting for the blows, but a thin, teenage boy stepped in front of me. The bullies’ fists and kicks rained down. But that boy held me tightly in his arms, never letting go for a second. When they finally got tired and left, cursing, the boy slowly released me. I burst into loud tears. The boy, sweat dripping down his cold, handsome face, just muttered, “So annoying,” and walked away. I followed him blankly, only to realize we lived next door to each other.

Chloe’s POV Julian had been a prodigy since he was a kid. He was always at the top of his class and a favorite among the teachers. Because of his status, the school took the bullying incident very seriously. The older students were suspended, and they never bothered us again. I was safe. From then on, I walked home from school right behind Julian, keeping a short distance, acting like his little shadow. I was terrified he would find me annoying and push me away, so I never dared to initiate a conversation. Julian never spoke either, but he never ran me off. I wasn’t a genius like him, but I studied as hard as I could just to get into the same schools he chose. We walked like that from middle school to high school, and then to medical school. I really thought we would walk together for the rest of our lives. “Are you okay?” His cold voice snapped me back to reality. I blinked. “I’m fine. Thank you, Julian.” In that brief second, my heart wavered. “No need to thank me. You saved my life last time. Consider this payback,” Julian said coldly. His words felt like an icy bucket of water dumped over my head. So that was it. I took a knife for him, so he took an IV pole for me. We were even now. He didn’t owe me anything anymore. Julian, when you asked me to be your girlfriend, you must have been so reluctant, right? It’s okay. Soon, you won’t have to play the part anymore. You’re free. Suppressing the sharp pain in my chest, I nodded. “Right. We’re even now.” Julian stared at my face for a second, then turned and walked away without another word. With the aggressive family member escorted away and Julian relatively unhurt, the crisis was over. But the Cardiology Department was the crown jewel of the hospital, and Julian was their star surgeon. Naturally, Chief Mitchell had to come down to personally show his concern. After a few minutes of professional pleasantries, Dr. Mitchell said with fatherly concern, “Julian, you are the face of our hospital. You must protect yourself.” His eyes shifted to me as he continued, “Don’t just throw yourself in front of danger for anyone. Leave that to hospital security.” Julian didn’t say a word. Maya quickly stepped in to ease the tension, tugging at her father’s arm. “Dad, Julian was just looking out for his colleague.” Dr. Mitchell chuckled, looking at Julian warmly. “Julian, you’ve trained her well. Maya has been stubborn since she was a kid. She never listens to me, but she hangs onto your every word! I guess I’ll have to trouble you to keep looking after her in the future.” Anyone with a brain could hear that the Chief wasn’t just talking about work. Julian glanced over at me. I was holding my thermos, slowly sipping water, looking completely detached as if their conversation had absolutely nothing to do with me. Julian’s throat bobbed, and he finally spoke. “Dr. Mitchell is very bright and fast. She’s making great progress.” Silence meant agreement. The looks our colleagues exchanged became laced with romantic gossip, while some threw pitying glances my way. I kept my head down, sipping my water, pretending I was completely oblivious. A moment later, I went to the restroom. As I walked past the corner of the hallway, my footsteps suddenly froze. From the quiet corner came Maya’s cheerful, bold voice. “Julian, I like you. I’ve liked you since the first moment I saw you. Will you be my boyfriend?” Before he could answer, Maya leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Julian went stiff, his ears turning bright red. He was about to say something when his eyes caught mine standing a few yards away. I just stood there, watching quietly. I had tried to initiate physical contact with him before. I had tried to hold his hand. But the moment my fingertips brushed his, he would flinch away as if he had been electrocuted. Yet, when Maya kissed him, he didn’t push her away, nor did he flinch. It was just another piece of evidence confirming a truth I already knew all too well. I turned and walked away. Maybe too many things had happened today. As I walked away, my legs felt weak, and I stumbled slightly.

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That night, Justin Lane pinned me against the floor-to-ceiling window, his movements charged with an almost uncontrollable intensity. His phone rang. He answered it in German. “Yes. My marriage to Stella was only a sham. Yesterday, I officially registered my marriage to Chloe.” Every drop of blood in my body seemed to freeze. He thought I couldn’t understand German. He even smiled at me, pressed a kiss to the side of my neck, and never paused what he was doing. How ridiculous. Ten years of love, and it turned out our marriage had only ever been a façade. After hanging up, he claimed there was an urgent matter at the office and left. A few minutes later, I saw Chloe’s Instagram post: 【He told me that whenever I need him, he’ll always be there.】 The photo showed a man’s hand wearing a watch. The Patek Philippe on his wrist was the one I had given him. Just two hours earlier, that very hand had been roaming over my body. What he didn’t know was that I’d spent six months teaching myself German just so I could read his medical records. What he also didn’t know was that I’d already signed the stock transfer agreement and booked a flight to San Francisco. Fifteen days. That was the final deadline I was giving this relationship.

Stella’s POV The rain in New York came out of nowhere, heavy drops slamming violently against the floor-to-ceiling windows of our sixty-sixth-floor penthouse. The bedroom was pitch black, illuminated only by the flashing neon lights from the city below. Justin pressed me against the cold glass. Behind me was the freezing window. In front of me was his burning chest. His kisses were wild, almost desperate, as if he wanted to consume me whole. I tilted my head back, my hands gripping his broad shoulders tightly. As wave after wave of pleasure washed over me, I closed my eyes, feeling this man’s absolute, raw desire for me. Just as we reached the peak, right at the second our sanity was about to snap, a phone suddenly buzzed frantically from the pocket of his jeans thrown on the carpet. It was Justin’s private, encrypted phone. Frustrated by the interruption, Justin cursed under his breath, his eyebrows knitting together. Still, he paused. Keeping one arm wrapped tightly around my waist, he reached down with the other to grab the phone. The moment he saw the caller ID, I felt his body stiffen. A subtle, split-second change, but I caught it. He pressed answer, pulling me flush against his chest and resting his chin on top of my head. Carter’s panicked voice came through the speaker, muffled by the loud background noise of a bar. “Justin, are you out of your mind?” Justin’s expression shifted instantly. He cut Carter off, speaking in fluent, freezing German. “I’m not alone. Speak German.” The other end went dead silent for two seconds. Then, Carter took a sharp breath. He switched to German, though the shock and anger in his voice were still palpable. “Did you really sign marriage papers with Chloe in LA?” “What the hell are you thinking?” “When you got into that car crash and ended up in a wheelchair, your company almost went under. Chloe treated you like garbage. She fled the country to marry some rich guy.” “Now she is divorced, back in town, and needs a legal husband to secure her family trust fund. And you just hand yourself over?” Those German words felt like frozen icicles piercing through the receiver straight into my ears. My brain instantly translated them into crystal-clear English. In that single second, the blood in my veins ran completely cold. An icy chill started from the soles of my feet and rushed straight to my heart. Justin didn’t notice my stiffness. He just unconsciously tightened his grip on my waist, his voice remaining cool and detached. “Chloe is in a dangerous spot right now. If she doesn’t get that trust fund, she will be buried in massive debt. I can’t just watch her drown.” “Then what about Stella?” Carter roared through the phone. “When you were paralyzed, who gave up her career as a commercial pilot to become a risk management expert just to protect your company? Who spent over a thousand hours helping you with physical therapy? She loves you more than her own life. Now you have married someone else. What is she to you?” Hearing my name, Justin’s breath hitched. A trace of impatience crept into his tone. “I’ll keep this from her. Once Chloe’s crisis is resolved, we’ll get a divorce. As for Stella… I’ll give her the grandest wedding in a few months. She won’t care about a piece of paper.” “How long do you think you can hide this? If she finds out…” “She won’t,” Justin cut him off coldly. “Keep your mouth shut. Don’t tell a soul.” With that, he hung up and tossed the phone back onto the carpet. He leaned down, kissing the side of my neck again. His warm lips tried to soothe me, and his movements became passionate once more. “Sorry, babe. Just a quick emergency with the company,” he whispered hoarsely against my ear. I didn’t say a word. I just kept my eyes wide open, staring at the reflection of our tangled bodies on the glass window. Justin had no idea. During the years he was paralyzed, in order to help him understand the medical files from top German neurosurgeons, I had stayed up late for six months straight just to learn German. So I had understood every single word he just said to Carter. To save his ex, he married her. And he planned to use a fake, legally void wedding to deceive me, the woman who had stood by him for five years. My body kept moving with his. We even reached the peak together at the very end. Panting, Justin carried me back to the bed, kissing my forehead gently, as if I were a precious gem. “Stella, I love you,” he murmured, eyes closed in satisfaction. I stared at the ceiling. My eyes burned, but not a single tear fell. I forced a faint smile, my voice as quiet as a whisper. “Yeah. I know.” I knew he loved me. But I also knew his love for me would always play second fiddle to Chloe.

Stella’s POV The next morning, I woke up to the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Justin was already fully dressed. His tailored suit made him look tall and commanding, his legs long and straight. Looking at him now, no one would ever guess that this man, who now dominated the New York business world, had been confined to a wheelchair for three long years. He walked to the bedside holding a cup of black coffee, leaning down to press a soft kiss on my lips. “Morning, beautiful. I have to fly to Los Angeles,” Justin said, his long fingers gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His eyes were so warm they could melt ice. “There’s a merger deal that needs my signature. I’ll be gone for about three days.” I leaned against the headboard, holding the warm mug. My gaze fell on his right hand. It was bare. No ring. But just yesterday, he had signed marriage papers with Chloe in LA. “Okay,” I said, taking a sip of the bitter coffee. The bitterness slid down my throat, settling heavy in my stomach. “Don’t push yourself too hard. Keep your legs warm.” “I will. Wait for me at home,” Justin said, ruffling my hair before turning to stride out of the penthouse. The heavy door clicked shut, leaving the massive penthouse in a silence as heavy as a grave. I set the coffee mug down and got out of bed. Instead of heading to the bathroom, I walked straight into the study. I unlocked the safe and pulled out a pre-drafted equity transfer agreement from the very bottom, along with a sleek business card. The card read: Arthur Lane, Chairman of the Lane Group. Justin’s grandfather. No one in the Lane family had ever accepted me. To them, I was just a thrill-seeker who liked extreme sports, a girl from a common background. Even though I had given up flying for Justin, and even though I had forced myself to become a top Chief Risk Officer to stabilize their family empire, Arthur still saw me as a gold-digger trying to climb the social ladder. I picked up my phone and dialed Arthur’s number. It rang three times before a cold, commanding voice answered. “Miss Stella, if you’re calling to beg for Justin, don’t waste your breath.” “I agree to the terms you proposed last month,” I said, my voice completely flat, devoid of any emotion. “I will hand over my ten percent stock options in the Lane Group, along with all the core data from the risk management department.” There was a stunned silence on the other end, followed by a mocking chuckle. “So you finally woke up? Finally realized you don’t belong in Justin’s world?” “Yes, I don’t belong,” I said, looking out at the gray New York skyline. “But I have two conditions. First, approve my transfer to the San Francisco branch immediately, with maximum executive authority. Second, give me fifteen days to wrap things up here.” “Fifteen days? Fine,” Arthur replied, his voice dripping with the satisfaction of a man who had finally cleared a nuisance. “But after fifteen days, I want you gone from New York forever. Never show your face to Justin again.” “Don’t worry. I won’t look back.” After hanging up, I let out a long breath. Fifteen days. That was the deadline I was giving to this five-year relationship. I opened my phone. At the very bottom of my contact requests was an invite from yesterday. The profile picture was Chloe, a woman in a white ballet tutu, sporting a radiant, perfect smile. Chloe’s latest Instagram story was posted at 2:00 PM yesterday. It was a photo of a massive bouquet of red roses sitting next to two official marriage certificates. Although the names were carefully blurred, the corner of the photo captured a man’s hand. On his wrist was a Patek Philippe watch. The very watch I had bought Justin for his birthday last year. Her caption read. “He said as long as I need him, he’ll always be there. Thank you, fate, for bringing you back to me.” This story was set to be visible only to me. I stared at the photo, my chest completely numb. The pain had been replaced by a cold, calculating detachment. I wasn’t even angry. I just found it pathetic. I closed Instagram, opened the Federal Aviation Administration website, and logged into my account. A prompt popped up on the screen. “Your Commercial Helicopter Pilot License has been inactive for five years. Would you like to apply for reinstatement and schedule a re-evaluation?” Without a second thought, I clicked “Yes.” Justin didn’t need me anymore. It was time to take back my own sky.

Stella’s POV For the next few days, my life ran like a perfectly calibrated machine. During the day, I handled the complex handover process at the office. As the Chief Risk Officer of the Lane Group, I held the keys to virtually all of the company’s core secrets. I slowly deleted the encrypted data from my personal drives, packed them up, and prepared to hand them over to the transition team Arthur was sending. At night, I returned to the penthouse filled with memories of Justin and began erasing my presence piece by piece. Twelve days left. Chloe updated her Instagram again. This time, it was a photo of a candlelit dinner. Justin’s face wasn’t in the frame, but his hands were visible as he cut a steak, a bottle of Romanee-Conti resting on the table. The caption. “My favorite person across from me, my favorite wine in hand.” I had just finished a brutal four-hour simulator retraining session at the flight center. Drenched in sweat, I sat on the locker room bench, sipping ice-cold water. I looked at her story and calmly tapped the heart icon to leave a like. Five minutes later, a message from Justin popped up on Snapchat. “What are you up to, Stella?” I stared at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keyboard for a second before typing. “Just finished some overtime, heading home. How about you? Is the merger going well?” “Very smooth. I’ll be back in New York tomorrow,” Justin replied instantly, followed by a voice note. I tapped it. His deep, soothing voice echoed in the quiet room, with soft piano music playing in the background. “I miss you so much, Stella. I got you a gift. See you tomorrow.” I listened to his voice while my eyes remained fixed on the glass of red wine in Chloe’s Instagram post. I typed back a single word. “Okay.” Eleven days left. Justin arrived back in New York half a day early. I had just shredded a highly confidential file when my office door was pushed open. Justin walked in hurriedly, not even taking off his coat. He locked the door behind him, strode over to my desk, and spun my chair around to face him. He braced his hands on the armrests, leaning down to kiss me. It was a possessive, aggressive kiss, carrying his signature cedarwood cologne… and a faint, sugary scent that belonged to another woman. My stomach churned with a sudden, violent wave of nausea. I jerked my head to the side, dodging his lips, and pressed my hands against his chest to push him back. “Justin, we’re in the office.” Justin froze, a flicker of annoyance passing through his eyes, though it was quickly masked by his usual warmth. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply. “I couldn’t help it. I missed you.” He nuzzled against me like an eager puppy, then straightened up, pulling a small, navy-blue velvet box from his pocket. “Open it.” I took the box, my fingers cold. With a soft click, the box popped open. Inside lay a breathtaking diamond bracelet. The design was intricate, featuring a rare, brilliant pink diamond as the centerpiece. “I saw it at an auction in LA and thought it would look perfect on you,” Justin said, his eyes filled with anticipation. “Do you like it?” I stared at the bracelet, but all I could see was the Instagram story Chloe had posted this morning. In Chloe’s photo, she was wearing a diamond necklace with the exact same design. Her caption had been. “He said this is his exclusive love for me.” So, his so-called “exclusive” love was just a buy-one-get-one-free deal. I looked up, meeting Justin’s affectionate gaze, and forced a smile. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” Instead of putting it on, I closed the box and tossed it into my desk drawer. Justin’s brow furrowed slightly. Usually, whenever he got me a gift, I would put it on immediately and wrap my arms around his neck. Today, I was far too detached. “Is something wrong? Are you just tired from work?” Justin reached out to touch my forehead. “Yeah. The quarterly risk reports are due soon. I haven’t been sleeping well,” I said, casually dodging his hand as I stood up. “You just got back. Go rest in your office. I have a meeting to run.” Justin stared at my cold demeanor. He looked like he wanted to say something, but seeing my blank expression, he swallowed his words. “Alright. Let’s grab dinner tonight.” Once his back was turned and the door closed, I took the blue velvet box out of the drawer and tossed it straight into the trash can. Garbage belonged in the trash.

