Author: Momo Chan

A package arrived. VIP contract from the city’s most exclusive Elite Postpartum Retreat. Patient name: Elena Morrison. I stared at it, confused. Then I called Leon. “Babe, why are you booking this so early? I’m only three months along!” Silence on the other end. A few beats too long. Then his gentle voice came through. “Sweetheart, I’m new at this whole dad thing. I want everything perfect for you. Don’t worry about it—I’ll handle it when I get home.” My chest warmed. I teased him for being ridiculous. “You’re not clueless. You’ve been amazing.” Leon was everyone’s golden boy—the perfect husband who anticipated my every need through this pregnancy. Attentive. Thoughtful. Loving. But when I pulled out the contract, my fingers froze. Estimated delivery date: next month. My baby was only three months along. The realization hit like ice water. His “first time being a father” wasn’t about my child. His experience came from another woman. *** It’s a printing error. Had to be. That’s what I told myself, even as my fingers betrayed me and pulled up the retreat’s website. I dialed. My voice stayed steady. “Hi, I need to verify an order. Last four digits 8867. Patient name Elena Morrison.” “One moment, please.” The receptionist’s voice dripped with professional warmth. “Ms. Morrison, your reservation is confirmed. Estimated delivery date is the 15th of next month. You’ve booked our premier suite. Mr. Morrison paid in full. The contract has been mailed!” My hand trembled around the phone. “You’re certain it’s… Elena Morrison? My ID number is—” “Confirmed, Ms. Morrison.” She cut me off. “Mr. Morrison specifically noted that you’re carrying twins and will need special care. Rest assured, we have state-of-the-art facilities and a 24-hour medical team. You and your babies will be in excellent hands.” Twins? I ended the call. Sat on the couch. My hands and feet went numb. The name was right. ID number matched. But I was carrying one baby. Only three months along. This retreat was expensive—the kind of place that could handle a walk-in delivery the day before labor and still provide white-glove service. So why book months in advance? Whose babies were being born next month? *** Leon came home after midnight. I sat in the dark, the contract spread on the coffee table. I’d read that line so many times I could recite it from memory. “Elena?” He flipped on the light. “Why are you sitting in the dark?” I didn’t answer. Just looked at him. He walked over, eyes soft, leaning down to kiss me. I turned my head away. “Elena?” Confusion crept into his voice. “Leon.” My voice came out calmer than I expected. “I got the contract today.” “Why does it say the delivery date is next month? And twins?” He paused mid-motion. Then he laughed. Crouched in front of me and took my hands. “I was going to tell you—their system made an error. I already contacted them to fix it.” He looked up at me, eyes filled with that familiar tenderness. “Babe, you’re pregnant. You can’t stress yourself out like this. It’s not good for the baby.” If this were before, I would’ve believed him. But this time, I didn’t miss the flash of panic in his eyes.

“System error?” I slowly pulled my hand away. “Then how did they get my pregnancy timeline wrong too?” Three months ago, when I found out I was pregnant, he cried. Said he’d never forget that day. But now this contract had two dates—and neither one matched my pregnancy. I looked at him, hoping he’d give me a reason I could believe. He said nothing. I felt my throat tighten. “It’s because their premier suites are so limited, isn’t it? That’s why you rushed to book it.” “Elena—” Leon stood, turning his back to me. His shoulders were rigid. Finally, he spoke. “Her name is Liana. She’s an intern at our company.” The name hit me like a gunshot. His voice dropped. “Last year at the holiday party, I had too much to drink… She’s young. She’s under a lot of pressure right now…” Too much to drink? I almost laughed. Didn’t anyone tell him that when he’s drunk, he can’t even get it up? “After that night, she got pregnant. Turned out to be twins.” His voice got quieter. “She wanted to terminate, but I said no. They’re two lives…” I finished for him: “So she’s giving birth at the retreat under my name?” “That way you get to keep your ‘perfect husband’ image.” “After all, your wife—Elena Morrison—is pregnant.” “Everyone will assume I gave birth to them. And your bastards become legitimate heirs.” Leon’s eyes stayed down. “You even made yourself a cover story,” I said, smiling through tears. “How thoughtful.” “Elena, I love you. I’ve only ever loved you.” He crouched down again, gripping my hands. “She was an accident. I have no feelings for her. I just…” “I just couldn’t let a young girl go through an abortion. It would damage her body. Once the babies are born, she’ll leave. I promise.” I looked at this man—the one I’d married three years ago, the one I thought I’d grow old with. My heart turned to ash. “You couldn’t bear to make her terminate… So I should?” Pain flickered across Leon’s face. Then he went silent. No more explanations. No more protests. No more declarations of love. That silence cut deeper than any words. He was waiting for me to say it. He didn’t want my baby. The thought struck like lightning. My entire body went cold. “Elena.” He looked up, pain still in his eyes—but what came out of his mouth was colder than anything before. “That girl has been… unstable lately. Threatening to hurt herself because the babies won’t have legal status.” He paused, the sympathy in his eyes undisguised. “Two days ago, she slit her wrists with a fruit knife. We caught her just in time.” He lowered his gaze to the floor. “Your body is strong. You recover fast. And you’ve had a miscarriage before, so one more time won’t matter.” My blood turned to ice. “What did you just say?” He didn’t look at me. Kept staring at the floor. “She’s different,” he said. “She’s only twenty-three. First pregnancy… She’s alone in this city, no family, no support.” I opened my mouth. No sound came out. “I know this hurts you.” His grip on my hand tightened. “But we can try again later. Your body is resilient—you got pregnant again after the last miscarriage. This time will be fine too.” He looked up, actual tears in his eyes. “Just… do this for me. Please?” I stared into those eyes. Heard every word. And I laughed. “Leon.” My voice came out soft. “Do you remember why I miscarried last time?”

He froze. “Because your mother thought I wasn’t good enough for you. We argued. She pushed me down the stairs.” His face went pale. “I was twenty-three then too. First pregnancy. All alone—I’d left my city, my parents, everything to be with you.” My tone stayed flat. “You don’t remember, do you?” “Elena, my mom didn’t mean to—” “I know.” I cut him off. “That’s why I forgave her.” “I believe she didn’t mean it. She looked terrified afterward.” “She just didn’t expect that you were standing right behind me… and you didn’t catch me.” Leon’s face drained of color. “Elena, how can you think that?” His voice rose. “That was my first child too. How could I deliberately not catch you?” I looked down at his hand gripping mine. That hand hadn’t caught me three years ago. And now, three years later, it was asking me to terminate again. “So.” I pulled my hand away. “Your mom pushed me, you failed to catch me, we lost that baby—all just accidents?” “Yes! Accidents. Nobody wanted that to happen.” “Then tell me.” I locked eyes with him. “Is this time an accident too?” He went silent. “Her pregnancy was an accident? You demanding I abort is an accident?” Each word landed like a hammer. “Leon, how is it that all your family’s ‘accidents’ happen to me?” His face flushed red. The room stayed quiet for a long time. So long I thought he wouldn’t speak again. Then he did. “Elena, what do you want me to do?” He looked up, eyes bloodshot. “It’s you on one side, her and two babies on the other—what the fuck am I supposed to do?” I stared at him. “What am I supposed to do? That’s what I should be asking you.” My voice cracked into a scream: “She’s young, first pregnancy, abortion would hurt her body—so she can’t be harmed, but I deserve it?” “That’s not what I meant—” “Then what DID you mean?” He said nothing. I looked at this face I’d known for three years. Suddenly it seemed like a stranger’s. So unfamiliar I didn’t even recognize who he was anymore. “Leon.” My voice steadied. “You’re asking me to kill my own child to make room for someone else’s. Do you know what that’s called?” His lips moved. “It’s called murder.” Each syllable deliberate. “You want me to murder my baby so I can raise your bastards.” “Elena—” I slapped him. The crack echoed through the room. His face whipped to the side. He stood frozen. My palm stung, but my chest hurt worse. “That slap was for my baby.” My voice didn’t shake. “Remember—you’re the one who didn’t want him.” “We’re getting divorced.”

He clutched his cheek, and there was even grievance in his eyes. “You can hit me. But don’t you dare say divorce.” “I told you—I never wanted to cheat. Our marriage is fine—” His phone rang. He hesitated for a few seconds, then walked away to answer. When he came back, his eyes held conflict. “Emergency at the office. I need to go.” I didn’t respond. “Just… cool down. We’ll talk when I get back.” He took a step toward the door, then turned back. “Given her condition, I have a responsibility to look after her right now.” “She’s about to give birth. I won’t have time for you these next few weeks. You’d be miserable anyway, heavily pregnant with nobody around.” “Better to do it while it’s early… You’ll suffer less.” “Once her babies are born and registered under your name, you’ll still be Mrs. Morrison. The children will be legitimate. Between us, nothing will change.” He looked at me, waiting for me to nod. But I had no energy left to deal with him. He sighed and left. The door closed. I stared at it and laughed. He made such perfect sense. She was giving birth. He had no time for me. I’d be alone, pregnant, with nobody. So better to terminate first? The night outside was deep. I sat motionless until dawn. The doorbell rang. I finally moved to answer it. Leon’s mother stood there with my sister-in-law Olivia, who’d just married into the family. “Elena, sweetie.” Olivia grabbed my hand immediately. “Mom got the call last night and couldn’t sleep. We came at first light to check on you.” The old Mrs. Morrison pulled me to sit on the couch. “I know you’re hurt. I’ll talk to Leon. But Elena, you need to understand his position too.” “That girl is carrying twins. Two lives.” I looked at her kind face, listening to her talk about “understanding” and “compassion.” “Mom.” My voice came out hoarse. “So you agree with Leon? I should abort my baby?” Her expression didn’t change. “They’re all my grandchildren. Of course I’d rather not lose any. But that girl threatened suicide. One wrong move and it’s three deaths.” She patted my hand. “The Morrison family can’t do something so immoral.” Immoral? Making me kill my own child wasn’t immoral? I yanked my hand back and stood. “I can’t do it.” My voice was firm. “This is my baby. Three months along. He has a heartbeat. I won’t abort him.”

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My name is Penny Wilson. A decade into my marriage, the house itself began to reject me. When I came home from work, the smart lock refused to open, no matter what. Yet my husband, Rod Becher, opened it with a single touch. The stove wouldn’t light when I turned the knob, but ignited instantly for him. Every light I switched on flickered and died within seconds. My side of the bed grew colder with each passing night. Our clothes in the wardrobe twisted themselves into impossible knots. When I reached for ice water, the dispenser shot out boiling liquid instead, blistering my hand in an instant. Even the sofa, perfectly sturdy moments before, collapsed beneath my weight, shattering my shin. In desperation, I wanted to replace everything. But Rod ran his hands through his hair, distressed. “We’ve already replaced half this house once, Penny. Doing it again will bankrupt us.” My mother-in-law, Jennifer Becher, rapped her knuckles against the table. “There’s nothing wrong with any of it. Stop taking your stress out on the furniture.” Even our son, Devin Becher, pointed an accusing finger at me. “Mom, you make such a racket every single day. Please just be quiet and let me finish my homework.” With no other choice, I endured it. But day by day, my nerves frayed, until one missed step on the stairs sent me crashing down. My head struck the floor with a sickening crack. Before my last breath, desperation washed over me. Why was my life such a misery? Did our house have a mind of its own? But why? What had I done to deserve this? When I opened my eyes again, I found myself transported back to the very day of our tenth wedding anniversary. After work, I stood before the door, punching in the code over a dozen times with no success. When Rod arrived with Devin, he pressed the buttons once. The lock clicked open immediately. “It’s been a long day, hasn’t it? You must have entered the wrong code.” I couldn’t believe it, so I shut the door and tried again. The lock remained sealed. “Never mind, honey. Just get inside. It’s freezing out here.” As he reached for the handle, I caught his wrist. “Wait. Devin, you try.” Devin rolled his eyes, pouting with impatience. His fingers moved lazily across the keypad. “See? Can I do my homework now?” Something cold settled in my stomach. I turned away, heading straight for the kitchen, and twisted the stove knob. Not even a spark. After several frustrated minutes, Rod walked in to start dinner. The flame roared to life the moment he touched it. “I’ll cook tonight. You need some rest.” Fine. I retreated to the bedroom and threw open the wardrobe. Our clothes hung in perfect, pristine rows. It was all happening exactly as before. In my previous life, the problems had only multiplied after I’d replaced the lock and stove. So, should I replace them now? I didn’t think so. Rod could handle the door and the cooking anyway. This time, I would find out why this house hated me, and I would live. “Dad, your cooking is way worse than Mom’s.” Devin made a face at dinner, spitting out a barely-chewed bite onto his plate. Rod tapped his head lightly. “Hey, kiddo, I didn’t raise you to be such a picky eater.” But the next moment, Rod’s expression soured. He spat something onto his plate, half a small green worm. Calmly, I fished two jagged pieces of eggshell from the scrambled eggs. “Honey… I guess I’ll have to leave our meals to you after all.” Rod poked suspiciously at his plate before taking a cautious bite. “You know, we’ve had that stove for years now. It’s old. And the lock, too. Let’s just replace them both.” “But they work perfectly fine for you and Devin. It’s only me they don’t work for.” I didn’t agree readily. Last time, I had been the one to insist on replacements, unable to stand another day of his terrible cooking. But this time, I’d said nothing. Yet here he was, suggesting it first. Was he behind this? Still, I agreed in the end. The technician was scheduled for a time I’d normally be at work, so I requested leave. “You need time off to wait for an appliance repair? Do you think this is a daycare center?” My supervisor, Colin Buck, slammed his coffee mug down. He refused outright. Yet when I finally got home, the technician had just arrived. “You wanted to oversee it yourself, so I had him reschedule for later,” Rod explained. His eyes held that patient warmth I’d fallen in love with years ago. For a moment, I felt a pang of guilt for suspecting him. Ten years of marriage. He’d been a perfect husband. Given my difficult background, he had always been patient with me, and we rarely fought. He’d been the primary caregiver after Devin was born. And seeing how difficult my delivery had been, he’d even convinced his parents to drop their relentless pressure for a second child. By the time the technician finished his work, darkness had fallen outside. I suggested we eat out. After a warm meal, we walked home carrying drinks, and for the first time in what felt like ages, something like peace settled over me. I hadn’t felt this relaxed in what seemed like a lifetime. In my previous life, I’d been perpetually on edge, waiting for the next disaster. At least tonight, I could shower and sleep in peace, I told myself. Tomorrow’s trouble was for tomorrow. But when I opened the wardrobe, my breath caught in my throat. The clothes were tangled into a snarled mess, exactly like before. Panic rising, I rushed to the kitchen and twisted the gas stove knob with trembling fingers. It sputtered weakly, but refused to ignite. Rod had opened the door when we’d arrived home earlier. Recalling that, I ran outside and slammed the door shut behind me. With deliberate care, I entered the code. The lock refused to open. The nightmare was back.

