Author: Momo Chan

1 “Three years married. Is it truly irretrievably broken?” the judge asked, his voice echoing in the sterile courtroom. I gave a bitter smile and slid my wedding band off, placing it on the oak table. It landed with a hollow clink. “Three years married. Three years separated.” I looked up, my eyes dry. “Your Honor, is there anything left to save?” We dated five years. I was pinned at the top of his messages, his emergency contact, the sole beneficiary of his life insurance. I thought I chose right. But on our wedding day, he received a call. His face went pale. His mother was gravely ill. He left immediately, flying home. For three years, he texted daily photos of his meals. His mother never appeared. My heart ached; I offered to quit my job and help care for her. He sounded tender, claiming he couldn’t bear to see me exhausted. Until last month. Scrolling TikTok, I found a vlogger—a cancer survivor documenting recovery. And there was Brent. The caption read: He is my first sight each morning. My companion for every meal. These hands holding mine are his. What about me? For over a thousand days, I only had myself. He lied. The judge raised the gavel. “Absolutely certain?” I nodded heavily. When the marriage dissolved, I stared at the decree. The walls around my heart collapsed, and the tears finally came. Brent, I’m setting you free. And freeing myself. … “Is it done?” My mother rushed up to me the moment I stepped out of the courthouse. “It’s done.” “He still did not show up?” “No.” “Does he even know?” I shook my head. “The court issued a public notice for sixty days. They could not reach him. I figure he did not have the time to check his mail anyway.” My mother’s voice choked up. “Because of Lily?” “Yeah. She was undergoing surgery at the time. Life or death.” My mother wiped the corners of her eyes. “So… is she going to get better now?” “Maybe.” “Barfly, do you still love him?” I looked out at the busy street. “For three years, he took care of her every single meal without fail. Mom, he might have a place for me in his heart, but he has a place for her too.” My mother’s face wrinkled with sorrow, but she said nothing more. Five years ago, we met in a hospital. Back then, he was already the most sought after thoracic surgeon in the state. I was just his patient. Every morning at eight, he would lead a team of doctors in for rounds. His eyes never lingered on me. But every time, he would leave a piece of candy on my bedside table. He said the medicine was bitter, and a little sugar would make it bearable. On the day I was discharged, Brent came to do the rounds alone. He told me I was completely fine and would not need to come back. I could not hide the disappointment in my eyes. But his next words left me frozen in place. “You are no longer my patient. Does that mean I can ask you out now?” Back then, the entire hospital knew Dr. Brent was crazy about me. During my one month stay, he swapped every shift he could just to get an extra glimpse of me. Most days, he worked back to back day and night shifts. Just so he could ask me how I was feeling that day. “Ding.” The elevator doors slid open, pulling me out of my memories. I stepped into my apartment. My phone screen lit up. It was Brent. He sent a photo. A boarding pass from San Diego to Seattle. The date was for tomorrow. A second later, another text popped up. “Wifey, I will be home soon!” I stood in the entryway, staring at those words for a very long time. Last year, my appendix burst. When I was rushed to the ER, I sent him a very similar text. The only difference was that mine was a question. “Hubby, can you come home?” My phone stayed dead silent for an entire day. Later, I saw him in Lily’s vlog. He looked nervous, his brow furrowed in concentration. As the camera zoomed out, I saw him carefully piping frosting onto a cake. It read, “To Lily, a lifetime of health.” Three years. On the exact day I finally decided to give up on him, he told me he was coming home. I opened the door, bent down to change my shoes, and looked around the apartment. Everywhere I looked, I only saw traces of myself. The unworn men’s slippers in the shoe cabinet had been sitting there for three years. The clothes hanging on the balcony balcony were all mine. There were a few things that belonged to him. But there was nothing that belonged to us. I opened the most liked video pinned to the top of Lily’s page. It was a tour of their home in San Diego. Neatly arranged by the door were two pairs of matching house slippers. Pink and blue. The soles of the blue ones were worn down. Their clothes hung together on the balcony, looking exactly like a married couple’s laundry. The camera panned down to reveal a vibrant, colorful garden. Lily stepped into the frame, her smile blindingly bright, introducing them one by one. Roses, daisies, sunflowers, bougainvillea. Brent planted them all for her. Not for any special reason, but just because he wanted to see her smile. During our second year living together, I bought some potted plants for our balcony too. He forgot to water them every single time. I once asked him why he could not put a little effort into it. He replied without looking up. “They are just flowers, Barfly.” Just flowers. That was only reserved for me. He simply did not care enough when it came to me. I dialed his number. The line connected. “Brent, we are already div…” “Sorry, I am not him.” It was Lily. “Who is this?” I asked, my voice flat. “I am Brent’s friend.” I stayed silent for a few seconds. “Did you need something from him? He was up all night packing his luggage, he did not sleep at all. Just tell me what it is.” I let out a self deprecating laugh. Just as I was about to hang up, Brent’s voice drifted over the line. “Who is it?” “I think it is… your wife.” Brent took the phone. “Barfly, is everything okay?” “Who is she?” The line went dead silent for a long time. “A friend.” “Just a friend?” “Yes, just a friend. Do not overthink it.” “Are you… coming back together?” “Yeah. Her health is fragile. I am a doctor, I can keep an eye on her during the flight.” The airport boarding announcement echoed in the background. “Oh, right. You like flowers, right? I bought you a little seedling.” Before I could say anything, he hung up. I walked out to the balcony. The flower pot sat on the rack, the soil inside dry and cracked. The wind blew, stirring up the dust. It was no longer fit for growing anything. My phone lit up again. It was from Brent. Just four words. “Boarding now. Do not disturb.” He had sent me those exact words three hundred and fifty six times. Every time he could not be bothered to deal with me, that was his go to phrase. When Lily was in surgery, he sent this. And now, he sent it again. I whispered into the empty air. “Never again.” Brent arrived at ten the next morning. His hair was shorter, and there were faint dark circles under his eyes, but his entire aura felt softer. Gentler. I froze for a second. He chuckled softly and pulled me into a loose embrace. “It has been three years. Did you forget what your husband looks like?” “Yeah.” He ruffled my hair. “Heartless. And here I thought of you and brought you a flower.” It was a single, straight stem with a few sparse green leaves. No flower in sight. Clatter. I looked down at the sound. A white plastic pill bottle rolled across the floor. Omeprazole. Prescription strength stomach medicine. “Yours?” “No, it belongs to… Lily.” “Your friend?” “Yeah.” “Is she sick?” “Yeah, a really severe condition. When the pain hits, she cannot keep anything down.” “Why are her pills in your pocket?” “Must have grabbed them by mistake.” He was lying again. Brent took my hand and led me to the balcony. “Let’s not talk about that. Let’s get this planted.” He stared at the cracked, bone dry soil and frowned slightly. “It’s fine. I will have Lily bring over some good potting soil later.” “Is your mom feeling better?” “She is… pretty much recovered.” “When do you have time to take me to see her?” His grip on the plant tightened. “Next time.” He was lying again. I did not say another word. At eight that evening, the nursing home called. It was Brent’s grandmother. After dinner, he told me he was going for a walk and had not returned. “Barfly, Brent left his phone here. Come pick it up.” “He went to see you just now?” “Yes, and he brought a friend.” “Lily?” “That’s right.” “You know her?” “I knew her before I even met you. I watched that girl grow up.” “Do you like her, Nana?” “Of course I do. Whatever my grandson likes, I like.” A sharp sting hit the bridge of my nose. “Nana, since you like her so much, she should visit you more often from now on, don’t you think?” “Absolutely not.” I paused. “Brent could not bear it. Let her rest. You are the one for the dirty work, Barfly.” It felt like something was lodged in my throat. I could not speak for a long time. But she was Brent’s grandmother. Not mine. For the three years we were married, I took care of her for three years. When she was bedridden and could not move, I was the one cleaning up after her. When she needed her medicine, I was the one spoon feeding her. Her sharp mind and good health were the results of my endless exhaustion. Once, I called Brent and begged him to come back and help. He just said, “I have you, don’t I?” Because of that one sentence, I treated her like my own flesh and blood. Later, when her condition required professional care and she moved to the facility, Brent called specifically to scold me for sending her away. Three years of my life, traded for his simple excuse. He could not bear to let Lily tire herself out. “Nana, it is getting late. You should sleep.” “Alright. Tomorrow is my birthday. Remember to tell Lily to come over for dinner.” The call ended, and the apartment fell back into dead silence. Brent came home at ten. “Nana said you left your phone in her room.” He paused halfway through taking off his shoes. “You know?” “Why did she go with you?” “Do not misunderstand. She felt bad for Nana, so I brought her along to say hi.” “You brought her, but not me?” “You see her all the time, don’t you?” “It is different.” He gave me a bewildered look. “What is the difference?” “The meaning is different.” I went out of duty, offering myself up. He brought her out of a desire to include her in his life. It was different. “Okay, okay. Let’s not fight, alright? Whatever you say goes. I will listen to you from now on.” His face was a mask of indulgence, acting as if I was the one running the show. During our three years of separation, that was his favorite line. What to buy for the house, I make the call. Nana’s medical decisions, I make the call. Even the wedding ring I never got to wear, I had to figure it out myself. The doorbell rang. Brent went to get it. Lily stood in the hallway. She wore a flowing white sundress, holding Brent’s phone up and swaying it playfully. “What are you doing here?” “Bringing you your phone. Nana specifically called to remind me.” Brent’s tone was light and breezy. The curve of his smile matched the one on Lily’s face perfectly. In just three years, they had adopted each other’s mannerisms. They looked like the married couple. But I was his wife. Brent’s eyes landed on her bare shoulders. He frowned. “Wait here.” He walked right past me, crossed the living room, and went into the guest bedroom. When he came out, he had a shawl in his hands. “I am going to walk her home. Go to sleep first.” He said that to me. “Are you coming back?” “Of course.” He shook the shawl open and draped it over Lily’s shoulders with practiced ease. It was a warm yellow fabric covered in tiny floral prints. It was Lily’s favorite color. “It looks beautiful,” I said. Lily chimed in immediately. “Brent bought it. He has great taste. Barfly, you really need to take him shopping with you next time.” “Did he pick out that white dress for you too?” “Yeah. Do you like it?” “It looks great.” A week before we got our marriage license, I told him I wanted to buy a white dress and asked him to come with me. He made a million excuses to get out of it. When I pushed him, he finally snapped. “Real men do not go shopping.” But it turned out, it just depended on who he was shopping with. The elevator arrived. Brent escorted Lily out. Once again, I was the only person left in this home. After a while, I sent him a text. “Come back soon. I need to talk to you.” “About what? Lily is scared of the dark, so it might be a while before I head back. Just text it to me.” “Are you in love with Lily?” “Stop talking nonsense. She is just a friend.” “You go shopping with her. You take her to see your grandmother. You never shopped with me, and you never took me with you to visit her. She acts more like your wife than I do.” A few seconds later, my phone rang. It was him. “You are making a huge deal out of nothing. Are you really suspecting us over this?” “It is not a misunderstanding.” “Fine, it is my fault. Lily told me you lacked a sense of security. We have been apart for three years. I do not blame you for being paranoid.” “She said that?” “That does not matter. What matters is that you are the one I married. We have a long, long time to be together.” His breathing grew rushed. “Lily just got her hot dog. We really have to get walking. Do not overthink it, I will be home soon.” A long time? Did three years count as long? He spent three years in San Diego keeping Lily company, while I stayed in Seattle alone. I went home alone, worked alone, and took care of his dying grandmother alone. I whispered into the dark room. “It was long enough.” He did not come home that night. The next day, I went to work and handed in my resignation. When I got home, Brent was walking through the door. “You did not come home last night?” “It got way too late. I did not want to wake you up, so I just crashed on her couch. You are not mad, right?” “I am not mad.” “Oh, by the way, today is Nana’s birthday. She invited Lily over. You do not mind, right?” “I do not mind.” “That is my Barfly. Always so understanding.” It was not understanding. I just simply did not care anymore. At six that evening, I came home to find Nana and Lily already sitting in the living room. Lily was sitting right next to Nana, and Brent was on Lily’s other side. I stopped in my tracks. The front door was still open, letting in a draft of cold air. Brent frowned and took off his jacket, draping it over Lily’s legs. “Close the door!” His tone was sharp. I closed it quietly and took the seat furthest away from their little family circle. “Two Lilies?” Nana’s dementia was acting up again. “Nana, I am the real Lily,” she corrected with a sweet laugh. “Oh, look at my memory. Lily, my sweet girl, you finally came back. Brent waited for you for a very long time.” “I know. I am back now.” “When are you two getting married? I have the wedding gifts all prepared.” “Nana, you are confused again. Barfly is Brent’s wife.” She offered the explanation. But as she spoke, Nana took her hand and placed it directly over Brent’s. “It is getting late. I am going to start dinner. What does everyone want to eat?” Brent stood up. He asked the room, but his eyes were entirely fixed on Lily. “I want garlic butter shrimp.” Brent’s face darkened. Lily’s health was fragile, and her doctor had strictly forbidden heavy seafood. She shrank back a little, flashing an apologetic, pleading smile. “Whatever you make, I will love it.” His expression softened. He gave her a look that was equal parts warning and absolute devotion. Their dynamic was domestic and intimate. They had completely turned this place into their own home. Lily turned to look at me. “You have not asked what Barfly wants to eat.” “She is not high maintenance like you. She eats whatever.” Eats whatever? He just never took the time to learn what I actually liked. The food was brought out. Stir fried greens, steamed shrimp, herbal chicken soup, sweet and sour ribs. A feast. Brent stood up, took Nana’s bowl, and scooped some soup for her. “Nana, the big drumstick, just the way you like it.” Then he placed a piece of sweet and sour rib into Lily’s bowl. “Do not eat too much of this. The doctor said you need to watch your red meat intake.” When it came to me, he hesitated. Not knowing what to say, he silently scooped a spoonful of plain greens onto my plate. Lily giggled. “Barfly likes greens?” “I told you, she is easy. She eats whatever is in front of her.” But I hated greens. Nana, feeling sorry for him, pulled his sleeve and put a piece of meat into his bowl. “Stop serving everyone and sit down to eat.” “Nana, he just finished cooking. He cannot stomach heavy meat right now. It makes him nauseous.” “What should he have then?” “Oh, it passes. A bowl of clear broth will settle his stomach.” As Lily spoke, she pushed a small bowl of hot, clear broth right in front of him. Three years. It was enough time for him to know Lily inside out. And for Lily to know him. I felt like an intruder. I never knew Brent could cook. I certainly never knew he needed clear broth after spending time in the kitchen. He was sitting right there at the table. But he felt thousands of miles away. After dinner, I went into the kitchen to wash the dishes. Lily walked in, carrying a stack of plates. “Barfly.” “Yes?” “I saw the court notice online.” “And?” “I just wanted to say you are misunderstanding Brent. If I had not gotten sick, he never would have…” “Never would have what?” “Look, we are not what you think.” “What are you, then?” “We are just friends.” “If you are just his friend, why did not you tell him about the notice?” Lily froze, her eyes darting away from mine. “I… I was sick. I needed him.” “I saw your vlogs. Let me ask you this. If you were me, what would you think? Friends? Lovers? Husband and wife?” “We are not as dirty as you think. He never did anything to betray you. Not once.” “So this doesn’t count as betrayal?” “Like I said, we are just friends.” She turned to leave, but stopped by the door. “The potting soil Brent wanted me to bring… I left it by the balcony. Use it or throw it away, I don’t care.” Soon, the sound of easy laughter drifted from the living room. I dried my hands and walked out to the balcony. The sad little stem was still lying on the floor. A small plastic bag of rich black dirt sat next to it. The plant was Lily’s. The soil was Lily’s. Only the empty ceramic pot belonged to me. He had only been back for two days, yet this apartment was already suffocating under the weight of Lily’s presence. I walked out and sat quietly in the corner of the living room. The laughter slowly died down. Brent stood up, holding Lily’s purse. “Let’s go. I will drive you home.” He turned back to me. “I will leave Nana to you.” “Why are you the one driving her? Why not me?” “Don’t you hate her?” So he knew everything. I forced a smile and nodded. “Sure.” The drive to the nursing home was painfully quiet. As we pulled into the driveway, Nana suddenly spoke. “Lily left him back then because she did not want to drag him down with her illness. If she had stayed, you never would have had a chance.” My knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. “I know.” “Now that Brent is back, you two need to live a good life together.” I kept my mouth shut. The silence stretched until we parked. The nurses helped Nana back to her room. I turned and walked straight to the front desk. “Ms. Jiang, do you need to update anything?” the head nurse asked. “Yes. Change her emergency contact.” “Of course. Who should we put down?” “Brent. He is her biological grandson.” The nurse put her pen down. “Done. It is updated in the system.” Saturday morning. I was on the balcony. Brent walked over, yawning. “Barfly, what are you doing?” Dirt covered the tiles. The flower pot was empty. “You are awake. Plant this with me.” “Sure. That seedling has been sitting there for days, what brought this on?” “I just felt like it. Will you help?” “Of course.” He rolled up his sleeves and took the small trowel from my hand. I held the stem upright, watching his face intently. “Why are you staring at me like that?” “It has been a long time since I really looked at you.” “We have all the time in the world now.” “Brent, do you remember what you said to me when you proposed three years ago?” “Of course I remember.” “Can you say it again?” He dusted the dirt off his hands, his eyes incredibly soft. “Okay. Barfly, I imagined a thousand ways to ask you this, but none of them captured how desperately I want you. I want you to be the first person I see when I open my eyes, and the last person I see when I close them. Barfly, I love you. Will you marry me?” The doorbell rang. He stood up to get it. Halfway across the living room, he stopped and looked back. “I am still waiting for your answer.” He opened the door. It was Lily. She did not say a single word. She just shoved a thick medical file into his chest. Brent whipped his head back toward me. “I am sorry. I cannot stay with you today.” “Why?” “I cannot let her go to her check up alone.” “Why can’t she go alone?” “You don’t understand. With her condition, she needs someone there.” He rushed to the sink, washed the mud off his hands, grabbed his car keys, and turned for the door. I called out to his back. “Don’t you want my answer?” “We are already married. The answer does not matter anymore.” “What about the flower?” “Wait for me to come back, okay?” Before I could say another word, the door slammed shut, and he was gone. “We are divorced.” I whispered to the empty room. “And I am done waiting.” I sat cross legged on the cold balcony tiles. I swept up the dry dirt, and the rich black soil Lily had brought. I pulled the seedling out of the pot. I threw all of it into the trash can. My phone lit up. A text from Brent. “Barfly, do not worry. I will not disappear like I did three years ago. Wait for me to come home and cook for you.” I stared at the glowing letters for a long time. I pressed my thumb down on the message and hit delete. Then I went to his profile and blocked his number. I erased every trace of our shared history from my phone. I made a phone call. I hired a moving company. Within half an hour, the truck was parked outside, and the men were standing in my living room. “Miss, what are we taking?” “Everything.” The TV, the fridge, the appliances filled a third of the truck. The couch, the dining table, our wedding bed took up another third. Whatever was left did not matter anymore. I bought every single piece of furniture in this house over the last three years. I refused to leave a single thing behind for him. I left the court issued divorce decree on the bare kitchen island. I left a note beside it. “Brent, you paid for the house, and I am not greedy. Keep it. But I bought everything inside it, and I am not leaving any of it for you. Congratulations to you and Lily.” I slung my duffel bag over my shoulder and walked out the door without looking back. Downstairs, my rented RV was fueled and ready. I turned the ignition. The engine roared to life. Suddenly, a familiar figure darted into the street. The screeching of tires shattered the morning air. “Barfly!”