Stella’s POV Nine days left. Chloe came to New York. I had just walked out of the conference room when I spotted a woman’s silhouette standing in the hallway of the executive suite. Chloe was wearing an oversized men’s trench coat. The sleeves were rolled up, exposing her thin wrists. She was looking at the company’s corporate history wall, her long hair falling over her shoulders. She looked delicate and gentle. I recognized that coat instantly. It was Justin’s. I had accompanied him to London last winter to have it custom-made at a century-old tailor on Savile Row. Hearing the sound of my heels, Chloe turned around. We stood face-to-face. A flash of provocation gleamed in Chloe’s eyes, but her face instantly shifted into an innocent, apologetic expression. She walked over to me quickly, her voice so soft it sounded like it could blow away in the wind. “Stella, it’s been a while.” I stopped, my eyes scanning the trench coat she was wearing. My voice was entirely flat. “Chloe. Can I help you?” Chloe instinctively pulled the coat tighter around herself, biting her lower lip. “I’m so sorry… I just arrived in New York yesterday and my luggage got lost at the airport. It was freezing last night, and Justin didn’t want me to catch a cold, so he lent me his coat. Please don’t misunderstand, Stella. Justin and I are just friends now.” Just friends. I scoffed inwardly. Friends who sign marriage certificates? “It’s just a coat. You don’t need to be so tense, Chloe,” I said, my gaze cold and precise, as if evaluating a worthless spreadsheet. “Though the size is clearly too big for you. You look like a toddler wearing her father’s clothes. Next time, if you need something, just call Justin’s assistant. He can buy you clothes that actually fit.” Chloe’s face stiffened. She clearly hadn’t expected this reaction. She probably thought I would scream, throw a tantrum, or lose my mind like a jealous lunatic. Right then, the door to the CEO’s office swung open. Justin stepped out. When he saw the two of us standing in the hallway, his face paled. Instantly, he rushed to Chloe’s side, shielding her behind his back, his eyes locked onto me with intense wariness. “Stella, what are you doing here?” Justin’s voice carried a nervous tremor. Looking at his protective stance, I found it hilarious. I was his actual girlfriend, yet he was guarding his fragile ex-wife from me as if I were a threat. “Just walking back from my meeting,” I said, waving the folder in my hand with a casual smile. “Carry on. I have reports to review.” Without giving Justin another glance, I clicked my heels and walked past them. Justin froze. Suddenly, he pushed Chloe aside and caught up to me, grabbing my wrist. “Stella!” Forced to stop, I turned back to look at him. “Do you have a work-related question, Justin?” Addressing him by his first name so formally drew an instant, icy boundary between us. Justin lowered his voice, his tone almost pleading. “Don’t be mad. Chloe just got back to the country and is facing a lot of trouble. I’m just helping her out. There is absolutely nothing going on between us.” I looked into his anxious eyes. Those were the eyes that had been blind for six months after his car accident. During those six months, I had held his hand, guiding him back into the light step by step. I used to believe those eyes would only ever look at me. “I’m not mad,” I said, gently pulling my wrist from his grip, my lips curving into a flawless smile. “I mean it, Justin. She’s in trouble, and it’s nice of you to help. Go back to her, don’t keep her waiting.” My tone was completely tranquil. He probably would have preferred me to throw a fit or slap him across the face. Anything would be better than me looking at him like a total stranger. I didn’t give him a chance to speak. I turned and walked straight through the glass doors of the risk management department. The moment the doors shut behind me, the smile died on my face, leaving only a cold, dead silence.

Stella’s POV Six days left. A rare, violent storm hit New York. I left the office early and returned to the penthouse. There were still too many things to clean out. I grabbed a large black trash bag and began purging the place of my existence. In the bathroom: our matching electric toothbrushes. Tossed. In the walk-in closet: the limited-edition silk tie I spent an entire month’s salary on for him. Tossed. In the study: the Lego model we spent a month building together. I knocked it over without hesitation and swept the pieces into the bag. Finally, I walked over to the display cabinet in the living room. Inside sat a custom-made flight helmet. It was the first gift Justin gave me after he recovered. On the side, he had hand-painted an eagle soaring through the clouds, with the words. “To my Queen, Stella.” I used to treat this helmet like a holy relic, polishing it every single day. But now, looking at that eagle, it just felt like a cruel joke. I had clipped my own wings for him, and he had painted me an eagle. With a blank expression, I opened the cabinet, pulled the helmet out, and threw it right into the trash bag. At 10:00 PM, Justin came home reeking of alcohol. I heard his heavy footsteps entering the penthouse. He had been out drinking, but I would never again brew him warm milk and gently scold him like I used to. When he opened the bedroom door, all he found was darkness. I hadn’t left a light on for him, hadn’t prepared any hangover soup, and wasn’t waiting on the sofa. I heard Justin flip on the lights and stumble around the living room. Then, his frantic footsteps began pacing around the penthouse, searching for something. He must have noticed. The helmet was gone, the toothbrushes were gone, the mugs had been downsized to one, and even his favorite tie had vanished. “Stella!” Justin burst into the bedroom. I was propped up against the pillows, reading a book. I didn’t even look up at his voice. “What?” “Where is the helmet?!” Justin’s eyes were bloodshot, his voice trembling with a mix of fury and sheer panic. “The flight helmet I got you! Where is it?!” I flipped a page, my voice as casual as if I were commenting on the weather. “Oh, that. I accidentally cracked it while cleaning the other day. It was ruined, so I threw it out.” “You threw it out?!” Justin stared at me in disbelief, as if looking at a complete stranger. “That was our first-anniversary gift! That was our memory! Even if it was cracked, we could have fixed it! Why would you throw it away?!” I finally closed the book and looked up at him. My gaze was clear, sharp, and freezing, cutting right through his lies. “Justin, when something is broken, it’s broken,” I said softly, yet ruthlessly. “You can’t fix a crack. Keeping a broken object only risks cutting yourself. It’s much easier to just throw it away.” Justin looked as if he had been struck by lightning. He stared into my eyes, trying to find any trace of spite or jealousy. But there was none. There was only absolute calmness. A calmness that bred despair. “Do you…” Justin’s throat bobbed with difficulty, his voice raspy and terrified. “Do you know something?” Looking at his guilty face, I only felt pity. I didn’t even have the energy to expose him. “I know you’ve been stressed lately,” I said, reopening my book and returning to my professional, distant tone. “Go take a shower and get some sleep. I have to meet with the San Francisco team tomorrow. Goodnight.” Justin stood frozen by the bed, watching me look back down at my book. He didn’t say another word. I wasn’t going to argue with him. I was just preparing my quiet exit.

Stella’s POV Three days left. I went to the salon and chopped off the long hair I had kept for five years. Justin used to love playing with my long hair, saying it felt like fine silk. Because of that single compliment, I had kept the same hairstyle for five years, spending thousands of dollars a month on hair treatments. But now, looking at my sleek, shoulder-length bob in the mirror, I felt lighter than ever. Leaving the salon, I met my only close friend in New York, Nora, at a Michelin-starred restaurant. “Are you really doing this?” Nora looked at my short hair, her eyes red. “Moving to San Francisco? What about Justin? You literally almost died for him, and now you’re just handing him over to that ex on a silver platter?” I raised my wine glass and downed it in one go. The burning liquid slid down my throat, settling into a dull ache in my chest. “Nora, he’s not worth fighting for,” I said, setting the glass down with a self-deprecating smile. “He already married Chloe on paper. If I stay, what am I? His mistress?” Nora’s eyes widened in shock. She slammed her hand on the table. “That piece of trash! I’m going to the Lane Group headquarters right now and exposing him to everyone!” “Don’t,” I said, catching her hand. My eyes were cold and focused. “Arthur gave me full authority over the San Francisco branch, plus a massive payout for my stock options. Trading a garbage man for all of that is a steal. If we make a scene, the deal might fall through.” As a risk expert, I always knew how to minimize losses. My heart was bankrupt; I couldn’t afford to lose my financial leverage too. Just then, my phone buzzed on the table. It was an Instagram notification. Chloe had posted. In the photo, Chloe was wearing an extremely luxurious custom wedding gown, standing in front of a massive mirror. Reflected in the background was Justin, sitting on a sofa, waiting for her. The caption. “He said even if it’s just a formality, he wants me to be the most beautiful bride.” I stared at the post and calmly pressed the heart icon. Less than a minute later, Justin’s call came through. I answered and put it on speaker. “Stella, where are you?!” Justin’s voice was filled with panic and desperation. “Let me explain! Chloe has a charity gala next month and needed to borrow a dress. I only came along to help her choose. It’s not what you think!” His voice carried a guilt he didn’t even realize he was projecting. I leaned back in my chair, looking up at the restaurant’s chandelier. My voice was sweet and perfectly calm. “I know. The gown is gorgeous. It suits her perfectly. You’ve always had great taste.” The other end of the line went dead silent. Only Justin’s heavy, erratic breathing filled the quiet air. “Stella…” Justin’s voice began to tremble. “Don’t talk to me like that. Please, just yell at me. Don’t use that tone…” “Justin, I’m having dinner with a friend. I have to go.” Ignoring his unraveling sanity, I hung up. Half an hour later, the door to our private dining room was slammed open. Justin stood at the threshold, drenched in sweat, his tie askew, his eyes bloodshot. When his eyes fell on my short hair, all the strength seemed to drain from his body. He had to grip the doorframe to keep from collapsing. “Your hair…” His voice shook, his eyes wide with terror. “It was getting too long and was a pain to wash, so I cut it,” I said, standing up and grabbing my coat from the chair. I looked at him as if nothing were wrong. “What are you doing here? Weren’t you helping Chloe with her dress?” Justin suddenly lunged forward, locking me in a suffocating embrace. He held me so tightly, as if trying to fuse me into his bones. “I’m done helping her. No more dresses, ever again,” Justin sobbed, burying his face in my shoulder. His voice cracked. “Stella, let’s get married. Let’s go register tomorrow! I’ll transfer all my shares to your name. Just marry me!” I let him hold me, my arms hanging uselessly at my sides. I stared at the painting on the restaurant wall, my heart completely flat. Register tomorrow? Did he forget he was legally another woman’s husband? Bigamy is a felony. He could go to prison for that. “Sure,” I said, gently patting his back. My voice was as sweet as a dream. “But not tomorrow. I have to hand over my final risk assessment reports tomorrow. Let’s do it in a few days.” Justin pulled back, his eyes lighting up with joy. “Okay. In a few days, I’ll plan everything. I’ll give you the most romantic proposal ever.” I looked down, hiding the mocking smirk in my eyes. Too bad you don’t have a few days left.

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I am the only daughter of the billionaire Vance family, pampered to no end by my three gorgeous, incredibly successful older brothers. I thought I would live the life of a princess forever. Until one day, I received a letter from my future self: “Chloe, Your oldest brother, Carter, will sign a high-stakes valuation bet for a female secretary, wiping ten billion dollars off the Vance Group’s market cap. Your second brother, Julian, will be framed by a female secretary and kicked out of the board, completely penniless. Your third brother, Dominic, will give up his entire inheritance for a female secretary, leaving the Vance family utterly ruined.” I panicked. I immediately investigated every single female secretary in my brothers’ offices. But I found absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. That was until Victoria Sterling, a new secretary, was suddenly dropped directly into Carter’s executive suite. She glanced at me, her voice sweet but her eyes cold as ice: “Sweetie, the executive suite isn’t a playground. If you want to play, please get the hell out.” I looked her up and down. She was gorgeous, I’d give her that. But she seriously underestimated how much my brothers adored me. I let out a cold laugh. “The one who needs to get the hell out is you.” Carter, the ultimate sister-protecting CEO of the company, was about to walk through that door any second. …….

I still had a piece of durian halfway to my mouth. There were five people in the VIP lounge. Even the one with the shortest tenure had been with Carter for six years. Right now, their expressions were hilariously identical. It was that perfect mix of wanting to speak up but being terrified of saying the wrong thing, wanting to drag someone back but not knowing who to grab. Brenda, the senior admin, was the first who couldn’t sit still. She let out a forced laugh. “Ms. Sterling, this is Mr. Vance’s…” “I know, his sister,” Victoria interrupted, not even sparing Brenda a glance. When she said the word “sister,” her tone pitched upward slightly, carrying a subtle, mocking disdain. “But even a sister shouldn’t be eating, drinking, and playing in the executive suite, right?” “The smell of durian is so strong. What if a client comes by later?” She glanced at the food container in front of me, her brows knitting together. “Besides, today is my first day. The rules of the executive suite need to be established.” “When Mr. Vance is away, I coordinate the daily affairs here.” She smiled, tilting her head to look at me like she was talking to a spoiled toddler. “Be a good girl, pack up your things, and I’ll have the receptionist call an Uber to take you home, okay?” Brenda panicked, her voice raising half an octave: “Ms. Sterling, you really don’t understand the situation. This lounge was specially set up by Mr. Vance for—” “It doesn’t matter who it was set up for.” Victoria turned around. Her voice was still sweet and gentle, but every word carried an undeniable authority. “Brenda, you’ve been with Mr. Vance for so many years. You should know better than anyone that the executive suite represents the image of the entire Group.” “If she’s in here eating smelly exotic fruit and word gets out, what will people think of the Vance Group?” Marcus, the Operations Director, finally couldn’t help but speak up as he set down his coffee cup. “Ms. Sterling, I highly suggest you wait until Mr. Vance gets back before you—” “Marcus,” Victoria cut him off, her smile unchanged as she turned her head. “Mr. Vance authorized me to manage the daily affairs of the executive suite. This falls directly under my responsibility.” “Or are you suggesting that Mr. Vance’s authorization is questionable?” Marcus opened his mouth, but quickly shut it again. I picked up a napkin and slowly wiped my fingers, my movements completely unbothered. “What did you say earlier? Told me to get the hell out?” Victoria’s smile stiffened for a fraction of a second. “I didn’t use those exact words,” she said. “I said ‘go play somewhere else.’” “Oh,” I nodded. “So you mean you get to decide where I can stay?” “Chloe, everyone in the company knows Mr. Vance spoils you. But business is business…” “By the way,” I interrupted her. “The keypad on the door? The passcode is my birthday, 0816. You can ask anyone in this room.” “Technically speaking, this lounge belongs to me.” Brenda nodded furiously beside me, looking like a woodpecker. Victoria fell silent for two seconds. She took a deep breath, resetting her expression. This time, she wasn’t smiling anymore. “Chloe, every word I say today is for the good of the Vance Group. It’s nothing personal.” She turned to Brenda, her tone shifting into that of a cold corporate director delivering an order. “Brenda, notify reception. Starting today, any non-staff members entering the executive suite must register and get pre-clearance.” She paused. “No exceptions for anyone.” Brenda’s face instantly went pale. “Ms. Sterling, this rule… I’m afraid only Mr. Vance can…” “Mr. Vance gave me the authorization,” Victoria cut her off coldly. “I don’t need to consult him on every minor detail.” Then she turned back, her gaze landing on me once more. This time, she didn’t even bother to keep up her sweet, gentle facade. “Chloe, your behavior in the executive suite today has already disrupted our normal workflow.” “As the administrative coordinator of this office, I have the right to handle this.” She walked to the door, opened it, and nodded to the two security guards standing in the hallway. “Please lock this lounge temporarily.” She looked at me, her voice quiet but crystal clear. “You can stay here for a bit, Chloe. Cool your head.” “Once I report today’s situation to Mr. Vance, I’ll let you out.” “Consider it… a little lesson.” Brenda snapped, jumping to her feet: “Victoria! How dare you!” Victoria raised a hand to stop her, the chill-inducing smile returning to her face. “Don’t get so worked up, Brenda. I’m doing this for Chloe’s own good.” “A spoiled little girl needs someone to teach her some rules, right?”

