Author: Momo Chan

My boyfriend was a soccer fan, so I went with him to watch the World Cup. While we were lining up in ninety-eight-degree heat to enter the stadium, I went to buy him an iced Coke from a stand nearby. But when I came back, my boyfriend was gone, and my digital ticket showed it had already been scanned. “You went in? Why does my ticket show it’s been used?” I called him anxiously. “Oh, I ran into Maya, the intern from my department. She didn’t get a ticket and was crying outside, so I gave her yours.” “Are you insane? That was the VIP front-row ticket I got!” “Oh, come on. You’re not even into soccer. You’d just sit there playing on your phone. Maya is a real fan. Ever heard of doing a good deed?” I was so shocked I couldn’t speak. “So you left me outside alone for an intern?” “You can watch the livestream anyway. Can’t you just find a patch of grass and sit there until the match is over? Don’t be so selfish.” Listening to the dial tone on the phone, I immediately called my soccer-star brother.

“Hello? Liam, my ticket was…” “Lily, I’m about to go on for the match. The signal backstage is terrible. After the game, I’ll take you to the celebration party!” From the other end of the line came the coach’s voice urging them to get on the field. Before I could finish speaking, the call was hurriedly ended. I stood there frozen, holding my phone. In my hand, I was still carrying the two bottles of iced Coke I had just bought. Water droplets slid down the bottles and dripped onto my shoes. Above me was ninety-eight-degree heat, and the brutal sun was baking the asphalt until it almost seemed ready to melt. “Ma’am, if you don’t have a ticket, don’t block the ticket-checking lane. Go wait in the plaza over there!” A security guard came over and waved me away impatiently. I could only carry the Cokes and retreat to the edge of the plaza, where there was no shade at all. Sweat ran down my forehead and into my eyes, and the sting made me squint. I took out my phone, wanting to ask Zach how long exactly he expected me to wait. The moment I opened Ins, the first post was one Zach had just uploaded. The photo was of the soccer field from a VIP front-row angle. On the right side of the image, there was clearly a girl’s slender wrist. On that wrist was the Cartier bracelet I had spent twenty thousand dollars on for Zach last month. The caption read, “Watching the match with someone who truly gets it. This is what the World Cup is all about.” I was shaking with anger, and I called Zach directly. It rang for a long time before he finally picked up. “What now? Are you ever going to stop?” Zach’s voice was full of extreme impatience. Deafening cheers came from the background. It seemed someone had scored a goal. “What’s with the Ins post? You gave my ticket to someone else, and now you let her wear my bracelet?” I questioned him through clenched teeth. Zach scoffed on the other end. “Lily, why are you so materialistic?” “Maya didn’t wear any accessories today. I thought the bracelet matched her outfit, so what’s wrong with letting her borrow it?” “You can’t even tell Cristiano from Neymar, and you think you understand soccer?” I took a deep breath and tried to keep my voice from trembling. “I don’t understand soccer, but I understand basic manners! That was my ticket. What gave you the right to make that decision without my permission?” “Do you know how hot it is outside? You’re making me stand out here for hours?” Zach’s tone became even more self-righteous. “I already told you, Maya is an intern, and her monthly salary is only three thousand dollars.” “She can’t even afford official merch. You carry bags worth tens of thousands, so what’s wrong with letting her have the ticket?” “You always act so superior at the office, and now you’re nitpicking over one ticket. Are you jealous that Maya understands soccer better than you?” I could hardly believe what I was hearing. He was being generous with someone else’s things and still made it sound so noble. Just then, a sweet, delicate female voice came from the other end of the phone. “Zach, is Lily mad?” “Why don’t I go outside instead? I really want to watch Liam play, but I don’t want to affect your relationship.” Maya’s voice sounded incredibly wronged. Zach immediately lowered his voice to comfort her. “Don’t mind her. She’s just being dramatic. Stay right here. No one is kicking you out today.” Then he turned back to the phone, and his voice suddenly rose. “Lily, I’m warning you. Don’t embarrass me out there by acting crazy.” “It wasn’t easy for Maya to come here. If you dare come in and cause a scene today, we’re done!”

I tightened my grip on the Coke bottle in my hand, and my knuckles turned white from the force. “Fine, I won’t go in. Zach, take your things and get out here right now.” Zach let out a cold laugh. “Come out? This is Liam’s home game, and you want me to come out?” “Is something wrong with your brain?” “Even if you got on your knees and begged me right now, I wouldn’t go out.” I felt as if a huge stone were blocking my chest, making even breathing difficult. “Zach, if you don’t come out, then don’t contact me again after this.” The other end of the line went silent for two seconds. Then came Zach’s mocking laughter. “Fine, Lily. Don’t threaten me with a breakup.” “If you dare leave today, don’t come begging me to get back together later!” “Maya, let’s go closer to the front. Ignore this crazy woman.” Before I could speak, the dial tone sounded again. I stood under the blazing sun, looking at the bustling crowd around me, and suddenly felt it was all absurd. After three years together, I had thought he was just a little short-tempered. I never imagined that in front of someone else, he could belittle me until I was worth nothing. The security guard came over again and tapped the railing beside me with his baton. “Hey, I’m talking to you. Don’t stand here and get in the way!” I took two steps back, and my vision suddenly went black. As the world spun around me, I heard people nearby cry out in alarm. When I opened my eyes again, I smelled the strong scent of disinfectant. A nurse was taking my blood pressure. “You’re awake? You had mild heatstroke. A kind passerby brought you to the medical tent.” The nurse put away the blood pressure monitor. I propped myself up on the canvas cot and felt my stomach churn violently. “Thank you. How long have I been lying here?” I asked weakly. The nurse checked her watch. “Almost an hour. Hurry and contact a friend or family member to pick you up. It’s too hot outside.” I patted my pocket and found my phone. There were no missed calls on the screen. There was only one message from Zach sitting in my texts, sent ten minutes ago. “Go buy Maya an official canvas tote. She didn’t get one, and you’re just hanging around outside anyway.” Looking at that line of text, I was so angry I laughed out loud. I had passed out from heatstroke outside the stadium, and not only did he not care where I had gone, but he was ordering me to buy merch for his “sweet little friend.” I directly called Zach on FaceTime. It rang until the last few seconds before he finally picked up slowly. “Did you get the bag? Don’t buy the wrong color. Maya likes the black one.” I spoke coldly. “Zach, I have heatstroke. I’m in the medical tent right now.” The other end paused for a moment, then Zach’s impatient voice came through. “Lily, why are you pretending to be fragile?” “Are you deliberately trying to get attention because you saw Maya having fun inside?” I closed my eyes and forced down the urge to smash my phone. “I’m not pretending. I’m dizzy and nauseous, and I can’t even stand steadily.” Zach clicked his tongue on the other end. “Enough. Stop putting on this pathetic act.” “Maya’s ankle got stepped on and it’s swollen. I need to go find an ice pack for her now.” “Since you’re in the medical tent, grab an ice pack and bring it to the ticket gate.” I seriously suspected there was something wrong with my ears. “You want someone who passed out from heatstroke to bring an ice pack to you and your mistress?” Zach instantly exploded. “Watch your mouth! What mistress?” “Maya is an innocent girl. We’re just pure friends!” “Why is your mind so filthy? If your own heart is dirty, everything you see looks dirty!” Maya’s tearful voice came from beside him at exactly the right time. “Zach, don’t scold Lily.” “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have twisted my ankle. I’ll walk out right now even if it hurts, and I won’t cause Lily any trouble…” Zach comforted her with obvious heartache. “Why would you walk? Your foot is swollen like that! The one who should leave is a cold-blooded animal like her with no sympathy!” I didn’t want to listen to this disgusting pair act anymore, so I hung up directly.

But I casually opened Ins, wanting to distract myself. The top trending nearby post was a post Maya had just made ten minutes ago. The picture showed Zach kneeling on one knee with his back to the camera, rubbing her ankle, along with a screenshot of my VIP digital ticket. The caption read, “Being spoiled like a princess by my boss today.” “Not only did I get VIP front-row tickets, but when I twisted my ankle, someone searched everywhere for an ice pack for me.” “Even if someone is going crazy with jealousy, my boss still chose me without hesitation.” “The spirit of soccer is love and peace.” All the comments underneath were praising her for meeting a god-tier boss, and some were scolding that “someone” for not knowing what was good for her. Looking at the screen, the nausea in my stomach got even worse. Just then, a stranger’s account sent me a video. In the video, my boyfriend Zach had his arms around Maya and was kissing her passionately. The provocative caption said, “When are you, old woman, going to get lost? I’m still the one who understands Zach’s heart best.” I was so disgusted I could barely breathe. I forced myself to stand up. My legs were so weak they trembled, and acid was still rising in my stomach. Outside the medical tent, the sky was gradually getting dark. From the distant stage came deafening cheers, probably because star forward Liam had scored again. The crowd began surging like a tide toward the various exits. Dragging my weak body, I walked step by step to the exit of the VIP-only passage. Not long after I stood there, I saw Zach come out carrying Maya on his back. Maya was still holding an official black canvas tote, which Zach had obviously bought for her just now. She lay on Zach’s back and smiled happily. The two of them were pressed very close together. “Zach, this bag is so pretty. Thank you for buying it for me,” Maya said in a sweet voice. “Why are you being polite with me?” Zach’s tone was indulgent. I took a deep breath, walked forward, and blocked their path. When Zach saw me, the smile on his face vanished at once, and his brows knitted tightly. “Lily, aren’t you embarrassed blocking the way here?” “Can’t you see Maya is hurt? Even a good dog knows not to block the road!” I ignored his insults and directly held out my hand. “Zach, shouldn’t you settle the cost of my ticket?” I looked at him coldly. Maya immediately poked her head out from Zach’s back and looked at me timidly. “I’m sorry. I’ll transfer you the ticket money.” “But I’m just an intern, and my monthly salary is only three thousand dollars.” “Lily, all the bags you carry are designer brands, so you shouldn’t care about this little bit of money, right??” Her words sounded like an apology on the surface, but underneath, she was accusing me of bullying the weak. I stared at her innocent face. “I earned the money for my bags myself by working overtime and staying up late, not because it fell from the sky.” “This VIP ticket costs ten thousand dollars. Transfer it to me now. No credit.” Zach suddenly put Maya down and shielded her behind him. “Lily, that’s enough! Are you obsessed with money?” “What is ten thousand dollars to you? Will you only be happy if you make things hard for a poor intern?” Looking at the man I had dated for three years, I suddenly felt he was unbelievably unfamiliar. “Why should I pay for her to watch the game? Am I her mother or her father?” Zach’s face turned ashen from my retort. “Fine, I’ll pay, okay? I’ll transfer it to you when we get back!” “Maya’s foot hurts so badly she can’t walk right now. I need to call a cab and take her back downtown. I don’t have time to argue with you here.” I gave a cold laugh. “You’re taking her home? What about me?” “My car keys are still in your bag. Do you expect me to fly back?” I had driven him here today, and the car keys had been in his backpack the whole time. Zach froze for a moment, as if only then remembering that. He irritably felt around his pocket, pulled out the car keys, and threw them straight at me. “Just drive yourself back. What’s the big deal?”

After the heatstroke, my hands and feet were weak, so I didn’t catch them at all. The car keys drew an arc through the air and fell into the deep grass beside us. “I have heatstroke. I can’t drive.” I looked at him, my voice calm. Zach scoffed, his face full of disbelief. “Keep acting. You sounded pretty strong when you were asking for money just now.” “Maya, let’s go. Ignore this crazy woman.” He reached out and stopped an unlicensed black car parked by the road, then carefully helped Maya into the back seat. Maya leaned her head out of the car window and winked at me. “Lily, if you really can’t drive, I can lend you my bus card.” The black car sped away, spraying exhaust all over me. The sky had completely turned dark. The World Cup venue was in the suburbs, and the official shuttle buses had gradually stopped running. There were fewer and fewer people around, leaving only trash all over the ground and a few drunk soccer fans shouting loudly by the roadside. I crouched in the grass, turned on my phone flashlight, and searched for a long time before I finally found the car keys. But right now, my head was spinning, my limbs were weak, and I did not dare grip the steering wheel at all. I leaned against an abandoned metal cart, trying to calm my rapid breathing. Just then, those drunk men staggered toward me. Two shirtless men reeking of alcohol looked me up and down without restraint. “Chic, all alone?” “No ride home? I’ll give you one.” My heart tightened, and I immediately took two steps back. “No, thanks. My friend is coming soon,” I said, forcing myself to stay calm. The man with tattooed sleeves reached out and grabbed my arm. “Why are you pretending to be innocent, bitch? Anyone wandering around this late is out looking for fun.” “Come on. Have a couple drinks with us.” I yanked my arm free and turned to run toward a place with streetlights. As I ran, I called Zach with trembling hands. “Sorry, the number you have dialed is powered off.” The merciless automated female voice completely shattered my last illusion. I hid in the gap between two buses, trembling all over. The footsteps of those men got closer and closer. “Where did she run off to? That bitch is pretty fast.” I was at the peak of despair and clamped a hand over my mouth, not daring to make a single sound. At the critical moment, a black Alphard van slowly drove over. The glaring headlights cut through the darkness and shone directly on the faces of those thugs. The car stopped steadily beside the bus. The door slid open with a loud whoosh. A tall man wearing a baseball cap and a black mask stepped out of the car. Without saying a word, he grabbed the tattooed man by the collar and flung him away like he was tossing a chick. “Get lost.” The thugs were about to lash out, but when they saw several burly bodyguards in black getting out of the back of the van, they sobered up halfway from fear and scrambled away. The man turned around and took off his mask. Under the car lights, I saw the face that had just been cheered by tens of thousands in the soccer stadium. It was my biological brother, Liam. “Lily, how did you end up like this?” When Liam saw my pale face and scraped knee, raging fury ignited in his eyes. I threw myself into my brother’s arms, and the tears I had held back all day finally burst free as I told him everything that had happened today. After we got in the car, a bodyguard handed me a warm towel and warm water. Liam’s phone suddenly vibrated. He opened it, glanced at it, and let out a cold laugh. “This idiot actually dares to DM me.” Liam directly tossed the phone into my lap. On the screen was a private message Zach had sent to Liam’s official social media account. “Liam, I’ve been your fan for ten years!” “Congratulations to your team on winning the championship!” “Today I brought the girl I love most to watch your match from the VIP front row. She even twisted her ankle for you.” “I hope we can get your blessing!” Liam’s gaze turned sharp, and his fists clenched until his knuckles cracked. “He left you alone in a dark, deserted place just to bring another woman to watch my game?” I dried my tears, looked at that private message, and felt the grief in my heart gradually replaced by anger. “Liam, your team’s celebration party next week is at the Hyatt Club, right?” I lifted my head, my eyes becoming extremely firm. Liam leaned back in his seat and looked at me. “Yes. What do you want to do?” “I want to make him understand that using me to show off comes with a price.”

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I spent eighteen years raising a false cub, while my own cub was sold by my younger sister, and even my husband knew the truth from beginning to the end. At that day, I was cleaning my son’s room when I found a document he had brought home from school. Shifter Bureau — Pre‑Coronation Lineage Profile. I flipped to the section marked *Predicted Species Manifestation*. *Felidae – Panthera onca (Jaguar) dominant traits detected.* I stared at those words. I stopped breathing. I am a snow leopard. My father was a snow leopard. My mother was a jaguar. My husband Caelan was a Cheetah. There is no way our genes could produce a pure jaguar dominant trait. In our entire family, the only one with jaguar dominant blood is my younger sister. Mirabel. I took the file to Caelan. My polite, soft-spoken husband took one look at the page and exploded. “Our son is about to have his Coronation Shift. What else do you want, Sylvana? You’re always suspicious of everything. Are you losing your mind again?” “Caelan.” I kept my voice level. “School predictions aren’t always accurate. I want a formal bloodline test at the Shifter Medical Center.” “Absolutely not.” He slapped me twice. Hard. Then he slammed the door and locked it from the outside. I listened to the lock turn. Then I laughed. Eighteen years of marriage. Eighteen years of devotion. All of it, wasted on a man who’d lock his wife inside her own house. I picked up my phone. I called my husband’s biggest competitor. “I agree to transfer my patents to your company.” …… I hung up. A bitter cold settled in my chest. There shouldn’t be any problems with the school’s documents. The school tracked their half-shifts for ten years — ears, tails, eye color changes, partial markings — then sent the data to the Bureau. The Bureau used it to predict what species the kid would manifest at their Coronation Shift. Every Shifter kid got one before their eighteenth birthday. And Hayden was coming home next week for his. His first full transformation. Not a public ceremony—like a human signing for their first ID card — just official paperwork confirming you’d become an adult Shifter citizen. But now, what should i do? What a fool I had been. For years, big companies had tried to recruit me. I said no to all of them. For Caelan. For Hayden. I stayed in the shadows behind Vicksmore Group. That patent was worth a trillion. I’d never taken a cent of dividends. I sat on the couch until three in the morning. Caelan came home late. We sat in the dark. Neither of us spoke. We had good years once. When he first started the company, I stayed up with him through the nights, rewriting his pitch decks. When I got tired, I’d lean on his shoulder and doze. He used to say, “Sylvana, when the company is big, I’ll give you everything.” The company made it. Then he was never home. When he came back, he was too tired to talk. I said the house felt empty. He said, “You have Hayden.” I’d say I wanted to go to the Shifter Reserve to shift, get some air. He’d say, “Have my assistant take you. I’m swamped.” I stopped asking. I told myself this was what marriage looked like. Passion fading into companionship. Romance into family. Now I realized only one of us had made that shift. And he had turned into something else. …… At dawn, I went to the kitchen. Caelan was already there. He hadn’t cooked in a long time. “You’re up?” He looked back at me. Dark circles under his eyes. “I made breakfast.” Milk. Toast. Fried eggs, slightly burnt. He sat down. Neither of us mentioned yesterday. “Hayden comes home next week.” I paused with my cup halfway to my lips. “I know.” His voice dropped. “Sylvana, don’t overthink this. I promise I’ll spend more time with you and Hayden.” I looked up at him. I’d looked at this face for eighteen years. Watched it grow from boyish to lined. I used to know when he was lying. The slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. The way his eyes softened before he told the truth. Now I couldn’t read him at all. I looked down. “So when are we doing the bloodline test?” The warmth on his face froze. Then it disappeared. “You’re really doing this?” His fork clattered onto the plate. Then he looked at me with what seemed like disappointment and walked out of the house. I remembered when Hayden was small. Everyone said he looked like Caelan. No one ever said he looked like me. Not once. From age seven, his half-shifts had always shown pale fur and faint scattered spots. Classic Cheetah cub. Caelan was wealthy. He hired private doctors to run all of Hayden’s checkups. Every report came back the same. **Cheetah dominant.** And me? I wasn’t a geneticist. I was an engineer. So I’d believed it. For eighteen years.