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1 Trying on my wedding dress, my sister Brittney joined us. I stepped out in heavy white tulle. Guy stood before me, letting Brittney adjust his bowtie, a soft smile on his lips. Before I spoke, the stylist bypassed me, beaming at Brittney. “Right this way, beautiful bride.” They exchanged glances and chuckled. No correction. Noah, our childhood friend and photographer, brushed past me, camera clicking. Of ninety-nine photos taken that afternoon, every single one featured Brittney and Guy. Not one of me, the actual bride. My feet cemented to the floor. As children, Noah and Brittney always played bride and groom while I tossed petals. Now adults, I had a real fiancé, yet there they were, laughing and posing, while I held her purse. “Adam, hand me that bouquet,” Brittney called. I didn’t move. Guy approached, gently taking it from my numb fingers. “Spacing out? Go pick invitation designs. I’ll join you after,” he said, tender and oblivious. Noah peeked from behind his lens. “Adam, step left. You’re blocking the light.” I swallowed the lump in my throat, backing into the cold wall. Reality washed over me. I was unnecessary here. If this wedding didn’t need me, I wouldn’t attend. I quietly picked up my purse from the velvet bench and pushed the glass door open. The brass bell chimed overhead. Nobody called my name. I glanced back one last time. Brittney was twirling in front of the floor to ceiling mirror. Guy stood behind her, carefully adjusting the silk bow at her waist. Noah crouched low, snapping away. “Yes, perfect. Hold that angle.” The flash went off five or six times in a row. I turned away and walked out into the street. The moment I sat behind the steering wheel of my car, my phone screen lit up. It was a text from our wedding planner. “Hi Adam, the wedding is coming up fast! Have you decided on the invitation suite yet?” Before I could type a reply, another bubble popped up. “Or you could have your sister pick them out? She has fantastic taste.” The interior of the car was suffocatingly quiet. It was so quiet I could hear the rhythm of my own breathing. In and out. Like I was counting. Counting what? Counting the number of times I had been forgotten in this relationship? The number of times I had been rendered invisible? I typed three words and hit send. “Let her decide.” I meant it. It didn’t matter what I picked anyway. Guy would always agree with Brittney’s choices in the end. The planner replied instantly. “Great, noted.” I stared at those words. I could practically hear her sigh of relief. Dealing with Brittney was so much easier than waiting for the indecisive bride. My phone vibrated wildly in my hand. Notifications flooded our group chat. Noah was uploading the photos he just took. I tapped on the thumbnails. His composition was flawless. The afternoon sunlight hit Guy and Brittney’s faces perfectly. They looked like a magazine spread for a luxury bridal brand. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. When I was a little girl playing pretend, I was so incredibly jealous of the one who got to wear the veil. When I met Guy, I thought my time had finally come. I thought I finally got to be the real bride. I poured my heart and soul into this wedding. I walked on eggshells, obsessing over every detail. It was as if this ceremony was my only proof that I was worthy of being the main character in my own life. I never expected to be shoved out of the frame entirely. I brought Brittney today because she was my family. Trying on wedding dresses was supposed to be a sacred, intimate moment. There was only supposed to be one bride and one groom in the mirror. And I was the bride. I thought nothing could possibly go wrong today. But the result was exactly the same as always. My phone screen faded to black, then lit up again. Message after message rolled into the group chat. I didn’t reply to a single one. And nobody noticed. I drove back to my apartment. Stuck to the fridge was a bright yellow sticky note I had written myself. “7 Days Until the Wedding.” I peeled the paper off the metal, crumpled it into a tight ball, and tossed it into the trash. I didn’t get out of bed until noon the next day. When I finally checked my phone, there were over a hundred messages in the wedding group chat. I stared at the single voice memo Brittney had tagged me in. I hesitated, then tapped play. “Adam, I went ahead and changed the background music for the reception. The song you picked was way too depressing. It is a wedding, it is supposed to be lively!” Right below it was a text from Guy. “Yeah, the original track didn’t fit the vibe.” The original track. I spent an entire month hunting down that specific vinyl. It was the song my parents danced to at their own wedding. They passed away when I was young. I just wanted them to be present on my big day in some small way. Whenever I heard those opening chords, my eyes would well up with tears. Guy knew this. Brittney knew this. But they still decided it was too depressing. Brittney sent another message to the group. “My sister doesn’t really have an eye for this stuff anyway. We will just handle the final details for her.” Guy replied with a single word. “Okay.” I stared at that word until my vision blurred. The messages kept scrolling past like a rushing river. Nobody seemed to realize that I was in the chat. Nobody realized I hadn’t spoken a word. My participation in my own wedding had officially reached zero. I opened my private messages with Guy. Our last conversation was from yesterday morning, right before the dress fitting. I told him I was feeling a little nervous. He replied with an emoji of a bear patting another bear on the head. Nothing else. He didn’t even send a private text to ask why I left the boutique early. He just tagged me in the group chat last night. “What happened? Got stage fright and ran off?” Nobody answered him, and he didn’t press the issue. Brittney sent a picture of the dress soon after, captioning it, “Dress fitting was a success. We secured the gown!” And just like that, my absence was brushed over. Then they moved right along to discussing floral arrangements, invitations, and the photobooth backdrop. I suddenly realized my role wasn’t just unnecessary. Being unnecessary meant I actually had a place to begin with. The truth was, I was never even in the picture. I was pulling my suitcase out of the closet when Brittney FaceTimed me. I answered. The screen showed a makeup artist blending foundation onto her cheek. “Adam, you move way too slow. You still hadn’t booked a makeup artist, so I just hired a premium team for you. I’m having them do a trial run on me first.” I watched her check her reflection in the camera. I opened my mouth, but the words died on my tongue. Should I tell her I booked my best friend to do my makeup two weeks ago? Should I ask her why they kept making decisions without asking me if I was okay with them? It felt pointless. Had I never asked before? Had I never shown my anger? Had I never tried to stand my ground? I had. And their response was always the same. “You are the older sister. Be the bigger person. Let her have this.” Noah grew up with me. We were childhood best friends. Yet he always took her side. When Guy first pursued me, he said he loved how quiet and steady I was. He called it endearing. I thought he truly loved my calm nature. But after he met Brittney, his preferences mysteriously shifted. He started dropping comments about how girls should be vibrant, bubbly, and full of opinions. One day, I couldn’t take it anymore. I asked him directly. “Can you please stop being so physically affectionate with Brittney?” I loved my sister. I raised her. Guy should have known how much it cost me to ask that question. He didn’t take it seriously. He just laughed and ruffled my hair. “She is your little sister, Adam. Do you want me to be enemies with my future sister in law?” I fell silent. Of course I didn’t want them to be enemies. But the crushing weight of being the mature older sister had been breaking my back for years. For the first time in my life, I couldn’t breathe. They always seemed to forget that I was only two years older than her. I wanted to be spoiled too. I wanted someone to ask me if I liked something before forcing it on me. A sliver of afternoon sunlight crept through the blinds and pooled on the hardwood floor. I remembered the aftermath of our childhood games. When the pretend wedding was over, Noah and Brittney would run off laughing. I was always the one left behind, picking up the scattered flower petals one by one, putting them back into the basket. Nobody ever stayed to help me. Nobody ever asked if I was tired. I called my landlord and told him I was moving out today. “Are you sure?” he asked, surprised. “You have been here for over four years.” Four years. When Guy and I first started dating seriously, he wanted me to move into his place. Brittney told me it was bad luck to live together before marriage. I agreed that maintaining some personal space was healthy. So I rented this apartment just a few blocks from his corporate office, hoping it would make it easier to see him. He loved the idea. Sometimes he would crash here after a late night at work. This apartment held the evidence of our love. Our fights. Our comfortable silences. And countless memories of his back as he rushed out the door to work. “Yes. Moving out today,” I said firmly. He sighed and told me to leave the keys in the mailbox. Not long after I hung up, the lock clicked. The front door swung open. Guy walked in, with Brittney trailing right behind him. Brittney turned to him with a bright smile. “We agreed on this, right? I get the spare bedroom with the bay window in your new house. But I am changing the curtains to blush pink.” I stood frozen in the middle of the living room. I thought my ears were playing tricks on me. She said it so naturally. As if moving into our marital home and claiming a room for herself was a universal given. Guy didn’t object. He looked at her with pure indulgence. “As long as Adam is fine with it.” “My sister loves me. Why would she care?” I stared at them. Something tight in my chest suddenly snapped. “What if I say I do care?” The room went dead silent for two full seconds. Brittney froze. It was probably the first time she had ever heard me say the word no. Before she even opened her mouth, her eyes filled with glossy tears. Guy’s expression darkened instantly. “Adam, what is wrong with you? You usually give her anything she wants. Now you are going to pick a fight over a spare bedroom?” “I am not picking a fight,” I said evenly. “Then what the hell is this?” He frowned, stepping forward. “What is the big deal if Brittney moves in? She is your sister, not a stranger. The house is massive. The room is just going to sit empty anyway.” “It is our marital home. Is she marrying you?” I asked. The question caught him off guard. He choked on his words. Brittney sniffled, her voice dropping to a pathetic whisper. “Adam… I just wanted to be close to you. If you hate the idea that much, fine. I won’t move in.” Guy shot her a sympathetic look before turning his glare on me. “Look what you did. You broke her heart over nothing. She is a young woman navigating the city alone, and she is your blood. Can you stop being so selfish for one second?” “Who is looking out for me?” I raised my chin, meeting his angry stare. “You got her a high paying job at your firm. She has zero worries. What do I have? I only have—” “Enough.” Guy’s tone turned ice cold. He took another step toward me, towering over my space. “Be reasonable. I only went out of my way to take care of her because of you. Do you really need to be this petty?” Petty. A hollow laugh escaped my throat. I pressed my lips together and stopped talking. Brittney gently tugged at his sleeve. “Guy, stop. She is probably just stressed about the wedding.” He patted her hand, his voice instantly softening. “Adam, I have already made the call. Brittney moving in is a good thing. You two won’t have to be separated.” I nodded slowly. Whatever. It was their house anyway. I wasn’t going to live in it. Guy exhaled, looking relieved. Brittney wiped a stray tear and offered him a fragile smile. I turned my back to them and walked into my bedroom to pack. From the living room, I heard Brittney’s voice chime again. “Can I really get the pink curtains?” Guy chuckled softly. “Whatever you want.” That afternoon, I drove to Guy’s corporate headquarters. Inside my leather tote bag was his security badge, his office keys, and a stack of client portfolios he had asked me to organize for him. The receptionist at the front desk beamed when she saw me. “Hi Adam! Let me buzz Mr. Vance and let him know you are here.” “No need,” I said, placing the heavy stack of items on the marble counter. “Just make sure he gets these.” I turned on my heel and walked toward the exit. As I passed the glass doors of the stairwell, I heard Guy’s voice echoing from the landing below. I slowed my pace. “Saturday? To go get your nails done?” My fingers went numb. A second later, his voice drifted up, laced with easy amusement. “I know, I know. You want to look perfect for the wedding. I will go with you. I will smooth things over with your sister.” I let out a bitter breath. I had already decided to walk away. Why was I still expecting him to do the right thing? We had a promise. Before we got married, we were going to drive up to the mountains and watch the sunrise together. It was a date we planned years ago but never managed to pull off. He promised me last winter. Then he delayed it to spring. Then he pushed it to the week before the wedding. We finally locked in this Saturday. And now, he was canceling on me again. To watch Brittney get a manicure. I didn’t stay to hear the rest. I pushed through the revolving doors, got into my car, and drove straight out of the city, heading back to my rural hometown. The next morning, I was sweeping the front porch when Aunt Sarah walked up the driveway. “Adam, honey, put the broom down and rest.” I shook my head and told her I was almost done. Aunt Sarah grabbed my hands and squeezed them tight. “You have suffered so much playing the responsible older sister,” she sighed, her eyes filled with years of unspoken pity. “Brittney was adopted, yes, but you treated her like your own flesh and blood. You gave up everything for her, and that girl just took and took without an ounce of gratitude.” She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “The whole family sees it. We just didn’t want to stir the pot and make things harder for you. But it’s over now. You are finally getting married. You are getting your own life.” I offered a polite smile and changed the subject. A little while later, I looked at her. “Aunt Sarah, you and Uncle Thomas should move into this house. It will fall apart if it sits empty.” She blinked in confusion. “Empty? You are getting married, but you will still come back to visit.” She chuckled. “I know you and Guy have that massive house in the city, but you still need a place to sleep when you come home for the holidays.” I just nodded, but I firmly pressed the spare keys into her palm. She thought I was just being generous. She tried to refuse, but I didn’t explain. I just knew that once I left this time, it would be years before I ever came back. As evening approached, Guy arrived to fulfill the traditional pre-wedding visit to the bride’s family. Brittney was practically skipping behind him. When they saw me sitting on the porch, they both froze. “Adam, what are you doing here?” His tone made it sound like I was trespassing. But I was the bride. I was at my uncle’s house. Where else was I supposed to be? Oh, right. He was used to it. It didn’t matter if I was there. As long as Brittney was with him, everything was fine. Brittney recovered quickly and looped her arm through mine. “Adam, perfect timing! Guy said he needed to visit Uncle Thomas, and I had nothing better to do, so I tagged along.” I didn’t respond. Brittney hated this small town. She avoided coming back at all costs. Yet here she was, days before the wedding. I didn’t know if she was here to support me, or for another reason entirely. It didn’t matter anymore. Inside the house, Uncle Thomas poured tea and chatted with Guy. Brittney sat right next to Guy. She poured his refills, laughed at his jokes, and chimed into the conversation effortlessly. I sat in the corner like an old piece of furniture. Nobody looked at me. I glanced down at my phone. Guy had sent me a text. “I have been swamped with wedding prep these last two days, sorry if I neglected you. But why did you run off to your hometown without telling me?” Neglected me? His tone sounded more like a scolding. Like I was being immature for disappearing. He was constantly active in the group chat, but he rarely texted me directly. He rarely asked if I had eaten, what I was doing, or if I was happy. That was why he didn’t know I went to his office. He didn’t know I left the city. He didn’t know, because he never bothered to ask. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard. I typed two words. “Stay busy.” Whatever he was busy with had nothing to do with me anyway. The visit wrapped up. Uncle Thomas stood up to walk them to the door. He clapped Guy on the shoulder. “According to our town’s tradition, it is bad luck to see the bride three days before the wedding. Don’t come looking for Adam until the ceremony. We want a blessed marriage.” Guy nodded respectfully. Uncle Thomas turned to me. “Adam, pack your bags and ride back to the city with them. You should prep at your apartment so there is no rushing on the big day. We will see you at the post wedding brunch.” I wanted to say no, but the earnest look in his eyes stopped me. I swallowed my refusal. I walked back into my bedroom to grab my suitcase and double check the drawers. When I finally rolled my luggage out to the front yard, Guy’s car was already gone. I stood in the empty driveway for a few seconds. My phone buzzed. A text from Guy. “Brittney was anxious to go check out the floral arrangements at the venue, so I took her. I honestly forgot you were there. Just drive your own car back.” Forgot. Guy, how could you forget me again? I dragged my suitcase down the dirt road to the highway and ordered an Uber. The wedding was scheduled for Monday. Guy glanced at the GPS on his dashboard and turned to Brittney. “Are you sure this is the right hotel to pick up the bride?” “Positive. I sent the address to my sister days ago.” “This place is high end, and it is closer to the venue. Picking her up here makes way more sense than navigating the traffic to her tiny apartment,” Guy reasoned. “You always handle things perfectly,” he added. “Unlike your sister. She is like a brick wall. Uncle Thomas mentioned the superstition about not seeing each other, and she actually took it seriously. She hasn’t replied to a single text for three days.” Guy pulled up to the grand entrance. Brittney hopped out of the passenger seat effortlessly. “Let’s go. She is probably pacing the floor waiting for us.” Noah jogged up behind them, his heavy camera bouncing against his chest. “Brittney, you are supposed to ride with me today. The passenger seat is for the bride.” “No way,” Brittney teased, sticking her tongue out at him. “Guy drives smoother. I get carsick in your jeep.” Guy shook his head with an affectionate smile. “You are impossible.” They walked into the luxurious hotel lobby. Guy led the charge to the front desk, Brittney right beside him. Noah automatically lifted his camera, snapping candid shots of them walking together. The receptionist offered a polished smile. “Good morning. How can I help you?” “We are here for the bride,” Guy said smoothly. “Room 302. Under the name Adam.” The receptionist typed quietly on her keyboard. She frowned and checked the screen again. She looked up. “I apologize, sir. We do not have anyone checked in under that name.”

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1 My husband has hyperthymesia. He possesses a highly superior autobiographical memory. He can recall the exact weather of a random Tuesday twenty years ago, but he has forgotten my birthday for five consecutive years. Whenever I brought it up, he would give me a blank look. “Is it coming up? Next week?” My birthday was last week. I used to joke with my best friend Sasha that even a genius brain had its glitches. Until the day I was cleaning his study. I found a folder on his desktop named “Health Tracker.” I opened it. It was completely filled with the personal data of a woman named Piper. Her menstrual cycle was tracked to the exact decimal point. The average was 29.3 days. Her cramp severity was marked with a red star. Level three, requires painkillers and a heating pad. Her ovulation window was highlighted in bright red, with a note written right next to it. She gets emotionally sensitive these days. Watch your tone. The last update was logged exactly three days ago. I knew Piper. She was his gym buddy. They went to lift weights together every Wednesday. I sat on the hardwood floor of his study and read through all thirty seven pages of logs. Thirty seven months. He never missed a single month. His hyperthymesia had absolutely no glitches. The only glitch was my place in his heart. I didn’t scream. I didn’t throw a fit. I didn’t even cry. I simply decided to vanish on the very next date he was destined to forget. … “You touched my computer?” Drew stood in the doorway of the study, a damp gym towel in his hand. The air smelled faintly of coconut water. It was Piper’s favorite post workout drink. I tossed my cleaning rag into the bucket and stood up. “I was wiping the desk and bumped the mouse.” Drew frowned slightly. He took a few quick strides to the computer and glanced at the monitor. I had already reverted the screen back to the locked desktop. He quietly let out a sigh of relief. His tone immediately shifted back to his usual casual arrogance. “How many times do I have to tell you not to touch things in my office?” “If you lose some of my data, you cannot afford to replace it.” I stared at the side of his face. Those thirty seven pages of menstrual logs were certainly precious. Precious enough that he needed to verify the decimals perfectly. I didn’t say a word. I picked up the water bucket and walked out. As I passed the living room, the smart home speaker on the TV stand suddenly lit up with a blue ring. The mechanical female voice echoed loudly in the quiet room. “Linked account ‘Piper’ syncing smartwatch data.” “Current heart rate 120. You are in the fat burn zone.” “Estimated arrival in the basement parking garage in ten minutes.” I stopped in my tracks. Drew walked out of the study, drying his hair with the towel while looking right at me. “Her car is in the shop, so I gave her a ride back,” he said. “She is just grabbing a few clean gym outfits and then she will leave.” He explained it so naturally. There was absolutely no panic in his eyes. It was as if the smart speaker wasn’t announcing the biometric data of another woman, but rather giving the local weather forecast. I turned around and looked at him. “Even the backend of our smart home system is linked to her watch?” Drew paused his towel drying. “We work out together. Sharing data just keeps us accountable.” “Hazel, please stop obsessing over trivial nonsense all day. If you actually hit the gym, I would link yours too.” I let out a soft laugh. Last month, my blood sugar plummeted and I passed out on the kitchen floor. When I finally woke up, I asked him if we could add me as an emergency contact on the smart home hub. He told me the system was too cluttered and prone to false alarms. He told me to just take better care of my own body. But now, Piper’s heart rate simply goes up a fraction, and the entire house announces her arrival. “No need,” I said, looking away. Drew seemed very satisfied with my calm reaction. He walked over and sat on the couch. “What are we having for dinner? Piper mentioned she wants a lean meal tonight. Just boil some chicken breast for her.” “Add extra black pepper. Her appetite hasn’t been great lately.” My fingers tightened their grip on the rim of the plastic bucket. A specific annotation from those thirty seven pages flashed into my mind. Day three of ovulation. Appetite decreases. Add heavy spices to her meals. So his hyperthymesia wasn’t just used to memorize dates. It was used to turn him into her personal caretaker. “I didn’t buy chicken,” I said. Drew frowned. “Isn’t there some left in the fridge?” “It expired. I threw it out.” His face darkened instantly. “Hazel, what exactly is your problem lately?” “Piper is just coming over for a quick dinner. Do you really need to give us attitude?” “Are you still throwing a tantrum and finding reasons to start drama just because I forgot your birthday last month?” I looked at his self righteous face. It had been five years. Every single time he forgot my birthday, he would gaslight me to cover up his own guilt. I used to feel wronged. I used to argue. Now, I was just completely exhausted. The doorbell rang. Drew kept a cold expression as he walked over to open the door. Piper stood in the hallway wearing a skin tight yoga set, holding two cups of iced milk tea. “Hey Hazel, sorry for crashing your night!” She smiled sweetly. There was a thin layer of glistening sweat on her forehead. “Drew told me you make the best healthy dinners, so I shamelessly came over to beg for food.” Drew took the drinks from her hands. “She didn’t cook anything. She said she threw the chicken out.” Piper blinked in surprise, but the look she shot me contained a very clear hint of knowing triumph. “Oh no, is Hazel mad at me?” “I told you, Drew! If you spend every day lifting weights with me, your wife is going to get jealous.” She playfully swatted Drew on the shoulder. “This is all your fault. You only remember my stats, but you can’t even keep track of the groceries in your own fridge.” Drew didn’t show a single ounce of annoyance at her physical touch. He turned to look at me, his tone shifting into a direct command. “Go downstairs to the supermarket and buy some right now. It is still open.” I set the water bucket down on the floor. A few drops splashed onto my slippers. “If you want to eat, buy it yourself.” Drew looked utterly furious. Piper immediately grabbed his arm to hold him back. “Never mind, never mind. Drew, let’s just order delivery.” “Hazel must be so tired from doing chores around the house all day. Let’s not force her.” She deliberately emphasized the word “chores.” In her mind, I was just a woman with no identity. I was just a live in maid meant to serve Drew. Drew let out a cold scoff. “What is she tired from? She sits around the house all day and can’t even manage a simple dinner.” I watched them standing in the entryway. They looked exactly like a married couple sharing an inside joke. I turned around and walked toward the bedroom. “Do whatever you want.” Early the next morning, I received a call from the hospital. My father’s attending doctor told me the next round of his targeted therapy medication needed to be paid for. Four thousand dollars. I opened my banking app, ready to use the joint debit card linked to our shared emergency fund. We usually kept our finances separate. We only touched this specific account for major family emergencies. I typed in the password. A notification popped up on the screen. Insufficient funds. I froze. I clicked into the transaction history. Yesterday afternoon at three o’clock, someone swiped exactly four thousand and five hundred dollars. The vendor was a high end outdoor sports boutique. I stared at the screen for a very long time. My chest felt like it was stuffed with wet cotton. It was so heavy I couldn’t breathe. I dialed Drew’s number. It rang for a long time before he finally picked up. The background noise was loud. The distinct clanking of heavy iron plates. “What is it?” he asked, his voice slightly out of breath. “Where is the money from our emergency fund?” I asked. The line went quiet for a second. “Oh. Piper has a trail running race next month. Her gear needed a major upgrade.” “She is tight on cash right now, so I fronted it for her.” The knuckles of the hand gripping my phone turned completely white. “Drew, that is my dad’s medical money.” He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Why are you calling it medical money? Your dad’s condition is chronic. A few days won’t make a difference.” “Piper’s race is next week. The gear cannot wait.” “I will put the money back next week when my bonus hits. Why are you panicking?” I listened to his casual, dismissive tone. My father’s life saving medication was somehow less important than a set of trail running gear for his gym buddy. “Transfer the money back to me.” My voice was quiet, but absolutely rigid. “Right now.” Drew lost his temper. “Hazel, do you not understand English?” “I said I will put it back in a few days. Do you have to ruin the mood right now?” “Piper is standing right next to me. Can you give me a little bit of respect?” Before I could say another word, Piper’s voice drifted through the speaker. “Drew, is that Hazel?” “Oh my gosh, please don’t fight with her. I told you I didn’t need you to cover it. Hazel is going to get the wrong idea.” “Hazel, please don’t be mad. Treat this as a loan. I will pay you back as soon as I finish the race and win the prize money.” Her words sounded so reasonable on the surface. But every single syllable was designed to show off the fact that Drew was willing to drop thousands of dollars on her without a second thought. Drew immediately chimed in. “Don’t listen to her, Piper. She is probably just hitting early menopause. Always starting drama over nothing.” He hung up. The phone line went dead, leaving only the dial tone echoing in my ear. I stood in the hospital corridor, looking out the window at the gloomy, overcast sky. I took a deep breath and paid for the medication using my private savings account. That money was supposed to cover my half of the mortgage next month. After paying the bill, I walked into the hospital room. My mother was peeling an apple for my dad. She quickly stood