Author: Momo Chan

The day my wife returned from her business trip, I secretly brought our son to the airport to surprise her. As she stepped out of the arrival gate, my wife was laughing and chatting with a man. When it was time to say goodbye, the man suddenly wrapped his arms around her waist. I expected my wife to be furious, but she didn’t even give him a warning look. Instead, she blushed and told him, “You can’t do that at the office.” I picked up our son and left the airport without looking back. My wife came home and found me in the kitchen. A flicker of guilt crossed her face. “William, thanks for holding down the fort these past few days. Let’s eat.” In six years of marriage, I rarely heard my wife say something like that. Because she always emphasized that “she” was the hardest working, strongest, and greatest person in the world. That scene at the airport made me remember calling her the night before. She’d breathlessly told me she was jogging, then quickly hung up. Looks like she was lying. My heart felt heavy, like a huge rock was pressing down on it. “I’m not hungry. You guys eat.” I went back to the room, but soon after, my wife sat down beside me. She asked, annoyed, “William, we haven’t seen each other in a week. Are you really giving me attitude the moment I walk in?” I smiled and shot back, “Oh, Ms. Mia, you’re joking. I’m just a househusband. How dare I give you attitude?” She caught my sarcasm and explained that her business trip had been too busy, so she hadn’t had time to call or video chat. To cheer me up, she pulled out a T-shirt she’d bought for me, asking me to try it on. “I snuck in some time to buy matching family outfits for the three of us. You used to get upset when I didn’t wear matching couple outfits with you, remember? Are you happy now? Come on, try it on, see if it fits.” I knew she was deliberately bringing that up to dodge the real issue. So I snatched the T-shirt and threw it away. This action made her lose her last shred of patience. “William, are you really going to keep this up? Is it just because I brought Carter on the trip? He’s my junior from college, and he’s my employee. He wants to learn from my work experience. He’s ambitious. What’s wrong with that?” I retorted, “It’s not just work experience your ‘junior’ wants from you, is it?” “What do you mean? William, you’re just dirty-minded, so you see everyone that way. People really shouldn’t be idle for too long!” “What do you think I’m working my butt off for out there? Isn’t it for “our” family? What can you do besides being mindlessly jealous? If you were just a little more capable, would I, a woman, have to be out there in the public eye?” “Do you know what people are saying about us? They’re calling me a sugar mama! Out of sight, out of mind for you, but I’ve been humiliated because of you!” For three years, I’d lived under this constant pressure. Every argument, she’d repeat the same lines: I was useless, a leech, a sugar baby. Normally, at this point, I would apologize first. I knew her temper. Since I was with her, I should be more understanding. But not this time. This wasn’t about temper; it was about integrity, about betrayal.

I simply couldn’t tolerate her and her ‘junior’s’ dirty “pure” relationship anymore! I looked at her calmly. “If that’s the case, then I guess you should stop embarrassing yourself. Let’s just get a divorce.” My marriage to Mia was purely by accident. A few years ago, I was selling masks on SnapChat. Back then, Mia was my boss. She saw my post and asked me to deliver them to her place. That day, as soon as I handed her the masks, an ambulance took away a few suspected cases from her apartment complex. She had no choice but to let me stay. Over time, feelings grew, and we naturally got together. But my nightmare was just beginning. Mia had been divorced once before, because her ex-husband cheated. So after we married, she was very strict with me. I couldn’t even like or comment on posts from other women on SnapChat. Once, I helped a female colleague get a discount on Wish, and she yelled at me all night for it. At first, I didn’t pay much attention. I knew she’d been hurt by her ex-husband, and that’s why she was so guarded. Plus, I hadn’t dated much and naively believed men should always defer to women. Later, she complained that my parents weren’t good at taking care of our son, claiming they weren’t educated enough and were too permissive with him. So she made me quit my job and become a stay-at-home dad. When we got married, I promised I’d meet all her demands, so I agreed. It was around this time that her college junior, Carter, came back to the States. My wife casually invited me to dinner with him. At the table, they talked about their college days, how my wife used to take care of him, and how he admired her. Carter even said that if my wife weren’t already married, he’d definitely pursue her now that he was back. Afterward, I seriously told my wife that Carter’s words were inappropriate. But my wife retorted, “Is “he” out of line, or are “you” just oversensitive? It was just a joke, why are you making such a big deal out of it? We’re going to be seeing each other all the time, so don’t say such senseless things anymore!” “Seeing each other all the time? What do you mean?” “I’ve decided to hire Carter at the company. You quit to take care of our son, and the company is short-staffed right now. So Carter’s timing is perfect; he can fill the gap your absence leaves.” In the following days, my wife and her junior frequently went out together. She even forgot our wedding anniversary, only coming home the next morning. I smelled the alcohol on her and asked her what she’d been doing. She looked at the food I’d prepared on the table and explained, “Carter just got back, right? His girlfriend abroad broke up with him, so I was comforting him and we had some drinks. What day was yesterday, anyway? You made all this delicious food?” “You forgot our wedding anniversary just to comfort him?” My wife paused, then actually said, “Good thing I forgot. If Carter’s heartbreak happened on our anniversary, he’d be even more miserable.” I was furious. I immediately wanted to call Carter and yell at him. But my wife stopped me, calling me petty and a small man who couldn’t achieve anything significant. I said, “Mia, you’re becoming more and more like your ex-husband.” “William, what do you mean by bringing up my ex-husband? You’ve looked down on me for being divorced from the start, haven’t you? I know you resent me. I won’t burden you; I can divorce you!” Faced with her emotional blackmail, I could only reassure her that I didn’t mean it. Then I apologized, silently enduring it, until this business trip she took with Carter. I was genuinely fed up with this life. Anyone else who wants this, go ahead. I’m only twenty-eight, and I already have gray hairs! But the next morning, Mia knocked on my bedroom door. To my surprise, she shed her usual high-and-mighty CEO persona and said, “Honey, yesterday was my fault.” Every time we argued before, she would be the one to bring up divorce, and I would apologize. And every time, she would genuinely believe I was in the wrong. But after a night of struggling with my thoughts, I knew what I wanted now. “No, Ms. Mia, you’re perfectly fine. It’s me who’s wrong. Actually, we never should have been together from the start. Let’s get divorced while we’re still young, so neither of us wastes any more time.” Hearing my words, my wife truly panicked. She grabbed me and demanded, “William, I’ve already apologized to you. What more do you want?” That’s her. Even an apology had to be delivered from on high. Besides, just because she apologized, did I have to accept it? “I said, I want a divorce.” She clung to my hand, her voice agitated. “William, if we divorce, what about our son?” I shot back, “When Carter was hugging you, did you think about our son then?” At my words, Mia’s expression changed dramatically. The muscles in her face twitched uncontrollably. She finally realized why I was divorcing her. “William, were you at the airport yesterday?” “Yes, I was. I meant to bring our son to surprise you, but instead, it turned into a nasty surprise for me. You two are quite a match. If I stayed any longer, it would be me being inconsiderate.” The calmer I was, the more frightened Mia became. Her voice trembling, she explained, “William, listen to me. Carter lived abroad for years. Maybe his thinking is a bit Westernized. A hug really means nothing to him! How about this: next time he does something like that, I’ll stop him.” “No need. You two are basically having sex, and it has nothing to do with me anymore. Are you free today? We can make an appointment at the divorce court.” Every word I spoke conveyed my firm decision to divorce her. She realized my resolve. She rushed outside, telling me, “William, you’re just jealous right now. Once you calm down, you won’t want to divorce me. I just got back from a business trip, and I have a ton of stuff to do at work. I don’t have time to go to the divorce court with you!” I knew she was deliberately trying to stall. She thought if she waited for me to cool off, for me to “understand,” everything would go back to normal. But she didn’t understand that the moment I saw her not resist Carter’s embrace, my heart had already died. First, I took our son to my parents’ house, asking them to look after him for a few days. My parents immediately knew something was wrong between Mia and me and quickly asked. I didn’t hide anything, explaining that I was planning to divorce Mia. My parents initially tried to persuade me, but they also knew how dominant and demanding Mia was. Faced with my persistence, they stopped pushing. Considering that Mia had paid for everything we ate and used over the past few years, I was prepared to leave with nothing. My next step, then, was to find a job. Luckily, I’d graduated from a prestigious university and had only been out of work for a year. So, from finding a job to getting hired, it only took me a day. That evening, I went home to pack my bags. I was carrying three suitcases, ready to leave, when I bumped into my wife getting off the elevator. And with her, was Carter.

“William, aren’t you being incredibly childish? It’s just an argument, do you really have to run away from home? Carter’s right here, I’ll let him explain!” Mia quickly gave Carter a look, and Carter began, “William, you’ve misunderstood. Hugs and kisses are just polite gestures abroad. You haven’t been overseas, so you wouldn’t understand.” “You don’t know, Mia cares about you a lot. She was distracted all day at the office.” “If I wanted to have something with Mia, it would have happened ages ago. There wouldn’t be any room for you. Mia has looked after me like a younger brother for years. We really have a great relationship, that’s why I hugged her.” After Carter finished explaining, Mia looked at me smugly. “William, we’re both right here. You believe us now, don’t you?” I was pretty surprised. I wondered if Mia was truly naive or just pretending to be. Did she really foolishly believe Carter was here to reconcile us? I thought I was calm and detached, but facing Carter’s manipulation, I still felt an urge to punch him! But I had to consider reality. My child was already losing his mother; I couldn’t let him lose his father too. I suppressed my anger, saying nothing, and walked around them. But Carter suddenly grabbed my arm from behind. If it weren’t for him, I believe my family wouldn’t have fallen apart. So I angrily shook his hand off. He then dramatically fell to the ground, as if I’d hit him hard. Mia quickly helped him up and angrily demanded, “William! Are you crazy? You actually hit Carter? You’re totally ungrateful! Apologize to him right now!” Before I could speak, Carter took Mia’s hand and said, “Mia, don’t blame William. He’s just upset. This is all my fault. If I hadn’t hugged you then, none of this would have happened.” “Carter, stop talking. I’m already grateful you came to explain for me. Besides, this isn’t your fault. If he hadn’t idly taken our son to the airport, he wouldn’t have seen anything, and none of this big mess would have happened!” I scoffed, “I get it. So, this is somehow my fault now.” “Isn’t it? We already had our roles: I handled things outside, you handled things inside. You just needed to take care of your responsibilities at home. What’s with the ‘surprise’? Don’t you think that’s childish? Anyway, William, let’s not talk about that. Apologize to him first!” I said nothing. Carter then turned to me again. “William, no need for apologies. You’ve hit me, you’ve probably calmed down now, right? Don’t argue with Mia anymore, just go home.” The two of them, working together in perfect sync, subtly turned me from the accuser into the accused. It was the first time I’d felt physically and emotionally disgusted by someone. I didn’t want to explain, nor did I want to look at them for another second. I picked up my luggage and resolutely left Mia’s place. “William, hitting Carter in front of me today really made me lose face.” “We both made mistakes in this situation. Apologize to Carter, and we’ll let this go.” “I’ve given you a way out. It’s up to you if you want to take it!” After leaving Mia’s place, she sent me several texts in a row. I was relieved that she didn’t soften her tone. Because the harder her attitude was, the clearer my own mind became. Otherwise, I worried that when our son cried for his mom at night, I might change my mind. Later, I thought that Carter’s appearance might not have been such a bad thing after all. Because sometimes you need to go through pain to be reborn. I stopped contacting Mia, but she likely figured I’d taken our son back to my parents’ house. A few days later, she showed up at my parents’ house looking for me. From complaining to my parents to threatening me. “Mom and Dad, you know your family’s financial situation. If William wants to buy a house and car in this city on his own, he’ll need to work for at least thirty years. So you should persuade him to come back home with me.” “Mia, this is between us two. Don’t drag my parents into it.” “They’re your parents, so of course they should be involved in our affairs. How about this: if you don’t come home with me, then I’ll just stay here.” Mia told me confidently, clearly believing she had the upper hand. She thought that would leave me with no choice? She found my parents to persuade me, but I could do the same with hers. Because when Mia and I first got married, her parents already didn’t think much of me, labeling me a leech and a sugar baby. Especially after I’d been out of work for over a year, they looked down on me even more. They’d even secretly advised Mia to divorce me; I’d unintentionally overheard their phone calls. So when I called them and said Mia was staying at my parents’ house, begging me not to divorce her, they absolutely lost it right then and there. Mia’s father yelled into the phone, “William, if it weren’t for my daughter, would you be living this kind of life? You’re useless, you have no money. Only my foolish daughter would have fallen for you!” “My daughter is out there earning money to support the family, and you, a lazy sugar baby, dare to talk about divorce with her?” “Remember this: “my daughter” is dumping “you”! Put Mia on the phone!” Mia’s parents reacted like I’d stepped on their tail, then they tore into Mia, scolding her. In the end, she reluctantly left my parents’ house. After she left, my parents also tried to persuade me, saying that in all our arguments, Mia had never backed down. This time, she must really know she’s wrong and wants me to give her another chance for our son’s sake. Honestly, I wavered. Because I truly thought my wife would calmly accept my divorce request, believing it would mean no one would bother her about Carter anymore. So, a few days later, I used the excuse of going back to pick up some things, wanting to see how she was living. After all, we’d lived together for five years. It was impossible to say there were no happy memories from those years of shared intimacy. Returning to the house I’d lived in for five years, a wave of inexplicable sadness washed over me. I sat on the couch for a long time, wondering if I should wait for her to come home and have a proper talk. But very quickly, I gave up on that naive idea. In the bathroom, I saw two toothbrushes.

The greatest sorrow is a dead heart; even death itself is secondary. The two toothbrushes I saw in the bathroom shattered my last illusion. In the following days, I focused on my work. During this time, Mia contacted me many times, but I ignored all her calls and texts. However, it’s a small world. News of me starting at a new company quickly reached Mia. That day, as I was proofreading documents, a colleague told me a beautiful woman was looking for me at the entrance. Sure enough, it was my wife. After so many days of cold war, I thought she had come to her senses and agreed to divorce. But to my surprise, as soon as we met, she threw herself into my arms. Her body was still soft, but her face looked terrible, with particularly prominent dark circles under her eyes. Yet, I no longer believed it was because of me that she hadn’t slept well. Those two toothbrushes explained everything. “Honey, please, stop this drama, okay? Come back home with me! These past few days without you, I can’t eat, I can’t sleep.” “I keep forgetting to pick up packages, and I don’t even know how to pay the utility bills anymore.” “I miss you, I miss our son. Just come back, and we can discuss anything else.” Mia’s eyes were tear-rimmed, but faced with her show of weakness, my only response was a cold laugh. “Mia, save your crocodile tears. You’re already living with Carter, did you think I wouldn’t know? How can you live with Carter and still shamelessly beg me not to divorce you? How do you even do it?” She asked, astonished, “Living together? When did I start living with him? It’s just that I’ve been feeling down these past few days, and he was worried something might happen to me, so he… he stayed at our place to keep me company. He chatted with me, I cooked for him, that’s all it was. You really shouldn’t overthink it!” “Enough. I’m not interested in your stories. Mia, you’re a boss, for goodness sake. Don’t cheapen yourself like this and become a laughingstock. Divorcing you is a decision I’ve deeply considered. If you’re just here to persuade me not to divorce, then please leave.” “William, no matter what you say, I will never divorce you! Because I love you, my life can’t be without you!” Mia’s words made my heart tremble for a moment. “I used to want to hear you say those three words, but you always called me childish and lectured me that love isn’t about words, it’s about actions. So, I won’t listen to what you say; I’ll only look at what you do.” “My love for you has been completely consumed by your endless lack of boundaries; there’s nothing left. “And your ‘love’ for me, wasn’t really love. It was just a habit of being taken care of by me. Actually, you could solve this problem by hiring a housekeeper. Alright, I have to work. Please leave now.” As we talked, more and more people gathered around. Some people even recognized Mia. She didn’t like being gossiped about and pointed at, so she had to leave our office. I was called into her office by my boss, Kaitlyn. After hearing what happened, she looked at me with a hint of sympathy. “While you shouldn’t deal with personal matters at the office, this isn’t your fault. Alright, you can go. Just be more careful next time.” For years, I’d been emotionally manipulated by Mia, living a very suppressed life. Suddenly having a woman who was so understanding and compassionate made me feel an urge to cry. Outside, a storm raged, but my heart was calm. I thought, after hearing my firm words, Mia wouldn’t bother me anymore. It wasn’t until I finished work that I realized she was still waiting for me at the entrance. Seeing me come out, she ignored the pouring rain and ran straight to me. She told me to get in the car, and she’d drive me home. She let the rain drench her, but I wasn’t falling for her ploy to gain sympathy. “No need. I’ll take the bus home.” I walked around her, opened my umbrella, and got on the bus. She frantically drove after the bus, but during rush hour, and with the roads slick from the rain, she got into a car accident. Finally, following a call from the police, her parents and I were summoned to the traffic police station. Carter also came with her parents.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “418055”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

After scandalous photos of Julian Maxwell, the scion of a powerful New York family, and his new girlfriend, Lily, leaked, everyone was waiting for me to make Lily disappear — or worse. So, at the cruise party, he made a grand declaration, protecting his new love. “Anyone who dares touch a hair on Lily’s head, I’ll break their hand.” I wasn’t looking to settle scores with Lily. All I wanted was the key to the safe containing my mother’s ashes, as compensation for his infidelity. Julian seemed conflicted, but Lily already had the key. She tossed it into a snake pit, specially prepared to satisfy the wealthy guests’ twisted amusement. “Seraphina, Julian said all the cards and house keys are mine now. If you really want this key, go pick it up yourself.” In the snake pit, dozens of snakes writhed together, flicking their tongues, eerie and disgusting. They all thought I wouldn’t dare. But I didn’t hesitate; I plunged my hand straight into the pit. Julian’s expression was grim, and a flicker of panic crossed his eyes as he watched me. Even as my arm bled from the bites, I didn’t flinch. No one knew that at the same time the scandalous photos were exposed, I’d received a message from my father: “Bring your mother, and I’ll give you a chance to come home. You have one day. Miss it, and our father-daughter relationship is over.”