I walked to the balcony and watched his car leave the garage. Then I went to his study. A divorce petition and an asset division agreement sat on the desk. I’d drafted them a year ago. Just in case. The patent that built Vexmoor Corporation — I owned a hundred percent of it. But Caelan had forgotten that. He’d started treating it like his own. My phone rang. My mother. “Sylvana, feeling better?” Her voice was light. “Your sister is coming back next week. Caelan knew you weren’t feeling well, so he booked her ticket himself that she could come back and help you. So He’s giving her a director’s position at Vexmoor.” A director’s position. I worked for the company for years. No title. No recognition. She comes back and gets a office. A few scattered memories surfaced. Caelan and Mirabel — when had they gotten so close? And she was coming back. Caelan arranged it. Mirabel. The name made my eye twitch. “It’s been so long since you two saw each other,” my mother went on. “We’re all coming over for dinner next week. One family together.” I kept my voice steady. “What time? I’ll get food ready.” “Don’t worry about it! We’ll bring the food. You just rest.” She paused. “Sylvana, listen to me. Be warm with Caelan tonight. Men have their pride.” I couldn’t listen anymore. I made a few sounds and hung up. Then I booked a rush appointment at the Shifter Medical Center. The Bureau-affiliated facility. The only one whose results were legally binding. No private doctors. No forged reports. I went into Hayden’s room and pulled hair from his comb. After I sent them to the center, I messaged a private investigator. Check Caelan’s financial records. Everything. Twelve hours later, the lab report came to my inbox. I sat in the study and stared at the file for a long time. Then I opened it. I skipped to the last page. “By official determination of the Shifter Medical Center, Ms. Sylvana is not the biological mother of Mr. Hayden. Tested subject shows Cheetah × Jaguar hybrid (F1) bloodline. Complete conflict with registered maternal snow leopard lineage.” In my gut, I’d known. But seeing it written down was something else. My hands started shaking and couldn’t breathe. I stood up and walked to the window. Eighteen years. I closed the file. I walked to the window. I tried to breathe. Outside, autumn had come to the city. The plane trees were turning gold. Far in the distance, the dome of the Shifter Bureau caught the afternoon light. I’d had a happy family once. And I thought they would be the two people I protected for the rest of my life. My phone buzzed. From the investigator. A few screenshots- Bank transfers. Caelan’s personal account had been sending fixed monthly transfers to an overseas account for at least ten years. The overseas account belonged to Mirabel. Not a small amount. But enough to keep one person living comfortably abroad. The last line of the report said: **Ms. Mirabel owns a property overseas. Purchased nineteen years ago. Paid in full. ** Nineteen years ago. The year I was told I was pregnant. The same year Mirabel went abroad. A dark thought formed in my mind. …… On the weekend, my parents arrived with bags of food. Mirabel came behind them. Cream suit. A gift box in her hand. “Sylvana.” She smiled and stepped forward to hug me. I turned slightly. She missed. Her smile froze for a second, then went back to normal. “Long time no see. I brought you a present.” The dining table filled up fast. My mother bustled around the kitchen. My father and Caelan settled into the living room, talking shop. Mirabel sat naturally in the chair next to Caelan. I frowned but said nothing. At dinner, Mirabel reached for a dish. A sapphire bracelet slid down her wrist. I stopped chewing. I had seen that bracelet at an auction two years ago. Stunning blue. Rare clarity. I wanted it, but the price was too high. Caelan had said, “If you like it, just get it. Money’s not a problem.” I said, “Too expensive. Forget it.” Later, I asked him about it. He said someone else had bought it. Now it was on Mirabel’s wrist. “Sylvana, what are you looking at?” Mirabel noticed my stare. She turned her wrist playfully. “Pretty, isn’t it? Caelan gave it to me. He said it suits me.” Caelan choked on his soup. He looked up at me. “A welcome gift. For Mirabel’s new job.” “Right,” my mother jumped in. “We’re family. What’s wrong with a gift between family? Sylvana, don’t be petty.” I didn’t say anything. I just looked at Caelan. He avoided my eyes. Mirabel smiled again, her voice soft. “Don’t misunderstand, Sylvana. I just think some things look better on the right person. Like this bracelet. Doesn’t it shine more on me than it did in that auction case?” She was watching Caelan when she said it. I knew that look. It was smug. Possession. The way a woman looks at a man she thinks belongs to her. After dinner, Mirabel volunteered to wash the dishes. Caelan stood up and said he would help. They walked into the kitchen together. I sat in the living room. I heard water running. Low voices. Mirabel’s soft laugh now and then. I glanced toward the living room. My parents were watching television, unaware of anything. I stood up slowly. And walked toward the kitchen quietly. The closer I got, the hotter the mark burned—until it felt like my skin was no longer mine. I stopped at the doorway. Just looked through the narrow gap. Mirabel stood at the sink, sleeves pushed up, humming softly as she washed dishes. And behind her— Caelan. They were too close together. Suddenly, Kaylan began to move, his lower body gently and repeatedly bumping against her hips. His hands were placed at her waist like it belonged there. Mirabel let out a series of ambiguous laughs. Then I saw Caelan gradually reach forward with both hands from behind her, cupping Mirabel’s full breasts and gently kneading them. Caelan’s breath brushed against Mirabel’s neck, licking her marks softly. Mirabel tilted her head back slightly, laughing at something when he near her ear again. My breath stopped. Caelan leaned in closer. Their movements seemed to be getting more and more intense. The mark on my neck burned so violently I almost grabbed the doorframe to stay upright. My body understood before my mind did. This wasn’t new. I had felt this for eighteen years. Every time I mentioned it to Caelan, he smiled and said I was just sensitive. “Some shifters are more aware of their marks. Nothing serious.” “But I never felt this before…” “You haven’t shifted in forever. Your body’s out of practice.” He always said that. I always believed him. Now I knew the truth. The resonance wasn’t mine. It was hers. And every time I told him something was wrong, he called me sensitive. Every single time. I took a step forward without thinking— “Sylvana?” My mother’s voice came from the living room. “Can you bring me some water?” I froze. The sound shattered whatever courage I had gathered. When I looked back toward the kitchen again— Caelan had already turned slightly. Mirabel’s smile was still there. As if nothing had happened. As if I had imagined all of it. I stepped back slowly and walked away from the door. My mother called again. “Sylvana?” “Yes,” I answered softly. My voice didn’t sound like mine anymore. Then I went into the living room and sat on the sofa. My mother slid onto the sofa next to me. “Sylvana, look at how helpful she’s being. She came back to support Caelan. You could be a little warmer to her. You’re her sister.” My father weighed in too. “Caelan built that company from nothing. Having family on the inside is good for him. You’re the older sister. Have some grace.” I turned to look at my father. “Dad. Caelan is my husband. Mirabel is your other daughter. Don’t you think they’re too close?” His face darkened. “What are you implying?” “What if I told you,” I said quietly, “that Hayden might not be mine?” Both of them froze. My mother recovered first. She grabbed my wrist. “Sylvana! Don’t say things like that! Of course Hayden is your son. What’s gotten into you?” My father slammed his hand on the table. “Enough! You really do need to see a doctor. Caelan was right.” That was the last thing I needed to hear. Their reactions killed the last bit of hope I had. They only cared about Caelan. About what he gave them. Theynever knew that Vexmoor only existed because of me.

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It was my son’s birthday. While I was waiting for him and my husband to come home, I stumbled into a live chatroom on an online forum. The topic of the thread was: Can a son ever truly empathize with his mother? Beneath the post, the comment section was a sea of a single word: No. I didn’t agree. My son was my sweet boy, my ultimate ally. In every disagreement between his father and me, he was always the one who stood fiercely by my side. Just as I was about to type out a reply, one comment caught my eye. “I’m a guy, and let me tell you frankly: No, we can’t.” “To my mom, I’m her perfect little gentleman, her shoulder to cry on. Truth is, I only play along because I can’t stand her endless nagging and her dowdy, unkempt appearance.” “I’ve known about my dad’s mistress for years. I helped him hide it. Honestly, I get him. You have one woman at home to handle the domestic grind, and a gorgeous, young one outside to offer excitement and status.” The user had attached a photo. An elaborate, multi-course gourmet dinner laid out on a polished marble table, with a designer gift box resting right beside a vintage wine glass. It was the exact image I had texted my son only ten minutes ago. … My fingers shook as I pinched-to-zoom, desperately searching for some tiny discrepancy. But no matter how much I tried to lie to myself, the photo was an identical match. The angle, the lighting, even the tiny sliver of my cream-colored cardigan showing in the bottom corner of the frame—everything was exactly the same. Just then, my phone buzzed with a text from my son. “Hey, best mom in the world! Dad just picked me up. Traffic is absolute hell on the highway, so we’re going to be a little late.” “Dad and I got you a little surprise too. Get ready to be spoiled! Love you!” Reading his warm, affectionate words, a sudden wave of guilt and nausea washed over me. Toby never forgot a holiday. He always bought me gifts. Whether it was too hot or too cold, he’d send me playful texts reminding me to take care of myself. And whenever Glenn and I argued, Toby would jump in to defend me without a second thought, once even nearly coming to blows with his father. How could I doubt my own son over a random post on the internet? If he knew I was questioning his loyalty, it would break his heart. Besides, kids share photos with friends all the time. It was entirely possible that some internet troll had saved Toby’s photo from a public story to stir up drama. The internet was full of clout-chasers like that. Down in the comment section, people were already tearing the anonymous poster apart. “Your mother is cursed to have a son like you. She gave up her career, her life, and her youth to raise you, only to end up with a parasite.” “True or fake, this just proves that sons always view the world through their father’s eyes. They want the domestic servant at home and the pretty young thing in public. Best of both worlds, right?” My mind was a chaotic blur. I wanted to close the app, but the anonymous user had replied again. “If you were in my shoes, you’d do the exact same thing. I’m the one inheriting my dad’s estate anyway. Besides, the woman outside isn’t some stranger—she’s practically family.” “And honestly, I treat my mom great. I buy her gifts, I run interference for my dad. Today is my birthday, and I even got her a present!” I stared at the words, a cold dread pooling in my chest. The comment section was furious. Someone had managed to dig up the user’s main profile picture and posted it in the thread. I stared at the tiny thumbnail. My thumb hovered over the screen, paralyzed. The truth was suspended right there, heavy enough to crush me if it fell. Click. The front door opened. They were home. Toby walked in with a bright smile, immediately coming over to massage my shoulders. “Smells incredible, Mom! You went all out. You’re the best.” Glenn rolled his eyes playfully, calling him a suck-up, before sliding a beautifully wrapped box across the table toward me. “Our boy’s birthday, but it’s the mother’s day of labor. Thank you for everything, honey.” This was the picture-perfect life I had built. This was the warm, loving family I cherished. For a split second, I felt a terrifying urge to delete the app, to pretend I had never seen anything. But my finger finally tapped the screen, enlarging the profile picture. It was Toby’s private social media account. My brain went entirely numb. My heart plummeted into a dark, bottomless void. Tears spilled over my cheeks before I could stop them. Seeing me cry, both of them panicked, rushing to my side with frantic questions. But the moment their eyes fell on my phone screen, the room fell dead silent. Looking at their pale, frozen faces, there was nothing left to ask. I grabbed the edge of the dining table and flipped it. The porcelain shattered against the hardwood floor. A beautifully prepared feast turned into a heap of garbage. I stood in the middle of the wreckage, my voice raw and hysterical. “Who is she?!” Glenn looked at me, a trace of a condescending smile touching his lips. “Lena, it’s our son’s birthday. Don’t make a scene over nothing.” “I had an affair, yes. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you anymore. She’s not a threat to your position.” “I’ve had a long, exhausting day at work. I didn’t come home to be interrogated. Can you please just be a little understanding for once?” The last thread of my sanity snapped. Understanding? He wanted me to be understanding? The year we graduated, I turned down a high-paying corporate offer to help him build his startup from scratch. I drank myself into a stomach ulcer at business dinners just to land his first major contract. Later, to secure his absolute control over the company, I willingly signed over my shares to him. I was targeted by his business rivals and lost our first child in a horrific car accident. And when he told me he wanted a warm, welcoming home—a family to return to at the end of the day—I abandoned my own blooming career, risked my life, and gave birth to Toby. Glenn had knelt before me back then, weeping, swearing: “Lena, I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you. I will never let you suffer again.” And now, he was telling me to stop making a scene. I slapped him across the face, hard enough to make my hand sting. “Who is she?” I was unraveling, wildly suspecting every woman who had ever crossed our path. “The nanny? The college student we sponsored? Or that new secretary you brought home?” Toby let out a heavy sigh. He stepped forward, grabbing my shoulders with a firm, unyielding grip, and forced me down into a chair. “Mom, seriously? Look at yourself.” “You look hysterical. No wonder Dad looks elsewhere. A man of Dad’s status having someone on the side is completely normal.” “Dad and I have been incredibly good to you all these years. We let you have your way in everything. What more do you want? Why can’t you just close your eyes and enjoy your comfortable life? She handles his public image, you handle the kitchen. It saves you the headache.” “Don’t make Dad angry, Mom. After all, you’re the one living off his money.” I went entirely still, staring at the child I had carried for nine months. Getting pregnant with him had been an ordeal. The morning sickness started in week three and didn’t stop until the day I delivered. I lost ten pounds during the pregnancy. My joints ached, my pelvis felt like it was breaking apart, and I swelled up like a balloon. During labor, I hemorrhaged so badly I nearly died. I gave up my dreams to watch him grow. From his first steps to his first day of high school, I was always there. Because he once said he loved my cooking, a woman who once couldn’t tell salt from sugar learned to prepare gourmet feasts. Every sacrifice felt worth it whenever he smiled at me. I had congratulated myself a thousand times for raising such a sweet, empathetic boy. But looking at him now, he felt like an absolute stranger. The words from the chatroom echoed in my ears. My voice shook. “You knew. You’ve known this entire time?” He answered without a hint of remorse. “Yeah. I’ve known from the beginning.” A dizzying pain flared in my temples. I slipped from the chair, collapsing onto my knees among the broken porcelain, laughing and crying all at once. The doorbell rang. Through the haze, I heard a sharp gasp, and then a pair of hands gently pulled me up. When I saw my sister Megan’s face, filled with deep concern, I clung to her like a drowning survivor and sobbed. She was my only remaining blood relative, the person I trusted most in the world. I had never kept secrets from her. Seeing me in this state, Megan didn’t ask any questions. Her slender, fragile frame stood protectively in front of me as she began yelling at Glenn and Toby. But my gaze froze on her wrist. The platinum bracelet she was wearing was the exact limited-edition piece sitting inside the gift box Glenn and Toby had brought home for me. Glenn’s frequent absences… Toby’s familiarity with her… the comment that she was “practically family”… Every puzzle piece rushed together in my mind, forming a picture so grotesque it made my blood run cold. Noticing my sudden stillness, Glenn and Toby quickly stepped forward, pulling Megan behind them, their eyes locking onto me with sudden defensiveness. The realization hit me like a physical blow. It was her. “It’s you… it was you this whole time.” I had suspected every woman in the city, but never her. Our parents died early. I had worked myself to the bone to pay for her college tuition. During the hardest years of my startup, I sent her a monthly allowance while I lived in a damp basement eating instant ramen. When she graduated, I fought the board to bring her into the company and mentored her personally. She wasn’t just my sister. I had raised her like my own daughter. Looking at the three of them standing together, I choked on my own breath, tasting copper. No wonder she always dodged the subject whenever I asked about her love life. No wonder she rejected every single blind date I tried to arrange for her. She had been sharing a bed with my husband all along. The three people I loved most in the world had banded together to treat me like a fool. Megan suddenly fell to her knees before me. “Lena, I know I’m terrible, but I truly love Glenn.” “Please don’t blame him or Toby. It’s all my fault. If you want to hate someone, hate me!” “Lena, I never wanted to take your place, and I don’t care about a marriage certificate. I just want to be by Glenn’s side.” I looked down at her, raised my hand, and struck her across the face. She was my sister. My baby sister. How could she do this to me? I closed my eyes, forcing the agonizing words out of my throat. “When did it start?” She hesitated, shifting her gaze. “When you were pregnant with Toby.” A loud ringing filled my ears. I stumbled backward. My heart twisted in a pain so sharp I couldn’t stand straight. When I went into labor, I had spent hours trying to call Glenn. Because I couldn’t reach him, my arrival at the hospital was delayed, leading to the severe hemorrhage. He had knelt by my hospital bed afterward, slapping himself, swearing he had been tied up with an important client. They had been together while I was fighting for my life. Before I could strike Megan again, Glenn lunged forward and grabbed my wrist in a vice-like grip. “Lena, that is enough!” “You’re the one who brought Megan into our lives. You should have known what would happen. I’m a man, Lena. Your pregnancy was hard on you, but it was just as hard on me! It was a drunken mistake—I mistook her for you. I’m the one who owes her.” “She has always respected you. She never wanted to compete with you. Every holiday, she’s the one who forced me to come back home to you. You have no right to treat her like this!” He bent down, lifting Megan into his arms. As he brushed past me, he leaned in and whispered coldly: “Megan is pregnant. Five months.” I froze, my eyes dropping to Megan’s slightly rounded stomach. When I hemorrhaged during Toby’s birth, the doctors told me I could never have another child. Glenn had held our baby by my bedside and sworn that Toby would be his only heir, and that I would be the only mother of his children. Now, he was having another child. With my sister. Beside them, Toby’s eyes lit up with excitement. He began ushering them toward the door, turning back to lecture me with a patronizing sigh. “Mom, in the old days, sisters sharing a husband was considered a beautiful thing. Why can’t you just accept it? It’s keeping everything in the family.” “With Aunt Megan’s personality, she’d let you remain the matriarch while she stays in the background. The two of you can share him—one runs the house, the other runs the company. No outside drama. Isn’t that perfect?” “Mom, if you just agree, we can go right back to how things were. I’ll still be your sweet son, Dad will still be the perfect husband, and Aunt Megan will protect you. You’ll still be the envied Mrs. Hall.” “Besides, you’re not like Aunt Megan. She’s a vice president with a career. You’re just a housewife living on Dad’s handouts. You’ve been out of the workforce for so long. If you actually divorce him, you’ll regret it.” I looked at this boy, the son I had poured my life into. I smiled, a cold, empty smile, and slapped him across the face. “Get out.” He clutched his cheek, staring at me in sheer disbelief. “You slapped me?” From the day he was born, no matter how badly he behaved, I had never laid a finger on him. Thinking of how he had helped his father deceive me for years, and listening to his sickening justification, I slapped him again. “I wish I had never given birth to you.” Toby’s face contorted with rage. “With an attitude like that, no wonder Dad prefers Aunt Megan!” The heavy front door slammed shut, shaking the walls. I collapsed onto the floor, unable to hold myself up any longer. I thought I would cry, but my mind was remarkably, chillingly clear. I pulled out my phone and dialed my lawyer. “I want to file for divorce. I want Glenn Hall to leave with absolutely nothing.” The legal team moved fast. So fast, in fact, that by the next afternoon, my family came looking for me. The first to show up at my apartment was Megan. She fell to her knees before me, sobbing hysterically. “Lena, please, I beg you, drop the lawsuit. It’s all my fault, entirely my fault.” “I was the one who seduced Glenn. I made them keep it from you. If you want to hate someone, hate me, but please stop this. You can’t beat Glenn in court. I’m terrified you’re going to end up destroyed!” “Lena, I’ll break up with him right now. I’ll get rid of the baby and go far away. Just go back to Glenn and Toby, please.” The despair in her eyes looked entirely real, which only made it more sickening. How could someone play the victim so flawlessly while stabbing me in the back? I took two steps back, bracing myself against the dining table to keep from falling. Megan immediately reached out to steady me, but the moment her hand touched my skin, she panicked. “Lena, you’re burning up!” “Where is your medicine? Let me take you to the hospital. We need to go right now!” I pushed her hand away. Looking at the sister I had raised, I finally asked the question that had been rotting in my chest. “Why?” Why do this to me? Why betray me? Why make my entire life a punchline? Megan lowered her head, and for a moment, she looked like the little girl I used to protect. Her tears dripped onto the back of my hand. “I love Glenn. I really do.” “He was the only one who treated me like a grown woman. He took care of me when I was sick, and he protected me like a guardian angel whenever things went wrong. No woman could help falling for a man like him.” “Lena, I never wanted to take anything from you. I just wanted to be near him, to give him everything I had. If it makes you happy, I’ll go abort the baby right now.” I pulled my hand back, my expression flat. “Cut the act, Megan.” “If you cared about me at all, you would have never touched him. You wouldn’t have lied to me for years, watching me play the happy housewife while you three laughed behind my back.” “You say you’ll abort the baby if I want? Fine. Go do it. Right now.” She froze. The sweet, innocent facade crumbled instantly, replaced by a cold, calculating malice. “You really are impossible to fool, aren’t you, Lena?” She stood up, brushing the dust off her knees, her eyes flashing with venom. “Yes! I did it on purpose! I climbed into Glenn’s bed on purpose, I won over Toby on purpose, and I made sure they kept treating you well just to keep you oblivious. I got pregnant on purpose. Even the bracelet—I bought the exact same one for you on purpose.” “Why should you have everything? We have the same parents, but you were always the perfect, successful older sister, while I had to live in your shadow. Everyone who looked at me only saw your sister. I wanted to take everything that was yours.” I let out a soft laugh, tears slipping from the corners of my eyes. A great favor breeds great resentment. I had finally learned that lesson the hard way. Hearing footsteps approaching the door, Megan smiled at me with pure malice. “Lena, let’s see who they actually care about.” With a sharp scream, Megan threw herself backward, tumbling down the stairs. She landed heavily at the bottom, clutching her stomach in silent agony as blood began to seep through her skirt. Glenn and Toby burst through the door. Seeing Megan lying in a pool of blood, their faces twisted in horror. Glenn scooped her into his arms, turning a look of murderous hatred toward me. “Lena, if anything happens to Megan or the baby, I will personally destroy you.” Even though my heart was already dead, the sheer hatred in their eyes still stung. My fever-ravaged body finally gave out, and I stumbled, falling down the remaining steps to land at their feet. I reached out, weakly grabbing the hem of Glenn’s pants. “Please… take me to the hospital too.” Seeing my flushed face and rapid breathing, both of them hesitated for a fraction of a second. My chest burned with a suffocating heat. “I didn’t push her. The house has security cameras.” The moment I mentioned Megan, Glenn’s brief hesitation vanished into cold disgust. He kicked my hand away. “Get away from me.” Toby hesitated for a second, looking back at me, but ultimately turned and followed his father out the door. Watching their retreating figures, I closed my eyes. Was I really going to die here, alone on the floor? Suddenly, the front door burst open again. Toby! A desperate spark of hope flared in my chest. He was my son, after all. Surely, fifteen years of motherhood couldn’t be erased so easily. Then I heard his voice. “Dad, she has the same blood type as Aunt Megan. We should bring her just in case Megan needs a transfusion.” The last spark of warmth in my soul died. I struggled weakly as Toby hauled me up, pinning my arms behind my back. “Mom, you brought this on yourself. You owe this to Aunt Megan.” He dragged me out of the house, treating me like nothing more than a spare parts container. I stopped fighting. Every ounce of love I had for him was gone.