up when she saw me. “Hazel, honey. Why are you here today? Where is Drew?” “He is busy at work.” I forced a smile onto my face. My dad lay in the bed, his face pale and sunken. “Drew works hard. You need to be understanding. It is not easy for a man to build a career.” “As long as you two are happy, I have nothing to worry about.” I looked into my dad’s cloudy, tired eyes. My throat felt like it was lined with broken glass. “I know, Dad.” I stayed at the hospital for the entire afternoon before taking the subway home. I pushed the front door open. The living room lights were blazing. Drew was sitting on the couch playing a video game. Piper was wearing a brand new, elite trail running outfit. She was posing in front of the full length floor mirror, taking selfies with her phone. It was the exact gear paid for by my father’s medical money. When Piper saw me walk in, she lowered her phone and walked over with a bright smile. “Hey Hazel! How is your dad doing?” “Drew said older people are prone to minor aches and pains, and told me not to stress too much about it.” I stared at the gear she was wearing. Premium fabric. A perfectly tailored fit. “Take it off,” I said flatly. The air in the living room instantly froze. Drew threw his controller onto the couch and stood up, walking toward us. “Hazel, what kind of crazy episode are you having now?” I didn’t even look at him. I kept my eyes locked on Piper. “That outfit was bought using my emergency debit card. Take it off.” Piper’s face shifted. She instinctively took a step back, hiding behind Drew’s shoulder. “Drew, what does she mean?” “Does she just hate looking at me?” Drew immediately shielded Piper behind his back. “Hazel, stop embarrassing yourself.” “My money is in that joint account too. I can spend it on whoever I want.” “You eat my food and live in my house, and now you are nickel and diming me?” I stared into his completely self righteous eyes. Every single month, I deposited exactly half of my paycheck into that account. I paid the down payment on this house. We split the mortgage equally. Yet in his mind, I was just a freeloader eating his food and living under his roof. “Drew, did your hyperthymesia make you forget your conscience too?” His face went rigid. He raised his hand, pointing a finger right at my face. Piper quickly reached out and pushed his arm down. “Stop arguing, please! This is all my fault.” “Hazel, I will just give the clothes back to you. Please don’t be mad at Drew.” She reached for the zipper of the jacket. Drew grabbed her hand to stop her. “Do not take it off. I want to see who dares to touch you today.” He turned his head, glaring at me with pure venom. “Hazel, you need to learn your place.” After that night, Drew initiated a one sided cold war for three days. He didn’t speak a word to me. He even slept in the study. On the afternoon of the fourth day, I was out on the balcony bringing the laundry in. He walked through the front door, holding a glossy, premium jewelry catalog in his hand. He walked up behind me and tossed the thick booklet onto the coffee table. “This necklace suits her, don’t you think?” I stopped folding the clothes and turned around. The catalog was opened to a specific page. It displayed a gorgeous, five figure diamond necklace. Tomorrow was our fifth wedding anniversary. For a split second, my mind played a trick on me. I genuinely thought he had finally remembered the date, even if his delivery was still incredibly arrogant. “It’s alright,” I said quietly. Drew nodded in satisfaction. “Piper’s trail race finishes tomorrow. She said she is aiming for a top spot on the podium.” “This is her victory gift. She has a long, elegant neck. It will look beautiful on her.” The hand holding the plastic hanger froze in midair. The warmth drained out of my fingertips. An icy chill rushed through my veins, settling deep into my heart. It wasn’t an anniversary gift. It was Piper’s victory reward. I looked at Drew. His head was down, carefully studying the carat weight of the diamond on the page. “Drew, do you have any idea what tomorrow is?” I asked. He didn’t even look up. “Piper’s victory dinner. The race finishes at two in the afternoon. I booked a table at that upscale steakhouse for four.” “Oh, right. Just figure out your own dinner at home. I won’t be back to eat.” He said it so casually. His hyperthymesia allowed him to remember the weather twenty years ago. It allowed him to perfectly track Piper’s menstrual cycle. But it completely erased the day we signed our marriage license. “Okay,” I said. Drew finally looked up at me. He seemed slightly surprised that I wasn’t throwing a tantrum this time. “Glad you finally learned how to behave. I will transfer that money back to your card in a couple of days.” “Stop staring at the bank accounts like a miserable housewife.” He picked up the catalog and walked back into his study. I stood on the balcony, watching the pedestrians strolling along the sidewalk below. The wind blowing against my face carried the sharp chill of late autumn. I turned around, walked into the bedroom, and pulled a small, twenty inch black suitcase from the bottom of the closet. I unzipped it. The inside was completely empty. I started placing things inside, one by one. Two sets of clean clothes. A few basic skincare items. My passport and ID. I picked up my jewelry box. Inside sat the two carat diamond ring Drew bought me when he proposed. He had said, “Hazel, my memory is too perfect. So I am going to carve my promise to you into my brain, and I will never, ever forget.” I looked at the ring, then gently snapped the velvet lid shut. I left it right there on the vanity. I didn’t need it anymore. By the time I finished, the suitcase was barely half full. After five years of marriage, this was the only amount of life I was taking with me. That night, Drew came out of the study to get a glass of water. When he saw me sitting quietly on the couch, he frowned. “Why are you acting so weird and passive aggressive these last few days?” “I am just buying Piper a necklace. She works hard to survive in this city on her own.” “You are my wife. Can’t you be a little more gracious about this?” I didn’t look up at him. “I am not being ungracious.” Drew scoffed. The phone in his pocket vibrated. He immediately pulled it out. The glow of the screen illuminated a subtle, genuine smile spreading across his lips. I didn’t know what Piper texted him, but he didn’t even bother drinking his water. He turned right around and hurried back into the study. Early the next morning. Drew put on his bespoke gray suit. It was the suit he reserved exclusively for meeting his most vital corporate clients. Today, he was wearing it to attend Piper’s victory lunch. He stood in the entryway putting on his dress shoes. “I am heading out. Don’t wait up for me tonight.” I stood in the center of the living room, staring at his back. “Drew,” I called out. He looked back over his shoulder, his eyes flashing with raw impatience. “What now?” “Take the trash out on your way down,” I said. He paused, then let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Hazel, you are completely out of your mind.” But he still picked up the black trash bag sitting by the door. The front door slammed shut. I looked at the clock hanging on the wall. Eight in the morning. I walked into the bedroom and grabbed the handle of my black suitcase. I placed my house keys on the glass coffee table, right underneath that glossy jewelry catalog. I took one final look around the apartment I had lived in for five years. “Make sure you lock the door.” I whispered the words to myself in my mind. At eleven in the morning, I pulled my suitcase into the hospital. My dad had just finished his IV drip. He looked slightly more energetic. My mom jumped in surprise when she saw me rolling a piece of luggage into the room. “Hazel? What is going on? Why do you have a suitcase?” I pushed the suitcase behind the door and forced a bright smile onto my face. “The company is sending me on a business trip out of state for a few days. It was super last minute, so I just dropped by to see you guys before heading to the airport.” My mom looked skeptical. “A business trip? Does Drew know?” “Yeah, he knows. He is just slammed at work today, so he couldn’t drop me off.” I sat down on the edge of the bed and gently held my dad’s frail, thin hand. “Dad, make sure you take your medicine. The doctor said if we stick to the plan, your levels will drop.” My dad nodded with a weak, laboured breath. “Don’t worry about me. Take care of yourself. Since you are traveling, remember to eat on time.” A sharp, painful ache hit the back of my throat. I fought back the tears. I pulled a bank card out of my purse and pressed it into my mother’s hand. “Mom, there is fifteen thousand dollars on this card. The pin is my birthday.” “Keep it. Use it for Dad’s medical bills and whatever supplements he needs. Don’t be stingy with it.” My mother desperately tried to push the card back. “What are you doing? Your father and I have our pensions. We don’t need your money.” “You and Drew have a life to build. Things are expensive. Take it back right now.” I forcefully shoved the card into her coat pocket. “Mom, I earned this money myself. It has absolutely nothing to do with Drew.” “Keep it. It makes me feel safe knowing you have it.” I stayed at the hospital until one in the afternoon. Terrified that if I stayed a minute longer I would break down crying, I made up an excuse and left. Sitting in the back of a taxi heading to the airport, I watched the familiar city streets blurring past the window. My phone vibrated in my palm. It was a screenshot of an Instagram post, sent to me by a mutual friend. In the photo, Piper was wearing that pristine trail running outfit. Resting beautifully against her collarbone was the five figure diamond necklace. She was smiling radiantly. Drew stood right beside her, looking down at her with absolute, undivided focus. The caption read: The ultimate race reward. Thanks to my perfect partner. @Drew In the comments section, Drew had replied with a red heart emoji. I stared at that photo. That look of total devotion used to belong exclusively to me. Now, it had found a new owner. I closed the app and powered my phone completely off. The airport intercom began broadcasting the final boarding call for my flight. I scanned my ticket, walked through security, and didn’t look back once. In this tragic three person movie, I was always cast as the extra. Today, I was voluntarily writing myself out of the script. The moment the plane lifted off the runway, I looked down at the shrinking city below. A single tear finally rolled down my cheek. I cried for the five years of my youth, and the pieces of my heart I had blindly thrown to the dogs.

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1 Three days before the wedding, Blake Foster replaced every invitation. The bride’s name changed from Vivian Shaw to Lucia Lane. Lucia Lane. The woman who had abandoned him alone outside an operating room three years ago, signed a breakup agreement, and left the country. I thought I had misread it. I checked three times. Blake stood by the door, his eyes red, his voice calm. “She has late-stage brain cancer. Four months, at most.” “She said the greatest regret of her life was never getting to wear a wedding dress with me.” “Vivian, I just want someone who’s dying to leave this world in peace. After the wedding, I’ll come back.” I pointed at the newly printed invitations, my voice trembling. “So you’re using our wedding, our hotel, and my guests to marry another woman?” He was silent for a long time. In the end, he said only one sentence. “You wouldn’t understand. She skipped surgery for me. That’s why it progressed to late-stage.” I stopped speaking. I watched him take the wedding rings from the pocket of my gown. After he left, I stood alone in the empty room for a long time. Finally, I redesigned the invitation. Only this time, the groom’s name was no longer his. … “Vivian, replace the mattress in the master bedroom. Lucia can’t sleep on anything this firm.” Blake’s voice came from the bedroom, matter-of-fact and faintly impatient. I locked the freshly printed new invitations into the study drawer. Then I walked to the master bedroom door. Several movers were struggling to drag out the mattress I had custom-ordered from Italy half a year ago. Blake had severe neurasthenia. To help him sleep better, I compared more than a dozen brands before choosing this one with the strongest support. Now it had been casually dumped in the hallway, covered in dust. Lucia leaned against the bay window. Her face was indeed pale, but there was a careless smile tugging at her mouth. “Vivian, I’m so sorry.” She coughed twice and pressed a hand to her chest, gasping. “My body is getting worse. If the bed is even a little firm, my bones hurt so badly I can’t stand it.” “I’ll have to trouble you for a few days. Once I’m dead, this wedding home will still be yours.” Blake immediately walked over and patted her back with practiced familiarity, his eyes full of distress. “Don’t say that. The doctor said if you rest properly, you can still live a few more months.” Then he turned to me, his tone instantly cold. “Vivian Shaw, why are you standing there? Come help.” I looked at the way he protected Lucia and found it almost funny. Three days ago, he had been holding my waist on that bed, talking about our honeymoon. Now, he wanted to place another woman in our wedding home. Even on our wedding bed. I stepped forward and helped the movers push the old mattress out with one hand. “No need to replace the mattress.” I looked at Blake calmly. “I’ll sleep in the guest room.” Blake froze for a second, as if he hadn’t expected me to be so easy to deal with. In his imagination, I should have argued with him like yesterday, demanding to know why he was destroying our wedding. But now, I only felt tired. A flash of triumph passed through Lucia’s eyes. Then she quickly put on a frightened expression. “How can that be? Vivian, this is your wedding home. How can I take the master bedroom?” “Blake, I should go. I’ll just make do under a bridge for a few days. Don’t hurt your relationship because of me.” As she spoke, she pretended to walk out, only for her body to go weak and fall toward Blake. Blake hurriedly caught her, then turned and glared at me. “Vivian Shaw, can’t you be a little more generous?” “Lucia is already this sick. Who are you showing that cold face to?” “She missed surgery back then because of you.” Because of me? Three years ago, Blake had been in a car accident and needed a blood transfusion. Lucia took the two-million-dollar check from the Lane family and flew abroad overnight. She never mentioned surgery. I was the one who donated almost more blood than legally allowed and stayed by him for three days and nights. Now, with one sentence about missing treatment for him, Lucia had cleansed herself into the tragic heroine. And I, the one who had truly saved him, had become the villain. “I’m not showing any face.” I looked at Blake, my voice without a ripple. “She can have the master bedroom. I’ll go pack.” With that, I stopped looking at them and went straight into the walk-in closet to take out my suitcase. I didn’t have many clothes. Two cases were packed quickly. After settling Lucia, Blake came in and saw the suitcases on the floor. His brows tightened. “What are you doing? Packing this much? Are you moving out?” “Just some clutter. It won’t fit in the guest room.” I gave a casual answer. He looked at me suspiciously for a moment, then sighed and came over, trying to take my hand. “Vivian, I know this is unfair to you.” “But Lucia really is pitiful. She has no family in the country.” “After the wedding is over, I’ll take her to a care facility. Then you and I can get our marriage certificate. Okay?” I avoided his hand and zipped the suitcase shut. Marriage certificate? He probably forgot that our original registration date was tomorrow. “Do whatever you want.” I pulled the suitcase toward the door. Blake called after me. “Don’t forget tomorrow’s fitting. Lucia couldn’t reserve a suitable gown, so let her borrow yours first.” My steps stopped. That wedding gown was designed by me, for the purpose of marrying him. I had drawn the design myself and found a tailor to stitch it by hand, one needle at a time. I turned back and looked at his righteous face. “Fine.” After leaving the apartment, I threw my luggage into the trunk. Sitting in the driver’s seat, I dialed a number. The call connected after two rings. A steady, clear male voice came through. “What? Miss Shaw finally decided to check up on me?” I leaned wearily against the seat and closed my eyes. “Warren, are you ready for the wedding the day after tomorrow?” Warren let out a soft laugh on the other end. “As long as the groom isn’t anyone but me, I’m ready anytime.” “But I need to make sure, Vivian. You’re not using me to get back at Blake, are you?” I opened my eyes and looked at my exhausted face in the rearview mirror. “No.” “The invitations have already been sent to all core guests. Pullman Hall, top floor of the hotel.” Warren was silent for two seconds. When he spoke again, his tone was serious. “All right. I’ll be there on time.” After hanging up, I drove to the couture bridal salon downtown. This was where we had originally agreed to do the fitting. As soon as I pushed open the glass door, I heard Blake’s impatient voice. “Why is the waist so tight? Did you measure the size wrong?” The sales associate was anxious and sweating. “Mr. Foster, these were the measurements Miss Shaw gave six months ago. Perhaps you’ve become… slightly more muscular recently.” Blake was wearing the hand-tailored main suit that had taken half a year to make. The hem was embroidered with subtle, exquisite patterns. It should have fit his body perfectly. Now the buttons were stuck at his abdomen, looking a little ridiculous. Lucia walked out of the fitting room in the couture gown that originally belonged to me. The gown was obviously a size too large on her, hanging loosely from her shoulders. But as she looked at herself in the mirror, the greed in her eyes could not be hidden. “Blake, Vivian’s gown is really made from beautiful fabric. It’s just too big.” She walked toward Blake and reached for his arm, but accidentally stepped on the train. Rip. A soft tearing sound. A length of lace at the back of the gown was torn open. The sales associate gasped and covered her mouth. Blake froze too. Lucia immediately pulled back her foot, lowering her head with guilt all over her face. “I’m sorry, Blake. I’m dizzy. I couldn’t stand properly.” “Was this gown very expensive? I’ll pay you back… but I don’t have money on me right now…” As she spoke, her eyes reddened. Blake held her hand with distress and glared at the sales associate. “What are you screaming about? It’s just a little torn lace. Stitch it back up.” He turned to me as I walked over, his tone carrying an order. “Vivian, perfect timing.” “This suit is too tight and uncomfortable. Lucia’s gown is also too large.” “Have the salon rush the alterations. You pay first.” I quietly looked at the torn place. There, my and Blake’s initials had once been embroidered. For that small detail, I had called the designer overseas countless times. Now, it looked like a torn joke. “It can’t be altered.” My voice was calm. Blake’s brows furrowed deeper. “What do you mean it can’t be altered? Not even if we pay extra? Vivian, are you being stingy?” “Lucia is only getting married once. Can’t you let her look decent?” Looking at his aggressive expression, I suddenly felt he was unbearably unfamiliar. Three years of wholehearted devotion could not earn even a second of concern from him. “The fabric is a limited supply. There’s no extra material for alterations.” I walked to the sales associate and handed over a black card. “Pack the damaged gown and suit. I’m taking them.” Blake panicked and grabbed my arm. “If you take them, what are we wearing tomorrow?” “That suit was made according to my preferences. What right do you have to take it?” I shook off his hand and brushed the sleeve he had touched. “I paid for this suit in full. Since it doesn’t fit you, you don’t need to wear it.” “As for her…” I coldly glanced at the loose gown on Lucia. “She doesn’t deserve to wear my wedding dress. Take it off.” Lucia’s face instantly turned ugly. She looked at Blake with grievance. “Blake, is Vivian angry with me? I’ll take it off. At worst, I won’t wear a wedding dress tomorrow…” As she spoke, she began to unzip the back. Her hands trembled as if she might faint at any moment. Blake was completely enraged. He stepped in front of Lucia. “Vivian Shaw, are you crazy? Do you have to embarrass us in front of strangers?” “It’s just a stupid wedding dress. Lucia wearing it is giving you face.” “If you dare take the gown away today, this wedding is off.” He was certain I wouldn’t dare. For three years, whenever he used breaking up as a threat, I always gave in. I watched the associate place the damaged gown into a garment bag. Taking it, I turned without hesitation and walked out. “Fine.” I left him with my back. “Then it’s off.” Behind me came Blake’s disbelieving roar. “Vivian Shaw! If you walk out that door, don’t ever expect me to beg you to come back.” I opened the door and did not look back. Once in the car, I tossed the wedding gown onto the passenger seat. I took a photo and sent it to Warren. “Warren, the size needs some adjustment. Tailor it to your measurements.” Very soon, a reply popped up. Vivian, remember to switch the lead wedding car to a Maybach tomorrow. Lucia isn’t used to riding in a Rolls-Royce. Looking at Blake’s message, I almost laughed from anger. He truly mistook my patience for permission to trample me. I did not reply. I locked the screen and started the car. Halfway down the road, Blake called. I put him on speaker. “Why aren’t you replying? Where are you?” His tone still carried that lofty interrogation. “Does it matter?” I looked at the red light ahead and stepped on the brake. “Of course it matters. Lucia said she was frightened just now and has a terrible headache.” “Go to the city hospital and book a specialist appointment for her. Get the imported medicine.” “And stop by the private kitchen in Eastside to pick up seafood porridge. She has no appetite.” I quietly listened to his absurd demands. Tomorrow was the wedding. As the woman who was supposed to be the bride, I should have been confirming the wedding process and comforting elders. Instead, my fiancé was ordering me to buy medicine and porridge for his first love. “I’m not going.” My voice was cold. Blake’s voice immediately rose. “Vivian Shaw, can’t you even do this one thing?” “Do you understand this could be life or death? If anything happens to Lucia, I’ll never forgive you.” “Which intersection are you at? I’ll send you the location. Go there right now.” I sneered. “Blake Foster, I’m your fiancée, not your hired caregiver.” “Whether she lives or dies has nothing to do with me.” There was a strange silence on the other end for two seconds. Then Blake’s voice came, suppressing anger. “Fine, Vivian. Very good.” “Do you think I can’t hold the wedding without you?” “Let me tell you. If you don’t show up at the church entrance on time tomorrow to greet guests, don’t expect to see me ever again.” With a snap, he hung up. Greet guests? He actually wanted me to be the reception attendant at Lucia’s wedding. I tossed my phone aside, turned the car around, and drove toward the Foster Group building. Warren’s office was on the top floor. When I pushed the door open, he was looking down at several documents. Hearing footsteps, he raised his head. A trace of a smile flashed in his deep eyes. “Bride-to-be. Here to inspect my work?” I tossed my car keys onto the coffee table and sat across from him. “Here to confirm tomorrow’s schedule.” Warren closed the file folder and leaned back in his chair. “I’ve arranged everything with the hotel. Security for Pullman Hall has also been replaced with my people.” “I guarantee not even one blind fly will get in.” He paused, gaze falling on my face. “What about Blake? Has he noticed yet?” I picked up the cold water on the table and took a sip. “His mind is full of Lucia’s brain tumor right now. He has no time for anything else.” As we spoke, my phone screen lit up. A message from Lucia. I opened it. It was a photo. Lucia sat on the wedding bed that had belonged to Blake and me, wearing that obviously oversized wedding gown. On the nightstand were my skincare products and custom cup. Caption: Borrowing everything from my sister. Thank you, Vivian, for your generosity. Blake says I’m the most beautiful woman in the world. Looking at the screen, nausea rose in my stomach. Warren noticed and walked over to glance at the screen. He let out a cold scoff. “For a cheap little drama queen like this, Blake must be blind to treat her like treasure.” “But I am curious. How does a woman with late-stage brain cancer and a headache so bad she’s dying have the energy to take such pretentious photos?” I exited the chat. I had already investigated Lucia’s illness. It was just a forged medical record bought for twenty thousand. But I did not expose it. When people are dancing on the edge of an abyss, they hate nothing more than being interrupted. I wanted Blake to fall from the highest place. “No need to bother with her.” I stood and smoothed my skirt. “I’ve arranged the motorcade for tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at eight in the morning.” Warren looked at me, then suddenly stepped forward and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Vivian, after tomorrow, you’ll have no way back.” “I know.” I looked into his eyes. “I never take the road back.” By the time I left Foster Group, the sky had gone completely dark. I returned to the hotel and checked into a suite. I had just showered when Blake’s messages came again. Not concern. Only command after command. “Vivian, don’t be late tomorrow morning.” “Lucia isn’t in good health and can’t stand for too long. You’ll need to handle the greeting and toasting process for her.” “Also, she has a lot of relatives. Give up your seat at the main table.” The morning of the wedding, the whole city was covered in a thin layer of fog. I changed into the brand-new couture handmade wedding gown Warren had prepared for me. The fit was perfect, without a single crease. Standing before the full-length mirror, I looked at the cool, elegant woman inside and fastened a pearl necklace around my neck. My phone was still vibrating wildly. When I opened the screen, dozens of messages nearly flooded the chat. All from Blake. “Vivian, where are you? Why aren’t you at the hotel yet?” “Lucia’s wedding dress is too big. Why didn’t you have it altered yesterday? Are you deliberately trying to embarrass her?” “Go replace the photo at the reception desk with one of me and Lucia. Hurry.” “Where the hell are you? Get over here and be Lucia’s bridesmaid.” Looking at those words, I found them absurd. Even now, he still believed I would come when called and leave when dismissed. That he could step on my dignity to satisfy his ridiculous “compassion.” I did not reply. I turned off my phone and left the suite. The Emerald Hall on the hotel’s second floor was the venue Blake had changed to at the last minute yesterday. Originally, I had booked the most luxurious Pullman Hall on the top floor. But Blake said Lucia was afraid of heights. He also said Pullman Hall was too large and made Lucia’s family look too few, not warm enough. I played along and gave him Emerald Hall. I kept Pullman Hall for myself. When I passed the entrance to Emerald Hall, I stopped. The doors were wide open. It was noisy inside. On the welcome sign, the words “Celebrating the Marriage of Lucia Lane and Blake Foster” stung my eyes. Although I had been prepared, seeing it in person still felt ironic. Several shabbily dressed aunties were gathered around the dessert table, stuffing macarons into their pockets without shame. Lucia wore the ill-fitting wedding dress and leaned against Blake, enjoying his concerned attention. “Vivian!” Lucia’s eyes were sharp. She was the first to see me at the door. She straightened, adjusted her veil, and strode toward me. The smugness on her lips could not be hidden. “You finally came. I thought you wouldn’t dare show up today.” She looked me up and down, her gaze flashing with jealousy when she saw my new wedding dress. Then she changed back to that fake smile. “Oh my, isn’t your gown a little too grand?” “People who don’t know might think you’re the bride.” She patted my shoulder and lowered her voice so only we could hear. “Vivian, thank you for lending me your husband.” “The man you raised for three years looks so handsome in formalwear. Tonight, I’ll experience him properly on your behalf.” I quietly watched her performance, my gaze like I was looking at a dead person. Blake also came running over. Seeing me, his brows tightened. His voice was full of reproach. “Where have you been? Why didn’t you answer your phone?” “Didn’t I tell you to pick up Lucia’s second uncle? He came by cab and complained the whole way.” “And why are you dressed like this? Trying to steal the spotlight? Hurry backstage and change. Just wear a normal dress.” I looked at the man I had loved for three years. For him, I gave up a chance to go abroad. For him, I cooked soup late at night. For him, I personally arranged every corner of the wedding home. Now, he wanted me to wear an ordinary dress and serve his first love. “No need.” I stepped back, avoiding the hand he reached out to pull me with. “I’m not staying here.” Blake froze. Then fury rushed up. “Vivian Shaw, what kind of fit are you throwing now? The wedding is about to start.” “You’re making trouble at this exact moment just to embarrass Lucia, aren’t you?” “I’m telling you, whether you want to or not, you will finish the process today.” Looking at his enraged face, I suddenly smiled. The smile did not reach my eyes. “Blake Foster, you seem to have misunderstood something.” I adjusted my gloves, my voice cold. “I didn’t come here to attend your wedding.” “I came to get married at my own.”