“Penny, the supervisor is expecting you.” As I walked into Colin’s office on unsteady legs, I flinched at the sharp rap of his knuckles on the desk. “What did you do last night, rob banks? I reviewed an hour of security footage. You were asleep for fifty minutes of it!” I kept my head down, swallowing the shame and frustration that rose in my chest. “It won’t happen again, sir.” He took a slow, deliberate sip of coffee, his heavy-lidded gaze weighing me. “Let’s hope so. Because next time, you’ll be packing your things. This company doesn’t carry dead weight.” Back at my desk, I fought to keep my eyes open and work. The night before, my side of the bed had grown icy cold, so cold that two extra blankets had done nothing against it. I’d dragged them to the sofa instead, but the moment I lay down, the support beneath my waist gave way. Luckily, I was braced for it and grabbed the backrest. Otherwise, I would’ve fallen and broken a bone, just like last time. After a while, feeling better, I’d switched on the light to pour myself some water. Once again, the bulb barely flickered before dying. Under my phone’s flashlight, I got near the water dispenser. I’d filled half a cup with hot water, then pressed the cold tap. But what poured out sent ribbons of steam curling into the air. If I had drunk it without thinking or spilled it, I’d have been scalded all over again. In the end, I’d left the cup on the nightstand to cool and crawled back into bed. My nerves were too frayed for sleep, and the water had sat untouched eventually. No one could understand my situation. My boss was unreasonable, yes, but I was lucky to have such a job at my age. And for that very reason, I didn’t dare talk back at him. The good thing was that it was Friday. After work, I’d finally have time to dig deeper into whatever was happening to me. “Honey, what are you doing?” Rod was confused as he watched me lift the mattress, scissors in hand. I was done living in fear, just waiting to fall to my death. I had to find the cause. The scissors bit into the fabric, and I tore a slit along the edge. Inside, just ordinary latex foam. Disappointment washed over me. Why, then, did it grow colder the longer I lay on it? “Maybe you’re run down. I’ll ask Mom to bring over some soup. You need to rest and eat properly.” I tried to refuse, but Jennifer showed up anyway. She keyed in the code herself, opened the door, and headed straight to the kitchen. Nothing went wrong. “Eat up, Penny. Look at those dark circles under your eyes.” “Thanks, Mom.” In my last life, before I insisted on replacing the furniture for the second time, Jennifer had always treated me like her own daughter. She never held back her thoughts. Now she leaned close, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ve checked the house. Everything’s fine. But if you keep feeling something’s wrong, maybe it’s something we can’t explain. Should we have a medium come take a look?” I’d never believed in that kind of thing. Last time, I’d refused outright. But after the miracle happened to me, I nodded. The next day, a medium arrived. He moved slowly through each room, one hand trailing along the walls, the other held open at his side as though feeling for something invisible. After he circled the room, he stopped abruptly and turned to face me. His eyes settled on me and didn’t move. My heart dropped into my stomach. Was he about to blame everything on me? I never should have agreed to this. Jennifer stepped forward, her face pale with worry. “Sir, please — what do you sense?” “Don’t rush. What finds you was drawn by what surrounds you.” He extended one finger, pointing just past my shoulder. “There’s a heavy presence attached to you, ma’am. Something bitter. Unresolved.” A chill crawled down my spine. I grabbed Rod’s arm, my voice shaking. “What is it? Does it mean us harm?” “You were supposed to be abandoned, yet somehow, you managed to become a wife, enjoying ten years of comfort. That’s why this is happening to you.” He shook his head slowly, his expression grave. Then he turned his gaze directly on me. “If you don’t walk away from this marriage within one month, not only you, but your child will suffer the consequences.” After he left, I stared blankly at our wedding photo on the nightstand. These ten years had been happy. And to continue that, I’d endured every hardship of people judging me as an orphan girl who’d married up. Now, however, I was being told to give it all up, even if I’d done nothing wrong. “Don’t think about it. It’s all nonsense.” Rod pulled me into his arms, his voice soft. “You’ll always be my wife. Always.” But from the living room, Jennifer’s voice carried clearly over the phone, and every word hit like a verdict. “Alas, the medium was quite accurate, you know.”

I was raised in an orphanage until I aged out of the system. So that part, at least, was true. I didn’t want to believe the medium. I didn’t want a divorce. But for Devin’s sake, I rented a small apartment near the office. “Do you really have to go this far? Don’t let his words get to you. We’ve made it ten years together…” “That’s enough.” I cut him off. “I’m going in. You should go home.” I got out of the car before he could say another word to shake my resolve. “Just call often, okay? I’ll bring Devin to see you.” Before entering the apartment complex, I couldn’t help myself and glanced back. The rear window was down. Devin sat in the backseat, his eyes red and swollen. When he saw me looking, he turned his face away. I knew my stubborn little boy had a soft heart. I hurried inside the apartment. I actually slept through the night in the rental. My phone rang just after I opened my eyes. Devin called me on Rod’s phone. “Mom, come home!” His voice was bright, hopeful. “I just figured it out. Zoe’s been crawling into your closet! He must’ve tangled all your clothes!” My heart softened despite everything. Zoe was the neighbor’s hairless cat, and Devin adored him, bringing him over from time to time. Maybe the cat really was the culprit. “Okay, sweetie. I’ll be home after work.” “Not bad. Keep it up.” Colin’s voice came from directly behind me. Thank God I’d actually been working this time. At lunch, a coworker leaned across the table. “Everything okay at home, Penny? You looked so down the past few days, but today you’re practically glowing.” “It’s nothing,” I said, but deep inside, I was so relieved. If the cat had caused the mess of the clothes, it wouldn’t be long before I uncovered the root of all that happened to me. After work, I ran into my neighbor, Elvira Yerkes, in the hallway, so I asked casually if Zoe was around. “Oh, he’s been gone for days. My daughter took him to her grandpa’s place in the countryside.” All the strength drained from my body. I couldn’t help but lean against the wall for support. Zoe had been gone for three days. But my clothes had been tangled into a knotted mess in his absence. It wasn’t the right time for me to return home. “Penny! Oh my God, Penny — I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” A woman in her fifties rushed toward me, grabbing my arm. A man about the same age stood behind her. “You’ve got the wrong person.” Not in the mood, I tried to pull free. “No — you’re my daughter!” She yanked my sleeve up past my elbow. “You were born with a small growth right here. Your father fought with the doctors just to get it removed when you were a baby!” Some of the tension left my expression despite myself. “Sweetheart, we searched for so long to find you. Can we go somewhere and talk?” She said it while pressing the back of her hand to her cheek — yet not a single tear glistened there. I brought them back to the apartment and got them some water. “I thought we were close to your house. Why did you bring us here?” I didn’t answer. I just wanted to know why they’d really come. “Listen,” the woman said, setting down her cup with a sharp clink. “We need to be honest with you. Your father’s been sick. The hospital bills have wiped us out completely. We’re in serious debt — close to twenty thousand dollars — and we have no way to cover it.” She leaned forward, her voice softening into something practiced and rehearsed. “You’re family. You’re the only one who can help us right now.” “Get out.” I grabbed a mop from the corner and advanced on them both. I was six or seven when I got lost, old enough to remember what things were really like. One day, Dad came home drunk, same as always. Mom couldn’t take it anymore and dragged me to a grocery store, planning to grab a few things before catching a bus out of town. But the store was packed, and in the chaos, I was separated from her. I wasn’t sure she ever looked for me. I ended up in the foster system and eventually aged out of an orphanage. And now, after all these years, the first thing out of her mouth wasn’t how I’d survived or where I’d been. It was a number — a debt she expected me to pay. No way I’d grant her wish. Rod should have been home by now. I needed to see him, to pour out everything. I reached our doorstep and hesitated. Instinctively, I stood on my toes and peered through the peephole. What I saw made my blood run cold. I covered my mouth to stifle a scream and staggered backward. I saw it. I finally saw it. The real reason the home I’d shared for ten years had turned against me.

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I attended my boyfriend’s company year-end gala as his guest — and it was the last place I expected trouble to find me. His “best buddy,” Stella Vance, leaned into Damian’s side and sneered at me with a smile. “Miss Aria, I’ve heard some interesting things about you.” She tilted her head. “Your mother clawed her way up as a mistress, and after you came of age, you continued the family tradition — bouncing from one sugar daddy’s bed to the next. Only recently did you manage to snag Damian.” She paused, as though savoring the moment, then added sweetly, “Oh, and I’m very close with your plastic surgeon, by the way.” She pressed her fingers to her lips in mock horror, cutting a glance at Damian. “Oops. I forgot — women who claw their way up through surgery and seduction hate having their past dragged out. Damian, don’t be mad at me, I just can’t help being honest.” Damian’s smile froze on his face. A second ago he’d been bragging to his colleagues about my looks and my so-called “good family background.” I looked at Stella Vance more carefully. The longer I stared, the more familiar she seemed. Then it clicked. Wasn’t this the woman who’d simultaneously strung along over a dozen high-ranking Mafia bosses — scheduling conflicts and all — until their wives put out a joint hit on her? She’d shown up on her knees outside my family estate, begging for her life. I’d taken pity on her and had the contract lifted. I wonder, I thought, how thrilled those bosses’ wives would be to know she was here tonight. I quietly reached into my clutch and switched on my voice recorder. As the next head of the Philadelphia Mafia, I had one rule: run things like a legitimate operation. Evidence first. Always. The moment Stella finished her little speech, every admiring glance that had been directed at Damian curdled into something else. A colleague laughed awkwardly to ease the tension. “You must have the wrong person. Miss Aria comes from serious money — she’d never need to be anyone’s mistress.” Stella didn’t deny it. She only sighed, slowly and deeply. “True. Credit where it’s due — her mother was clever. Selling herself to a rich man, becoming his mistress for the money. Not everyone has that kind of forward-thinking.” She smiled. “Though, honestly? I wouldn’t want that kind of ‘old money.’ It’s tainted.” I felt a cold jolt in my chest. She actually dared. If my father — the man who had built an empire just to spoil my mother — ever found out what she’d just said, Stella Vance wouldn’t be safe anywhere in Philadelphia. Noticing my expression shift, Stella curled further into Damian’s side. “Did I say something wrong again?” she murmured up at him, all soft eyes and helpless shrugs. “I’m sorry, I’m just not as calculating as some people. I say what I think.” I bit down on every urge to slap her. I had just issued a directive that the family was not to strike women without cause. While I was distracted, my wine glass tilted. Red wine splashed across Stella’s white dress. She shrieked. Her eyes filled with tears on cue. “Sis-in-law — you’d get violent just because I told the truth?” She shook her head in disbelief. “You should be impressed that you pulled it off, honestly. I’m almost jealous of how convincingly you’ve fooled everyone.” Damian’s face went cold in an instant. He picked up the napkin from the table and began carefully dabbing at Stella’s dress. Then he turned his glare on me. “Stella’s always been blunt — she doesn’t mean any harm. What the hell is wrong with you?” He pointed at me, jaw tight. “Apologize. Now.” I almost laughed. Stella had spent the last ten minutes spreading slander about me, and Damian had stood by without a word. But the second his precious “buddy” got a wine stain, he was ready to go to war. Stella wiped her eyes and pressed her cheek against Damian’s shoulder. “It’s fine. I probably mistook her for someone else. I was just joking around.” I looked at her, my voice flat. “Claims require evidence. I don’t have a sense of humor. I don’t understand jokes.” The words were also for Damian — a quiet reminder. Don’t believe things without proof. Damian blinked. His hand, still holding the napkin to Stella’s dress, slowly stilled. Stella stiffened almost imperceptibly. She was losing her grip on him. But she recovered fast, her eyes going wide with wounded innocence. “I’m sorry. That’s what your surgeon told me. I shouldn’t have repeated it without checking.” I rested my chin on my hand and studied her. “Which clinic? Which surgeon?” If she named one, it was evidence. I expected her to stumble. Instead, she looked at me with sudden, earnest sincerity. “Sis-in-law, even without surgery, you wouldn’t be that bad-looking. There’s really no need to go in for touch-ups a dozen times a month.” The table went quiet. Colleagues exchanged glances, disgust flickering across their faces. A female colleague sitting beside Stella gave a long, knowing smile. “The world really does belong to women like her — get a little work done, spread your legs, and suddenly you’re rich and untouchable.” “Not like Stella and me.” She gestured between them with false modesty. “We’re all natural. We believe in marrying for love.”