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The brakes on my car failed the night before our wedding. With no other options, I had to borrow Garrett’s car to get to the office. The moment I sat inside and started the ignition, the GPS flared to life, its automated voice filling the quiet cabin. “Recalculating default route to The Waverly. After picking up the Little Princess, proceed to Oak Ridge Amusement Park.” The Waverly. That was the apartment complex where Maisie lived. And “Little Princess” was Garrett’s private contact name for her. The blue light of the dashboard cast a cold glow over my hands. After a moment of hesitation, my thumb hovered over the screen, and I tapped on his navigation history. A long list of routes popped up, almost all of them starting from The Waverly. To the shopping mall, to the train station, to the airport, to the amusement park… And there was one route, repeated almost daily. 8:00 AM, from The Waverly to Maisie’s office. 6:00 PM, from her office back to The Waverly. Twice a day, five days a week, for five solid years. For five years, Garrett had been her personal chauffeur, guiding her through the city’s traffic morning and night. Yet just last week, when I pulled three consecutive all-nighters at my office, my blood sugar had crashed so hard my head swam. I had called him, practically begging him to pick me up. He had refused without a second thought. “It’s completely out of my way, Naomi. Besides, doesn’t your company cover Uber rides for late shifts? Just call a car, it makes more financial sense.” Until this moment, the truth hadn’t fully registered. To Garrett, no matter how far out of the way Maisie lived, she was always “on the way.” But for me, even though my office was barely two miles from his, I was a universe away. I quietly turned off the navigation. I slipped the engagement ring off my finger and set it gently in the cup holder. If our paths were never truly aligned, there was no point in pretending we were walking the same road. 1 The muggy summer breeze drifted through the open window, carrying the thick scent of the car freshener. Rose. Maisie’s favorite scent. And the one I loathed the most. It made my stomach twist, a wave of sudden nausea hitting me so hard I had to step out of the car. In the end, I didn’t drive Garrett’s car. I left it parked, caught a cab, and went to work. Once there, I walked straight into my director’s office. “Dave,” I said, leaning against his doorframe. “That transfer to the European division we talked about. I’ll take it.” Dave looked up from his paperwork, pushing his glasses up his nose with a bemused smile. “Are you kidding, Naomi? You’re getting married in two weeks. You’re going to accept a three-year expat assignment now? Does Garrett even know?” I stared down at my bare ring finger, where a faint, pale band of skin remained. “The wedding is off.” “And Garrett won’t care.” Dave’s smile faded. He studied me for a long, quiet moment before nodding slowly. “If your mind is made up, you leave in three days.” We both knew what went unsaid. Garrett’s firm and ours were deeply intertwined; we shared more vendor pipelines than I could count. With his position, he could easily find out where I went with a single question to our mutual partners. But Garrett always insisted on “professional boundaries.” He never asked about my work. Two years ago, during a joint site visit, a heavy light fixture had broken loose from the ceiling and crushed my lower leg. Garrett had stood at the edge of the crowd, his face a mask of detached calm, watching the paramedics load me onto a gurney. When I later asked him, hurt and furious, why he had been so cold, he simply shrugged. “In situations like that, it’s best to let HR handle the worker’s comp. What was I supposed to do? Rushing over would only expose our relationship and give people room to gossip.” Yet, the year Maisie graduated, those strict professional boundaries suddenly vanished. He bypassed the entire recruitment process to bring her on as his personal assistant. At ten in the morning, I began handing over my files. The last project required a sign-off from Garrett’s team. I had expected Garrett to show up. But when the conference room door opened, a junior analyst I barely recognized walked in. My colleague blinked in surprise. “Where’s Garrett? This is the most critical launch of the quarter. I thought he’d want to oversee it personally.” The analyst offered a strained, polite smile as he laid out the contracts. “He took some personal time.” Knowing my relationship with Garrett, my colleague teased, “The workaholic actually took a day off? I heard he’s getting married soon—is he busy with wedding details?” The analyst shook his head. “No. Maisie wanted to go to Disney World. Garrett flew out with her to Orlando yesterday.” The silence in the room became heavy and suffocating. My colleague’s teasing expression froze, replaced by a look of profound, agonizing pity. I didn’t want to look at them. I kept my eyes glued to the contract, turning the pages. The paper was thin, yet it felt like a razor, cutting deep and clean. So Garrett did know how to take a day off. He did have free time. But last year, for my birthday, I had wanted to go to Disney. I spent weeks planning, marking the best spots to watch the fireworks, mapping out every detail. Garrett had barely glanced at my itinerary before scoffing. “How old are you, Naomi? Why are you still obsessed with a theme park for kids? It’s childish.” His way of celebrating my birthday was Venmoing me five hundred dollars. It was his default setting. Anniversaries, birthdays, Valentine’s Day, Christmas—always a flat five hundred dollars. I had once felt conflicted about it, even posting anonymously on a forum to ask if this was normal. The comments were overwhelmingly reassuring: He’s just an old-school guy. Practical. No drama. Some even joked about wishing they had a boyfriend who paid them to exist. At the time, I forced myself to laugh. Now, it wasn’t funny at all. Because Garrett wasn’t an “old-school” guy. Five hundred dollars was hush money to keep me quiet. For Maisie, there were pink diamond necklaces, hand-crafted itineraries to chase the Northern Lights, and late-night food deliveries flown across states if she craved them. He understood romance perfectly. It just didn’t apply to me. 2 By the time the last file was transferred, it was 7:00 PM. I went home and began packing. Mid-way through, I realized how little of this house belonged to me—or even to Garrett. Most of it belonged to Maisie. A pair of plush pink slippers by the entryway. A pink electric toothbrush on the bathroom vanity. Beside it, her signature rose-scented skincare and perfume. The guest bedroom was made up with pastel pink linens, her spare clothes hanging in the closet. There was even an entire room reserved exclusively for her. I had brought it up before. Every single time, Garrett’s face would darken with irritation. “Maisie is my assistant. She manages my schedule and my life. Having her stay over occasionally just makes the workflow easier. Don’t be petty, Naomi.” But she wasn’t managing his life. He was managing hers. I had never seen an executive follow his assistant around, cleaning up her messes and anticipating her every whim. The lock on the front door beeped. Garrett walked in, holding a glossy Disney store bag. Seeing my half-packed suitcase, he frowned. “What are you doing packing this late?” I kept my voice even as I folded a sweater. “Just cleaning out things I don’t need.” He gave a distracted “Oh” and didn’t press further. Unless it involved Maisie, he rarely bothered to pay attention. After a moment, he held out the bag. “You were complaining about wanting to go to Disney. I had a quick business trip in Orlando, so I picked this up for you.” I didn’t reach for it. I just looked at him. “A business trip? Or a vacation with Maisie?” A flicker of guilt crossed his eyes, quickly replaced by defensive anger. “Take it or leave it. You’re always searching for shadows where there are none. You know how demanding my schedule is right now. How could I possibly take a vacation during a major launch?” Yes. I knew. That was what made it hurt so much. Garrett was a legendary workaholic. For work, he had postponed our engagement photos three times. He had left me to choose the venue, coordinate the caterers, and taste the menu alone. On the day our parents were supposed to meet, he called at the last minute to say a board meeting had run over. Yet, during the most critical week of his career, he had managed to find a free day to take Maisie to Disney. Before I could speak, he brushed past me and went into the bathroom. Soon, the sound of running water filled the apartment. I sat on the bedroom floor for a long time. Finally, I opened my phone, switched to a burner account, and checked Garrett’s Instagram. There it was. A post visible to everyone but me. The kid had a great day today. The photo showed him and Maisie wearing matching Mickey ears, making silly faces at the camera. I had never seen Garrett look so unburdened, so boyishly happy. A comment below read: Didn’t know the boss had such a soft side! Maisie had replied: He’s only like this around the people who really know him. I quietly liked the post, shut my phone, and finished packing. As I zipped the suitcase, Garrett walked out of the bathroom, drying his hair. He was still radiating silent resentment. Without a word, he marched into the study and slammed the door shut. Over our five years together, Garrett had initiated countless silent treatments over Maisie. And every single time, I had been the one to beg for his forgiveness. But tonight, I felt absolutely nothing. Before going to bed, I hesitated, then opened the Disney bag. When I saw the toy inside, a dry laugh escaped my throat. 3 It was a cheap, poorly made plush toy. The stitching was frayed, the eyes were misaligned, and the fabric felt like cardboard. It didn’t look like any official Disney character; it looked like a knockoff purchased for five dollars from a street vendor outside the park gates. I stared at it, realizing what had happened. He had spent the day with Maisie, watched the fireworks, taken the photos, and only at the very end remembered he had a fiancée waiting at home. So he had grabbed the nearest piece of junk to appease me. I tossed it into the trash can, turned off the light, and went to sleep. The next morning, I took a personal day. I went to the wedding venue, the bridal boutique, and the hotel. I cancelled the bookings, paid the cancellation fees, and settled the balances. The staff looked at me with cautious sympathy, but I felt as detached as if I were cancelling a routine business meeting. As I stepped out of the hotel lobby, Garrett’s name flashed on my screen. “Where are you? We had a project check-in this morning.” I watched the traffic rush down the street. “I took the day off.” His voice sharpened. “You weren’t home when I left. Why are you off? This is a critical week for the account, Naomi. Get over to my office right now.” I didn’t want to deal with him, but with only three days left before my flight, I wanted to avoid any dramatic scenes that might jeopardize my departure. Thirty minutes later, I walked into his office. When the meeting wrapped, I stood up to leave with my colleagues, but Garrett called out, “Naomi, stay behind.” The others offered knowing looks and slipped out, closing the door. I had only been in this office twice before. The first time was early in our relationship. I had made him lunch from scratch, wanting to surprise him. Garrett had barely looked at the container before scolding me. “This is a place of business. Don’t come here unannounced.” I had never come back. But now, looking around his sleek, minimalist office, I saw touches of pink everywhere. A pink throw pillow on the leather couch. A half-finished soda and an open bag of chips on the credenza. A stack of brightly colored romance novels tucked beneath a multi-million-dollar acquisition file. Maisie’s presence was everywhere. Garrett didn’t seem to notice the irony. He stared at my hand, his brow furrowing. “Where is your engagement ring? Why aren’t you wearing it?” I didn’t answer. Instead, my eyes fell on his hand. On his middle finger sat a cheap, neon-colored plastic ring. I smiled faintly. “You aren’t wearing yours either.” Before he could respond, Maisie walked in without knocking, carrying a folder. Hearing my remark, she blushed playfully and gave a cute shrug. “Oh, Naomi! We went to a carnival last night and I won those in a ring-toss. It felt like a waste to throw them away, so I gave one to Garrett. You aren’t mad, are you?” Was I mad? I asked myself that. I had already made up my mind to leave. I had always known she was the one he truly cared about. But in that moment, I still felt a cold, sharp prick of anger. Garrett was notoriously fastidious. His suits had to be perfectly tailored, his coffee brewed to an exact temperature, his tie clips aligned to the millimeter. For the wedding, he had insisted on a custom, hand-tailored tuxedo. The fittings had taken months, and when the tailor finally lost patience, I had stood outside his studio in the freezing rain for three hours just to convince him to finish the job. I wanted Garrett to have everything perfect. Yet here he was, wearing a cheap plastic carnival ring that was already peeling at the edges, looking entirely content. I looked away from his hand and met Maisie’s eyes. “I’m not mad. Garrett should wear whatever he likes.” I turned and walked out. As the elevator doors began to slide shut, a hand blocked them. Garrett stepped inside, his expression tight with frustration. “She was just trying to be sweet,” he said defensively. “I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.” I nodded, a polite smile fixed on my face. “I understand.” My composure seemed to unnerve him. He stared at me, then cleared his throat. “Weren’t you wanting to try that new French bistro downtown? Let’s go tomorrow night. Just the two of us.” That bistro had opened two years ago. The desire to go had long since died, but since I was leaving the day after tomorrow, it felt like the right time to say goodbye. “Okay,” I said. The next evening, we sat at a corner table. But before I could even open my menu, Garrett’s phone buzzed. He stood up without a word and walked out to the lobby. Five minutes later, he returned. Behind him, her eyes red and tear-stained, was Maisie. 4 Garrett pulled out a chair for her, explaining casually, “She’s had a rough day. I figured some good food would cheer her up.” My hand froze on the leather-bound menu. It was a romantic, intimate restaurant. Every table was strictly set for two. Garrett, ignoring the obvious, gestured to a passing waiter. “Can we get another chair here?” The waiter looked at the three of us, his expression strained. “I’m sorry, sir. Our seating is strictly configured for couples. We don’t have extra chairs.” Garrett frowned, his gaze shifting between Maisie and me. The decision took him less than a second. “Tell you what,” he said to me. “Maisie’s really not in a good place. Let me take her to a table nearby. Eat slowly, and once I get her settled and sent home in a cab, I’ll come back and finish dinner with you.” Without waiting for my reply, he took Maisie by the elbow and led her to an empty table across the room. I sat alone in the crowded restaurant. Every time a server walked past, they offered me a look of deep, agonizing pity. The food arrived, tasting like ash. I finished quickly, paid my half of the bill, and stood up to leave. Garrett saw me and rushed over. “Why did you eat so fast?” Maisie followed him, her voice small and trembling. “Naomi, are you mad at me? I’m so sorry for ruining your night… I didn’t mean to. If you’re upset, I’ll leave right now.” Garrett grabbed her wrist to stop her. “Don’t go. I’m the one who told you to stay.” He glared at me, his patience entirely depleted. “Naomi, I am incredibly busy, yet I still made time to take you out. What more do you want from me?” “Besides, we’re getting married in two weeks. You know how much I hate drama.” A cold smile touched my lips. I opened my mouth to tell him the wedding was off, but before the words could form, the restaurant’s fire alarms shrieked to life. Within seconds, panic erupted. The waitstaff shouted for everyone to head to the exits, but the crowd immediately bottlenecked into a frantic, shoving mass. Someone jostled me hard, sending me crashing to the floor. My palms scraped against the hardwood, burning with pain. “Garrett!” I screamed, looking up through the chaos. But he didn’t turn back. Instead, I watched his retreating back as he shielded Maisie with his body, steering her swiftly through the crowd toward the exit. He kept her tucked securely against him, ensuring she wasn’t even touched by the panic. I was left on the floor, trampled by boots and heels as the crowd surged over me. Ten minutes later, the alarm was declared a false trigger. Garrett came back inside, but I was already gone. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Garrett: Where did you go? Maisie is really shaken up. I’m going to take her home. Go back to the apartment and get some rest. This time, I didn’t reply. At 3:00 AM, I boarded a cab to the airport. At 5:20 AM, the first flight to Europe began boarding. Before the plane took off, I sent him one last text. It’s over. The wedding is cancelled. I blocked his number and deleted him from every platform. As the plane climbed into the morning sky, the lights of Boston faded into the mist below. Five years of foolishness, left behind in the clouds. Ten hours later, the plane touched down in Germany. I dragged my suitcase through the arrivals terminal, the cool European air striking my face with a sharp, unfamiliar chill. Standing in the middle of the crowd, a sudden wave of emotion hit me, warming my eyes. When I finally turned on my phone, a deluge of notifications flooded the screen. I ignored them all, except for a message from Dave. He had sent a video file, followed by a voice memo: “Naomi, you’ve really put me in a tight spot this time. This video is currently going viral across the entire company.”