1 For three years, Jack was stationed in Antarctica. Each week, I packed and shipped him supplies, adjusting the checklist as polar temperatures dropped. Before every deployment, I asked to join the crew, but he always refused, citing strict station protocol. I said okay and let it go. That changed when Gary from logistics posted a group photo of Jack with a girl in a red Arc’teryx jacket, both smiling beneath the green aurora. I recognized her as Wandering Penguin Diary, a travel influencer. Her recent videos were all filmed in Antarctica. One showed Jack taking her to see the ice cap sunrise. When asked about clearance, she replied, The Captain gave me a VIP media pass, wink. In her latest reel, Jack gently steadied her wind-battered tripod, his voice soft as he adjusted her lighting. For three years, he had only ever spoken to me like a mission briefing. I unpacked the half-prepared supply box. I would use the thermal patches and beef jerky myself. I texted Gary to cancel the next shipment. Then I booked a Northern Lights expedition in Norway. If his South Pole had no room for a fiancé, I would see the aurora alone. … “Sierra, Stella just flew back to the States. Her old lease expired and she hasn’t found a new place yet, so she’s going to crash with us for a few days.” The front door swung open. Jack walked in, dragging a massive pastel pink suitcase behind him. Stella trailed right behind him. She was still wearing that same red hardshell jacket I had seen in her videos. “Hey Sierra, sorry to crash your place. The Captain insisted the partner hotels weren’t safe enough and dragged me all the way here.” Her eyes crinkled into those same smiling crescents. The blatant brag in her tone was impossible to miss. I closed the browser tab for the Tromsø aurora tour. I turned my head and looked at them. Jack parked the pink suitcase right in the middle of our living room. He smoothly reached into the shoe cabinet, pulled out a brand new pair of women’s house slippers, ripped off the tags, and dropped them at her feet. “Wear these. Your boots are going to give you blisters.” Those were the guest slippers I bought just two days ago. I hadn’t even worn them myself. I stayed seated on the couch. “How long is she staying?” Jack took off his coat and hung it up. “Just until she finds a new apartment. Probably two weeks.” “She draws a salary from her agency. The Polar Institute also provides corporate housing.” “She came back early specifically for the Institute’s outreach project. It is official business. Having her here makes it easier for me to coordinate the workflow.” His tone was totally clinical, like he was delivering a quarterly report. I just stared at him. Three years. Every conversation we had sounded exactly like this. “The research station doesn’t host family members. It is strictly against protocol.” That was his excuse when he refused to let me visit him. Now, he was dragging a non-family influencer right into our living room. “Whatever.” I looked away and stood up to head to the master bedroom. “Sierra.” He stopped me. “Help Stella set up the guest room. Put on some fresh sheets. She has trouble sleeping in new places, so use the pure cotton set.” I stopped in my tracks. I turned around and looked him dead in the eye. “I am not your maid.” Jack’s brows knitted together. “What is your problem today? You used to be so welcoming when we had guests.” “I know the difference between a guest and a stranger.” Stella immediately grabbed Jack’s sleeve and gave it a gentle tug. “Captain, please don’t fight with Sierra because of me. I really should just book a hotel. I can handle it myself.” She reached for the handle of her pink suitcase. Jack clamped his hand over hers. “Stop being ridiculous. You are staying here.” He turned back to me, a flicker of raw impatience in his eyes. “Sierra, Stella has been freezing in Antarctica for three months. Her immune system is wrecked. Stop being so petty over every little thing.” I was being petty. I looked down and let out a dry laugh. “Fine. Make yourselves at home.” I walked into the bedroom and shut the door behind me. Through the drywall, I could hear their hushed voices. “Is Sierra mad at me?” “No, she just gets in these moods. Ignore her.” “Captain, could you help me get my tripod out? I need to wipe down the lenses.” “Sure, which pocket?” “The side compartment.” His voice was so soft. So gentle. Exactly like the voiceover in the video. I opened my closet. I took all the heavy-duty barrier creams and thermal patches meant for the South Pole and shoved them into the very bottom storage bin. Then I pulled out my own suitcase and laid it flat on the floor. My flight to the Arctic Circle was exactly fourteen days away. Right around the time Stella said she would be moving out. I started tossing clothes into the suitcase. One sweater. Two sweaters. The door suddenly cracked open. Jack stood in the doorway holding an empty glass. “Do we have any antacids left?” His eyes swept over the open suitcase on the floor. He paused. “Why are you packing?” “Switching out my seasonal clothes.” I smoothly folded two more thick sweaters and tucked them inside without missing a beat. “Stella is having stomach cramps. Her eating habits got messed up on the ice cap.” He sounded genuinely distressed for her. “Could you go make her a bowl of hot chicken noodle soup? She hasn’t eaten anything solid all day.” My hands stopped moving. “Jack.” “Yeah?” “You have chronic stomach issues too. Tell me, how many flare-ups have you had in Antarctica over the past three years?” He clearly was not expecting that question. “Occasionally, I guess. Why?” “Nothing.” I snapped the suitcase shut. He had absolutely no idea. The reason he never had a flare-up in three years was because I mailed him his specific prescription antacids and gut-lining powders like clockwork every single week. And now here he was. Ordering me to cook for another woman’s stomach ache. “Meds are in the second drawer of the TV console. The noodles are in the pantry. Make it yourself.” I zipped up the suitcase. Jack’s face darkened. “Sierra, since when did you become so cold?” Cold. I looked at him. “How warm do you want me to be? You brought her home. She is your responsibility, not mine.” “She is my teammate!” “A teammate who needs the Captain to personally bring her into his fiancée’s home to nurse her?” “You are being completely unreasonable.” He slammed the door shut. Through the wood, I heard him walk back out to the living room. “Stella, she is not feeling well. How about I order you some oatmeal from that place downtown?” “It’s okay, Captain. I’m not really hungry. Please don’t go out of your way.” “Absolutely not. Your stomach will act up again. Let me see what’s open on UberEats.” I sat down on the rug. I looked at the flight confirmation text that had just popped up on my phone screen. Fourteen days until departure. A little while later, clattering noises echoed from the kitchen. Jack was actually cooking. A man who couldn’t tell a scallion from a garlic clove was navigating a stove for Stella. I opened the door to go get a glass of water. I walked out just in time to see him setting a steaming bowl of noodles on the dining table. A perfectly golden fried egg sat on top. Stella was sitting at the table, resting her chin in her hands. Her eyes were practically sparkling. “Thank you so much, Captain. I had no idea you could cook.” “Just threw something together. Eat it while it’s hot.” He pulled out the chair across from her and handed her a pair of forks. I walked past them with my empty glass. Jack caught sight of me. “There is more in the pot if you want some.” “Pass. Smells greasy.” I filled my glass with tap water and walked straight back to the bedroom. Stella’s tentative voice floated through the air behind me. “Captain, am I really causing too much trouble for you guys?” “No. Just eat.” I closed the door. I shut out those voices completely. 2 The next morning, the sound of running water in the bathroom woke me up. I pushed the door open. Stella was standing in front of the mirror doing her skincare routine. My products, which normally had the whole counter, were shoved into a tight corner. The center of the vanity was hijacked by rows of expensive serums and moisturizers. Worse, a fuzzy pink towel was draped aggressively over my toothbrush cup. “Morning, Sierra.” She turned her head, flashing an innocent smile. “Sorry about the mess. I have a lot of products. Hope you don’t mind.” I walked over. I pinched the pink towel between two fingers. I dropped it straight into the laundry hamper next to the toilet. “I do mind.” Stella’s smile froze. “Sierra, what are you doing? That towel is brand new.” “It touched my toothbrush.” I picked up the toothbrush and tossed it directly into the trash can. “Sierra, are you out of your mind?” Jack’s voice echoed from behind me. He was in his sweatpants, frowning as he walked in and instinctively pulled Stella behind him. “It is just a towel. Is the dramatic tantrum really necessary?” “It’s unsanitary.” I looked at him, my voice completely flat. “You!” Jack took a deep breath, visibly suppressing his temper. “Stella just got here. She is still adjusting. As the lady of the house, could you try to be a little more accommodating?” Lady of the house. I caught the phrasing. We paid the down payment on this apartment together. Both our names were on the deed. Yet in his eyes, I was just the hostess playing nice for his real priorities. “She is just crashing for a few days. Stop pulling rank to bully her.” He didn’t wait for my response. He just handed down the verdict. I nodded slowly. “Fine. I won’t bully her.” I turned around, walked back to my room, and grabbed a new toothbrush from my stash. Breakfast was agonizingly tense. Jack had gone out for coffee and pastries. He slid a steaming cup of hot latte toward Stella. “Drink something warm. It will settle your stomach.” Then he pushed the remaining iced coffee toward me. I touched the plastic cup. Condensation dripped down the sides. “I can’t drink cold stuff right now. Did you forget?” I get severe cramps this time of the month. I never touch ice. Jack froze. A flash of genuine annoyance crossed his face. “I grabbed the wrong cup. Stella’s is the hot one.” He reached over to swap them. But Stella had already taken a sip from the hot cup. She looked at me with wide, apologetic eyes. “Oh no, I already drank from it. Sierra, do you want to just pop yours in the microwave?” “Don’t bother.” I stood up, took the iced latte, and poured it straight down the kitchen sink. “Enjoy your breakfast.” That afternoon, I had to drop off some paperwork at the Polar Research Institute downtown. Jack had asked me to organize his data authorization forms before he flew back. Just as I reached the plaza outside the building, I saw Jack and Stella walking out of the glass double doors. Stella had a blue lanyard hanging around her neck. Attached to it was an all-access VIP keycard for the Institute’s restricted labs. Three years. As the Captain’s fiancée, every time I came to deliver supplies or drop off paperwork, I had to stand at the security booth and wait in the freezing wind for him to come down and get it. I once asked him if he could get me a temporary guest pass. He said: “The Institute has strict security protocols. Family members aren’t allowed to wander around. It is the rules.” I believed him. Now, I realized the only person blocked by those rules was me. “Captain, that aurora simulation pod was incredible! I already have the whole storyboard for my next reel.” Stella was practically bouncing on her heels. “Glad you liked it. I’ll have the tech guys email you the raw data files later.” Jack’s tone was warm. Indulgent. Then he looked up and saw me standing at the bottom of the steps. The warmth vanished from his face instantly. The clinical, strictly-business mask slammed back into place. “What are you doing here?” “Dropping off your authorization forms.” I held out the manila envelope. He took it and barely glanced at it. “You could have just left it with security. Why did you walk all the way over?” “I was in the area.” My eyes drifted down to the blue VIP pass resting against Stella’s chest. “She has clearance?” Jack followed my gaze. His jaw tightened. “She is an official media partner. She has a filming schedule. The board expedited her pass.” “How long does an expedited pass take?” “A week.” “Didn’t you two just land in New York yesterday?” Jack went dead silent for two seconds. “I filed the paperwork for her while we were still at the station.” For her content. While stationed ten thousand miles away in a frozen wasteland, he navigated time zones, pulled strings, and chased down board members just to get her a plastic card. But when I asked for a visitor pass just so I wouldn’t have to freeze outside for half an hour, he fed me “protocol.” “That is great.” I gave a tight smile, turned around, and started walking away. “Wait, Sierra!” Stella called out. She trotted down the steps and shoved a small blue paper bag into my hands. “I bought this at the Institute’s gift shop just now. For you.” I looked down. It was a plush penguin keychain. “The Captain mentioned you absolutely love cute little things like this, so I picked the best one.” I love cute little things. That was a passing comment I made five years ago, right when we started dating. I casually said penguins were adorable. I grew up. I stopped buying stuffed animals years ago. But his memory of my preferences was permanently stuck on a throwaway comment from half a decade ago. “No thanks. Keep it as a prop for your videos.” I didn’t take the bag. “Just take it.” Jack stepped down, grabbed the bag, and practically forced it into my palm. “It is a nice gesture from Stella. Stop being so ungrateful.” Ungrateful. The word felt like a shard of glass sliding between my ribs. I looked at the cheap blue bag in my hand. The whole situation suddenly felt profoundly hilarious. “Sure. Thanks.” I crushed the bag in my fist and walked toward the subway. When I got home, I threw the penguin keychain into the trash can. Then I opened my laptop and went back to researching aurora hunting spots in Norway. Tromsø. December was the absolute best time for solar activity. My phone buzzed. It was a text from my best friend, Gemma. “Shopping this weekend? I heard Jack is back in town. You aren’t playing house with him?” “He has someone else to keep him company.” I typed the words out and hit send. She replied instantly with a single question mark. I didn’t bother explaining. I opened the Notes app on my phone. I typed out the iced coffee in the sink, the pink towel in the trash, and the blue VIP pass around another woman’s neck. It was a habit I had picked up over the last few days. Every single disappointment went into the list. Once the progress bar hit one hundred percent, I was deleting the whole file. 3 Saturday afternoon. Gemma and I met up at a mall in Soho. I tried on a heavy, insulated white parka, prepping for the Arctic chill. “Why are you buying Everest gear? It doesn’t even get that cold in New York.” Gemma sat on the fitting room couch, sipping her boba, looking thoroughly confused. “I am going somewhere cold.” I adjusted the fur-lined collar in the mirror. “Where? Did Jack finally agree to take you to the South Pole?” “No. I am going by myself.” I took off the parka and handed it to the cashier. Gemma narrowed her eyes, instantly sensing the shift in my tone. “What exactly is going on with you two? I asked you the other day and you ghosted me.” “Nothing. I am just tired of it all.” I took the shopping bag. We walked out of the boutique, heading toward a restaurant. I turned the corner, and froze. Right across the atrium, inside an elite outdoor apparel store, were two very familiar faces. Jack and Stella. Stella was trying on a top-of-the-line Arc’teryx hardshell jacket. The price tag dangling from the zipper read $1,800. Jack stood right beside her, meticulously adjusting the velcro cuffs on her sleeves. “This color block is highly visible in whiteout conditions. You won’t freeze to the bone next time we do an ice cap shoot.” His voice drifted out of the open storefront. Patient. Attentive. Gemma followed my line of sight. Her eyes practically bugged out of her head. “Who the hell is that?” “His teammate. A science influencer.” My voice was dead calm. Like I was reading a Wikipedia page about a stranger. “Teammate my ass.” Gemma let out a dark laugh and stormed straight into the store. I couldn’t catch her in time. I had to follow her in. “Well look who it is! Captain Jack. Real busy schedule you got since flying back, huh? Taking the ‘teammates’ on shopping sprees?” Gemma crossed her arms, standing near the racks, dripping with sarcasm. Jack jolted. He spun around, saw us, and immediately scowled. “Gemma? What are you doing here?” “I am taking your fiancée shopping.” Gemma pointed sharply at the bag in my hand. “Sierra has been with you for five solid years, and I have never once seen you buy her a jacket that costs more than a hundred bucks.” Jack’s face went rigid. His eyes darted past Gemma and locked onto me. “Sierra, what kind of garbage have you been feeding her behind my back?” His absolute first instinct was to accuse me of gossiping. “I haven’t said a word.” I stared right back at him. “Sierra, please don’t misunderstand.” Stella quickly unzipped the expensive jacket, stepping forward with a look of manufactured panic. “I am paying for this myself. The Captain is just helping me check the specs.” “Does checking the specs require him to stroke your forearms?” Gemma fired back without missing a beat. “You are an outdoor influencer, but you can’t read a damn size chart? Or do you just get a kick out of playing helpless around other women’s fiancés?” “Gemma!” Jack barked, his voice echoing in the store. “Watch your mouth. Stella is sourcing professional gear for the station’s official media campaign. If you don’t know what you are talking about, don’t throw a tantrum in public.” “I am throwing a tantrum?” Gemma let out a breathless laugh, rolling up her sleeves like she was ready to swing. I grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “Enough, Gemma. Let’s go.” I wasn’t going to make a scene for strangers to film. “Go where? Sierra, you are a complete pushover!” Gemma glared at me, furious at my lack of fight. “Jack, look yourself in the mirror.” “Sierra runs around this city every week buying you thermal gear with her own money. What do you do? You take another woman out to watch the southern lights.” “You finally come home, and you move her into your apartment and take her shopping for luxury gear.” “If you want to break off the engagement, have the spine to say it out loud. Stop doing this disgusting, cowardly garbage!” Jack’s face turned completely black. The other shoppers were starting to stare. “Sierra.” He glared at me. His voice was absolute ice. “Take your friend and leave. Stop embarrassing yourself.” Embarrassing myself. In his mind, my best friend defending my five-year relationship was an embarrassment. “Okay.” I nodded slowly. I grabbed Gemma’s wrist and walked out of the store. I didn’t hesitate for a single second. When I got home that night, the living room was completely dark. I walked in, swapped my shoes, and started toward my bedroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a ripped cardboard box sitting on the coffee table. It was the package holding the custom polar star projector I ordered two months ago. I had planned to set it up in the living room next Friday, for our five-year anniversary. A massive surprise. Because he once told me the stars over the Antarctic ice were the most beautiful thing in the world, and he felt bad I would never get to see them. Now, the box was empty. A faint, ethereal blue glow was spilling from beneath the crack of the guest room door. I walked over. I pushed the door open. Stella was lying on the bed, holding her phone up, recording a TikTok. Projected onto the ceiling above her was the exact map of the South Pole night sky I had custom ordered. “Hey guys, just doing a quick room tour to show off this insane gift the Captain got me. Isn’t this the most romantic aesthetic ever?” She smiled perfectly into the front-facing camera. I stood in the doorway. “Who gave you permission to open my mail?” My voice was deadly quiet. Stella gasped, nearly dropping her phone onto the mattress. She sat up, recognized me, and dramatically clutched her chest. “Jesus, Sierra, you walk so quietly.” “I asked you a question. Who told you to open that box?” I repeated, not moving an inch. “You mean the projector?” She pointed at the ceiling. “The Captain said it was a PR sample from one of the institute’s vendors. He said it was just taking up space in the living room, so he told me to use it for my lighting.” A PR sample. I spent four hundred dollars on that projector. I waited eight weeks for the custom lens calibration. And he treated it like a piece of junk taking up space, handing it off to another woman to make content. “Give it back.” I walked over to the outlet and ripped the cord from the wall. The galaxy instantly vanished. The room plunged into darkness. “Sierra, what the hell are you doing?” Jack had just walked through the front door. Hearing the commotion, he stormed into the room and slammed the wall switch. The harsh overhead light flooded the space. He saw me holding the projector, and Stella sitting on the bed looking like a kicked puppy. “I am taking back what belongs to me.” “It is a cheap promotional sample! Are you seriously going to cause a scene over this? Stella needed it for a shoot. What is the harm in letting her borrow it?” His tone was dripping with that familiar, patronizing exhaustion. “I bought this.” I stared directly into his eyes. “I bought it for our five-year anniversary next Friday.” Jack froze. The irritation on his face cracked. His eyes darted away, suddenly unsure. “Five years… I thought the shipping label said it was from the Institute.” “Do you ever bother to read the name on the box?” I held the heavy plastic projector to my chest. A profound, hollow exhaustion washed over me. “Fine. I’m sorry. I misread it.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, throwing out a half-hearted, dismissive apology. “Take the thing back. On our anniversary, I’ll take you to that fancy French place in Manhattan you’ve been talking about. We good?” We good. It was always like this. He would toss out a superficial compromise from his high horse, expecting me to catch it and be grateful. I looked at him. “Don’t bother.” I walked out of the guest room with the projector. I stopped next to the kitchen trash can. I opened my hands. Crash. The projector slammed against the bottom of the bin, the custom lens shattering into pieces. Jack had followed me out. He watched it happen, his face turning an ugly shade of gray. “Sierra, what is wrong with you lately? I said I was sorry. What exactly do you want from me?” “I don’t want anything from you.” I brushed the dust off my hands. “The projector is dirty now. I don’t want it anymore.”