My family and the Maxwells had a generations-long feud, constantly tearing each other apart. My parents had kept me so sheltered. That’s why, even after Julian Maxwell’s dramatic rescue — and knowing exactly who he was — I still fell hopelessly in love with him. It was simply because I believed I’d find a love like my parents’ — one of unwavering devotion and support. When my father found out, he furiously kicked me out of the house. Julian took me in. My mother, while looking for me, tragically died in a car accident. Julian snatched my mother’s body, claiming it was so I’d have something to remember her by. But after the cremation, he locked her ashes in a safe, using them to force me to stay by his side. With nowhere to go and no skills to support myself, I became Julian’s kept woman. Every aspect of my life — my clothes, food, shelter, and transportation — required Julian’s approval. Meanwhile, my father, devastated by my mother’s death, lost interest in work, and our family’s fortunes dwindled daily. I’d tried to go home and visit my father, but every request was denied. He even assigned bodyguards to me around the clock to prevent me from leaving on my own. Everyone said he was protecting me, but I knew he was just watching my every move. Yet, despite his obsessive control, Julian treated me incredibly well, showering me with lavish attention, making me the envy of everyone. Even when I angrily tore up one of his hundred-million-dollar contracts, he, a man who always put work first, would just praise me for it. A sharp sting in my arm jolted me from my memories. My hand was deep inside the snake pit. The disturbed snakes began to writhe, coiling around my arm one by one. Their sharp fangs pierced my flesh, expressing their displeasure at my invasion. I’d been pampered since childhood, my body delicate and unused to hardship. The pain instantly flooded my brain. I pushed through on sheer willpower, continuously searching inside the pit. Just as I felt I was about to touch it, Julian suddenly pulled my hand out, then immediately ordered the snake pit to be eliminated. Everyone at the party could see he was taking revenge on the snakes for my injured arm. They whispered amongst themselves that Julian still loved me most, he just made a mistake men often make. But the next second, Julian lashed out at me, full-on. “In the three years you’ve been with me, haven’t I put you on a pedestal? Is it not enough? To reduce yourself to this state, all for a safe key?” That wasn’t just a safe key; it was my mother’s ashes, my hope of returning home. He grabbed the first-aid kit, crudely treating my snake bites while scolding me. “You should be thankful these snakes weren’t venomous, or not even a miracle could save you!” Ignoring my wounds, I looked at the snake pit. It was a bloody mess. The snakes were dead, and the key was buried beneath their disgusting bodies. My eyes welled up. I had, in fact, asked him for the key before. But he wouldn’t give it to me, saying he was afraid I’d leave him once I had it. He claimed he was madly in love with me, and everything he did was out of fear I’d abandon him, including preventing me from visiting my father and keeping me from my mother’s ashes. Julian, who was always so powerful, felt insecure with me, and that made me feel incredibly guilty. I thought I wasn’t showing him enough love. So I became even more dependent on him, just to make him feel my love, and in doing so, I completely lost myself. And now, he had so casually given the key to Lily, even letting her toss it into that filthy snake pit. My arm was numb, and so was my heart. I let out a heavy sigh, turning back to the man I’d loved with my life for three years. “If you hadn’t pulled my hand out, I would have touched the key.”

“Seraphina, I’m so sorry.” Lily gave me a tearful glance, her eyes red, as if *I* had been the one to bully her. She cried as she approached the filthy snake pit, her hand trembling as she reached in and pulled out the grimy key. Lily offered me the key. “I never thought you’d actually put your hand in. I just wanted to play a harmless prank.” The key was right there! I yanked my hand free from Julian’s grasp, trying to snatch the key. But just an inch away, Julian moved faster, pressing Lily’s hand down, preventing her from giving me the key. He loomed over me, his gaze chilling. “Seraphina, you’re so desperate for that key. Is it to leave me?” In the three years we’d been together, Julian had demanded I become solely his possession. Before Lily appeared, I thought it was a sweet burden. But it wasn’t until I saw how he interacted with Lily that I understood what true love was. He pampered Lily just as he had pampered me, but he didn’t clip her wings; instead, he let her freely enjoy her youth. While I, like a forgotten wife at home, waited day and night for him to return. That was a normal relationship. Perhaps Julian didn’t love me at all; maybe he just wanted to conquer me because our families were rivals. “Seraphina Davis, I’m talking to you,” Julian called out, his face dark. I snapped back to reality and fired back, “You can give the key to a third party, but not me? I’m your girlfriend.” The guests at the party recoiled, fearful of getting caught in the crossfire. No one had ever dared to speak to Julian like that before; I was the first. In the past, I had been incredibly obedient to Julian. Even if he said one plus one was three, I would discard all reason and believe he was right. So, not only were the guests surprised, but Julian himself seemed taken aback. But quickly, a sarcastic smile twisted his lips. He suddenly gripped my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Seraphina Davis, what happens between Lily and me is none of your business. Daring to contradict me in public — do you think your place in my heart is so high? It seems I’ve spoiled you too much, letting you run wild.”

Julian had indeed spoiled me in the past; there was no denying that. But I had never been unruly. My family could no longer contend with his; why did he keep involving me? If he’d found true love, why keep me around as an inconvenience? As these thoughts surfaced, tears uncontrollably streamed down my face, tracing a path across my cheek to Julian’s hand. The man’s body stiffened. He instinctively wiped away my tears. His sudden tenderness made me sob uncontrollably. “Please,” I choked out through tears, “I’m begging you, just give me the key.” One day was such a short time. My father was a man of his word, and I was terrified of losing him. The tenderness in Julian’s eyes vanished instantly, replaced by cold indifference. At that moment, Lily sidled up, wiping the tears from Julian’s hand, and glanced at me. “Seraphina, Julian is so good to you. Why are you fighting with him? If you’re not heartbroken, I am.” I pulled at the corners of my mouth, a bitter, humorless smile. Lily and I were like a stark contrast right then; her gentle sweetness was the perfect way to win a man over. When Julian looked at me again, he was back to his icy self. “You’re a buzzkill,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “Take her away and lock her up.” A murmur ran through the crowd. They all believed that I, the woman Julian had once put on a pedestal, was about to fall from grace. I thought so too. I was locked in the cruise ship’s storage room. It was spacious, but once the door closed, it plunged into complete darkness. In that confined space, my claustrophobia flared. I scrambled to the door, frantically pounding on it. I wanted to call for help, but my breathing was too ragged for me to make a sound. Outside, I heard the guards scoff, “Just a piece of trash, thinking she’s still somebody important? She’s making such a fuss.” They kicked the door a few times as a warning, annoyed by my noise. I stopped pounding. Not because I gave up, but because I had no strength left. The snake bites on my hands hadn’t been treated, and combined with my claustrophobia, I was incredibly weak. I don’t know how much time passed. But when I woke again, the light filtering through the cracks was bright. It was the next day. I didn’t have much time; I had to get the key before the cruise docked at noon. I tried pounding on the door again. This time, the door opened, and Julian walked in. He narrowed his eyes, observing my disheveled state. He reached out, gently wiping the dust from my face, then personally treated the wounds on my arm. For a moment, I almost saw the person who had once cherished me so carefully. But the next second, his words dragged me back to the cruel reality. “Silly Seraphina, your phone is monitored. I know your father sent you a message.” “But what can I do? I’d rather you cut ties with your father than leave me.” “For you, I’m willing to extend the cruise party. We’ll only return tomorrow.” Julian’s words stunned me. He knew everything! I spoke with difficulty, “Julian, does what you said a year ago still count?” On my birthday a year ago, Julian had made me a promise. He promised me a lifetime with just one person, only ever having eyes for each other. If he ever broke that promise, he’d give me his life. Julian, instead of getting angry, smiled faintly. He pulled out a knife he carried, placed it in my hand, and pointed to his chest. “Seraphina, stab me right here. My life is yours.”

I raised the knife, aiming for his heart. But the tip stopped just before his chest. My hand was trembling uncontrollably; I couldn’t move it another inch. Julian’s smile deepened. He gently pried open my fingers and took the knife. “Seraphina, I knew you couldn’t do it.” Julian paused, then added, “The outcome will be a lifetime with just one person, but the journey there might not be.” He told me to stay in the storage room and calm down, completely forgetting about my claustrophobia. Two years ago, Julian had an enemy. That enemy kidnapped me, holding me hostage in a dark basement and torturing me. By the time Julian arrived, I was bruised, bleeding, and unconscious. That’s when my claustrophobia began. It was fair to say that if it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have it. Watching him walk away decisively, I felt utterly ridiculous. The storage room door clicked shut once more. I huddled in the corner, clinging to life by the sliver of light filtering through a mouse hole. How could a person live such a pathetic existence? I used to be a pampered heiress, cherished by my parents. The cruise ship indeed did not dock on time. I heard many guests quietly complaining that it was delaying their plans. But not a single person dared to question Julian directly. My heart slowly sank. No hope. I had no home. In the afternoon, the storage room door opened. I thought Julian had come. But the person who appeared before me was Lily. Lily wore a gorgeous princess gown, looking radiant and polished. My disheveled state clearly satisfied her. So much so that she was willing to reveal a secret she’d kept for three years. “Not long ago, when Julian was drunk, he mentioned your mother’s death.” “Your mother wanted to take you away and argued with him, but he found her annoying and killed her right there.” “He even showed me photos from the scene — it was all bloody, so terrifying.” I listened in confusion. Julian had told me my mother, speeding and distraught while looking for me, drove off a winding mountain road and died in the accident. As if sensing my doubt, Lily purposely pulled out a photo. She had secretly taken it. Blood stained my mother’s white dress on the ground; the wounds were so horrific, I could even see organs. I froze. The truth was, three years ago I hadn’t seen my mother’s body, only touched a cold urn once. Everything about my mother’s death, I had only heard from Julian’s lips. Lily’s mouth curved slightly upward. She savored my pain, then threw the safe key at my face. “Seeing how pathetic you are, I’ll give you the key. A safe holding a dead person’s ashes, it’s bad luck for me to keep.” I finally had the key. It wasn’t even evening yet; I still had time. But we were surrounded by ocean. After leaving the cruise ship, how would I get back to shore? Lily had clearly only come to deepen the conflict between Julian and me. She dismissed the guards, also giving me a chance to escape. As soon as Lily left, I secretly slipped out of the storage room. I headed to the stern of the ship. It was the least crowded area. As despair washed over me, I spotted a lifeboat nearby. Maybe I could use the lifeboat to leave. Rather than waiting for death, I would take action. I didn’t want anything more to do with the man who killed my mother. I’d take a gamble. Even if I died in the ocean, it would be better than living a dazed, meaningless life by Julian’s side. I boarded the lifeboat and set off in the direction we had come from. Half an hour later, the guards, on their own accord, went to Julian to confess their failure. “Mr. Maxwell, Seraphina is gone. An empty lifeboat was recovered from the sea.”

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Liam Thorne cut off my grandma Rose’s special medication to force me into being a mobile blood bank for his first love. He slammed a blood draw needle onto my face, his eyes icy: “Chloe Miller, Vanessa is injured and needs a transfusion. You share her blood type. Consider it an honor. Don’t forget, your grandma’s life is still in my hands!” He was convinced I would beg like a dog, just as I had for the past three years, all for Grandma. I looked at him calmly, rolled up my sleeve, and said, “Draw it.” He thought I had given in. He turned to brag to his friend: “A fake is just a cheap imitation. Give her a little something, and she’ll be grateful. She can never compare to Vanessa.” He didn’t know that yesterday I had found out Grandma passed away six months ago. He had deceived me for half a year with a dead body and forged medical records! After the last blood draw, I vanished from his world completely. Later, at a top charity gala in New York, he cornered me against a wall, eyes red, voice trembling: “Chloe, I messed up. Please, come back, okay?” A lean, strong hand wrapped around my waist. Julian Thorne, Liam’s powerful uncle, looked down at him with a sneer: “Liam, is that how you speak to your aunt-to-be?”

“Chloe Miller, get over here.” Liam Thorne’s voice cut through the hospital room door, carrying command and undisguised disgust. On the bed, Vanessa Scott leaned into soft pillows, her face pale, but her eyes gleamed with triumph. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms, and walked in. A fresh “Voluntary Blood Donation Agreement” was tossed at my feet. The papers scattered across the cold floor, just like my dignity had been trampled for three years. “Sign it. Vanessa just returned from abroad, she’s not used to it yet, and she had a minor accident. She’s severely anemic. You have RH-negative blood, like her. From now on, you’ll stay on standby and serve as her private blood bank.” The words “private blood bank” came out so casually, but they cut into my heart like a dull knife. Vanessa coughed lightly, leaning into Liam’s arms, her voice soft: “Liam, don’t be like that. Chloe has been with you for three years. Drawing her blood makes me feel bad. What if she can’t handle it…” “What could she not handle?” Liam sneered, glancing at me as if I were worthless trash. “She’s lived off me for three years, eating my food, wearing my clothes. A little blood is nothing. It’s her good fortune to give blood for you.” He paused, his gaze turning dark and fixed on me: “Pick it up. Sign it.” I stood still, looking at the agreement on the floor. “Liam, I’m a person, not a blood bag.” My voice was quiet but steadier than I expected. Liam clearly hadn’t expected me to resist. For three years, I had mimicked Vanessa’s style, tone, even her smile, trained by him to be the perfect substitute. Anger flashed in his eyes. He strode over, grabbed my neck, and slammed me against the wall. “Chloe Miller, you’re getting bold. Daring to talk back to me?” The air in my lungs was squeezed out. My face turned red, but I kept my eyes wide open, staring at him. “Don’t forget, your grandma is still in my private hospital! Every dose of her special medication—I paid for it. Without me, she would be dead long ago!” Grandma. Those two words hit my weak spot. I closed my eyes, one tear sliding down my cheek, landing on Liam’s hand. He flinched as if burned, let go, and pulled out a handkerchief with disgust to wipe his hand. “Don’t act like a victim. You’ll sicken Vanessa. Sign it now and go to the draw room.” I bent down and picked up the agreement. The pen scratched across the paper, each stroke cutting into my heart. After I signed, a nurse walked in and pushed the thick needle into my vein. Crimson blood flowed through the tube, draining from my body. I watched that bright red and suddenly realized that three years of delusion had been a complete joke.

I became Vanessa Scott’s exclusive blood bank and full-time caretaker. She wanted not just my blood but also my dignity. To please her, Liam Thorne allowed all her petty torments. “Chloe Miller, this soup is too hot. Are you trying to scald me to death?” Vanessa hurled a bowl of steaming soup onto the back of my hand. My skin immediately turned red, blistered, and seared with pain. I bit my lip and refused to cry out. “What? Annoyed?” Vanessa raised an eyebrow, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Chloe, you’re nothing but a cheap imitation. Liam keeps you only because your face resembles mine a little and for your rare blood type. Now that I’m back, you are not even fit to tie my shoes.” I looked at her coldly: “Ms. Scott, if you are so noble, why do you need a ‘fake’s’ blood? Aren’t you afraid of getting dirty?” Slap! Vanessa backhanded me across the face. “Who do you think you are, talking to me like that!” The hospital room door swung open, and Liam Thorne walked in, carrying a thermos. Vanessa’s eyes instantly welled up with tears. She clutched her wrist and threw herself into Liam’s arms, whimpering. “Liam, my hand hurts so much… I just said the soup was a little hot, and Chloe got angry at me and even pushed me…” Liam Thorne’s face darkened. He strode to my side, didn’t even glance at my red, scalded hand, and slapped me hard. The force sent me sprawling to the ground, and I tasted blood. “Chloe Miller, are you trying to die?! Who gave you the guts to lay a hand on her!” I covered my face and looked up at the man I had loved for three years. Three years ago, a heavy snow trapped him in a car accident. It was I who dragged him from the wreckage, walked and carried him for over ten hours, pulling him back from death. I lay in the hospital for half a month from severe frostbite. But when he woke up, he only remembered the faint jasmine scent he had noticed while unconscious. And Vanessa Scott, she loved jasmine perfume. Vanessa took credit for saving his life and became his beloved first love. I, with my family’s fall and Grandma’s illness, was forced to sign that humiliating agreement for her medical expenses. I once believed that even a heart of stone could be melted. Now I realized Liam Thorne’s heart wasn’t stone; it was ice laced with poison. “Liam, if I told you I didn’t push her, that she spilled the soup on herself, would you believe me?” I asked, my voice hoarse. Liam looked as if he’d heard the funniest joke: “You think I’d believe a lying wretch like you? Vanessa wouldn’t even step on an ant, how could she frame you!” He kicked over the trash can. “Since you like throwing tantrums, clean all the restrooms on this floor today. If you don’t finish, your grandma’s medication for today is stopped!” I lowered my gaze and hid all my emotions. “Fine. I’ll go.” I dragged my exhausted body, cleaning tools in hand, through the restrooms. Cold water soaked into my wounds, piercing pain. That night, leaning against the bathroom wall, I took out my phone and dialed Grandma’s doctor. “Dr. Evans, how is Grandma’s health recently? I’d like to visit her.” There was a long silence on the other end, so long that dread grew in my heart. “Ms. Miller…” Dr. Evans’s voice was filled with panic and guilt. “Mr. Thorne instructed that the elderly lady is in a sterile ward and cannot have visitors…” “Dr. Evans, you can’t hide it from me anymore.” I took a deep breath and forced myself to stay calm. “Today at the nurses’ station, I saw Grandma’s payment list. There was a cremation fee.” On the other end, there was a clatter, as if something had dropped.