The security guards closed the door. The lighting in the lounge didn’t change, but the atmosphere felt like it had been plunged underwater. Victoria stood by the door, clapping her hands lightly as if she had just disposed of some minor garbage. “Alright,” she turned to Brenda, her voice returning to that sweet tone. “Brenda, please organize the minutes from this afternoon’s meeting and send them to me. Mr. Vance will want to review them later.” Brenda didn’t move. “Ms. Sterling,” she said, her voice incredibly low. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” “I do,” Victoria said. “I am maintaining order in the executive suite.” “And Brenda, I’m not asking for your opinion.” Brenda snapped her head up, her eyes rimmed with red. She had been with Carter for eleven years, starting when the Vance Group was just a mid-sized company. She had never dealt with this kind of audacity before. She took a deep breath, about to speak… But Victoria had already turned away, pulling out her phone and dialing a number. The call was answered almost instantly. A deep, commanding voice came through the line. “Victoria, what’s wrong?” Victoria’s tone softened by seventy percent in a second. “Uncle Richard, I just arrived at the executive suite, but I ran into a bit of trouble. I wanted to report it to you.” The name “Uncle Richard” sent another wave of silence through the lounge. Robert’s coffee cup rattled slightly, and Marcus’s expression shifted. The “Uncle Richard” Victoria was talking about was none other than Richard Harrison. He was a founding board member of the Vance Group, a close ally of my late father, and the current Head of the Compliance Committee. Victoria explained the situation, her tone dripping with victimhood. Her words were precisely crafted to paint herself as a diligent worker and me as a spoiled, unreasonable sister throwing a tantrum. “…I really had no choice. With Mr. Vance away, the office was in chaos. I had to enforce the rules.” “Uncle Richard, did I do the right thing?” There was a two-second silence on the other end of the line. “Victoria, you did nothing wrong. The executive suite needs rules.” Richard’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was clear enough for everyone in the room to hear. “I’ll call Carter later and tell him to get his sister under control.” “Running around the office all day—it’s highly unprofessional.” Victoria looked up, her eyes sweeping over everyone in the room as a smirk crept onto her lips. “Thank you, Uncle Richard. I knew you were the most reasonable one.” Hanging up, she slid her phone into her pocket and stood tall. Her entire aura was completely different now. Before, she still felt the need to maintain a polite facade. Now, she didn’t even bother. She turned back to me. “Chloe, you’re a smart girl, so I won’t beat around the bush.” She folded her hands over her knee, her tone calm. “I didn’t join the Vance Group to make an enemy out of you. But rules are rules.” “If you cooperate with me today, I’ll say some good things about you to Carter. In the future, when you come here, I’ll turn a blind eye.” “Isn’t that a win-win?” I looked down at my durian. Then I looked up, preparing to speak. Footsteps echoed from the hallway. “Who gave the order to lock this door?” It was the Chief Executive Assistant, my brother’s shadow.

Jeremy Ross stood at the door, still holding the spare key. He was in his early forties and had been with Carter for thirteen years, since the very first office the Vance Group ever leased. Everyone in the company knew an unwritten rule: when Carter wasn’t around, Jeremy’s word was Carter’s word. His gaze swept from the locked door, across everyone in the lounge, and finally locked onto Victoria. “I’ll ask one more time,” he pushed up his glasses, his tone as flat as if he were verifying meeting minutes. “Who gave the order to lock this door?” Victoria didn’t answer immediately. She sized Jeremy up for two seconds, her gaze lingering on the ID badge pinned to his chest. “Chief Executive Assistant: Jeremy Ross.” “I did.” When she said those two words, her chin lifted slightly, devoid of any guilt. “There was an incident in the executive suite. I used the authority granted to me by Mr. Vance to handle it temporarily.” Jeremy didn’t say a word. He walked past her, straight to me. “Chloe, are you okay?” I shook my head. “I’m fine.” Jeremy nodded, then turned to Brenda. “Go get some seafood soup ready. Mr. Vance knew Chloe was coming today and specifically ordered it.” Brenda looked like she had just been granted a presidential pardon. She quickly gasped an “On it!” and turned to leave. “Wait.” Victoria’s voice cut through the air. Brenda’s footsteps halted. “Mr. Ross,” Victoria stepped forward, positioning herself right between Jeremy and Brenda. “As I just stated, non-staff members are not allowed to dine in the executive suite. This rule is effective immediately.” “Having someone fetch food now—are you trying to overrule my decision?” Jeremy turned to look at her. “Ms. Sterling,” Jeremy began, “I handled your onboarding process myself. I know your authorization limits better than you do.” “Mr. Vance authorized you to coordinate the daily administrative affairs of the executive suite.” He paused. “That does not include HR, it does not include security dispatch, and it certainly does not include… locking doors.” Victoria’s expression stiffened. But she recovered quickly, even letting out a soft laugh. “Mr. Ross, those are just terms on a piece of paper.” “But do you honestly believe Mr. Vance brought me to the executive suite just to do busywork?” “You’ve been with him for thirteen years. You should know better than anyone…” “Mr. Vance doesn’t hire people based purely on a job description.” She tilted her head, her voice adopting an almost intimate undertone. “The relationship between Mr. Vance and me is not something that can be summarized by a mere authorization letter.” “Mr. Ross, you’re a smart man. I shouldn’t have to spell this out for you.” As soon as she said this, Robert almost dropped his coffee cup. Marcus turned his face away entirely. Brenda stood by the door, her mouth opening and closing in sheer disbelief. Jeremy simply pushed up his glasses, his expression completely unfazed. “Ms. Sterling, regardless of your personal relationship with Mr. Vance, within the office space of the Vance Group, everything goes by the rules.” “And those rules were set by Mr. Vance himself.” He turned back to Brenda, his tone unchanged. “Go. Get the food.” Brenda didn’t hesitate this time. She turned and practically bolted down the hallway. Victoria watched Brenda disappear, the smile on her face vanishing inch by inch. She turned to face Jeremy directly. This time, the polite mask was entirely gone. “Mr. Ross, I respect your seniority, which is why I’ve been speaking to you nicely.” “But undermining me in front of everyone today makes things very difficult for me.” Jeremy remained silent. “I locked this lounge because Chloe’s behavior was actively disrupting the workplace,” Victoria sneered, her voice dropping, forcing out each word. “Even Board Trustee Richard Harrison has already expressed his support on this matter.” “Are you saying a mere assistant is more powerful than a board trustee?”

Jeremy tucked his iPad under his arm, his voice still as flat as a dead pond. “Ms. Sterling, Mr. Harrison is indeed a senior trustee, responsible for supervising compliance.” “But the human resources and daily management of the executive suite have never fallen under the board’s jurisdiction.” He paused. “That is written in the company bylaws in black and white. It is not up to me, nor is it up to Mr. Harrison.” Victoria’s eyes turned absolutely icy. “Jeremy,” she said, addressing him by his first name for the first time, dropping even the polite “Mr.” “Do you have any idea who you are talking to?” “I do,” Jeremy said. “Victoria Sterling, the newly hired secretary of the executive suite. Today is your first day.” The words weren’t loud, but they stung. She turned around and looked at me. Realizing she couldn’t break Jeremy, she decided to shift her pressure back to me. “Chloe,” she walked over, her voice barely a whisper. “I am giving you one last chance.” “Cooperate with me on today’s matter, and I’ll act like nothing happened.” “You can keep coming to the executive suite, I won’t stop you. We can stay out of each other’s way.” “But if you keep pushing this…” She paused, her eyes scanning my face. “I won’t hesitate to have Mr. Harrison handle this personally.” “If things blow up, it won’t end well for anyone.” I pushed the plate of durian aside and looked up at her. “Victoria,” I said, “how long have you been in this lounge today?” Victoria frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?” “Just curious,” I said. “You walked in, locked the door, brought up your backer, threatened the chief assistant, and now you’re trying to negotiate with me.” I tilted my head. “Do you honestly think you have any leverage left?” The look in Victoria’s eyes shifted instantly. It wasn’t anger; it was the sudden panic of someone whose bluff had been called, leaving her completely cornered. But she masked it quickly. She took a deep breath, forcing a cold smirk onto her lips, her gentle disguise entirely shattered. “Chloe, you’ve got a sharp tongue.” “I’ve been like this since I was a kid. My brothers are used to it.” “Brothers?” Victoria repeated the word, her tone dripping with mockery. “Your brothers aren’t here right now.” “And no matter how much they spoil you, they can’t shield you from this.” She took a step closer. “So, Chloe, you’d better think carefully.” She raised her hand, pointing toward the door. “Now, are you going to walk out yourself, or should I have security escort you out?” Jeremy stepped forward. “Ms. Sterling—” “Jeremy, if you stop me again,” Victoria turned, her voice dropping to a freezing register, “I will call Mr. Harrison right now and have him ask you why an assistant is repeatedly obstructing the administrative management of this office.” Jeremy stopped. Victoria turned back to me, keeping her hand pointed toward the hallway. “Let’s go, Chloe.” I looked down at her outstretched hand. I stared at it for about three seconds. Then, I raised my eyes, looking past her shoulder toward the doorway. Sensing my gaze, Victoria frowned and slowly turned around. Heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway. The door swung open. Carter was standing at the entrance. “What,” he spoke, his voice dangerously level, “is going on here?”

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In the fifth year of my marriage to Ruby, I suddenly began to see the leaderboards in everyone’s minds. On my mother’s leaderboard, I was number one. On my best friend’s, I was number two—right behind his newborn son. Even the owner of the bagel shop downstairs ranked me sixth. Heart full of warmth, I looked at Ruby’s. Number one: her mother. Number two: Darren. It was me! I was second. I smiled for an entire day. Until my eyes drifted down to number six: Oliver. A name I had never heard in my life. I told myself it didn’t matter. I was second; he was only sixth. But over the next few days, his name crept upward, slot by slot, until he was almost neck-and-neck with me. That night, Ruby came home and wrapped her arms around me as usual. “I missed you,” she whispered. I looked at the leaderboard floating above her head. Oliver, now sitting at number three, was still climbing. “Ruby,” I said quietly. “Who is Oliver?” Her arms around my waist stiffened for a fraction of a second. … The pause was too brief, so fleeting it felt like a trick of my imagination. Ruby quickly looked down at me, her expression smooth and effortless. “A new designer on my team. He’s assisting me with the latest project, so I’m showing him the ropes.” She smiled, reaching up to ruffle my hair the way she always did. “Why do you ask? You’re not actually getting jealous of a coworker, are you?” I looked up at her. Above her head, Oliver’s name sat firmly in the number three spot. It didn’t even flicker. If he were just a coworker, my sudden question should have caused at least a tiny ripple in her mind. A momentary panic, or even mild annoyance. But there was nothing. I mumbled a quiet “Oh,” and took a sip of water. I kept the glass pressed against my lips for a long time, staring into the dark liquid. The next morning, Ruby left twenty minutes earlier than usual. She claimed the morning rush hour had been brutal lately. The kitchen island still held a warm glass of milk and a perfectly fried egg, the crusts of my toast carefully trimmed off. She had done this every single morning of our five-year marriage. I stood by the door, waving goodbye and telling her to drive safe with a smile. But the moment her taillights vanished around the corner, a strange impulse took over. I opened the location-sharing app on my phone. Her car wasn’t heading toward her office. Instead, it detoured, stopping in an unfamiliar residential neighborhood for about fifteen minutes before starting up again. I stared at the flashing red dot, my chest tightening. The third day, it was the exact same time, the exact same detour. By the fourth day, I no longer stood by the window to wave. I just watched her go, then watched the GPS dot crawl to that same quiet street and pause. Every morning she left, Oliver’s name edged a fraction closer to mine. It wasn’t a sudden leap—just a slow, agonizing crawl. But it was enough to leave me hollowed out with anxiety all day long. It happened at night, too. Twice she told me she had to work late, but her location hovered over an unfamiliar apartment complex miles away from her office. I stared at the street address until my eyes burned. One evening, I sat at the dining table, watching her lean over the counter making pour-over coffee. A sweet, floral scent of lavender syrup slowly filled our apartment, seeping into every corner of the home we built together. It was a flavor I had never bought. A scent that didn’t belong to us. Ruby brought the mug over, placing it near my hand. There was a faint, almost imperceptible flicker of tension in her eyes. “Try it,” she said. I took a sip. It was sweet, velvety, with a subtle floral creaminess. It was nothing like the bold, black americanos we had both drank for years. I looked up. “Since when do you like lavender?” She hesitated, just a beat too long, before laughing it off. “Just wanted to try something new for a change.” That split second of hesitation felt like a needle pricking my eye. Later that night, while she was in the shower, she left her phone on the sofa. The screen was still unlocked, open to her Notes app. I only meant to glance at it. Lavender syrup to milk ratio: 3 to 7. He prefers it a little sweeter. He. Not a name. Just a simple, devastating pronoun. My finger hovered over the glass screen, completely frozen. The sound of running water continued in the bathroom. I slid the phone back exactly where it had been, pretending I had seen nothing. That night, we curled up on the couch to watch a movie. She leaned back against my chest. On screen, people were laughing, but I couldn’t process a single line of dialogue. Her phone buzzed. She picked it up, and a soft, barely visible smile touched the corners of her lips as she typed a brief reply. The whole thing took less than five seconds. But in those five seconds, Oliver’s name surged forward on her leaderboard, landing right against my heels in the number two spot. I could feel her chest press against me, her heart skipping a beat. It wasn’t because of me. When she put the phone down, she reached out and wrapped her arms tighter around my waist, pulling me close. It felt like compensation. Or perhaps, she was trying to hold down a secret. I couldn’t sleep. The yellow glow of the streetlights cut through the gap in the curtains, painting the contours of her face. She was sleeping peacefully, her features relaxed, a faint, contented smile gracing her lips. I used to love watching her sleep. But that night, my gaze drifted upward. The leaderboard hung silently above her head. Number one: Her mother. Number two: Darren. Number two: Oliver. A tie. I stared at our names sitting side by side, feeling as if I’d been hit squarely in the chest. Five years of marriage, balanced perfectly on the scales against a man she had known for God knows how long. I gently lifted her hand off my waist, turned over to face the cold drywall, and kept my eyes wide open until the sun came up. The next morning, while doing the laundry, I found a crumpled receipt in her coat pocket. The name of the cafe was unfamiliar. The timestamp read 7:48 AM. Exactly during those twenty minutes she’d been leaving early. I carefully smoothed out the slip of paper. Two lavender lattes. We only ever drank black coffee. She hadn’t been practicing a new flavor for herself. She was learning how to make it exactly the way another man liked it. Sunlight streamed over the edge of the laundry basket, but my fingertips went entirely cold as I held the thin paper. After a long moment, I folded the receipt back up and slipped it into her pocket. Then I sat on the balcony, pulling my knees to my chest, unable to move for hours. The leaderboard didn’t lie. The receipt didn’t lie. The only liar in this house was her. I looked up the coffee shop online. Navigating through the tagged photos on Instagram, I easily found Oliver’s profile. He was a film photographer. His feed was filled with pictures of stray cats, moody skies, city lights reflecting off the river, and pour-over setups. He looked quiet, clean-cut, like a fresh, blank sheet of paper. I scrolled down his feed, post by post. When I hit a photo of the riverfront at night, my thumb froze. I knew that exact spot. Ruby and I had walked that path a thousand times during our college years. The iron railings, the vintage streetlamps, the distant silhouette of the bridge—I could have drawn them from memory with my eyes closed. The caption was simple: “Someone brought me to see the best view in the city.” My breath hitched. That was my place. Our place. And she had taken someone else there to trace our footsteps. I kept scrolling. I found a photo of his desk. Tucked into the corner of the frame was a fountain pen—black body, platinum clip. It was the Montblanc I had bought for Ruby. When she got accepted into her dream graduate program, I spent months scrimping and saving to buy her that pen. She had kissed my wrist and promised, “I’ll use this every single day, and every time I do, I’ll think of you.” Months ago, she told me she lost it at the office. I had torn the apartment apart trying to find it for her. It wasn’t lost. She had given it away. I touched my wrist, feeling a cold chill seep into my skin. In another post, Oliver shared a screenshot of an obscure indie documentary—the exact one Ruby had suddenly started watching. I had begged her to watch movies with me for years, but she always complained they were boring, that she’d rather just sleep. It took me five years, and I couldn’t change a single habit of hers. Oliver had been in her life for three months, and she had already rewritten her taste in coffee, movies, and hobbies. I looked up toward our bedroom closet. She’d bought so many new clothes recently—sharper tailoring, brighter colors, moving away from her usual muted palette. Once, I had pulled her toward a mirror in a department store, picking out a beautiful light-gray trench coat for her. She’d dismissed it: “Who has the energy to dress up like that?” I had bought us couple’s gym memberships; she never went once. I bought her luxury hand creams, which she left untouched because she “hated the sticky feeling.” But lately, she was going to pilates, wearing expensive perfume, and keeping her hands meticulously soft. Five years of marriage couldn’t inspire her to change. But the moment Oliver arrived, she reinvented herself. It wasn’t that she was incapable of effort. She just didn’t want to make it for me. That afternoon, I dug out our wedding video. Ruby, in her white dress, stood under the soft lights holding my hands, her eyes brimming with tears. “You’ll always be my number one,” she said into the microphone. “If there ever comes a day when you aren’t, it means I’m no longer in this world.” I had wept like a child. She wiped my tears away as our friends and family clapped. I shut the laptop, flipping the screen down. When I looked back up at the empty room, Oliver’s name was pressing tightly against mine on her leaderboard. She came home very late that night. There was a faint red mark on the side of her neck. Before I could even ask, she laughed it off quickly. “My new coat’s collar is so stiff, it kept rubbing against my skin all day.” She headed straight for the shower, washing away whatever scent she carried, changed into her silk pajamas, and climbed into bed, wrapping her arms around me from behind. “Hey, handsome. Hard day?” She kissed my cheek, her breath warm, her movements practiced and familiar. Just like every other night for the past five years. But once she fell asleep, I looked above her head. Number two: Oliver. Number three: Darren. I had finally been displaced. Right on the night she held me, called me her husband, and kissed my cheek. I lay there in the dark, my eyes dry. No tears came. Only a deep, radiating coldness that slowly spread through my limbs. The next morning, I opened Oliver’s photo of the riverfront again. The streetlamps, the railing—they looked more and more familiar. Then it clicked. Just around that bend was the little Italian bistro we used to frequent back in college. It wasn’t just the Montblanc pen. It wasn’t just the taste of lavender. Even the streets we had walked hundreds of times had been recycled for someone else. I stared at the photo for a long time. I didn’t feel anger, nor did I feel resentment. I only had one clear thought: I needed to go see it for myself. I wanted to see how much sincerity she had left when she used our sacred places to charm another man. Over the weekend, I suggested we go back to that old bistro near campus. “It’s been so long. I really miss their lasagna,” I said. Ruby agreed instantly. The owner, an old Italian man, recognized us immediately, his face lighting up. “Look who finally decided to come back! The newlyweds!” Ruby laughed, pulling out a chair for me. She ordered all my favorites—garlic bread, baked ziti, and spicy sausage penne, even remembering to tell the kitchen no onions, just the way I liked it. She chatted with the owner about our college days, how I used to sit by the window to study, and how I’d drink two bowls of minestrone when I was nervous before finals. She acted so natural, as if nothing had changed. But I kept my eyes on her leaderboard. Oliver sat firmly at number two, unmoving. I laughed, I joked, I desperately tried to piece our history back together. But over the course of the meal, my name didn’t budge even a millimeter. Halfway through the meal, her phone rang. She glanced at the screen. “I need to take this,” she said. Through the glass window, I watched her stand on the sidewalk, her back to me, one hand tucked casually into her pocket, her posture loose and relaxed. At some point, she ducked her head and laughed. I knew that laugh too well. It was defenseless, soft, the kind of laugh she reserved only for those closest to her. I looked down at the food on the table. It was everything I loved. But the steam was fading, and though she was standing just outside the door, her heart was miles away. On her leaderboard, Oliver’s name was slowly drifting closer to the number one spot. When she came back inside, she picked up on my mood instantly. Her instinct to compensate kicked in immediately. She put food on my plate, apologizing softly, claiming a client had called with an emergency. Then, as if sensing my skepticism, she added, “For our anniversary next month, I took three days off. I’m taking you to Maui—the trip you’ve been wanting for years.” The moment she said it, I instinctively looked at her leaderboard. My name actually budged upward, just a tiny fraction of an inch. A bittersweet realization hit me. She wasn’t being sweet because her love for me had returned. She was doing it out of guilt. Three days in Hawaii was the price she was willing to pay for peace of mind—a glossy receipt to settle the tab on her betrayal. I forced a smile. “That sounds great.” Even to my own ears, my voice sounded like a stranger’s. As we left the restaurant, I saw a young couple on the sidewalk. The boy was holding the girl’s hand, his smile bright and unburdened. Above his head, the girl’s name sat cleanly in the number one spot. No other names. It was the same with the elderly couple crossing the street near our apartment. The wife gently supported her husband’s arm, her leaderboard showing him as her undisputed number one, a ranking untouched by the decades. I stood frozen on the sidewalk. So that’s what it looks like to be someone’s priority. I turned to look at Ruby. She was staring down at her phone, typing away. Number one: Her mother. Number two: Oliver. Number three: Darren. I had never once been her number one. Back home, she retreated to her home office, claiming she had work to wrap up. I sat alone in the living room without turning on the lights. In the silence of the dark, I finally made a decision. I wasn’t going to wait around anymore. I wasn’t going to watch myself slide further down her list until I vanished entirely. I unlocked my phone, went back to Oliver’s social media, and tracked down a tagged photo from his company’s office. It showed the coffee shop he visited almost every single afternoon. The very next day, I arrived at that cafe early. I ordered a black coffee and took a seat in the back corner. Shortly after noon, Oliver walked in. He had neatly styled hair, wore a clean white button-down, and carried himself with a quiet, unassuming grace. He ordered a lavender latte. He looked incredibly ordinary. Yet, my eyes immediately locked onto the leaderboard above his head. Number one: Ruby. My wife was the most important person in his life. And he was fast becoming the most important person in hers. Their leaderboards locked together like a closed circuit, a perfect circle. And I was left standing on the outside. Oliver sat down and opened his laptop, beginning to edit some design drafts. I stood up to use the restroom. As I walked past his table, my eyes caught the back of his phone. Inside the clear plastic case was a Polaroid of two silhouettes standing shoulder-to-shoulder by the river. The railing, the streetlamp… I knew them intimately. Then I saw the silver chain bracelet on his wrist. I recognized the brand instantly; it was from the boutique where Ruby bought all my jewelry. I walked into the restroom, stared at my reflection in the mirror for a few seconds, and turned on the tap. I splashed cold water onto my face, watching it drip off my chin. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. When I returned, I picked up my coffee, walked over to his table, and sat down opposite him. “Hi there. Mind if I sit? I notice you’re a regular here too.” Oliver blinked in surprise, then offered a polite, warm smile. “Sure, go ahead. Yeah, I love their lavender lattes.” I stared at the milky, pastel-colored coffee in his cup, feeling a dull ache grind deep into my chest. We chatted idly for a few minutes—about cats, the weather, and the cafe’s pastries. He spoke softly, with a gentle, non-threatening cadence. The kinder he seemed, the tighter my throat felt. I kept my tone casual. “Are you here alone today?” Oliver looked down, a soft blush spreading across his cheeks. “No, actually. My girlfriend had a meeting nearby, but she’s stopping by to pick me up soon.” Girlfriend. The word echoed in my mind, freezing me in place. He didn’t know. He had absolutely no idea. In his world, Ruby was his sweet, unattached girlfriend. Not someone’s wife. Not a woman with a home and a husband. And I, in this alternate reality she had crafted for him, had been completely erased. I didn’t even exist. Oliver’s phone buzzed. He picked it up, his voice softening into an affectionate hum. “Hey. Yeah, I’m at our usual spot. You’re almost here? Perfect.” Hanging up, he gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. She’s here. She’s really wonderful, you’d like her.” Before I could find my voice, the bell above the door chimed. Ruby walked in. She was holding a cardboard carrier with two lavender lattes. Her eyes scanned the room, landing effortlessly on Oliver, a relaxed, beautiful smile gracing her face. Then her gaze shifted a mere inch to the left. When she saw me, her entire body went rigid. The smile froze on her face, the color draining from her skin until she was paper-white. Next second, her fingers went limp. The cardboard carrier crashed to the floor. The plastic lids popped off, and coffee splattered across the hardwood. The sweet, cloying scent of lavender instantly filled the air. The entire cafe fell dead silent. Oliver looked at her, then back at me, entirely bewildered. Ruby stood by the entrance, rooted to the spot like a ghost. I slowly stood up and walked toward her, stepping over the pale coffee pooling across the floor like the remains of a dream that was never mine. I stopped a foot away from her and looked up at her leaderboard one last time. Number one: Oliver. Number two: Her mother. Number three: Darren. I let out a soft, humorless laugh. “Ruby.” “Do you have any idea where I rank in your heart?”