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1 Late at night, after I let out a satisfied sigh, Dante Vale finally rolled gently off me. He had been unusually attentive lately. I figured he was probably about to leave me. I sighed quietly, turned over, and went to sleep. After all, everyone knew. I was the most useless kind of woman in love. When the sky wants to rain and a man wants to leave, what can I do? Beg bitterly? Cry, scream, threaten to die? That was what a real lovesick fool would do. But I was fake. A long time ago, I understood one truth. Everyone despised a woman who lost her head over love. Pretending to be one, however, was advanced strategy. At 5:30 in the afternoon, I shut down my computer and got off work on time. Behind me came the confused voice of a new coworker. “Didn’t they just announce an all-hands meeting? She’s leaving just like that?” “She’s different,” an older coworker said meaningfully. “Different how?” “If she gets home late, her husband hits her.” The new coworker sucked in a sharp breath. “Then why doesn’t she divorce him?” “Shh.” The older coworker lowered her voice. “She’s one of those women who can’t live without love.” A wave of helpless, sympathetic sighs filled the office. I strode toward the door, unable to suppress the corners of my mouth. Overtime? Absolutely not. I was not actually hopelessly lovesick. I only pretended to be. And I enjoyed every convenience it brought with a clear conscience. At the company, my persona was that of a poor woman who had to clock out on time to go home and cook. If I was even a little late, my “drunk, bad-tempered” husband would hit me. Whenever people mentioned me, they shook their heads and sighed, their voices full of anger at my lack of spine and pity for my suffering. Thanks to that persona, I was very popular at work. After all, I brought gossip and conversation to a dull office. I gave everyone’s fragmented sympathy and kindness somewhere to go. In a way, I provided excellent stress relief and emotional value. And unnecessary overtime, business trips, and social dinners automatically skipped me. The cafeteria lady always gave me half a portion more braised pork than others. Even my managers spoke to me gently, afraid of triggering my “psychological trauma.” What did I pay in return? A few hesitant lowered gazes. A pair of reddened eyes, full of unspeakable grievance. A few tears that came whenever I needed them. The return on investment beat every financial product on the market. Of course, maintaining a persona required a certain level of mental discipline. Once, Ms. Keller from the executive office complained to me about her boyfriend. I almost blurted out, “Use guilt to control him.” At the last second, I changed it to, “Maybe you didn’t do enough? You should be more understanding of him.” Ms. Keller glared at me like she wanted to shake some sense into me. I lowered my head in shame and slapped myself internally. Too close. Rule One of pretending to be lovesick: keep the acting steady and the character contained. If you hold it in, you’re a harmless little bunny. If you don’t, you become a scheming snake. At six sharp, I stepped through my front door. Dante had his back to me in the kitchen. He was shirtless, a loose apron tied around his waist, showing broad shoulders and a narrow waist. The muscles of his back shifted with every movement. Sunset spilled through the window, softening him like a filter. I leaned against the doorframe and admired the view happily. Then I wrapped my arms around his waist, pressed my cheek to his back, and adjusted my voice to its sweetest setting. “Darling, you work so hard. You cook for me every day. It makes my heart ache.” Dante turned his head to look at me. A smile rose in those naturally melancholy eyes. “I made your favorite sweet and sour ribs. Go wash your hands.” My eyes curved into two little crescents as I looked up and smiled. “Okay.” I had a soft, round little face. I knew I looked adorable when I smiled like that. And I knew he liked it. Of course. Dante had no idea that I had turned him into an abusive husband in the eyes of my company. And my coworkers had no idea I wasn’t even married. What did it matter? They would never meet anyway. This was the power of information gaps. That night, I was lying in bed watching a show when a firm chest silently pressed against my back. His breathing was heavy as he nibbled my earlobe. Before long, I had no idea what heaven or earth was anymore. I was floating somewhere above the clouds. Recently, Dante had been trying far too hard in bed. His sense of service was almost absurd. But whenever his dark, emotional eyes looked at me, there was always something complicated in them. Guilt, maybe. Or reluctance. After I sighed in satisfaction, Dante got up gently, wrung out a warm towel, and cleaned me with careful, focused movements. I sighed inside. Dante was probably going to leave. Two years ago, I met him while running by the river at night. He was sitting alone on the railing, staring at the water. I thought he was about to jump, so I rushed over and hooked him off the railing with one arm. “The world is beautiful, handsome. Don’t give up.” He got up from the ground and looked at me. The wind lifted the hair on his forehead, revealing an outrageously beautiful face. I froze. Expressionless, he said three things. “I was enjoying the wind.” “Take your hand off my waist.” “And my ankle is injured. Because of you.” He said he had nowhere to go, so I had no choice but to “reluctantly” take him home to recover. That recovery lasted two years. At first, he was silent, distant, and indifferent. Later, he reluctantly spoke a few sentences. Then came soft whispers and tangled intimacy. Now, he handled all the housework. All of this came from my daily sweet talk, top-tier emotional support, and acting skills polished to perfection. You could say he had been cultivated pretty well. But not long ago, I accidentally learned that Dante’s real identity was that of a super-rich heir. He had run away from home for two years because of family conflict. That day, through the glass, I saw his face turn so cold it was almost unfamiliar as he spoke into the phone. “Don’t worry. I’ll go back for the arranged marriage.” “Her? I’m just casually dating her. I can break up anytime.” “No need for you to intervene. She’s a hopeless romantic. If I say it directly, she’ll make a fuss. I’ll just leave quietly.” I walked three laps around the residential complex in silence. Before I finished the third lap, I had already figured it out. The gap between our backgrounds was too wide. Dante and I were not possible. Our feelings were not deep enough for either of us to fight the world. If I were truly lovesick, maybe I would beg, cry, and threaten to die so he wouldn’t leave. But I was fake. Adults should leave with dignity. Part peacefully. Keep the door open. If I fell on hard times later, maybe I could still rely on our old affection and ask him for a favor. Once I figured that out, I went upstairs, opened the door, and sweetly called him darling. See? This was the advantage of pretending to be lovesick. Even when abandoned, I could stay intact, keep my heart and lungs in place, and deal with the matter rationally. As for Dante. After two years together, he probably felt some guilt. These days, he had been finding every way to be good to me, cooking different dishes for me, and making sure I was satisfied in bed. I knew this was his way of saying goodbye. I accepted every bit of it and enjoyed the premium service brought by his guilt with a clear conscience. Rule Two of pretending to be lovesick: Never fight someone else’s guilt. I took two days of annual leave. By day, we curled up on the sofa and watched movies. By night, we tangled together and whispered sweet words. Even if separation was inevitable, I wanted to leave myself a beautiful memory. On the third day, I returned to work. My coworkers told me a piece of news in excited fragments. Mr. Grant had been dismissed for accepting bribes, and headquarters had parachuted in a new boss. Mr. Grant loved calling meetings right before closing time. Now that he was gone, everyone was thrilled. That afternoon, Ms. Keller sent a message in the group chat saying the new boss was treating everyone to a seafood feast tonight. Eight hundred and eighty-eight per person. The group filled with kneeling emojis and “thank you, boss.” I struggled internally for a long time. Then gave up. I could not ruin the persona over temporary appetite. The character had to stay steady. Steady meant victory. The next day, I was called to the general manager’s office. The young boss sat behind the desk in a crisp suit, his face cool and refined, flipping through a file Ms. Keller had given him. When I entered, he did not lift his head. He spoke lightly. “You were the only one who didn’t attend last night’s dinner. Any reason?” I pressed my lips together and slowly lowered my head. Two seconds of silence. Sure enough, Ms. Keller spoke up for me. “Mr. Price, her husband has a bad temper and controls her strictly. I mentioned it briefly before…” “A bad temper?” Across from me came a very soft chuckle. “What, does he hit her too?” I raised my head, prepared to show my familiar pale, resigned smile. Then I suddenly narrowed my eyes and hesitated. “I think I’ve seen you somewhere…” Ms. Keller jabbed my lower back with one finger. “Ivy Hart, this is not the time to network.” I stared at the young man across from me. He sat back in the leather chair with one leg crossed over the other, lips lightly pressed, head slightly tilted. His expression was almost a smile but not quite. That expression. “Rowan Price? Chubby Rowan?” I blurted it out. The corner of Rowan’s mouth twitched. With a mocking expression, he spoke slowly. “So you’re saying Ivy Hart, the class monitor who once chased boys around the schoolyard with a pointer, is now a lovesick doormat who gets hit by her husband if she gets home late?” My heart sank. It was over. Back then, my nickname was Ivy the Tyrant. I had been entrusted by our homeroom teacher with the glorious duty of managing all the unruly boys in class, and I had been very arrogant about it. The Rowan Price before me had been one of the boys I hit the hardest. Not only because he was fat and ran slowly, but also because he had a sharp mouth. Every time I pinned him to the ground, he would still crane his neck and shout, “Ivy Hart, you’ll never get married in this life,” or, “Don’t come begging me to marry you later.” Who would have thought boys changed this much? That chubby kid had transformed into a tall, handsome rising executive. Even his once-grating voice had become a low baritone. I adjusted quickly. Surprise, regret, nostalgia, then red eyes. Finally, a self-mocking smile. “That’s all in the past. We were young then. I can only say… well, everyone meets their match.” Rowan folded his arms and said nothing. A sarcastic curve hung on his mouth. His face clearly said: Do you think I’m stupid? After I left the general manager’s office, Ms. Keller looked at me with a complicated expression. “Ivy, are you doomed?” Ms. Keller was right. A person close to leadership was close to leadership for a reason. Her judgment was sharp. For the next period of time, Rowan went insane. He targeted me everywhere. Matters that could have been synced by email had to be reported verbally in his office. I had never done fieldwork, yet he made me accompany him to inspect factory lines. I was in planning, yet he named me to take meeting minutes. My workload suddenly multiplied several times. Finally, I couldn’t help it. “Don’t you have a secretary?” He lazily spun a pen without even lifting his eyelids. “She’s busy. Don’t you have a secretarial certificate? Did you take it for decoration?” I ground my back teeth while screaming internally. This was clearly revenge. Personal revenge dressed up as work. So petty. What, I hit him a few times when we were young? What mischievous chubby boy hadn’t been beaten by a class monitor in childhood? Most infuriating of all was that his tongue had become even sharper than before. His words were cutting, always stabbing right into my lungs. Several times, he left me speechless and nearly exploding. I knew he wanted to provoke me on purpose. Of course, I couldn’t let him succeed. How could I let the persona I had worked so hard to build collapse? So I gritted my teeth and swallowed it all. In front of him, I was always obedient, tolerant, and pitiful. And he merely tilted his head and looked at me with that faint smile, as if saying: Act. Keep acting. Fortunately, when I went home, I had Dante. That day, Rowan called me into his office again to revise a proposal. I got home forty minutes late. When I opened the door, steak, red wine, and flowers were already on the table. Dante wore a formal white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, exposing firm lines. In the candlelight, he smiled at me. “Ivy, happy second anniversary.” “Darling.” I flew toward him like a little bird and wrapped my legs around his waist. He caught me steadily. That night. At the moment my eyes lost focus, Dante suddenly gripped my wrists. His strength was startling. “Ivy.” “Mm…” “If one day I suddenly leave, what will you do?” He stopped there. His breathing went abruptly light. Caught in that unbearable, unfinished tension, I blurted out, “I’ll wait for you forever.” Dante stared at me. His eyes were bright in the dark, like two flames. Then he lowered his head and pressed his lips to my ear, sighing with something like relief. “It doesn’t have to be that long…” That night, he was almost wild. As if he had become someone else. The next day at work, my waist and legs were so sore I almost couldn’t straighten up. I kept hissing under my breath. The coworker beside me asked carefully, “Did your husband, uh, drink again last night?” I pulled at the corner of my mouth. “He did drink a little.” This drew a wave of sympathetic gazes. My phone buzzed. Dante sent me a message. I need to leave for a while. I don’t know when I’ll return. Take care. I stared at the screen for a few seconds. My suspended heart finally died. I got up and went to the pantry, made a cup of hot coffee, and leaned against the counter in a daze. Dante had returned to his original world. Returned to his arranged marriage. Of course he would not come back. Those words were only meant to pacify me, the “hopeless romantic,” before he left. Ha. Good thing I wasn’t really lovesick. So it wouldn’t hurt that much. I tilted my head back. I didn’t move for a long while. “What are you doing here during work hours, posing like a swan?” A cold voice sounded. I jumped and met Rowan’s eyes. He leaned against the doorway, holding a cup. His gaze was sharp, like a cat that had smelled blood. I casually brushed the corner of my eye with my little finger. He narrowed his eyes at me. “You cried?” “No. Steam got in my eyes.” He scoffed and said sharply, “You’re not deliberately acting pitiful here to make people sympathize with you, are you? Ivy Hart, you can fool everyone else, but you can’t fool…” He suddenly stopped. His gaze landed on my wrist. I looked down. A ring of bruises circled my wrist, stark against my pale skin. Marks from last night.