“Ms. Miller, please let me explain…” Dr. Evans’s voice trembled violently, confirming my suspicions. “Tell me the truth.” My voice was ice cold. “What exactly happened to my grandma?” Under my relentless questioning, Dr. Evans finally broke down. “Ms. Miller, I’m so sorry! Six months ago, the elderly lady had sudden heart failure… she didn’t make it. Mr. Thorne said if I told you, you would leave him. He made me forge medical records to make it seem like she was still alive and sent you bills every day… The elderly lady’s body was cremated six months ago. Her ashes are stored in the cemetery outside the city…” Boom! It was as if a thunderclap exploded in my mind, shattering all my reason and emotion. Six months ago. Grandma died six months ago. And I, like a fool, for a loved one who was no longer in this world, had been subservient to Liam Thorne, letting him trample my dignity, even draining my blood to save his first love! Liam, how could you be so cruel! You didn’t just kill; you destroyed my spirit! I hung up, biting my lips hard until I tasted metal, barely suppressing the scream in my throat. Tears hit the cold floor silently. In that moment, the Chloe Miller who loved Liam Thorne died completely. What lived was a demon crawling out of hell. The next day, I appeared in Vanessa Scott’s hospital room on time, as usual. My face was paler than yesterday, but my eyes were eerily calm. Vanessa was drinking soup. Seeing me enter, she sneered. “Oh, the restrooms are clean? I thought you would be stuck in there forever.” I walked to her bedside, picked up the water pitcher from the table, and poured her a glass of warm water. “Ms. Scott, please drink some water.” She glanced at it disdainfully: “I don’t drink plain water. I want freshly squeezed pomegranate juice from that popular place across town. Go buy it for me.” That place was over twenty miles away. Rush hour, round trip would take at least three hours. I nodded: “Okay, I’ll go.” I turned and walked out. I didn’t go for the juice. Instead, I hailed a cab to the cemetery. In that cold niche, I saw Grandma Rose’s name. The old woman in the picture smiled so kindly, as if she were still calling my pet name: “Chloe, remember to eat on time.” I knelt before the grave, but I didn’t cry. My tears had all dried up last night. I reached out, gently touching the urn, my voice a soft murmur: “Grandma, I’m sorry I’m late. Don’t worry, I won’t let any of those who hurt us get away.” After the cemetery, I went directly to a private detective agency. I pushed all the savings I had accumulated over the past three years across the table. “I want everything on Liam Thorne and Vanessa Scott. Especially Vanessa’s three years overseas—every detail.” When I came out of the agency, it was dark. I returned to the hospital. Liam Thorne was sitting on the sofa outside the room, his face dark. Seeing me, he stood up abruptly, rushed over, and grabbed my collar. “Chloe Miller, where have you been?! Vanessa asked you to buy juice, and you disappeared all day! She fainted from anemia this afternoon and urgently needed a transfusion!” I looked at his furious face and suddenly laughed. A laugh full of sarcasm and desolation. “Liam, I went for the juice, but there was traffic, and I accidentally spilled it, so I had to go back and buy another one.” I casually spun a lie. “You dare to laugh!” Liam’s hand shot up, ready to strike me again. I didn’t dodge, just looked at him coldly: “Hit me. If you kill me today, Vanessa loses her mobile blood bank. Can you afford that?” Liam’s hand froze in midair. He looked at me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. He seemed to realize I had changed. I was no longer the timid substitute, but a rose covered in thorns. He lowered his hand and snorted: “Consider yourself lucky. Get in there and give blood!” I followed the nurse into the draw room. Crimson blood flowed out again. I watched the bright red and silently counted down in my mind. Liam, take it. Every drop of this blood, I will make you pay for in the future.

After giving blood, I leaned weakly against the corridor wall, my vision flickering with black spots. Just then, a tall, imposing figure stopped in front of me. “Is this how Liam Thorne treats a woman?” A deep, magnetic voice, tinged with amusement and authority, came from above. I looked up. What met my eyes was a chiseled, handsome face. He wore a tailored high-end suit. Behind his gold-rimmed glasses were deep, unfathomable eyes. Julian Thorne. New York’s undisputed prince, the current head of the Thorne Group, and Liam’s uncle. Though only five years older than Liam, his methods were ruthless and decisive, a force no one in New York dared to provoke. I straightened up and bowed slightly: “Mr. Thorne.” Julian’s gaze fell on my pale face, then swept over the dense needle marks on my arm. “Your name is Chloe Miller?” “Yes.” He chuckled softly, pulling a fine silk handkerchief from his suit pocket and offering it to me. “Wipe away that cold sweat. Anyone seeing you like this would think we Thornes abuse animals.” I didn’t take the handkerchief, just looked at him coldly. “Mr. Thorne, get to the point. I need to go back and serve your nephew’s wife.” A hint of appreciation flickered in Julian’s eyes. “You have backbone. Much more than that whining Vanessa Scott.” He put his handkerchief away, his tone casual yet laced with danger. “Chloe Miller, do you want revenge?” My heart leaped. I looked up sharply. How did he know? Julian seemed to read my mind, a knowing smile on his lips. “Liam Thorne hid the news of your grandmother’s death, keeping you as a blood bank. What he did was despicable. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Liam has been overreaching lately, trying to get his hands on the Thorne Group’s core businesses. I don’t like disobedient nephews.” He leaned in slightly, his warm breath fanning my ear, a dangerous whisper. “Work with me. I’ll help you ruin them. After it’s done, I’ll send you abroad and ensure you live comfortably.” I looked into his deep eyes, knowing this was like playing with a tiger. But I had nothing left to lose. A person with nothing to lose fears no one. I gritted my teeth and spat out one word: “Deal.” Julian straightened up and adjusted his cuff. “Tomorrow night, come to the Royal Palace Hotel penthouse suite. We’ll discuss the details.” With that, he turned and left, leaving behind his tall silhouette. I watched his retreating back, a cold smile on my lips. Liam, your good days are over.

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After I caught Ethan and Chloe cheating, I handed him a divorce agreement. He sat with his head bowed, then tore it up after a moment of struggle. “Ten days. In ten days, I’ll send Chloe far away, she won’t be in our lives anymore.” He said it without waiting for my reply, then turned and left the house. So, for those ten days. Ethan took her white-water rafting, mountain climbing, bungee jumping, skydiving—they did all sorts of thrilling things. Until the evening of the ninth day. After packing all my luggage, I accidentally received a video call from my past self, ten years ago. “You’re really me from ten years in the future!” Her bright, sunny face was excited. “So, Ethan and I are married with kids, right?!” A flicker of bitterness crossed my eyes. I walked straight to the balcony. I aimed the camera at Ethan and Chloe, tightly embracing below, unable to part. “This is the result.” Her eyes widened, as if struck by lightning. “This can’t be…” My voice was weary, as if all my strength had been drained. “Sophia, please, don’t marry him.”

On the other end, tears streamed down her face. Sadness and shock poured from her eyes as she kept mumbling. “How could this happen…?” I couldn’t answer her, because even I didn’t know. All I could say was, “You won’t be happy after you get married, Sophia. Promise me, okay?” She wiped away her tears, looking at me with bloodshot eyes. “But he’s not here with me right now. He went to Europe to find an orthopedic specialist to help cure me.” I froze. Right, I almost forgot. At that time, due to a stage accident, both my legs were severely injured, making it difficult to even stand. Ethan, who was even more upset than me, stayed up all night, every night, by my side. He changed my dressings and massaged my legs, sometimes for an entire night. By chance, we learned that there might be an orthopedic specialist in Europe who could treat me. So he left without hesitation. But now… I couldn’t help but touch my leg; it was healed, but we had drifted apart. Even more ironic: “Do you know who the woman downstairs, Chloe, is?” She shook her head, her eyes red like a rabbit’s. A deep pang of pain twisted my lips. “She’s the orthopedic specialist’s granddaughter.” Her breathing hitched. She covered her mouth, whimpering. “So, Ethan fell in love with someone else on his way to save me?” I shook my head. “I don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t love back then. They reconnected two years ago—which would be five years from your current time.” We fell silent. Just then, the sound of the smart lock unlocking came from the door. I instinctively put my phone behind my back. Ethan looked over. His gaze lingered on my movements, but he didn’t ask anything. His eyes were red at the corners, and he looked somewhat dejected. “Are you satisfied?” A sarcastic curve played on his lips. “I sent her away.” I looked at him expressionlessly. In reality, my hand, hidden behind my back, was digging into my palm, stinging with pain. “Satisfied…” “Ethan, is this marriage just my responsibility? Am I the only one who needs to make an effort?” He yanked off his tie and tossed it casually onto the couch. Leaving a terse “Don’t be unreasonable,” he pushed past me into the bathroom, slamming the door shut. My entire body stiffened. After a long while, I slowly took out my phone again. Sophia on the screen was already in tears. “That’s not the Ethan I know, it’s not…” I couldn’t cry. I wanted to release it all like her, but I blinked and blinked, no tears came, just a dry ache. “Maybe people just change.” Just as I was about to grab my luggage and leave, a rumble of thunder outside heralded a torrential downpour. My phone also received a flight cancellation notification. I sighed. Looks like I couldn’t leave tonight. So I picked up my luggage again and pushed open the guest room door. “You… you’ve been sleeping in separate rooms?” She asked cautiously. My hands paused, then I hid the bitterness in my eyes. “Yeah, we’ve been sleeping separately for almost a year.” She kept sobbing. “But at my time, Ethan can’t sleep unless he’s holding me…” My eyes trembled slightly. It had been so long, so long I’d almost forgotten. The Ethan from before had severe sleep issues; only when I was by his side could he sleep peacefully. So we were never apart. I said softly. “He’s found someone else who can help him sleep now. That Chloe is very skilled in medicine.” After a long silence, Sophia looked at me with red eyes. “Three days. Ethan will be back in three days. And I’ll use these three days to completely give up on him.” I nodded. “Okay.”

The next morning, when I opened the door and walked out, Ethan was already making breakfast. He acted as if nothing had happened. “Up? Come eat breakfast.” I glanced at the food on the table and said, a little tired, “I’m allergic to eggs.” His hand, putting mayonnaise, froze. Then he tossed the toast in front of me into the trash. “I forgot. Go eat out then.” I hummed in response. Just as I was about to turn, Ethan said from behind me, “Don’t you think we’re acting strangely?” “Sophia, we’re like strangers.” I met his hazy eyes and let out a mocking, humorless laugh. “No, strangers at least don’t butt heads. We’re worse than strangers. But whose fault is that? Mine?” The air fell silent. We faced each other, neither willing to back down, neither willing to be the first to lose. Not long after. His phone ringing broke the stalemate. “Okay, Grandpa,” he said expressionlessly. “Sophia and I will be there on time.” After hanging up. He rubbed his temples tiredly, his expression complex as he looked at me. “Let bygones be bygones.” “Tomorrow is Grandpa’s 80th birthday party. Let’s go together; don’t let him see anything suspicious.” I sighed silently. “Okay.” Then I turned and went to the cafe downstairs, my phone still on video call. Sophia hadn’t spoken, so I broke the silence first. “What are you thinking about?” She looked a little lost. “I just never imagined that the future me and Ethan would reach a point where we have nothing to say to each other.” “No sharing, no expressions of love, just blame and resentment.” I paused, saying nothing. The plane tree leaves in the villa area were scattered all over the ground by last night’s strong winds and heavy rain. They crunched underfoot. It was like the sound of him carrying me when I was sick, but now everything had changed. The cafe owner saw me. “Ms. Sophia, back again? The usual? Coffee and a sandwich, no eggs because of your allergy, right?” I smiled. “That’s right.” Even the owner remembers my egg allergy, but Ethan forgot. The next day, he came to pick me up for Grandpa’s estate. I sat in the passenger seat, staring silently out the window at the street view. Suddenly, Ethan spoke. “You know Chloe saved Grandpa’s life back then, right?” I turned to look at him. “What are you trying to say?” He pressed his lips together. “So Chloe is also coming to Grandpa’s birthday party. I didn’t invite her, Grandpa did.” I didn’t know what expression to make. Because I wasn’t very surprised. Suppressing the suffocating feeling like my heart was being crushed, I said hoarsely, “Fine, I have no objections.” Anyway, Only three days left. In three days, the past Sophia will rewrite history. And we won’t have a future. Hearing that, He was stunned for a moment. Then, with an unreadable expression, he gripped the steering wheel tightly and finally said, “Good, no objections.” In my earpiece, Sophia was crying. I had grown accustomed to this cold way of interacting, and I had accepted the brokenness of our relationship. But I knew this was cruel for her. It was like falling from heaven to hell. “How could he do this to you…?” I couldn’t comfort her, I could only stay silent. Not long after. We arrived at the estate. Almost as soon as we got out of the car, a delicate figure rushed over from a distance. “Ethan…” “I thought we’d never see each other again.” She was crying too, and Ethan comforted her. He completely disregarded the onlookers, gently wiping away her tears. “Don’t cry. Since you’re back, I won’t let anyone send you away again.” I said sarcastically, “Do whatever you want. I won’t object. Don’t make me sound like some executioner breaking up lovers.” Chloe pouted, a flicker of disdain in her eyes. Ethan’s brows furrowed, seemingly puzzled. I understood what puzzled him: how could I be so generous? I looked away. It was nothing; I had simply come to terms with it.

People around me were subtly sizing me up. Some with pity. Others with a hint of schadenfreude, enjoying the spectacle. I pretended not to notice any of them, walked straight into the main house, and handed Grandpa his birthday gift. “Grandpa, I wish you good health.” He looked at me with affection. “Good, Grandpa received it.” Ethan lingered a step behind, standing shoulder to shoulder with Chloe. They looked like an affectionate couple. Grandpa paused. Then he took my hand and Ethan’s, placing them together. “Is it because you’re giving me a great-grandchild soon?” Ethan and I froze simultaneously. I was the first to pull my hand away, saying under Ethan’s somewhat stunned gaze, “Grandpa, Ethan and I…” The man beside me cut me off, then told Grandpa, “Don’t worry, Grandpa, we’ll get to it soon.” Grandpa roared with laughter. Ethan, however, pulled me to the backyard. His expression was a little dark, with an inexplicable irritation. “What do you want to say?” “To tell Grandpa the truth: that we’re getting a divorce, and there won’t be any children.” I said expressionlessly. His thin lips tightened, brows furrowed. “Why are you bringing up divorce again? Didn’t we agree to let it go? Sophia, can you stop making a scene?” I was a little confused. “Since we’ve reached a point where we detest each other, why don’t you just marry Chloe, the woman you love?” His breathing instantly grew heavy. “Detest? I never…” “Ethan!” Chloe, from a distance, interrupted him, making the tension even heavier between us. She looked at me pitifully, biting her lip. “Sophia, can you stop using Grandpa to threaten me?” I frowned. “What do you mean?” Chloe looked utterly wronged. “Are you trying to say today that I broke up you and Ethan? You know Grandpa isn’t well.” “I couldn’t just watch you mess things up, so I had to compromise and leave Ethan. Is that your plan?” I was astonished. Then came an uncontrollable sense of absurdity, a sneer. “You watch too much TV.” Who would fall for such a clumsy attempt at sowing discord? “Sophia.” Ethan, standing nearby, suddenly spoke in a low voice. “Is that true? You’re threatening me again.” My lips moved. He believed her… I wanted to say something to defend myself, but facing his questioning gaze, the words died in my throat. In the end, it just became, “Believe what you want.” I turned and walked away, not even looking at his somewhat complex expression. In my earpiece, Sophia was comforting me. “Don’t be sad.” A strange ache welled up in my nose. “I’m not sad. So, Sophia, on your end, he’ll propose to you after your surgery is successful. Don’t accept him.” This time, she hummed without hesitation. “I know. Don’t worry.” I breathed a sigh of relief. Not long after, at the birthday party, Grandpa cut the cake and then went to his room to rest. Without him there, the people at the dinner table openly mocked me. “Look at some people, they’ve been challenged right in their own home, yet they’re still timid like a quail.” “Oh, you also have to consider who Chloe is. She’s Ethan’s sweetheart, you know.” I listened to it all. My hand gripping the forks tightened abruptly, then loosened. I looked up with a cold chuckle. “You’re so brave, yet isn’t your older brother raising his illegitimate son?” Her face instantly turned ugly. “You! Sophia! What does our family business have to do with you?!” I retorted expressionlessly, “Then what do my affairs have to do with you?” She choked on her words. The atmosphere at the dinner table became awkward. Ethan interrupted us in a deep voice, “Sophia, that’s enough.” I turned my head blankly. Only then did I notice his tie was the same color as Chloe’s. His stance was clear. That’s why they felt emboldened to mock me so brazenly. The strength in my hand gripping the forks suddenly left me. I put them down and murmured, “Ethan, you have the least right to criticize me.” His breathing grew heavy. And I rose from the table, the emotions I had suppressed came flooding out the moment I left the mansion. Tears streamed down my face, an endless flow. The mansion was quite a distance away. I walked and walked, never had this road felt so cold and lonely. I looked up at the sky; the sun was bright, but I felt no warmth at all. Just then, A choked voice in my earpiece spoke. “Sophia, Ethan is back with the doctor.”