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On my daughter’s very first day of preschool, I received three friend requests on social media. All of them were from the same person. As soon as I accepted the request, she sent me a short video of my daughter, Abby, sitting quietly in the classroom during circle time. Immediately after, another message popped up. “Abby’s mom, is your daughter a Down syndrome kid?” Pressing down the sudden knot of discomfort in my chest, I typed back a calm, measured reply: “My daughter is perfectly healthy. She does not have Down syndrome.” I thought a clear explanation would put an end to it, but my phone kept buzzing with incoming notifications. Deciding I didn’t have the energy for this, I flipped the switch to silent. A second later, the screen lit up with an incoming call from an unknown number. “Abby’s mom, look, I get it,” a woman’s voice said the moment I answered. She sounded rushed, condescending, and entirely devoid of empathy. “Denial is a stage. But we have to face reality here, don’t we? Your daughter just sits there like a statue. She doesn’t talk. If she’s not a Downie, what else could she be?” “Excuse me—” “Preschool is a social environment,” she interrupted, her voice rising. “A kid in her condition needs to be transferred immediately. Otherwise, my son has to sit next to her every day, and honestly, I’m worried she’s going to hold him back. I don’t want him getting dumber just by association.” … Any trace of sleepiness I had left vanished, replaced by a cold, burning disbelief. I had seen people on the internet diagnose strangers’ children with all kinds of conditions based on a single photo, but I never expected that kind of reckless cruelty to knock on my own door. But because this woman was the parent of one of Abby’s classmates, and our paths were bound to cross again, I swallowed my anger and forced myself to speak politely. “Chelsea, let me make this incredibly clear to you. My daughter is healthy. She does not have Down syndrome.” “I don’t care whether you want to admit it or not!” Chelsea snapped, her impatience boiling over. “The proof is right there in the video. You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to the rest of us.” “She doesn’t—” “You can’t just hide your kid’s illness just so she can get into an elite academy. You’re putting every other child in that classroom at risk. It’s incredibly selfish!” “Children with Down syndrome have distinct physical features,” I said, trying to inject some actual medical facts into her hysteria. “My Abby—” “I don’t have time for a science lesson!” Chelsea sneered. “Here is your ultimatum: you have three days to pull your daughter out of this school. If she’s still there by Friday, I’m going straight to the director. I’ll make sure every single parent in the district knows your kid is defective. By then, you won’t have a choice but to leave.” The last thread of my patience snapped. “Listen to me,” I said, my voice dropping an octave. “My daughter’s enrollment is fully compliant with every standard of this school. She is not transferring. And if you refer to my daughter that way again, I will not be this nice about it.” I hung up and immediately blocked her number. I lay back down in bed, but my heart was hammering against my ribs, making sleep impossible. This academy—the most prestigious, exclusive preschool in the city—was actually founded and owned by my husband, Dan. People with immense wealth and influence spent years on the waiting list just to get their children through the front gates. With a single phone call to Dan, I could have Chelsea’s son expelled before lunch. She wouldn’t even be given the chance to argue. But as I stared at the ceiling, the anger slowly began to cool into a familiar, quiet ache. The sins of the parents shouldn’t be visited upon the children. Her son was innocent in this. I decided to hold my breath, letting the matter rest for the moment, hoping she would simply drop it. The next morning, I gently smoothed back Abby’s hair, looking into her bright, trusting eyes. “Abby, sweetie, if anyone at school says mean things to you, or if anyone makes you feel scared or sad, I want you to call Mommy right away. Okay? No matter what time it is.” Abby nodded, her lips curving into a sweet, gap-toothed smile. “I know, Mommy! I promise!” After watching her walk through the double glass doors of the school, I stood by the gates for a long time, unable to shake the heavy, cold stone settling in my gut. I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to her primary teacher, asking her to keep an extra eye on Abby today. An hour passed. Then two. Three. No reply. I tried to soothe my rising anxiety. She’s a new teacher, I told myself. She has thirty children to manage. She doesn’t have time to look at her phone. But when lunchtime arrived, the class group chat began to light up. The teacher was posting photos and short videos of the children eating lunch, laughing, and showing off their bento boxes. I scrolled through the media stream. One photo. Ten photos. Twenty. I went through them again, slower this time. Abby wasn’t in a single one of them. My stomach plummeted. I opened the group chat and typed out a message: “Mrs. Jenkins, how is Abby doing today? I didn’t see her in any of the lunch photos.” Not even thirty seconds later, Mrs. Jenkins replied directly in the group chat for all the parents to see. “Abby’s mom, there are thirty-two children in this class. I cannot spend my entire day taking photos of your daughter. Please stop being so high-maintenance.” Before I could even process the humiliation of the public rebuke, she fired off another message. “Once you drop your child off, you need to let go. If parents are going to text us constantly, we won’t have time to actually teach.” The irritation in her digital tone was unmistakable. Within minutes, the other parents in the chat began to pile on. “Exactly. Teachers are busy enough as it is. They aren’t private nannies.” “Maybe you should ask yourself why all the other kids are sitting nicely at the table while your daughter isn’t in the photos. She’s probably running around refusing to listen.” The mockery felt like physical blows. My fingers shook so hard I could barely hold the screen. Ignoring the chat, I dialed Mrs. Jenkins’ number directly. It rang twice before she cut the call. I opened our private chat to send her a message, but when I pressed send, a red exclamation mark appeared next to my text. She had blocked me. Chelsea’s vicious words from the night before echoed in my mind, sending a wave of pure, instinctual panic through my veins. I didn’t think. I grabbed my car keys, ran out the door, and drove toward the school. The fifteen-minute drive felt like a slow-motion descent into a nightmare. My mind was flooded with images of Abby—small, quiet, and utterly defenseless. When I finally burst through the front doors of the school, the first person I saw was Mrs. Jenkins. The moment she saw me, her eyes rolled back so hard I thought they might stick. “Oh, Abby’s mom. Thank God you’re here.” “Where is my daughter?” I demanded, my voice tight. “Your daughter has been a complete nightmare today,” Mrs. Jenkins said, crossing her arms. “She refuses to follow instructions, she runs off, and she completely disregards classroom rules. Just now, while the other children were napping, she snuck out of the room. We’ve been looking everywhere for her.” She let out a dramatic sigh. “Since you’re here, you might as well take her home. This academy simply isn’t equipped to handle difficult children.” I didn’t believe a single word coming out of her mouth. Abby was a gentle, deeply observant child. She never ran off. She never disobeyed. “If I do not see my daughter in the next three minutes,” I said, my voice deadly quiet, “you will find out exactly what the consequences are.” A couple of other teachers from the neighboring classrooms wandered over, hearing the tension. They looked at me with open disdain. “Oh, you’re the helicopter mom who threw a tantrum in the group chat over a photo, aren’t you?” one of them sneered. “Like mother, like daughter,” the other chimed in. “No wonder the girl is so undisciplined. It’s clearly genetic.” “We really don’t think this school is the right fit for your family,” the first one continued. “Find your kid and take her home. You’re disrupting the educational environment for the normal children.” The sheer, distorted arrogance of these women made my blood boil. “Blocking a parent, ignoring safety inquiries, and publicly humiliating a child—is this the standard of professionalism you pride yourselves on?” I spat. “You do not have the authority to expel my daughter. And if anything has happened to her, I will dismantle your careers piece by piece.” I didn’t waste another second. I pushed past them, running down the hallway toward the classrooms. I threw open doors, my voice growing hoarse as I called out her name, but every room was empty, quiet during naptime. And then, I heard it. A tiny, muffled sob coming from the girls’ restroom at the very end of the hall. Abby. My chest tightened so hard I couldn’t breathe. I broke into a sprint, threw open the heavy restroom door, and the sight before me made the blood in my veins turn to ice. Abby was curled into a tight ball in the corner of the tiled floor, her small frame shaking violently. Chelsea was standing over her, hands planted firmly on her hips. Beside her, several young children—including Chelsea’s son, Mason—were taking turns shoving Abby’s shoulders. “Freak! Retard!” the children chanted, encouraged by Chelsea’s presence. “Don’t touch her! You’ll catch the dumbness! It’s contagious!” “Special needs kids belong in a hospital, not our school!” When Chelsea saw me stand in the doorway, she didn’t flinch. Instead, she lifted her chin, her face twisting into a triumphant, ugly smirk. “Abby’s mom. Excellent timing. I wanted you to see firsthand just how unwelcome your daughter is here.” A primal rage took over. I rushed forward and shoved Chelsea back with all my strength. “How dare you?” I screamed, my voice shaking with fury. “How dare you spread lies about my child and teach these kids to abuse her? I will destroy you for this!” Chelsea let out a sharp, mocking laugh, entirely unfazed. “Today is a lesson she needs to learn,” she said coldly. “If you try to occupy spaces where you don’t belong, this is what happens.” She looked down at her son. “Mason, sweetie, why don’t you show her what happens to liars? Help her understand.” Before I could reach her, Mason lunged forward and threw his weight onto Abby, pinning her to the dirty floor. Abby gasped, her tiny face flushing a deep, painful red under his weight. Yet, when she looked up and saw me, her first instinct wasn’t to cry for herself. “Mommy… I’m sorry,” she whimpered, her voice cracking. “I made you worry.” My heart shattered into a thousand jagged pieces. I lunged to pull Mason off her, but Mrs. Jenkins and two other teachers who had followed me into the restroom grabbed my arms from behind, pinning me back with terrifying force. Chelsea reached down, grabbed Abby by the collar of her shirt, and hauled her up to her feet. “Look at me,” Chelsea ordered, her voice drop-cold. “Say it. Say, ‘I am a Downie. I don’t belong here.’” “Say it, and maybe we’ll let you stay. If you don’t, I’ll have the director kick you out today.” “Let her go!” I screamed, thrashing against the teachers holding me. Their grip was like iron, their faces completely blank, indifferent to the suffering of a four-year-old. Chelsea smiled at my desperation. She reached out and pinched Abby’s cheek, hard, twisting the skin. “Say it! Say it or I’ll tear your little mouth apart!” Abby’s eyes overflowed with tears, but she shook her head, her voice small but fierce. “My mommy says… my mommy says I’m smart. I’m not a freak… I’m not…” Slap. The sound of Chelsea’s palm hitting Abby’s delicate cheek echoed off the bathroom tiles. My vision went red. The pain in my chest was so physical, so violent, it felt like my ribs were snapping. “You touched my daughter!” I shrieked. “I will kill you! I swear to God I will kill you!” Mrs. Jenkins gave me a violent shove backward. My heels slipped on the wet tile, and I crashed heavily onto the floor, my knees taking the brunt of the impact. A sharp, blinding pain shot up my legs, but I couldn’t care about myself. I could only see Abby, sobbing on the floor. Chelsea waved the other children over. “Go on, kids. Help me teach this stubborn little liar a lesson. She’s sick, and she’s going to make you all sick if she stays.” Encouraged by their parents and teachers, the children swarmed Abby, pushing her down every time she tried to stand. She fell, scraped her elbows, climbed back up, and fell again. Through it all, she didn’t scream. She only whispered, over and over: “I’m healthy… I’m not sick…” Chelsea’s patience evaporated. Her face contorted into something demonic. “You really need to be broken, don’t you?” She lunged forward, grabbing Abby by her pigtails, pulling her head back sharply. Abby let out a piercing, agonized shriek. “It hurts! Mommy, help me! It hurts!” I dragged myself forward on my knees, begging. “Stop! Please, stop! Do whatever you want to me, just don’t hurt my baby! Please!” Chelsea ignored me. She used her fingers to pry Abby’s jaw open. “Say it! Say you’re a retard!” Mrs. Jenkins stood by the door, watching the torture with a faint, satisfied smile. “People like you—trash with no money and no status—don’t belong in a place like this anyway,” she said, her voice dripping with disgust. I looked up at her, unable to comprehend the sheer depravity of an educator standing by during a child’s assault. “This… this is why you’re doing this? Because of a tuition slot?” Mrs. Jenkins chuckled. “Your daughter is taking up a seat that belongs to someone who actually matters. She brought this on herself.” Chelsea squeezed Abby’s jaw harder, the child’s face twitching with pain. “Say it! Say you’re defective!” My mind started to slip into darkness. I was suffocating. This was the baby I had cradled, the child I had never once raised a hand against, being systematically brutalized in a school her father owned. “Stop it! This is child abuse! It’s a felony!” I screamed, pulling out my phone. “I’ve already called the police!” Chelsea threw her head back and laughed. “The police? Go ahead and call them. Let’s see who dares to touch me.” Mrs. Jenkins joined in on the laughter. “Do you think the police will help you? Chelsea’s cousin is a Palmer. And the Chief of Police in this city is Rod Palmer!” The name hit me like a physical blow. Because my maiden name was Palmer. And my father… was Chief Rod Palmer. Chelsea looked at my stunned silence and took it for terror. “Terrified now, aren’t you? Let me tell you a little secret—the Chief of Police is my father!” My brain went entirely blank. My father had only one daughter. Me. How could he have another? Before I could process the sickening implication, the distant, wailing scream of police sirens pierced through the quiet afternoon air, growing louder and louder until they stopped right outside. A moment later, the heavy restroom door was pushed open, and a tall, imposing figure in a decorated police uniform stepped inside. My father. Rod Palmer. When his eyes fell on me, he froze. The shock lasted only a fraction of a second before his face hardened into a cold, unfamiliar mask. Chelsea let go of Abby’s hair and practically flew across the room, wrapping her arms tightly around my father’s arm. “Dad! You’re finally here! This crazy woman and her freak kid are bullying Mason! You have to protect us!” My father looked at me, his voice flat, devoid of any warmth. “Stop making a scene, Natalie. Take your child and go home. Stop embarrassing me in public.” My blood ran cold. I couldn’t believe my ears. This was the man who had held me when I was sick, the man who had promised to protect me. He hadn’t even glanced at Abby, who was bleeding from her lip, covered in dirt and bruises. “This school isn’t the right fit for Abby anyway,” my father continued, his tone clinical and commanding. “Transfer her tomorrow. And don’t come back here.” I stumbled backward, a horrifying truth beginning to assemble itself in my mind. Years ago, when my parents divorced, he had insisted my mother had cheated on him, claiming she was a liar who didn’t deserve custody. He had made me hate her. But it had all been a lie. He was the one who had cheated. He had built an entire second family in the shadows. Chelsea was his secret child. Chelsea saw the color drain from my face. She leaned in close, whispering in my ear so only I could hear: “In this world, the one who isn’t loved is the real intruder. Your mother was the whore. Now get the hell out of our lives.” I looked at Abby, who was trembling so hard her teeth were chattering. For my daughter, I could swallow any amount of pride. I could crawl through glass. I bit my lip until I tasted copper, forcing back the tears. “Fine,” I whispered, looking at my father. “I’ll take Abby and we will leave. We will never show our faces to you again. Just let us go.” I thought surrender would buy our safety. But Chelsea’s grin only widened. “You think you can just walk away? It doesn’t work that way, sweetie. Not after the fuss you made.” “Today, your daughter is going to admit she is defective.” I glared at her, my eyes wild. “Don’t push me, Chelsea.” “Oh, please. You’re only defending her because she has a pretty face,” Chelsea said, snapping her fingers toward the hallway. “Bring them in!” Two men dressed in white lab coats, carrying professional medical cases, stepped into the restroom. “These are my private cosmetic surgeons,” Chelsea purred, her eyes dancing with malice. “Since you won’t admit she’s a Downie, we’ll just have to make her look like one.” The surgeons began to open their cases, pulling out surgical instruments. Abby screamed, reaching her dirt-stained hands toward me. “Mommy! Mommy, I’m scared! Don’t let them cut me!” I went completely feral. I threw myself forward, but my father’s personal security detail stepped in, pinning me back down onto the cold tiles. Despair, thick and suffocating, swallowed me whole. I looked up at my father, screaming until my throat bled. “She is your granddaughter! Your own flesh and blood! How can you stand there and let them mutilate her?!” My father turned his head away, staring at the wall, silent. Just as the cold steel of the scalpel hovered inches away from Abby’s terrified face, the heavy restroom door was violently kicked off its hinges, crashing onto the floor with a deafening bang. Two powerful figures stood in the doorway, framed by the bright light of the corridor. “Who dares touch my family!” I looked up, and the tears finally broke.