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Ever since the diagnosis, the voice had been on a relentless loop. A cold, synthetic voice inside my head, practically weeping as it begged me not to hold on. “Please, just get a divorce.” “She slept with her intern the moment you were diagnosed. This marriage isn’t worth the slow, excruciating compromise!” “Without her, without this marriage, you’ll finally be free.” I woke up in a cold sweat, gasping. Beside me, Lucy immediately pulled me into her arms. “Sweetheart, are you okay? Are you hurting?” Lucy’s eyes were filled with nothing but raw concern. We were childhood sweethearts; we knew each other inside out. Since we got married, everyone in our neighborhood praised her as the perfect wife. Her? Having an affair? While she went to fetch me a warm glass of water, I reached for her phone. The passcode used to be my birthday. Now, it had been changed. Just then, the doorbell rang. Late at night, a drunken man was shouting her name outside our door. When he saw me, his grin turned mockingly wide. “Hey, brother-in-law. I just came to get something from Lucy. Do me a favor and check under her pillow. See if there’s a pair of men’s boxers there?” I didn’t say a word. I just felt a sharp, stabbing pain bloom behind my eyes. He was the intern the voice in my head had warned me about. Brody. … Before Brody could say anything else, Lucy had already called a cab and shoved him inside. When she walked back into the room, I was tearing the bed sheets apart, searching. “What are you looking for?” she asked, letting out a soft, casual laugh. “You’re really going to believe the ramblings of a drunk?” She actively lifted her pillow. “See? Anything there?” She reached out to wrap her arms around my waist, but I quietly stepped back. “A man gets wasted, calls you repeatedly, and shows up at our door in the middle of the night. Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?” I stared at her, trying to catch even a flicker of guilt. But she only sighed, her face softening into a look of deep, exhausted pity. “I know you’re sick, Gary. It makes you paranoid. He’s young. He got drunk and did something stupid. It happens. Please, don’t let these thoughts ruin what we have, okay?” That was the first night we slept in separate rooms. The next morning, I didn’t make her breakfast. The silence between us froze over, thick and unyielding. By the fourth day of our cold war, Lucy hadn’t come home, and it was past midnight. Agonized, I called her phone repeatedly. When someone finally picked up, it wasn’t her. It was Brody. “Gary? You need something from Lucy?” I let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “I’m calling my own wife. Do I need to clear that with you?” “Whoa, man, no need to be so aggressive. I didn’t mean anything by it… It’s just that Lucy’s pretty drunk, and honestly, given how sick you are, are you sure you’re in any condition to come get her?” The line went dead. I threw on a jacket and took a cab to a private lounge downtown. Before I even opened the heavy double doors of the private room, I heard the rowdy cheering inside. “Take a shot! Take a shot!” Through the glass pane, I saw Brody walk up to Lucy with a shot glass. She pulled him in by the collar, cupping his face, and leaned in—pressing her lips to his, transferring the alcohol from her mouth to his. Bang! I kicked the door open. The rage in my chest was a physical fire, and the laughter in the room died instantly. “Gary?” Lucy frowned, her eyes scanning my pale face. “What are you doing here?” I nodded toward the innocent-looking kid beside her. “Your little friend practically dared me to come. You think I’d stay home?” Brody scrambled to defend himself. “Lucy, I swear, when you went to the restroom, he kept calling… I just didn’t want him to worry, so I told him we were at a business dinner…” Lucy didn’t look angry at him at all. Instead, she patted the back of his hand reassuringly. “It’s not your fault.” She stood up and walked toward me. “Have you made enough of a scene? Are you satisfied now?” Without waiting for my reply, she brushed past me and walked out. I tried to follow her, but a sudden, blinding pain exploded in my skull. I slid down against the wall, clutching my head. “Lucy… it hurts… I’m hurting so bad…” That night, I was rushed to the hospital and admitted. Lucy ran around handling the paperwork, getting the medications, doing everything she could. By the time she could finally sit down, dawn was breaking. She sat by my bedside, exhausted, pulling the blanket over my hand with the IV drip. “Listen to the doctor, okay? You’re going to be fine. Look at you, making such a massive deal out of nothing.” Her dismissive tone ignited a dry, hot anger in my chest. “Nothing? You think this is a minor thing, Lucy? If I hadn’t shown up tonight, would the two of you have ended up in bed together?!” “Gary!!” she yelled, her eyes suddenly bloodshot and terrifying. “Do you have any idea what it takes to close a client?! You sit at home all day doing absolutely nothing, so of course you have time to make up these sick fantasies! Do you have any idea how exhausting my job is?!” The words hung in the air. We both went completely still. When I was first diagnosed, the nausea had been unbearable. I lived in front of the toilet bowl, losing twenty pounds in a single month. She was the one who begged me to quit my job. “Just stay home and focus on getting better,” she’d said, holding my face in her hands. “Do you really think I can’t support my own husband? Don’t worry about the money.” Those sweet promises had curdled into the sharpest knives. A flash of regret crossed her eyes. She ran a hand through her messy hair, looking frustrated, and reached for my hand. “Gary, I didn’t mean it like that… What are you hungry for? I’ll go grab you something.” I stared at her, then slowly held out my palm. “Your phone.” She froze for a beat, forcing a dry chuckle. “What? Still don’t trust me?” I didn’t blink. “Your phone.” “Why did you change the passcode? What is in there that I’m not allowed to see?” Lucy shoved her hands into her pockets, her fingers clenching around something. She glared at me, her face contorting with sudden, ugly rage. Suddenly, she whipped the phone out and slammed it onto the floor. The screen shattered, shards of glass sliding right up to my bed. “Are you happy now?” she hissed. “Are we done throwing tantrums?” She walked out, slamming the door. The empty hospital room swallowed me whole. I stayed in that ward for seven days. Lucy never showed up. Every morning, the nurses looked at me with pity. Compared to the other patients whose bedsides were crowded with loving family members, I was a ghost. When it was time to discharge, the young nurse finally asked gently, “Do you want me to call your emergency contact? There are a lot of post-discharge instructions to go over.” I didn’t say anything, which she took as a yes. But deep down, a pathetic ember of hope flared up. Unfortunately, after four or five calls, Lucy never picked up. The nurse looked at me sympathetically. “Maybe she’s in a meeting?” I forced a smile, thanked her, and called an Uber myself. When the car pulled up to our apartment building, I looked up and saw the warm glow of the lights in our living room window. Lucy was home. Then why didn’t she answer? Was she just punishing me? A cold, quiet fury rose within me. I headed upstairs, determined to have it out with her. But the moment I opened the door, I froze. There was a pair of men’s leather dress shoes sitting neatly on the mat. Upbeat music was blasting from the speakers, so loud they hadn’t even heard the front door click. “Lucy, grab the bowls! Dinner is ready!” “Should we open that red wine I bought?” Brody’s voice floated out from the kitchen. I walked forward like a zombie, watching through the open doorway as Lucy wrapped her arms around his waist from behind while he wore an apron. “Smells amazing,” she murmured against his shoulder. “But honestly, I’d rather eat you first…” My mind went entirely numb. It felt as if they were the married couple, living their beautiful, domestic life, and I was just an intruder who had accidentally walked into the wrong apartment. Brody giggled, turning his head to kiss her lips. It was in that split second of turning that they finally saw me standing there. I slowly took a step forward. Lucy instinctively stepped in front of Brody, shielding him. Tears had crept down my face, tasting salty and cold. When I spoke, my voice was barely a whisper. “Lucy… why?” Suddenly, I was ten years old again, standing in the doorway of my childhood home on a warm Tuesday afternoon. I had gotten out of school early, clutching a straight-A report card, desperate to show my parents. Instead, I walked in to find my father in the back bedroom with a woman from down the street, grunting like stray dogs in an alley. My mother had come home early that day, too. She was carrying two heavy bags of groceries, smiling warmly. “Go do your homework, sweetheart! I’m making lasagna tonight!” I never got to eat that lasagna. Because seconds later, she was chasing my father down the street with a butcher knife, while he scrambled to pull up his pants. I didn’t grab a knife. I just stood there, static as stone, watching Brody frantically gather his things and bolt out the door. Shortly after he left, Lucy walked past me holding a heavy black trash bag. “Gary, I… I’m just going to throw this out. I’ll be right back.” I snatched the bag from her hands. Before she could react, I ripped it open, dumping the contents onto the floor. Thigh-high stockings. Handcuffs. Lipstick. A spare toothbrush. Lace lingerie. A remote-controlled toy. The air in the room felt thick enough to suffocate us. Shaking, I walked over to the front door, turned the deadbolt, and locked it from the inside. “Starting today, you aren’t going anywhere,” I whispered. “If you try to walk out that door, we both die.” On the first day of our confinement, Lucy acted normal. She got down on her knees, crying, begging for forgiveness. She swore it was a temporary lapse in judgment. “…You were too sick for us to be intimate, and Brody was assigned to my team. Gary, I’m a human being. I have needs! I swear I’ll never do it again, please!” She repented like a devout sinner, clinging to my feet. She cleaned every corner of the house until it was spotless, cooking gourmet meals and brewing herbal soups for me. But by the third day, her phone wouldn’t stop ringing. She looked at me, her eyes pleading. “There’s a crisis at work, Gary. Please, just let me go for a few hours. I’ll come straight back. You can set a timer, track my location! You can monitor me the whole time!” I held her wrist so tightly my knuckles turned white. “Brody is at the office, isn’t he? You’re just going to see him.” Lucy let out a long, weary sigh, reaching up to gently stroke my hair. “Fine, fine. I won’t go. Stop overthinking. I’ll stay right here with you. I won’t leave.” We had one more day of fragile peace. Until the fifth day, in the dead of night. I heard the faint rustle of keys. I got out of bed to find Lucy quietly unlocking the front door. “What are you doing?” She jumped, startled, then rubbed her temples with a look of pure exhaustion. “Gary, you are ruining my life. I have so much work piling up. I promise you, the second I finish this meeting, I will come right back.” I lunged forward, grabbing her arm, shaking my head violently. “I won’t let you leave! You’re going to him, aren’t you? No!” Panic and madness consumed me. I threw my body against the door, completely out of my mind. “Gary! You are a literal psycho!” Lucy struggled against me. Finally, snapping under the tension, she swung her hand and slapped me hard across the face. Slap! My cheek burned. Her sneer pierced through the ringing in my ears. “Now I finally see why your dad left. Your mother was a lunatic, and so are you. Why don’t you just go join her in the grave?!” The heavy door slammed shut behind her, leaving me alone in the dark. My mother did go crazy after that day. She refused to sign the divorce papers, spending her days pacing the house, screaming curses, her face smeared with tears and saliva. She would beat me, scream at me, and I was too terrified to even cry out loud. Back then, Lucy would always find excuses to sneak me into her house. She would share her snacks and let me read her comic books. “Don’t be scared, Gary,” she’d whisper, her little hand squeezing mine. “I’ve got you. I’ll protect you.” When my mother finally took her own life, teenage Lucy was the one who stood by me through the funeral, kneeling beside me to thank every guest who came to offer condolences. “Gary, from now on, I am your family.” She had been the sole light in my dark world. She was the one who had stitched my childhood wounds closed. And now, she was the one ripping them open and pouring salt into them. Lucy didn’t answer my calls for the rest of the night. I didn’t sleep a wink. The next morning, her best friend called me. “Gary, this is messed up, even for you… Every woman makes mistakes. But exposing them online like this? How is Lucy supposed to show her face ever again?” Bewildered, I hung up and opened my laptop. That was when I saw it. Someone had leaked private photos of Lucy and Brody online under a sickening headline: Cheating Scum: A Love Story. There were uncensored photos and videos. In the office, in our bedroom, in her car, in a public park… Lucy, pouring all her passion into him. Those eyes, which used to look only at me, were filled with nothing but desire for another man. But I hadn’t posted those photos. Panicking, I tried calling her again. She still wouldn’t pick up. Desperate, I left a voicemail: “Tonight at eight. The Ferris wheel where I proposed. I’ll wait for you.” Hours later, a text came back. Okay. Eight o’clock. See you there. Those six words brought a tiny sliver of peace to my chest. I even reached for a tie—something I hadn’t touched since my diagnosis. I arrived two hours early, sitting on a bench beneath the massive wheel. Watching the couples and families pass by, a deep, aching envy hollowed out my chest. Years ago, we had been one of them. When the Ferris wheel was first built, Lucy had dragged me here, practically bursting with excitement. “Gary, they say if a couple kisses at the very top, they’ll stay together forever.” With her cheeks flushed, she had dropped to one knee in the small glass cabin, pulling out a ring. “Marry me,” she’d said. “I swear I’ll love you forever.” The memory was so vivid it burned. By the time I snapped out of it, Lucy was already sitting quietly beside me. “Gary…” she said softly. “Let’s go.” Her voice was flat. I followed her, reaching out to grasp her hand, but she pulled away. Even after we sat down inside the cabin and the wheel began to turn, she refused to look at me. After a heavy silence, I finally spoke. “The photos… I swear, I didn’t do that.” “You didn’t?” She let out a dry, mocking laugh, finally turning her eyes to me. “Gary, stop acting. Didn’t you want everyone to know? Well, congratulations. You got what you wanted.” “But let me tell you something,” she continued, her voice rising, echoing inside the small glass box. “You ruined his reputation. Now, I have to take responsibility for him!” Right there, in the very spot where she had promised to love me forever, she was telling me she had to take care of another man. It felt like ice water poured directly down my throat. I shook my head, desperate. “It wasn’t me! I swear to God, Lucy, it wasn’t me!” “You said you only loved me!” Her face turned cold as stone as she violently wrenched her hand from my grip. “I genuinely detest you right now, Gary. You make me sick.” Her words paralyzed me. Before I could process the pain, the cabin touched the ground. Lucy didn’t even wait for the attendant; she shoved the latch open, leaped out, and slammed the door shut from the outside, locking me in. A second later, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Brody. Since you love the Ferris wheel so much, why don’t you stay up there for a while? I looked toward the control booth. It was empty. Through the glass, I watched Lucy wrap her arm around Brody’s tall frame as they walked away into the night. Suddenly, a violent spasm of pain exploded in my brain. The world spun. I threw myself against the glass door, screaming in absolute terror. “Help! Please, help me!” “Stop the wheel! I’m sick! Help!” By the time the ambulance arrived, I had lost consciousness. I was vomiting blood, coating the floor of the cabin. With the very last thread of my consciousness, I felt myself being lifted onto a stretcher. “Where is his family? Do we have an emergency contact?!” I weakly gestured for the pen, signing the consent form myself. I managed a small, empty smile. “Sorry…” I whispered. “My family is all dead. There’s no one.”