“Sophia, I’m back. Don’t worry, I’m here for you.” Listening to the voice on the other end of the phone, I felt like ages had passed. It had been too long. So long that I myself had forgotten how many years it had been since I heard Ethan’s voice so gentle and those two words, ‘Sophia.’ Past-Sophia responded with an indifferent hum. “Thank you.” Young Ethan sounded a little hurt. “Sophia, why are you suddenly thanking me?” Sophia said nothing more, and he didn’t press her, just urged the doctor to arrange the surgery quickly. After a while. She pulled her phone out from under the covers. “I’ll leave as soon as the surgery is over. I won’t be part of that proposal.” I nodded, feeling a sense of release. Returning home, Ethan followed close behind, with a tearful Chloe by his side. He seized my hand, furious. “Did you tell Grandpa about Chloe and me?!” My wrist ached. Years ago, I’d injured my wrist saving him in a car accident, leaving a lasting issue. Now, he’d completely forgotten. I shook him off and met him with indifference. “I wouldn’t stoop to talk about your sordid affairs. You might not feel shameless, but I’m too proud to be associated with it.” His pupils contracted slightly. Then he sneered. “Too proud?” “You’re always so self-righteous. If you’d just told Grandpa, couldn’t he have sent Chloe away for you? Why pretend?” Chloe, beside us, was practically breathless with tears. A noticeable handprint marred her face. “Sophia, I’m begging you. I just want to be with Ethan. I don’t even care about a title!” With that, she fell to her knees in front of me with a thud. “I’m begging you!” Before I could react, Ethan grabbed the woman from the ground and pulled her up, frowning with concern. Then he looked at me. “Why are you pushing her so hard?” “She never fought you for anything. She just quietly stayed by my side, never competing, never demanding.” He shook his head as he spoke, his eyes filled with disappointment. “How did you become so aggressive over the years? You’re nothing like the Sophia I used to know.” My heart constricted. A flicker of bitterness and mockery crossed my eyes. “I’ve changed, but what about you?” “Haven’t you changed? You were always the first one to change between us.” In my earpiece, Young Ethan’s voice kept echoing. “Sophia’s surgery has been scheduled. You’ll be going into anesthesia soon. Don’t be scared, I’ll be here the whole time.” “When you come out, we’ll get married.” “No matter if your legs heal or not, I’ll always be with you. If they don’t, I’ll be your crutch for life.” His tone was both choked and gentle. Yet it grieved me more than the heartless indifference of the Ethan standing before me. My eyes reddened. The man before me paused, then his tone softened considerably. “If you apologize to Chloe, I’ll drop it.” I closed my eyes. “Apologize…” “On what grounds? What right does she have? Ethan, just get out.” “Sophia!” His tone grew heavy, his chest heaving with anger. “You said it! If I leave, I won’t come back!” I stopped looking at him. Ethan gave me a long, hard look. “You said it. Chloe, let’s go!” The room fell silent. I let out a bitter laugh, then packed my things and left, heading straight for the airport. More than ten hours later. The Sophia in my earpiece suddenly burst into tears. “Sophia, I sent him away. We’re completely over.” I felt a sense of relief, memories of him steadily being erased from my mind. At the same time, Ethan, who was processing documents at the office, suddenly felt a wave of dizziness and collapsed to the floor. When he woke up, Grandpa and Chloe were sitting beside him. “Grandpa? What happened to me?” He looked around, feeling a bit lost, then pressed his lips together and asked stiffly, “Where’s Sophia? She’s not coming even though I’m sick?” Just then, Grandpa smacked him hard. “Your wife, Chloe, is right here!” “You brat, still thinking about a classmate you haven’t seen in ten years!”

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After I was diagnosed with stage IV stomach cancer, I booked a one-way ticket to the Swiss Alps. My only wish was to die peacefully in the snow. But I never expected to run into Ethan Miller, my ex-husband of three years, on the summit’s cable car. Three years had passed, and he’d had the tattoo of my name removed from his wrist. As for me, I’d lost all my hair and could only hide my ostomy bag beneath a bulky winter coat. The woman beside Ethan, Chloe Peterson, asked: “Who is she?” Ethan looked at me, his voice flat: “My ex-wife.” Then he added, “Chloe is my wife now. We got married when you were pregnant.” He looked into my eyes when he said it, as if expecting a reaction. But I was long past the point of having the strength for hysterics. I just smiled calmly. “That’s nice. I wish you and your family all the best.” “No thanks, it’ll hurt if you press on the tube.” I looked at the cashmere scarf Ethan offered, my voice barely a whisper. The cable car swayed violently in the strong winds halfway up the mountain. The automated announcement played robotically. “Due to extreme wind speeds at the summit, the cable car will temporarily slow down. Please hold onto the handrails.” Chloe hugged the child in her arms tighter. She frowned, waving a hand in front of her nose. “Ethan, why does this cabin smell so strongly of medicine and antiseptic?” Ethan instinctively shielded his child behind him. He glanced at me, then pulled back the scarf he’d offered. His gaze lingered on my winter coat. Perhaps he thought I’d gotten fat, or just looked bad. His tone was flat, his instructions tinged with a sense of entitlement. “Rory, let Leo sit for a while. It’s his first time in Switzerland.” I was sitting by the window. It was the only spot in the entire cabin shielded from the wind. After a few seconds of silence, I slowly stood up, holding onto the cold metal railing of the cable car. My movements were sluggish. The safety bar was pressing against my ostomy bag and drainage tube. Even a slight shift would pull at the still-healing wound in my abdomen. Ethan watched my slow movements, his brow furrowed. He simply thought I was being difficult. “It’s been three years. No need to take it out on the child.” His voice deepened slightly, laced with a lecturing tone. I didn’t argue. I just moved little by little to the windy spot. Cold air seeped in through the cracks, chilling me to the bone. The cable car jolted violently again. My footing slipped, and I stumbled forward. Ethan instinctively reached out, grabbing my wrist. Even through the thick sleeve of my winter coat, he sensed something was off. His hand stiffened. “How did you get so thin?” He asked in a low voice, a flicker of surprise, which he didn’t even realize, flashed in his eyes. I gently pulled my hand away. Hiding my wrist in my sleeve. “I’m bundled up for winter, you must have misseen.” My tone was calm. He didn’t press further. Chloe had tugged at his sleeve. “Ethan, Leo says he feels a little carsick.” Ethan immediately turned, pulled a thermos from his pocket, and bent down to comfort the child. I leaned against the corner of the cabin, watching the family of three. A sudden cramp seized my stomach. I remembered the first year we were married. I used to suffer from stomach problems all the time back then. One night, I was curled up in bed, drenched in cold sweat from the pain. Ethan, without even bothering to put on his shoes properly, scooped me up and rushed me to the emergency room. He held my hand tightly in the hospital corridor. “Rory, every time you hurt from now on, I’ll be there with you.” But in that same year. Chloe got pregnant with his child. Five years of betrayal, dismissed by him with a casual “I was under too much pressure.” “Auntie, why don’t you have hair?” A child’s innocent voice broke my reverie. Leo peeked out from Chloe’s arms, staring at me curiously. “Are you sick like Grandpa?” Chloe’s face changed, and she quickly clapped a hand over the child’s mouth. “Leo, don’t say silly things.” Ethan turned, his gaze falling on my head, covered by a wool beanie. His eyes held a searching look, and a hint of annoyance. I wasn’t embarrassed. I just lightly touched my bald scalp through the hat. “Because I wanted to see the snow.” I looked out at the vast white snow-capped mountains. “So it didn’t have time to grow back.” A cable car attendant came over, reminding us not to move around freely. He glanced at my pale face. “Ma’am, you don’t look so good. Do you need us to call the medical station at the summit?” “No, thank you.” I shook my head. As we exited the cable car, the announcement warned visitors about icy conditions underfoot. But as soon as I took a step, a warmth suddenly spread across my side. I knew it. The baseplate of my ostomy bag had peeled up from the freezing temperature.

I avoided the crowd exiting the cable car and quickly walked towards the summit’s visitor center. The hem of my winter coat pressed tightly against my side. The warm, seeping sensation became more and more obvious. The wind on the mountaintop was fierce, cutting right through you. The visitor center was packed with people seeking shelter from the cold. A long queue snaked in front of the hot water dispenser. I found the accessible restroom and locked the door. There was no shelf or counter inside. I could only hang my backpack on the doorknob, using my numb, reddened hands to search for my medical kit. My fingers were stiff and unresponsive. As I peeled off the skin barrier, I accidentally tugged at the skin around my drainage tube. Cold sweat instantly beaded on my forehead. Patients with ostomies fear low temperatures the most when traveling. The adhesive on the baseplate tends to fail in sub-zero temperatures. I took a deep breath, cleaning the area little by little with a wet wipe. Then I placed a spare baseplate onto my cold abdomen. The entire process took almost half an hour. I packed the used medical waste into a sealed bag. When I pushed open the restroom door, Ethan Miller was standing in the corridor outside. He was waiting for his child to use the restroom. He saw me emerge, pale-faced, clutching a bag of trash. Chloe walked over from the other side, holding the child’s hand. She openly frowned. “Why is she still so weird?” Chloe lowered her voice, but just enough for me to hear. “She always used to hide away alone, and now she monopolizes the restroom for so long.” Ethan didn’t contradict her. He walked towards me, his gaze sweeping over my slightly hunched waist. “If you’re not feeling well, don’t push yourself to come to a place like this.” His tone sounded concerned, but the underlying message was one of blame. “Coming all the way to the snow mountains to suffer isn’t good for anyone.” I looked at him. He didn’t know that I had no more hospitals to go to. I wasn’t here to suffer. I was here to tie up loose ends for myself. “Got it.” I walked around him, tossing the sealed bag into the medical waste bin at the end of the corridor. Ethan went to the nearby drink stand to buy hot drinks. He instinctively came back with two cups. One he handed to Chloe, the other he brought towards me. “Sugar-free hot soy milk.” He offered me the paper cup. My stomach used to be sensitive, and I couldn’t drink coffee or milk tea. He would always buy me sugar-free soy milk. But this time, I didn’t even glance at it. “I can’t drink any of that now.” Most of my stomach had been removed. Even a small amount of liquid food would cause severe nausea. Ethan’s hand froze in mid-air. He seemed unprepared for my complete refusal. Chloe smiled and walked over, naturally taking the cup of soy milk. “Perfect, I’m thirsty. I’ll drink it.” She linked her arm through Ethan’s, leaning on his shoulder as if to stake her claim. Ethan didn’t push her away. Watching this scene, I remembered when we first got married. He had failed at his startup, and we were crammed into a basement apartment. When the pipes froze in winter, I used a rice cooker to heat water for him to wash his hair. I would be in so much pain from my stomach that I’d break into a cold sweat, yet I’d still save the only bowl of hot soup for him. Back then, he held me and said, “Once I make money, the first thing I’ll do is take you to the Swiss Alps for skiing.” The Swiss Alps were never just a random choice for me; they were our shared promise. Now he was indeed here, but with a different person by his side. “Miss, are you alright?” Martha, the cleaning lady at the visitor center, walked over. She handed me a cup of warm plain water. “I saw you were in there for quite a while. Drink some hot water to warm up.” “Thank you, Martha.” I took the cup, and finally, my palms had a little warmth. The park broadcast began to repeat its announcement. “Due to high winds at the summit today, parts of the North Slope boardwalk are temporarily closed. Please be aware of your safety.” I put down the water cup and walked towards the exit. From behind, I heard Chloe’s coy voice. “Leo, don’t get too close to that lady, she smells like a hospital.” Ethan didn’t say anything. I didn’t look back, just crumpled the one-way ticket in my pocket tighter.

I didn’t take the park’s shuttle bus. Instead, I took the local transfer bus down the mountain alone. A thin layer of snow covered the streets of Pine Creek Town. Following my phone’s GPS, I found a storefront. The sign above the door read: Hospice Support Center. This wasn’t a hospital. It was a place where local community organizations lent medical equipment to seriously ill tourists and seniors. Pushing open the door, the room was pleasantly warm. The volunteer, a girl with glasses, approached me. “Hi, what can I help you with?” She handed me a registration form. “I’d like to borrow a portable oxygen concentrator.” I gave her my ID card. “And a pressure relief cushion, please.” The girl looked at my face, then at the faint outline around my waist. She didn’t ask any questions, just efficiently processed my request. “Please fill in the emergency contact section.” She pointed to a blank line at the bottom of the form. I held the pen, my hand pausing for a long time. A scene from the day of my divorce three years ago flashed in my mind. That day, I accompanied my mother for a follow-up gastroscopy. Outside the glass window of the pediatric clinic, I saw Chloe. She was skillfully filling out her child’s birth information. In the father’s column, Ethan Miller’s name was written. The child’s birth date perfectly aligned with the first year of my marriage with Ethan. I stood in the corridor, holding my mother’s gastroscopy report. It felt like my life had been simultaneously condemned by two pieces of paper. Later, I confronted Ethan. He didn’t deny it. “I was under too much pressure back then, and Chloe and I had a few drinks.” He sat on the couch, his voice terrifyingly rational. “Then she got pregnant, and I couldn’t just let her handle it alone.” I asked him, what about me? He was silent for a long time, then said something that disgusted me to this day. “Rory, you’ve always been strong.” He took my understanding nature for granted, using it as a reason to sacrifice me. He even offered me compensation. A house, shares, savings—anything, as long as I agreed to divorce. He thought money could solve betrayal. I pulled my thoughts back, and wrote a single word on the form: None. The volunteer looked at the word, frowning slightly. “If you’re traveling to the mountains alone, it’s best to have someone who can be reached.” She reminded me softly. I smiled, placing the pen back on the table. After leaving the aid station, I went to the pharmacy in town. “I’m really sorry, the specific model of ostomy baseplate you usually use is out of stock.” The store assistant, Sarah, searched through the shelves, apologizing to me. “We only have this generic type; the adhesive might not be as strong.” “That’s fine, I’ll take two.” I paid the money. Reality is always like this; even being sick doesn’t allow you to have things your own way. The small hotel room was quiet at night. I sat at the small table, spreading out my medication boxes. Only six painkillers were left. Outside the window, the snow was falling even harder. I looked at my blurred reflection on the glass. Hairless, gaunt. I set a time for myself. Before sunrise tomorrow. To reach the birch forest beyond the closed trail. There would be no tourists there. And no one would see my pathetic state.

At four in the morning, Pine Creek Town was still dark. I put on my wig and tied on a thick scarf. My medical kit, painkillers, and the last bit of cash were all packed into my backpack. I didn’t go to the front desk to check out. I just left a note on the table. “Please don’t call the police. You can keep the deposit.” When I pushed open the hotel door, the cold wind, mixed with snowflakes, hit me in the face. Mrs. Gable, the hotel owner, was an early riser, preparing to make porridge. She saw me walking alone out of town, then went to check my room. The note on the table and the oxygen concentrator’s deposit slip made her face change. She immediately called the community aid station. The aid station checked my registration record and found no emergency contact. They could only contact the park’s rescue center as per regulations. The rescue center used my phone’s linked medical emergency card to retrieve an old emergency contact. That number, I hadn’t called in three years. Ethan Miller received the unfamiliar call while having breakfast with his child at the hot springs hotel. Chloe was carefully peeling an egg for Leo. The voice on the other end was urgent. “Excuse me, do you know Rory Hayes?” “She headed alone towards the closed forest trail early this morning, it’s very dangerous there due to high winds.” Ethan’s first reaction wasn’t concern. He frowned, a hint of impatience in his voice. “What is she stirring up now?” He thought I was using this extreme method to get his attention. Just like when I used to throw tantrums and run away from home. Chloe stopped peeling the egg. “Ethan, Leo has a snowmobile reservation at ten.” She reminded him softly, trying to redirect his attention. Ethan hesitated for a few seconds. But he still stood up, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. “I’ll be right back.” Chloe pulled at his sleeve. “Are you going to abandon us to go find your ex-wife?” For the first time, Ethan didn’t explain himself to her. “She’s out there alone in the snow.” He only said that, then strode out of the restaurant. I walked along the edge of the birch forest, the snow already past my ankles. With every step, the pulling pain in my abdomen intensified. I remembered the first time I had a stomach hemorrhage after our divorce three years ago. That night, I was writhing on the ground in pain, and I called Ethan’s number. But it was Chloe who answered. “Ethan’s bathing the baby. Whatever it is, you can call back tomorrow.” She hung up after saying that. In the end, I took a taxi to the emergency room by myself. The doctor asked if I had any family. I said no. From that day on, I never called him again. I leaned against a birch tree and swallowed two painkillers. From the distance, I heard the barking of a dog in the snow. Officer Ben, a rescue worker, scanning the registration photo sent by the aid station, suddenly stopped. He turned and looked at Ethan Miller, who was following behind. “Mr. Miller, you truly didn’t know?” Ethan’s heart sank abruptly. “Know what?” The rescue worker handed him his phone. On the screen was the medical condition note I had uploaded when borrowing the portable oxygen concentrator. [Stage IV Stomach Cancer, abdominal metastasis, post-ostomy surgery, with drainage tube, warning of hypothermia and infection.] In the howling wind and snow, Ethan stood frozen.

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When I was sixteen, my father broke his spine at a construction site. The surgery would cost two hundred thousand, but after scouring the house, we only scraped together three thousand eight hundred dollars. Clutching my withdrawal application, I reached the school gates when Summerville stopped me. She was the quietest top student in our class, sitting right behind me. That day, she pressed a bank card into my hand. “Get your dad treated first. I’ll cover the cost. Don’t even think about dropping out.” I told her I couldn’t repay such a sum. She simply said, “I’m not asking you to repay it. Just get into college.” Later, she sent me living expenses every month, with a note that only read: ‘Don’t give up.’ My father survived, and I got into a top university. She never once mentioned the money. Ten years later, I owned three companies with a billion dollars in assets. And Summerville’s name appeared on a court’s defaulters list. “Former shareholder of a tech company, due to joint liability on a guarantee, owes four million two hundred thousand, listed as a defaulted debtor.” I put down my phone and pulled the bank card, long since filled with money, from my drawer. This time, it was my turn to knock on her door.