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1 Ronan spent six years photographing wildlife, and I stayed by his side as he rose from an unknown amateur to a signed professional. During his hardest year, I drained my savings for him—camera lenses, off-road rentals, shooting permits. Last year, when he was nominated for an international award, I asked if I could join him in the Yukon to see the timber wolves he always talked about. He didn’t look up, just kept wiping his lens. “Conditions are too brutal. You aren’t cut out for it.” I said okay and never asked again. This May, a major outdoor magazine released a Wilderness Photographers Special Edition. Ronan was on the cover, locked in a standoff with a lone wolf, rugged and impossibly handsome. The credit listed two names: Ronan and Lily. Inside, a candid showed them clinking tin mugs by a bonfire. He was smiling, relaxed, his arm draped over her shoulder. The caption read: Best partner. Forty days in the tundra. Couldn’t have done it without you. I set the magazine down, brewed my coffee, and drank in silence. Then I booked a one-way ticket to Banff National Park. For six years, I had stayed in the city managing his life so he could chase his dreams. If there was no room for me in his wilderness, I would go see the snow-capped mountains alone. … “Megan, Lily is taking the guest room tonight.” The front door pushed open. Ronan strode into the entryway, dropping three massive waterproof gear duffels onto the floor. It was his first day back from the Yukon expedition. I was sitting on the couch, holding a mug of coffee that had gone completely cold. I looked past him. Lily peeked out from behind his broad shoulders. She was wearing an oversized men’s Arc’teryx hardshell jacket. “Hey Megan, sorry to crash here!” She giggled, casually slipping her feet into a pair of fluffy pink house slippers by the shoe rack. Those were my slippers. Ronan kicked his boots off. “A pipe burst in her apartment building. The landlord hasn’t fixed it yet, so she is going to stay with us for a few days.” “The guest room is my art studio,” I said. It was packed with my drawing tablets, canvases, and the commissioned drafts I was working on. “I won’t take up much space, I promise.” Lily walked right past me, reaching for the water pitcher on the coffee table. “And I totally swear I won’t touch any of your precious little paintbrushes.” She poured a glass of water and gulped down half of it. “God, Ronan, I am dying of thirst.” She didn’t call him Mr. Ronan or boss. Just Ronan. Ronan shrugged off his jacket. Without a second thought, he took the glass from her hand and drained the rest of her water. The movement was painfully natural. Like they had done it a thousand times. “Just tidy up the studio a bit and clear enough space for a bed,” he said, turning to me. His tone was a corporate memo. An order, not a discussion. “There is no bed in there.” I stared at the glass they had just shared. “There is only a pull out sofa, and my wet oil paintings are currently drying on it.” Ronan frowned. “Then move the paintings to the living room. Lily just survived forty days in the freezing tundra. Her back is killing her. I am not making her sleep on a lumpy sofa.” Her back was killing her. Six years ago, when he shot his first starry night time lapse, he was too broke to afford a thermal tent. I stood in the snow in ten degree weather, keeping him company for three nights straight. The extreme hypothermia wrecked my immune system and left me with severe chronic pelvic cramps. Every month, I was in so much pain I couldn’t even stand up straight. He forgot. I stood up and walked toward the studio. “Fine. I will clear it out.” “You are the best, Megan!” Lily called out behind me. I carried the oil paintings out one by one, leaning them against the corner of the living room. I pulled out the folding mattress. I laid down fresh, clean sheets. When I walked back out, Ronan was sitting on the living room rug, unzipping his gear bags and pulling out dry sacks. Lily was sitting cross legged right beside him. “Ronan, hand me the red bag.” She pointed at a corner of the duffel. Ronan pulled out a red waterproof sack and tossed it to her. Lily opened it and dumped a pile of souvenirs onto the rug. There was a wolf tooth pendant, a few raw quartz stones, and a braided leather bracelet with a piece of turquoise. “Help me put this turquoise one on.” She held out her wrist, leaning in close to him. Ronan set his camera down. He picked up the bracelet and carefully fastened the clasp around her wrist. “Perfect fit,” he chuckled. “Duh. You handpicked it for me.” I stood two steps away, watching them. Ronan looked up and finally noticed me. His expression froze for a fraction of a second before snapping back to normal. “Megan, come look at this.” He pointed at the floor. “The locals at the trading post gave these to us. Lily picked out a few, see if you like anything that is left.” Anything that is left. I walked over and looked down. A few dull, gray rocks and a cheaply made wooden beaded necklace. “Where is the hand braided alpine wool bracelet you promised me?” I asked calmly. Before he left for the Yukon, he told me about a local Indigenous artisan who wove bracelets from naturally shed wildlife wool. It was supposed to symbolize peace and protection. I told him I wanted one. He had promised me he would get it. Ronan froze. His hand dug around in the dry sack. His movements grew slower and slower. “About that…” “Oh my gosh, Megan, I am so sorry.” Lily suddenly cut in, raising her right hand. Right next to the turquoise, wrapped around her wrist, was a beautifully crafted, authentic alpine wool bracelet. “We only found one at the trading post.” Her voice was thick with innocent guilt, laced with a sickly sweet whine. “Ronan said I worked so hard carrying the heavy tripods in the tundra, so he gave it to me as a reward.” She stroked the woven threads. “You aren’t mad at me, are you?” I didn’t look at her. I kept my eyes locked on Ronan. “You gave it to her?” “It is just a piece of string.” Ronan avoided my gaze, picking his lens cloth back up. “They sell that stuff everywhere up there. We were on a tight shooting schedule, I didn’t have time to shop around.” “Next time. I will buy you a dozen of them next time.” Next time. For six years, those were his favorite two words. When he couldn’t afford a diamond ring, he said he would make it up to me next time. When he missed my birthday because he was on a shoot, he promised to double the celebration next time. And now, even a simple, promised bracelet was pushed to next time. “Megan, if you really love it that much, I can take it off and give it to you.” Lily made a big show of tugging at the clasp. She fumbled with it for a few seconds. “Ugh, the knot is tied way too tight.” “Forget it. Leave it on.” Ronan grabbed her hand, stopping her. He looked up at me. “Megan, are you seriously going to make a scene over this? Lily bruised her legs up hiking through the brush to find my camera angles. Is it a crime to give her a souvenir?” His tone was dripping with impatience. He thought I was being irrational. He thought I was petty and jealous. I looked at his hand, still resting protectively over Lily’s fingers. Long, elegant fingers. Prominent knuckles. Those were the hands I had babied and cared for over six years of my youth. I took extra commissions and stayed up until dawn just so those hands could hold expensive cameras. Now, those hands were protecting another woman. “No. It isn’t a crime.” I said softly. I turned around and walked toward the kitchen. “There are frozen dumplings in the fridge. You can boil them yourself.” “I am not hungry.” Ronan called out behind me. I didn’t look back. I unlocked my phone and opened my Expedia app. My flight to Banff National Park was already paid in full. Departure date. Three days from now. 2 The next day was Saturday. The outdoor magazine hosted a small, exclusive book signing and networking event to celebrate Ronan’s special edition selling over a hundred thousand copies. At eight in the morning, I was standing in the kitchen frying eggs. Ronan emerged from the bedroom, fully dressed and immaculate. He wore a black turtleneck under a premium Arc’teryx jacket gifted by his sponsors. He looked sharp. Triumphant. “I am heading out. Gotta set up the venue by nine.” He walked to the entryway to put on his shoes. I slid the fried egg onto a plate and carried it out. “Am I not going?” I asked him. He paused, his hand hovering over his boot laces. He stood up straight and adjusted his collar. “Why would you go?” “It is strictly industry people today. Sponsors, editors, rival photographers.” “You aren’t in the business. You wouldn’t know what to talk about. You would just sit there looking bored.” I set the plate down on the dining table. “Six years ago, when you self published your first photo book, you didn’t sell a single copy.” “I stood out in the blistering sun, handing them out to strangers, begging people to look at your work.” “Why didn’t you tell me I wasn’t in the business back then?” Ronan’s brows pulled together. He hated it when I brought up the past. “Megan, do you always have to keep score?” “Things are different now. Today is an official, professional event. I have to network. I don’t have the energy to babysit you.” He sounded so incredibly righteous. The door to the guest room clicked open. Lily walked out, stifling a yawn. She was wearing the exact same Arc’teryx jacket, just a size smaller. Matching outfits. “Morning, Ronan.” She strolled over to the dining table. Without asking, she picked up the fried egg from my plate and took a massive bite. “Mmm. You are such a good cook, Megan.” “Finish up, we need to move. The chief editor is already on his way.” Ronan rushed her, but his voice lacked any of the cold impatience he had just directed at me. I looked at the two of them. “She is allowed to go?” “Lily is the co-author of this special edition. Of course she is going.” Ronan spoke as if it was the most obvious truth in the world. “She is my best partner.” Best partner. What a beautiful title. “Got it.” I sat down and took a sip of my milk. “Have a good time.” Ronan gave me a weird look. He seemed unnerved by how unnaturally calm I was acting. He opened his mouth to say something, but swallowed the words instead. The front door clicked shut. I sat alone and quietly finished a breakfast with no eggs. At eleven in the morning, my phone rang. It was Sloane. Sloane was my college roommate and the senior editor at a fashion magazine. “Megan, have you checked Instagram?” “No. Why?” “Your boy Ronan is soaking up all the glory at his little signing event.” “Good for him.” “Good for him my ass! Open Lily’s page right now!” Sloane was practically screaming through the speaker. I put her on speakerphone and opened the app. Lily had posted a photo dump ten minutes ago. The center photo showed her and Ronan standing in front of a massive promotional banner. Ronan was holding a microphone, addressing the crowd. Lily stood right beside him, her head tilted, looking up at him with pure, unfiltered adoration. The caption read: “All those freezing nights in the snow, all the frostbitten fingers in the tundra. Today, it was all worth it.” “Thank you, Ronan.” The comments were flooded with industry insiders. “Power couple alert!” “Lily, you are a legend. Ronan is lucky to have you.” I scrolled through the comments one by one. Staring at the blinding, toxic words. “You see it?” Sloane demanded over the phone. “I see it.” “Megan, are you literally blind? Half the photos in that magazine were color graded and retouched by you during your all nighters.” “The thirty thousand dollars he needed to fund that Yukon trip? You took out a second mortgage on your parents’ old house for that!” “And now some clout chasing assistant is standing on that stage soaking up your applause!” Sloane was breathing heavily, absolutely furious. I looked calmly out the window at the midday sun. “Sloane.” “What?” “I booked a one way ticket to Banff.” The line went dead silent. It took several seconds for Sloane to find her voice. When she spoke, it was low and quiet. “Are you serious?” “Yeah.” “You aren’t coming back?” “I am not coming back.” “Good.” Sloane let out a long, heavy exhale. “Do you need help packing?” “No. I can handle it myself.” I hung up the phone and walked into the master bedroom. I pulled open the bottom drawer of the closet. Two large, heavy duty suitcases were tucked inside. I pulled one out and started stuffing my clothes into it. I didn’t own much. Over the last six years, every spare dollar I earned went straight into upgrading Ronan’s camera lenses. The closet was stuffed with his expensive Arc’teryx and Mammut gear. My warmest winter coat was a clearance rack parka I bought three years ago. My phone buzzed. It was Ronan. “Megan.” The background noise was chaotic. People were cheering his name. “What is it?” “I left my black external hard drive at the apartment. The one terabyte one.” He sounded frantic. “It is in the second drawer on the left side of my desk. Can you bring it to the hotel right now?” “I have a massive media interview in twenty minutes and I need the raw video files on it.” I looked down at the sweater I was folding. “I am busy.” “Busy doing what? Drawing your cheap little three hundred dollar commissions?” The insult slipped out of his mouth effortlessly. He caught himself a second later. “Megan, I didn’t mean it like that. This interview is huge. The chief editor set it up personally.” “I am begging you. Just do me this one favor, okay?” I closed my eyes. For six years, every single “cheap little commission” I drew funded the film inside his cameras. Now, he thought my work was a waste of time. “Fine. I will bring it.” “Thank you. Call me when you get here.” He hung up immediately. I dropped the sweater into the suitcase and zipped it up. I walked into his office, grabbed the black drive from the drawer, and ordered an Uber to the event hotel. The banquet hall was packed and roaring with conversation. I didn’t go inside. I stood in the quiet hallway near the side entrance and texted Ronan. “I am at the side door.” I waited five minutes. The heavy oak door swung open. It wasn’t Ronan. It was Lily. She was holding a flute of champagne. Her cheeks were flushed. “Hey Megan, Ronan is stuck on stage. He asked me to come grab it.” She held out her hand. I looked at her. “Tell him to come get it himself.” Lily let out an exaggerated sigh. “Megan, can you please stop being so difficult?” “The room is full of major investors. Ronan is telling them all about our near death experiences in the Yukon.” “If you drag him out here right now, you are going to ruin the vibe for everyone.” She hit the word “our” incredibly hard. I ignored her and turned to leave. “Megan!” Ronan’s voice echoed behind me. He pushed the side door open and stormed out, his brow furrowed in anger. “What kind of tantrum are you throwing now?” He snatched the hard drive directly out of my hand. “Lily was nice enough to come out here to help you, and you give her an attitude?” I stared at my empty palm. “She told me to stop being difficult.” “Is she wrong?” Ronan lowered his voice, his tone dripping with disappointment. “Today is the most important day of my career. If you can’t be helpful, the least you could do is not sabotage me.” Sabotage. I repeated the word in my head. “I guess after six years, the only thing I am good for is sabotaging you.” Ronan tugged at his collar, visibly irritated. “I don’t have time to argue with you.” He turned back to the door and glanced at Lily. “Come on, Lily. The boss wants to talk to you.” The heavy door clicked shut. Locking me completely out of his glamorous, glittering new world. I stood alone in the hallway. I could hear the muffled applause from inside, followed by Ronan’s confident, booming voice. “I want to thank my team, especially Lily. Without her, none of this would have been possible.” I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets. I turned and walked toward the elevator. That was the last delivery I would ever make for him. 3 By late afternoon, the sky turned a bruised, ugly gray. Thick storm clouds suffocated the city. I dragged an old cardboard box out from the corner of the studio. I started packing away my life. My coffee mugs, my throw pillows, my half used tubes of acrylic paint. I tossed them into the box one by one. Suddenly, a familiar, agonizing spasm ripped through my stomach. It felt like a jagged knife twisting in my gut. I dropped the tape dispenser, clutching my stomach, and collapsed onto the armrest of the couch. The pain didn’t fade. It crawled up my spine, triggering a cold sweat that instantly soaked my shirt. It was the chronic ulcer flaring up. The permanent souvenir from standing in the freezing snow six years ago. The doctor had warned me. No physical exhaustion. No severe emotional stress. I pulled out my phone with shaking hands and called Ronan. It rang forever before he finally answered. The background noise was deafening. Club music and the clinking of glasses. “Yeah?” Ronan shouted into the phone. “Ronan, my ulcer is flaring up.” I gritted my teeth, forcing my voice to stay level. “It is bad. Can you come home and take me to the ER?” The line went quiet for a second. “Your ulcer?” It sounded like he had stepped into a quieter hallway. “Why is it acting up now? Did you take your meds?” “I took them. They aren’t working. I can’t even stand up.” “Hold on a second.” He covered the microphone, but I could still hear Lily’s voice bleeding through. “Ronan! The investors are asking about your availability next month. Get in here and take a shot!” Ronan’s voice returned to the line. “Megan, the party is just peaking. All the VIPs are here.” “Can you just call an Uber and go to the ER yourself? I will come find you as soon as I wrap up here.” Go by yourself. Through the blinding pain, I actually let out a weak laugh. “Ronan, I am in so much pain I can’t even walk to the lobby.” “Don’t you have those prescription painkillers? Just pop two and tough it out.” A sliver of annoyance crept into his voice. “Megan, I really can’t leave right now. This is the turning point of my entire career. Can you just be understanding for once?” Understanding. I always had to be understanding. I had to understand when he was broke. I had to understand when he neglected me. I had to understand why he needed a “partner.” “Okay.” I said softly. Beep. Beep. Beep. He had already hung up. I closed my eyes and tossed the phone onto the rug. Gripping the edge of the couch, I forced myself to stand. Inch by inch, I dragged my body to the front door and shoved my feet into my boots. The rain was pouring in sheets by the time I made it to the lobby. There were no cabs on the street. The Uber queue was fifty people deep. I stood under the awning for ten minutes. The freezing wind sliced right through my thin jacket. The cramps were so violent I dropped to my knees on the wet concrete. Headlights cut through the rain. A black Land Rover turned into the driveway, its hazard lights flashing. It was Ronan’s car. For a split second, I thought he actually had a conscience. I thought he came back for me. I braced myself against the pillar to stand up. The driver’s side window rolled down. It wasn’t Ronan. It was Lily. She was wearing that oversized Arc’teryx jacket, leaning her head out into the rain. “Megan?” She looked down at me crouching in the storm, her eyes wide with fake shock. “What are you doing sitting out here? Didn’t Ronan say you were sick in bed?” I stared at her. “Why are you driving his car?” “Oh, Ronan had a few drinks. He couldn’t drive.” She patted the leather steering wheel. “I am sober, so he told me to take his baby for a spin. I just came back to grab something.” “Grab what?” “Ronan left a specific lens cap on his desk. He said he needs it for the afterparty, so he sent me to fetch it.” A lens cap. I was sweating through my clothes in agony, stranded in a storm. And he sent her to drive his prized car back to our apartment… for a piece of plastic. “Megan, do you need a ride to the hospital? But Ronan told me to hurry back. They are all waiting for me.” Lily bit her lip, performing a perfect mask of hesitation. “Do you mind waiting for a cab?” I didn’t say a word. Holding onto the concrete pillar, I slowly pulled myself up until I was standing straight. “Don’t bother.” I turned my back on her and walked straight into the downpour. The freezing rain battered my face, but the icy shock somehow dulled the twisting fire in my stomach. I walked out to the main avenue and flagged down a taxi that had just dropped someone off. “City General ER,” I told the driver. I didn’t look back at the Land Rover. The emergency room was a chaotic nightmare. I registered alone. I got my blood drawn alone. I sat in a plastic chair in the corner of the IV room alone. The harsh fluorescent lights burned my eyes. I watched the clear medicine drip into my vein, drop by drop. I pulled out my phone. No texts from Ronan. Nothing. Just a single voice memo from Sloane. “Megan, are you okay? Have you seen the video Lily just posted?” I opened Instagram. Ten minutes ago, Lily had updated her story. It was a five second clip. In the video, Ronan was sitting on a plush leather VIP couch in a club, looking at his phone. Lily’s voice giggled from behind the camera. “Ronan, you lost! Truth or dare?” Ronan looked up, flashing a helpless, charming smile. “Dare.” “Perfect.” Lily’s voice was dripping with sugar. “I dare you to let me drive your car to the shoot tomorrow.” Ronan’s Land Rover was his baby. He took out a massive loan to buy it two years ago. He was obsessive about it. He never let anyone touch the steering wheel. When I got my license, I asked him to teach me how to drive it. He had said: “Your spatial awareness is terrible. The clearance is too high. If you scratch it, the paint job costs a fortune.” In the video. Ronan tossed his keys onto the glass table. “Fine. It is yours.” His tone was completely indulgent. He didn’t hesitate for a second. I closed the app. The pain in my stomach had officially gone completely numb. Drip. Drip. Drip. By the time the two IV bags were empty, it was 3 AM. The rain had stopped. I walked out of the hospital into the dead, empty streets. I took a cab back to the apartment. I pushed the door open. The living room was pitch black. Ronan hadn’t come home. The guest room door was slightly open. It was empty too. They had gone out to celebrate. They pulled an all nighter. I flipped on the lights. I walked over to the coffee table and swept the bottle of prescription painkillers directly into the trash can. Then I walked into the bedroom and pulled out the suitcase I had started packing earlier. I moved with clinical precision. My toothbrush and towel from the bathroom. My autumn sweaters from the closet. My charging cables from the nightstand. This apartment was suffocatingly full of his presence. The physical space I occupied was pathetic. It took exactly one suitcase and two garment bags to pack up six years of my life. I rolled the suitcase to the entryway. I glanced at the paper calendar hanging on the wall. Today was May 27th. The day after tomorrow was May 29th. Not only was it the day my flight left for Banff. It was also the exact date of my six year anniversary with Ronan. 