Damian cared about his image more than anything else. He’d brought me to this gala specifically to show me off. He hadn’t anticipated being embarrassed. He knocked back an entire glass of whiskey without looking at anyone. I kept my voice level. “My monthly income is two hundred thousand. Damian’s is thirty thousand.” I looked at the colleague. “Tell me again — who’s the one being kept?” The man with glasses across the table snickered. “Two hundred grand a month? That’s quite a ‘specialty,’ sis-in-law.” “Damian’s the real winner here,” someone else chimed in. “Most men burn through cash dating — he found one where a whole rotation of benefactors fund his lifestyle. Ha!” “Enough.” Damian slammed his fist into the glasses-man’s face, shattering his frames. I felt nothing. I knew he wasn’t defending me. His ego had simply taken a hit. The man with broken glasses clenched his fist, ready to retaliate — but at that precise moment, the emcee’s voice boomed from the stage, spotlight swinging to our table. “Next up — table five! We need everyone from table five!” The whole room turned to look. The glasses-man uncurled his fist and swallowed his anger. For now. The game was simple. Each person at the table shared one moment from work that had moved them. The person who told the best story won their choice of a prize. The first few stories were unremarkable. A boss who remembered someone’s coffee order. A client who said “thank you” for once. When it was Stella’s turn, she slid her eyes to me — a quick, deliberate glance — and smiled. “Last month, I drank too much at a client dinner.” Her voice was soft, confessional. “I called Damian at two in the morning.” “He was on a business trip, but he came straight back. Looked after me the whole night…” She paused. “Later, I found out his girlfriend had been trying to reach him that same night.” Murmurs of approval rippled through the tables. “That’s Damian — always puts people first.” “Dependable when it counts.” The applause swallowed me whole. I sat completely still, as though the chair beneath me had turned to ice. That night, I’d been in a car accident. My phone shattered on impact. The only number I had memorized was Damian’s. He answered in one ring, told me he was traveling, and went unreachable. I nearly died that night. After I was discharged, Damian knelt at my hospital bed and beat his own face with his palms, over and over. “Aria, I was only working so hard because I wanted to marry you — I wanted to give you everything. I swear I didn’t know it would be that bad.” I looked at him now. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. His jaw was locked tight. The emcee declared Stella the winner. She was invited to choose a prize. She scanned the table of options and spotted a luxury med-spa VIP card. She gasped in theatrical delight. “Damian ignored his girlfriend for me that night — she’s the one who loves going under the knife. Consider this my apology to her!” She laughed. Then she turned, and her gaze found me in the crowd. Her voice climbed two registers. “Actually — she’s here! She’s at the gala tonight! She’s right there!” The spotlight operator followed her pointing finger and flooded me in white light. Voices erupted. “She’s had work done? She looks so natural.” “That kind of result must cost a fortune.” Stella grabbed the microphone from the emcee. “Don’t worry about the cost, everyone — she pulls in two hundred thousand a month.” She let the smile hang on her face, loaded with implication. A wave of knowing sounds rolled through the room. Men began looking at me the way they’d look at something for sale. I fixed my gaze on Stella, my voice quiet and precise. “Spreading rumors without evidence is dangerous. Some statements carry consequences.” She hummed dismissively and pulled out her phone. She held it up so the whole room could see. “I’m not spreading rumors.” On screen: a before-and-after photo from a plastic surgery clinic. The “after” image — the successful result — was my face.

Laughter and mockery rolled through the room like a tide. “Worth every penny — even a pig can become a beauty queen! Incredible!” “Which surgeon did this? I need a referral!” I stood up, ready to speak. Damian crossed the room in three strides and slapped me across the face. “Aria!” He seized Stella’s phone, his eyes burning with a fury that looked almost like betrayal. “I worked eight years in advertising — I know what an unedited photo looks like! The lighting is consistent. The skin texture matches. You lied to me. This whole time.” I didn’t answer. I straightened slowly. The desire to explain had died somewhere along the way. What I was quietly calculating instead was simpler: that slap was worth five fingers. His. Stella touched Damian’s arm, her voice honeyed. “It’s fine. Girls like pretty things. A little surgery is perfectly normal.” She tilted her head at me. “Not like us — I barely even moisturize.” I looked at Stella’s perfectly blended, meticulously applied “no-makeup makeup” and smiled to myself. When I got around to pouring makeup remover on her face, she’d discover exactly what she actually looked like. The emcee announced the next segment — a duet performance. Stella and Damian. I watched their backs as they walked up to the stage, side by side, and let my mind wander. Damian wasn’t wrong about the photo. It wasn’t retouched. But the “before” and “after” were two different people. What I was truly puzzling over was simpler: how had Stella Vance gotten hold of my university ID photo? I opened a message thread and sent a task to my team. [I want everything on Stella Vance. Thirty minutes.] On stage, Damian dropped to one knee. He sang to Stella, eyes full of something I used to think was reserved for me. “Say you’ll marry me today…” Something hollowed out inside my chest. When had the man who once seemed to blaze with light become so dim? I remembered the first time I’d met Damian. I was abroad, robbed clean, standing on a foreign street wondering whether to call in a family favor. Then he appeared. He’d draped his own coat over my shoulders, walked me to the embassy, stayed while I filed a police report. He had no money to spare, but he pressed every bill in his wallet into my hands. The day they caught the thief, he was more excited than I was. Beneath the Eiffel Tower, he’d confessed his feelings and sworn himself to me — only me, always. Back in Philadelphia, he forgot every word of it. He’d walk out of a movie at the best part because Stella called. He’d murmur her name in his sleep after a few drinks — “I’ll drink her share, don’t give her a hard time.” His family dinners never had a place for me, but Stella was always at the head of the table. I reached for my purse, done with all of it — and felt my phone buzz. My team had responded. [Boss. Stella Vance is a serious problem.] [The case files are ready. Say the word.] I frowned and tapped the link they’d sent. Stella’s influencer profile loaded on my screen. I scrolled for two seconds. Then my breath stopped.

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My mother ran the clinic her whole life, charging forty dollars flat for uninsured patients—consultation and medicine included. When I took over, I followed her example, doing everything I could for our neighbors. But after I charged an influencer forty dollars for a visit, the entire internet called me a scam artist and a predator. The whole town turned on me, demanding refunds for every visit they’d ever made. I gave them what they wanted—transferred every cent the clinic had to the town’s community fund. Then I locked the doors, helped my mother into the truck, and left. “You got what you wanted. The clinic is closed.” “From now on, drive the thirty miles to County General yourselves. Pay their rates. I’m done.” The next day, my phone wouldn’t stop ringing. It was them begging me to come back. …… “Forty dollars? For this?” The young woman speaking was Vivian Blake, an influencer who’d recently moved back to town. She had mild stomach upset from the well water. I’d prescribed a gentle antacid and some probiotics. “Miss, forty dollars is the standard rate. It covers the consultation and the medication. Same price I charge everyone.” “You’re insane!” She held up her phone, screen facing me. “I can buy digestive enzymes on Amazon for ten bucks. TikTok doctors recommend natural remedies that cost even less!” “You’re charging forty dollars for a five-minute talk and some generic pills? This is a scam!” I kept my voice calm. “Those supplements aren’t FDA-regulated. What I prescribed is actual medicine. The forty dollars also covers my medical license, my training, and the liability I assume by treating you.” She scoffed. “Please. You run a cash-only clinic in the middle of nowhere because real hospitals won’t hire you.” “You prey on people here who can’t afford insurance. It’s disgusting.” She raised her voice so everyone in the small waiting room could hear. “Everyone, listen! This doctor is ripping us off! Forty bucks for nothing!” The neighbors waiting—people I’d known for years—shifted uncomfortably. Little Emma jumped up from her seat, face flushed. “That’s not true! Dr. Moore is nice!” “Last month when I had strep, he gave me antibiotics and didn’t even charge my mom because she’d just lost her job!” A small warmth cut through my frustration. I gave Emma a nod. Vivian crouched down, shoving her phone in the girl’s face. “Sweetie, he did that to make himself look good. It’s called manipulation.” “He overcharges everyone else to make up for it. You’re too young to understand how scammers work.” “Don’t talk to her like that,” I said quietly. Vivian straightened, smirking. “Truth hurts, doesn’t it?” She pulled up a TikTok video—some influencer in scrubs claiming “small-town doctors are running insurance scams on the poor.” “See? Experts have already exposed people like you.” I could see it happening—doubt creeping into my neighbors’ eyes. The same people I’d treated for free. The same people whose kids I’d seen at 2 a.m. for emergencies. Now they were looking at me like I was a con artist. “If you don’t trust me, you’re free to go somewhere else,” I said evenly. “I’m not forcing you to be here.” Vivian’s jaw dropped in mock outrage. “So now you’re refusing to treat me? That’s abandonment. That’s illegal.” She dug into her purse, pulled out two twenty-dollar bills, and slammed them on the counter. “Here. Take your dirty money.” I’d given her a diagnosis and treatment; naturally, I deserved to be paid. Without a word, I crouched down and collected the money. Then she raised her phone, recording as I picked up the bills. “Everyone watching—Dr. Moore just took forty dollars from me for his scam clinic.” “Got the proof right here.” I stared at her, realizing too late what she’d done. Before I could say anything, she was already walking toward the door, phone still recording. “Get out,” I said quietly. “Oh, I’m leaving.” She tossed her hair. I thought that would be the end of it.

The next morning, I unlocked the clinic and found about twenty people in the parking lot. People I’d treated dozens of times, all standing there with their phones out. They weren’t blocking the door, but they were filming. Phones out, pointed at me. My phone had been buzzing since dawn. I pulled up the town Facebook group—”Pinewood Community Board.” Vivian’s video was pinned at the top. “EXPOSED: Local ‘Doctor’ Charges $40 for Scam Visits—Here’s Proof” The video had been edited. It showed her handing me the cash. Me taking it with a blank expression. Then me telling her to get out. No context. No explanation. The comments were vicious. “Always knew that clinic was sketchy.” “I paid him $40 last year for bronchitis. I want my money back.” “He’s been scamming us for YEARS.” “Report him to the state medical board.” Tom Harris stepped forward, his face twisted with anger. Tom. My best friend since we were seven years old. The same Tom whose son I’d saved from a severe asthma attack just six months ago, staying up all night in this clinic because the hospital was too far. Now he was looking at me like I was a stranger. Like I was a monster. “Evan, your mother ran this clinic with integrity for forty years, and now you’re running it into the ground.” “How could you dishonor everything she built like this?” I stared at him. “I charge the same rate she did—” “Don’t play dumb.” He turned his phone screen toward me. Vivian’s post had over five thousand shares now. And beneath it, a new comment thread: User @HealthTruthSeeker: “FYI rural doctors often pocket federal grant money meant to lower patient costs. Clinics like Moore’s are legally required to pass those savings on. He’s stealing from this community.” It was a complete lie. I’d never applied for those grants—they required mountains of paperwork and government oversight. I kept costs low by buying generic supplies in bulk and working alone. But nobody cared about facts. Tom Harris pushed to the front, his son on his hip. “Then explain this, Why’d you take her money if you knew she was complaining?” “Yeah!” someone yelled from the back. “Just admit you got caught!” “Give us our money back!” “Refund! Refund!” The crowd got louder. I looked at their faces. Mrs. Patterson—who I’d treated for arthritis for free when her insurance lapsed. Jake—whose hand I’d saved in an emergency surgery at midnight. Tom’s son—who I’d treated for pneumonia and only charged for the antibiotics. All of them staring at me like I was the enemy. My mother appeared behind me in the doorway, pale and thin. “Evan… what’s happening?” Vivian’s voice cut through the noise. She was livestreaming from the edge of the lot, narrating to her phone like a news anchor. “Update, fam: The so-called ‘good doctor’ can’t even defend himself.” “If he was really helping people, why is everyone so angry?” Her chat exploded with comments. “Burn him!” “Make him pay!” “Small towns deserve better!” I felt my mother’s hand on my shoulder. “Evan, don’t. Just close the door—” “No.” I stepped forward. “I want to hear what they actually think I did wrong.” Mrs. Patterson stepped forward like a witness at a trial. She pushed through the crowd, leaning heavily on her cane, her face contorted with anger. “My back has been hurting for months! You’ve been ‘treating’ me all this time, giving me those arthritis pills week after week!” “Mrs. Patterson, I was giving you the safest possible dose to avoid damaging your—” “You were deliberately giving me slow-acting medicine!” she shouted. “So I’d have to keep coming back! So you could keep charging me!” “That’s not true—” “Forty dollars every two weeks! For months! You were milking me dry!” The crowd murmured in agreement, phones still recording. I opened my mouth to explain that I’d been treating her for free half the time, that I’d only charged her for the medication itself, but she’d already turned away. Then, Vivian suddenly moved forward with a camera in hand, her voice sharp and cutting. “And worse,” her voice rising, “we have reports that you’ve made female patients uncomfortable during exams.” My blood went cold. “What?”