“What’s with all the banging? Are you trying to kill me?” The rusty security door was yanked open from inside, its hinges shrieking in protest. It wasn’t Summerville who opened the door, but a bald man, bare-chested with a thick gold chain around his neck, reeking of cheap tobacco. I stood outside, my gaze sweeping past his shoulder into the room. The living room was a mess; beer bottles littered the floor, the sofa cover was ripped to shreds, and “PAY UP” was spray-painted in red on the wall. “What are you looking at? Who are you looking for?” The bald man impatiently flicked his cigarette ash. “Summerville,” I said. “Who are you?” The bald man looked me up and down, his eyes lighting up as they stopped on the Patek Philippe on my wrist. “A relative of the debtor? Perfect. She owes our boss one point two million. Are you here to pay it for her?” I ignored him, turning to glance at Casey behind me. Casey had been my assistant for five years — tough and quiet. He stepped forward, pushed the bald man aside, and strode into the house. “Hey, you damn—” The bald man started to curse, but Casey twisted his wrist and pressed it down. The bald man instantly dropped to one knee on the broken glass, gasping in pain. I stepped over the trash on the floor and walked to the bedroom door. It was empty. The closet doors hung open, not even a hanger left inside, and the bed frame was covered in a thin layer of dust. She had moved out at least a week ago. “Where is she?” I turned, looking at the bald man. “How would I know!” The bald man gritted his teeth. “The court already seized this apartment.” “Our boss forcibly pried it open last week to use as a temporary dormitory. She ran faster than a rabbit!” I didn’t speak. My chest felt heavy, like it was stuffed with wet cotton, a suffocating ache. Four million two hundred thousand. To the current me, it was just half a month’s profit from two of my company’s production lines. But for an ordinary person, it was an insurmountable weight that could utterly crush their spirit. A memory suddenly flashed in my mind. That winter, my sophomore year of high school, Pittsburgh had its first snowfall. I couldn’t afford dorm fees and was kicked out by the dorm supervisor. At night, I could only sneak into the utility room under the school stadium’s bleachers. That night, I had a high fever. My body was ice cold, like I was submerged in freezing water, and I didn’t even have the strength to stand up. Then, the iron door of the utility room was pushed open. Wind and snow poured in. Summerville stood at the doorway. She wore an oversized school uniform, her nose red from the cold, holding a glass bottle wrapped in a towel. She didn’t ask why I was sleeping there, nor did she say anything to pity me. She just walked over and pressed the scalding hot bottle into my arms. Then she took out two packets of fever reducers and two steaming hot savory pastries from her pocket, placing them beside me. “Eat it all,” she said, then turned and walked back into the snow. I held that glass bottle all night. It burned my chest red, but it saved my miserable life. I always remembered that warmth. “Mr. Frank,” Casey said in a low voice, releasing the bald man. “Just had someone check the street cameras. Miss Summerville… she went to the South District.” The South District, a notorious lawless district in Pittsburgh, a gathering place for slums, dodgy businesses, and homeless encampments. I shoved my hands into my pockets, my fingertips brushing the worn, old bank card. “Let’s go.” “Where?” Casey asked. I gave the shivering bald man on the floor a cold glance. “South District. Turn the place upside down. Find her for me.”

By the time the car drove into the South District, it was completely dark. Half the streetlights were out, and the air was thick with the mixed scent of cheap takeout food and backed-up sewers. A Maybach stopping in a place like this was like wearing a tuxedo into a pigsty—extremely conspicuous. But I didn’t care. Casey held his phone, pointing to a greasy fast-food joint ahead, its sign too grimy to read. “Mr. Frank, the informant says Miss Summerville has been washing dishes here for the past few days. Sixty a day, meals included.” Sixty a day. I closed my eyes, my jaw clenched tight. Pushing open the car door, I walked straight towards the fast-food place. Before I even entered, I heard a sharp scream. “Are you blind?! This is my brand-new, limited-edition dress!” A woman’s voice came from inside the restaurant. It was familiar, with that deliberately affected, saccharine tone. I stopped outside the glass door. Through the greasy glass, I saw Summerville. She wore a ill-fitting grey waterproof apron, her hair simply tied back with an elastic band, her face pale as paper, her jawline sharp from weight loss. She was squatting on the floor, holding a rag. On the ground was a spilled puddle of mushroom soup, and standing in front of her was a flashily dressed woman. Ulysses, Summerville’s college roommate, and an employee she had personally mentored and promoted. “Ulysses, don’t get so angry. She didn’t do it on purpose.” A man sat nearby, with slicked-back hair, wearing a poorly tailored custom suit, his legs crossed. Wilson, Summerville’s ex-fiancé. “Wilson, I just can’t stand it!” Ulysses leaned into Wilson’s arms, pouting. “I’m usually not one for drama, but today is our company’s IPO anniversary. And she, a dishwasher, spills soup on my leg? Isn’t she doing this on purpose to annoy me?” She deliberately emphasized the word ‘dishwasher.’ Wilson patted her hand, then looked down at Summerville, who was still squatting on the floor. “Summerville, it’s not like I haven’t told you.” He sighed, his tone filled with nauseating condescension. “You insisted on shouldering that debt back then. Why put yourself in this situation?” “Look at you now. You don’t look like a top university graduate anymore.” Summerville didn’t look up. She meticulously wiped the soup from the floor. Her movements were mechanical, numb, as if she couldn’t hear what they were saying. I watched her slender back, another memory unbiddenly flashing in my mind. During the second semester of my senior year, five hundred dollars in class funds went missing. I was the poorest kid then, and everyone pointed fingers at me, accusing me of theft. Our teacher called me into the office and told me to empty my pockets. I didn’t. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my flesh. Just as everyone was convinced I was a thief, Summerville pushed open the door and walked in. She slapped a physics competition registration form onto the teacher’s desk. “He didn’t steal it,” she said, pointing to the time stamp on the form. “From noon to one PM, he was helping the physics teacher organize lab equipment. Security footage confirms it.” Then she turned to face the pointing students, her voice not loud, but incredibly clear. “Being poor doesn’t make you a thief. If you don’t have proof, shut up.” After school that day, she called out to me by the sports field. No comfort, no sympathy. She just looked into my eyes and said one sentence. “Frank, never bow your head.” But now, the girl who once told me ‘never bow your head’ was squatting on a greasy floor, bowing her head in front of a truly disgusting man. “Where’s the owner?! Call your owner out!” Ulysses was still screaming relentlessly. The owner, sweating, rushed out, bowing profusely. “How dare you hire such an untrustworthy dishwasher? Fire her! Or I’ll make sure you get reported every single day!” The owner looked uncomfortable, then turned to Summerville. “Miss Summerville, you see… how about you take your pay and leave today?”

Summerville finally stood up. She untied her waterproof apron, placed it on a nearby table, and offered no excuses, no pleas. “Alright.” Her voice was incredibly hoarse. Casey whispered behind me, “Mr. Frank, should I go in and clear the place?” “Go investigate.” I stared at the couple inside the glass door, my eyes colder than the night wind outside. “Find out exactly how Wilson got her to shoulder that four-point-two-million-dollar debt.” Summerville left through the back door. I didn’t follow immediately. I needed to first understand who had pushed her to the edge of the cliff. Casey was highly efficient. The next morning, a thick stack of documents lay on my desk. I opened the first page, my fingers involuntarily tightening, knuckles turning white. So that was it. What a dirty trick. Three years ago, Summerville and Wilson partnered to start a tech company. Summerville was responsible for core technology R&D, while Wilson handled external relations and finance. A year ago, Wilson claimed he’d landed a big project that required a loan to expand production capacity. He presented a joint liability agreement for Summerville to sign. “What were his exact words?” I stared at the photocopy in the document. Casey impassively recounted the recorded conversation: “He said, ‘Summerville, I’m your fiancé. Would I ever screw you over?’” “‘This project is a surefire profit. Once we clear this hurdle, we’ll get married.’” I sneered. “And the result?” “As soon as the money was deposited, Wilson transferred the funds to a shell company under various pretexts.” Casey turned a page. “The legal representative of that shell company is Ulysses.” I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. No wonder Ulysses was so arrogant in the fast-food place yesterday. So she was using Summerville’s hard-earned money to play the socialite in front of her. “The company’s funding dried up, and Wilson immediately filed for bankruptcy liquidation,” Casey continued his report. “Because Miss Summerville signed an unlimited joint liability agreement, all the debt fell onto her shoulders. Four point two million.” Wilson walked away clean, re-emerging as a ‘senior partner’ in Ulysses’s company. Meanwhile, Summerville became a defaulter, forced to work odd jobs under the radar. “There’s one more thing, Mr. Frank.” Casey hesitated. “Speak.” “Miss Summerville’s mother was diagnosed with end-stage kidney failure last month. She’s currently at Third Hospital.” Casey placed a payment reminder on the desk. “This afternoon, if the twenty thousand dollars for dialysis isn’t paid, the hospital will stop her medication.” Twenty thousand. Again, it was because of twenty thousand. Time seemed to form an absurd, closed loop. My freshman year of college, my father’s follow-up rehabilitation treatments. The hospital issued an ultimatum. I was eighteen thousand short. I even considered selling my blood back then. Then, a twenty-thousand-dollar transfer hit my account. The sender left no name, only ‘Don’t give up’ in the memo. I knew who it was, of course. That month, I secretly returned to Pittsburgh once. From a distance, I saw Summerville in the cafeteria, eating plain noodles for a whole month. I leaned back in the leather chair, my heart feeling like it was being ripped out. Ten years ago, she ate plain noodles so I wouldn’t go hungry. Ten years later, to pay for her mother’s dialysis, she washed dishes in grime and was still treated like dirt. “Frank,” I mumbled my own name. “You’re such a damn failure.”

Ten years. I’d had countless opportunities to come back and find her. But I was afraid I wasn’t successful enough, afraid I couldn’t stand before her. I waited until I achieved success, but she had fallen into hell. “Get the car ready.” I stood up, grabbing the car keys and the old bank card from my desk. “To Third Hospital.” The hospital corridor in the afternoon reeked of disinfectant. As soon as I stepped out of the elevator, I heard an extremely harsh laugh. Following the sound, I saw Summerville leaning against the wall next to the hospital billing department, clutching a payment slip. Wilson and Ulysses stood opposite her. “Summerville, why do you have to be so stubborn?” Wilson, hands in his pockets, feigned a look of deep regret. “Her mother’s illness can’t wait. All you have to do is sign that declaration to fully relinquish your shares, acknowledging that I was the primary developer of all those technical patents.” He pulled a stack of cash, probably ten thousand dollars, from his pocket. “I’ll consider this money a loan to you. You don’t have to repay it. Consider it me being generous for old times’ sake.” Summerville stared at the stack of money, her fingers trembling. “Wilson.” Her voice was soft, as if a breeze could scatter it, but every word was full of pain. “You stole those patents from my computer when my mother was critically ill.” “You transferred assets, engineered a scheme to saddle me with debt, and now you’re even trying to cut off my mother’s last chance at life.” She looked up, her once clear eyes bloodshot. “Aren’t you afraid of facing consequences?” Wilson’s face changed slightly, clearly embarrassed to be called out in public. But he quickly recovered, putting on his indifferent sneer. “Summerville, you need to speak with evidence,” he lowered his voice, his eyes cold and sinister. “It’s in black and white, your signature is on it. You’re a defaulter now, who’s going to believe you?” “If you don’t sign this waiver today, your mother will be kicked out of her hospital room tomorrow.” “Wilson, why are you wasting your breath on her?” Ulysses swayed her hips, reaching for Wilson’s arm. “I told you, Summerville is just too strong-willed. What’s wrong with compromising?” She turned to Summerville, her face a mask of feigned innocence and grievance. “Summerville, don’t look at me like that. I’m doing this for your own good.” “Wilson painstakingly pulled this money from the company’s funds. Hurry up and take it to pay the bill. Don’t make your mother wait.” Hah! The man was a jerk, and the woman was a total bitch. Summerville didn’t look at her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she reopened them, her gaze held a quiet, stark resolve. She slowly raised her hand, reaching for the stack of money. For her mother, she was ready to bend her back, something she’d never done before. Just as her fingers were about to touch the banknotes, a hand reached out from the side and fiercely grabbed her wrist. Summerville’s entire body jolted. She turned her head, startled. I looked at her, at her gaunt face, at the desperation that hadn’t yet faded from her eyes, and a volcano of rage erupted in my chest. I pulled her behind me, turned, and looked at Wilson. “This money,” I said, my voice low, laced with extreme, suppressed fury, “I’ll pay it for her.”

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That day, at the company dinner, Katie stood up and cut a piece of foie gras. I thought it was for me. Instead, she shot me a cold glare and placed the foie gras on Daniel’s plate, my assistant. A suffocating silence fell over the room. Everyone stared at me, their gazes dripping with contempt. I wasn’t in the mood for this. I pulled out my phone and made a call right then and there. “Dad, you were right. Katie is definitely not the one for me. I’m divorcing her.” Katie’s face instantly changed. She grabbed that plate of foie gras and smashed it onto my head. “Eat it! I dare you to eat it!” “A whole plate, that should be enough to satisfy your petty, jealous little heart, shouldn’t it?” “Jasper sealed the deal with the De Rossi family and brought in a huge investment, and you want to divorce me because I gave him a piece of meat?” As someone who’s always been a clean freak, my mood plummeted. I grabbed a napkin and wiped off the grease. “Not only do I want to divorce you now, but I also want to know exactly how Jasper managed to secure that deal with the De Rossi family.”

Jasper, who I’d just called out, had been smirking, enjoying our marital spat. But the moment I questioned him about the De Rossi deal, his smirk vanished. He hemmed and hawed for a long time, not daring to meet my gaze, as if my eyes could see right through his lies. Katie assumed I was just being difficult, deliberately trying to embarrass Jasper. “William, what exactly are you implying with that question?” “Don’t think I don’t hear the insinuation! Jasper might come from a humble background, but he’s a graduate of a top university, and he’s ambitious and hard-working.” “Unlike you, a kept man who’s living off his wife’s family. No, a total waste of space!” “Calling you a kept man is too kind. ‘Worthless’ is more accurate.” Her words were vicious. All the company employees were there, and she completely disregarded my dignity, grinding it into the dirt. Three years. I couldn’t believe how we’d reached such a hostile, explosive point. We used to be so in love, but ever since the Wilson family grew stronger and Jasper joined the company, our marriage became like walking on thin ice. “Katie, do you really have to be so cruel?” She stopped talking, her chest heaving with anger. The entire room remained silent, nobody daring to speak up. A smile tugged at the corners of Jasper’s lips, but I wasn’t done with him. “You still haven’t answered my question, have you?” Jasper froze, clearly not expecting me to be so persistent. He cursed me inwardly. He glanced at Katie, who was about to speak for him again. “Can you just shut up?” “If you’re eager to die, wait your turn. One by one.” My roar not only stunned Katie but also sent everyone’s hearts racing. Katie remained frozen, mouth agape. She probably never expected me, who had always doted on her, to speak to her in such a tone. Jasper slammed his hand on the table and stood up, putting on quite the show of authority. “William, what right does a measly kept man like you have to yell at Katie?” “You’re a leech, and you’re still not satisfied.” “Since you’re so curious how I got the De Rossi family, the most powerful family in New York, to cooperate with the Wilsons, I’ll tell you: I’m Mr. De Rossi’s son.” “I was trying to keep a low profile, learn from the brilliant and knowledgeable Katie, and make my father proud.” Katie was stunned, amazed at how highly Jasper thought of her. Her gaze towards him was now filled with adoration, simply because he was the son of the famous Mr. De Rossi.

The previously quiet employees instantly erupted. “Wow! Jasper is Mr. De Rossi’s son? That must mean he’s Jonah De Rossi! You’re so incredibly humble!” Jonah De Rossi, the future heir of the De Rossi family. Mr. De Rossi only had one son. And the De Rossi family, with businesses spanning the globe, commanded respect from even the most notorious figures. After revealing his identity, Jasper became utterly arrogant and condescending. “Everyone, please don’t spread this around.” “My identity still needs to be kept secret. My father doesn’t like me being flashy.” “Understood!” “Truly worthy of being the scion of a powerful family. So distinguished, clever, and wise.” Jasper was basking in the crowd’s adulation, clearly savoring every bit of the flattery, but I just kept sneering. “So Jasper turns out to be the De Rossi family heir, huh?” I smiled, wiping the grease from my face with a napkin. Beneath my calm exterior, a storm was brewing. Now, it wasn’t just Katie speaking up for Jasper. “William, what kind of attitude is that when you’re talking to the Young Master?” “Exactly! A mere kept man like you would never be a director at this company if it weren’t for Katie.” People are like that — the moment someone with power and influence appears, you can bet there’ll be plenty of sycophancy and fake loyalty. And a whole bunch of bootlickers to defend them. “Young Master??” I looked at Jasper, my face full of questions. “Are you really Jonah De Rossi??” Jasper didn’t answer directly, but his arrogant, condescending expression gave everyone the answer. He stood up and looked down at me. “William, if I were Katie, I’d fire you immediately.” “Because you’re a completely useless waste of space. You’ve never accomplished anything, yet you’ve hogged the director position. That’s unfair to all the hardworking, ambitious employees.” At his words, some people clapped and cheered. “The Young Master is right! Only you dare to speak up for us ordinary workers!” “We hate nothing more than those lazy deadbeats who hog promotion opportunities.” They all glared at me with unified hostility, directly calling me out by name. As if I was the one preventing them from getting promotions and raises. My emotions remained calm, as if I was playing a game of chess with them. What a joke. Scenes like this are child’s play for me; I’ve been in actual gunfights, for crying out loud! I tossed the napkin to the floor, my mood suddenly souring. I looked at Katie, wanting to know if she felt the same way. Without a moment’s hesitation, she spoke up: “William, did you hear that?” “It’s what everyone here wants — for you to be fired. If you really had any capability, they wouldn’t all be ganging up on you like this.” “You know what I’m getting at for the rest, right?” “I’m not going to disrespect you further; I’ll wait for you to leave on your own.” Suddenly, I smiled. I stood up and pointed to my grease-splattered clothes. “Do you have any idea how expensive this suit is?” “Listen closely. There will come a time when you’ll regret splattering me with this foie gras so much, you won’t be able to afford the compensation.” As I was about to leave, I was met with sneers from the crowd. “Haha, who do you think you are! A useless kept man wears clothes bought with Katie’s money. This suit too!” “Even if it gets dirty, it’s Katie’s problem!” “Isn’t it though?” “If you keep running your mouth and pissing off Katie, she might strip you naked and kick you out in disgrace!” I frowned, my voice dropping by a few degrees. “I have never spent Katie’s money. If we’re going to talk like that, I don’t mind having someone come over and calculate every single cent I’ve spent…”

“Enough! What else can you do besides make a spectacle of yourself?” “Be a man and admit it!” Of course, I’m a man, but I wouldn’t admit that. Because Katie’s entire fortune came from me; she was the one spending *my* money. But if I said it, they wouldn’t believe me. They’d just mock me as a pretentious idiot. My way of punishing people doesn’t involve wasting words; it involves proving it with action. I scoffed, then pulled out my phone and made a call. “Get over here. Katie’s saying I’m just a useless kept man of the Wilson family, a parasite who lives off them without doing anything. Please come and set her straight, otherwise, I’ll make sure the Wilson family loses twenty billion dollars in ten minutes.” The Wilson family’s assets were only fifty billion. I hadn’t even helped them soar higher, aiming for a hundred billion, and she’d already gotten so arrogant. The person on the other end sounded terrified, shouting, “Get the car ready, now!” I ended the call. Jasper looked at me with disdain and contempt. “Heh! William.” “Do you even know what twenty billion dollars means?” “And you’ll make the Wilson family lose that much in ten minutes?” “Katie, just fire him!” “He’s not just useless; he’s a criminal for cursing your family!” My words, combined with Jasper’s prodding, enraged Katie. She looked at me, her eyes filled with bottomless hatred. “William, how dare you treat me like this? I won’t let you get away with it.” “I’ll have my lawyer send you the divorce papers as soon as possible. And please, take off that suit.” “That expensive fabric? You bought it with *my* money, didn’t you?” “Your money??” I smiled meaningfully, looking at her. “You’ve got one thing wrong.” “The clothes I’m wearing aren’t bought with your money. The luxury custom dress *you’re* wearing is bought with *my* money.” “Understand?” At my words, the whole room erupted in laughter. “Hahaha, I’m dying of laughter!” “I never thought he was pretentious before, but now that I see him, he’s not only pretentious but also disgusting.” “Poor Katie, having to live with such a show-off for three years.” As the mocking voices grew louder, a hint of displeasure crossed my face. Jasper clapped his hands, and the room instantly fell silent. He turned to me, adopting his facade of fairness and impartiality. “William!” “No wonder people mock you. Because in our eyes, you really are just a kept man, a live-in son-in-law.” “You clearly spend Katie’s money, and now you’re turning it around and saying she spent yours.” “I’m a fair man. If you can provide proof within an hour that what you’re saying is true, then I’ll get down on my knees and do a striptease for you!” My eyes lit up. This was a challenge that made my wasted time here playing their games worthwhile. I sat back down, looking up at them with a playful gaze. “Just you doing a striptease wouldn’t be very entertaining. It’d be better if they joined in!” Someone slammed a hand on the table and stood up. “William, you’re insulting us!” That person was furious until Jasper smiled and reassured her. “What’s there to be angry about? We’re not the ones who are going to lose.” “What’s there that I, Jonah De Rossi, can’t play along with?” With Jasper backing them, no one was afraid anymore. “Fine, if you can prove you’re not a useless kept man, then we’ll…” “Your figures are so scrawny; what’s the point of stripping?” “If we’re going to play, let’s play ‘bark like dogs’.”