4 May 29th. Two in the afternoon. I shoved my final jacket into my suitcase and zipped it up. Right on cue, the delivery driver knocked on the door. I had ordered a tiny, artisanal strawberry cake. Ronan hated sweets. Every anniversary before this, I always ordered a small cake meant for two. This year, I ordered a cake meant for one. I set the cake on the dining table and unboxed it. I placed a single candle on top. I didn’t light it. The sound of a key turning in the lock echoed through the apartment. The door burst open. Ronan practically sprinted inside. He didn’t even bother taking his muddy boots off, tracking dirt across the hardwood floor. He made a beeline for his gear cabinet. “Lily is waiting in the car downstairs. I don’t have time to change.” He spoke rapidly, aggressively shoving telephoto lenses into his camera bag. “What is the rush?” I sat at the dining table, watching his chaotic back. “What happened?” “Huge news.” Ronan’s voice was buzzing with adrenaline. “One of Lily’s contacts in the forestry service found fresh footprints of a ghost puma in the northern ranges.” “Do you know how insane that is? Nobody has photographed a big cat in that sector in a decade!” “We have to leave right this second to beat the National Geographic crews to the location.” He yanked the zipper shut and slung the heavy bag over his shoulder. “How long will you be gone?” I asked. “Hard to say. Two weeks, maybe a month. Wildlife doesn’t run on a schedule.” He spun around, ready to bolt out the door. His eyes swept past the dining table. He saw the tiny strawberry cake. He saw me sitting quietly in front of it. He froze. His boots stopped moving. “What is today?” His brows knitted together, his brain desperately scrambling for context. I just looked at him. I didn’t say a word. Several agonizing seconds passed. A look of profound guilt washed over his face. “Today… is our six year anniversary?” He finally remembered. “Megan, I am so sorry.” He walked over, resting his hands on the edge of the dining table. “This tip was completely unexpected. I cannot lose this shot.” “When I get back, I promise I will make it up to you.” “What do you want? A designer bag? That diamond necklace you were looking at last month? I will buy whatever you want when I get home.” He always used money to patch over his emotional absence. Even though he wasn’t exactly rich, he genuinely believed throwing a credit card at a problem erased the damage. “No need.” I stood up. I picked up the cake knife. I sliced the strawberry cake perfectly in half. “You can go.” Ronan let out a visible sigh of relief. “Megan, I knew you would understand.” He stepped around the table, reaching his arms out to pull me into a hug. I shifted my weight and stepped cleanly out of his reach. His arms hung awkwardly in the empty air. He slowly lowered them. “Are you still mad I didn’t pick you up from the ER?” He let out a heavy sigh. “I told you, I had too much to drink. I couldn’t drive. Lily was just doing me a favor grabbing my gear.” “Stop looking at her like she is the enemy. She is basically one of the guys.” Honk. Honk. The aggressive blare of a car horn echoed from the street below. Lily was getting impatient. “Ronan! Hustle up! If we don’t leave now we won’t make it to the trailhead before sunset!” Her voice pierced right through the window glass. Ronan instantly straightened his posture. “I really have to go.” He walked to the entryway and pushed the door open. He looked back at me one last time. “Take care of yourself. Don’t forget your ulcer meds.” “Bye.” The door slammed shut. The impact made my coffee mug rattle against the table. I walked over to the window and pulled back the curtain. The black Land Rover was idling by the curb. Ronan tossed his heavy bag into the backseat and climbed into the passenger side. Lily was in the driver’s seat. She leaned over the center console, intimately grabbing the seatbelt to buckle him in. They shared a bright, excited smile before the engine roared, and the car sped out of the complex. I watched the taillights disappear around the corner. I walked back to the dining table. I picked up a fork and took a bite of the strawberry cake. It was sweet. Sickeningly, artificially sweet. I picked up the plate, walked over to the trash can, and dumped the rest of the cake inside. I walked to the entryway. I took the silver apartment key off my keychain—the key I had used for six years—and placed it gently on top of the shoe cabinet. Then I grabbed the handles of my two suitcases. I walked out. I pulled the door shut until it clicked and locked tight. At four in the afternoon, I arrived at the airport. Check in. Security. The departure gate. I moved through every step with absolute, terrifying calm. The PA system chimed, announcing the final boarding call for my flight to Calgary. I unlocked my phone and opened my text thread with Ronan. The last message on the screen was the one I sent in the pouring rain two days ago: “I am at the side door.” I tapped the settings icon in the top right corner. Scroll to the bottom. Delete Contact. The second my thumb hit the red confirmation button, it was over. Six years of history, completely wiped clean. I grabbed my suitcase handle and walked down the jet bridge. His Land Rover was speeding toward the forest. My plane was taking off for the snow capped peaks.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “477063”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 In the dead of night, my best friend Jen Blake burst into the emergency staff room in tears. She grabbed my white coat, her voice shaking. “Audrey, the old woman out front has lost it. She brought a bunch of relatives from the sticks, smashed a tray, and started cussing everyone out.” “I’m scared. We’re short-staffed tonight. Can you go restrain her for me?” I opened my drawer, took out my fingerless sparring gloves, and carefully wiped them down with antiseptic. I was fully prepared to deliver a round of knuckle-based sedation. Then several glowing lines drifted across my vision. 【LMAO, the villainess has no idea the old lady’s son is a tech billionaire, and those “country relatives” are plainclothes bodyguards he hired.】 【In her last life, she rushed in and punched the old lady out. Bennett Shaw got her medical license revoked and sued her into bankruptcy. Delicious.】 【She never figured out the old lady was just hypoglycemic and cranky, and only knocked over the tray by accident.】 【Our heroine Jen already knows Bennett wants to hire a doctor who can fight. She’s removing Audrey, the combat champion, in advance.】 I read the comments, slid the gloves back into the drawer, and smiled at Jen. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” Well, hello there. At the healthiest age of my life, I had finally met the person I most wanted to protect. Myself. “Audrey, don’t go easy on her. That old lady is crazy. Just knock her out and be done with it.” Jen hid behind me, clutching the hem of my coat. Her voice was low, but the excitement beneath it was impossible to miss. I ignored her and calmly pushed the gloves deeper into the drawer. “You’re not wearing them?” Jen froze. Panic flashed across her eyes. “To deal with an old lady? I don’t need those.” I casually pulled two tubes of high-concentration oral glucose from the medicine cabinet and slipped them into my coat pocket. The floating comments went wild. 【Hahaha, this idiot isn’t even wearing gloves now. Is she planning to deliver herself barehanded?】 【Jen’s borrowed-knife murder plan is smooth. If the old woman gets hurt, Audrey’s life is over.】 【Can’t wait to see Bennett’s bodyguards pin Audrey to the floor.】 I walked out of the staff room without a word. The ER lobby was a mess. Several broad men in black suits surrounded a stretcher, anxious and helpless. Beside it, a gray-haired old woman clutched her chest, cold sweat pouring down her face. Her hands spasmed uncontrollably. With one wild sweep, she sent a medical tray crashing to the floor. Gauze, forceps, and stainless-steel tools scattered everywhere. “Get away! All of you, get away from me!” Her voice was weak but irritable. One of the men in black shouted toward the intake desk, red-eyed with panic. “Where are the doctors? Is everyone in this hospital dead?” Jen shoved me from behind. “Audrey, go! That guy in black is yelling at us. Put him in an arm lock!” She sounded outraged, but her voice trembled like a leaf. I took two steps forward with the momentum of her push, my gaze locking on the old woman’s pale lips and trembling fingertips. Classic severe hypoglycemia with palpitations. “Sir, calm down.” I strode forward and pushed past the largest man in black. He frowned and reached out to block me. “Who are you? Don’t touch Mrs. Shaw!” My eyes sharpened. My left hand caught his wrist, pressed precisely against his pulse point, and redirected his force downward. A clean defensive release. The two-hundred-pound man dropped to one knee. 【Holy crap, that technique was actually hot.】 【Hot? She touched Bennett Shaw’s bodyguard. She’s dead.】 The other men in black closed in. The air turned tense. I ignored them. With my right hand, I caught the old woman’s jaw and pressed hard into the pressure point between her thumb and forefinger. She cried out, and her clenched teeth loosened. I immediately bit open the glucose tubes and poured them neatly into her mouth. “Swallow,” I said, calm and firm. “What the hell are you doing?” The bodyguard I had pinned broke free and swung at me. A gust of wind brushed past my ear. Just as his fist was about to hit my face, the old woman suddenly sucked in a breath. Some clarity returned to her cloudy eyes. “Stop… Aaron, don’t…” The man froze mid-punch and stared at her in shock. “Ma’am? Are you feeling better?” The old woman panted heavily. Color finally returned to her face. She waved weakly and looked at me with gratitude. “Sugar water… thank you, young doctor.” I released her and straightened my coat. “Hypoglycemia can cause agitation and confusion. Next time, keep candy or glucose tablets with her.” Aaron wiped sweat from his forehead, embarrassed, and thanked me repeatedly. The crisis passed. The tension in the lobby loosened at once. I turned to Jen, who was hiding several yards away. Her face was livid. She bit her lip hard, her eyes full of disbelief and resentment. The comments exploded too. 【What’s going on? The villainess didn’t hit anyone? She knows medicine?】 【Duh, she’s an ER doctor. But the plot wasn’t supposed to go like this!】 【Jen’s plan failed. She must be losing her mind right now.】 I looked at Jen and smiled. “Jen, the danger’s over. Are you still hiding over there?” Jen stiffened. Her expression shifted rapidly. Then she suddenly rushed forward, only to “slip” in the most theatrical way possible. She crashed straight into the imported defibrillator that had just been wheeled out beside the stretcher. Bang. Crack. The six-figure defibrillator toppled to the floor, its screen shattering like a spiderweb. Jen let out a piercing scream. She clutched her ankle, collapsed on the ground, pointed at me, and sobbed. “Audrey Vale! How could you randomly feed something to a patient?” “I only wanted to remind you to wait for the attending physician. Why did you push me?” Everyone froze. Rapid footsteps came from the end of the hall. The ER head nurse, Wendy Collins, hurried over with several security guards. The moment Jen saw her, tears poured down her face. She scrambled forward and hugged Wendy’s leg. “Head Nurse Collins, please do something about Audrey!” “She was violent with the patient’s family, and because the equipment was in her way, she smashed the new defibrillator our department just got!” 2 The ER lobby fell deathly silent. Only Jen’s heartbroken sobs echoed down the corridor. Wendy looked down at Jen, then at the defibrillator lying there like scrap metal. Her face darkened instantly. “Audrey Vale, what exactly happened here?” She pointed at my nose, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. I stood where I was, calmly watching this clumsy performance. “Head Nurse, you can ask the family what I was doing.” I turned toward Aaron. Before he could speak, Jen cried out and cut me off. “She almost attacked this gentleman! That’s why I rushed over to stop her!” She clutched Wendy’s pant leg, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. “Head Nurse, Audrey has been under a lot of pressure because of the Excellence Award. Her emotions have been unstable. I tried to talk her down, but she took it out on the equipment.” “That machine was the department’s biggest purchase this year!” The moment Wendy heard “Excellence Award,” disgust flickered across her face. Everyone knew the only Outstanding Young Physician slot in the ER this year would go to either me or Jen. And every metric, every exam score, every case record I had, left hers in the dust. The comments rolled across the air, gloating. 【Amazing. Jen’s ability to flip black into white is wasted outside acting.】 【Now Audrey can’t explain herself. Who would believe a violent unstable doctor?】 【Wendy is Jen’s distant aunt. The villainess is done for.】 Looking at Wendy’s obviously biased face, my thoughts drifted back three years. It was my first day in the ER. I didn’t know the workflow yet and got yelled at by a difficult patient for half an hour. Jen had walked over with a warm milk tea and shielded me from the mocking stares around us. “Don’t mind them. From now on, we’re sisters. I’ve got you.” She had smiled so sincerely back then, her eyes bright. If only life had stayed as kind as that first meeting. Too bad that kindness had been rotted hollow by jealousy and greed. “This nurse is lying!” Aaron finally reacted and stepped in front of me. He pointed at Jen and roared, “Dr. Vale saved Mrs. Shaw. That woman tripped and knocked the machine over herself. How are you blaming the doctor?” Jen shrank back, making herself look even more pitiful. “Sir, I know you’re afraid Audrey will retaliate. She won a state fighting championship. Even you men are scared of her. How could I dare make things up?” With a few sentences, she twisted Aaron’s defense into proof he had been intimidated. Wendy snorted and cut him off impatiently. “That’s enough. Sir, this is an internal hospital matter. It doesn’t concern you.” She turned to me, voice cold and authoritative. “Audrey Vale, you will take full responsibility for the six-hundred-thousand-dollar device.” “Also, given your vile behavior tonight, I’ll report this to Medical Affairs. You are suspended pending review.” “And as for tomorrow’s Excellence Award presentation, don’t bother attending.” A clean combo. She stripped me of my work, my honor, and dropped a massive debt on my head. I didn’t argue. I only looked at Wendy, then at Jen behind her. At moments like this, explanations were useless. You can’t wake someone pretending to sleep, and a referee who already picked a side does not need evidence. I took off my white coat and draped it over the nurses’ station chair. “Fine. I accept the punishment.” My voice was flat. The instant I said it, Jen’s eyes lit with wild joy. The comments boiled over. 【What a loser. She’s swallowing this too?】 【Audrey really is a doormat. Bullied this hard and not even a fart.】 【Beautiful. Jen gets the award slot, removes her obstacle, and dumps the blame.】 I ignored the mocking words and turned toward the locker room. Jen quickly scrambled up and chased after me. “Audrey, don’t be mad at Head Nurse Collins. She’s just thinking of the department.” She leaned close to my ear. Only I could hear the triumph in her voice. “You can’t pay thirty grand, can you?” Then she finally threw out her real bait. “As long as you give me the research data for your Cardiovascular Emergency Pathway project and put my name as first author, I’ll cover the money for you.” I stopped and looked at her pretty, false face. That research project was built from countless sleepless nights. I had dug through five years of emergency cases and created the database line by line. Once published, it would shake the emergency medicine world. She wanted to step on me, climb upward, and squeeze out every last drop of my blood. I stared at her for several seconds, then smiled. “Jen, you’re so good to me.” I looked her in the eyes, enunciating every word. “Sure. Come copy the data from my computer tomorrow morning.” Jen froze, clearly not expecting me to agree so easily. Then her smile bloomed. “Audrey, I knew it. We’ll always be best friends.” 3 The next morning, sunlight filtered through the blinds and scattered across the ER office floor. The office was quiet, except for the crisp clicking of a mouse. I stood beside my workstation and watched Jen sitting in my chair. She had done a full face of makeup today, sprayed on expensive perfume for once, and ironed her white coat until not a single crease remained. She excitedly inserted a silver flash drive into my computer and dragged over an encrypted folder named “Cardio-Neuro Emergency Core Pathway.” The progress bar crawled across the screen. 30%. 50%. “Audrey, I knew you were smart enough to understand.” Jen stared at the progress bar while sighing with fake sympathy. “In our field, people without backing can’t go far. You give me the data, I win the award, and when I become deputy director later, I won’t forget you.” She said it like charity was her birthright. I leaned against the filing cabinet, my eyes cold. “Really? Then let me congratulate you early, Dr. Blake.” The comments bounced beside the screen. 【LMAO, Audrey is so easy to manipulate when she’s swallowing her anger.】 【Once Jen gets this data, she can interview as medical consultant for Bennett Shaw’s med-tech company. Million-dollar salary incoming.】 【Audrey lost hair and sleep building this, and now she’s just handing it over. That’s fate.】 My gaze followed the progress bar as it hit 100%. I felt no regret. If anything, there was a secret anticipation in my chest. The data she copied was real, of course. Not only real, but flawless. I had simply buried a “core variable” inside the massive underlying code and inference formulas. A fatal medical logic loop designed especially for her. It was like handing her a legendary sword. With poison smeared all over the hilt. “Done.” Jen pulled out the flash drive and clutched it tightly, as if she had seized the whole world. Just then, the office door was pushed open. A man in a tailored suit and gold-rimmed glasses strode in. His expression was cold, his features sharp with the authority of someone used to power. Behind him followed Wendy, suddenly humble, and several hospital administrators. “Mr. Reed, this way. This is the ER office.” Wendy, who usually strutted around the department, was smiling so hard she looked ridiculous. The man called Mr. Reed scanned the office, then his gaze landed on Jen, who stood in front. “Which doctor saved Mrs. Shaw last night?” His voice was not loud, but it carried unquestionable force. The comments exploded. 【Here he comes! Bennett Shaw’s chief assistant is here!】 【The male lead is looking for the savior. Here comes the climax!】 Jen’s eyes lit up. Without hesitation, she moved past me and approached Mr. Reed, lowering her head slightly with a gentle, professional smile. “Hello, Mr. Reed. I was on duty last night.” She pointed at the badge on her chest. Her voice was sweet enough to drip honey. “Mrs. Shaw’s condition was very dangerous. I was the one who intervened in time.” In that moment, I became the extra person in the office. Mr. Reed studied her and nodded with satisfaction. “Dr. Blake, young and capable, calm under pressure. Mr. Shaw appreciates that.” He paused, then looked past Jen and shot a cold glance at me. “However, I heard another doctor attempted to assault the patient’s family and deliberately destroyed medical equipment.” Wendy immediately chimed in, pointing at me. “That’s her! Audrey Vale!” “Mr. Reed, don’t worry. We’ve already suspended this unethical doctor.” Jen turned and looked at me with feigned sorrow. “Audrey, I told you so many times. To be a doctor, you have to have compassion first.” “How could you take your anger out on a patient’s life?” She stood on moral high ground and nailed me to a pillar of shame. Mr. Reed looked at me with open contempt. “Someone like you does not deserve to wear a white coat.” His judgment was cold, like he was looking at unrecyclable trash. I met his scornful gaze and suddenly laughed. The sound was jarring in the quiet office. “What are you laughing at?” Mr. Reed frowned. I straightened and dusted off my hands. “Nothing. I just think those gold-rimmed glasses are wasted on you, Mr. Reed.” My tone was calm but sharp. “After all, glasses on a blind man are only decoration.” 4 “What did you say?” Mr. Reed’s expression darkened instantly. Behind his lenses, his eyes narrowed with danger. As Bennett Shaw’s most trusted right hand, he was used to being respected in Northbridge’s business circles. No one had ever dared call him blind to his face. Wendy went pale and rushed forward to grab my arm. “Audrey, are you insane? Apologize to Mr. Reed right now!” I sidestepped her hand. “Am I wrong?” I looked coldly at Mr. Reed. “You can’t even identify the person who saved Mrs. Shaw. You didn’t bother checking the basic facts. This is the level of Bennett Shaw’s chief assistant?” The comments were a carnival. 【She’s lost it. The villainess is attacking everyone now.】 【Who does she think she is, talking to Mr. Reed like that?】 【Waiting for Audrey to get blacklisted forever. Idiots who don’t know death is coming should be kicked out of medicine.】 Joy flashed through Jen’s eyes, though she put on an anxious face. She grabbed Mr. Reed’s arm, her voice shaking just enough. “Mr. Reed, please don’t take it personally. Audrey… she might be mentally unstable because of the suspension.” She turned to me, tears appearing on command. “Audrey, I’m begging you. Stop making a scene. Everyone saw what happened last night. Why are you still denying it?” Mr. Reed shook off her hand in disgust, unwilling to look at me again. “If she has mental issues, send her to psychiatry. The ER isn’t a garbage dump.” He straightened his cuff and turned to Wendy. “Head Nurse Collins, I don’t want to see this person at the awards event this afternoon.” Wendy nodded repeatedly. “Of course. I’ll have her removed at once.” At two o’clock that afternoon, Northbridge’s largest medical technology forum opened in the hospital’s thousand-seat auditorium on the top floor. This was not just an academic exchange. Bennett Shaw’s medical group had arranged it specifically to select a chief medical consultant. The audience was full of Northbridge’s senior physicians, professors, and media reporters. Jen wore a custom business suit and immaculate makeup, seated in the first row like a rising star. As for me, two guards forced me to stand in the dim back corner of the auditorium. Worse, Wendy had deliberately stuck a white label on my chest. “Statement of Apology: Audrey Vale.” The humiliation was obvious. The lights dimmed. The host opened with enthusiasm. “Next, please welcome tonight’s focal figure, the true savior of Mrs. Shaw, Dr. Jen Blake!” Thunderous applause filled the room. Jen lifted her skirt and walked elegantly onto the stage. Under the spotlight, she looked like a shining goddess of medicine. “Thank you for the applause.” She bowed deeply, her voice gentle and firm. “As an emergency physician, saving lives is my duty. Last night’s situation was critical, but I always remembered the original purpose of medicine…” She spoke smoothly, reciting my emergency treatment from last night word for word, even adding some moving details of her own. The senior experts nodded approvingly. After describing the rescue, the big screen lit up. It showed the Cardio-Neuro Emergency Core Pathway data model I had spent half a year building. “Since I have this opportunity, I’d also like to share my recent research results with all of you.” Jen clicked through the slides with ease and stole my work without blinking. Watching those familiar codes and curves appear on screen, I slowly clenched my hand in the dark. The comments went insane. 【Wow, Jen has this in the bag. That data is stunning.】 【The heroine’s halo shines on the world. The villainess can only eat dust in the corner.】 【Public execution time. Make the villainess kneel and apologize. So satisfying!】 Sure enough, after Jen finished the data presentation, her tone suddenly shifted. She looked sadly toward the dark corner at the back. “Actually, standing here today, I carry a deep regret.” “My colleague, and once my best friend Audrey Vale, gave in to greed and jealousy. She nearly endangered a patient’s life and smashed expensive department equipment.” Every eye in the room turned toward me like a searchlight. Whispers rose like a tide. “So that’s the disgraced doctor?” “Shameless. How dare she show up here?” Wendy had somehow reached the front. She grabbed a microphone and spoke loudly. “Audrey Vale! The hospital has already shown you mercy. Come up here immediately and apologize to Dr. Blake and Mr. Shaw’s family in front of all the experts!” The two guards shoved me hard. I stumbled two steps out of the shadows and stood in the aisle. The white “Statement of Apology” label on my chest looked glaring under the lights. “Apologize!” “Kneel and apologize!” Someone shouted first. Soon the whole room was swallowed by the chant. Jen stood high on the stage, looking down at me, her mouth curved in triumph. I stood where I was, watching her coldly. Just as the guards were about to force my head down, the auditorium’s heavy carved doors were kicked open from outside. Bang. The sound shook the room. Everyone gasped and whipped around. Against the harsh white light of the hallway, a tall man in a black custom suit walked in, step by measured step.