Vivian pushed Christine Liu forward. Christine was pale, wouldn’t meet my eyes, her hands trembling as she wrung them together. “Tell him,” Vivian said, her voice gentle but her eyes hard as steel. Christine’s voice shook, barely above a whisper. “Last month… when you treated my back pain…” She paused, taking a shuddering breath. “You made me completely unhook my bra even though I told you the pain was in my lower back.” My stomach dropped. “Christine, that’s not—” “You stood too close,” she continued, her voice getting stronger, like she was reading from a script. “Pressing against me from behind. Your hands didn’t just stay on my back.” She looked up, tears streaming down her face now. “You slipped your hands down under the waistband of my pants, touching my hips, and… and you touched near my chest.” The world tilted. The crowd’s reaction was instantaneous—gasps, curses, someone’s phone clattering to the pavement. “That never happened!” I shouted, my voice cracking with desperation. “I examined your lumbar spine! Standard palpation! You kept your shirt on!” “ALONE!” Vivian’s voice cut through like a whip. “You took her behind that privacy curtain! Alone! No female nurse! No witness!” She wheeled on the crowd, her phone capturing everything. “He runs this entire operation by himself! No oversight! No accountability! Who knows what he does to vulnerable women when that curtain is closed?!” “This is insane—” I started, but my voice was drowned out. “Is it?” Vivian thrust her phone at me. “Christine, did he have a female nurse present during the exam?” “No,” Christine whispered. “Did anyone witness what happened behind that curtain?” “No.” Vivian’s smile was triumphant, vicious. “So it’s your word against hers. And we know predators always claim they’re innocent.” My mouth went dry, my mind racing for any way to prove this didn’t happen. But she was right—I’d been running the clinic alone for years because I couldn’t afford staff, because I was trying to keep costs down for these same people now staring at me with disgust. Every exam behind that curtain, every moment of privacy I’d given patients to preserve their dignity, had just become a weapon. “I have security cameras—” I said desperately. “In the waiting room!” Vivian shot back. “Not behind the exam curtain. Because that would be illegal, wouldn’t it? So convenient for you.” She turned to the crowd. “No cameras. No witnesses. No accountability. Just a predator and his victims.” The faces around me shifted from anger to horror, from suspicion to absolute revulsion. Mrs. Patterson’s hand flew to her mouth. Tom Harris pulled his son behind him, shielding the boy from me like I was radioactive. Even little Emma’s mother had grabbed her daughter and retreated to the back of the crowd. “I would never—” My voice broke. “I’ve treated you people for free! I’ve been here for five years, I’ve saved lives—” “Predators hide in plain sight,” Vivian said, her voice calm and cold as ice. “That’s exactly what they do. They build trust, then they exploit it.” Her livestream chat was a blur of vitriol. DISGUSTING PIG ARREST HIM CASTRATE HIM Then Jake pushed forward, cradling his bandaged hand like it was a war wound. “And he’s not just a pervert—he’s a butcher!” Jake shouted, his voice full of theatrical pain. “Look at this!” He held up his hand, unwrapping the bandages to show the surgical scar. “He did an illegal emergency surgery on me in this sketchy clinic! No proper equipment! No sterile field! My hand is permanently damaged because of him!” “That’s a lie!” I roared. “Your hand was mangled in a machine accident! I saved it! You would have lost the whole hand if I hadn’t—” “You butchered me!” Jake screamed back. “I’m filing a lawsuit! Medical malpractice! This quack nearly killed me!” The crowd erupted. Voices overlapped, accusations flying like knives. “He’s a predator AND a fraud!” “How many people has he hurt?” “My daughter saw him last year—did he touch her too?” I stood there, surrounded by the people I’d bled for, watching everything I’d built disintegrate in real-time. My mother’s voice cut through the chaos, thin and trembling. “Stop this! All of you, stop!” She pushed past me, her frail body shaking with fury and fear. “My son is a good man! Our family has given everything to this town! Everything!” She looked at them with eyes full of tears and betrayal. “When your children were sick, who stayed up all night? When you couldn’t pay, who treated you anyway? We sacrificed everything for you!” For a moment, the crowd wavered. Then Vivian stepped forward, getting right in my mother’s face. “Like mother, like son,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt. “You ran a scam clinic for forty years, so of course you raised a predator.” My mother’s face went white. “How dare you—” “You taught him how to prey on desperate people!” Vivian continued, louder now, playing to the cameras. “You’re just as guilty as he is!” My mother staggered back like she’d been struck. I saw it happen in slow motion—her hand flying to her chest, her face contorting in pain, her eyes going wide with shock and agony. “Mom!” She collapsed backward, and I lunged to catch her before she hit the pavement. Her weight was nothing in my arms, just skin and bones, her heart hammering erratically against my chest. “Mom, stay with me! Stay with me!” Her lips moved but no sound came out. Heart attack. Maybe stroke. She needed a hospital NOW. I lifted her in my arms and started toward my truck. The crowd shifted, and suddenly Vivian was in front of me, with Tom Harris and Jake and others forming a human wall. “Get out of my way!” I shouted. “Not until you refund our money!” Vivian yelled back. “My mother is DYING!” “Then you better pay up fast!” someone screamed from the mob. They didn’t move. My mother was dying in my arms, her pulse weakening by the second, and they were blocking me over MONEY. I looked at their faces—faces twisted with greed and self-righteousness, not a shred of humanity left. “Please,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Please, she needs help—” “REFUND US FIRST!” Something inside me didn’t break. It calcified into pure, cold hatred.

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At my best friend’s wedding, I caught the bouquet she tossed—only to have my mafia boyfriend hand it to another woman. Every eye in the room turned to Dante, exchanging knowing looks. Dante Romano—my boyfriend of eight years, son of the mob boss who controlled the entire city. The crowd erupted in cheers: “Marry her! Marry her!” “It’s time to propose!” Dante was pushed through the crowd until he stood right in front of me. I blushed, waiting for him to say he’d marry me. The bridesmaid beside him pouted. “But I want it too.” He immediately yanked the bouquet from my hands. Handed it to the bridesmaid. Then patted my shoulder dismissively. “She wants it, so let her have it. Be the bigger person. You’ll get one next time.” My eyes followed the flowers as they left my hands. Watched that girl’s face light up with surprise and shy delight. Forced a smile. Dante had no idea there wouldn’t be a next time. My wedding was next week. … Lana’s face went dark instantly. I grabbed her hand before she could swing it. She whipped around, eyes redder than mine: “That bitch did it on purpose! I told every single bridesmaid the bouquet was meant for you…” “Lana.” I cut her off softly. “The wedding’s not over.” All eyes had already moved on from me and Dante. Following that bouquet to land on the bridesmaid’s face—Vivian Stone. She clutched the flowers, gazing at Dante with adoring eyes. Dante had already stepped back into the crowd, composed as ever. The emcee was a pro. A few jokes and the energy was back up. Lana finally turned away with a huff, continuing the ceremony. The whole reception, I sat at the bride’s family table. Subjected to pitying and curious stares from every direction. Dante was at another table, laughing it up with his soldiers and lieutenants. Vivian sat right next to him, closer than any consigliere’s assistant should ever be. She wasn’t even supposed to be a bridesmaid. Dante brought her everywhere—to territorial meetings, to collections, to sit-downs with the Five Families—called it “grooming her for the organization.” Even to my best friend’s wedding, he brought her along. During the toasts, Lana came to our table with her new husband. She hugged me tight, whispering in my ear through gritted teeth: “That woman’s been scheming for six months, working her way into Dante’s inner circle. I had someone look into her—she’s good. Real good. Dante, he…” “Lana,” I patted her back, cutting her off. “Today you’re the most beautiful bride. Don’t talk about that.” She huffed but dropped it. When the reception finally ended and guests trickled out, Dante strolled over. “Ready to go?” He naturally took my purse, other hand moving to drape around my shoulders out of habit. I shifted slightly, dodging it. “You’ve been drinking. I’ll call a car.” He didn’t seem bothered, just nodded. “Yeah, good call.” The car slid into the night. My face reflected dimly in the window. Makeup flawless, but couldn’t hide the exhaustion underneath. “Today,” he said suddenly, “Vivian really wanted that bouquet. Girl probably just wanted some good luck.” “You gave it to her. Don’t take it personally.” I didn’t answer, just watched the neon lights blur past outside. He waited a moment, then finally looked up from his phone screen. “You mad?” He leaned in closer. “Didn’t we agree? Next time for sure?” His fingers slid through my loose hair, massaging the back of my neck. Like soothing a sulking cat. “Our wedding’s gonna blow Lana’s out of the water. I’ll get you more flowers, better flowers, yeah?” My heart filled with something bitter. Every single time, like this. Soft voice, vague promise about “next time.” Then just assumed the storm would pass. “Dante.” I looked at his reflection in the window. “Mm?” “Lana and I made a promise when we were kids.” My voice was steady. “Whoever gets married first, the other one can’t be more than a week behind.” “We were gonna wear each other’s bridesmaid dresses. Be the first to witness each other’s happiness.” The car went quiet. His hand on my neck stopped. “That was kid stuff. You’re serious about that?” He laughed. The hand started moving again, more dismissive now. “Plans change too fast. Venue, dates, arrangements—all that takes six months minimum, sometimes a year.” “We’ll plan it right, make it perfect for you. What’s the rush?” He didn’t explain why he couldn’t promise to marry me in front of everyone. Just went on and on about how complicated planning a perfect wedding would be. I suddenly remembered a month before Lana’s wedding. She’d dragged me excitedly to try on the bridesmaid dress she designed herself. Champagne-colored tulle with tiny pearls along the waist. When I put it on, Lana’s eyes lit up, then got mysteriously wet. “Elena, you look amazing in this.” “I made it special for you. When you get married, I’m gonna make you an even more beautiful wedding dress!” Dante had been there too. Looking down at his phone, dealing with a shipment issue. Glanced up when he heard, smiled briefly. “Yeah, looks nice.” Then his eyes dropped back to the screen, fingers flying. In that instant, I felt something cold settle in my chest. Eight years, and still no outcome. The car pulled slowly into our building, stopped. Dante unbuckled his seatbelt. Seeming to think his little speech had closed the book on this episode, he leaned in naturally, going for a kiss. I raised my hand, gently pressing against his shoulder. He froze. “I’m tired, Dante.”

He looked at me, silent for a few seconds. Finally just patted my shoulder. “Yeah, being a bridesmaid’s exhausting. Get some rest.” “Vivian said she can’t get a ride. Not safe for a girl alone at night. I’m gonna go pick her up.” “Okay.” My voice was flat. He didn’t move right away. Like he was waiting for me to tell him to be safe like I usually did. Or pout and complain about him going out this late. But I didn’t. I got out of the car without looking back, ignoring the frown on his brow. I collapsed on the couch the moment I got inside. Stayed there a long time before dragging myself toward the bedroom. Passing by that “nursery,” my steps faltered. We’d designed this room four years ago when we bought the place, for our future child. Now it was just filled with junk. I walked in. Pulled a thick stack of stuff from the dusty crib. His handwritten love letters, movie ticket stubs, amusement park passes, Polaroids from trips together… The one at the bottom was from college graduation. He was carrying me on his back under a cherry blossom tree, my arms around his neck. My long hair and the petals flying together. On the back, his messy scrawl: “I’ll carry you for life. That’s a promise.” The dim light from the living room hit those words coldly. Like a silent mockery. Downstairs, the faint sound of a car pulling into the garage. I froze but didn’t move, just listened. Keys turning the lock, footsteps deliberately quiet. After a while, the door cracked open. He stood in the doorway. “Still up?” I didn’t turn around, still crouched by the crib. “Yeah.” “Why’d you dig all this out?” he asked, tone casual. “Feeling nostalgic?” I didn’t answer his question, just asked quietly, “Did you get her home safe?” He paused, then explained, “Yeah. She lives far out. Hard to get a ride there.” “Oh.” I lowered my head, carefully stacking the photos back, putting them away. “It’s late. Let’s sleep.” He said it again, this time reaching out to pull me up. I didn’t take his hand, just pushed myself up with my knee. “Dante.” “Mm?” His steps paused. “Let’s break up.” He stopped, looked at me for two seconds, then laughed. Reached up to loosen his tie. “Still thinking about the bouquet? Don’t be petty.” His tone was like humoring a bratty kid. “Fine, I’ll order you a bigger one tomorrow, alright? Now go wash up and sleep. I’ve got a sit-down with the Colombo crew in the morning.” He turned toward the bathroom. “Within a week,” I said to his back, voice quiet, “I’m getting married.”