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Even after the divorce and the affair that broke our family, my dad still swallowed his pride and made me ask my mom for money. I didn’t ask for much. Just fifty dollars a month. Every time Mom sent the money transfer, she attached the same note: Tell your father to stop raising you to be as shameless as he is. This month, for the first time, I gathered the courage to ask: Mom, can you please send me a thousand? She replied with a voice memo within seconds, her tone dripping with ice. It’s only been three years, and you’re already just like him. Greedy. Insatiable. But then, the bank notification popped up. She’d wired two thousand. If you want a penny more, tell your father to crawl back here and get on his knees to beg for my forgiveness. I stared at the screen, my hands shaking so hard I could barely hold the phone. Mom didn’t know. Dad was already dead. All I wanted was to cover the thousand-dollar cremation fee. … “Sweetheart, where is your adult?” the lady behind the hospital billing window asked, her forehead creasing with a frown. I stood on my tippets, straining to press my cracked phone screen against the thick glass barrier. “I have the money now, ma’am. My mom just sent me two thousand dollars. Can you cremate my dad now?” The lady froze, then let out a heavy sigh. “Sweetheart, it’s not just about the money. Cremation requires an immediate family member’s signature. You’re too young. Where is your mother? Have her come down here herself.” My chest tightened, and I lowered my gaze to my worn-out sneakers. “She’s busy. She won’t come. Besides… she doesn’t want to see my dad.” The lady shook her head, her tone turning firm. “That won’t work. Rules are rules. Call your mother again. Otherwise, your father has to stay in the cooling unit.” The refrigeration room was freezing. I’d gone in to see him once. He lay there with his eyes closed, a thin layer of frost dusting his eyelashes. Dad had always hated the cold. I didn’t want him to stay there. I retreated to the quietest corner of the waiting room. On my phone, the screen was still open to my mother’s last voice memo. …tell him to crawl back here and get on his knees. I swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and dialed her number. “Mom,” I whispered. “What now, Todd?” Her voice was flat, devoid of any warmth. “Your father wanted a thousand, I gave you two thousand. Is that still not enough? What kind of game is Dave trying to play this time?” I shook my head rapidly, even though she couldn’t see me. “No, Dad isn’t playing a game. Mom, can you please come to Marvin County Hospital?” A pause on the other end, followed by a bitter, mocking laugh. “Marvin County Hospital? He gets the money, and now he’s faking an illness? Tell Dave to drop the pathetic theatrics.” “Katherine, honey, who is that?” A soft, smooth male voice drifted through the receiver. I knew that voice. It was Simon. Back when Dad used to take me to Mom’s office, Simon would always smile and give me candy. But after Dad and I left, Simon took Dad’s place beside Mom. “It’s Todd,” Mom’s voice softened slightly as she spoke to him. “Todd? Is Dave using the kid as an excuse to harass you again?” Simon sighed. “Dave really is something else. He’s the one who made his bed, yet he keeps using the child as a bargaining chip. Don’t let him get to you, Katherine. It’s not worth ruining your day.” Mom gave a cold murmur of agreement. “Todd, I don’t have time to play house with your father. Three years ago, he pretended to be so noble, asking for a measly fifty dollars a month. I guess he can’t keep up the act anymore, can he? If he wants to use you to squeeze money out of me, tell him to crawl over here and ask me himself.” Tears hot and heavy welled in my eyes. “Mom, Dad can’t come. He really can’t. Please, just come and sign the paper. It’s so cold in the freezer. Dad is going to freeze.” Silence stretched over the line. After a few seconds, Mom spoke again, her voice sharp with ancient anger. “Three years ago, he sold out my company just so he could sleep with my best friend for cash. Now he’s teaching you to lie like this? A freezer? Why doesn’t he just tell you he’s dead and be done with it!” The line went dead. The dial tone buzzed painfully in my ear. I lowered the phone, staring at the dark screen. It reflected my messy, unwashed hair and my red, swollen eyes. Mom didn’t believe me. She thought Dad was lying. But Dad was really dead. I shoved the phone into my pocket and walked out of the hospital into the biting wind. It nearly knocked me over. Three nights ago, Dad was lying on our mattress, so thin his bones looked like they might pierce his skin. He couldn’t keep any food down. Every cough rattled his chest, bringing up thick spatters of blood. But that night, he suddenly seemed energetic. He called me to the bedside and touched my cheek, his palm slick with cold sweat. “Todd, Daddy is going to take a very, very long nap.” I squeezed his hand, shaking my head. “Don’t sleep, Daddy. I’m scared.” He smiled weakly, a single tear slipping into his hairline. “Be a good boy, Todd. Daddy is just so tired. Every month, on the first, you must remember to text your mother. Don’t ask for much. Just fifty dollars.” I didn’t understand. “Why only fifty, Daddy? Fifty dollars isn’t enough for rent.” His eyes grew unfocused, staring at some distant point on the peeling wallpaper. “Fifty is small… as long as she sends it, it means she still recognizes you as her son. If she still wants you… then after I’m gone, you’ll still have someone in this world.” Those were the last words he ever said to me. Then he closed his eyes. I called his name for hours, but he never woke up. Later, the landlady came by for the rent. She smelled something in the apartment and called the police. The officers took Dad away, bringing him to this cold, sterile hospital. I rubbed my frozen fingers together and walked to the bus stop. If I couldn’t explain it over the phone, I would tell her in person. Dad couldn’t stay in the freezer forever. The doctor said he needed to be cremated. If we put him in a warm little box, he wouldn’t be cold anymore. The bus jolted and swayed for over an hour before stopping in front of the tallest skyscraper downtown. Marvin Enterprises. I used to hold Dad’s hand as we walked here to bring Mom lunch. Back then, Mom would lift me up, laughing, and press warm kisses to my cheeks. Now, the building was the same, but I couldn’t get past the lobby. A security guard blocked my path. “Hey, street rat, you can’t come in here.” I looked down at myself. I’d slept in the corner of the hospital waiting room last night. My jacket was covered in dirt and soot. I did look like a street rat. I looked up and said quietly, “Sir, I’m looking for Katherine Marvin. She’s my mom.” The guard let out a harsh laugh. “Katherine Marvin’s son? Get real, kid. Scram before I call the cops.” I didn’t leave. I stood just outside the revolving glass doors, shivering. The wind grew stronger, and the gray sky threatened rain. I tucked my hands into my sleeves and kept my eyes glued to the elevator bank inside. My legs went numb from standing. Finally, the elevator doors chimed open. A group of executives in tailored suits walked out. At the front was Mom. Her brow was furrowed as she listened to a junior assistant. Simon walked beside her, leaning in to whisper something that made her lips twitch with a faint smile. I threw myself against the glass doors, banging with all my might. “Mom!” Mom froze. She turned her head, and through the thick glass, her gaze landed on me. There was no shock in her eyes, no maternal instinct to run to me. Only an overwhelming, heavy exhaustion. The guard rushed over, terrified. “Hey! I told you to beat it!” “Wait,” Mom’s cool voice sliced through the air. The glass doors slid open, and she stepped out into the cold. Simon followed right behind her. Her eyes swept over my filthy jacket and my blue, chapped lips. “Did Dave send you?” I shook my head, but the cold air hit my lungs, throwing me into a fit of coughing. “No, Dad didn’t… Dad is…” “Why didn’t he come himself?” Mom cut me off. “Using a seven-year-old for sympathy. Dave’s tactics are getting pathetic.” Simon stepped forward, offering a gentle, pitying smile. “Todd, how did you get so dirty? Your father really is heartless. Even if he wants to play the victim, he shouldn’t drag you into the mud like this.” He turned to Mom, his voice dropping to a soothing murmur. “Katherine, the boy is innocent. It’s freezing out here. Let’s not let him catch pneumonia.” Mom didn’t look at Simon. She kept her eyes locked on me. “Todd, your father teaching you to perform these little sob stories… it’s shameless.” I didn’t know what that word meant, but I knew she was insulting my dad. I stomped my foot, my tears finally spilling over. “He didn’t! Dad didn’t teach me anything! He’s asleep, and I can’t wake him up! Mom, please come to the hospital with me. If you just sign the paper, we can bring him out.” I reached out my dirty, freezing hand to grab hers, but she took a step back, avoiding my touch. Simon chimed in smoothly. “Todd, a good boy doesn’t tell lies. I saw your dad’s Instagram posts from Cabo just a few days ago. The beaches looked beautiful. He looked like he was having the time of his life.” I stared at him, my chest heaving. “You’re a liar! Dad has been in bed for months! He coughs and coughs and can’t go anywhere!” Simon’s face fell into an expression of hurt. “Todd, how can you speak to me like that? I’m only telling the truth.” Mom’s expression turned entirely to stone. “What else has Dave been teaching you? Lies and manipulation. You’re turning out exactly like him.” She turned away from me, addressing her assistant. “Gary, drive him back. And tell Dave this is his absolute last warning. If he sends this child to disrupt my office again, I will file charges for what he did three years ago.” With that, she spun on her heel and walked back into the warmth of the skyscraper. Simon followed, casting a small, satisfied look over his shoulder at me. Gary, the assistant, sighed beside me. “Come on, Todd. Let me take you home.” I stood frozen, watching the elevator doors close behind my mother. My tears tasted salty as they slipped into my mouth. Dad was right. Mom hated him, but she wouldn’t let me starve. She just didn’t care whether Dad lived or died. The sedan drove smoothly. Gary kept glancing at me through the rearview mirror. “Todd, tell me the truth. What’s going on with your dad?” I looked down, remembering the officer at the hospital telling me my dad was dead. I didn’t fully understand what death meant, but they said it meant he could never come home. “He’s dead,” I whispered, rubbing my numb fingers. Gary slammed on the brakes, pulling the car abruptly to the curb. He turned around, his eyes wide. “Todd, that’s not something you joke about!” I stared out the window at the gray street. “I’m not joking.” Gary stared at me for a long moment, then shook his head and shifted the car back into drive. “Your mother was right. Your father has completely ruined you.” He didn’t speak to me for the rest of the drive, dropping me off at the entrance of our narrow alley. “The street is too tight for the car. Walk the rest of the way, Todd.” I nodded and got out. But I didn’t walk toward our apartment. I turned around and began the long walk back to Marvin County Hospital. By the time I reached the hospital morgue, the sun had set, and the clerk at the window had gone home. I slipped past the empty security desk and found my way into the cooling room. It was so cold. I dragged a small step stool from the corner, climbing onto the high stainless steel gurney. I pulled back the heavy white sheet and crawled into my dad’s arms. His body was colder than ice, covered in a frost that didn’t melt when I touched it. “Don’t worry, Daddy,” I whispered, wrapping my arms tight around him. “Todd is here to keep you warm.” The cold seeped deep into my bones, making my entire body shiver violently. But after a while, holding him close, the shivering stopped. I didn’t feel cold anymore. Just very, very tired. My eyelids felt like lead. In the quiet darkness, I drifted back to a time long ago. We were all together—Mom, Dad, and me. On the coldest winter nights, Mom’s arms were always the warmest place in the world. Then it was just Dad and me in that drafty, leaking apartment. Dad would hold me just like this, stroking my hair. ‘Sleep now, Todd. Close your eyes. Once you’re asleep, you won’t feel the cold.’ I pressed my cheek against his frozen chest and closed my eyes. I thought it would be nice to stay here with Dad forever. I wouldn’t have to beg for fifty dollars anymore, and Mom wouldn’t have to push me away. Even if I never woke up… it would be okay. Meanwhile, in the library of the Marvin estate. Katherine sat at her mahogany desk, the wind rattling the glass panes. A strange, cold unease clawed at her chest. If Dave was just trying to extort money, why hadn’t he called to gloat? It had been years since she last saw him. What if… what if something actually was wrong? She stood up, reaching for her car keys, deciding she would see for herself. But just as she reached the door, her phone vibrated violently. Todd’s name flashed on the screen. The momentary worry vanished, replaced by instant irritation. Of course. He was still playing his games. The daytime stunt hadn’t worked, so now he was trying a late-night call. She answered, her voice sharp. “Todd, what does your father want now?” But it wasn’t my voice that answered. It was a deep, authoritative voice of an officer. “Is this Katherine Marvin? Your son was just found in the County Hospital morgue. He is suffering from severe hypothermia. We are performing emergency resuscitation right now.” Katherine’s anger flared. “What is Dave doing?! Leaving a child in a morgue in the middle of the night?! Is this his idea of parenting?! Put him on the phone!” A heavy silence hung over the line. “Mrs. Marvin, Mr. Dave Marvin cannot come to the phone.” Katherine let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Coward. He’s too ashamed to face me, isn’t he? To use our son’s life for a payout—he’s lost his mind!” “Ma’am, please shut up!” the officer snapped, his voice crackling with anger. “Dave Marvin isn’t playing a game. He is dead.”