“Barking all the way out into the street.” “Alright, William, then you remember this too: if you can’t prove yourself, then *you’ll* be the one stripped naked, with ‘Worthless’ carved on your face, barking like a dog as you crawl out.” My gaze swept over everyone, and a thought crossed my mind. Whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad. Humanity’s greatest weakness often lies in arrogance. I dropped my playful smile and sighed. “Katie, what sustains the Wilson family? It’s the sugar business, isn’t it?” After our falling out, Katie hadn’t given me a single pleasant look. She didn’t speak, but that wouldn’t stop the sugar business from dying very soon. I pulled out my phone and called my people. “The Wilson family’s sugar business seems to be shrinking. Send out word that I will never purchase anything from the Wilson family’s sugar business again. Once they know that, they’ll know exactly what to do.” “Yes, sir!” Some people started scoffing, while others directly cursed me for being overly dramatic. I paid no attention to their irritating chatter. I would systematically dismantle the Wilson family, one step at a time, until they stopped smiling. Katie saw that I wasn’t just unafraid; I was actively sitting down and declaring I’d ruin her business. “William, I was going to let you off easy, for old times’ sake, but you’re just begging for death.” Let me off easy? When had she ever considered that? Insulting me, flirting with Jasper right in front of me, then threatening to fire me. Did she really think I was a pushover? I said nothing, instead taking out a cigarette and putting it in my mouth. Smoke curled around me. Everyone watched, their hearts filled with a desire for revenge, waiting to see my downfall. “William, even with your doom staring you in the face, you’re still smoking? What, watched too many movies and think you’re cool now?” “Let him act tough for a bit.” “He’s probably just using that cigarette to keep himself together.” “Hah, he’s not afraid of death, is he? The Wilson family is, after all, one of this city’s top players…” “In three minutes, Katie will receive a call. It will be from the merchants who regularly cooperate with the Wilson family’s sugar business, all terminating their partnerships permanently.” I interrupted the man’s speech, giving them three minutes to struggle. Those three minutes were also my last chance for them to admit their mistake, but they wouldn’t take it. They continued to ignore my words, still trying to curry favor with Jasper. Three minutes passed. Just as Katie was about to start yelling at me, her phone rang. To further humiliate me publicly, she put it on speaker. “Miss Katie, this is George from Megma Corp.” “I’m not calling to catch up, but to inform you that our partnership is canceled, permanently.” With that, he hung up, delivering a fatal blow before Katie could even speak. Everyone froze, the smiles on their faces abruptly solidifying. Then a second call came in. She thought George had regretted it. But it wasn’t. It was a second merchant canceling their partnership. Then came the third, fourth, fifth… all calling to terminate their agreements. Katie began to panic, and everyone else was equally shocked. I raised my hand and glanced at my watch, speaking nonchalantly. “The sugar business is done for. Next, the stocks.” My words startled them again, pulling them out of their daze. “William, are you behind this?” “But I don’t believe it. He’s just a kept man; how could he have such power?” “But… but everything he said is coming true!” “William, is it really you?” Jasper stared at me, dumbfounded. I looked back at him as if he were an idiot.

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Three years with Daniel, and he had slowly drained the color from my life, fading it to a sterile palette of black, white, and gray. “No lipstick. Too provocative, Norah.” “No short skirts. You’re practically begging for trouble.” “No selfies on Instagram. People will talk. You’re just showing off.” I used to believe this was care. I thought it was his way of holding onto me. Until I found the hidden folder on his iPad. It was filled with photos of another woman. Bold red lips, silk slip dresses, delicate choker chains. She laughed with a wild, unapologetic freedom. He had meticulously cataloged every single photo with dates and locations. I scrolled back to the very first one. The timestamp was from the third month of our relationship. That was the exact day he had iced me out for seventy-two hours because I’d worn a slightly low-cut V-neck sweater. I stared at this vibrant, electric woman on the screen, then caught my own reflection in the darkened glass. Dull. Muted. Blended into the background. A wave of sheer absurdity washed over me. He didn’t hate red lipstick or slip dresses. He just believed I only deserved to be his plain, safe shadow. He wanted to prune me down until I was nothing but a quiet, compliant houseplant. For the first time in three years, I didn’t search my mind for what I had done wrong. I didn’t take screenshots to scream at him. I simply closed the folder, went to the bottom of my closet, and pulled out the cherry-red silk dress I’d hidden away, packing it into my suitcase. Before I walked out the door, I found an old, half-dried tube of lipstick—a brilliant scarlet—and scrawled two words across the bathroom mirror: WE’RE DONE. … 1 “Are you insane? You’re actually wearing that out? Aren’t you terrified he’s going to lose his mind and break up with you?” Debby’s fork hovered mid-air, the rising steam from our spicy ramen bowls blurring her face. I looked down at myself. The hem of my skirt fell just past my knees. The neckline showed a hint of my collarbones. I hadn’t worn this shade in three years; the woman staring back at me in the restaurant window felt like a stranger. “Does it look good?” Debby set her fork down and took me in for a long, quiet moment. Slowly, her eyes welled up. “It looks gorgeous. It looks so damn good, Norah.” She reached across the booth, gently squeezing my cheeks and turning my head side to side. “Do you realize how much weight you’ve lost? You look like you’re disappearing.” I offered a small, quiet smile, not knowing what to say. Debby let go, her pity quickly turning into suspicion. “Wait. The red dress? The lipstick? Does Daniel know?” “No.” “He’s going to lose his absolute mind.” “It doesn’t concern him anymore.” Debby’s fork slipped from her hand, splashing back into her bowl and sending a droplet of red broth onto the table. “What did you say?” “We broke up.” Her mouth parted. She stared at me, dumbfounded. “Norah, are you serious?” “Yeah.” “When?” “This afternoon.” Debby slid out of her side of the booth and sat right next to me, her hand gripping my shoulder. “Did he hit you? Did he do that silent treatment thing again? Norah, tell me the truth.” I shook my head. “Then why? What changed?” “I found a hidden folder on his iPad.” Debby went completely still. “It was full of photos of another girl. Red lips, low-cut tops, chokers. He had them all labeled with dates and places.” “The earliest one was from our third month together.” Debby’s fingers began to tremble. “That was the weekend he refused to speak to me for three days because I wore a V-neck.” “Fuck,” Debby whispered, her eyes burning with sudden, hot anger. “That miserable, hypocritical piece of shit.” I picked up my glass of lemonade and took a slow sip. My chest felt remarkably light. “Norah, why aren’t you crying?” “What is there to cry about?” “You spent three years refusing to wear dresses. You stopped wearing makeup. You wouldn’t even post a selfie on Instagram because of him. And all this time, behind your back…” “Which is why I left.” Debby stared at me for a long time, then wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a fierce, suffocating hug. “You should have left a long time ago.” I leaned against her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her vanilla perfume mixed with the rich aroma of the ramen bar. My phone buzzed on the table. A text from Daniel. Working late tonight. Don’t wait up for dinner. I stared at the words. The irony was almost comical. He didn’t even know I was gone. Or more accurately, it hadn’t even crossed his mind to care if I was there or not. Debby squinted at the screen and let out a harsh laugh. “Working late? Bullshit.” “It doesn’t matter anymore.” I flipped the phone face down. “Did you get all your stuff out?” “About half of it. I’ll hire a moving service for the rest tomorrow.” “Where are you staying?” “A hotel nearby.” “Are you kidding? You’re staying with me.” “No, Debby, really. I just… I need to be alone for a bit.” Debby didn’t push. She just squeezed my hand, holding on tight, as if she was afraid I might fade away if she let go. “Norah, listen to me.” “I’m listening.” “Do you remember who you used to be? In college, you’d walk into a lecture hall in a tank top and half the room would turn around. You had pink hair, that tiny daisy tattoo on your ankle. You were so loud, so alive.” Of course I remembered. “And then? Three years with Daniel, and what did you let him turn you into?” I kept quiet. “He said lipstick made you look cheap, so you threw it away. He said short skirts invited trouble, so you wore trousers. He said selfies were attention-seeking, so you locked down your accounts.” “Norah, that wasn’t a relationship. You were serving a sentence.” Her words felt like a needle prickling the softest, most vulnerable part of my heart. I knew she was right. But three years of conditioning don’t vanish overnight. You don’t just shake them off like dust. “Well,” I said softly, looking up. “I’m out now.” Debby looked at me, a tear finally escaping and rolling down her cheek, but she was smiling. “Yeah. You’re out.” She raised her glass, clinking it against mine. “To your freedom.” I clinked my glass back, the tart sweetness of the lemonade washing over my tongue. My phone buzzed again. Daniel. There’s leftover chicken in the fridge. Heat it up. I stared at the message, a dry laugh bubbling up in my throat. Three years, and he had never once asked me what I wanted to eat. He only ever told me what was available. I swiped the notification away and didn’t reply. Debby saw, but she didn’t say a word. She just leaned over and dropped a tender piece of pork belly into my bowl. “Eat up. You’re far too thin.” I took a bite. The rich, spicy flavor on my tongue felt sharper and more real than anything I had tasted in three years. 2 The hotel bed was soft, but the kind of soft that kept me awake. For three years, I’d trained myself to sleep on the rock-hard mattress Daniel insisted on. He claimed soft beds were terrible for your back, so I complied. Now, staring at the ceiling, I wondered if he’d been quite as concerned about the other woman’s back. The phone screen flickered in the dark. On, off, on, off. Daniel had sent seven texts. From “Are you asleep?” to “Why aren’t you answering me?”, the intervals between them shrinking. The final notification was a voicemail. I didn’t play it. Not because I was afraid, but because I simply didn’t want to hear his voice. I knew exactly how it would sound—low, vibrating with that subtle, patronizing edge he used whenever I wasn’t falling in line. Around 2:00 AM, the notifications stopped. He probably assumed I’d fallen asleep. Or maybe he thought I was throwing a tantrum, that I’d cool off in a couple of days. After all, for the last three years, I was always the one who apologized first. I rolled over, staring into the dark. Memories I had spent years justifying began to crawl out of the corners of my mind. Our first year together. He had tossed my brand-new Chanel lipstick straight into the trash can. “Who are you trying to impress with that?” “Myself,” I had whispered. He scoffed and didn’t speak to me for three days. Our second year. I wore a knee-length dress to my company’s annual gala. He grabbed my forearm in the parking lot before we could even walk in. “Go back inside and change.” “Daniel, it’s past my knees…” “I said change, Norah.” I went back and changed. Our third year. I posted a photo from my best friend’s birthday party. The moment he saw it, he snatched my phone and slammed it onto the coffee table. “Delete it.” “Why?” “Look at the way you’re standing. Your chest is practically pushed into the camera. Have some self-respect.” I had been wearing a turtleneck sweater. I deleted the photo. And then I stopped posting altogether. Staring up at the dark hotel room, I wondered how I had let myself get chipped away, piece by piece. Each compromise had been so small. So seemingly insignificant. I’d convinced myself it was just the normal friction of sharing a life. I hadn’t realized I was slowly erasing myself. At 8:00 AM, my phone rang. Not Daniel. A local number. I picked it up. “Hi, is this Norah?” “Yes, this is she.” “Hi Norah, this is Elena from Aura Media. We received your resume last week and wanted to see if you could come in for an interview today at two?” My heart did a strange flutter. I had applied for that job in secret. Daniel had forbidden me from looking for new work, telling me my administrative desk job was stable and safe, that I shouldn’t rock the boat. But I had a degree in digital media. I had won a national student creative award before graduation. And instead of using it, I had spent three years photocopying documents and ordering lunch for executives at a boring logistics firm. “Yes,” I said, my voice steady. “I’ll be there.” After hanging up, I dug through my suitcase and pulled out a crisp white button-down. Clean, sharp, professional. In the bathroom mirror, I applied a fresh coat of scarlet lipstick. There was a sudden, sharp clarity in my eyes that I hadn’t seen in a very long time. The interview went better than I could have hoped. The creative director at Aura Media looked at my portfolio and made an offer on the spot. “Norah, you’ve got a fantastic eye. Can you start Monday as our digital content lead?” When I stepped out of the high-rise, the afternoon sun was so bright I had to squint. My phone vibrated in my hand. Daniel. Norah, where the hell are you? Why is half your stuff missing? I stared at the screen. He had finally noticed. Not that I was gone—just that things were missing. To him, I suppose there wasn’t much of a difference. I was just another object in his apartment. I didn’t reply. I slipped the phone into my bag, walked into a Sephora nearby, and bought three lipsticks. A classic crimson, a deep berry, and a dark plum. Every single shade he had ever called trashy. The cashier smiled as she wrapped them. “These colors are stunning on you. You have the perfect skin tone for a bold lip.” I looked at myself in the small mirror by the register and smiled. Three years. It was the first time someone had told me I looked beautiful without a heavy layer of warning attached to it. It wasn’t Debby’s fierce protectiveness. It was just… true. By the time I got back to the hotel, my phone was flashing with a dozen missed calls. All from Daniel. Along with three voicemails. I tapped the first one. “Norah, what the hell is this? Half your clothes are gone, and what did you write on the mirror? Are you seriously throwing a tantrum over nothing? Call me.” The second one. “Fine. When you’re done playing games, call me. I’m slammed at work today, I don’t have time to chase you down.” The third one. “If you aren’t back by tomorrow, Norah, don’t expect me to be waiting.” I listened to the silence that followed, then set the phone down on the nightstand. Threats. For three years, he’d used them like a whip. And for three years, I’d jumped. I turned off the lights, crawled into the plush hotel sheets, and closed my eyes. That night, there was no one whispering in my ear to turn off the AC because it was wasting electricity. No one complaining that I was moving too much. I slept deeply, without dreaming. 3 The next morning, I went back to the apartment to get the rest of my things. I’d timed it carefully. Daniel usually left for the office by eight, so arriving at nine-thirty should have given me a clear window. But when I unlocked the door, he was sitting on the sofa. Fully dressed in his charcoal suit, tie perfectly knotted, looking like he’d been waiting for me for hours. “You’re back,” he said, his tone even, almost conversational. He had that smug, patronizing smile he wore whenever he thought I’d run away only to return with my tail between my legs. “I’m here for my things.” “What things? Why do you need to pack? If you need something new, we can just go buy it.” He stood up, walking toward me, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. His smile faltered. “What are you wearing?” I had on a ribbed V-neck knit top and an A-line skirt. And my lips were painted in the fresh berry shade I’d bought the day before. “My clothes,” I said. “Norah,” his voice dropped into that familiar, warning register. “Are you doing this on purpose?” “Doing what?” “Dressing like that. Wearing that makeup. Are you trying to provoke me?” I ignored him and walked past him into the bedroom. He followed me, grabbing my wrist as I reached for a drawer. “I asked you a question.” “Daniel, let go of me.” “Tell me where you went yesterday. Why weren’t you answering my calls? And what was that stunt on the bathroom mirror?” I turned to face him. Three years, and I’d still been slightly captivated by his face. Strong jaw, dark, deep-set eyes that carried a natural authority. I used to think being the focus of that gaze meant I was special. Now, it just felt like suffocating. “It wasn’t a stunt. We’re broken up. It’s pretty self-explanatory.” He stared at me for a beat, then let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “Norah, enough. The joke’s over.” “I’m not joking.” “Then explain it to me. Why? What did I do wrong?” The sheer blindness of it made me laugh. Was he truly this oblivious, or was he just that good of an actor? “Daniel, the hidden folder on your iPad. Who is she?” His expression shifted instantly. Not to guilt, but to a cold, defensive anger. “You went through my things?” “You didn’t answer my question.” “That’s my private property. You have no right to snoop through my devices.” The double standard was hilarious. For three years, he’d demanded my phone passcodes, read my messages under the guise of “transparency,” and tracked my location. But the moment the tables turned, it was a violation of his privacy. “So who is she?” “It’s none of your business.” “None of my business?” I repeated, the words tasting like ash. “You wouldn’t let me wear lipstick. You wouldn’t let me wear skirts. You wouldn’t let me post a single photo. But your folder is packed with pictures of a girl in slip dresses and red lipstick, cataloged over three years. Every single detail.” “That’s completely different.” “How?” He hesitated, searching for words, his jaw tight. “Norah, you’re my partner. You represent me. You need to have some decorum. She… she’s just someone I appreciate aesthetically. It’s not the same thing.” I understood perfectly then. I was his possession, so I had to be kept under lock and key, muted and modest. She was his muse, allowed to be vibrant and free because she didn’t belong to him. “So I have to be the dull, safe shadow while she gets to shine?” “You’re twisting my words.” “Daniel, we’re done.” “No, we’re not,” he said, his voice dropping into a hard, final tone. “I don’t agree to this. Take a couple of days to calm down, and then we’ll talk like adults.” He picked up his car keys from the counter and walked to the door, stopping to look back at me. “Wipe off that lipstick and change the skirt before you go out. You look ridiculous.” The door clicked shut. I stood in the quiet apartment, realizing how long I had lived under his spell. I had believed everything he said. I had shrunk myself to fit his mold. And now, he thought even my exit required his permission. I took a deep breath, walked into the bedroom, and began throwing the rest of my things into the suitcase. On my way out, I glanced at the bathroom mirror. The red lipstick words were still there, bright and defiant. He’d seen them, but he’d dismissed them as a temper tantrum. He had never taken me seriously. Not once. I dragged my suitcase out of the apartment and got into the elevator. Before I reached the lobby, my phone rang. It wasn’t Daniel. It was a number I hadn’t seen on my screen in months: my mother. “Norah? Daniel just called me. He said you had a fight and walked out?” My grip on the phone tightened. “Mom, I didn’t walk out because of a fight. I left him. We’re done.” “Done? Norah, you’ve been together for three years! Daniel is stable, he has a good job, he has a townhouse, he treats you well. What on earth are you looking for?” “Mom…” “Listen to me. Go back and apologize. Couples fight all the time. Don’t throw away a good thing over some silly argument.” “He was cheating on me.” The line went quiet for a second. “Cheating? Do you have proof? Don’t go accusing him without facts.” “I saw the photos, Mom. Photos of another woman on his tablet, cataloged over three years.” “That’s it?” My mother’s voice relaxed, filled with dismissive relief. “Norah, men look at photos. It doesn’t mean he actually did anything. Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill.” “Mom, he literally forbade me from wearing makeup or skirts while he was busy collecting photos of another woman doing exactly that.” “Well, that just means he cares about you. He doesn’t want other men looking at you. You’re being ungrateful.” I hung up. Standing on the sidewalk under the bright morning sun, a cold shiver ran straight through my bones. 4 After the movers left, I sat on the deep windowsill of my hotel room, staring out at the city. My phone was blowing up. My mother had sent eight consecutive voice messages, all singing the same tune: go back. “A young woman staying in a hotel alone? It’s embarrassing.” “Daniel just called me again. He sounds sick with worry. He really loves you, Norah.” “Don’t be stubborn. I’ve lived a lot longer than you. All men make mistakes.” I listened to each one, then deleted them all, one by one. At three in the afternoon, Debby called. “Norah. Daniel reached out to me.” “What did he say?” “He wanted to know where you’re staying. I didn’t tell him, obviously. But then he said something so incredibly toxic.” “What?” “He said, ‘Norah’s just being influenced by her friends. She used to be so sweet and reasonable, and now she’s running away like a child.’” My knuckles turned white around the phone. Sweet and reasonable. That was his euphemism for compliant. “There’s more,” Debby said, her voice dropping. “He said if you don’t come home within a week, he’s going to assume you’ve officially abandoned the relationship.” “Let him.” “His exact words were: ‘If she actually walks away, she’s going to regret it. I’m not the kind of guy who waits around.’” I let out a sudden, sharp laugh. Even now, he still saw himself as the prize. “Norah? Why are you laughing?” “Because he genuinely believes I’m going to crawl back.” “So you’re really done?” “Completely.” “Good,” Debby said, her voice filled with relief. “Because there’s something I need to tell you.” “What is it?” “The girl in the iPad photos. I know her.” I froze. “Who is she?” “Nancy. We went to college together. We were in the same sorority.” “Are you sure?” “Red lips, delicate gold chokers, tiny mole on her left collarbone? Yes, Norah. I’m positive.” I pictured the photos. My heart did a slow, heavy thud. “Yeah. That’s her.” “Norah, Nancy…” Debby paused, choosing her words carefully. “She knew Daniel had a girlfriend. She’s known for three years.” “What do you mean?” “Remember our junior year homecoming? You brought Daniel to the mixer. We all sat at the same table, and Nancy was sitting right across from you.” The memory came rushing back. Daniel had been cold and brooding the entire night because I had worn an off-the-shoulder top. “She added him on Instagram that night. I always thought it was sketchy, but I didn’t have any real proof.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” “I tried,” Debby said, her voice cracking slightly. “That spring, I told you Nancy was bad news and that you should keep an eye on her. You told me I was being paranoid. You said Daniel wasn’t like that.” I was silent. She was right. She had tried to warn me. I had been too blind to see it. “There’s one more thing, Norah.” “Tell me.” “Nancy posted a photo last week. Tagged at that upscale steakhouse right downstairs from Daniel’s office. The caption was: Our usual spot, our usual table, waiting for my favorite person.” “I took a screenshot of it. I was going to send it to you, but I didn’t want to break your heart. But now…” “Send it to me.” Ten seconds later, the image popped up on my screen. In the photo, Nancy was sitting by a window overlooking the city lights. Two glasses of Cabernet sat on the table, one half-empty. She was wearing a black silk camisole, her bare collarbones catching the candlelight, her delicate necklace gleaming. She was looking directly at the camera with a playful, teasing smile. And that steakhouse was the exact place Daniel supposedly went to every single time he “worked late.” I had asked him once why he liked that place so much. He told me they made the best ribeye in the city. It wasn’t about the steak. It was about who was sitting across from him. I set the phone down and took a deep, steady breath. There was no rage. No tears. Just a quiet, absolute stillness. Like a difficult puzzle I’d spent three years trying to solve, and someone had finally just handed me the completed picture. My phone rang. This time, it was Daniel’s actual number. I didn’t pick up. He called again. I let it ring. After the third call, a text came through. Norah, I am asking you one last time. Are you coming home or not? I stared at the words for a long moment, my finger hovering over the screen. Then, I typed four words. No. Have a good life. I hit send, and then I blocked his number. Meanwhile, back in the townhouse. Daniel stared at the screen, his brow furrowing as he read the message. Have a good life. He let out a cold snort and tossed the phone onto the leather sofa. “Fine. Let her freeze out there for a couple of days. She’ll learn.” He got up to get a glass of water, passing the master bathroom. His eyes caught something in the mirror, and his footsteps halted. Those two dry, red words were still scrawled on the glass. He had thought it was just a dramatic gesture. But as he looked closer, he realized the vanity was completely bare. Every bottle of moisturizer, every tube of makeup—gone. He pulled open the drawer. Empty. He opened the closet. Half of it was bare space. Even that red dress he hated so much was gone. Daniel stood in front of the empty closet, the glass in his hand tilting slightly, spilling water onto the hardwood floor. He pulled out his phone and dialed her number. But before the first ring could finish, a recorded voice cut in: “We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is currently unavailable…”