His hand froze on the bathroom door handle. A few seconds later, he turned around. That forced patience finally stripped completely away from his face. “Elena, stop this.” He pressed his temples. “Marriage is a blood vow in our world. You don’t just decide to get married because you’re throwing a tantrum.” “October twenty-eighth.” I added the date. “The venue is booked. The dress is picked.” He let out a cold, dismissive laugh. “Did Lana get in your head again today? She rushed into a union, so now she thinks everyone should be as reckless as her?” “Elena, wake up. Don’t let her mess with you. After eight years together…” “Dante,” I cut him off, “the invitations start printing tomorrow.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “You think this little bluff is gonna work?” His voice dropped, carrying that dangerous edge. “This just makes you look childish. My father’s handing me half the city, and I’m dealing with a critical transition for the Family. This wedding isn’t my priority.” His words hit like stones. Once, his cold authority would’ve made me panic, made me rush to explain and back down. But now, all I felt was a hollow calm. His attention had always been expensive. Had to split it between the Family’s operations, his soldiers and so on. His attention had always been expensive. Had to stretched thin between the Family’s critical operations and his most trusted lieutenants. Vivian had the privilege of staying by his side through late-night strategy sessions, every territorial meeting, and every high-stakes negotiation. She had all his time. While I sat at home, waiting for him to come back—if he came back at all. I met his dark eyes, and nodded: “Yeah. All my friends are married. I want to get married too.”

After saying that, I turned and walked into the bedroom. On the nightstand sat a bridal magazine from six months ago. I’d bought it so excited, flipped through a few pages, before he’d told me “no rush,” and I never opened it again. In the dark, I stared at the blurry ceiling. My phone vibrated softly. The screen lit up with a message from Lana: Asleep yet? I’m so pissed. Can’t stop thinking about that bitch Vivian. What the hell is wrong with Dante? What’s wrong? Nothing’s wrong. Not everything you wait for blooms. Another message came through: Remember our promise? Wedding max one week apart? Who knew the future Boss of the Romano family could be so blind. Bouquet literally in your hands and he still pulled that stunt. It’s been eight YEARS, Elena! Whatever. This time, I’ll let you break the promise. I just want you safe. My finger paused. I typed slowly: Girl, when have I ever broken a promise to you?

Dante moved to one of the Family’s high-end safe houses downtown. Probably thought my “wedding bluff” was suffocating him and went there for some peace until I “calmed down.” Fine. We both got breathing room. I quietly handled everything. Listed our shared penthouse on a discreet real estate site. The afternoon I handed the keys to the broker, I was home sorting through random stuff. I found a shipment ledger tucked inside an old magazine—one of Dante’s current port operations. After a moment’s hesitation, I decided to bring it to him. When I arrived, the heavy reinforced door of the safe house was shut tight. Faint laughter drifted from inside, clearly more than one person. His inner circle. I raised my hand to knock. A familiar female voice rose, sounding helpless: “Boss, it’s my fault. First time catching a bouquet, I didn’t know better. Now the guys at the club won’t stop whispering, asking me if you and I are…” “You gotta tell them to knock it off, Dante, or I won’t be able to show my face at the warehouse anymore.” My raised hand froze mid-air. Before Dante could respond, one of his capos, Silvio, cut in with a rough, teasing laugh: “Come on, Miss Stone, do you really want the Boss to shut the rumors down, or are you fishing for him to make them true?” A round of knowing, gritty laughter from the men. Vivian pouted playfully, “Stop it,” but there wasn’t a trace of real annoyance in her voice. “Alright, leave her alone.” Dante’s voice came through, casual and indulgent. “Don’t sweat the whispers, Viv. Give it time, they’ll find something else to talk about.” The words hit a switch in my memory. Years ago, I went to the Family’s legitimate front—a high-end restaurant. He had forgotten where we were and casually pulled me onto his lap in front of his soldiers. The next day, rumors spread that the ruthless Dante Romano was going soft for a civilian girl. That same afternoon, he had brutally shut it down. Told everyone in the crew that I was just a girl he kept around, nothing serious enough to make him weak. I’d understood then. To avoid making him look vulnerable, I stopped visiting his operations completely. My fingertips went cold. Turns out what he minded might never have been looking “soft” in front ofof his men. Silvio spoke up again, confused: “Speaking of which, Boss, what’s the deal with this Elena situation? I actually got an invitation delivered to the club this morning. She’s really committing to this bit, huh?” Brief silence. Dante laughed lightly, a cold, arrogant sound. “Let her print them.” “I usually let the small stuff slide. But this time, she needs to learn that bluffing me doesn’t work. When she stands at that altar with no groom, she’ll finally drop this childish act.” “Whoa,” someone egged on, “so you’re seriously gonna call her bluff? Just let her humiliate herself?” Dante didn’t answer, his silence basically confirming it. He was so utterly convinced I was playing a game of chicken. Until Silvio tested the waters again: “Dante, you sure you wanna let it go that far? You and Elena go way back. Unless… you got other plans for the future? Like… a union with Miss Stone’s family?” “Silvio~” Vivian drew out his name with a flirty laugh. “Don’t say things like that. The Boss… he knows what he’s doing.” The last few words came out soft and loaded with meaning. Dante didn’t explain. Just the clinking of whiskey glasses and a round of knowing chuckles. “If you ask me,” another soldier chimed in, “Dante’s already been generous enough. Anyone else would’ve tossed a girl out for throwing tantrums like this. Nothing like our Vivian here—smart, lethal, and actually useful to the Family…” The motion-sensor light in the hallway flickered off. The corridor plunged into heavy darkness. I didn’t knock. I gently set the ledger down on the welcome mat, right beneath the heavy steel door. Then I turned around, and walked away into the shadows.

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On Christmas Eve, right in the middle of our family reunion dinner, my wife suddenly stood up from the table. “The downstairs neighbors are complaining—our place is leaking. I have to go deal with it.” Before I could even say a word, she grabbed her car keys and rushed out the door, leaving my parents—who clearly looked weirded out—and me with our daughter. I’d just managed to calm my parents down when I got a bank notification on my phone. A transfer. Ten million. I called her immediately, “What the hell is going on?” She said the damage downstairs was bad, and the owner was planning to sue. To protect our daughter’s future, we had to pay up—ten million—to settle it. But here was the thing: we own the whole building. Who exactly was she paying off? I called the cops right away. Someone was illegally occupying our property and trying to extort money. Before heading home, I gave my parents a heads-up. “Fire Sadie. Suspend her, kick her out of the company. And get a divorce agreement ready. I don’t want anything to do with a woman who cheats.” On the drive home with our daughter, I was shaking uncontrollably—I was that furious. Velvet Bay was the premium downtown complex my parents developed. They kept an entire building for the family, with only a few relatives living there. Besides, I hated noise, so all the other floors in our building were empty. Who exactly was Sadie paying off? I rushed back, but when I got to our floor, two security guards blocked me at the entrance. “Where do you think you’re going? Miss Ballard from Velvet Bay is hosting a Christmas party inside.” “Only her husband and daughter get in—plus the VIPs. Nobody else.” I was already fuming. I pulled out my key card. “I’m the owner of this apartment. Move.” The guard didn’t even bother looking at it. Just smirked. “You? The owner? Who do you think you’re kidding?” “Everyone in this complex knows this is Miss Ballard’s place. Don’t tell me you’re her husband?” I was losing it. What the hell was Sadie up to? “Yeah, no kidding. Who else would be Sadie’s husband? This is our daughter. Now get out of my way.” The guards actually laughed. They looked at us like we were a complete joke. “You think I haven’t seen Miss Ballard’s husband and daughter? They’re inside right now. Get your story straight before you try pulling something like this.” “Her husband’s name is Ronan Hallowell. The guy wears designer everything—watches, suits, you name it.” “And you show up looking like… this? Trying to pass as Mr. Hallowell?” They raised their batons, ready to force us out. I froze. Ronan Hallowell? That name I knew too well. He was the school bully back in the day—the one who harassed everyone. Then he pushed some kid to the edge, literally. The guy tried to kill himself. It blew up, and Ronan ended up in juvie. Now he was Sadie’s husband? Living in Velvet Bay? One of the guards swung his baton toward my daughter’s face. That was when I lost it. I kicked him hard. “Back off. Touch my kid, and you’re dead.” I shoved past them, grabbed my daughter’s hand, and walked straight in. Inside, the party was in full swing. “Zora, don’t forget to thank Principal Barnett! You’re about to start at Northmere School—just like you wanted!” “And this is Mr. Sutton, your future homeroom teacher. He’ll take good care of you once you’re there.” Sadie’s voice, warm and polished, carried across the room. She was standing next to Ronan. Beside them, a teenage girl beamed, holding up a glass of soda like she was toasting the room. When we walked in, the whole scene froze. Everyone turned to look. I scanned the table. The faces were familiar. They were the principal of Northmere School, the homeroom teacher, and the property manager of Velvet Bay. These were people who couldn’t even get a meeting with my father. Now they were sitting here, letting Sadie flatter them like they were royalty. Then my eyes landed on Ronan. Same old thug. Different suit. Still no class. “Sadie. What are all these people doing in my house?” For a second, she looked rattled. Then she hurried over, lowering her voice. “What are you doing here? Get out—I’m in the middle of damage control.” “And by the way, they weren’t happy with just money. I had to throw in the recommendation spot at Northmere School. For their daughter.”

My stomach dropped. So that was what she meant. My daughter froze too. “Mom… what are you saying?” Northmere School—the most exclusive private high school in the city. Grades, extracurriculars, interviews—that was just the entry ticket. What really secured admission was a recommendation. Every spot had to be backed by someone. A board member, a foundation donor, someone who had been feeding the school connections for years. No recommendation, and your application went straight to the waitlist, no matter how perfect it looked. My daughter Christy’s letter was already locked in. But now? Now it was just handed over like it was nothing as compensation. Christy stared at Sadie, waiting. Sadie just looked annoyed. Then the other girl piped up from behind. “Mom, who are these people? Why are they in our house?” Sadie’s face tightened. She took a breath, like she’d made up her mind. “Get these lunatics out of here. Now. Someone call security.” Christy’s eyes went red. Her voice cracked. “Mom… what’s wrong with you? I’m your daughter!” Christy reached for Sadie’s sleeve. Sadie yanked her arm away. “What are you talking about? I’m not your mother.” “I only have one daughter—Zora Hallowell. I don’t know who you are.” I grabbed Christy before she could fall. “Sadie, have you lost your mind?” The room went quiet. People at the table exchanged glances. “Is that kid for real? Or just some scammer?” The girl—Zora Hallowell—piped up, loud and sharp. “Did you just crawl out of some gutter and decide to call any rich person ‘Mom’?” Before I could respond, the two guards from outside burst in with more men. “Sorry, Miss Ballard. Our bad—they slipped in. We’ll haul them out and hand them over to the police.” They moved toward us. I pulled Christy closer and locked eyes with Sadie. “Explain. Now. Don’t make me do something we’ll both regret.” Sadie frowned. “Zora doesn’t have a mother. I’m just helping her out with the school people. Stop making a scene.” Then a louder voice came. “Get out. While you still can.” Ronan strolled over, smirking. “Babe, this is Velvet Bay, our place. We don’t let trash like this walk in.” He turned to the guards. “What are you waiting for? Break their mouths. Teach them a lesson.” “Can’t let our guests think we’re soft on crime.” The guards grinned. They raised their batons and stepped closer. I held Christy tighter. “Sadie. Say something.” For a second, she looked unsure. Then Zora tugged her arm. “Mommy, I’m scared… How did they even get into our house? If you let them go, what if they come back for me?” Sadie patted her head softly. Then she took a breath. “Don’t worry. Mommy won’t let that happen.” “Forget the mouth. Break their legs. So they can’t hurt anyone. Especially not my baby girl.”

At that moment, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Christy’s voice cracked, tears welling up in her eyes. “Mom, please… It’s me, Christy. You really don’t recognize us anymore?” “If you want to give away my spot, fine—take it. Just please don’t let them hurt Dad…” Zora flinched like she’d been scratched. “Shut up! That spot was never yours to give.” At the table, the principal let out a dry laugh. “Kid, you can say whatever you want, but don’t go around making false claims.” “The admissions committee already confirmed it. The recommendation letter has Zora’s name on it.” “As for you? You’re not even on the waitlist.” The others nodded along, murmuring in agreement. Christy’s face went pale. “That’s impossible. That letter was meant for me.” “My grades, my competition records, my interview feedback—everything’s there…” The homeroom teacher smirked, pulled out his phone, and tapped a few times. “The recommendation is crystal clear—Zora Hallowell.” “Wanting to get into Northmere School is one thing, but pulling stunts like this?” Christy shook her head frantically. “No. No way.” Same scores. Same achievements. But her name? Gone. Like it never existed. Sadie wouldn’t even look at her. The principal leaned back, grinning. His eyes crawled over Christy like he was sizing her up. “Tell you what—you seem like a promising kid. Have a drink with me, then come by my room later tonight. I’ll give you some… personal guidance.” “Forget finding a mom.” Something snapped inside me. I grabbed a baton from one of the guards and swung it straight at him. “Say one more disgusting word and I’ll end you.” Sadie’s face went pale. “Britton Jensen, who the hell do you think you are, laying a hand on Principal Barnett?” “Security! What are you waiting for? Take him down!” Within seconds, they tackled me to the floor. Sadie forced a smile, turning to the principal. “Principal Barnett, please don’t let this psycho ruin your evening. I’ll have them removed immediately.” The principal’s face darkened. The buzz from the wine was gone, replaced by something uglier. “Miss Ballard, I’d like to help you out here. But if someone’s questioning Zora’s admission, we need to clear this up properly.” “Send the girl to the hotel. Tonight. I’ll conduct a… thorough investigation.” “Otherwise, Zora’s enrollment might run into some… complications.” Sadie hesitated. Barely two seconds. Then she gave the order. “Take her over. Let her apologize to Principal Barnett properly.” The guards grabbed Christy and dragged her toward him. The principal’s eyes narrowed. He grabbed her hand, squeezing it. “Whatever’s bothering you, sweetheart, you can tell me all about it tonight. But we need to get to know each other first—really get to know each other.” Christy shook violently. She tried to scream, but nothing came out. I thought my heart would stop. Rage—pure, blinding rage—flooded every part of me. “Let her go! Sadie, what the hell is wrong with you? She’s your daughter!” Christy was gasping now, choking on her own breath. “Dad… help…” Then her whole body seized up. She couldn’t breathe. Asthma attack. I threw off the guards—I don’t know how—and lunged toward her, already pulling the inhaler from my pocket.