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At the annual charity gala, right during the awards ceremony, the host suddenly walked onto the stage leading ten children by the hand. “We have a very special award recipient tonight,” the host announced, her voice carrying clearly through the hushed hall. “A young man who tragically passed away in an accident. But before he closed his eyes, he chose to donate every single one of his organs. It is because of his final gift that these beautiful children are standing beside me tonight.” In the very front row, Viola, the eldest daughter of the Harrington family, scoffed behind her flawlessly applied makeup. “I wonder who was stupid enough to throw away their life just to buy some cheap posthumous fame.” Beside her, our mother, Emily, looked on with a face full of delicate, theatrical pity. “To be torn apart like that… how can his soul ever find rest? His parents must have been absolutely heartless to allow it.” Our father, Chris, patted her hand gently in consolation. He turned to his executive assistant and muttered in a low, ruthless voice, “Find out which family this kid belonged to. Cancel any contracts we have with them immediately. We don’t do business with people who put on these kinds of vulgar public displays.” But the host’s voice rang out again, cutting through the murmurs. “Now, please join me in welcoming the parents of this incredibly generous young man to the stage.” “Mr. Chris Harrington, and his wife, Emily.” … The entire ballroom fell into a suffocating silence. Every eye in the room turned, wide and disbelieving, toward the front row. The host, still wearing her bright, rehearsed smile, urged them forward. “Mr. and Mrs. Harrington, please come up to receive the award. Your boundless love and sacrifice deserve this honor.” As her words settled, the crowd broke into a flurry of hurried whispers. “The Harringtons? I had no idea they possessed that kind of grace.” “Doesn’t Emily practically live at her church? She’s always talking about keeping the body whole for the afterlife. How did she ever bring herself to let her own son’s body be harvested?” The words drifted over, sharp as needles, piercing Emily’s ears. The soft, patronizing pity on her face fractured, piece by piece. Her skin went an ashen grey, and she swayed as if she might faint on the spot. Clutching Chris’s arm with white-knuckled desperation, her voice trembled. “What… what are they talking about?” “My children are alive and well. Why are they cursing my boys?” Viola’s expression hardened. Her eyes swept over the stage like ice, her voice cutting through the ambient noise. “What kind of sick joke is this? No one in the Harrington family has passed away!” Chris stood, his imposing frame radiating a cold, dangerous authority. “I suggest you think very carefully before you speak another word on that stage.” The host took a step back, visibly shaken by the sheer weight of their hostility. With trembling hands, she pulled up the digital records on her tablet, checking the files three, four times. Beads of cold sweat broke out along her hairline. Finally, her voice wavered, barely audible. “Mr. Harrington… Mrs. Harrington… according to the official medical and state records, the donor is indeed… your son.” “Shut your mouth!” Emily shrieked, her eyes instantly brimming with hot, angry tears. “Austin is in Europe! He’s on his graduation trip. He literally sent me photos of his hotel just a few days ago. How dare you—” Viola placed a firm, grounding hand on her mother’s shoulder. “Mom, breathe. Don’t panic.” She turned her fierce, dark gaze back to the host. “I am giving you one last chance to tell the truth.” But Emily, her voice cracking with hysteria, interrupted her. “Viola, call your brother. Call him right now. What if… what if something actually happened?” Viola quickly pulled out her phone and dialed a FaceTime call. Ring. Ring. Ring. One. Two. Three. The hollow tones echoed in the tense space. No one picked up. Beside them, the air seemed to grow heavier, pressing down on their chests. Emily stared at the screen, her lips trembling so violently she couldn’t form words. Even Chris couldn’t remain still; he leaned forward, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. Then, the screen suddenly flashed. A return call. Viola swiped to answer almost before it could ring. “Austin!” The screen lit up, revealing a young man squinting into the camera, his hair a messy, sleep-muddled crown. He rubbed his eyes, clearly just awakened from a deep sleep, and mumbled grumpily, “Viola? Why are you calling me in the middle of the night? Did you seriously forget the time difference?” Emily snatched the phone from Viola’s hand, her voice frantic. “Austin! Sweetheart, are you okay? Are you safe?” “Mom?” Austin blinked, startled, then let out a soft, charming laugh. “I’m having the time of my life here. What could possibly be wrong? I told you guys to stop worrying. I’m a grown man!” Emily’s tears finally spilled over, a chaotic mixture of relief and residual terror. She laughed through her tears, clutching the phone like a lifeline. Chris let out a long, heavy breath, sinking back into the leather of his chair. Viola took the phone back, murmured a few affectionate reminders to her brother, and hung up. Then she turned her gaze back to the stage, her expression completely devoid of warmth. “Are you satisfied now? My brother is perfectly fine.” “The Harringtons will expect a formal, public apology for this disgusting display.” The atmosphere in the ballroom was thick with impending legal threats. Just as the host stood frozen, helpless, one of the older boys on stage—a child of about ten—timidly raised his small hand. “It wasn’t that brother,” he said, his voice small but clear in the quiet room. Every face in the audience turned toward him. The boy bit his lower lip, looking directly at the front row. “My dad showed me a picture of the brother who saved me. His name was Ian.” A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. “Ian? Why does that name sound familiar?” “Wait, isn’t that the boy the Harringtons took in a year ago? The adopted one?” “I heard a rumor… they said Ian and Austin were switched at birth. Ian was the real biological son.” “Are you kidding? If he was their actual blood, why on earth would they treat him like an adopted foster kid?” I drifted quietly right behind them, a formless shadow in the bright, expensive lights of the ballroom. A bitter, phantom smile touched my lips. They weren’t wrong. I was the biological son. Eighteen years ago, Austin’s biological parents had deliberately switched our hospital bassinets, desperate to ensure their own flesh and blood would grow up wrapped in the soft, gilded luxury of the Harrington name. And so, Austin became the golden prince, pampered, adored, and shielded from the harsh realities of the world. While I was sent to live an eighteen-year nightmare. My foster parents were chronic gamblers. Every time they lost at the tables, they came home smelling of cheap whiskey and took their rage out on me. Leather belts, lit cigarettes—whatever was within arm’s reach. My back became a landscape of silver scars, new lacerations constantly blooming over old, tough leather. They didn’t care if I breathed or starved. I learned to survive by digging through the trash cans behind high-end diners, eating the cold scraps of lives I could only dream of. As I grew older, my foster mother’s eyes began to linger on me with a heavy, predatory sickness. It culminated in a suffocating night when she cornered me in my cramped bedroom. Terrified, I grabbed a pair of rusted scissors to defend myself, scratching her arm. They used that scratch to brand me a monster. They claimed I had tried to assault her. They beat me until my ribs splintered, until I was barely drawing breath. It was only because a neighbor heard the sickening thuds and called the police that I survived at all. The subsequent investigation and DNA test finally dragged my true identity into the light. I was returned to the Harringtons. I foolishly believed my long winter was finally over. But the day I arrived, Austin fell to his knees, weeping, declaring that since the rightful heir had returned, he would pack his bags and vanish. My biological parents and Viola rushed to pull him into their arms, whispering sweet reassurances. Then, they looked at me. Their eyes were cold, filled with a subtle, simmering resentment. They said Austin was an innocent victim too. He was just a baby when the switch happened; he shouldn’t have to pay for his parents’ sins. To “protect” Austin from the trauma of being returned to his biological parents, the Harringtons quietly declined to press criminal charges against the abusive couple. Instead, they handed them a massive, multi-million-dollar settlement to legally sever their parental rights forever. And Austin remained in the Harrington mansion, his status untouched. During all those boardroom discussions and quiet family huddles, not a single person asked me how I had survived those eighteen years. I will never forget the cold indifference in my mother’s eyes when she sat me down. “We have raised Austin as our own son for eighteen years,” she had said, her voice smooth and unbothered. “Announcing your true identity to the public would be too damaging to him. It would ruin his life. So, we’ve decided to introduce you to our social circle as an orphan we’ve graciously adopted.” Now, hearing my name spoken aloud in this crowded room, the Harringtons looked utterly blank. Then, a wave of disgust washed over their features. “How could it possibly be him?” Viola sneered, her voice dripping with venom. “He’s the kind of selfish parasite who would abandon his own mother to save himself. He’d never have the guts to die.” I was already dead. But my hollow, weightless soul still felt a sharp, phantom pang in my chest. My mother remained silent for a long moment, her eyes rimming with red before she finally spoke, her voice hard as granite. “I do not have a son named Ian. My only son is Austin.” The crowd erupted into hushed, scandalous whispers. Seeing the confusion and judgment in the room, Viola stood up, a cold, mocking smile on her lips, ready to lay bare my “crimes” to protect their family name. “I see some of you are confused,” Viola said, her voice carrying beautifully across the silent room. “Let me tell you who Ian Harrington really was. A year ago, on Austin’s birthday, Ian threw a childish tantrum. He demanded that our mother cancel all her engagements to take him skiing in Aspen.” “My mother, always wanting to keep the peace, agreed. They went up the mountain. And then, an avalanche hit.” She paused, her eyes darkening with a poisonous hatred. “My mother’s leg was crushed under the snow. She couldn’t move. And Ian?” She let out a harsh, dry laugh. “He didn’t even look back. He ran away, leaving his own mother to freeze to death in the dark.” “If Austin hadn’t rushed up the mountain with a private rescue team he put together himself, my mother wouldn’t be standing here today.” Viola’s voice grew colder, sharper. “In our home, he constantly targeted and harassed Austin, and we tolerated it out of pity. But when a person is so rancid that they would abandon their own mother to save their own skin, and then vanish without a trace to escape the shame—that person is no brother of mine.” The host, swallowing hard, broke the stunned silence. “So… you haven’t seen or heard from Ian since that day?” The Harringtons hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then, Viola scoffed. “He obviously knew he could never show his face in civilized society again. He’s hiding in some miserable corner of the world, running from his guilt.” She added, with raw disgust, “That’s who he is. A coward who runs.” My mother and father didn’t say a word, but the cold finality in their expressions showed they agreed with every word. But the host didn’t back down. “But… have you ever considered that perhaps he wasn’t hiding? What if he died on that mountain?” The silence in the ballroom became absolute, heavy as a tomb. “What if he didn’t run away to save himself?” the host continued, her voice soft but steady. “What if he knew your mother was completely immobilized, and that staying with her meant they would both freeze before help arrived?” “What if he went out into that freezing blizzard, entirely alone, specifically to find help? And what if he met with an accident on the way?” “Miss Harrington, did you or your family ever actually launch an investigation after the incident?” “Shut up! How dare you!” Viola slammed her hand onto the table, her face contorted with rage. Beside her, my mother turned a terrifying shade of white, her chest heaving as she struggled for air, looking as if she might slip into cardiac arrest. Chris quickly wrapped his arm around her, his face dark with fury as he shot a warning, lethal glare at the host. Floating above them, I could only manage a sad, hollow laugh. Even a complete stranger could look at the pieces of that day and put them together. Yet my own flesh and blood refused to see. They preferred to believe I was the monster. They had completely forgotten that the day of the avalanche wasn’t just Austin’s birthday. It was mine, too. It was the only time in my life I had ever gathered the courage to ask them for something, just a single day of their presence. I wanted to feel, just once, what it was like to have a family. When the white wall of snow crashed down on us, burying my mother, I didn’t run. I dug. I clawed at the packed, freezing ice with my bare hands until my fingers lost all feeling, until my fingernails ripped away and my blood stained the white snow. I dragged her out. But she was already unconscious, fading fast. I was eighteen, starving, and weak. I couldn’t carry her down the mountain alone. So I took off my heavy winter coat, my insulated gloves, and wrapped them tightly around her frozen body. Left in nothing but a thin, threadbare sweater, I plunged into the howling wind and blinding snow. I walked for hours. I fell more times than I could count, dragging my frozen limbs through the drifts until, finally, on the verge of total collapse, I stumbled onto a highway and flagged down a state rescue vehicle. I gave them her exact coordinates. They put me in the back of a heated rescue cabin and told me to wait. I sat there, shivering, my heart filled with the quiet hope that I had finally saved my mother. But less than ten minutes later, a massive semi-truck lost control on the black ice. It plowed directly into the parked rescue vehicle. By the time the ambulance got me to the hospital, my brain was dead. In my final moments of life, before they turned off the machines, I used the last of my agency to sign the organ donor forms. I couldn’t keep my life, but I wanted someone else to have the chance to see the spring I would never get to experience. In the ballroom, the guests were exchanging uneasy, suspicious looks. If the host’s theory was true, the Harringtons had committed an unspeakable, tragic cruelty against their own son. Just as Chris and Emily’s certainty began to flicker with a terrifying doubt, Viola let out a sharp, mocking laugh. She stood up, her posture rigid and arrogant, looking down at the stage. “I don’t know what competitor or enemy paid you to pull this pathetic stunt tonight.” “But let me make one thing clear: I have absolute proof that Ian is alive.” Chris and Emily looked up at her, their eyes wide with shock. Viola took a deep breath, turning to her parents, her voice dropping to a softer, reassuring tone. “Mom, Dad… I’m sorry. I kept something from you because I didn’t want to hurt you anymore.” “Shortly after Ian vanished, I received a letter from him.” “In that letter, he admitted he didn’t regret running away to save his own skin. But he knew the family would never forgive him, so he had no intention of ever returning.” Viola’s voice became cold and flat. “He said that since he was still technically a Harrington heir, he wanted a twenty-million-dollar buyout. He promised that once the money was wired to his account, he would sign the official papers to sever all ties and never cross our paths again.” She lowered her eyes. “I wired the money, and I kept the letter a secret. I just wanted to spare you both the pain of knowing how rotten he truly was.” Emily’s eyes instantly filled with tears of betrayal and rage. Chris’s face contorted with a quiet, dangerous fury. He clenched his fists, his voice shaking as the words forced their way through his teeth. “Unbridled, parasitic trash. We should have left him in the gutter where we found him!” Hearing Viola’s explanation, the whispers in the ballroom shifted back. The pity evaporated, replaced by disgust. “What a sociopathic leech!” “The Harringtons pulled him out of poverty, and he extorts them for twenty million?” “Some people are just born rotten.” The hateful words rained down on my memory like hot ash. But before the slander could settle, the little boy on stage spoke up again, his voice trembling with a fierce, stubborn courage. “You’re lying! Stop saying bad things about Ian!” With tears streaming down his face, he pointed directly to his own bright, clear eyes. “My dad told me! My corneas came from Ian. I can see this room, I can see the lights, because of him!” Then, the other children on stage began to step forward, their voices overlapping in a chorus of defensive pride. “He gave me my kidney!” “I have his liver.” “Ian’s heart is beating inside me right now,” a younger boy said, placing his small palm firmly over his chest. His voice was small, but it carried the weight of absolute truth. “The doctor told me that this heart used to belong to a very, very kind boy who wanted me to live. He wasn’t a monster. He couldn’t be!” I watched them from above, my weightless spirit bathed in a strange, sudden warmth. Because of me, these children were running, laughing, and breathing. They were looking at a world they might have never seen. A soft, glowing peace bloomed in my empty chest. The guests in the ballroom were completely torn now. The children’s desperate testimonies had shattered the narrative. The truth had become a tangled, terrifying labyrinth. Emily gripped her husband’s sleeve, her lips bloodless and shaking. Viola felt a sudden, icy panic clawing at her throat. A suffocating weight pressed down on her chest, a premonition she desperately tried to shake off. She forced herself to maintain her composure, her face hardening into a confident, dismissive smirk. “Fine,” Viola challenged, her voice echoing through the silent hall. “If you are all so certain that Ian is dead… where is his body?” She looked around the room, absolute triumph in her eyes. “He only donated his organs. A body doesn’t just vanish into thin air. Where is it?” The children on stage looked at one another, their faces falling into confusion. They didn’t have an answer. Viola’s smirk widened. “I thought so. There is no body. You’ve all been paid to lie to us!” The silence in the room stretched, tight as a piano wire. At that exact moment, a sharp ping echoed from the host’s phone. She looked down at the screen, and her eyes went wide, her pupils shrinking in absolute horror. Slowly, she raised her head, her hand trembling so violently she nearly dropped the device. “Wait,” the host whispered, her voice cracking. “I… I know where Ian’s body is.”