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At my husband’s sold-out arena concert, I sat in the very last row. The giant LED screen was scrolling through the setlist, and every single song credit—lyrics and music—read “Cynthia.” Eighty-seven songs. Every single one of them. Cynthia was his ex-girlfriend. Three years ago, I gave up my own chance to debut, locking myself away in a cramped apartment to write songs for him. Now, standing on stage with tears in his eyes, he choked out his gratitude: “Without Cynthia, there would be no Gilbert today.” Cynthia, sitting in the center of the front row of the VIP section, stood up and bowed gracefully to the cheering crowd. That seat—Gilbert had promised it to me just last week. I pulled out my phone and texted him. His reply came back almost instantly: [Cynthia is the head of the label. You’re behind the scenes anyway. Does it really matter whose name is on the credit?] On stage, he started singing the fifth song, 101 Degrees. Last year, when he was hospitalized with a dangerously high fever, I wrote that song sitting on the freezing floor of the hospital hallway, barely sleeping for two nights. I shut off my phone, stood up, and walked out. Before turning it off, I sent him one last text: [The divorce papers are on the nightstand. Remember to sign them. As for the eighty-eighth song—I don’t think I’ll be finishing it.] 1 “Maeve, what the hell is wrong with you?” Gilbert’s voice exploded through the receiver. In the background, I could hear the muffled chaos of the arena’s backstage area—chatter, doors slamming, the distant rumble of the crowd. I stood in the biting wind outside the stadium, pulling my thin coat tighter around myself. “Nothing is wrong with me.” The sound of leather shoes pacing against a hard floor came through the line. “Tonight is my three-year anniversary concert. Ten thousand people,” he said, his tone dripping with heavy, familiar irritation. “Do you really have to ruin this night for me?” My fingers gripping the phone were stiff and numb from the cold. “The credits for all eighty-seven songs on the big screen went to Cynthia. Which of us is ruining whose night, Gilbert?” Gilbert let out a long, heavy sigh. “I explained this to you on text,” he said, exasperated, as if I were a child failing to grasp a basic concept. “Cynthia owns the label. It’s a corporate decision to list her name. Why is that so hard to understand?” I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “So because the label owns the rights, you get to completely erase my work? I wrote 101 Degrees sitting in a hospital hallway while you were sick. I stayed up for forty-eight hours straight. Is it really because she owns the label, Gilbert? Or is it because she’s your ex?” The line went cold. Gilbert’s voice dropped an octave, freezing over. “Maeve, do you really have to be this petty?” “Petty?” I asked, my voice trembling with a mix of shock and pure disbelief. “I wrote every single one of those songs, and someone else is taking the credit. And you think I’m being petty?” “What else would you call it?” he countered, shifting his stance. “You’re a behind-the-scenes writer. Why do you care so much about some vanity credit? It’s not like I don’t pay you.” I closed my eyes, the cold air stinging my face. “A five-thousand-dollar monthly retainer. That’s what you paid to buy out three years of my life and soul. God, you’re incredibly generous, Gilbert.” Before he could respond, a woman’s voice drifted into the call. “Gilbert, sweetie, who are you arguing with?” It was Cynthia. Her tone was light, airy, and laced with an effortless arrogance. “Is Maeve having another one of her episodes?” Instantly, the tension drained from Gilbert’s voice, replaced by a soft, placating gentleness. “It’s nothing. She’s just acting out.” Cynthia giggled, a sound that made my stomach turn. “Maeve, Gilbert is exhausted. Tonight was a massive show for him. You really shouldn’t be stressing him out over such trivial things.” She paused, letting her words hang in the air. “If you feel like your retainer is too low, I can have accounting add another two grand starting next month.” Listening to her condescending charity, my chest tightened. I felt physically sick. “Cynthia, when you stood up and bowed to that crowd for my music, did you feel even a shred of guilt?” Cynthia gave a soft, dismissive snort. “Maeve, it’s called resource integration. Without my label’s money and PR, your songs would just be a pile of worthless scrap paper.” My fist clenched in my pocket. “They are my songs.” Gilbert snatched the phone back. “Maeve, that’s enough. Cynthia is right. Without her, I wouldn’t be standing on this stage. Look at yourself right now. Don’t you think you’re being incredibly pathetic?” I opened my eyes and stared at the distant, flickering streetlights of the city. “I’m pathetic?” I whispered. “That VIP seat in the front row—you told me last week it was mine.” Gilbert hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Cynthia is my lead investor,” he said, his voice hardening again. “If she doesn’t sit in the front row, who does? You? Look at what you wear, Maeve. You don’t even own a decent dress. What do you think the media would say if they photographed you there?” The words sliced through me with surgical precision. For three years, I had locked myself away in a dim, drafty apartment, writing the soundtracks to his success. I hadn’t bought a single piece of clothing that cost more than twenty dollars, pouring everything into his dream. And now, he was embarrassed by my poverty. I took a deep, steadying breath. “So, you’re ashamed of me. I’m not presentable enough for your world.” Gilbert seemed to realize he had gone too far. His tone softened slightly, though the condescension remained. “That’s not what I meant. I’m just saying we have to look at the bigger picture. You always do this—you only think about your own feelings. Can you please just grow up?” “I am grown up,” I said quietly, cutting him off. “Which is why I’m stepping out of your picture. Don’t forget to sign the divorce papers.” Gilbert completely lost his patience. “Maeve, stop using divorce as a threat. Where are you even going to go if you leave me? Who else do you think is going to buy those half-baked songs of yours?” I didn’t answer. “I’m going to say this one last time,” he said, delivering his ultimatum. “Get over to the hotel for the afterparty right now. Cynthia had too much to drink, and you need to drive her car home. If you aren’t there in thirty minutes, don’t expect me to call you back.” I looked down at the glowing screen. “Gilbert.” “What?” “There won’t be an eighty-eighth song.” I pressed the red button and ended the call. 2 I unlocked the door to our rented apartment. The apartment was pitch black. I didn’t bother turning on the lights, navigating by the pale moonlight spilling through the window. As I walked into the living room, my toe kicked against something heavy and metallic. I looked down. It was the custom tuning fork I’d had made to help preserve his vocal cords. It lay there, discarded like a piece of garbage next to the bin. A year ago, when Gilbert’s vocal cords were severely strained, I had spent an entire month’s salary and searched the whole city to find a craftsman who could make it. At the time, he’d held me and cried, saying it was the most thoughtful gift he’d ever received. Now, it was coated in a layer of dust. Meanwhile, right in the center of the coffee table, sat a polished velvet box. Inside was a diamond-encrusted tie clip Cynthia had gifted him. Suddenly, my phone vibrated in my hand. Gilbert’s name flashed across the screen again. I picked up. “Maeve, where the hell are you?” he demanded. “I told you to drive Cynthia home. Do my words mean absolutely nothing to you?” I stared down at the dusty tuning fork on the floor. “I’m at the apartment.” “You seriously went home?” Gilbert’s voice was sharp, grating. “Because you didn’t show up, Cynthia had to hire a random driver. She threw up all over her back seat. Are you happy now?” I let out a cold laugh. “Why would I care if she threw up?” “You’re her assistant! Taking care of her is your job!” “I am your wife, Gilbert. Not her assistant.” “Maeve, can you stop throwing the word ‘wife’ in my face?” Gilbert sounded utterly exhausted and annoyed. “Aside from that piece of paper, what have you actually done for me? Can you afford a diamond ring? Can you afford a real wedding? You can’t even buy yourself a decent necklace!” My eyes drifted back to the velvet box on the table. “You’re right. I can’t,” I said. “Is that why you keep the necklace Cynthia gave you sitting right in the middle of our coffee table?” “Are you going through my things now?” he snapped, instantly defensive. “It’s in plain sight. I’d have to be blind to miss it.” “Maeve, stop making a scene out of nothing. It was a professional thank-you gift. Cynthia isn’t petty like you. She knows we’re married, which is why she bought us a matching set. Think of it like siblings.” I froze. “Matching?” “Yeah. One for her, one for me,” he said, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. “It’s about team solidarity. You’ve never worked in a real corporate environment, so you wouldn’t understand.” Listening to his self-righteous justification, the sheer absurdity of it washed over me. “Gilbert, you are wearing matching couple’s necklaces with your ex-girlfriend, and you’re calling it ‘team solidarity’?” “Why does your mind always have to go to such a dirty place?” he groaned. “We are strictly professional. There is absolutely nothing going on. If you’re going to keep being this paranoid, we might as well not even live together.” I took a slow, deep breath. “Fine.” “What?” “I said fine. Let’s not.” “Oh, here we go again,” Gilbert sneered. “Every time we have a fight, you bring up divorce. Don’t you get tired of the same old routine?” “This time is real. The signed papers are on the nightstand. I’ve already signed my part. You can do whatever you want with them.” “Maeve! You think you’re so smart, don’t you? You think I won’t sign them?” “Go ahead. Sign them, and we’ll go straight to the court.” In the background, Cynthia’s slurred, whiny voice drifted through the speaker. “Gilbert, my head hurts so bad…” Gilbert’s tone shifted instantly to frantic worry. “Cynthia, sweetie, just lie down. I’ll get you some warm water and honey.” Then, turning back to the phone, his voice went cold and dismissive. “Maeve, I don’t have time for your drama right now. Show up at the office tomorrow morning at eight and apologize to Cynthia. If you don’t, don’t expect another dime of your retainer.” I listened to him, but for the first time in three years, I didn’t feel the familiar panic. I didn’t feel the urge to beg or explain. “Gilbert.” “What?” “I hope you have the life you deserve.” I hung up and immediately blocked his number. 3 The next morning, I walked into Gilbert’s record label office. The receptionist, dressed in a sharp designer blazer, didn’t even bother to look up as I entered. Her eyes, when they finally flicked over to me, were filled with unvarnished disdain. I ignored her silent judgment and walked past the open-plan bullpen straight toward the conference room at the end of the hall. I pushed the door open. Gilbert and Cynthia were already inside. Cynthia was wearing a tailored charcoal blazer, and around her neck hung the very “solidarity” necklace she had bought for Gilbert. “Oh, Maeve. You actually came,” Cynthia said, a smug smile playing on her lips. “And here I thought you were going to stick to your little rebellion.” Gilbert sat in the leather executive chair, keeping his eyes on his tablet. “At least you realized you were wrong. Go grab Cynthia a coffee, and we’ll call it even.” I walked up to the mahogany conference table. “I’m not here to apologize,” I said. “I’m here for my manuscript.” Gilbert finally looked up. “What manuscript?” “My remaining thirty-two songs.” Cynthia let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Maeve, are you out of your mind? Those songs were created while you were under contract with the label. They are work-for-hire. The copyrights belong to us.” I looked Cynthia dead in the eye. “I wrote those songs in my own apartment. I didn’t use a single kilowatt of your electricity, nor did I use a single cent of your budget. How exactly is that work-for-hire?” Gilbert frowned, slamming his tablet onto the desk. “Maeve, don’t push your luck. The company pays you five grand a month. Do you think we pay you just to sit around?” “That money was my salary for acting as your personal assistant and keeping your life from falling apart,” I said, staring him down. “It wasn’t payment for my music.” Gilbert slapped his hand against the desk. “You want to play bean-counter? Fine!” He pulled out a leather-bound checkbook, scribbled a figure, tore the check off, and threw it across the table. “Ten thousand dollars,” he sneered. “For the remaining thirty-two songs. Take the money and get out of my sight.” I looked down at the slip of paper. Ten thousand dollars. For thirty-two songs. That was roughly three hundred dollars a song. “Gilbert, is this really what my life’s work is worth to you?” “What else do you want? A million? Take a look in the mirror, Maeve. Who do you think made those songs hits in the first place? If it weren’t for my voice, those tracks would be rotting in your hard drive.” Cynthia chimed in, tossing her hair. “Honestly, Gilbert, ten grand is too generous. We could hire any hungry ghostwriter off the street for a couple hundred bucks. Maeve is just trying to extort us.” I looked at the two of them, a wave of profound disgust washing over me. I picked up the check. Gilbert smirked. “What? Still think it’s too little? If you don’t want it, leave it.” I gripped the edges of the check with both hands and ripped it straight down the middle. Rip. Gilbert’s smirk vanished. “Maeve, what the hell are you doing?” I stacked the two halves together and ripped them again, repeating the motion until the check was reduced to a handful of tiny white shreds. “Are you insane?” he yelled, jumping to his feet. “That was ten thousand dollars!” I raised my hand and threw the confetti straight into his face. The white scraps rained down over his styled hair and expensive suit. “Keep your money, Gilbert,” I said softly. “Consider those songs a donation. It’s the price I pay for feeding a stray.” 4 I walked out of the building and went straight to the federal copyright office. “Hi, I need to file an emergency freeze on all commercial licensing and performance rights registered under my name,” I told the clerk, handing over a thick, meticulously organized folder. Yes. Every single one of those eighty-seven songs had been registered under my legal name the moment I finished writing them. I used to think I would never need those registrations. I had trusted Gilbert implicitly. Now, they were my only shield. The clerk reviewed my documents, checking the digital timestamps against the copyright database. “Everything looks in order, Ms. Miller,” she said. “Your application has been processed. Effective immediately, any commercial performance, digital streaming, or profitable use of these eighty-seven titles is frozen pending legal review.” “If anyone violates this injunction, you have full grounds to sue for statutory damages.” “Thank you,” I said. When I stepped outside, the afternoon sun was blindingly bright. I walked over to a trash can on the corner, pulled out my phone, and popped out the SIM card. I had used this number for five years. Every call, every demanding text, and every hollow promise from Gilbert had filtered through this tiny piece of plastic. I bent it between my fingers until it snapped with a clean, satisfying crack. I tossed the pieces into the trash and slid in the new SIM card my friend Zack had bought for me the night before. At eleven that night, Gilbert was sitting in the back of Cynthia’s luxury SUV. He had downed two glasses of champagne, and his cheeks were flushed with a warm glow. Cynthia handed him an open bottle of mineral water. “The press reviews are spectacular,” she said, scrolling through her phone. “The reception for the new singles is even better than we projected.” Gilbert took a sip of water. “It’s all thanks to you. I couldn’t have pulled off this arena show without your backing.” Cynthia smiled, reaching over to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “What are you going to do about Maeve? She’s throwing a tantrum now, but who knows what kind of scene she’ll make tomorrow.” Gilbert leaned back against the leather seat, rubbing his temples. “Don’t worry about her. She’s stubborn, and she’s terrified that I’ll leave her behind now that I’m successful. Just give her a couple of days. Once she runs out of money, she’ll come crawling back on her own.” The SUV pulled up to his suburban townhouse. Cynthia reached over to unlock his door. “Want me to come in with you?” “No, it’s fine,” Gilbert said, waving his hand. “She’s probably brooding inside. I don’t want her to see you and start screaming again.” He stepped out of the car, his leather dress shoes clicking against the pavement. The townhouse was dark. There was no warm entryway light left on for him, nor was there anyone waiting by the door with a mug of hot honey-ginger tea to soothe his throat. Gilbert frowned. “Maeve?” he called out. Only a hollow echo answered him. He kicked off his shoes and walked into the living room. The velvet jewelry box sat untouched on the coffee table. But the custom tuning fork I had bought him—along with its elegant leather case—was gone from the side table. A sudden, inexplicable wave of anxiety washed over him. “Maeve, stop playing games! Get out here!” He marched over to the master bedroom, throwing the door open and flipping the light switch. The bed was neatly made, and completely empty. The closet door hung half-open. Half of the hangers were bare. Gilbert froze. His gaze fell onto the nightstand. There lay a clean, white document with bold black lettering: PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE. At the bottom of the page, my signature was already written in sharp, clean ink. Maeve Miller. There was no hesitation in the stroke of the pen. Next to the papers lay an acoustic guitar. It was the only gift he had ever given me during our three years together. Now, all six strings had been cleanly snipped. The severed metal wires curled in the air, pointing upward like silent, mocking fingers. Gilbert’s hands began to shake. He snatched up the papers, scanning the terms. I was walking away with nothing. I hadn’t asked for a single asset. “Maeve… you think you can just walk out on me?” Gritting his teeth, he grabbed his phone and dialed my number. Only the cold, automated voice of the operator answered him: “The number you have dialed is no longer in service.” The phone slipped from his trembling fingers, hitting the plush carpet with a dull thud.