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I filed for divorce the exact moment I discovered my wife had redirected the only rescue pod capable of saving our daughter from the deep ocean—all to save her childhood sweetheart’s son, who had merely swallowed a mouthful of water at a shallow beach. After the papers were signed, I threw myself into deep-sea salvage like a man possessed. I spent a decade learning the dark currents of this ocean until I knew them better than my own living room, eventually becoming the only specialist capable of executing a rescue at a depth of a thousand meters. And then, the file of that same boy who had choked on water landed right back on my desk. I stared at it, a cold smile tugging at my lips, before sliding the folder back to my partner. “Not this time. I’m not diving.” 1 “Are you out of your mind, Davis?” Sally snatched the folder off the desk and slammed it open in front of me again. “Ten million dollars. Do you know how many life-threatening risks we have to take to make that kind of money? If you’re passing on this, you need to give me a real reason.” I pulled my heavy work gloves back on, ignoring her as I began my daily maintenance on the dive gear. “I’m not diving. That’s the reason.” “Then look at this.” Sally flipped the pages to the back of the file. “The structural integrity of his submersible is failing rapidly. The cabin is deforming, and he has less than twenty-four hours of oxygen left. There is a living, breathing twenty-three-year-old kid trapped in there!” My hand froze on the pressure valve. My daughter, Daisy, was twenty-three when she died down there. “Davis, you’re the only diver in this entire sector who can execute a docking rescue at that depth,” Sally said, leaning in and lowering her voice. “If you don’t go, he’s dead. It’s that simple.” I tightened the valve with a sharp twist, then turned to face her. “Sally, you’ve worked with me for seven years. Have I ever turned down a rescue because of a personal whim?” She hesitated, caught off guard. “No. Never.” “Then leave it.” “But I don’t understand,” she pressed, her frustration bubbling over as she grabbed my arm. “Whether you know him or not, they are paying in cold, hard cash—” “I wouldn’t dive for a hundred million.” I gently but firmly pulled my arm from her grip. My voice remained flat, entirely devoid of emotion. “Don’t ask me why. In seven years, I can count the number of jobs I’ve rejected on one hand. Just trust me on this one.” Sally’s face flushed red, a dozen arguments clearly fighting for passage behind her teeth. She had been with me since the beginning, back when I first got my deep-sea certification and was operating out of a rented tin shack on the docks. She had seen me get three ribs shattered by a rogue current at four hundred meters. She had seen me drag a breathless teenager back onto the deck and spend the rest of the night dry-heaving over the stern of the boat. But she had never seen me like this. “Fine,” Sally said finally, snapping the folder shut and tossing it onto the table. “I trust you.” She turned toward the door but paused, her voice sounding muffled. “But that kid is still a living human being. If you change your mind… we’re ready to go.” The heavy metal door clicked shut behind her. Left alone in the equipment room, I stared at the folder on the table. On the cover, the photo of Meredith Croft, the head of Meredith Marine, looked slightly older than she had ten years ago, but those sharp, uncompromising eyes hadn’t changed at all. A decade ago, my daughter was slowly suffocating, one agonizing breath at a time, at eleven hundred meters. And Meredith had diverted the only available rescue vessel because Sean had panicked over the phone, screaming that their son, Noah, had fallen into the water. Noah had been in the shallows. He had lost his footing and swallowed a mouthful of saltwater. I closed my eyes, pushing the file to the far corner of the desk. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from Sally: The client is on the line. She’s demanding to speak directly with the head of operations. Do you want me to patch her through? I stared at the screen for a long moment before typing back two words: Patch her. 2 “Hello? Am I speaking to the head of deep-dive operations?” The voice on the other end was sharp, carrying the same effortless arrogance I remembered from a lifetime ago. Ten years hadn’t softened it. “Speaking. Go ahead.” My own voice was barely recognizable. A decade of breathing pressurized helium-oxygen mixes in freezing depths had permanently ravaged my vocal cords, leaving me with a harsh, gravelly rasp. “Good. This is Meredith Croft from Meredith Marine. I assume you’ve reviewed the file.” She paused, expecting a deferential response, but when I remained silent, she continued, “Name your price.” “I’m not taking the job.” There was a brief silence on the line. Then, she let out a dry, humorless laugh. “I don’t think you heard me. I said name your price. Whatever it is, I’ll pay it.” “And I said, I’m not taking it.” “Fifty million.” Her voice didn’t waver. To her, it was just a number. “Fifty million in cash. Half when you submerge, the other half when you bring him up. There isn’t another salvage crew on earth getting an offer like this.” I kept my mouth shut. Taking my silence for hesitation, she pushed harder. “If you want equity, we can discuss that too. Half a percent of Meredith Marine’s non-voting shares, registered under your name. The annual dividends alone would—” “Ms. Croft,” I interrupted, my voice cutting through her pitch. “My refusal has nothing to do with money.” I could hear her breathing turn heavy and erratic. “Then tell me why.” “There is no why. I have the right to refuse a contract.” “Your right?” Her voice suddenly turned ice-cold. “Do you have any idea what the situation is down there? The cabin is deforming at over a thousand meters. That is a human life!” “I am aware.” “You’re aware? And you’re still sitting there saying no?” Her words began to spill out faster, thick with panic and rage. “You are the only person in this sector who can reach him in time. You didn’t even hesitate to reject the call… this is criminal negligence. You’re leaving him to die!” I gripped the phone so tightly my knuckles turned white. “Leaving him to die…” I murmured. “Coming from you, Ms. Croft, that’s a fascinating choice of words.” “What is that supposed to mean?” “Nothing,” I said, regaining my composure. “The point is, I cannot help you. You’ll have to find someone else.” “There is no one else!” she nearly screamed. “I’ve already run the logistics. Your base has the only rig ready to deploy on this coast! If you won’t save him, you owe me a reason!” “Then I suppose you’re out of luck.” “You—” She took a sharp, ragged breath, clearly trying to master her temper. “Listen to me very carefully,” she whispered, her voice low and venomous. “I don’t care about your reasons, and I don’t care about your attitude. I am giving you exactly two hours to reconsider. If your answer is still no by then… I will personally ensure that you and your little salvage yard are blacklisted from every harbor in the country.” I closed my eyes. “Ms. Croft, I suggest you save your breath. If you don’t start looking for other options right now, you won’t even have a body to bring home. Good luck.” I hung up. Sally poked her head into the room, her eyes wide as she tried to read my expression. “Davis… that woman… did she threaten you?” I slipped the phone back into my pocket and bent down to inspect the oxygen lines. “She can’t touch me.” “But she—” Sally hesitated. “She said she’d shut us down.” “She can say whatever she wants. I don’t owe her a damn thing.” Sally didn’t push any further, but as she turned to leave, her expression was incredibly strained. “Davis… what did that family do to you?” I tightened the final connection and wiped the grease from my hands. “She owes me a life.” 3 Around three in the morning, Sally practically broke down my dorm room door. “Davis, we have a problem.” I sat up instantly. She was pale, her hands shaking so violently she could barely hold her phone. “It’s my son…” she choked out. “Toby’s company… they just transferred him out of accounting. They put him on the night-shift inspection crew for the deep-water drilling rig.” A heavy weight settled in my chest. “When?” “Just now. He texted me. He got a sudden notice from HR telling him to board a helicopter tonight. Davis, he doesn’t know anything about offshore work! He has a degree in finance! He doesn’t even have a basic marine safety certification!” “Did you try calling him?” “Yes, but the signal is blocked out there.” Sally’s eyes filled with tears. “His last text said he just landed on the platform and told me not to worry. Then the phone went dead.” I took her phone. The message had been sent thirty minutes ago, accompanied by a blurry photo of a dark, steel deck overlooking a pitch-black ocean. Just landed, Mom. The wind is crazy out here, but I’ll call you tomorrow. Goodnight. “Davis!” Sally dropped to her knees, burying her face in her hands. “It’s her. I know it’s that Croft woman. She’s doing this to get to me!” “Don’t panic, Sally.” “How can I not panic?” she sobbed, clawing at her hair. “You know what the inspection crew does on those rigs. They walk the outer cat walks in the middle of the night. If a rogue wave hits…” “She won’t actually let anything happen to him,” I said, trying to steady her. “She wants you to beg me.” Sally froze. Slowly, she looked up, her forehead resting against the cold concrete floor. “Davis…” “Get up, Sally.” “Davis, I know she must have done something unforgivable to you. I shouldn’t ask this of you, I shouldn’t… but Toby is only twenty-two. He’s terrified of the water. He won’t even go near the docks if he can help it…” She wept, her shoulders heaving. “Please. For the seven years I’ve stood by you… scream at me, fire me, do whatever you want… but please save my son.” I knelt beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Sally, look at me.” She raised her tear-streaked face. “I promise you, Toby is going to be fine.” “But are you…” “I have other ways of handling her,” I said, pulling her up from the floor. “I will get your son off that rig. But I am still not taking her contract.” Sally stared at me, bewildered and unable to speak. Suddenly, a deafening roar shook the walls of the compound. The rhythmic, heavy thudding of helicopter rotors grew louder, vibrating through the floorboards. A sleek, black helicopter bearing the silver crest of Meredith Marine was descending onto our gravel landing pad. Before the rotors had even fully spun down, the cabin door slid open. Meredith stepped out, dressed in a sharp, dark business suit, flanked by two burly security guards. Behind her came a man I recognized instantly. Ten years, and Sean hadn’t changed at all. Still the same soft-edged, fragile man who looked like he had never spent a day in the sun. “It’s them,” I murmured, turning to Sally. Sally’s fear was rapidly turning into blind rage. She clutched her fists, her whole body trembling. “Davis, they brought security…” “It doesn’t matter,” I said, grabbing my heavy canvas jacket from the rack. “Let’s go.” Meredith stood in the center of the pad, her assistant hovering closely at her side. She cast a dismissive glance over our meager base—the rusted shipping containers, the oil-slicked docks, the frayed mooring lines. Her lip curled in effortless disgust. Then, her eyes landed on me. Her gaze lingered for barely a fraction of a second before moving past me. She didn’t recognize me. I suppose I couldn’t blame her. The man standing before her now bore no resemblance to the husband who used to hold her hand every morning ten years ago. “Who’s in charge here?” Meredith asked, her patience already exhausted. Sally instinctively looked at me, and I took two steps forward, putting myself between them. “I am.” She finally looked at me properly, her brows drawing together. “You?” “Me.” She let out a cold, sharp laugh and whispered something to the guard beside her. Then, she turned her attention to Sally. “So, you must be Sally. I trust your son is enjoying his new assignment on my drilling rig?” 4 Sally lunged forward, but I caught her by the shoulder, holding her back. “Stay put.” Meredith watched Sally struggle against my grip, her smile widening into something cruel. “I told you that you had two hours to think about it. Since you didn’t call, I decided to come collect your answer in person.” Sean stepped forward from behind her, his face a mask of performative anguish. “I know you must think we’re being monsters,” he said, his voice trembling. “But that is my son down there. Noah is only twenty-three, and he’s been trapped in that dark cabin for fourteen hours…” His eyes welled with tears as he reached out to clasp Meredith’s hand. She gently patted his arm, her gaze hardening as she locked eyes with me. “Fifty million. I’ll wire it right now. Put on your gear and get in the water.” “I told you on the phone, Ms. Croft. I am not taking the job.” “Are you trying to negotiate with me?” She tilted her head, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “Fine. What’s your number? A hundred million? Two hundred? I know your type. You’re just holding out for a bigger payday because you think you have me cornered. Name your price, and I’ll pay it.” “It has nothing to do with money.” “Then what is it?” She took a step closer, trying to use her stature to intimidate me. “If it’s not about the money, then what? Do you have some personal vendetta against me? Have we ever even met?” I looked deep into her eyes. Once, those eyes had looked at me with tenderness. Now, they held nothing but cold, impatient transaction. “No,” I said quietly. “We’ve never met.” “Then there is no reason for this ridiculous holdout.” She waved her hand dismissively, issuing her final ultimatum. “I don’t care who you are, and I don’t care about your pride. My son is suffocating at the bottom of the ocean, and you are the only one who can get him out. You have two choices: take the money and dive, or…” She glanced sideways at Sally. “Toby is just an intern out there. He doesn’t have his safety certifications. If there’s an accident on the catwalk tonight, it won’t even qualify for a worker’s comp claim.” Sally’s face went entirely bloodless. “What are you saying?” “I’m not saying anything,” Meredith replied smoothly. “I’m simply pointing out that accidents happen on oil rigs all the time. Especially to inexperienced greenhorns who don’t know how to watch their footing.” “You… you’re threatening my son’s life!” Sally screamed. Meredith didn’t bother to deny it. She just kept her eyes on me. “And as for you—if my son dies down there, you had better pray you never have an ‘accident’ of your own out on the water. I will make sure this ocean becomes a very dangerous place for you.” Sean stepped forward, his eyes pleading. “Please, sir. I know this is terrible, but you’re a human being. Surely you can understand a father’s heart? My Noah is down there in the dark… he must be so cold, so terrified…” He reached out to touch my shoulder. I took a sharp step back. “Don’t touch me.” Sean’s hand froze in midair, a flash of irritation crossing his face before he quickly masked it with sorrow. “I didn’t mean to offend you… I’m just desperate…” Meredith pulled him back to her side, her eyes cutting into me like knives. “This is your last warning. What is your answer?” “No.” She laughed again, a harsh, mocking sound. “Fine.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed a number. “Get me the supervisor on Rig 4… Tell him to put the new intern on the outer platform patrol tonight. Yes, alone. Have him walk the lower deck.” Sally lost all control. She broke away from me and threw herself toward Meredith. “No! You can’t do this!” One of the security guards stepped in, shoving Sally back with enough force to send her crashing into a metal container. “Davis!” Sally cried, scrambling up from the gravel and dropping to her knees in front of me, her face smeared with tears and dirt. “Davis… please… I beg you…” Meredith hung up her phone and looked down at us. “See? It could have been so simple. You brought this on yourselves.” I looked down at the blood trickling from a scrape on Sally’s temple, watching her whole body shake as she wept on the ground. Then, I looked up at Meredith. She still had that same self-righteous, untouchable expression. It was the same look she wore ten years ago, and the same look she wore now. To her, other people’s lives were nothing more than bargaining chips. “Do you honestly think I’m afraid of you?” I asked. “Fear doesn’t matter to me,” she shrugged. “If you don’t go down, your partner’s son becomes a tragic statistic by tomorrow morning, and your little base will suffer a devastating accident shortly after. Is your pride really worth all of that?” Sean tried to play the peacemaker again. “Please, sir. All you have to do is make one dive, and this all goes away. We’ll pay you, we’ll fund your base, and the boy on the rig goes home to his mother. Why make this harder than it needs to be?” He smiled, his voice dripping with gentle persuasion. I closed my eyes and took a slow, deep breath, letting the freezing sea air fill my lungs. “I cannot rescue the boy who killed my daughter,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “And if you force me into that water, I will disconnect his hatch myself, and make sure we both stay down there forever.”