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After my husband beat me to death, I woke up back when I was twenty. Troy was riding his motorcycle, and we were on our way to a motel. Instinctively, my body recoiled. I slid back as far as the seat would allow, my fingers clawing into the cold metal grab-bar at the back. The boy turned his head slightly over his shoulder, the wind whipping his hair. “Hold on tight. Don’t be scared, Erin. I’ll take care of you.” In my first life, those words had been my undoing. I let them lull me. I let him take me to bed, got pregnant, had an abortion, dropped out of college, and eventually rushed into a marriage that became my coffin. It was only much later that I learned the truth: “Get Erin pregnant” was nothing more than a dare. A sick bet he’d made with my roommate, Fiona, during a game of Truth or Dare. …… The wind rushed down my collar, biting and cold. I looked down at my white floral sundress—the one my mother had scrimped and saved to buy me for my twentieth birthday. The vinyl of the motorcycle seat was stiff beneath me. In front of me, Troy’s shirt clung to his back in the wind, outlining the lean, muscular build unique to boys his age. In my past life, I was utterly blinded by him. Troy was the school’s resident bad boy from the rival department. A rich kid, an average student, a star on the basketball court, and devastatingly handsome. He was always surrounded by a loud, glittering crowd, half of them beautiful girls vying for his attention. Yet, he had chosen to look at me. With just one look, I had torn my heart out of my chest and handed it to him. A familiar red braided bracelet hung from his wrist, fluttering wildly in the wind. I stared at that red string, and a wave of pure nausea swelled in my stomach. In my past life, I’d asked him who made it. He told me he’d just made it himself, messing around. It wasn’t until later that I found out it was braided by Fiona, my roommate. All along, the girl Troy actually wanted was Fiona. Fiona was the golden girl—top of our class, poised, elegant. Even my own mother used to compare us, sighing, “Why can’t you be more like Fiona?” I had never resented her for it. I loved her. I thought she was my sister. I never could have imagined that the cruel, twisted idea of getting me pregnant was Fiona’s gift to Troy. The motorcycle veered into an alley, flanked by aging brick apartment complexes covered in overgrown ivy. About three hundred yards ahead stood a motel with a faded orange neon sign: The Oasis. In my previous life, I had followed Troy inside without a second thought. I had trembled all over when he first kissed me. It was my first time. He had whispered in my ear, “Don’t worry, baby. I’m going to treat you right.” And God help me, I believed him. Two months later, the test turned positive. I went to find him, terrified. I saw a brief, smug flash of triumph cross his face before it quickly hardened into sheer annoyance. “Erin, we’re still in college. This kid… we can’t keep it, right?” Soon after, his wealthy parents showed up at my mother’s tiny apartment. They sat on our cheap couch and said: “They’re both young, with their whole lives ahead of them. But we aren’t irresponsible people. Here is how we’ll handle this: we will pay for the procedure, and we’ll give you fifteen thousand dollars as compensation. Let’s just put this behind us.” My mother held me and sobbed. She and my father had divorced when I was small, and raising me alone on a cashier’s salary had nearly broken her. In a world where we had no power and no leverage, we had no choice but to swallow our pride and take the blow. Troy had stood by the front door throughout the entire conversation, silent, eyes glued to his phone. As I lay on that cold operating table, watching the anesthetic drip into my IV, I wasn’t thinking about the physical pain. I was thinking about the National Broadcast Championship. The winner of that competition got a direct path to a major network anchor job at NBC. I had spent over six months preparing day and night. But after the abortion, my body was wrecked. Worse, I couldn’t survive the vicious whispers on campus. My mental health shattered. I secretly saw a campus therapist, who diagnosed me with moderate depression. Every time I picked up a microphone after that, my throat closed up. The words died in my mouth. I missed the championship. The pressure grew too heavy to bear, and I eventually dropped out. Three years after dropping out, under pressure from my family to settle down, I was introduced to Derek Lawson. He ran a decent small business, and his family was comfortable. Before we married, he was the picture of a perfect gentleman—attentive, sweet, utterly flawless. I had my doubts. But my mother said, “Erin, you’re twenty-five, you don’t even have a college degree. You can’t afford to be picky.” So, I married him. Within days of the wedding, Derek shed his mask. I liked to read in the evenings. He’d sneer, “You didn’t even finish college. Stop pretending you’re some kind of intellectual.” When I cooked lighter meals, he’d bark: “This tastes like garbage. Stop wasting your time with books and learn how to actually feed your husband. That’s your only job.” Eventually, I grew too afraid to even speak. Every time I opened my mouth, he claimed I was talking back to him. And the price for talking back was his fists and heavy boots. The motorcycle screeched to a halt in front of the motel. Troy swung his long leg off the bike and looked back at me. “We’re here.” I didn’t move. He frowned, walking over and reaching his hand out to me. I played the part of the shy, hesitant girl. Just as his patience was about to wear thin, I slowly placed my hand in his. This time, I was going to play a very different game. The motel staircase was narrow, the walls plastered with sketchy flyers and ads. Troy walked ahead of me. When he looked back, his eyes were full of smug satisfaction. The room was on the fourth floor, at the very end of the hall. When he pushed the door open, a wave of musty air mixed with cheap lemon air freshener hit my nose. The curtains were drawn, plunging the room into shadow save for a single golden line of twilight slicing through the gap in the drapes. Troy tossed his keys onto the table the second we stepped inside. He stood in that narrow beam of light. His face was still so handsome it made my chest ache with phantom grief. But I was no longer the foolish girl who worshipped him. Inside this twenty-year-old body was a thirty-year-old woman who had watched her dreams die and survived five years of a brutal, soul-crushing marriage. “Where’s the wine?” I asked with a soft smile, pitching my voice to a sweet, delicate tone. Troy blinked, clearly surprised that I was taking the initiative. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a bottle of imported peach wine—a pink bottle with Japanese writing on the label. “You actually want to drink?” he asked, testing the waters. “Well, didn’t you say you wanted to try it?” I tilted my head, mimicking the naive innocence of a twenty-year-old. He grinned, poured the pink liquid into two plastic cups from the nightstand, and handed one to me. I took a small sip. Then, my eyes drifted to the nightstand. There was an unopened box of condoms, the silver foil packaging declaring Ultra-Thin in bold letters. In my past life, he had thrown that box straight into the trash. He had told me they felt uncomfortable. And I hadn’t protested. But this life would be different. I set my cup down, picked up the box, and looked up at him. I blinked, stealing the very lines he was about to say. “I don’t really want to use these. They’re uncomfortable.” A flash of surprise—and then triumph—crossed Troy’s face. “Why don’t you go grab the morning-after pill instead? You know, the emergency one. I saw a pharmacy just around the corner on the main street. I’ll wait here for you. No rush.” He stared at me for a few seconds, weighing his options. The sky outside was darkening fast. If he didn’t hurry, we’d lose the evening. He stood up, grabbed his jacket, and looked back at me from the doorway. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.” The door clicked shut. His footsteps faded down the hall. I opened the door, knelt, and picked up one of those sketchy cards featuring scantily clad women that had been slid under the door. I dialed the number. “Hi. Are you dispatching outcall services right now?” “Yes. Fourth floor, Room 420. Long hair, about five-foot-three.” “Right. As fast as possible. Money is not an issue.” She arrived remarkably fast. When the soft knock came, my hand trembled slightly. I opened the door to find a woman standing there. She looked to be in her late twenties. Her eye makeup was heavy, her lips painted a dark, bruised red, and she was wearing a tight, sequined halter dress. When she saw my bare, fresh face, she paused, visibly confused. She was probably wondering why a young college girl had called her. Without a word, I stuffed the cash directly into her hand. Three hundred dollars. I had swiped it from Troy’s wallet while he was in the bathroom earlier. Her eyes lit up as she quickly counted the bills. When she looked back up, her demeanor had shifted to total warmth. “So, what’s the plan, honey?” “Simple,” I said. “My boyfriend is on his way back. Put on my dress, turn off all the lights, and let him sleep with you. Just make sure he thinks you’re me.” She arched an eyebrow. “That’s it?” “That’s it.” The woman let out a dry, raspy laugh, the sound of a heavy smoker. She didn’t ask any more questions. She slipped into the room and shut the door behind her. In her line of work, discretion was a professional courtesy. You take the cash, you do the job—no questions asked. Three minutes later, we had swapped clothes. She wore my white floral dress, her long dark hair parted to cover most of her face. I pulled her sequined dress over my head; it was blindingly sparkly, and the fabric reeked of cheap, heavy perfume. Before leaving, I whispered, “Keep the lights off. If he asks, tell him you’re shy. Don’t be too loud, but don’t stay silent either. Just play along.” She stubbed out her cigarette and gave me a casual thumbs-up. I slipped out and ducked into the emergency stairwell at the end of the hall, keeping the heavy door open just a crack. The last glow of dusk vanished, and the hallway’s motion-sensor lights flickered on. Then came the sound of heavy footsteps. Troy was back. I heard the rattle of his keys, the squeak of the door opening and closing, and then a faint rustle of clothing. The room remained pitch-black. In the dark, Troy wouldn’t notice that her arms were a little thicker than mine, that her fingers were rougher, or that her breath carried the faint scent of menthol. He had never actually looked at me anyway. He didn’t know who I really was. The hallway lights died, then flared back to life as someone passed, then died again. I clutched my phone in my palm, its blue screen casting a cold glow over half my face. From the room, the woman’s shallow, practiced gasps drifted down the quiet corridor, accompanied by the rhythmic creaking of the cheap wooden bed. I closed my eyes. In another timeline, that was supposed to be me. It was me burying my face in the scratchy pillow, biting my lip to stay quiet, digging my nails into his back, unable to tell the difference between pain and pleasure. It was me resting my head on his shoulder afterward, gasping like a fish washed ashore, my mouth moving but finding no words to say. It was me discovering I was pregnant two months later, dialing his number with shaking hands while tears blinded my eyes. …… A sharp ache bloomed in my chest. But thank God, those were ghosts of a past life. In this life, I would never walk that path again. I counted down in my head: Three. Two. One. I pressed the call button. “911? Yes, I’d like to report illegal solicitation. It’s happening right now at the Oasis Motel on Jefferson Avenue, Room 420.”

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On Friday, I went to my mom’s office to wait for her to finish work, finding an empty desk to play some video games. Out of nowhere, the CEO’s personal secretary marched up to me, absolutely furious: “You have some nerve sitting here playing games! Because of your careless mistake, we missed a crucial client email, costing the company a twenty-million-dollar deal!” “Well? How do you plan to pay us back?” I blinked, shaking my head in sheer confusion. “Are you mistaken? I don’t work here. I’m just waiting for my mom to finish her shift.” He let out a cold, mocking laugh, raising his hand and slapping me across the face. “Still playing dumb? Call security! I bet he’s a corporate spy sent by our competitors!” My eyes watered as I pulled out my Vanguard Junior smartwatch to send a message. Mom, your secretary just hit me. …… My mom was in a high-level board meeting and didn’t reply right away. The secretary, Chase, stood over me with his hands on his hips, sneering. “Look at those designer clothes. I bet you paid for all that luxury by selling out this company, didn’t you?” “Spill it! How many of our accounts have you ruined?” With a violent shove, he sent me crashing onto the hard floor. My dad always taught me to be strong. I bit my lower lip, fighting back the tears. “Sir, I didn’t do anything. Why did you push me? My dad says pushing people is wrong.” Chase let out a sharp, hysterical shriek and grabbed me by the hair. “You little snake! How dare you talk back to me!” It hurt so much. I thrashed wildly, trying to break free. “Let go! You’re hurting me! I’m going to tell my mom, and she’ll fire you!” Chase laughed, a loud, ugly sound devoid of any restraint. “Your mom? Who does she think she is, getting me fired? I’m going to HR right now to have you kicked out of here, and you’re going to owe this company twenty million dollars!” Before I could say another word, he dragged me by the collar all the way down to the HR department. The crowd of onlookers grew with every step. A few employees looked uncomfortable, trying to quiet Chase down. But he raised his voice, shouting so the whole floor could hear: “Don’t let this pathetic act fool you! This brat’s incompetence just cost us a twenty-million-dollar contract. Our entire year-end bonuses are on the line because of him! I’m doing this for all of us!” Instantly, the atmosphere shifted. The pity in their eyes hardened into resentment. Nobody spoke up for me anymore. Under my breath, I kept whispering, “Mom, please help me.” Chase sneered, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Is she actually your mom, or just some wealthy benefactor who pays for your lifestyle?” “Disgusting! Look at that face—born to manipulate. A junior entry-level salary is barely five thousand a month. I’m sure your sugar mommy bought you that Balenciaga hoodie, and you have the audacity to parade around in Van Cleef & Arpels jewelry!” With a vicious tug, Chase ripped the necklace from my neck. It was a gift from my dad for my twelfth birthday, and the delicate chain snapped instantly. “You’re mean! Don’t touch my dad’s gift!” I struggled with everything I had, my flailing arm catching Chase on his shin. He kicked me twice in retaliation, hard enough to knock the wind out of me, before scooping up the broken necklace and shoving it into his pocket. “Keep crying, and I’ll shut your mouth for good!” I trembled, shivering in a corner. When we reached the HR suite, Chase knocked on the door with a sycophantic grin. “Luke, I brought you the idiot who threw away our major deal.” The HR director, Luke, looked up from his desk with an irritated sigh. “Where’s your badge? Which department are you in? Name?” I scrambled to find my voice, shouting, “I’m only thirteen! I don’t work for this company!” Luke squinted at me skeptically. “Chase, what is this?” Chase yanked me upward by my arm. “Luke, he’s lying to you! Look at him—he’s nearly as tall as I am, wearing thousands of dollars in designer clothes. How could he possibly be thirteen?” He leaned over, whispering something in Luke’s ear. Luke’s eyes widened, and he slammed his hand on the desk. “You’re the one who lost the Mercer Group account? The one that offended Giselle Mercer?” The Mercer Group? Wasn’t that my cousin Giselle’s family company? The Giselle Mercer he mentioned was my older cousin. But I hadn’t seen her since our family Thanksgiving dinner last month. I waved my hands frantically. “No, I don’t know anything about a contract! I was just waiting for my mom!” “Look at him play the victim. This kid is too good at it! I bet his parents are just as rotten. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree!” Chase sneered, tossing his head back in disgust. An overwhelming wave of anger washed over me. I charged forward, pushing Chase with all my might. “Don’t you dare talk about my parents like that!” As Chase and I scuffled, Luke jumped in, pulling us apart and glaring at me with a terrifying, predatory intensity. I shrank back. Chase grabbed Luke’s arm. “Cousin, you have to terminate his contract immediately! Keeping someone like this around is just a liability—he’ll probably try to seduce Ms. Ashford next!” Ms. Ashford! Was he talking about my mom? I cried out in protest, “I would never try to seduce Ms. Ashford! Ms. Ashford is my mom!” Both Luke and Chase froze. Then Chase stepped closer, studying my face before bursting into a cruel, mocking giggle. “Are you out of your mind? Everyone knows Victoria Ashford is the city’s most eligible bachelorette in her thirties. If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable. She isn’t even married, let alone having a kid your age.” “Besides, you look absolutely nothing like her. If you told me you were her housekeeper’s kid, I might actually believe you.” I felt a lump in my throat. “I don’t look like my mom, but I look like my dad! And the only reason my mom hasn’t made it public is because of my dad’s career—” Slap! Whatever I said must have hit a nerve, because Chase struck me across the face again. “Keep dragging Ms. Ashford’s name through the mud, and see what happens to you!” I clutched my burning cheek, sobbing quietly. Luke held Chase back, turning to bark at me with disgust. “Stop the waterworks. You’re not a baby anymore. Take some responsibility for your actions! Now, what is your name and department?” I kept my head down, too heartbroken to speak. “Luke asked you a question! Are you deaf?” Chase snarled, reaching into my pockets. “Where’s your ID badge? Where is it?” I panicked. “I don’t have one.” Luke’s brow furrowed deeper. “No badge? Are you an independent contractor? No, even contractors get temporary passes…” Chase violently tore at my pocket until the fabric ripped open with a loud pop. His fingers wrapped around something hard. “Found it! You little liar, you said you didn’t have a badge!” He pulled it out, but it wasn’t a corporate ID. It was a middle school student ID card. Emblazoned on the plastic were the words: Seventh Grade, Toby Knight. Chase threw the card straight at my face. “Sneaking around without a badge and using your younger brother’s student ID as a cover! Luke, what’s the company policy fine for this kind of violation?” Luke cleared his throat. “A five-hundred-dollar contribution to the office coffee and snack fund. Consider it an apology to the team.” Chase held out his hand. “Pay up. Now!” I looked down at my torn, empty pockets. “I don’t have any cash on me…” “Then scan the code! Double the penalty for digital pay—one thousand dollars!” Why was he being so incredibly cruel? Anger and frustration welled up inside me. My dad had invested all my allowance and holiday money to teach me about financial literacy, and my mom was always worried that carrying too much money made me a target. My weekly allowance was only a thousand dollars. He was demanding my entire week’s budget in one go. I didn’t want to pay, but his towering, threatening stance made him look like a monster straight out of a horror movie. “Pay, or else…” Chase raised his hand again, and I flinched. I reluctantly tapped my smartwatch against Luke’s payment terminal. Luke let out a patronizing chuckle. “What kind of fancy toy watch is this? Spending money like water—no wonder you had to sell out the company.” Before I could defend myself, Chase shoved a disciplinary form in front of me. “Sign this, and you can get lost.” I couldn’t understand most of the legal jargon on the page, but my dad had always warned me never to sign any document without reading it carefully. I stepped back, shaking my head in silent resistance. Chase grabbed my arm, twisting it painfully. “Sign it! And sign the promissory note on the next page too!” He was so rough. Why did he think it was okay to keep putting his hands on me? Luke flipped to the signature page, offering me a pen. “We’re only asking you to cover ten percent of the damages. Two million dollars is an incredibly generous offer from the company. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” I shook my head vigorously. “My dad says minors aren’t allowed to enter into financial contracts. It’s illegal. I won’t sign.” Luke rolled his eyes in sheer annoyance. “Who hired this kid? He’s completely disconnected from reality. If you don’t sign, expect a court summons!” “Why waste our breath, Luke?” Chase grabbed my hand, forcing my thumb into an inkpad and slamming it down onto the document. “There. Signed and sealed!” Suddenly, a voice echoed from the hallway. “Luke, I asked you to find me a new executive assistant. Why hasn’t anyone been scheduled yet?” The woman who walked in looked incredibly familiar. Wasn’t this Rachel, the vice president who had visited our house to deliver files last month? Her eyes locked onto mine. She gasped. “Master Toby? What on earth are you doing here?” Chase and Luke exchanged confused glances. I seized the moment to slip past them, hiding behind Rachel’s back. “VP Rachel, do you know this delinquent?” Chase asked. “He’s the one who ruined the Mercer account. We’re just having him sign his termination paperwork before we throw him out.” Rachel turned to look at me, her expression turning into pure dread as I gripped her sleeve, my hands trembling uncontrollably. She slapped her own forehead, her face pale. “What have you two done? Do you have any idea who he is?” Chase shrugged dismissively. “He’s just some new junior temp from the sales department. Apparently, he’s got a sugar mommy in the company. I honestly can’t stand these nepo babies.” Rachel slammed her hand on the desk, the sound echoing through the room. “You fools! You’ve got it completely wrong! He isn’t an employee—he’s Ms. Ashford’s son!” “That’s impossible. Everyone knows Ms. Ashford is single. Rachel, don’t talk nonsense!” Chase’s eyes lit up as if he had just solved a puzzle. “Oh, I get it!” He pointed a finger at Rachel and me. “You’re his sugar mommy, aren’t you?” Luke gave Chase a subtle thumbs-up, clearly impressed by his quick thinking. Cold sweat beaded on Rachel’s forehead. These two were digging their own graves. She would never dare to claim she was the benefactor of Victoria Ashford’s prized son. Luke sneered, mocking her. “Rachel, I never pegged you for the type to keep a young boy around.” Rachel was shaking with anger. “Luke, watch your mouth. If Ms. Ashford hears you say that, you’re finished.” She turned to comfort me, but when she saw my swollen, red cheeks and disheveled hair, her voice faltered. “Master Toby… who… who dared to lay a hand on you like this?” Before I could answer, Chase proudly raised his hand. “I did. What about it? I was protecting the company’s interests. Don’t try to cover for him. We can take this straight to Ms. Ashford if you want.” Rachel looked like she was about to faint. “You’ve ruined us all,” she whispered. “If Ms. Ashford finds out about this, none of us will survive.” She turned to me, her voice softening into a gentle, pleading tone: “Master Toby, please, they’re blind fools. Don’t listen to them. Let me take you home right now.” I nodded, tears finally spilling over. As Rachel began to guide me out of the office, Chase lunged forward, blocking the doorway. “He can’t leave! He stole the classified design files for our two-hundred-million-dollar development project!” His shout echoed down the corridor, drawing the attention of every employee on the floor. Rachel stamped her foot in frustration. “Chase, have you lost your mind? Why would Master Toby ever steal files?” Chase sneered. “I say he did, which means we search him!” He lunged forward, trying to grab my clothes. Terrified, I screamed, “Don’t touch me! Mom, help!” Rachel stepped in front of me, taking a hard slap to the face instead. Chase rolled up his sleeves, shouting to the surrounding staff: “What are you all standing around for? If we don’t find those project files, Ms. Ashford will fire every single one of us!” Using the CEO’s name as leverage, he panicked the employees into action. They swarmed forward, pulling at my jacket. Overwhelmed by fear, I curled into a ball on the floor, burying my face in my knees and sobbing loudly. Rachel tried her best to protect me, but she was overpowered and shoved to the ground. “Stop this! This is assault…” “They’re in on it together! They’re both corporate spies! Grab them!” Chase ordered. In the chaos, Rachel was struck repeatedly until she lost consciousness, bruised and exhausted. “Chase, we checked his pockets. There are no files,” one of the employees reported, panting. I huddled in the corner, shaking with fear. The employees looked around, their anger turning to doubt. “Chase, are you sure about this?” Chase stamped his foot. “He must have hidden them somewhere nearby to mess with us.” He knelt down, grabbing my jaw tightly. “Tell me! Where did you put the files?” I shook my head blindly, his sharp fingernails digging into my skin. Sting— Out of desperation, I bit down hard on his hand. “You little brat!” Chase raised his hand to strike me again, and I winced, bracing for the blow. Suddenly, the receptionist ran up, whispering urgently in his ear: “Ms. Mercer has arrived. She’s downstairs.” The elevator doors opened, and a familiar, booming laugh echoed down the hallway. It was indeed my cousin Giselle! I gathered every ounce of strength I had, running toward the sound and crying out, “Giselle!” Giselle paused, looking around.