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1 My son’s leg was shattered by the school board member’s son, his only crime spilling soda on a $40,000 pair of custom sneakers. Instead of justice, the school slapped my son with a permanent disciplinary warning to bury the scandal. In the principal’s office, the aggressor’s mother, dripping in diamonds, jabbed a finger at me. “Those shoes cost forty grand! You could sell your kid and still not cover it. Not expelling him is mercy.” Principal Woodrow nodded frantically. “Mrs. Harrington is right. We’ll handle this severely.” I swallowed my rage as she shoved her phone in my face. “That’s Superintendent Wallace, my uncle. You think you can fight me?” The photo showed Wallace bowing obsequiously to shake a man’s hand. I kept eye contact, dialed my husband, and said evenly, “Honey, one of your lackey’s nephews just broke our son’s leg.” My legs had practically given out when I arrived at the hospital the night before. My sweet boy, Noah, was lying in that sterile white bed. His right leg was encased in a thick, heavy cast and suspended in the air. The bright, sunny smile he usually wore was entirely gone. His face was the color of ash, his lips cracked and bleeding. The orthopedic surgeon had held up the X rays, his expression grim. “It is a comminuted fracture. We performed surgery, but the bone was severely splintered. The recovery process is going to be brutal, and unfortunately, it might permanently affect his growth plates.” I stayed by Noah’s side all night, listening to the rhythmic beeping of the monitors. The very next morning, the school principal called. Using his most practiced, bureaucratic tone, he claimed the other boy’s family was willing to offer a “friendly settlement.” That was how I ended up here, in this suffocating office. Victoria Harrington sat across from me in a pristine Chanel tweed suit, idly scrolling through her phone while a rock the size of a pigeon’s egg flashed on her ring finger. She was the mother of Tristan Harrington, the monster who hurt my boy. Principal Woodrow was practically tripping over himself to pour her fresh coffee. When I walked in, Victoria barely lifted her eyelids. The contempt in her gaze was raw and unfiltered. “You must be Noah’s mother. Grab a seat.” She nudged a manila folder across the polished mahogany desk. “Here is the non disclosure agreement. Sign it. We will cover the medical bills, plus throw in an extra forty thousand for your trouble. Do not waste my time. My son has equestrian practice this afternoon.” She spoke exactly like someone tossing spare change to a homeless person on the subway. A loud ringing echoed in my ears. The image of Noah groaning in agony flawlessly overlapped with this woman’s breathtaking arrogance. I grabbed the settlement, ripped it into shreds, and hurled the confetti of paper right into her perfectly contoured face. “In your dreams.” Victoria’s sneer deepened. “Forty grand. For an ordinary, paycheck to paycheck family like yours, you would have to starve for years to save up that kind of cash. Your kid just broke a leg, he didn’t die. Learn to be grateful when your betters toss you a bone.” The principal rushed in to play the peacemaker. “Noah’s mom, let us all take a deep breath. Mrs. Harrington is showing incredible generosity here.” Generosity? My entire body shook with rage. “Her son shattered my boy’s leg! The school completely ignores the assault, slaps a permanent warning on my son’s record, and you call this generosity?” Victoria casually brushed a speck of dust off her lapel and laughed. “I told them to put that warning on his record. Who told your blind little brat to spill cheap soda on my son’s brand new shoes? Those kicks are limited edition worldwide. Forty grand! I am letting him stay in this school out of the goodness of my heart.” “Exactly,” the principal chimed in. “We will definitely discipline Noah to ensure this never happens again.” That was when Victoria pulled out her phone, showed me the picture of her uncle bowing to a tall, broad shouldered man, and asked if I was worthy of fighting her. The man in the photo, the one her powerful uncle was practically worshiping, was a silhouette I knew better than my own reflection. It was my husband, Dominic. So I made the call right in front of them. “Honey. The nephew of one of your lackeys just broke our son’s leg.” 2 Dead silence hung on the line for two entire seconds. Then, Dominic’s deep, commanding voice came through the speaker. “Understood. Where are you? I am on my way.” Hearing this, Victoria froze for a split second before bursting into hysterical laughter. “Oh my god, I am dying! The nephew of a lackey? What is this, a soap opera?” She pointed at me, wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of her eye. “Where exactly does your husband work, sweetheart? Give me the name so my uncle can pay him a special little visit.” The principal gave me a look of pure pity, sighing heavily. “Noah’s mom, stop making a fool of yourself out of spite. The Harrington family’s connections are far beyond anything you can comprehend. Just sign the papers, take the cash, and go pay for your kid’s surgery.” I ended the call and stared at them with ice in my veins. “I said I am not signing anything. You will revoke that disciplinary warning. Tristan will apologize in front of the entire student body, and then he will pack his bags and get out of this school.” My words landed like bricks in the quiet office. Victoria’s laughter died instantly. Her face twisted into an ugly, venomous mask. “I tried to give you an out, you ungrateful bitch.” She leaned forward, her eyes practically bulging. “Looks like forty grand is not enough to satisfy your greedy little appetite. Fine. Fifty grand. Take it or leave it. Keep pushing my buttons, and I swear to God I will make sure you do not see a single dime. And your precious son? He will be expelled before lunch.” The principal was sweating profusely now. He grabbed my arm. “Are you insane? You cannot fight them! Swallow your pride and think about your child!” I yanked my arm away and glared straight at Victoria. “Keep your money. You are going to need it for your son’s coffin.” “You!” Victoria gasped, her chest heaving violently. Her manicured finger trembled as she pointed at me. “Good! Very good! I am going to show you exactly how the real world works today!” She hit speed dial and put her phone on speaker. “Uncle Wallace! I am at the school. Some trailer trash parent is causing a scene. Tell the principal to kick her kid to the curb right now!” A greasy, overly confident male voice boomed from the speaker. It was the man from the photo. “Vicky, sweetheart, you do not need me for a minor pest control issue like this. Just hand the phone to the principal. Who has the guts to piss off my favorite niece?” Victoria tipped her chin up triumphantly and shoved the phone toward the principal. Woodrow’s face immediately morphed into a mask of pure worship. He bowed to the phone as if the man could see him. “Superintendent Wallace! It is an honor, sir. Please do not worry. I will handle this immediately. Your niece will be completely satisfied!” Victoria ended the call, her arrogance now suffocating the room. “Hear that? Even if you drop to your knees and beg me right now, it is too late.” She turned to the principal, barking her order. “Process Noah’s expulsion. Right this second.” Wiping his forehead, the principal gave me one last look of feigned helplessness before caving completely. “Noah’s mom, my hands are tied. You brought this upon yourself.” I ignored him. I just kept my eyes locked on the heavy oak door of the office. Dominic said he was on his way. And Dominic never made empty promises. Under Victoria’s impatient glaring, the principal’s shaky hand reached for his desk phone to call the registrar. My heart climbed into my throat, beating a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Right at that moment, Victoria’s phone rang. Her face instantly softened into a sickeningly sweet smile. It was her precious boy, Tristan. “Hey, baby. What is wrong? Miss your mommy?” The voice on the other end was loud, bratty, and entitled. “Mom, is that broke loser’s mom gone yet? Stop wasting time with her and get her out of here, she is ruining my vibe. Oh, and the new global edition gaming console dropped today. You promised you would buy it for me!” Victoria beamed. “Of course, sweetheart. Mommy will go grab it as soon as I take out the trash here. Be good in class.” She hung up and gave me a side eye that could curdle milk. “See the difference? My son gets whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. Your son? He drags his parents down and gets kicked to the curb. I guess some people are just born to be at the bottom of the food chain.” Her words twisted like a knife in my chest. I clenched my fists so hard my fingernails drew blood from my palms. Suddenly, someone pounded on the office door. The principal’s secretary poked her head in, her face drained of all color, looking like she had just seen a ghost. “Sir! Boss! It is a disaster!” “The major shareholders of the academy, and Mr. Montgomery from the board of directors… they are all here! They are swarming the conference room right now demanding an emergency board meeting!” The phone receiver slipped from the principal’s sweaty grip and clattered loudly against the desk. “What? Chairman Montgomery? Why is he here? Why didn’t anyone warn me?” 3 Victoria scowled, waving her hand dismissively. “Who cares about a bunch of old men having a meeting? Principal, what are you waiting for? Sign the expulsion papers!” But Woodrow was completely paralyzed. He stood frozen behind his desk, his eyes darting around like a trapped rat. The atmosphere in the room had suddenly shifted from tense to utterly bizarre. Right then, my phone buzzed in my hand. It was a text from Dominic. I am downstairs. The new school board directors wanted to meet you. I sent them up. I slowly raised my head. Looking right at Victoria’s irritated, twisted face, I lifted my phone. I hit dial, put it on speaker, and spoke in a voice that was not loud, but echoed clearly through the dead silent room. “Honey. Are they here?” “Yes. We are walking up,” Dominic’s deep, steady voice replied. I kept my eyes on the pale, sweating principal and the utterly confused Victoria. I enunciated every single word. “Good. Send them in.” “I think it is time this school got a new principal.” When I finished speaking, the silence in the office was so absolute you could hear a pin drop. The principal’s eyes were practically bulging out of his skull. Victoria stared at me blankly for a second before letting out an ugly, grating shriek of laughter. “Change the principal? You? Who the hell do you think you are? The Queen of England?” She doubled over, laughing so hard she had to hold onto the desk. The sheer mockery in her eyes was suffocating. “Listen to me, you delusional psycho. The principal of this academy was personally appointed by my uncle! God himself could not remove him from that chair!” Bang. The heavy office doors were shoved open with violent force. Dominic stepped inside. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit, his broad shoulders and towering height instantly dominating the room. The moment he crossed the threshold, it felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the space. His aura was terrifyingly cold. Trailing closely behind him was a distinguished older gentleman with silver hair, flanked by several other sharp suited executives. The moment Principal Woodrow laid eyes on the silver haired man, his knees buckled. He practically collapsed against his desk. “Chairman… Chairman Montgomery! What… what brings you here?” Chairman Montgomery did not even spare the trembling man a single glance. He walked straight past the desk, heading directly toward me. He offered a deep, incredibly respectful bow. “Mrs. Kensington. I am so terribly sorry that you and your son were subjected to such treatment on our grounds.” Dominic stepped up to my side. He slipped his suit jacket off his shoulders and draped it gently over mine. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice softening only for me. I gave a small nod. Victoria’s manic laughter had frozen on her face. She looked at me, then at Dominic, then at the Chairman of the Board who was treating us like royalty. Her brain had visibly short circuited. “Who… who the hell are you people?” she stammered, her voice shaking. Dominic finally turned his gaze toward her. His eyes were completely devoid of warmth. “Were you not just bragging about your powerful uncle?” he asked quietly. “He is waiting right outside in the hallway. Why do you not go ask him exactly who I am.” The moment the words left his mouth, two massive men in black suits hauled a sweaty, overweight man into the office. It was Superintendent Wallace. The untouchable man from the photograph. Wallace’s face was the color of chalk. Sweat poured down his forehead, soaking his expensive collar. The moment his eyes locked onto Dominic, he violently shoved the bodyguards away and threw himself to the floor, crawling frantically toward Dominic’s expensive leather shoes. “Mr. Kensington! Sir! It is a misunderstanding! I swear to God, it is a huge misunderstanding!” “I had no idea… I did not know it was your son! I swear!” The dramatic shift in reality turned everyone in the room to stone. Victoria looked like she had been struck by lightning. She stared at her all powerful uncle, a man who commanded the city’s education system, crying and groveling like a whipped dog on the floor. “Uncle Wallace… what… what are you doing?” Hearing her voice, Wallace snapped his head around. He scrambled to his feet, lunged at his niece, and slapped her so hard the crack echoed off the walls. “You stupid, arrogant cow! Are you trying to get me killed?” He pointed a trembling, fat finger at Dominic. “Do you have any idea who this man is? He is Dominic Kensington! The CEO of Vanguard Enterprises!” “He single handedly funded the entire tech district in the southside! The Mayor treats him like royalty! And you dared to touch his family?!” Dominic Kensington. CEO of Vanguard Enterprises. Hearing those words, Principal Woodrow’s eyes rolled back into his head, and he slumped heavily into his expensive leather chair, completely paralyzed. All the blood instantly drained from Victoria’s face. She stood there, clutching her stinging cheek, her mind entirely broken. Wallace threw himself back onto the floor, banging his forehead against the hardwood as he begged. “Mr. Kensington, I was wrong! I am so sorry! My niece is blind and stupid. Please, show some mercy, just this once!” Dominic ignored him entirely. He looked at the silver haired chairman. “Mr. Montgomery. It appears the city’s education board and this academy are in desperate need of a deep cleaning.” Chairman Montgomery nodded sternly, understanding the assignment. “Rest assured, Mr. Kensington. I will personally deliver a resolution that satisfies both you and your wife.” The older man spun around, his eyes locking onto the paralyzed principal with lethal intent. “You. As an educator, you twisted the truth to protect the guilty and torment the innocent. Effective immediately, you are terminated. Pack your things and get out of my building.” Then, Montgomery looked down at the sobbing superintendent. “As for you, Wallace. I have a very strong feeling the federal ethics committee is going to be incredibly interested in auditing your financial records for the past decade.”

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1 I was the flex girl. When our whole class went to a farm for “hands-on agricultural experience,” I drove a Ferrari into the fields and used a Hermès bag as a foot mat. The scholarship student in our class, Maria Rowe, stared at me with naked envy. So I gave her designer goods, let her live in my villa, and even arranged a helicopter to take her to and from school. That only made her more jealous. When she finally couldn’t stand it anymore and used her body-swap system, thinking she could replace me at last, I smiled. What she didn’t know was that I was the fake heiress. She was the real daughter of the Ashford family, the lost heiress about to be welcomed home. The day our school went to the countryside to experience farm work, I arrived in a Ferrari. The field was too muddy. As soon as the car reached the edge of the ridge, the tires sank in. The front wheels disappeared into the mud. The harder I stepped on the gas, the deeper they went. There happened to be a Hermès bag in the back seat, so I pulled it out and tossed it under my feet, stepping on it to climb onto the ridge. Every student working nearby froze. “Holy…” “Am I seeing things? Is that Hermès? That’s insane.” The sun was a little too bright, so I put on limited-edition sunglasses and said, “Everyone’s working hard today. I bought chilled juice, imported fruit, and snacks. Enough for all of you.” The class erupted. “Miss Ashford is rich and kind!” “It’s so hot today. I was dying out here pulling carrots. Harper, you’re literally saving my life.” Everyone laughed. Someone set up a sun umbrella for me. Someone brought over a little folding stool. Then a sharp voice came from the side. “Ugh. The flex queen.” It wasn’t loud, but it cut through the noise. “She’s even showing off in the countryside. Incredible.” “Harper never used to be like this. These last few days, it’s like she became another person. At that party two days ago, she poured bottles of 1982 Lafite into the pool. Disgusting.” I turned and glanced over. It was Paige Grant, our class president, and her little followers. Paige had always been the most popular girl in class. No wonder she was annoyed that I had stolen the spotlight today. She sneered, raising her voice. “I heard Maria Rowe lives in this village too.” “She’s a scholarship student. Her parents died years ago, and she lives alone in that mud house on the east side of the village. The roof is practically collapsing. She picks up bottles after school and eats plain rolls with pickles in the cafeteria.” “Tsk. Someone over here is using Hermès as a foot mat, while someone else is digging through trash and barely eating.” “Some people really have no conscience. If you’re going to show off, at least read the room.” I looked at Maria. She had a delicate, innocent face and a thin, fragile frame. Her school uniform had been washed until it faded white. She looked timid. The way she looked at me was full of envy. I took off my sunglasses, suddenly entertained, and pulled out my phone. “Hello, Mr. Carter. Go to the mall right now. Clothes, shoes, bags, all designer. Ten full outfits, head to toe. Bring them here when you’re done.” He answered at once. I added, “And withdraw three hundred thousand in cash. Bring that too.” My classmates gathered in a circle, whispering about what I was going to do. I looked at Paige and said, “Didn’t someone say I love showing off? Correct. I do.” “Everything I just ordered is for Maria Rowe.” “Oh, and she doesn’t have a proper place to live, right? I own a standalone villa downtown. Hmm, it’s a little far from school. Then I’ll send a helicopter to pick her up and drop her off every day.” The surroundings went silent for several seconds. “I’m jealous.” “Actually, my family is pretty poor too. Harper, would you consider sponsoring me?” Paige’s face turned green, like she had swallowed a dead fly. Not long after, Mr. Carter’s car arrived. Three or four large boxes were carried out and stacked beside the ridge. There was also a briefcase filled entirely with cash. When the items were handed to Maria, there was no gratitude in her eyes. No dislike either. Not surprise. Only overwhelming jealousy. 2 I knew that look. I had seen it before. In my last life, I wasn’t some flex girl. I was an obedient, well-behaved daughter. Even though I was the only daughter of the richest family in the city, I never flaunted wealth or acted arrogant. I wore ordinary clothes, carried ordinary bags, and treated everyone politely. Until my eighteenth birthday party. A lot of guests came that day. The garden was filled with white roses, the champagne tower rose three tiers high, and a live band played in the corner. I stood in the crowd wearing a white dress and smiling. Back then, I thought I was the happiest girl in the world. A six-tier cake was pushed out. My father picked up the microphone. “Today, I have something very important to announce.” I smiled at him, thinking he was about to wish me happy birthday. Instead, he said, “Harper Ashford is not our biological daughter.” I froze. “There was a mix-up at the hospital years ago. Our real daughter was lost outside our family. Fortunately, we have finally found her.” The whole room went quiet. Then they brought someone out from the back. Maria Rowe. She looked shy and happy, nothing like the poor student she had been before. My mother held her arm as if she were a priceless treasure. “Today is Maria’s homecoming banquet. We hope all of you can witness the return of the Ashford family’s true jewel.” Thunderous applause filled the garden. A friend tugged at my sleeve and quietly told me not to overthink it. I didn’t. My parents had found their biological daughter. I should be happy for them. Even if I wasn’t related by blood, eighteen years of affection still existed. They would love Maria, and they would still love me. Later, I learned how wrong I was. When I went home, the only thing waiting for me was a locked door. My parents, who had once spoiled me to the bone, became strangers overnight. They said the Ashford family only cared about bloodline. They said I was nothing but an impostor, a bastard who had stolen the place of their only daughter for eighteen years. It was unforgivable. Maria suggested that I be sent to the countryside to experience the suffering she had endured. Only then would it be fair. So overnight, I went from heiress to orphan. I moved into that mud house. I stopped eating and drinking. It hurt. Not because life was hard. It hurt because my parents were so cruel. Bloodline. Bastard. Every word was a knife in my chest. When I was nearly starving, I finally dragged myself up. I was alive not because I was an Ashford daughter. I was alive because I was me. Without that identity, I could still live brilliantly. Those years were hard. I left the mud house and rented a basement room. I worked as an extra. A corpse. A palace maid. A vicious supporting actress. I was insulted, framed, and looked down on. I gritted my teeth and climbed up step by step. In the end, I became a top actress. My films broke box office records. I won two Best Actress awards. My endorsements ranged from luxury brands to everyday products, plastered across every street. When a famous actor publicly confessed his feelings for me, the internet crashed for three hours. At the peak of my career, I saw the news on TV. “Ashford Group has officially declared bankruptcy. Founder Richard Ashford has been restricted from luxury spending due to debt disputes. Reportedly, several properties under his daughter’s name have been seized…” My assistant told me Maria had been spoiled beyond reason after returning to the family. She bought yachts and private planes and spent money like water. Most importantly, she was hopelessly in love with a man. She listened to him and invested in projects. Then he disappeared. The money vanished. Maria began crying and throwing tantrums. My parents were so busy comforting her that they neglected the business. Old clients left. New clients never came. Cash flow tightened more and more. When a bridge loan failed to get repaid, the bank called in the debt. The capital chain snapped. Suppliers blocked the doors, employees demanded wages, and partners filed lawsuits. The Ashford family went bankrupt. When I heard it, I felt nothing. The survival of the Ashford family had nothing to do with me anymore. But not long after, Maria came to find me. I didn’t know how she got my hotel address. When I returned from filming, she was squatting outside my room. When she saw my glamorous clothes, her eyes filled with the same overwhelming jealousy. “Are you proud?” She laughed. “Big star. Best Actress. Men chasing after you. And me? My family’s gone. My money’s gone. I have nothing.” “You think I’m regretful and desperate? You’re wrong. I’m thrilled.” A bad feeling surged in my chest. I turned and ran. Maria immediately chased me and grabbed my wrist. The world spun. Everything went black. I lost consciousness. When I opened my eyes, I was lying on the hotel hallway floor. Standing across from me was someone who looked exactly like me. She moved her hands and looked at her brand-new body, her eyes shining. “Did you know? I accidentally obtained a system. It gave me one chance to swap bodies with someone.” “I was looking for a target when someone told me I was the Ashford heiress. I thought I wouldn’t need the system anymore.” “Who knew the chance would come now? Your actor, your money, your career, all of it is mine.” Then she picked up her phone and called security, saying I was a stalker fan and telling them to deal with me. Seeing my horrified expression, she laughed with satisfaction. I was thrown out of the hotel. No matter how I explained, no one believed me. It rained that day. Once again, I had nothing. The phone in my pocket rang. It belonged to Maria’s old body. A message popped up on the screen. “You think hiding means we can’t find you? Pay your debts. If you don’t have money, you can pay with something else.” Footsteps sounded behind me. My heart jumped again. I didn’t escape. They locked me in an unfinished building. Every day, someone came in demanding money. I said I didn’t have any, and they hit me. After a while, I lost count. I only knew there wasn’t a patch of unbruised skin left on me. In the end, they stuffed me into a van and took me somewhere. I was tied to a bed. Someone beside me prepared instruments. I heard the clink of surgical tools. Then they injected something into my arm. Cold liquid entered my veins. I closed my eyes and knew I was going to die. Many images flashed through my mind. The last one was Maria’s jealous eyes. I hated her. I refused to accept it. If I could live again, I would never let Maria have a good ending. No one expected that when I opened my eyes again, I had returned to before the Ashford homecoming. I truly had another chance. I buried my face in my hands, shaking with pain. This time, I would take everything back. 3 After that day, Maria moved into my villa. I gave her a room with floor-to-ceiling windows facing the pool. The closet was full of the latest seasonal designer pieces. The skincare on the vanity was all high-end luxury brands. Not only that, I brought her into my social circle. Fine dining, private parties, riding clubs, yachts. Anything fun, I took her along. At first, she was restrained. Gradually, she became used to it. At the mall, she bought a twenty-thousand-dollar dress without blinking. When paying, she handed over the card with arrogant ease, as if she were a real heiress. I stood beside her and watched. How long had it been? Two months? She had already completely forgotten who she used to be. The funniest part was her and Owen Price. Owen was the school heartthrob and student council president. His family ran an import-export business and was considered respectable in the city. Every time we went to a gathering, as long as Owen was there, Maria would move close and find reasons to talk. “Owen, you like this watch brand too? I just bought one a few days ago.” “Owen, there’s an equestrian competition this weekend. Do you want to go together?” “Owen, the desserts from this place are amazing. I brought some especially for you.” Then one day, she came to me shyly, cheeks flushed. “Owen said he kind of likes me. Do you think I should say yes?” I smiled and said nothing. Poor silly thing. When the school dance was announced, Maria was so excited she couldn’t sleep all night. That day, the school auditorium was decorated grandly. Maria stood in the most visible spot, scanning the crowd for Owen. “I heard Owen hasn’t invited a dance partner yet.” “Really? Doesn’t everyone like him?” “Who knows? Maybe he’s waiting for someone.” Listening to the gossip nearby, Maria couldn’t suppress her smile. She said to me with a little pride, “Owen must be waiting for me. He probably wants to confess publicly at the dance.” At exactly three o’clock, the host invited a pair to open the first dance. Owen entered as student council president. Maria took a deep breath, stepped forward, and extended her hand with a sweet smile. Owen didn’t even look at her. He brushed past her and walked straight to me. “Harper Ashford, may I have this dance?” I smiled and placed my hand in his. The music began. We walked onto the dance floor. Maria stood frozen, like a clown. Her face went pale first, then slowly flushed red. Someone whispered beside her. “Isn’t that the scholarship girl Harper brought around? She stepped forward and even held out her hand. Did she think Owen was inviting her?” “Pfft, what was she thinking? Wealthy families care about matching status. With Owen’s background, how could he like her?” “I think she really believes wearing designer clothes makes her a rich girl. Hilarious. Once Harper stops sponsoring her, she’ll be back to her old self overnight.” The voices weren’t loud, but every word entered Maria’s ears clearly. Like a bucket of cold water, they woke her up completely. Everything she had experienced these past months was like a beautiful dream. The more beautiful the dream, the crueler reality became. Even in designer clothes, she was still Maria Rowe, the poor girl everyone looked down on. The life of the past few months was too good. So good she would rather die than let it go. Her fists clenched. At last, she made up her mind. She wanted to turn the dream into reality. She wanted money, power, beauty, and Owen’s love. Across the crowd, I glanced at her. She was staring at me with hatred. Yes. That look. Pleasure surged through me. Hurry up, Maria. I can’t wait. After the dance, Maria said she had something to tell me. We returned to the villa together. She stared at me with dark eyes, then suddenly grabbed my hand. “Harper Ashford, every time you gave me something, every time you took me out, every time people praised you, I wanted to kill you.” “Why is life so unfair? Why were you born with everything? I want to swap with you.” The world began spinning again. I knew it. The fish had finally taken the bait.

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