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I am an ER attending physician. I had just finished a brutal night shift and stepped out through the hospital’s revolving glass doors when my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a call from the nurses’ station. “Dr. Lawson, you need to come back right now. We just got a massive trauma case, and the Chief of Surgery wants you scrubbed in immediately!” Autopilot took over. I spun around, my exhausted body ready to march right back into the fray. But suddenly, the air in front of me shimmered. Glowing, ticker-tape letters materialized out of thin air, scrolling violently across my field of vision. DO NOT go into that OR! Do not touch this patient! The patient is already brain-dead. They are dragging you in to take the fall for the Director’s daughter! This family has ruthless connections. If you go in there, your career is over, you’ll end up behind bars, and the fallout will drive your parents to suicide! My boots froze on the pavement. For a few agonizing seconds, the cold morning air whipped around me. I felt a deep, primal chill settle in my bones. I decided to trust the glowing words. I decided to gamble my life on them. My eyes darted frantically across the concrete, locking onto a section of the sidewalk cordoned off by flimsy orange netting—an open, exposed utility shaft leading straight down into the city’s underbelly. I gritted my teeth. I squeezed my eyes shut. And I threw my body forward, plunging directly into the abyss. … I have been an emergency room doctor for nearly a decade. In my world, a patient’s life has always superseded my own comfort, my own sleep, my own sanity. So, when the urgent call came from the department, hesitation wasn’t even in my vocabulary. I immediately turned on my heel, heading back toward the glaring neon sign of the Emergency entrance. I was barely fifty feet from the doors when the impossible happened. Sentences began floating in the air, glowing with an unnatural, jarring luminescence. I stopped dead in my tracks. I shook my head, pressing my palms into my eye sockets, utterly convinced that the ninety-hour workweek had finally triggered a psychotic break. But when I opened my eyes, the words were still there, hovering relentlessly above me. It’s a trap. The second you step foot in that OR, they’re calling the time of death. They are literally waiting for you to walk in so they can make you the scapegoat. The whole surgical team is in on it. They are protecting Ruth, the Director’s daughter. They’re going to say your surgical error killed him. Watch your back! My jaw slacked. Ruth. We had been roommates for four years of undergrad. She was supposed to be my best friend. Why would she set me up to take the fall for a fatal malpractice suit? A chaotic swarm of questions buzzed in my skull, paralyzing me. I didn’t know what to do, what to believe. Just then, the chatter of a few nurses walking past caught my attention. “Did you see the wreck on the news? A blacked-out G-Wagon went straight off the overpass into the river.” “Yeah, they just rushed the driver into Trauma 1. Word is, he’s a heavy hitter. Major old money.” Before I could process that, my phone buzzed in my hand. Two rapid-fire texts. From Ruth. Rebecca, where are you? Hurry up! Prep is done. We are literally just waiting for you to scrub in. Run. I’m waiting at the OR doors for you. Staring at those three frantic bubbles of text, the blood in my veins turned to ice water. Could the universe really spin a coincidence this perfectly? A patient with terrifyingly powerful connections. Ruth, practically begging me to take the lead on a surgery she was already assigned to. When I forced my panicked mind to quiet down, the logic crumbled. The ER was fully staffed. There were plenty of brilliant, well-rested trauma surgeons on the floor. There was absolutely zero protocol that required a doctor who had just clocked out of a gruelling night shift to be dragged back to run a code. Looking at it through that lens, the glowing warnings in the air felt sickeningly real. The moment I slipped my arms into those sterile blue scrubs, I would become the sacrificial lamb. The patient’s death would be pinned entirely on my hands. With an entire team of coworkers bought off to testify against me, I wouldn’t stand a chance in any court. I couldn’t let my mind go down that dark rabbit hole. The more I thought about it, the more the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I didn’t reply to Ruth. Nearly ten minutes had passed since the initial phone call. In the span of a single breath, I made a choice. If the floating words were right, if I was walking into an execution… I was going to beat them at their own game. If I never made it into the building, no one could pin a damn thing on me. My eyes scanned the perimeter of the hospital plaza, immediately locking onto an ongoing plumbing excavation near the ambulance bay. The heavy steel cover of a deep utility shaft had been removed. I forced my legs into a hurried, purposeful jog, making it look like I was sprinting toward the ER doors. As I approached the lip of the hole, I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ached. I squeezed my eyes shut. And I stepped off the edge, letting gravity rip me downward. The sensation of weightlessness was terrifying and instantaneous. My muscles coiled on instinct. A second later, I slammed into the unforgiving concrete at the bottom of the shaft. The sickening crack echoed off the damp walls. The impact sent a shockwave of agony straight through my internal organs. Thankfully, the shaft was dry, but the bare concrete offered zero mercy. A blinding, searing pain exploded from my right leg and the back of my skull, radiating through every nerve in my body. My body convulsed. Cold sweat instantly soaked through my shirt. I knew, with the clinical certainty of an ER doctor, that my leg was shattered. This old utility access had been under maintenance all week. The heavy iron grate had been moved, and the only thing guarding the drop was a pathetic ring of yellow caution tape. In my “rush” to save a life, I hadn’t seen it. I had simply lost my footing. It was the perfect, undeniable accident. A few feet away, my phone had tumbled out of my pocket and was ringing incessantly. The cheerful marimba tone was deafening in the pitch-black, suffocating silence of the hole. But I didn’t move a muscle. I let it ring. Let it stop. Let it ring again. I kept my eyes squeezed shut in the dark. An unconscious woman cannot answer a phone. All I had to do was lie here and wait for the world to find me. And for my alibi, the longer that took, the better. Fifteen minutes later. A city maintenance worker arrived to replace the grate. He spotted my leather tote bag discarded near the edge. I heard his sharp intake of breath before his shadow fell over the opening. A heavy beam from a flashlight sliced through the dark, illuminating my crumpled, unmoving body. “Holy shit! We got a woman down in the hole! Call 911!” I heard him screaming into his radio. I maintained my act, letting my limbs stay limp, my eyes shut tight. I let the chaos erupt above me. Heavy boots pounded on the pavement. Shouts echoed down the concrete pipe. A crowd was gathering. I could even hear the faint, rapid clicks of smartphone cameras. Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder until the fire department and paramedics swarmed the plaza. A rescue tripod was set up in record time. A firefighter rappelled down, gently securing my battered body into a harness, and I was slowly winched up into the morning light. When I broke the surface, the crowd gasped. My face was a mask of dark, slick blood. I let out a weak, barely audible groan. Wasting no time, the paramedics loaded me onto a stretcher and sprinted the fifty yards straight into the Emergency Department doors I had been trying to avoid. As I lay there, waiting for the trauma bay to clear, the glowing text in my mind fed me the rest of the missing puzzle pieces. Ruth and I were med school peers. We shared late-night study sessions, cheap coffee, and tears. We were as close as sisters. We both landed residencies at this prestigious, top-tier hospital. But the paths we took diverged sharply. I earned my spot through grueling hours and flawless board scores. Ruth got hers because her father was Dr. Richard Lockwood, the Hospital Director. She had spent years living in my shadow, and over time, that insecurity had fermented into something toxic. She needed to prove she was better. Today, she had been the one running the trauma bay when the G-Wagon driver was brought in. But her skills were rusty, her ego too big. She had panicked, pushing the wrong protocol, resulting in catastrophic brain death. Her first instinct wasn’t to save the patient. It was to throw me to the wolves. It was a brilliant, sick two-for-one deal: she avoids federal prison, and she permanently removes the woman she resented. Reading the truth in my mind, a profound, icy numbness spread through my chest. For four years, I had loved her like family. I had celebrated her wins and carried her through her losses. I had no idea I was sleeping across the room from a monster. But thank God. I had won the bet. Let’s see her pin a dead man on a doctor lying at the bottom of a hole. The doctor assigned to patch me up was Dean, a colleague I had worked alongside for years. When he pulled back the curtain and saw my bloody face, his hands froze mid-air. His pupils dilated in sheer panic. “Dr. Lawson?” Dean blurted out, his voice cracking. “What… what are you doing in here? Shouldn’t you be up in OR 3 right now?!” Before I could answer, the responding police officer who had followed my stretcher in stepped forward. “You know her? She took a nasty spill down a twelve-foot utility shaft out front. Fire department just pulled her out.” Dean stared at me, visibly trembling. He opened his mouth, closed it, and swallowed hard. He knew. But with a uniformed officer standing three feet away, he didn’t dare say a word. He simply picked up his suturing kit with shaking hands and began cleaning my forehead. The process was agonizing. It took three deep stitches to close the gash on my hairline. My right leg was definitively fractured, requiring a heavy, suffocating fiberglass cast. They wheeled me into the CT scanner. Thankfully, it was just a mild concussion. Once I was settled back in an observation room, looking a little more lucid, two police officers walked in with their notepads to take a standard accident report. “Dr. Lawson, could you walk us through exactly how you ended up in the shaft?” I leaned back against the thin pillows, furrowing my brow like I was struggling to piece it together. “I just got off my shift. I was walking to my car when the department called, demanding I sprint back to the OR for an emergency trauma.” “I was running. I was sleep-deprived. I completely missed the warnings and just… stepped into thin air.” The officers nodded sympathetically, jotting everything down. A moment later, a security guard from the hospital’s control room hurried in, handing a tablet to the officers. It was the exterior security footage, requested to confirm there was no foul play in my fall. The video was crystal clear. It matched my story down to the exact second. The officers murmured to each other, satisfied it was a tragic, straightforward accident. That was my cue. I let out a sudden, panicked gasp. “Oh my god! The surgery!” I yelled, perfectly mimicking the adrenaline-fueled panic of a dedicated doctor. “They’re waiting for me! How long have I been down?!” Ignoring the throbbing agony in my leg, I shoved the blankets off and threw my weight forward, desperately trying to get out of bed. “Get me a wheelchair! Please, I have to get to the OR!” The officers rushed forward to gently push me back. “Doc, you need to calm down. You have a severe concussion and a broken tibia. You can’t operate.” I played the role of the frantic, bleeding-heart physician flawlessly. I grabbed the bedrails, hauling myself into a nearby wheelchair. “No! You don’t understand, I need to know what happened to the patient!” They couldn’t stop me. But by the time Dean wheeled me up to the surgical floor, the hallway was a morgue. The red light above the OR doors was dark. A crowd of elegantly dressed, sobbing people—the patient’s family—were huddled together, their grief heavy and volatile. Standing in front of them, still in her blood-spattered surgical gown, was Ruth. She kept her eyes cast downward, playing the role of the devastated surgeon with Oscar-worthy precision. “I am so, so sorry. We did everything we could. But the injuries were too severe. Time of death was 9:42.” The family shattered. A woman, presumably the wife, let out a visceral, gut-wrenching scream that echoed down the sterile corridor. Then, Ruth shifted her weight. Her tone grew quiet, laced with a calculated, tragic hesitation. “To be completely honest with you… his vitals were stabilizing. He had a real chance. But the attending surgeon, Dr. Rebecca Lawson… she made a series of catastrophic errors during the primary closure. That’s what triggered the hemorrhage.” It was a lit match thrown into a powder keg. The grief in the hallway instantly mutated into violent, unhinged rage. “Where is she?!” “She killed him! I want her head!” The family members became a mob, demanding blood. I sat quietly in my wheelchair at the end of the hall, watching Ruth weave her masterful web of lies. In the chaos, a man from the family turned, his eyes locking onto the laminated badge pinned to my ruined scrubs. He read the bold letters aloud, his voice dripping with venom. “Attending ER Physician. Rebecca Lawson.” The entire hallway snapped their heads toward me. The widow, who had been crumpled on the linoleum, shot up like a predator. Her eyes were bloodshot, feral. She lunged down the hall, slamming into me. “You!” she shrieked, her perfectly manicured nails digging deep into the flesh of my collarbone. “You murdered my husband!” Her violent shaking jostled the wheelchair. White-hot pain exploded in my freshly casted leg. The rest of the family swarmed, a tidal wave of pushing, screaming, and spitting. “You’re a butcher!” “How do you sleep at night?!” “I’ll see you rot in a cell for this!” Confined to the chair, with a shattered bone and a concussion, I was utterly defenseless. All I could do was grip the armrests, swallowing the physical pain and the bitter injustice. “It wasn’t me!” I cried out, my voice cracking, playing the victim perfectly. “I wasn’t in that room! I never touched him!” But logic doesn’t exist in the face of raw grief. My words were drowned out by the roar of the crowd. Standing safely behind the mob, Ruth watched me get torn apart. A tiny, wicked smirk played at the corners of her mouth. “Rebecca, please. Have some decency,” Ruth called out, raising her voice just enough to be heard over the weeping. “You made a fatal mistake. You ran out, and now you’re faking an injury to get sympathy? You are a disgrace to this hospital!” Her words were the final nail. The crowd completely lost its mind. A young man—maybe the victim’s brother—let out a primal roar. “Faking it?! Let’s see how fake this is!” He drew his leg back and delivered a vicious, full-force kick to the side of my wheelchair. The chair tipped. I went flying, crashing hard onto the polished floor. Before I could even process the fall, the man raised his heavy dress shoe and brought it down with crushing force directly onto my broken, plaster-wrapped shin. “AGH!” A scream ripped from my throat that I didn’t know I was capable of making. It felt like a hot iron rod was being driven through my marrow. I curled into a fetal position, my body seizing with uncontrollable tremors. Hearing the commotion, the two police officers sprinted out of the elevators, shoving their way through the violent crowd to shield my body. “Back off! Step back right now!” the older cop roared, hand resting on his utility belt. The widow grabbed the officer’s uniform shirt, her face streaked with mascara. “Officer, arrest her! She’s a murderer! She killed my husband, and we have the surgeon right there who witnessed it!” The chorus of voices rose again, demanding I be hauled out in handcuffs. Everyone in that hallway was utterly convinced I was a monster. Except Ruth. For the first time, her smirk faltered. She looked at the police officers, then at the blood on my face, a flicker of genuine confusion crossing her features. She hadn’t known I was in the ER downstairs. The lead officer looked at the furious widow, then glanced down at my broken body. His eyes were dead serious as he looked back at the crowd. “Let me get this straight. You are alleging that Dr. Lawson was inside that operating room, performing a surgery, and made an error that killed this man?” “Yes! Exactly!” the family screamed back. The officer let out a dark, incredulous laugh. “Well, that is quite the trick.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out the security tablet, and held it high above his head for the entire hallway to see. “I suggest you all take a very close look at this.” When the screen lit up, Ruth’s eyes widened. All the color instantly drained from her face, leaving her looking like a corpse. The roaring crowd fell into a stunned, absolute silence.