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I’ve never been the type to scroll through social media. So when my sister, Georgia, texted me, “Did Jared get a new job?” I was completely blindsided. “He posted a group photo from his new company. Looks pretty high-profile.” I opened his profile. Blank. Not a single post. I logged into Georgia’s account to search him. There it was—a wall of updates. A new job, a new city, business dinners, weekend trips. And a woman, constantly appearing in the background of his photos. The latest post, from yesterday, was captioned: “Act Two. Finally figuring out what actually matters.” Only yesterday, he was telling me how stressed he was, how his startup was on the verge of collapsing, asking me to hold off on buying that townhouse we’d been eyeing. I locked my phone, thinking back to the day we first met. The very first thing he ever said to me was: “I have this fatal flaw—I can’t lie to save my life.” I laughed out loud. 1 I was sitting at my desk at the office, editing a marketing deck, my coffee already cold. Then Georgia’s text lit up my screen. “Hey, did Jared get a new gig? Looks like he’s living the high life.” I frowned. “What do you mean, new gig?” “On Instagram. He posted a group photo. Tailored suit, sleek lobby, very corporate-chic. Looks incredibly fancy.” I set down my mouse, picked up my phone, and searched Jared’s Instagram handle. Nothing. Just a blank grid. No Posts Yet. I closed the app, reopened it, and tried again. Still blank. The screen stayed bright, illuminating my face as I stared at the empty white squares. Last week, Jared had looked me in the eye, his forehead creased with worry, and told me his startup’s cash flow was drying up. He begged me to hold off on putting down the deposit for the place we wanted. He looked so defeated that I’d stayed awake for nights worrying about him, and I had quietly cancelled our viewing appointment. I texted Georgia: “Can you screenshot it?” She replied instantly with a barrage of eight screenshots. I swiped through them one by one. A new job, a new city, lavish dinners, airport lounges… Every photo was perfectly edited, drenched in warm, moody filters. In every single one of them, Jared was smiling that easy, effortless smile I hadn’t seen in years. A smile of pure, unburdened relief. When was the last time he’d smiled at me like that? I tried to remember, but the memory wouldn’t come. Then, I noticed her. She wasn’t in every picture, but she was in enough of them to leave a footprint. Sometimes it was just her hand resting on the edge of a rustic wooden table, nails painted a clean, pale pink. Sometimes they were walking side-by-side, her face turned toward him, her profile soft and beautiful in the golden hour light. The most recent post was from yesterday. No photo. Just text: “Act Two. Finally figuring out what actually matters.” Yesterday evening, he had collapsed onto our living room sofa, looking utterly spent. “It’s brutal right now, babe,” he’d said. “Just give me a little more time to get through this rough patch. Don’t worry about the house yet.” And I had poured him a glass of warm water. I had asked him if he wanted me to make him some tea. I flipped my phone face down on my desk. I sat there in the hum of the office fluorescent lights, unable to move. My cubicle neighbor, Tara, leaned over. “You okay, Lauren? You look a little pale.” “I’m fine,” I said, forcing a smile. “Just a blood sugar crash, I think.” I remembered our first date. We were at a crowded bar with mutual friends, and he’d leaned across the table, dead serious, and said: “I have this fatal flaw—I can’t lie. It physically hurts me.” I had thought it was the most endearing thing in the world. Now, sitting at my desk, a laugh escaped my throat. A sharp, dry sound that made my eyes sting. 2 Jared didn’t get home until late that night. When he walked through the door, his suit jacket was rumpled, his tie loosened, looking like a man who’d been run ragged by the world. “Did you eat?” I asked, looking up from the sofa. “Just grabbed a quick bite on the go.” He dropped his briefcase, sank down next to me, and let out a long, heavy sigh. “I’m exhausted. Meetings all day.” I offered a quiet nod, my eyes drifting back to my phone screen. “Things are still pretty tense at the firm,” he said, massaging the back of his neck. His voice was thick with exhaustion. “Seriously, let’s not rush into that townhouse. Don’t put any pressure on yourself, okay? Once I get us through this storm, we can talk about it.” “Okay.” “I know how badly you want it, but the timing is just terrible. You trust me, right?” “Yeah, I know.” He glanced at me, probably sensing my unusual quietness. He reached over and patted my knee. “What’s wrong? You feeling okay?” “Just tired,” I lied, offering a faint smile. “A long day at work.” “Go get some sleep then. Don’t stay up.” He stood up and headed to the bathroom to wash up. I sat in the dim living room, the rushing sound of the shower filling the silence, and turned my phone brightness all the way down. There was one detail from Georgia’s screenshots that kept spinning in my head. It was a photo of Jared at a high-end sushi restaurant—sleek blonde wood panels, an exquisite omakase platter arranged before him. The timestamp in the corner was the 15th of last month. On the 15th of last month, he told me he was in Chicago for an urgent client pitch, barely texting me for three days. I’d been so understanding. “Focus on work,” I’d texted him. “Don’t worry about me.” I had reverse-searched the unique wooden screens in the background of that photo. The restaurant wasn’t in Chicago. It was right here, in Boston. Using Georgia’s account, I scrolled through his feed again, starting from the beginning. No stone unturned. The more I looked, the colder the air in my lungs became. This wasn’t a one-time slip. His supposed business trips, his sudden weekend emergencies—they didn’t align with the geotags and timelines on this hidden profile at all. The woman appeared six times. I took screenshots of every single instance, saved them to my phone, and created a secure folder. I titled it: Evidence. Jared walked out of the bathroom, his hair still damp, and paused at the bedroom door. “You coming to bed?” “In a minute. Go ahead without me.” “Don’t stay up too late. Take care of yourself,” he said, before closing the door behind him. I sat there in the dark, the blue glow of my phone illuminating my face. Outside, the streetlights cast a pale amber light onto the floor. A car rumbled in the distance, its sound fading into the night. I wondered how many truths he had actually told me over the last two years, while keeping me locked outside his digital life. 3 I began doing something I’d never done in our seven years together. I watched him. Quietly. Invisibly. In the past, I never touched his phone, never questioned his whereabouts, and never cross-examined him when he came home late. I believed a marriage required trust, not constant surveillance. I thought living like a detective would be exhausting. But looking back, was that trust? No. It was willful blindness. I followed the digital breadcrumbs from his profile and easily found her account. Her profile picture was a beautiful black-and-white side profile, soft lighting catching her sharp, elegant features. She had this effortlessly bohemian, relaxed energy. Her username was @Westward_Wren. Her account was public. I spent an hour reading through her feed. She was a freelance travel writer, constantly on the move, her writing beautiful and vivid, dripping with a sense of slow, deliberate living. One post made me freeze. It was from three months ago. A shot of a coffee cup sitting on a windowsill, a blurred city skyline in the background, bathed in soft afternoon light. The caption read: “Meeting someone who makes you believe some things are still worth holding onto.” In the comments, someone asked, “Ooh, are you off the market?” She replied with a simple smiling emoji, leaving it ambiguous. But the top comment, liked by her, was from a completely black profile icon. It was just two words: “Me too.” I tapped on the blank icon. No bio, no photos, no public posts. A ghost account. But I knew exactly who it was. The handle ended in the last six digits of Jared’s personal cell phone number. I set my phone on the kitchen counter, poured myself a glass of water, and stood by the window, drinking it slowly. Down on the street, a man was walking his dog on a long, slack leash, taking his time under the yellow streetlights. I thought of how Jared had complained about his insomnia last week, blaming work stress, asking me to stop pushing him. And I had blamed myself, thinking I was a burden, cancelling my dream home appointments to ease his mind. I looked down at the water in my glass. Clear. Transparent. Revealing everything. Fine. We would play this slow. No rush. Over the next few days, I paid attention to the details. He was on his phone more than usual, but he always kept the screen tilted away from me. At dinner, his mind would drift, his eyes glazing over until I called his name, and then he’d snap back with a quick, “Sorry, babe, just thinking about a client.” He started dressing better before leaving the house. He used to throw on whatever wrinkled button-down was closest; now, he stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his collar, checking his reflection from multiple angles. Any of these things on their own would have been harmless. But together, they formed a map. I documented everything in a locked note on my phone: dates, times, specific behaviors, clear as day. One evening, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, answered with a brief “Hey,” and stepped out onto the balcony, sliding the glass door shut behind him. I sat in the living room. I didn’t move. I didn’t try to press my ear to the glass. Ten minutes later, he came back inside, his face completely composed. “Just work stuff,” he said, tossing his phone on the table. “Okay.” He sat next to me and picked up the remote, flipping channels as if nothing had happened. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. Jared, I thought. You look exactly like a tightrope walker right now. Graceful, focused, completely in control. But you and I both know what’s waiting for you if you slip. 4 The opportunity presented itself sooner than I expected. On Thursday night, Jared announced he had to spend the weekend in Burlington, Vermont. “A major client is in town,” he said. “I might have to stay one night, maybe two. I’ll keep you posted.” I smiled. “Of course. Go.” When he was leaving, I walked him to the door. He turned, looking down at me with soft eyes. “Call me if anything comes up at home, okay? Don’t try to handle everything yourself.” “I won’t.” “Is there enough food in the fridge? I can order some groceries to be delivered if you need.” “No need. I’ll take care of it.” He nodded, kissed my cheek, and walked down the hall. I closed the door and stood in the quiet entryway for a long moment. Then, I took out my phone and called Georgia. “You mentioned Will’s friend lives up in Burlington, right? Is he still there this weekend?” Georgia sounded confused. “Yeah, he is. Why?” “I need a favor.” Jared never posted location tags, but Wren did. She was a travel writer; geotagging was second nature to her. It was her brand. On Saturday afternoon at two o’clock, she posted a new photo: “The breeze off Lake Champlain is colder than I expected.” The photo showed a stone bench by the water, the background blurred with tourists. But on the right edge of the frame, a man’s hand rested on the back of the bench. I pinched to zoom. On his wrist was a watch. Square face, black leather strap. I had bought that watch for Jared’s birthday last year. I’d spent an entire afternoon in the boutique on Newbury Street, agonizing over the details until the sales associate knew my life story. I sent the screenshot to Georgia’s boyfriend, Will, along with the approximate location. “Could you ask your friend to swing by this spot? Just a few photos from a distance. Don’t let them notice.” For the next twenty minutes, I sat on the living room sofa. The afternoon sun slanted through the window, painting the hardwood floor in warm, amber light. I didn’t move. I barely breathed. Then, my phone buzzed. It was Will, forwarding a few photos. No text. I took a deep breath and tapped the first image. It was Jared. He was sitting on the stone bench next to Wren, their bodies angled toward each other. He was saying something, and she was laughing, her head tilted back, completely at ease. His arm was slung over her shoulders. The square watch gleamed in the sunlight, identical to the one in my memory. I looked through every photo, saved them all to my Evidence folder, and then opened my chat with Jared. His message from noon was still sitting there: “Meeting went incredibly well. Probably going to have to do dinner with the clients tonight. Get some rest, don’t wait up for me.” I stared at those words for a long time. The sun shifted, leaving the living room in cold shadow, the only sound the quiet hum of the air conditioning. I typed back: “Sounds great. Focus on the client. Don’t worry about me.” He sent back a smiling emoji almost instantly. I set the phone on the coffee table and closed my eyes. My Evidence folder was full. Screenshots, photos, dates, notes. More than enough. I picked up the phone and called Will back. “Can you do me one more favor?” “Do you know which restaurant they’re going to tonight?” Will hesitated. “Yeah, actually. My friend knows someone who works there. Do you want me to find out their reservation details?” “No need,” I said, standing up and walking into our bedroom. I opened the closet. “I’m going myself.” I pulled out a crisp white button-down and adjusted the collar in the mirror. The woman looking back at me was entirely calm. I didn’t look like someone heading into a screaming match; I looked like someone showing up to a long-awaited business meeting. I grabbed my bag and walked out. Jared, I thought. You wrote that this is your ‘Act Two.’ That you finally figured out what you wanted. That’s perfect. Because so have I. On the Amtrak train to Burlington, I sent him a text: “Just pulled into Burlington. See you soon.” The landscape blurred outside the window as the train slowed toward the station. I wondered what face he would make when he read it.

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