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My fiancée hired a new male assistant, a self-proclaimed good luck charm. When I landed my first million-dollar project, he claimed it was because he’d been “praying for my success.” When I pulled all-nighters with the team to win a bid, he said it was his good luck that sealed the deal. When I picked a plot of land that became a billion-dollar resort, he said it was thanks to some ridiculous “lucky charm” he gave me. After he’d taken credit for all my achievements, HR called me in at the end of the year. “All of your performance metrics were achieved thanks to Dylan Vance, so we’re canceling your year-end bonus.” “And all of your performance bonuses will go to Dylan!” I’d had enough. I started slacking off, just playing video games at my desk all day. The ‘lucky charm’ started to panic. Without me, how could an inexperienced intern like him take credit for anything? So, during the year-end review meeting, he smashed my computer in front of everyone, trying to throw his weight around. “If you keep slacking off and accomplishing nothing, I’ll have the boss fire you!” My fiancée chimed in to back him up. “The company’s success is all thanks to Dylan! How dare you not even try when you don’t have his luck?” “If it weren’t for the good fortune he brings, this company would’ve probably gone under by now.” I actually laughed. I spoke into my gaming headset to my dad, who happens to be the President of the company. “Did you hear that? He’s saying he can land projects with just his good luck!” “If that’s the case, let’s see if his ‘luck’ can land the hundred-million-dollar deal at the end of the year!” *** The company’s year-end meeting was underway. Every employee was there, from the management down, except for me. I was in the middle of a heated team fight at my desk when a colleague walked by. “Stop playing games. The Vice President is calling us into the meeting. You’ll get chewed out in front of everyone if you’re late.” “Not going,” I said flatly. “What’s the point? The company has its lucky charm, Dylan. Hard work doesn’t matter anymore.” My colleague was speechless. He knew what happened last time, when I closed a hundred-million-dollar deal only for Dylan to steal the credit with a single sentence. “It was my prayers that allowed you to land that huge contract.” That was the third time Dylan had stolen credit from me. I was completely done, just playing games on the company’s dime. “You’re skipping the meeting to sit here and play games?” My fiancée, Yvonne Sterling, stormed over in her high heels. “You don’t even show up for meetings, just slacking off all day. Do you have any ambition at all?” “Why can’t you be more like Dylan? Even though he’s a lucky charm, he was there early, focused on the company’s future plans!” I was in the middle of a heated boss raid and didn’t even look up. “Sorry, I’ve got no ambition. He does. So let him handle it.” “Besides, isn’t this meeting to honor him? What would I be doing there?” Yvonne frowned. “He landed a million-dollar contract. Aren’t you going to congratulate your colleague?” The irony was thick. My fingers flew faster across the keyboard as I took down the boss. “You, of all people, know how many sleepless nights I spent, how many client dinners I endured, drinking myself sick, just to land that contract. And your intern, Dylan, stole all that effort with a single, casual remark.” “And you want me to congratulate him? Congratulate some useless freeloader?” That infuriated Yvonne. She slammed my laptop shut and dragged me toward the conference room. “You’re going today, whether you like it or not!” As soon as we entered the conference room, I could hear the Vice President on stage, praising Dylan for bringing good luck to the company. “The new generation is truly impressive! We have interns landing million-dollar deals now! Everyone in the company should learn from Dylan. He’s our lucky charm!” Seeing me walk in, the VP shot me a contemptuous glance. “Unlike some people, who spend all day slacking off and playing games! Can’t close a deal after half a month, while an intern gets it done with just a few words!” My coworkers lowered their heads, whispering among themselves. Snippets of their ridicule reached my ears. “The intern lands a deal with a single sentence. He’s been here a year and is less useful than Dylan. What a loser…” “I heard Manager Sterling is Austin Miller’s fiancée, but she’s promoting Dylan instead. Shows you how useless Austin is, right?” I ignored them and found a seat in the corner. Just then, my dad messaged me to help him rank up in our game, so I immediately joined his party. I was so absorbed in the game that I didn’t notice someone tapping my shoulder. When I looked up, the entire conference room was staring at me. Only then did I hear Dylan on stage, pointing his finger at me. “This company will never move forward with useless deadbeats like Austin on the payroll!” “Your projects only succeeded because of my ‘suggestions.’ Otherwise, you’d never have achieved such high performance, would you?” “I suggest you turn off that game, or today, on behalf of the company, I’ll make sure you regret it.” I took off my headphones, completely unfazed. “And how are you going to do that? You’re just an intern. You think you can fire me?” “Do you even have that authority?” A murmur went through the crowd. No one expected me to confront Dylan directly, especially since everyone knew Yvonne had his back. I looked at Yvonne, but her gaze was icy cold. “What if I’m the one who gave him that authority?” “The company’s success is all thanks to Dylan! How dare you not even try when you don’t have his luck?” “If it weren’t for the good fortune he brings, this company would’ve probably gone under by now.” My expression darkened. I chuckled bitterly into my gaming mic at my dad. “You hear that? Turns out all the company’s deals are signed thanks to an intern’s good luck.”

No one had expected Yvonne to publicly turn on me for Dylan’s sake. Dylan looked even more smug, shooting me a provocative glance. I shrugged and stood up to leave. “Fine. Go ahead and process my termination today.” My complete indifference surprised Yvonne, and Dylan’s face turned ugly. All his achievements were stolen from me. Without me as his safety net, he had nothing. “Wait! Yvonne, firing him is too extreme.” Then, Dylan went to my desk and carried my computer into the conference room. “How about we just teach him a lesson he won’t forget!” In front of everyone, he lifted my computer high and slammed it onto the floor, shattering it. “I’m warning you, no more slacking off and goldbricking!” The loud crash silenced the room. My computer was a pile of scrap metal. Everyone stood up, their faces alight with anticipation for the drama. “He smashed his computer! Austin’s life here is going to be miserable now.” “People are dying to get a job at this company, and Austin doesn’t even care about being fired. You think he’s just playing hard to get, trying to make Manager Sterling beg him to stay?” “He’s been a bottom-rung employee for a year. So pathetic. There’s no way Manager Sterling is actually into him…” Shards of my computer landed at my feet. That was a custom, top-spec computer I had built overseas for ten million dollars. I looked at Dylan in his cheap clothes and said calmly. “You smashed my computer. Can you afford to replace it?” Dylan sneered. “You’re just a regular employee. How expensive could your computer be? Just go get a backup computer from the storage room.” I turned to Yvonne. “Are you just going to let an intern act this arrogantly? First, he steals my contracts, and now he smashes my property?” Yvonne moved to stand right beside Dylan, looking down on me. “He’s being merciful by not having me fire you and letting you stay here to earn a paycheck.” “Dylan smashing your computer was for your own good. He wants you to be more ambitious.” I shook my head, a cold smile on my face. The line on my gaming headset had gone silent. My hot-tempered dad and grandfather were fiercely protective. They were probably already on a private jet heading back. I had no energy to argue anymore. I crouched down to pick up the motherboard, but Dylan lifted his foot and stomped right on it. “Still trying to salvage it so you can keep playing games?” he said, grinding the motherboard under his shoe. “Yvonne is showing you mercy, and you’re still not sorry?” “You’re slacking off in public, ruining the company’s hardworking atmosphere. You deserve nothing more than the oldest backup computer we have!” “Also…” He produced a stack of project reports. “This data you prepared has a massive error in it! If I hadn’t caught it in time, you would have cost the company a fortune!” His words caused a stir in the room. “Oh my god, Dylan really is our company’s lucky charm! He can even find errors like that!” “Look at Austin, so shameless. Without Dylan’s blessing, his project would have failed ages ago, and now he’s talking back and giving him attitude!” “He’s doing it on purpose, trying to win back Manager Sterling’s heart. As if he’s got what it takes!” I picked up the report and realized it was one Dylan himself had prepared a while ago. He’d just replaced his name with mine. “I didn’t do this.” I shrugged, tossing the report on the floor. “I might play games all day, but I still meet my targets. I’m not stupid enough to make a mistake like this.” “Only an intern would make such a rookie mistake, don’t you think?” I gave Dylan a mocking look. His face paled, and he pointed at me, fuming. “Austin, you play games at work all day! Why wouldn’t you make a rookie mistake? Your name is on it. Just admit it!” “Don’t make me pull out the evidence and completely humiliate you!” I stared at his guilty face and found it hilarious. The once-clueless intern was now the company’s tyrannical ‘lucky charm’. “Evidence, you say?” I made a call. “Hey, could you come over right now? I need a handwriting analysis and a review of some security footage.” “You think you have the right to conduct a private investigation in our company?” Yvonne frowned. “Don’t think we’ll believe the results just because you hired some shady people off the street.” I ignored her, sat back down, and went back to my game. The Vice President’s expression grew even darker. “What’s the meaning of this, Austin? If you’re wrong, you’re wrong! Are you trying to cause a scene? Security, don’t let any unauthorized personnel into the building!” “No need to bother security. We’re already here.” Everyone turned toward the voice, and a collective gasp filled the room.

Two men I had just seen on the news yesterday were standing at the conference room door— The Bureau Chief of the Riverdale Criminal Investigation Bureau and the CFO of Rontech Enterprises, a Fortune 100 company. The VP’s face went white at the sight of such important figures. He practically bowed, a strained smile plastered on his face. “What brings you two gentlemen here today? Is there something we can help you with?” The Bureau Chief and the CFO didn’t even glance at the VP. They walked straight toward me. “Austin, where’s the evidence?” “If someone is trying to frame you, we’ll make sure your name is cleared!” I nodded toward and pointed to the report on the floor. Trembling before the two powerful men, Dylan picked it up and handed it to them. They began examining it on the spot. Yvonne stared at me in shock, clearly not expecting me to have experts on call to investigate. “Who are you? How did you get them to come here?” I kept playing my game. “None of your business. As long as someone can prove my innocence, that’s all that matters.” Dylan shot me a venomous look, his face a mask of guilt, but he didn’t dare say a word. He was Yvonne’s junior from college. Right after graduation, she brought him into the company as her personal assistant. Dylan’s performance was poor, but he was good at saying the right things. Things like, “You’re about to get a promotion!” or “You’re definitely going to close the deal with this client.” Every now and then, he’d get it right by chance. Yvonne would praise him endlessly, and gradually, everyone in the company started to believe Dylan was a lucky charm, making him a minor celebrity. Then he started publicly claiming that my hard-earned achievements were the result of his innately lucky nature. Yvonne knew I had worked day and night on those proposals, yet she still looked at Dylan with adoration. “I knew it was your good luck that made him succeed.” Watching Dylan take the bonus that should have been mine and become the top performer made all my hard work feel like a joke. And now he was framing me in public? Did he really think I was a pushover he could just walk all over? After the examination was complete, the Bureau Chief looked at Dylan, his expression grave. “The handwriting on the incorrect parts of this report matches yours. I also checked the security footage. You were the only one who entered the office.” “The CFO also traced the data’s origin. You were the only one who handled it from start to finish. Therefore, you alone are responsible for this erroneous data!” A moment of silence fell over the conference room, followed by an eruption of excited chatter. “So it was a setup… My god, Austin was innocent all along.” “This ‘lucky charm’ really went too far. It’s one thing to steal credit, but to frame someone?” Dylan’s face went completely pale. He stammered. “Th-then… I must have made a mistake.” “A simple ‘mistake’ fixes everything?” I leaned back in my chair, watching him leisurely. “You did something wrong. Don’t you need to apologize?” The Bureau Chief and the CFO stood behind me, their eyes fixed on Dylan, ratcheting up the pressure. He had no choice but to reluctantly lower his head. “I-I’m sorry…” I stood up, shook hands with the Bureau Chief and the CFO to thank them, and after they left, I pulled out an invoice. “Now that the false accusation has been cleared up, let’s talk about compensation for my computer.” Dylan’s arrogance returned instantly. He crossed his arms and laughed. “I’m dying to hear how much a piece of junk computer is worth.” I held up one finger. “Ten…” “Pfft, what, ten thousand dollars?” He pulled out his phone. “I’ll Venmo you right now.” I shook my head. “Ten million dollars.” The room erupted in laughter. “I’ve never even heard of a ten-million-dollar computer!” “I was just starting to feel sorry for him. Turns out he’s just a blackmailer.” The VP slammed his hand on the table on stage, pointing at me and yelling. “Austin, how far are you going to take this!” “I just got a call from the President and the Chairman! They heard an employee was causing trouble and they’re on their way to handle it!”