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After three years of marriage to Kelly, I’d become the poster boy for henpecked husbands in our social circle. She claimed she loved me down to my bones, which was her justification for curating everything—even my social media posts. She even subjected my meetings with female colleagues to an AI-driven risk assessment. The AI’s synthesized, robotic voice would regularly ping her phone with updates: “Subject displays blurred social boundaries. Recommend tighter oversight.” I was suffocating under the weight of this airtight, inescapable affection. Yet, I chose to believe it was just the intensity of her devotion. Until today. I was sitting in the passenger seat of her SUV, my phone inadvertently syncing with the car’s Bluetooth system. A young man’s laugh suddenly crackled through the premium speakers: “Hey Kelly, your husband is seriously well-trained. He’s more obedient than the AI.” “If he ever finds out you’re using an algorithm to track him, do you think he’ll still find it romantic?” Then came Kelly’s laugh, light and dismissive: “He’ll never know. He’s not as smart as the system.” I slowly lifted my head, watching the woman walking toward the car through the tinted window. She pulled the door open, her eyes meeting my quiet gaze. “Is everything okay?” she asked, her voice dripping with warmth. Right in front of her, I unlocked my phone, opened the tracking app, and tapped the voice input: “Evaluate the marital risk of a wife who stays out all night, subjects her husband to constant surveillance, and maintains flirtatious relationships with other men.” The screen flashed with a stark red warning box almost instantly: “Risk Level: Extreme.” “Recommendation: Divorce.” Kelly’s face drained of color in a heartbeat. I looked at her, offering a faint, tired smile. “Tell me… is it accurate this time?” 1 Kelly’s hand moved faster than her face could process. She snatched the phone from my grip. In less than three seconds, the app’s deletion progress bar was complete. “It was just a stupid joke by a clueless intern. Don’t overthink it,” she said, her tone instantly softening as she tossed the phone back onto my lap. “AI is a machine, Luke. It gets things wrong.” I stared at her. Her face had already settled back into its usual, gentle composure, as if the stark terror of a moment ago had been nothing but my imagination. “Who is he?” I asked. “Just a new intern. You know how kids that age are—no filter.” She started the ignition, resting one hand casually on the steering wheel. Her profile was elegant, sharp against the streetlights. “I’ve already had HR deal with him.” Her response was seamless. Flawless. I opened my mouth, wanting to press her about what using an algorithm to track me really meant. But she reached over, covering the back of my hand with hers, her thumb lightly tracing my skin. “Sweetheart, you’re my husband. What could I possibly keep from you?” The gesture was deeply familiar. Every time I pushed too close to a truth she wanted to hide, she used physical touch to derail my thoughts. Three years of marriage, and it had worked every single time. I remained silent. When we got home, there was a box waiting on the coffee table. Inside was a pair of cufflinks. Sapphire. Exquisite. “For the gala the day after tomorrow,” she said, standing by the walk-in closet and already coordinating my wardrobe. “Wear the royal blue suit—these will match beautifully.” I sat on the sofa, staring at the jewelry. In the past, whenever I was upset, she’d use gifts to turn the page. The first year it was roses. The second, designer ties. Now, in our third year, she had graduated to precious stones. The price tag was rising, almost as if she were trying to compensate for something she could no longer control. “I don’t feel well. I think I’ll skip the gala,” I said. She poked her head out of the closet, her brow furrowing slightly. “What’s wrong?” “My stomach. Just a dull ache.” She studied me for three long seconds. It wasn’t a look of concern; it was an interrogation. She was calculating whether I was just throwing a tantrum. “Get some rest then.” She didn’t push. She left alone, leaning down to press a kiss to my forehead before she walked out. Her lips were cold. Only when the front door clicked shut did I realize my fists had been clenched the entire time. I didn’t rest. Instead, I started sorting through my things. Not because I was packing to leave—not yet—but because I suddenly needed to know how much of this life actually belonged to me. My passport was locked in her study’s safe. My secondary debit cards synced directly to her phone, sending her alerts for every penny I spent. Even my messaging apps had been logged into her devices, duplicating my chat history onto her screen in real-time. I took inventory of my existence, item by item, feeling colder with every revelation. Finally, I walked into the closet to search for some old personal keepsakes I’d stored away. Sifting through a storage bin in the corner, my shoulder brushed against a decorative bronze sculpture on the shelf. It was a bronze stag. I remembered the day she brought it home, warning me: “This is incredibly fragile, Luke. Don’t touch it.” The stag tilted, and its heavy wooden base slid open a fraction of an inch. I reached out to steady it, and my fingertips brushed against a cold, coin-sized disc. A pinhole camera. The lens was positioned directly toward the center of the room—exactly where I stood to change every day. I pulled my hand back as if I’d been burned. I remained crouched there in the dark closet, a cold sweat breaking across my neck. She had told me her obsession was just a symptom of her love. Yet she had wired the space where I was most vulnerable. I didn’t touch the camera. I didn’t make a sound. I slid the base shut and carefully placed the stag back where it belonged. Then I opened my phone and placed an order online for a tiny, thumb-sized audio recorder. Overnight delivery. I needed to know just how much of my life was a curated stage play. 2 By the time the package arrived, Kelly was at her office. I crawled under the heavy mahogany desk in her study and taped the recorder to the underside. Then I got dressed and headed to work, pretending everything was normal. I worked as a project lead at a boutique architectural firm. On paper, I was the manager. In reality, Kelly called my boss every month to “check in” on my workload, dropping heavy-handed hints that I shouldn’t be traveling or taking on high-stress projects. My boss got the message. Slowly, quietly, the firm’s major accounts stopped coming my way. I was sidelined in my own career, yet I couldn’t even complain. Because whenever I tried, Kelly would look at me with soft eyes and say, “I’m just protecting your health, Luke.” I had barely settled at my desk today when HR paged me, letting me know an intern from another department was bringing over some files. I didn’t think much of it until the boy stopped in front of my desk. He was young, barely twenty-three, with a practiced, polished smile that felt like a luxury salesman’s pitch. But it was the scent that hit me first. It was the exact cologne Kelly had left on her vanity last night. “Hey there. I’m Dylan, from marketing. Here to hand off the Q3 files.” He extended the documents, deliberately lingering so his wrist rested in my line of sight. He was wearing a platinum watch. I had the exact same one. Kelly had spent two months on a waitlist to get it for me last Valentine’s Day. She’d told me it was one of only fifty in the world. “Nice watch,” I said, keeping my voice level. He glanced down at his wrist, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Thanks. A really generous friend bought it for me. She’s got incredible taste—loves guys with a bit of energy.” He stared straight into my eyes, adding with a soft tilt of his head: “Honestly, it’s impressive how hard you work at your age. If I had a wealthy partner taking care of me, I’d just stay home and let myself be spoiled.” The silent current of hostility between us went unnoticed by the rest of the open-plan office. I didn’t stand, and I didn’t let my expression waver. I simply took the folder, opened it, and flipped through the pages. “Dylan, on this Q3 budget report, the distribution data is pulled from a defunct Q1 template. And your ROI formula is wrong.” I slid the folder back across the desk. “Did your supervisor actually review this before you brought it to me? Because these are amateur mistakes.” His smile faltered. “Well, I… I’m still new…” “Being new isn’t an excuse. A mistake is a mistake.” I pulled out my phone and tapped the memo app. “Take it back and fix it. I’ll CC your department head so we’re all on the same page.” Dylan’s face turned a deep, blotchy red. He snatched the papers and turned on his heel. As he walked away, he muttered under his breath, “Someone’s sensitive.” I ignored it. At three-thirty that afternoon, the office keycard scanner chimed. When Kelly walked in, a hush fell over the entire floor. Her face was a mask of cold fury as she marched directly to my desk. “Outside. Now.” Out in the hallway, she leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. “You threw a tantrum at a new hire today?” “I didn’t throw a tantrum. I corrected a flawed report.” “Dylan called his manager in tears, saying you deliberately humiliated him.” “His work was riddled with basic errors. Asking him to do his job isn’t humiliation.” She stared at me, her eyes flashing with that familiar, weary condescension. It was her “you’re being dramatic again” look. “Your emotions are all over the place lately,” she said quietly. “You need to cool down.” When we got home, she pulled out her phone and tapped the screen a few times, right in front of me. My phone buzzed in my pocket almost instantly with a notification: Smart Lock Passcode Updated. “Stay inside and get some rest. Don’t go out,” she said, her voice dropping back into its soothing, maternal register. “We’ll talk when you’ve calmed down.” She turned and walked out. I stood in the foyer, looking at the lock notification on my screen. She had locked me in with a gentle, “You need to cool down.” 3 She kept me locked inside for two days. The fridge was fully stocked, and the thermostat was set to a perfect seventy-two degrees. The fresh-cut flowers in the living room were immaculate, replaced by the housekeeper just before the lockdown. Everything was comfortable—a gilded cage, crafted down to the last detail. On the evening of the third day, the lock clicked. Kelly walked in, wearing a relaxed cashmere lounge set. “Feeling better?” she asked with the casual indulgence of a parent checking on a toddler who’d finished his tantrum. I sat on the couch, my old ginger cat, Rusty, curled up in my lap. “We have a dinner tonight with Gary and Mr. Henderson,” she said, setting a cup of chamomile tea beside me. “Wear the charcoal suit. You look incredibly handsome in it.” I knew exactly what the dinner was. It was a performance. She needed her trophy husband by her side to show our high-society friends that everything in our marriage was perfect. And if I refused, the door would lock again. I put on the suit. Dinner was at a private, members-only restaurant downtown. There were three other couples at our table. Mr. Henderson patted my shoulder, chuckling. “Kelly really dotes on you, Luke. I heard she won’t even let the firm send you on business trips because she misses you too much.” Kelly sat beside me, keeping my water glass filled, laughing off the wine offers on my behalf. Every movement was practiced, flawless. “He has a sensitive stomach, so please keep his courses light,” she told the server warmly. The other husbands looked at me with pure envy. None of them could see beneath the heavy linen tablecloth, where my hands were trembling. Because I had just caught a glimpse of her screen. She was actively texting Dylan. I set my fork down. “Are you alright?” she murmured, leaning in close. “Excuse me. I need to use the restroom.” In the privacy of the marble stall, I pressed my forehead against the cool tile and closed my eyes. Then I pulled out my phone and dialed my old college mentor, Professor Kingsley. He had reached out last winter about an open regional director role in Chicago—a fresh start away from Kelly’s shadow. The call connected. “Professor, is that Chicago position still open?” “Luke? Yes, absolutely! Have you finally changed your mind? With your talent, you should have made this jump years ago. I’ll set up the interview for next week.” I hung up, taking a long, shuddering breath. When I returned to the table, Kelly suspected nothing. She was deep in conversation with Henderson about a new country club development. I sat there quietly and ate the rest of my meal. The next morning, a text from Professor Kingsley arrived: Luke, I’m sorry, but we have to cancel the interview. Your wife called the firm and politely declined on your behalf. She said your health isn’t up for a relocation. I stared at the screen, my fingertips turning numb. A second later, another notification came through from my bank: Your account ending in 3367 has been converted to a joint-authorization account. Any transaction exceeding $500 requires secondary approval. A text from Kelly popped up right beneath it: Sweetheart, have you been feeling stressed lately? Don’t exhaust yourself trying to change things. If you need anything, just ask me, okay? The tone was as tender as always—a velvet glove, slowly closing around my windpipe. Every exit route was blocked. I opened my contacts list and scrolled from top to bottom. Gary’s wife—Kelly’s golf partner. Mark—introduced by Kelly’s business partner. Every name was someone Kelly had vetted, curated, or handed to me over the last three years. In three years, she had systematically erased everyone from my life who wasn’t loyal to her. Rusty padded out of the bedroom, slowly brushing his warm flank against my ankle. He was old and frail now, with a tiny notch missing from the tip of his tail—a battle scar from a stray dog years ago. He was the last physical connection I had to my mother after she passed. I leaned down and scooped him up, burying my face in his soft, warm fur. “Hey, Rusty,” I whispered. “You’re the only one she couldn’t control.” He nudged my chin with his wet nose, letting out a soft, rattling purr. 4 2:17 AM. A strange sound woke me. It wasn’t Rusty’s usual lazy meow. It was a frantic, choking gasp—a desperate struggle for air that sounded like he was being strangled. I bolted upright in bed. He was collapsed on the hardwood floor beside his bed, his limbs stiffening. His mouth was wide open, his tongue tinged a terrifying shade of blue. His chest heaved violently, but no air was getting through. “Rusty!” I scrambled across the floor and pulled him into my arms. His small body was shaking uncontrollably. He was eleven years old, and his heart had been failing. The vet had warned me during his checkup last month that if he had another episode, every second counted. I had to get him to the 24-hour clinic immediately. The emergency clinic was only a ten-minute drive away. I cradled him against my chest and sprinted toward the front door. I threw my weight against the handle. It didn’t budge. I tried again, rattling it frantically. The lock’s digital screen glowed with a sterile, blue light: Security Mode Active. Administrator Authorization Required to Unlock. The administrator was Kelly. And she wasn’t home. I pulled out my phone, my hands shaking so hard I could barely type. I called her. First call. Six rings, then voicemail. Second call. Straight to voicemail. Third call. “The subscriber you are trying to reach is unavailable.” “Kelly!” I screamed at the dead line. “Unlock the door! Please, just unlock the door!” The automated voice coolly offered to record a message. I called the building’s security desk. “I’m sorry, sir,” the night guard said, his voice laced with practiced neutrality. “That’s a high-end private security system. We don’t have override codes for individual units. Only the primary account holder can unlock it remotely.” “I can’t reach her! My cat is dying! Can you please come up and break the door down?” “Sir, those are reinforced commercial steel doors. We don’t have the equipment to breach them without a locksmith, and that takes hours.” The phone slipped from my fingers. In my arms, Rusty’s tremors were beginning to slow. I sank onto the freezing tile of the foyer, holding him close. The stone chilled me right through my clothes. His eyes were glazed, half-open, his pupils dilated to the edge. He kept gasping, his mouth opening and closing like a fish stranded on dry sand. “Hang on, buddy. Please, just hang on a little longer…” I cupped my hand over his tiny chest, trying to press my warmth into his failing body. I could feel his heartbeat. Fainter. Slower. Like an old grandfather clock winding down its final, agonizing seconds. I tried everything. I threw myself against the door, but the reinforced steel didn’t even vibrate. I ran to the windows, but the double-paned ballistic glass was indestructible. She had insisted on it during the remodel, boasting about our safety. I pressed my forehead against the cold floor, cradling him. In the dark, a memory flashed through my mind with sickening clarity: Kelly, smiling, tracing the line of my jaw: “Everything in this house is the best money can buy, Luke. I built this to keep you safe.” Safe? She had built a prison. And now, her prison was suffocating the last piece of family I had left. Rusty let out one final, razor-thin whimper, a tiny sound that felt like he was calling my name. Then, his body went entirely limp. The frantic rising and falling of his chest stopped. I sat there in the dark, cradling that small, cooling bundle of fur. His eyes remained half-open. I gently closed them with my fingertips. I lost track of time. The darkness slowly dissolved into gray, then the pale, sterile white of morning. At exactly 6:00 AM, the lock gave a sharp, cheerful beep. The screen flashed: Security Mode Deactivated. Timer-Release: 06:00. A pre-set timer. Six in the morning. That was when my punishment was scheduled to end. Because I had been too cold to her during the day, she had pulled the lever. And the door opened at six because those were her rules. She was the architect. She calculated my tolerance down to the minute, assuming my obedience would remain intact. She just hadn’t factored the life of a cat into her equations. The latch clicked open. The warm hallway light spilled across the entryway. I looked down at Rusty. His body was stiff. I forced myself to stand, my legs entirely numb. I held him close and walked out of her apartment. 5 Kelly came home at 9:00 AM, carrying breakfast. Two oat milk lattes, a sourdough breakfast sandwich, and a small bundle of dried lavender she’d picked up from the bakery. “Sweetheart? You awake?” Silence met her. The living room was pristine. A throw blanket was folded neatly on the sofa; the coffee table was bare. The quiet was heavy, unnatural. She set the bags down and walked toward the bedroom. The bed was made. The closet lights were off. The bathroom door swung open to an empty room. She walked back to the kitchen and stopped at the dining table. Laying flat on the dark wood were my wedding band and a set of divorce papers. Every signature line was filled out. My handwriting was steady, showing no trace of hesitation. Beside them lay a small leather strap—Rusty’s collar. It was red, the leather worn at the edges, its tiny brass bell silent. Kelly stared at the three items for a long time. Then, she let out a dry, breathy laugh. “Another dramatic exit,” she muttered. She pulled out her phone to track my location. The signal was gone. She opened the home security app. Every camera feed was black. She checked the device manager. My phone, my watch, my tablet—all offline. She strode into the master bathroom and froze. At the bottom of the deep porcelain tub, submerged under inches of cold water, lay the phone she bought me, the platinum watch, my earbuds, and the sleek smart-tracker band she had insisted I wear. Her smile vanished. She began to dial. First, my number. The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Second, my closest friend, Zach. He answered on the second ring, his voice ice-cold. “What do you want, Kelly?” “Is Luke with you?” “Do you have any idea that Rusty is dead?” There was a sharp silence on the other end of the line. “…What?”

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