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When my father, Charles, changed the name on my mother’s private maternity clinic registration to his widowed sister-in-law’s just to make her smile, my mother didn’t scream. She didn’t cry. She didn’t throw the porcelain vases against the hardwood floor of our Connecticut estate as she once had. Instead, when Lydia—his late brother’s fragile, demanding widow—looked at my mother’s swollen stomach and winced, my mother quietly picked up the rotary phone and scheduled an abortion. Everyone in our social circle whispered that the proud Mrs. Erica Vance had finally learned her place. She had finally “behaved.” Even my father nodded with cold satisfaction. “Lydia was entrusted to me by my late brother,” he told her, adjusting his tie without looking at her. “I have a duty to protect her. I’m glad you finally understand.” My mother didn’t argue. She simply slid her wedding ring and a signed divorce agreement across the polished mahogany table, offering to step aside and set him free. But instead of accepting it, my father flew into a violent rage. He tore the papers to shreds, scattering them like snow across the rug, and ordered the gates of the estate locked. He locked her inside, telling her to stay there until she “reflected on her selfishness.” At first, he had his driver deliver photographs of his outings with Lydia—sunlit picnics, broad smiles, cozy dinners—hoping to break her pride and force her to beg for his return. Eventually, the world forgot about Erica. People began treating Lydia as the true lady of the manor. It wasn’t until five years later, when Lydia fell ill and desperately needed a kidney transplant, that my father finally stepped through the heavy doors of the old estate again. “Erica, Lydia is my brother’s only legacy. You can’t just watch her die…” But no matter how much he pleaded, the house remained deathly quiet. No one answered. Slamming the door in a fit of frustration, he shouted, “Five years! Are you still nursing this petty grudge? You won’t even save a life just to spite me?” He had no idea. My mother had never belonged to this world. She was a traveler, bound by a cosmic System that required her to bear two children for a husband destined to have no heirs. And she was already gone. She had died on that cold operating table five years ago, during the abortion he forced upon her. … My father’s anger had burned hot and long. The day after she locked herself in, he ordered the gardener to tear up every single sunflower blooming in the backyard—sunflowers he had once planted for her—and replace them with blood-red roses, the flowers my mother hated most. I stood by the waste bins, helplessly watching the vibrant yellow petals wither and turn black in the trash. A memory of my mother drifted through my mind. When I was small, she loved to sit on the wooden bench by the sunflower patch, pulling me onto her lap to tell me how my father had planted each seed by hand, sweating under the summer sun just to see her smile. I still remembered the soft, glowing warmth in her eyes back then. But everything shifted the moment he brought Lydia home. The moment Lydia shed a single tear, my mother became the villain. The man who had once loved my mother as if she were his very breath suddenly became a stranger. He stood by, silent and indifferent, as Lydia chipped away at my mother’s dignity, constantly demanding that my mother “compromise” and “be reasonable.” He even took down their grand oil wedding portrait from the parlor wall, replacing it with a portrait of Lydia and her late husband, claiming it comforted her grief. That was when my mother’s spirit began to break. Their marriage devolved into a series of bitter, desperate arguments. Soon, the laughter vanished entirely, and I never saw my mother smile again. And then came the final blow: my father giving her hard-won private maternity spot and the family trust allocation to Lydia, claiming the widow’s fragile health required the premium care more. Overnight, my mother became the laughingstock of the county. But this time, she didn’t fight. She silently packed away the tiny, hand-sewn baby clothes she had spent months embroidering. She shut herself in her room and didn’t come out. And before Lydia could even gloat, my mother booked the abortion. Everyone said she had finally learned her lesson. But I was terrified. Because I was the only one who could see the glowing, translucent words floating above her head: [System Protocol: Integration Attempt Failed. Termination protocol scheduled in three days.] Three days. The exact day of her abortion. I wanted to beg her to stay, to plead with her not to leave me behind. But when I looked into her hollow, resigned eyes, the words choked in my throat. On that final morning, she held me close for a long time. She whispered soft, urgent instructions: I had to survive, I had to take care of myself… And then, she gave me a smile. A real, beautiful smile I hadn’t seen in years. “Lucy, my sweet girl. Mama will always protect you.” Hours later, when the bleeding wouldn’t stop, I ran to find my father. I screamed and banged on his study door all night, then begged the local clinic doctors to come. Only the next morning did I learn that Lydia had developed a mild cold and couldn’t sleep. My father had gathered every prominent doctor in the city to attend to her bedside. I pulled my gaze back to the present, clutching the small wooden urn containing my mother’s ashes. Only here, in this quiet corner, did I feel a shred of peace. That evening, my father returned. Lydia was clinging to his arm. “Your mother has spent five years harboring her petty spite, and she’s raised you to be just as undisciplined,” my father said, glaring down at me with cold disapproval. “You don’t even have the decency to greet us. Have you forgotten the rules of this house?” I averted my eyes, pretending I hadn’t heard him. What did he want me to call Lydia? Stepmother? She didn’t deserve the title. Seeing my silence, Lydia lowered her eyes, her lower lip trembling as if she had been deeply wounded. “Charles, please don’t blame the child. It’s my fault. I know my presence is an eyesore to Erica, and Lucy is just defending her mother. I understand, really.” A bitter laugh bubbled up in my chest. Even after all these years, Lydia’s tactics remained flawless. She was a master of casting herself as the tragic, long-suffering victim. My father frowned but said nothing more to her. He turned his harsh gaze toward the closed, dark bedroom door. “Erica, I’ve given you more than enough time.” His patience fully depleted, he strode toward the door. But before his hand could touch the brass doorknob, Lydia gasped, clutching her chest in apparent agony. “It’s fine, Charles… If Erica doesn’t want to see me, let’s just go. My life isn’t worth much anyway. No one would care if I died…” Panic instantly washed over my father’s face. He swept her into his arms. “Don’t speak like that! What do you mean, no one cares? I care! I won’t let anything happen to you!” Gravely anxious, he turned to his security guards and pointed at me. “Make her kneel,” he ordered coldly, his voice echoing toward the closed door. “Erica! If you want to hide in there forever, go ahead. But your precious daughter will stay right here. She won’t rise until you step out of that room. Let’s see how long your stubborn pride lasts!” I watched my father carry Lydia away, his back retreating down the long hallway. A profound, aching bitterness settled in my chest. He knew my mother loved me more than life itself. He knew she would do anything to protect me. But my mother had been gone for five years. How could she possibly come out? I knelt on the cold hardwood floor for two full days, until my vision went black and I collapsed. When I finally woke, my father was back. Standing beside him were my maternal grandparents, Richard and Martha. Looking at their faces—which bore a haunting seventy-percent resemblance to my mother’s—a tiny spark of hope flared in my chest. But before I could speak, they bypassed me entirely and warmly took Lydia’s hands. My grandmother smoothed Lydia’s hair, her eyes overflowing with motherly concern. “Lydia, sweetheart, you must be exhausted. Look how thin you’ve gotten.” My grandfather chimed in quickly, “I’ll make that pigeon broth you love tonight. We need to get some strength back into you.” I swallowed the cry that had risen to my throat. The silent ache in my chest throbbed like an open wound. Lydia had been their favorite student and teaching assistant back when they taught at the university. Growing up, all I ever heard from them were comparisons. “If only you were half as brilliant as Lydia…” “If only you were as sensible as Lydia…” They ignored the fact that Lydia had plagiarized my mother’s research to steal her fellowship at the institute. They ignored that when they fell gravely ill, it was my mother who stayed by their bedsides night and day, nursing them back to health. In the end, Lydia took credit for all of it. They had even informally adopted her as their goddaughter. These two stern, traditionally rigid academics were now smiling warmly at Lydia. Yet, my mother had once told me they despised public displays of emotion. It felt like an eternity before my grandmother finally glanced my way, her expression instantly hardening into cold aloofness. “Where is your mother? We’ve traveled all this way, and she can’t even bother to step out and greet us? Still throwing her childish tantrums, I see.” I lowered my head, my throat dry as dust. “Mama… she…” Before I could finish, Lydia cut me off. She released my grandmother’s hand, her eyes instantly welling with tears. “Erica clearly doesn’t want to see me. That’s why she’s hiding. Maybe I should just leave… After all, no matter how hard I try, I’ll always be an outsider here.” My grandmother immediately pulled her back, alarmed. “Lydia, don’t say such foolish things! How could you be an outsider?” She glared at me, her voice rising in anger. “Tell your mother to get out here this instant. It’s just a kidney. She’s enjoyed the privileges of this family for years; the least she can do is help Lydia now.” My grandfather nodded in agreement. “Exactly. Lucy, you need to talk some sense into your mother. It’s a simple procedure. If she had just agreed sooner, Lydia wouldn’t have suffered so much.” I stared at them, my heart heavy with a profound, suffocating sorrow. These were my mother’s flesh and blood. Yet, they hadn’t asked about her health once since they arrived. Instead, they treated a manipulative stranger like a precious gem. I raised my eyes, unable to stay silent. “Grandmother, Grandfather… do you even remember who your actual daughter is?” My voice trembled with tears, speaking all the unspoken grief my mother had carried. “You haven’t checked on her once in five years. And now that you’re finally here, it’s only to force her to give up a part of herself for someone else. Do you even care if she lives or dies?” My desperate, tearful defense of my mother did nothing to move them. Instead, my grandmother’s face contorted with rage, and she slapped me across the cheek. “You insolent child!” she hissed, her finger shaking as she pointed at me. “What a curse on this family. We already have one rebellious daughter to disappoint us, and now she’s raised you to be just as rotten. I told Charles years ago that we should have let Lydia raise you. Look at you—a perfect copy of your mother’s stubborn, ungrateful ways.” Lydia smirked, a brief flash of triumph crossing her eyes before she quickly adopted a saintly, soothing tone. She took my grandmother’s hand. “Please, don’t upset yourself. Don’t blame Erica or Lucy. A child only knows what she’s taught. If Erica forbade her from agreeing, Lucy wouldn’t dare say yes. It’s my fault for being so unlikable. I really should just go…” She took a fragile, swaying step backward, then suddenly clutched her head and collapsed. My father caught her in his arms, panic-stricken. “Lydia! Is it your heart again?” He turned to one of the servants, his voice sharp with urgency. “Go to the safe in the study. Bring me the silver locket. The warmth of the blessed metal will help soothe her chest.” The servant hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “Sir… the locket… the mistress broke it.” “What?” my father demanded, his eyes widening. “That day Miss Lydia was in severe pain and went to ask the mistress if she could borrow the locket for its blessing. The mistress said she’d rather smash it to pieces than let Miss Lydia touch it. And then she… she threw it against the hearth. Miss Lydia begged me not to tell you because she didn’t want you to punish the mistress.” My father’s face darkened with absolute disbelief. “She destroyed it?” That locket was a sacred relic. When he had been deployed as a diplomat to a dangerous war zone, my mother had climbed the rugged peaks of the Blue Ridge Mountains on foot, praying at every step, just to have a hermit abbot bless it with her entire life savings. “Charles,” Lydia whimpered, her voice dripping with sorrow, though her eyes remained sharp and calculating. “I saw her burning your old love letters, too. I thought she was just angry… I didn’t think she would actually destroy the locket.” The last thread of my father’s restraint snapped. With a roar of fury, he grabbed a heavy mahogany chair and smashed it against my mother’s locked bedroom door. “I am giving you forty-eight hours, Erica!” he screamed, his voice hoarse with rage. “If you do not show your face, I will have the doctors harvest Lucy’s kidney instead. You’d better think long and hard about that!” I instinctively reached into my collar, my fingers brushing against the cool silver of the locket. It was still there, hanging safely around my neck. My mother had never destroyed it. She had never burned his letters, either; they were safely preserved in a wooden trunk under her bed. Before she left, she had placed the locket around my neck to protect me. My father claimed to love her once, yet he believed Lydia’s transparent lies without a second thought. He didn’t even bother to check the room. My chest tight, I felt a strange sense of relief. Thank god, I thought. Thank god Mama left this place. Thank god she doesn’t have to endure this anymore. To watch the person you loved most tear you apart to protect the very person who ruined you… how much agony could one heart take? I stood there like a ghost, quietly watching them fuss over Lydia. As I tried to slip away unnoticed, Lydia’s hand shot out, grabbing my wrist with surprising strength. “Lucy, please,” she sobbed, her tears flowing freely. “What did I do wrong? Tell me, and I’ll fix it. Every time you look at me with those cold eyes, it reminds me so much of your mother. I don’t know what she told you about me, but… I swear I’ve never wanted to hurt her. I’ve tried so hard to make her accept me, but…” With a few delicate words, she painted herself as the innocent victim of a cruel mother-daughter duo. But I could never forget the stormy night he first brought her back. I had been burning with a dangerously high fever. Terrified, my mother had carried me through the pouring rain to the diplomatic compound, begging the medical staff for help. Instead of a doctor, we were met by Lydia, draped in my father’s dry coat. I remembered the sheer malice in her eyes as she whispered to my mother, “Surprised to see me, Erica? Did you really think you could keep my stolen fellowship, my adoptive parents, and live happily ever after? I don’t believe in fate. Everything you have, I’m taking it all.” Then, she ordered the guards to shut the gates, forbidding my mother from entering without her permission. My mother had carried me through the torrential rain all night until she finally found a local clinic. When my father returned the next day after hearing the news, I thought he would demand justice for us. Instead, he blindly swallowed Lydia’s lies and forced my mother to kneel in the drafty family chapel for two full days as punishment for “inciting drama.” “Lucy, what did I do to deserve this?” Lydia cried, her eyes red and swollen. “You can hate me, you can hit me, but please don’t look at me like that.” Nauseated by her hypocrisy, I tried to pull my arm free. Before I could even exert any force, she collapsed backward like a broken doll. A split second later, my father’s hand cracked across my face. “Lucy!” he roared. “I thought staying near your mother all these years would teach you some humility, but you’ve only inherited her toxic jealousy! Today, I will teach you the meaning of respect.” “Bring me the crop,” he barked at the guards. “If your mother won’t raise you right, I will.” I was pinned to the floor. The heavy leather crop rained down on my back, tearing through my clothes. The sharp tang of blood filled the air, and my face drained of color as the agonizing pain tore through my senses. Lydia whimpered from the sofa, “Charles, please stop… It’s just a scratch, I don’t blame her. It’s natural she hates me; I’m a stranger to her. If only I hadn’t lost my own baby back then… maybe things would be different.” My father paused, his eyes softening with deep pity as he looked at her. “If you want, Lucy can be your daughter. From today on, we are moving back into the main house together.” Lydia’s eyes flared with a triumphant joy she could barely mask. She knew what this meant. Moving into the estate meant she was only a marriage license away from officially becoming Mrs. Charles Vance. With a mouth full of blood, my vision finally went dark, and I drifted into unconsciousness. When I woke up, the familiar estate had been completely stripped of its soul. The elegant, custom furniture my mother had carefully designed was gone, replaced by flashy, modern pieces currently trending in the city. Stumbling frantically into my room, I only breathed a sigh of relief when I found my mother’s wooden urn and clutched it tightly to my chest. My father pushed the door open. He froze for a moment when he saw my face. I looked so much like my mother. Sometimes, even I gasped when I looked in the mirror. For once, his tone softened. “Lucy… did you drink the medicine the doctor left?” I nodded numbly. “Don’t hold a grudge against me,” he said quietly. “I only did it because I didn’t want you to grow up as stubborn and bitter as your mother. About the transplant… I thought about it. If you really don’t want to…” Before he could finish, Lydia’s weak voice drifted from the hallway. “Charles… my pills… where are they?” He immediately abandoned his sentence, rushing to pull the medication from his pocket and administer it to her. “If you’re not feeling well, don’t walk around. Rest.” Lydia nodded, her eyes sliding past his shoulder to land on me. “Lucy, what are you holding? Why does it have Erica’s portrait on it?” My father’s gaze snapped to the box in my arms. His brow furrowed, and he snatched it away. When he realized what it was, his face turned completely white. Lydia gasped, horror-struck, covering her mouth. “Is that… ashes? Lucy, how could you?” She looked at my father with tears streaming down her face. “No wonder my condition keeps worsening… Erica must hate me so much that she’d fake her own death just to curse me.” She clutched her heart, groaning in simulated agony. His face contorted with fury, my father threw the wooden box out the open window. I tried to scream, to run, but I was too late. I watched the urn plunge into the dark depths of the estate’s pond. My world shattered. “Erica, you’ve lost your mind!” my father bellowed. He kicked open her bedroom door, expecting to find her hiding, but the room was completely bare. A sudden, cold dread seemed to flicker in his eyes at the emptiness of the space. But Lydia was weeping loudly. “She did this to curse me… she’s been hiding just to torture us… let her have her wish. I’ll just die.” Lydia closed her eyes and went limp. Panicking, my father scooped her up and roared at the guards outside: “Get the car! We are going to the hospital right now. If Erica won’t show her face, we will use Lucy’s kidney. I will not let Lydia die!” I kept my eyes fixed on the ripples in the pond as they dragged me into the car. At the hospital, my father’s furious demands echoed down the hallway: “I don’t care what it takes! Just save her!” A sharp, blinding pain soon tore through my abdomen. No anesthesia. No sterile care. The corrupt private doctors my father hired exchanged a nervous glance, then left me bleeding on the cold metal table. “Don’t blame us, kid,” one whispered. “Miss Lydia ordered it this way.” Dragging my failing body, I slowly crawled toward the open window of the operating room. Gradually, the agonizing pain began to fade. The cold air felt like a gentle caress, and in the distance, I saw my mother’s warm, beautiful smile waiting for me. Without a single doubt, I reached out and let myself fall toward her.