“So what? The Chairman and the President are coming. Does that mean fairness goes out the window?” I calmly faced the VP. “I’m sure they’re more reasonable than you are. Besides, once they get here, Dylan is finished.” “Enough nonsense!” The VP pointed at my nose. “I’ll give you one more chance. Go to HR, get an old computer, and optimize the Brighton bid proposal before the President arrives.” “If you win the bid, I’ll let this slide!” Gasps rippled through the room. “Oh my god, they haven’t even finalized the site for that project. The bid is impossible to win. Mr. Lee is clearly setting Austin up to fail…” The tougher the project, the more I relish the challenge. Since he was giving me a chance to prove myself, I wasn’t about to refuse. “Fine. I’ll have it done by noon.” HR deliberately gave me the oldest, most decrepit computer they could find. The only thing it could run was Solitaire. It reminded me of the tough days when I first joined the company. After returning from abroad, I wanted to gain real experience at my family’s company, so I specifically told my dad and grandpa not to reveal my identity. I wanted to start from the bottom. But after a year of grinding away at the bottom, consistently hitting the highest numbers every quarter, all my achievements were stolen by an intern who claimed to be a good luck charm. This time, I was determined to reclaim my honor with this bid proposal. With my extensive experience and worldly knowledge, the bid proposal I created was flawless. The client was very impressed. As I closed my eyes to rest for a moment, I noticed a paper talisman on my desk. “What is this?” I frowned and tossed it in the trash. Not long after, we suddenly got news from the client that we had won the bid. The plot of land I had chosen suddenly skyrocketed in value a hundredfold. The government had just announced plans to build a new prime location near schools there. When the news broke, the entire company was stunned. No one expected me to be so capable. Even the VP was dumbfounded. He walked over and patted my shoulder. “Alright, I won’t report you to the Chairman and the President this time. You can have your old position back. Keep up the good work.” Suddenly, Dylan strode over, shouting, “Wait! Winning that bid was my doing!” He fished the talisman I’d thrown away out of the trash and showed it to everyone. “Look! To help him complete his task, I secretly placed my family’s ancestral talisman on his desk.” “I never expected that after winning the bid, he’d be so ungrateful as to throw my talisman away. I just couldn’t stay silent and had to expose him!” He looked at me. “If I hadn’t brought you good luck, do you think you could have chosen such a perfect piece of land?” It was the exact same script he used to steal my credit before. Just as I was about to retort, Yvonne started clapping loudly from a distance. “That’s our Dylan! Every time Austin succeeds on a project, you’re always there behind the scenes.” “Why haven’t you apologized to Dylan yet? If it weren’t for him, how could you have gotten so lucky to pick the perfect spot?” “Dylan is our company’s lucky charm!” With Yvonne’s enthusiastic support, the whole office burst into applause. The VP, as if seeing the light, nodded and clapped Dylan hard on the shoulder, his face full of admiration. “I knew you were special! My eye for talent is never wrong. The bonus for this bid proposal is all yours!” I almost laughed out of sheer anger. Such a blatant credit grab, they weren’t even trying to hide it anymore. “With people like you around, this company is only going to go downhill.” I called my dad, the president, directly. “I quit. This company is full of parasites!” Unexpectedly, Dylan snatched the phone from my hand and spoke sarcastically into it. “You must be Austin’s father, right? Your son is such a loser, running to his parents to complain. I suggest you come down to the office and teach your pathetic son some discipline!” With that, he hung up and roared with laughter. “Now your dad’s going to get even more gray hairs worrying about you!” Just then, the VP’s phone rang. He was answering it obsequiously when he suddenly let out a shriek. “What? You’re saying your son is here at the company?”

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I was 30,000 feet in the air when I saw the post. My flight back to Dayton was halfway done. I was scrolling Facebook out of boredom when a post in a local community group stopped me cold. “My sister-in-law is almost 30, still single, and keeps coming home to visit. Am I wrong for being over it?” The comments were going nuclear. I almost kept scrolling. Then I saw the original poster fire back at someone defending the sister-in-law. “She has zero boundaries. I’ve been planning this for months.” “Update: I turned her bedroom into a walk-in closet. Let’s see how long she wants to keep showing up now.” I closed the app. I told myself it had nothing to do with me. My name was on the deed of my parents’ house back in Dayton. Nobody was going to gut my bedroom. Then my phone buzzed. A text from Mom. “Honey, I went ahead and booked you a hotel for this visit. The house is a little messy. You’ll be more comfortable there.” The screen dimmed. The cabin hummed around me. Outside the window, Ohio was somewhere below the clouds. I sat very still for a long time. …… The Uber driver from the airport was chatty. “Whoa, Ridgewood Estates? That’s a nice development. My cousin tried to buy there when it opened. Way out of his price range.” “It’s a nice neighborhood,” I said. He wasn’t wrong. I’d put down $180,000 as a down payment. My mortgage was $2,200 a month. I had spent ten years in New York City grinding through every sales job that would have me. I ate lunch at my desk, skipped vacations, watched my bank account crawl upward one commission check at a time. I bought that house because I wanted my parents to have something better than the cramped rental they’d been in since Dad’s back injury. I figured I’d move back eventually. I figured it would be home. My phone buzzed again. “I’m running errands, just go straight to the hotel. I’ll meet you for dinner.” I typed back: “I have the door code. I’ll drop my bags off first.” Then I stopped. I opened Facebook again and found the post. Single at 30. That fit. I only came home once a year, twice at most. But last Christmas, I grabbed a yogurt from the fridge without asking. I was jet-lagged and starving and it was my parents’ house. Ryan’s wife Natalie had spent the rest of that evening dropping comments at the dinner table. “Chloe, not all of us have that New York salary.” “It must be nice to just take whatever you want.” I went out the next morning and bought her a 12-pack of yogurt just to end it. She accepted it without saying thank you. The post had more replies now. “Who bought the house? If it’s the husband’s family’s house, the sister-in-law has every right to be there.” “It’s OUR house. She has no claim here. She’s basically a guest.” I put my phone in my pocket. The Uber turned into Ridgewood Estates. My name was on the title. Every mortgage payment had come from my account. I had nothing to worry about. I kept telling myself that all the way up to the front door.

My fingerprint didn’t work. I tried again. The little red light blinked. I punched in the code I’d set when I bought the house. My birthday and Mom’s birthday combined. The lock beeped twice. Wrong. My chest went tight. I called Ryan. He didn’t pick up. Mom answered on the fourth ring. “The code changed?” “Oh, yeah.” She sounded uncomfortable. “Natalie thought the old one was too easy to guess. She went ahead and updated it.” “Give me the new one.” “Well, I’m not sure I remember it exactly. Why don’t you just check into the hotel and I’ll —” “Mom.” I kept my voice level. “I am standing outside my own house. Give me the code or I’m calling a locksmith.” She gave it to me. I looked at the number. Ryan’s birthday. I typed it in. The lock clicked open. The house was warm. Someone had the heat cranked up. I stepped into the entryway and opened the hall closet looking for my spare flats. They were gone. My backup Nikes were shoved all the way to the back corner, covered in dust. I walked down the hall. The master bedroom door was open. Pink throw pillows on the bed. A vanity mirror I didn’t recognize. My parents’ taste ran to plain wood furniture and quilts they’d had for twenty years. This was not them. My bedroom was at the end of the hall. I pushed the door open. My queen bed was gone. Floor-to-ceiling shelving units covered three walls, all white, all new. Dresses on velvet hangers. Shoes in clear boxes stacked to the ceiling. A makeup vanity with a ring light where my desk used to be. My books were gone. My high school debate trophies were gone. The framed photo from my college graduation was gone. I stood in the doorway and didn’t move. The Facebook post. The yogurt. The locked door. The code set to Ryan’s birthday. The woman in that post was not hypothetical. I was the sister-in-law. My face went hot from my throat to my forehead.

The front door opened behind me. Natalie came in with a designer bag on her arm, heels clicking on the hardwood. She stopped when she saw me. The smile dropped off her face. “How did you get in?” Her voice sharpened fast. “You can’t just walk into someone’s home without announcing yourself. Did nobody teach you that?” “This is my house,” I said. “Why would I knock?” Natalie made a dismissive sound. “Your house. Right. You bought it, so you think you can barge in whenever you feel like it? That’s not how families work, Chloe.” She dropped her bag on the entryway bench. She crossed the room and planted herself in the doorway of what used to be my bedroom, arms folded. Her eyes moved over me, slow and deliberate. “Your mom booked you a hotel. What are you even doing here?” “I came to drop off my bags.” I looked past her at the wall of shelving. “And to see this, apparently.” “You look like you slept in those clothes. I hope you’re not bringing that into my closet.” I pulled out my phone and hit record. I moved the camera slowly. The shelving. The shoes. The vanity. The empty space where my bed used to be. Natalie lunged forward. “Stop recording! This is my private space, you have no right —” I stepped to the side. She stumbled, caught herself on the doorframe, and her face went from pink to red. “Give me that phone.” “No.” She was still sputtering when the front door opened again.

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Reborn seven days before my mate stole my acceptance letter, I rejected him. I had been Dominic Gray’s perfect Luna for thirty years. He was the Alpha of Moonstone Pack, a powerful businessman, respected across the werewolf territories. Everyone praised me for being understanding and dutiful, calling me the perfect Luna by his side. I believed them. Until I was organizing his study and found a yellowed acceptance letter for Lunar Medical Academy tucked inside a journal. My name was on it. In his journal, he wrote that Serena Blake’s brother Sean had died for him. He owed the Blakes. So he hid my acceptance letter, told the Academy I’d declined, and gave my spot to Serena—the next candidate on the waitlist—to repay the debt. Lunar Medical Academy was the most prestigious medical school in the werewolf world. Every graduate went on to achieve greatness in medicine. I should have been standing among them, saving lives in the operating room. Instead, my husband trapped me in his shadow for thirty years. My chest tightened. The room spun. When I opened my eyes, young Dominic stood in front of me. “Elara, what’s wrong now? You look awful.” I was back. Back to seven days before the Lunar Academy acceptance announcement. …… The irritation in Dominic’s eyes made me flinch. I stepped back from his reaching hand. “Nothing. Bad dream.” He dropped his hand, his voice cold. “Then get up. Serena’s not feeling well. Go pick up her prescription from the pharmacy.” Serena again. She was always unwell. In my previous life, I’d done this exact errand on this rainy evening. I got caught in traffic, came home late, caught a cold, and was sick in bed for three days. By the time I recovered, the Academy decision was final. “It’s pouring outside,” I said. “The pharmacy closes in an hour. If you go now, you’ll make it.” No room for argument in his tone. “She can order it online. Delivery takes an hour.” Dominic’s jaw tightened. “The medication she needs isn’t available for delivery. You know the pack pharmacy stocks specialized suppressants. She needs them tonight.” I looked at him. This man always had reasons when it came to Serena. “Can’t someone else go?” “Elara!” His voice sharpened. “Sean died for me. Taking care of his sister is my responsibility. As my fiancée, it’s yours too.” He grabbed his car keys and tossed them at me. “Take the car. Now.” I didn’t move. “Dominic, my medical school application materials—they’re with you, right?” He froze. Then nodded. “Yes. I’m handling your submission.” “I want them back.” His eyes went guarded instantly. “Why? I told you I’d take care of it.” “I want to submit them myself.” He went quiet. After a moment: “Elara, you’re pre-med with decent grades, but this is competitive. We can’t risk anything going wrong. Serena’s the hero’s sister—her family reputation is spotless. Her application is stronger.” “So mine isn’t good enough?” “That’s not what I meant.” He avoided my gaze. “Just get her prescription first. We’ll discuss this later.” He turned and walked out, heading toward Serena’s place next door. I heard his voice soften through the wall. “Serena, don’t worry. Elara’s getting your medication. You’ll feel better soon.” I grabbed the keys and walked into the rain. But I didn’t go to the pharmacy. I drove to Pack House and found Elder William in his office. “Elder William, I need to collect my medical school application materials. All of them.” He looked surprised. “Didn’t you give those to Alpha Dominic to submit?” “I want to review them myself.” He didn’t question further. Pulled a thick folder from his filing cabinet. “You’re such a dedicated girl. Dominic’s fortunate.” I gripped the folder tight, tucked it under my jacket, and walked back to my car. I didn’t go home. I drove to my grandma, Nana Rose’s apartment. I handed her the folder. “Grandma, keep this safe. Don’t give it to anyone.” Grandma looked at my rain-soaked clothes. “What happened? Another fight with Dominic?” “No.” I shook my head. “Grandma, if I don’t get into Lunar Academy… will you be disappointed?” Grandma touched my cheek. “Silly girl. What matters is that you’re safe and happy.” I buried my face against her shoulder. Tears fell. Grandma was all I had left. That evening, Dominic showed up at my door, furious. “Where the hell were you? Serena waited all night for her medication!” “Traffic was bad. Couldn’t make it before closing.” “Traffic?” His voice rose. “It’s a fifteen-minute drive! Elara, did you do this on purpose?” “Yes.” I met his glare. He went still, shocked by my answer. His chest heaved. “You—” “Dominic, I’m not one of your pack warriors. And I’m not Serena’s personal servant.” He stared at me, words grinding through clenched teeth. “Fine. Just fine.” “Don’t you dare regret this, Elara.” He slammed the door on his way out. I knew exactly where he was going. To find those application materials. He wouldn’t find them. This time, I was taking control of my own future. My wolf stirred, restless and approving.