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On June first—International Children’s Day—my twenty-nine-year-old sister-in-law, a grown woman suffering from a severe case of self-diagnosed “baby-brain,” blocked the doorway of my office. She was wearing a puffy pink tutu, sucking noisily on a giant lollipop. “Charlotte, today is Baby’s day! Baby wants to be the President and Registered Corporate Owner as her Children’s Day present!” I stared at her, completely dumbfounded. “Are you out of your mind? The registered corporate owner bears all the personal liability and debt!” My husband, Daniel, gave me a cold, dismissive look from behind her. “Charlotte, don’t be ungrateful. Since Daisy wants it, you—an outsider—can step down and let her have it.” I pinched my thigh as hard as I could, barely keeping myself from laughing out loud. A quarter-billion dollars in toxic debt. I had been losing sleep trying to figure out how to escape this sinking ship without drowning, and here they were, handing me a golden parachute. “If you’re forcing my hand, don’t regret it later,” I said, my voice trembling with faux-distress as I quickly signed the transfer agreement. The moment the corporate seal pressed down on the paper, Daisy clapped her hands, squealing with delight. “Yay! Baby has her own big company today!” Oh, Baby Daisy. I hope you laugh just as sweetly when you’re making license plates in a federal penitentiary. … 1 Daisy was ecstatic. Clutching a pacifier between her teeth, she waddled into the executive suite, threw herself into the leather office chair, and spun around exactly eight times. “Starting today!” she announced, pulling the pacifier from her mouth with a dramatic pop. “This company belongs to Baby! Everyone has to listen to Baby!” “And if you don’t listen, Baby will fire you all!” The executives in the room, people who had bled and sweated alongside me for three years, kept their heads bowed, refusing to make eye contact. My husband—and the company’s CEO—Daniel, swept a freezing gaze across the room. “You all heard her,” Daniel said. “Daisy is the new registered owner. If anyone has a problem with that, pack your bags and get out.” Silence fell over the room like wet cement. I didn’t look at them. I kept my head down, packing my personal belongings into a cardboard box. The box bumped against the edge of the desk, making a sharp, hollow thud. It wasn’t a loud noise, but in that suffocating silence, it sounded like a gunshot. Daisy’s head snapped toward me. “Charlotte…” she whined, dragging out the syllables of my name. “What are you doing? Baby is speaking. Why aren’t you listening?” I ignored her and kept packing. Her face twisted. And then, right there in front of a dozen senior executives, a twenty-nine-year-old grown woman slid off the executive chair and threw herself onto the carpet. Thud. She began to roll. Kick. Scream. Her legs thrashed against the floor in a full-blown toddler tantrum. “Ugh! Charlotte is ignoring Baby! Charlotte is being mean to Baby!” Wailing, she scrambled up from the floor, tears and snot smearing her face. She pointed a trembling finger at me. “You only look down on Baby because you were the boss, right?!” “Everyone knows you only ran this place to hook up with male clients! The whole company knows!” A few of the executives winced, their eyes darting nervously. I kept my expression entirely blank, continuing to file away my papers. My silence drove her over the edge. She lunged forward, snatching the silver picture frame from the corner of my desk. It was the only photo I had left of my parents before they passed away. Smash. She raised it high above her head and hurled it onto the hardwood floor. The glass shattered into a thousand glittering shards. Clapping her hands, she giggled, looking at me with pure malice masked as innocence. “Hehe! Baby doesn’t like this toy!” I knelt down, carefully picking the photo out of the broken glass, and slipped it into my coat’s inner pocket. Then I stood back up and continued sorting the remaining files on the desk. From start to finish, I never once looked at her. Daisy’s giggles died out. She had clearly never encountered anyone who refused to react to her infantile theatrics. Suddenly, she stepped directly into my space. She grabbed the stack of project files right out of my hands, spun around, and stuffed them directly into the shredder in the corner. Whirrrr. The white pages were instantly sliced into thin, meaningless ribbons. She sucked her thumb, tilting her head to smile at me. “The shredder was hungry! Baby was just feeding it some yummy paper!” I stopped what I was doing. “Daisy,” I said, my voice flat, empty of emotion. “The picture frame you just smashed was my personal property. The files you just destroyed were reference materials I purchased with my own money, along with my personal work logs.” “Deliberate destruction of property is a civil offense, and depending on the value, it can escalate to a criminal misdemeanor.” As I spoke, I pulled out my phone and switched on the video camera. “I am recording everything you do as evidence.” Daisy froze. Behind us, someone let out a muffled snort. She whipped around, glaring at the executives. They immediately fell silent, though their lips were visibly twitching. Flushed with embarrassment, Daisy stormed back to the desk, climbed onto the leather chair, and spun herself around in a fury. “Fine! Whatever! Baby is here to audit the accounts today anyway!” She yanked open a drawer, pulled out a stack of expense reports, and slammed them onto the desk. “You old employees are nothing but leeches! Always reimbursement, reimbursement, reimbursement!” “From now on, Baby is only going to approve payouts for people who make Baby’s baby bottles and fold Baby’s blankets!” With a dramatic tear, she ripped several receipts to shreds. A few of the yes-men—Daniel’s useless relatives who had been hired through blatant nepotism—immediately began to clap and cheer. “Brilliant, Daisy!” “About time someone cleaned house!” Daisy kept flipping through the pile. Suddenly, her hand stopped. On the very last page, the amount column read: $100,000. She held up the invoice. “Whose is this? Who has the nerve to claim a hundred-thousand-dollar reimbursement?” The room fell dead silent for three seconds. I calmly raised my hand. “It’s mine.” 2 Daisy stared at my raised hand, momentarily stunned. “Ha! I knew it!” She slammed her hand on the desk, stood up, and pointed a finger directly at my nose. “Charlotte! I knew you were stealing!” “You thought just because you were the registered agent for a few years, you could treat this company like your personal piggy bank?!” The room erupted in whispers. Daniel’s relatives leaned in toward each other, their eyes turning hostile. “Did you actually bother to read the report?” I asked. Daisy blinked. I pointed to the bottom half of the invoice she was clutching. “Look down. What does it say under ‘Purpose’?” Suspicious, she glanced down, her lips moving silently as she read. But she didn’t speak. So, I read it aloud for her. “Purpose: Personal advance for Apex Logistics, July inventory final payment. Funding source: Personal account of Charlotte Cross.” I looked her dead in the eye. “Last month, the suppliers were threatening to halt deliveries. The corporate account was empty. I used my own personal savings to cover the gap.” “The bank transfer records, the supplier receipts, and the internal accounting logs are all on file. Anyone can verify them.” Daisy’s face hardened. Three seconds later, her voice shrieked: “Liar! You’re a discarded wife about to be kicked to the curb! Where would you get a hundred thousand dollars?!” “Personal savings? Your money is my brother’s money!” She worked herself into a frenzy, her finger practically poking my eye. “You stole money from the company, fabricated a fake loan agreement, and then played the hero pretending you paid it! It’s fraud! You’re committing financial fraud!” I took a slow, deep breath. “Daisy, every single transaction in this company is audited. If you don’t believe me, you can call the bank right now.” She stared at me for a few silent seconds before plumping back into her chair, her voice growing even louder and shriller: “I don’t care! Baby is the owner! What Baby says goes!” She grabbed the hundred-thousand-dollar invoice and ripped it cleanly in half. “Baby doesn’t recognize this debt! If you paid it, that’s your problem! The company doesn’t owe you a single penny!” I watched the torn paper flutter to the carpet. I said nothing. Daisy stood up, addressing the entire room with theatrical grandeur. “This hundred thousand dollars is now Baby’s Playground Fund! It’s going to be used to reward the people who support Baby!” She scanned the room, looking at the sycophants and relatives. “What do you all think of that?” “Amazing!” “Daisy is the best!” “We love you, Baby!” Amidst the cheers, the few loyal employees who had actually built this company with me kept their heads down, too terrified to speak up. I took one last look at them. “Daisy,” I said quietly. “What you just tore up was a photocopy. My lawyer has the original.” Daisy’s face twitched. “Lawyer? Who are you trying to scare! This is my company! Baby is the boss!” Her voice pitched higher. “You think Baby won’t get Big Brother to teach you a lesson?!” The relatives chimed in instantly. “Exactly. Why is a grown woman bullying a kid?” “She just became the owner and you’re already hounding her for money. Have some shame, Charlotte.” “Don’t push it, Charlotte. Play nice, or you won’t get a dime.” I looked around the room and decided to stay silent. Seeing my silence, Daisy turned to the secretary at the door and screamed, “Go! Get my brother in here! Tell him there’s a crazy woman bullying Baby!” “Tell him to get his butt in here right now!” 3 Looking at Daisy’s smug, untouchable face, a quiet, soaring joy bloomed in my chest. Nobody knew how long I had been waiting for this exact moment. Three years ago, when Daniel pushed me into the role of registered agent and corporate representative, the company was already drowning in over two hundred million dollars of debt. Back then, Daniel had put his arm around me and whispered, ‘Honey, it’s just a formality. We just need your name on the paperwork. Just sign here.’ It wasn’t until I gained access to the actual ledger that the truth hit me. I wasn’t his partner. I was his human shield. For three agonizing years, I had scrambled to keep the wolves at bay, pouring nearly three million dollars of my own inheritance and savings into the black hole of his company’s liabilities. I had wanted a divorce. But my lawyer warned me that without airtight proof of Daniel’s personal asset diversion, the courts would likely rule the business liabilities as joint marital debt. I had to bide my time and gather evidence. The heavy oak door swung open. Daniel strode into the room, looking imposing and severe. Daisy instantly launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his sleeve and pouting. “Daniel! Charlotte is being so mean to Baby!” “She brought a fake invoice to extort a hundred thousand dollars from Baby! When Baby said no, she started threatening Baby with her phone camera!” Daniel’s eyes went cold as he locked them onto me. “Charlotte, what the hell are you doing now?” Before I could even open my mouth, Daisy kicked her performance into overdrive. She scrambled back onto the desk, dangling her legs in the air, kicking them back and forth as she let out loud, dramatic wails. “Daniel! Do you know why she wants that hundred thousand dollars so badly?” “It’s because she’s using it to fund her little toy boy on the side!” A collective gasp rippled through the room. “Baby heard people talking!” she sobbed, wiping fake tears on her pink sleeve. “Charlotte’s been seeing someone else for months! A young, hot guy!” “She’s just trying to drain the company dry before she runs off with him! She’s making a fool out of you!” Daniel’s face turned an ugly, bruised shade of purple. He marched over to me and grabbed my wrist. Before I could react, his other hand clamped onto my ring finger, catching the band of my diamond wedding ring and pulling it hard. The sharp metal claws of the setting scraped brutally against my knuckle. A thin, stinging line of crimson welled up from the base of my finger to the tip. Blood began to drip onto the polished floor. I trembled from the sudden, sharp pain. Daniel ripped the ring free and tossed it onto the desk in front of Daisy. “Here. Baby likes shiny things, right? You can have this as a toy.” Daisy snatched up the ring, her eyes lighting up as she held it to the fluorescent lights. “Oh, so shiny! Thank you, Daniel!” “Daniel, Baby doesn’t want this bad woman in our company anymore!” “Kick her out! Divorce her! Baby hates her!” Daniel took a deep, steadying breath. He reached into his leather briefcase and pulled out a thick document. “Charlotte.” He slammed the divorce papers onto the desk in front of me. “Sign it. You walk away with nothing. As of today, you are completely dead to the King family.” I looked down at the paperwork. Under Division of Assets, it read: The Wife voluntarily waives all claims to marital assets. I looked up at his face. There was no guilt in his eyes. Not a flicker of hesitation. I lowered my gaze, picked up the pen with my bleeding hand, and signed my name on the dotted line. It took every ounce of my strength to keep my face from splitting into a wide, triumphant grin. I bowed my head, pretending to weep into my hands. But in reality, I was biting my lip raw to stop myself from laughing out loud. 4 A month later. I was sitting in my newly rented apartment. The phone on the kitchen counter buzzed. It was a package delivery notification—a physical invitation sent by Daisy. The envelope was sealed with a pink glittery heart sticker. I opened it. Daisy’s One-Month Anniversary Gala Written in her bubbly, rounded handwriting below: “Dear Ex-Sister-in-Law, Baby has been the boss for a month now! Under Baby’s brilliant leadership, the company is absolutely soaring! Tonight, Baby is throwing a massive celebration on board ‘The Oasis’ yacht. You are cordially invited to witness what a real business mogul looks like. Dress nice, try not to embarrass Baby!” I stared at the invitation for a long time. Then, I pulled up the calendar on my phone to check the note I had marked a month ago. Bank’s final grace period deadline: Tonight, 10:00 PM. I set the phone down. I walked over to the closet and pulled out a stunning, deep-emerald silk dress. Tonight was a show worth dressing up for. The Oasis was docked at the marina, glowing like a floating palace of neon and glass. The deck was carpeted in plush cream, adorned with giant balloons that read Baby is the Best! and Long Live President Daisy! In the center of the deck stood a massive, ten-tier cake, topped with a small flag: Happy 1-Month Anniversary to Baby Daisy! Daisy stood near the bow in a custom designer tulle dress, practically glowing with self-importance. My ex-husband, Daniel, stood beside her, his arm wrapped around a young, beautiful woman I had never seen before. Surrounding them were the same parasitic relatives and bootlicks. “With Daisy at the helm, we’ll be ringing the bell at NASDAQ by next quarter!” “Absolutely! Once we go public, we’re all buying beach houses!” The moment my heels clicked onto the deck, the laughter died down slightly. Daisy spotted me. Her eyes lit up, and she gestured to two beefy security guards in suits. They immediately escorted me to a far corner of the deck, effectively quarantining me. Daisy grabbed a wireless microphone. “Look, everyone! Our former owner is here!” The crowd erupted into mock applause and snickers. “Ex-sister-in-law, are you dying of regret? Look at how amazing Baby is doing with the company!” “When you were in charge, this place was a morgue. Now that Baby is here, it’s a party every day!” Daniel tightened his grip on his new girlfriend’s waist. “It took a divorce for me to realize what a drag you were on this business, Charlotte.” The new girlfriend let out a high-pitched, mocking giggle. I sipped my champagne, offering no reply. Daisy stepped up to the massive cake, holding a long silver knife. She looked over at me with a tilted, mock-innocent smile. “Oh, by the way, Charlotte. Baby wants to give you a chance!” She cooed into the microphone, “If you get down on your knees and bark like a dog three times, Baby will give you a big slice of cake. What do you say?” A roar of laughter swept across the deck. “Do it!” someone shouted. “Bark! Bark! Bark!” Every eye on the yacht was fixed on me. I stood quietly in my corner, glanced down at the gold watch on my wrist. 9:59 PM. One minute left. “Five,” I whispered. “Four.” Nobody noticed my lips moving. “Three.” Suddenly, a sharp vibration echoed from Daniel’s suit pocket. He frowned, pulling out his phone. Before he could even look at the screen, the CFO’s phone went off. Then the legal counsel’s. Then, the phones of every single executive on board began to chime, ring, and buzz in a deafening, discordant symphony. The laughter on the yacht vanished instantly. Daniel stared at his caller ID, his face draining of color. He answered. Within three seconds, his skin turned a sickly, translucent white. Clatter. The phone slipped from his hand, bouncing uselessly on the deck. At that exact moment, a piercing, wailing siren cut through the night air from the marina entrance. Massive, blinding searchlights swept across the water, pinning the yacht in their bright glare. The silver cake knife slipped from Daisy’s fingers, clattering loudly against the deck. The entire yacht fell into a frozen, petrified silence. I looked at the twenty-nine-year-old ‘baby’ standing there, shivering and pale, and raised my glass. “Happy one-month anniversary, President Baby.”

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