The next morning, Serena came to my apartment. Pale face. Red-rimmed eyes. “Elara, please don’t be angry with Dominic. This is all my fault.” Same performance as always. I ignored her, focused on my medical textbook. “I know you don’t like me,” her voice cracked, “but my brother died saving Dominic. It’s only natural he’d want to help me…” “So I have to help too?” I cut her off. She froze. “I… I didn’t mean that. I just hope you can understand him.” “I understand perfectly.” My tone was flat. “That’s why I’m stepping aside.” Serena’s face went white. The door opened. Dominic walked in carrying takeout bags from an expensive restaurant. He saw Serena’s tears and immediately set the bags down, striding over. “What happened?” He glared at me. “Dominic,” Serena grabbed his arm, “it’s not Elara’s fault. I just… thought about my brother.” His expression softened. He patted her hand. “Don’t think about it. I’m here for you now.” He held up the takeout. “I got your favorite. You need to eat.” “I can’t,” Serena glanced at me. “You got this for Elara, didn’t you?” “She can get her own food. You need this more.” No room for discussion in his voice. I watched them. Thirty years of this act in my previous life. “I don’t need it,” I said. Dominic frowned. “Elara, are you done with this attitude?” “No.” I stood and walked over to him. “Dominic, let’s break the engagement.” Silence filled the room. Serena stared at me, shocked. Dominic’s face darkened. “What did you just say?” “I said, let’s break the engagement.” I repeated clearly. “You care about her so much—why not make her your Luna instead?” “Smack!” The slap landed hard across my face. Burning pain. “Elara, say that again!” Fury blazed in his eyes. I touched my stinging cheek and smiled. “Make her your Luna.” He raised his hand again. “Stop!” Grandma rushed from the kitchen, her cane tapping sharply as she stepped between us. “Dominic Gray, how dare you hit her!” “Mrs. Rose, stay out of this!” His eyes were wild. “She’s lost her mind!” “I’m perfectly clear.” I stepped out from behind Grandma. “Dominic, this engagement is over.” I turned and walked to my bedroom, locking the door behind me. Outside, Dominic’s shouts mixed with Grandma’s pleading. I leaned against the door, my whole body shaking. That slap woke me up completely.

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Three days before my wedding, clearing out some old boxes jogged my memory of the time capsule Julian Brooks and I buried ten years ago. He stiffened at the mention of it and tried to talk me out of going. “It’s been a decade. Someone’s probably dug it up by now.” I brushed him off and drove to our old school alone. But at the spot, I unearthed exactly five tin boxes of varying sizes. Two were rusted shut—the ones Julian and I had buried back then. Of the three extras, one was equally rusted, while the other two were brand new. The old extra box had Lily Miller’s name etched into it. Inside, a note read: [My secret crush was a solitary emotional turmoil. I wish you happiness, Julian.] I recalled her—a mousy girl who used to sit behind us. The two pristine boxes bore Julian and Lily’s names. The burial date was today. Julian’s note: [My life’s biggest regret is that I can’t give you a wedding.] Lily’s note: [My life’s biggest regret is that I can’t openly wish you a happy wedding.] *** Standing under the same old oak tree, clutching those five freezing tins, I felt like an absolute joke. A gust of wind whipped up some dead leaves, chilling me to the bone. So, another woman had been fighting her secret war, hidden in the shadows. All while my fiancé harbored his unspoken regret. His biggest regret was not getting to marry her. Then what about me? What about our wedding in two days? A monstrous lie? Or just a heartfelt consolation prize for her? I reburied the three boxes that weren’t mine and only took the two belonging to Julian and me. It was pitch-black by the time I got home. The living room lights were on. Julian jumped off the couch the second I walked in. “Why are you so late? Where did you go?” I kicked off my shoes, answering flatly, “Went by the old high school.” “High school?” A flash of panic crossed his face before he forced a casual look. “What for? You should have told me, I could have tagged along.” “Nothing much. Was in the area and dropped in on some old teachers.” He relaxed, stepping up to wrap his arms around me from behind. Resting his chin on my shoulder, he murmured sweetly, “You scared me. Thought you made a run for it. The wedding’s in two days, no more wandering off.” I let him hold me. A suffocating silence hung in the air. After a long beat, I asked softly, “Julian, do you really want to marry me?” He tensed slightly, then squeezed me tighter. “Of course. It’s been ten years. What else would we do but get married?” “Audrey, what’s gotten into you?” Right. Ten years. Yet my mind kept flashing back to the scrawl on that tin box. [My life’s biggest regret is that I can’t give you a wedding.] He let go and started buzzing about tomorrow’s rehearsal. He even mimicked the priest’s vows. “For richer, for poorer… ” “To take Audrey Sterling…” “To marry…” Every word pricked my heart like a needle. “Do you like this bouquet? Or would you prefer white roses?” He held up his phone, eyes shining with anticipation. A blind rage flared up, burning away my sanity. “Whatever.” I turned away, voice freezing. “Do what you want. I don’t care.” Julian’s smile dropped. “Audrey, what is that supposed to mean? What do you mean you don’t care? It’s our wedding!” “Our wedding?” I scoffed, turning to glare at him. “Is it really ours?” He blinked, then scowled. “What the hell is wrong with you today? You’ve been speaking in riddles since you walked in.” “I’m busting my ass for our wedding, and you give me this attitude?” “My attitude?” My chest felt dangerously tight. “What about yours? Is your attitude supposed to be…” I cut myself off, biting back the truth. I knew I’d regret it if I laid it all out now. Julian’s eyes went red. He snapped: “What about my attitude? Haven’t I been running myself ragged for this wedding?” “Are you out of your mind, Audrey? If you don’t want to get married, then let’s call the whole damn thing off!” He spun around and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. I stood alone in the dead-quiet living room, tears finally spilling over.

Julian and I had been together for ten years. Fighting was practically a daily routine. We were both stubborn as hell, neither willing to cave first. But him storming out and leaving me alone like this? That was a first. Wait, no it wasn’t. I remembered. There was one other time. It was our high school graduation party. We had just made it official and were joined at the hip. One of the guys, Kevin Smith, got drunk and joked that a wallflower like Lily Miller would never find a husband. Julian’s face darkened instantly. I didn’t overthink it at the time, assuming he just hated the tasteless joke, and even grabbed his arm to tell him to chill. Instead, he yanked his arm away and walked out without a word. Leaving me stranded, humiliated under the stunned stares of everyone at the table. His mom told me he never came home that night, and his phone was turned off. I finally tracked him down the next day at a local arcade. He brushed it off, saying he was just in a funk, and offered a half-assed apology for ditching me. And I bought it. And now? God, what a joke. Lily’s time capsule had contained a diary. One entry was entirely about that night. [Kevin mocked me again today, saying I’m unmarriageable. It hurt, but I’m used to it. What I didn’t expect was Julian getting mad for my sake. He actually shook off Audrey and chased after me. He stayed with me on the roof all night, telling me I was a good girl and they were just blind. In that moment, my whole world lit up. Sorry, Audrey. I didn’t mean to steal him, even if it was just for one night.] So his “funk” was actually comforting another girl. While I spent the night worried sick, he was playing knight in shining armor on a rooftop for someone else. The tin also held our senior trip group photo. Julian and I were dead center, beaming. Lily stood in the far corner, her eyes glued to Julian, heavy with longing and adoration. On the back, in Julian’s handwriting: [May your smile always be as bright as the sun.] The exact same words he wrote in my yearbook. There was a bracelet, too—identical to the one currently on my wrist. He’d sworn he hit up five different stores to find this “couple’s set.” Turns out, it wasn’t a set for two. It was a set for three. Ten years, Julian. My youth, my love, my entire blueprint for our future. A total illusion from day one. I was never your one and only. I was just your official front. The heartache was paralyzing. I curled up on the couch, totally drained. My phone buzzed. A text from Lucas Wright, Julian’s old roommate and buddy. It was a photo taken in a VIP club booth. Julian was slouched in the middle, clutching a beer, eyes glazed over. Wasted. And the woman glued to his side, tenderly wiping his face with a damp towel? Who else but Lily Miller.

Lucas’s texts rapidly followed: [Audrey, I know the wedding’s in two days, but I can’t stomach this anymore.] [Julian dragged us all out tonight. Said you two fought and he was upset.] [But then he immediately called Lily.] [Those two… they’ve been like this for years.] [We’ve all seen it. We were just too gutless to tell you.] [They’re at Neon Sun, Room 302. You need to see this for yourself.] I stared at the photo. Lily’s eyes were practically dripping with heartache and devotion. And Julian wasn’t pushing her away. I took a deep breath, peeled myself off the couch, and grabbed my keys. I navigated to Neon Sun and found Room 302. The door was cracked open, familiar laughter spilling out. I stopped dead, hesitating to go in. “Come on, Julian, don’t sweat it. Audrey’s just a spoiled princess. Sweet-talk her a bit and she’s fine. You’re tying the knot, after all,” a guy urged. Another chimed right in. “Exactly. Why even bother arguing with her?” “If you ask me, our Lily is the best. Sweet, attentive, and never gives Julian grief.” “Right? Man, if it wasn’t for that time when—” “Whatever, man. Julian, honestly, seeing you marry Audrey makes us all feel sorry for Lily.” “Feel sorry for what? Isn’t it obvious who Julian really wants? He’s getting married, but the second they fight, Lily’s on speed dial.” The room erupted in roars of laughter. I slumped against the wall, my blood running cold. I knew every single one of those voices. Julian’s ride-or-die bros. Guys I had considered friends for a decade. Guys I had personally handed wedding invitations to. So to them, I was just a demanding woman, while Lily was the flawless, understanding sweetheart. And Julian? I stared intensely through the crack in the door. He lounged in the center, letting Lily feed him fruit and wipe his mouth. Moving together like honeymooners. He didn’t defend me. Not a single word. He just sat there in silence, tacitly endorsing their mockery while soaking up Lily’s affection. In that exact moment, it clicked. I finally understood why I never fit into his circle for the past ten years. Because I was the intruder. Lily was the one they had always crowned as “the girlfriend.” I couldn’t bring myself to push that door open anymore. I pointed my phone at the gap, hit record for a few seconds, and walked away. I bumped into Lucas right around the corner. He took one look at my bloodshot eyes, sighed, and handed me a napkin. “Saw everything?” I nodded. “Thanks.” “Don’t mention it.” Lucas rubbed the back of his neck, looking guilty. “I just thought it was totally messed up. Julian is… ugh. Look, just try not to let it break you.” I forced a hollow smile. “I’m fine. Never better.” How could I be fine? A decade of love, incinerated in a night. The man I loved had played me for ten years. The friends I trusted had been laughing at my stupidity.

Julian didn’t come home. The next morning, a random friend request popped up. The profile picture was Lily’s innocent face. We rarely crossed paths. I just knew her as Julian’s “platonic bestie.” I had no idea what she wanted, but morbid curiosity made me hit accept. Zero preamble. She immediately fired off a photo. A hotel room. Julian was out cold in the bed, shirtless. Lily, wearing nothing but his white dress shirt, was curled up against him, flashing a peace sign at the camera. Her smile was pure, gloating poison. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind them, the sun was blazing. Time, place, players—the ultimate checkmate. Staring at the screen, my heart iced over and shattered. From the club last night straight to a hotel bed this morning—what a seamless transition. I killed the screen, walked into the kitchen with dead eyes, and downed a glass of ice water. The freezing liquid slid down my throat, doing absolutely nothing to kill the inferno inside me. At 10 AM, Julian walked in, reeking of stale beer and cheap perfume. He froze when he saw me on the couch, then quickly plastered on a guilty, boyish grin. “Audrey, come on, you’re not still mad, are you?” I looked at him calmly, offering him one final lifeline. “Julian, where were you last night, and what did you do?” His eyes darted away. He reached for my hand. “I drank way too much and crashed at Lucas’s place.” “Babe, let’s stop fighting, okay?” “The wedding’s tomorrow. Let’s not ruin the vibe over stupid stuff.” Still lying through his teeth. That was it. I slapped his hand away and stood up. “Julian, I’m exhausted. Deal with the wedding yourself.” I walked into the bedroom and locked the door. I tuned out his confused, irritated pounding on the wood. Pulling up Lily’s chat, I typed: [3 PM. Downtown Starbucks. We’re talking.] She replied instantly: [Okay.] At 3 PM on the dot, Lily walked in. Seeing me, she pulled a flawless, apologetic face. “Audrey, I am so sorry. Julian was super drunk last night and refused to let me leave. I ended up taking care of him all night.” She said sorry, but her eyes were practically screaming victory. “Is that so?” I stirred my coffee casually. “Must have been hard work.” My coolness threw her off. She recovered quickly. “Audrey, don’t get the wrong idea. We’re just friends.” “I know you’re getting married, and I’m so happy for you guys.” “It’s just… Julian’s been really struggling. He can only vent to me. He said his biggest regret is—” “That he can’t give you a wedding, right?” I finished for her. Lily’s mask slipped instantly. I looked at her and smiled. “That little time capsule you two buried? I dug it up.” She dropped the innocent act entirely. “If you know everything, why are you still clinging to him?” “Audrey, I’m the one he loves. It’s always been me.” I put down my mug and looked her dead in the eye. “If that’s the case, I’ll bow out. You can have him.” Lily’s eyes bugged out in pure shock. “Wh-What did you say?” “I said, tomorrow’s wedding? You’re the bride.”

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260619ySWknMeI74 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni929734”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix