Author: Momo Chan

One month before our wedding, my fiancé told me he was going to marry his first love in secret. “Celeste has cancer. The doctors say she has less than a month. All she wants is to give her family some peace before she goes. Why do you have to make everything so complicated?” I said no. So he went behind my back and married her at the courthouse anyway. My opinion never actually factored into his calculations, did it? Enough. This ends here. I’m done. I packed my things. Before the wedding, I joined a classified research project. The kind that requires an NDA and federal security clearance. After that, we had nothing to do with each other. *** One month before the wedding, my fiancé went behind my back and married his first love. They announced it on Instagram like it was some kind of victory. The photo showed Celeste tucked against his chest, marriage license in her hand, smile dripping with sugar. “We did it! ❤️” That single line hit like a public slap. Everyone saw me become the punchline. Friends started reaching out, asking what happened. “How did Hayden end up marrying Celeste? Wasn’t he your fiancé? Weren’t you two supposed to get married in a month?” Facing my closest friend’s question, I answered calmly. “He married his dying ex. So I took out the trash before it rotted in my life.” Someone leaked my words back to Hayden Pierce. He called me, demanding answers. “What the hell, Sage? We broke up? Since when?” “You married Celeste. Did you expect me to be the other woman in your marriage?” That set him off. He launched into a full-blown tirade over the phone. “How can you be so heartless? Celeste has cancer. She has less than a month to live. All she wants is to leave without regrets, Sage. One small wish. Can’t you be the bigger person just this once?” “I thought we talked about this already. You didn’t put up a fight back then, so I assumed you understood. Sage, I know you’re upset, but is fighting over these details really worth it right now? Celeste is dying.” I nearly laughed out loud. Wait. He said “notified.” Not “discussed.” When exactly did I agree to anything? So I asked him. “When did I ever agree to you marrying another woman?” Hayden froze. He clearly hadn’t expected me to push back. After all, in all the time we’d been together, I almost never told him no. No wonder he said I agreed. In his mind, I was supposed to just go along with it. Why the hell should I? “I thought we talked about this already. You didn’t put up a fight back then, so I assumed you understood.” Hayden’s voice was tight with restrained fury on the other end. He took a deep breath. “Sage! I’m at the hospital. I don’t want to fight with you. Can you swing by Whole Foods and grab Celeste some of that organic vegetable broth? She’s post-chemo and can only handle liquids right now. Oh, and grab me a black coffee while you’re at it. I haven’t slept in days.” “We’ll talk when I get back—” “Hayden? What are you doing? Cough… cough… I… I’m dizzy. Can you get the doctor?” Celeste’s frail voice drifted through the receiver. Hayden’s tone dropped to a murmur instantly. “Celeste? What’s wrong? I’ll get the doctor right now.” The line went dead. He’d hung up to tend to Celeste. I stared at the ended call screen. The last thread of attachment I had for Hayden snapped clean. Five years. I gave this man five years of my heart. I believed if I gave enough, he’d eventually see me. But now, looking down at the call-ended screen on my phone, the silence that followed was louder than any scream. Something cold and final settled in my chest. He wasn’t worth another tear. Hayden didn’t call back until the afternoon. “Sage! Where’s the soup I asked for? Why haven’t you delivered it yet?” I hung up. I had no desire to engage. It was the first time Sage had ever hung up on him. He called again. And again. And again. Until his phone died. He tossed it onto the hospital bed, irritated. She hung up on me. Sage. Hung up on me. He’d done one thing to fulfill Celeste’s wish. That was it. And Sage was reacting like this? Not long after, a message from Celeste appeared on my phone. “Hey Sage. How does it feel watching your fiancé marry someone else? Satisfying, isn’t it?” “This is just the beginning. I’ve got an even bigger surprise waiting for you.” Right after that, I received a pregnancy test result. I opened it. Celeste’s name was on it. She was three weeks pregnant. The father was obvious. Three weeks. Right around the time he and I had a fight. The time he stayed out all night. No wonder he’d been avoiding me back then. And I’d been stupid enough to think he was just sulking. Throwing a tantrum. He’d been out sleeping with someone else. A guilty conscience keeping him away. No wonder he was in such a rush to marry Celeste. She was pregnant. She was actually pregnant! “How do you like the surprise, Sage? You’re a total loser! You mean nothing to him! What are you even good for?” In that moment, the world spun. Hayden had told me he wanted to save our first time for the wedding night. “I want to wait until we’re married. Is that okay?” Back then, I thought he just took that kind of thing seriously. I didn’t push. He didn’t want to wait. He just didn’t want to do it with me.

About a month ago, Hayden and I had a fight. Also about Celeste. He was going to the hospital to take care of her. I told him how I felt. “We can hire her a professional nurse. You don’t have to go yourself.” “More than that. You’re my fiancé. Running off to the hospital to play full-time caretaker for another woman? What does that make me?” I tried to make him see my side. In Hayden’s eyes, it became me trying to control his life. Me being jealous of Celeste. “Sage! Celeste is sick! What’s wrong with me going to take care of her? What good is a nurse?” “And anyway, this is my business. What does it have to do with you? We’re not even married yet and you’re already trying to control everything I do?” I let out a breath. “Control? No. I’m drawing a boundary. The kind where my fiancé doesn’t run off to play house with his ex-girlfriend. If you can’t understand that, then our problems are a lot bigger than Celeste.” “Yeah, yeah, I get it. It’s all about saving face for you. You’re just jealous of Celeste. I can’t believe you’re like this! Let me tell you something. Celeste is important to me! You don’t get a say in this. Not today. Not ever.” His words sent a chill through me. He actually said Celeste was someone important to him. “Important?” I stared at him. For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel heartbreak. I felt disgust. I wasn’t some side character in his cheap drama. I was the damn lead in my own life. I pointed at my chest and looked at Hayden. Hayden froze. A flicker of guilt crossed his face. “I… I don’t have time to waste here with you!” He grabbed his bag and left. I watched his back disappear, step by step, until there was nothing left to see. That night, I don’t even know how I managed to fall asleep. I was drifting in and out when my phone rang. I answered on reflex. A bright female voice came through. “Sage. Dr. Miller’s research… we’re short-staffed. I shouldn’t be bothering you with this… but we’re really desperate. Do you think… can you come?” I jolted upright in bed. Every trace of sleep vanished. Dr. Miller’s project? “Didn’t that start six months ago?” I asked. Anya, my postdoc cohort-mate from the lab, now technically my project supervisor, sighed. “We ran into some issues. The project never hit its first milestone.” I went silent. Six months ago, Dr. Miller received a federal research grant commission. A highly classified, cutting-edge project. Since it was the first exploration in this field, it had drawn significant attention at the national level. At the time, Dr. Miller thought of me first. He sat me down and tried to talk me into it. “Sage! You’re one of my most brilliant students. I want you on this team. This is monumental. For you. For scientific progress in this country.” Back then, I was still basking in the joy of being with Hayden. I turned Dr. Miller down. He was deeply disappointed. He tried again and again to persuade me. “Dr. Miller called me personally. He said, ‘Sage is the only person who can solve the Casimir resonance equation. Without her, the project stalls.’ That’s not flattery, Sage. That’s the truth.” I shook my head. Once the project began, it meant cutting off all contact with the outside world. At least a year. Maybe two. No coming home. “I’m sorry, Dr. Miller. I don’t want to be separated from Hayden for that long.” Dr. Miller sighed. Frustration and care mixed in his voice. “Sage! Are you sure you want to pour all your energy into a relationship? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! Once the research succeeds, you can get married then. You’d be able to marry him with honors, wouldn’t you? Or is your boyfriend not willing?” I shook my head again. “I haven’t told my boyfriend. It’s me. I don’t want to leave him.” Dr. Miller finally gave up trying to convince me. “Sage, you’re not a child anymore. Dr. Miller respects your decision. But I hope you won’t regret it.” After that, we lost contact. Until today. Anya’s call was the first I’d heard about Dr. Miller since. “Hello? Sage, have you thought about it?” Anya’s voice pulled me back to the present. I exhaled. “Of course I want to go. But… me and Dr. Miller… I’m afraid he won’t want to see me.” Anya’s relief was audible. “Don’t worry about that. Dr. Miller’s all bark. His heart’s soft. If you come, he’ll welcome you.” That gave me more comfort than I could say. Dr. Miller. The mentor I respected most in this world. Worst case, he’d scold me again. With that thought, I gave Anya my answer. “Okay, Anya. When do I leave?” “Originally, the sooner the better. But aren’t you about to get married? Maybe… you should discuss it with your fiancé first. Once you sign the NDA and pass the federal security review, you’ll be gone for at least three to five years. Can you give me an answer in two weeks?” I nodded, so excited I forgot she couldn’t see me. “Yes. I won’t need two weeks. I can give you my answer tonight.” Anya laughed and added one last thing. “Talk it through with your boyfriend. Properly.” Then she hung up.

After the call, I started packing. Two weeks. More than enough time to settle everything and leave. When Hayden came back that evening, he saw the closet half empty. He frowned at me. “Sage! What are you throwing a fit about now? I’ve told you a thousand times. Celeste and I are doing this so her family can have peace. Can you stop making a federal case out of everything?” I kept folding clothes into my luggage. My voice was flat. “Yeah. I know. I understand.” Hayden blinked. Surprised. It was the first time since he’d brought up marrying Celeste that I’d discussed it without a fight. “You… you’ve come around?” I nodded. “Yeah. It’s your choice. I have no right to interfere. I was making myself too important before. From now on, I won’t control you anymore.” Hayden frowned. Something felt off about Sage today. But before he could think it through, a phone call pulled him away. “Mr. Pierce, it’s bad! Your wife collapsed at the hospital. She needs surgery. Please come immediately.” Hayden hung up and rushed out the door. Before he left, he tossed one more instruction over his shoulder. “We’ll talk when I get back. I have to go to the hospital first.” I went along with it. Same as before. “Yeah. You should hur—” He was gone before I could finish. Anything involving Celeste. He was always that attentive. People really are different. I remembered when I was hospitalized. Hayden left me with a few dismissive words. “The hospital has doctors and nurses. If that’s not enough, I’ll hire you a caregiver. I have my own things to handle. Where would I find the time to take care of you?” But with Celeste, suddenly doctors, nurses, and caregivers weren’t good enough. Hayden and I met in college. Before that, he and Celeste had been together. She ended it. Said she couldn’t handle the long distance. Though “ended it” isn’t quite right. It was more of a one-sided freeze-out from Celeste. Hayden chased after her relentlessly. Until she found a new boyfriend. Hayden fell apart after that. He started drinking heavily at the bar where I worked part-time. That’s how we met. Back then, what I felt for him was more of an inexplicable curiosity. A quiet pull. How could anyone hurt someone this good? We existed in parallel. Doing our own things. The shift came late one night. Hayden was passed out drunk. A few guys nearby were eyeing him with bad intentions. “This dude looks loaded. We could use some cash.” “Let’s check it out.” One of them, some guy with dyed-red hair, grabbed a drink and walked over to Hayden. “Drinking alone, buddy?” When Hayden didn’t respond, the guy got bold and started rifling through his pockets. Even drunk, Hayden fought back on instinct. But his mind was a blur. His resistance was useless. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” My voice stopped the guy. He turned to me, scowling, annoyed. “None of your damn business. You got nothing better to do? Get lost.” I set my glass down and looked straight at him. “I’m a student of Dr. Miller.” Dr. Miller. His son was the district attorney for this city. DA Miller was known for his aggressive stance on crime. And Dr. Miller was known for being fiercely protective of his own. Red hesitated for a beat. “Prove it.” I pulled out my student ID and tossed it to him. “There. My ID. If you don’t believe me, you can go ask around at my school.” He examined it carefully, then threw it back. “What’s this guy to you? You two together?” I glanced at Hayden, completely unconscious, and made up a lie on the spot. “My cousin.” Red snorted. “Your cousin? What’s his name?” That stumped me. I looked at Hayden and pulled a name out of thin air. “Distant cousin.” He let it go. Reluctantly. “Out of respect for DA Miller, I’ll let this slide.” After they left, I stayed at the bar with Hayden until he sobered up.

After that, we got closer. Until the day Hayden confessed. He said he liked me. Asked if I’d give him a chance. I looked at the sincerity in his eyes and nodded. Just like that, we were together. Hayden loved teasing me about the cover story I’d invented that night. He kept calling me “cousin” until my ears turned red. He’d lean in close and ask, “Why didn’t you just say I was your boyfriend? Or that I was chasing you?” Every time he asked, my ears would burn. He never let it go. “If I’d said that, they wouldn’t have believed me. And besides, it wouldn’t have been good for your reputation.” When he heard that, his laugh was wide and unrestrained. Watching him laugh warmed something inside me. I thought I could pull him out of Celeste’s shadow. I overestimated myself. And I underestimated Hayden’s obsession with her. He never forgot her. The moment he heard she was sick, he dropped everything to take care of her. He threw away years of us because of one word from her. Married her behind my back. And got her pregnant. The next morning, Hayden came back looking exhausted. He looked at me and gave an order. “Fix me a bowl of oatmeal. Add cinnamon and apple chunks. I’m going to sleep for a bit. I need to go back to the hospital later.” I ignored him. I was busy preparing for the lab. When I didn’t answer, he didn’t blow up. Unusual for him. He just told me not to overthink things. Same as always. I watched him walk away. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt. Tomorrow. We were supposed to get married tomorrow. I’d already picked out my wedding dress. But now he had a family. A child. Where did I fit in any of that? One word from Celeste and he discarded me without a second thought. The love was never there. That much was obvious. I was done hemorrhaging energy into this relationship. It wasn’t worth it. I deserved better. “Oh, there’s something I need to discuss with you,” Hayden said. He stopped walking. Turned around. His eyes wouldn’t meet mine. “What?” I looked at him. Nothing good, I was sure. “So… tomorrow’s pre-wedding dinner… can we cancel it? Celeste, she…” He finally looked at me. “Fine,” I cut him off. “Whatever you want.” My response threw him off. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I met his eyes. “It doesn’t mean anything.” That’s when he noticed my luggage. “What are you doing?” I brushed him off. “Oh. Just packing up some clothes I don’t wear anymore.” Funny thing. When you stop loving someone, lies roll off the tongue without effort. Hayden frowned. “You have that many clothes you don’t wear?” “Yeah. Plus some old stuff. Clearing it all out.” I looked up at him. “Didn’t you say you were going to rest?” He snapped back to the present. “Yeah. Celeste has more tests tomorrow. I need to rest up so I can be there for her.” I nodded. “Got it.” He’d already made his decision. Why would I waste my energy caring?

Hayden went to the bedroom. Before he went in, he reminded me again. “Tomorrow’s pre-wedding dinner is canceled.” I looked at the calendar on the table. Tomorrow’s date was circled in red Sharpie. The words “Pre-Wedding Dinner” written in bold letters. I didn’t know why he wanted to cancel it. But I wasn’t planning on going through with this wedding anyway. Even if Hayden hadn’t said it, I would have found a reason to cancel. Him bringing it up first saved me the trouble. I nodded. “Alright. I’ll call the restaurant and cancel.” The words landed. Hayden paused. He hadn’t expected me to agree this easily. He’d assumed I’d demand an explanation. Every detail of this wedding had been meticulously researched and finalized by me. Even the photographer was someone I’d stalked on Instagram for six months, refreshing his booking page daily until I snagged a cancellation slot, just to get the perfect wedding photos. But after he spoke, I just agreed. Quietly. Hayden looked at me. His expression was complicated. “Don’t cancel.” “Celeste says she’ll never have a wedding of her own. She wants to do a bridal shoot with me. To pretend, just once, that she got married. So she won’t have regrets.” “Tomorrow, let Celeste do the shoot with me. We can always do our own photos later.” His tone was casual. Like he was discussing what to have for dinner. Same tone he’d used a month ago when he told me he and Celeste would hold a commitment ceremony. Let her walk down an aisle in a wedding dress one last time. On the surface, it sounded like a discussion. But every word told me he’d already decided. He was just informing me. I kept my eyes down. Hid the disdain. Later? Hayden didn’t know I only had thirteen days left in this city. There wouldn’t be a later. I murmured a quiet “okay” and headed to the bedroom to rest. If the wedding wasn’t happening, then who Hayden did his bridal shoot with was none of my concern. Hayden watched my back. An uneasiness crept up on him. I was too calm. Not a single question. None of the arguments he’d prepared had been needed. Then Celeste called. He shoved the unease aside and walked onto the balcony to answer. I woke up just as Hayden was heading out the door. He gave instructions while putting on his shoes. “After the shoot, Celeste and I are going on a trip. She’s always wanted to go to Hawaii. I’m taking her.” “Let’s keep the wedding simple. I don’t have time to deal with details. You decide. Don’t ask me.” I swallowed my bite of toast. “Okay.” Simple. Very simple. This wedding would have no photos. No guests. No officiant. No bride. Hayden watched me eating breakfast in silence. So calm. A strange feeling stirred in his chest. He thought for a moment, then added, “After the wedding, let’s honeymoon in Europe. You’ve always wanted to go.” Before, if Hayden had suggested a honeymoon on his own, I would have been ecstatic. Immediately planning every detail. I’d asked him to travel with me so many times. He’d always said no. Said he didn’t like it. Said traveling was exhausting. Now I just focused on my toast. Didn’t respond. There wouldn’t be a wedding. Where exactly would this honeymoon come from? Hayden gave me an odd look. Started to say something else. His eyes caught the clock on the wall. He rushed out, leaving only a “We’ll talk when I get back” behind him. I picked up the calendar. Took the red Sharpie. Drew a giant X over “Pre-Wedding Dinner.” Twelve days left. After breakfast, I started packing. Time to clear out everything unnecessary. A photo album with fewer than five pictures. A dusty projector. Matching pajamas that had never been worn. Five years. Every item in this house had been carefully chosen by me. Slowly turning an empty space into something warm and lived-in. But looking closer, so many things had never been touched by Hayden. He’d told me that even in a relationship, he was still his own person. He hated couple items. Said they made him feel tied down. I pulled my thoughts back and kept clearing. No point leaving this stuff behind to clutter his space after I was gone. Better to get rid of it now. Destroy all the memories along with it. Hayden didn’t come home for the next week. I still knew exactly what he was doing. With a girlfriend like Celeste who posted everything on Instagram, it would’ve been harder not to know. Surfing together. Sunset walks. Sunrise selfies. On my phone screen, I saw a different Hayden. So he was capable of acting like a normal boyfriend after all. Just not with me. I didn’t obsess over their daily adventures. I glanced and scrolled past. I wasn’t idle. The apartment was full of things. It took days to finish clearing. I also made time to go home. Told my parents I’d be leaving for the lab soon. That I wouldn’t be able to contact them for long stretches. My father was surprised. “You and Hayden are about to get married. Won’t this mean you’ll be separated for a long time?” Worry settled in my mother’s eyes. She held my hand. “Think this through carefully, Sage. You and Hayden have come so far. If you go to the lab, Hayden might not agree. Your wedding…” I understood what they meant. My parents had watched my devotion to Hayden for years. They’d also watched how he treated me. Before he proposed, they’d gently tried to warn me. They didn’t think I held much weight in Hayden’s heart. Asked me to reconsider. Back then, I was confident. I believed I could change Hayden. Make him fully accept me. So my parents gave their blessing. Now the wedding was approaching. They were afraid that if I went to the lab, Hayden would object. Might even cancel the wedding and break up with me. They feared I’d get hurt. That’s why they wanted me to think it through. But the person canceling this wedding was me. I told them. They went quiet for a long time. I didn’t tell them about Hayden getting another woman pregnant. They didn’t need that blow. I just said I wanted to focus on making a contribution to scientific research. My parents exchanged a look. If their daughter had made her decision, they’d support her fully. In the end, my father sighed. Clapped me on the shoulder. Said as long as I didn’t regret it. Back home, I called my best friend Riley to help haul everything down. Boxes stacked up in the living room. Took up so much space. We went up and down the stairs over and over until every box was gone. The apartment felt empty. Riley looked around. A little wistful. She remembered two months ago. When Hayden had said yes to my proposal. I’d dragged her out to drink all night. Kept saying I’d finally gotten what I’d always wanted. Barely two months later, I was calling off the wedding. “Honey, you’re actually doing this. I thought you were joking when you said you were canceling.” “I’ve watched you chase after Hayden for years. Tell me what’s really going on.” Maybe it was because I was about to leave. I actually felt like talking. I told Riley everything that had happened over the past month. Including that Celeste was pregnant with Hayden’s child. Riley had witnessed everything between Hayden and me. When I finished, she let out a string of curses. “You gave him everything. And he gets another woman pregnant before your wedding? Then expects you to just nod and smile? What the hell is wrong with him?” I shook my head. Swallowed the bitterness. “Who knows. He says Celeste saved his life. He has to fulfill all her wishes.” Riley’s face was full of indignation. “You saved his life too! How can he treat you like this!” I didn’t say anything. Maybe he just didn’t love me. But it didn’t matter. Soon, I’d be gone.

Five days left. I submitted my resignation to the university. Back when I chose Hayden, I’d turned down Dr. Miller’s invitation to continue working with him. I stayed at a local university as a teaching assistant. Following Hayden’s path. My colleagues were shocked. “Why are you leaving, Sage?” “You just sent us wedding invites a few days ago. Are you going to be a stay-at-home wife? Hayden’s so lucky.” Some teased me. I held my box of things and smiled. “No. The wedding’s off.” When I got home and opened the door, I found Hayden and Celeste on the sofa. I hadn’t seen him in a week. Hayden saw the box in my hands. “What’s all that?” I gave him a random excuse. “Just some stuff I don’t need. Brought it back.” He nodded. Scanned the room. A confused look crossed his face. “I’ve only been gone a week. Why does it feel like so much is missing?” I carried the box to the bedroom. Answered flatly. “I cleared out some things I don’t use anymore.” Hayden opened his mouth. Celeste cut him off. “Sage. Hayden worked so hard taking me on this trip. And thank you for letting him do the bridal shoot with me. You made my dream come true. You’re so generous. I told Hayden, ‘You must have married a saint. Any other woman would’ve keyed your car by now.’” “Let me treat you both to dinner. To thank you for taking care of me. I’ll probably need to trouble you both for a while longer. I hope you won’t resent me.” I saw the smug victory in Celeste’s eyes. She was getting impatient. Ever since I’d received that pregnancy test, I hadn’t reacted at all. I hadn’t even confronted Hayden. But I had no desire to play her games anymore. Five more days and I’d be gone from Hayden’s life forever. Right now, I just wanted to wrap things up and leave clean. When I didn’t answer, Celeste’s eyes instantly reddened. “Hayden, is Sage upset? I know you two are about to get married, but…” Hayden’s brow furrowed instantly. He rounded on me. “Celeste is kind enough to thank us, and you put on that face? It’s just dinner. It won’t kill you. You’re going.” I hadn’t said a single word. In Hayden’s mouth, I was already the villain. In the end, he dragged me there. At the restaurant, the server came to take our order. I’d just opened the menu when Hayden spoke. “Nothing too oily. Easy on the seasoning. No onion in any dish.” When the food arrived, Hayden carefully served Celeste. Placed food in her bowl. Then he pushed a seafood dish toward me. “Celeste can’t eat seafood right now. I ordered this specially for you.” I stared at the plate. Every bit of appetite I had died. “I’m allergic to shellfish.” What a joke. Five years together. Hayden didn’t know his own girlfriend was allergic to shellfish. But he knew every single one of Celeste’s dietary restrictions. Even something as small as no onions. He remembered that. A brief flicker of confusion crossed Hayden’s face. When he looked at me again, there was a rare trace of guilt in his eyes. He ordered a few more dishes. I didn’t touch my fork again. Just sipped water. After the meal, as we stepped off the front steps, Anya called. “Sage. Dr. Miller asked me to confirm. You’re following the standard project timeline, right? The first phase involves classified work. There’s a strong possibility you won’t be able to contact the outside world for one or two years.” My gaze fell on Hayden and Celeste ahead of me. Walking side by side. Hayden’s hand carefully supporting Celeste’s waist down the stairs. My voice was perfectly level. “I’m certain.” Anya exhaled in relief. “Good. Dr. Miller was so afraid you wouldn’t be able to leave your boyfriend.” I pulled my eyes away. Turned in the other direction. “The wedding’s off.” “I’m ready to leave.” A confused voice sounded behind me. “Who’s leaving?”

Hayden had just gotten Celeste into the car when he caught those last words. I realized he hadn’t heard what came before. Made up an excuse. “A friend of mine. She’s leaving soon.” Hayden nodded. Didn’t press. Four days left. Hayden brought home the bridal photos. His and Celeste’s. Phone in one hand, video-calling Celeste. The other hand holding the framed photo out to show me. His expression soft with tenderness. “Celeste, our photos came back. The staff at the studio said they turned out beautifully.” I walked out to get water right as he said it. A flicker of embarrassment crossed Hayden’s face. He looked at me like he wanted to say something. I glanced at the photo. Gave an honest comment. “They do look nice.” I’d paid a premium for this photographer. I wanted to capture the most loving moment between Hayden and me. I’d imagined the overwhelming happiness I’d feel when I finally saw the results. Hayden in his suit looked exactly as handsome as I’d dreamed. The only difference was the bride beside him. Not me. But it didn’t stir a single ripple in my chest anymore. From the moment I learned about Celeste’s pregnancy, I’d taken every ounce of my feelings for Hayden back. Hayden, on the other hand, was frozen. It suddenly hit him. I hadn’t initiated a single conversation with him in a long time. Even during that whole week he was traveling with Celeste, not one message. It unsettled him. On the video, Celeste was still chattering away. He shook off the unease and told himself I was just exhausted from wedding prep. Two days left. I went to the hospital to pick up some medication. And ran straight into Hayden and Celeste coming out of her OB appointment. A rare flash of panic crossed Hayden’s eyes. His mouth opened. Celeste beat him to it. She walked up, grabbed my hands, and started to kneel. Her voice thick with tears. “Sage. I know you still haven’t agreed to Hayden and me having the commitment ceremony. But I can’t wait any longer. The doctor says I have a year at most. I really want to see myself in a wedding dress.” “After the ceremony, I’ll leave Hayden forever. I won’t interfere with your relationship.” Before I could open my mouth, Hayden pulled her up. His eyes full of concern. “Your body is fragile. You shouldn’t be doing this.” Then he turned to me. “Since you know, I won’t hide it anymore.” “Don’t worry. This won’t affect our wedding.” The me from a month ago would have raged. Broken down. Spun into despair. Questioned everything about myself. Was I not good enough? Was that why Hayden was so willing to do this ceremony for another woman? But after everything, I’d figured it out. It wasn’t that I wasn’t good enough. It was that Hayden didn’t love me. He didn’t love me. That’s why he could disregard my feelings completely. I’d already known about the commitment ceremony. I’d already let go of every feeling I had for Hayden. They didn’t need to put on this tragic act for me anymore. I gave them one blank look. Looked away. “I understand.” I walked away with my prescription. My departure date was close. My luggage still needed organizing. They clearly hadn’t expected me to be so calm. Especially Hayden. He stared at my retreating back with a complicated expression. I’d fought him for a month over this ceremony. Now I knew it was happening and gave nothing. An inexplicable unease took root in Hayden’s chest. As if something had shifted without him knowing. I reached the stairwell when Celeste caught up and grabbed my sleeve. Hayden was still far behind. Celeste dropped the mask. “Sage Morrison. How does it feel? Watching your fiancé do a commitment ceremony with another woman?” I had no interest in pointless fights. I shook her off and moved to leave. The moment I pulled away, her body tilted. She started falling down the stairs. Reflex kicked in. I grabbed her hand and stopped her fall. My hand hadn’t even let go when a furious shout came from behind. “What are you doing!” Hayden had been confused by my calm. Now he thought he understood. I’d only been pretending. Deep down, I couldn’t accept it. When Celeste saw Hayden, her face instantly morphed into hurt. Eyes red-rimmed. Hand protectively over her stomach. “Hayden. I just wanted to thank Sage for being so understanding. I didn’t expect her to…” Hayden’s face went dark. “Sage Morrison. I didn’t think you were capable of this.” “Apologize to Celeste. Now.”

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Two days before the wedding, my best friend Olivia asked me to test my fiancé. She didn’t trust Grayson Sterling. In her words, Grayson Sterling had been through half of Manhattan. He wasn’t about to give up the whole forest for one tree. Her instincts were terrifyingly accurate. I made a burner Instagram account that night. Built it to match his type. Hot. Forward. The kind of woman who put “take me” all over her face. Slid into his DMs. Grayson ignored me. I was about to text Olivia a “he passed” when the whole thing flipped. He replied. “Apart from you two, I don’t touch other women.” “Liv, if you want to flirt with me, use your main account next time.” Liv. Olivia’s nickname. … The second my brain processed those three messages, ice-cold nausea flooded my body. I squeezed my eyes shut. My nails dug into my palms. Over the frantic pounding in my chest, I confirmed it. This wasn’t a dream. Grayson had been cheating on me. With Olivia. But how? They couldn’t stand each other. Olivia always said Grayson wasn’t good enough for me. Besides a face that made women weak and a trust fund that never ran dry, he was useless. Grayson called Olivia a troublemaker. Said every time we fought, she whispered in my ear to dump him. A FaceTime ringtone yanked me back. I hit decline. “Why aren’t you picking up?” Grayson’s message came through. “You hiding somewhere crying?” “Come to Southampton. I’ll make it better.” “Relax. I’ll still take good care of you after the wedding.” “Whatever Norah has, you’ll have too.” “Including me.” I stared at my phone. Blank. My ears ringing. Completely numb. Tears dropped onto the screen. Fat. Unstoppable. Through the blur, every detail I’d ignored slammed into my skull like a knife. The first time I brought Olivia to our Newport house for the weekend. She walked straight down the hallway to my bedroom and walk-in closet without anyone guiding her. Like she lived there. When I grabbed her phone to connect her to the Wi-Fi, it was already connected. She said she’d guessed the password, tried her pet’s name and got lucky. Grayson’s Russian Blue, the cat famous for ignoring everyone, was all over her. She said maybe she’d picked up my scent. That cat barely tolerated me. Treats and toys couldn’t lure him over. He rolled onto his back for Olivia the first time he met her. And her apartment. The same clothes as me. Same bags. Same lipsticks. Some of them Grayson had used me to give her. “For my maid of honor,” he’d said. The rest, Olivia said were from other guys. I’d pressed her for details, excited. She dodged every question. I thought she was shy. Now I understood. Guilt. Shopping trips came back to me. The two of them arguing right in front of me over who ranked higher in my heart. Red-faced. Loud. More than once, that explosive tension cracked because one of them broke into laughter. And I stood there grinning like an idiot, happy they’d finally stopped fighting. Those two. Using me as their cover to flirt. Playing me for a fool. I cried until my eyes swelled shut. Until my head went foggy. I grabbed my keys and drove to Southampton like a maniac. The Sterling estate was another one of Grayson’s properties. Where he’d parked his groomsmen. They were throwing his bachelor party tonight. Through the wrought-iron gates, I saw them by the pool. Grayson was drunk. That sharp, aggressively handsome face was flushed. Eyes glazed, he hooked an arm around Olivia’s neck and breathed something into her ear. She pouted and shoved him into the pool with a spoiled little flick of her wrist. The groomsmen roared. Grayson surfaced, shook wet hair out of his eyes, and flashed that filthy smirk.

He grabbed Olivia’s ankle and dragged her in. She screamed. He pinned her against the pool wall and kissed her. Hard. Possessive. Cheers exploded around them. Someone popped champagne. Someone lit fireworks. Someone brought me up. Half-joking. “Grayson, man, you’re marrying Norah in two days and you’re all over her maid of honor? Not a good look.” “Come on. As long as we keep quiet, Norah won’t know a thing even if Grayson does Liv right here tonight.” “Now that’s the Grayson I know. The way you were chasing Norah, I almost thought you’d gone domestic for good.” Grayson finally ended that long kiss. His voice came out low and lazy. Rough charm. “Listen up. I love Norah. She’s the only woman I want to marry. I’ll spoil her, treat her right, spend my life with her. But turn into a saint for her starting now?” He laughed. Planted a loud kiss on Olivia, still panting against his shoulder. “Not a chance in hell.” Grayson carried Olivia out of the pool and set her on a lounge chair. Someone tossed him a towel. He pulled it off and draped it over her instead. A voice asked, “Grayson, you heading back tonight?” Olivia lifted red-rimmed eyes to him. Grayson crouched down and pinched her cheek. Intimate. Easy. “Norah cares about Liv more than anyone. Even me, I’m second place. Now our little Liv’s upset. Of course I’m staying.” He waved a hand behind him. “Caleb, text Norah. Tell her I’m wasted. Sleeping here tonight. I’ll pick her up for the rehearsal tomorrow.” The moment my tears broke, my phone buzzed. Caleb Vance. “Norah, Grayson’s had too much. Not coming back tonight. Get some sleep. He’ll pick you up for the rehearsal.” I stood there for a long time. Thinking. My parents died when I was young. I went into the foster care system. Bounced from home to home. No one really cared. Until Olivia. She fought for me when kids bullied me at school. She asked for the things I was too scared to ask for myself. I fought for her too. Helped her get the same scholarship. Wrote her application essays. Dragged her to the interview. She was an only child. Didn’t love studying. Senior year, I made her review with me every night. Chewed up every test answer and fed it to her. Pumped her up. Painted her a picture of college. We got into the same state university together. Sophomore year, I found out my boyfriend was cheating. Olivia stormed the hotel where they’d checked in. Beat the hell out of him. Screamed at the girl until she ran out crying. After graduation, we rented a crappy apartment together. No clue what the future held. Every night we crammed into one bed and fantasized about the other getting rich and taking care of us. “When you’re rich, don’t forget about me.” “I’m sharing half my bed with you now. You owe me a beach house later.” Twenty years. She wasn’t just a friend. She was the sister I never had. Maybe real family wouldn’t love me unconditionally. But I believed she would. So when everything was laid out in front of me, I didn’t even have the strength to confront her. The girl who once fought for me. Who beat up my cheating boyfriend. Was now my fiancé’s lover. My unreserved trust. Paid back with the cruelest betrayal. I left Southampton. The moon was huge and full above me. I was freezing. Memories of Grayson and me surfaced. At twenty-five, I became lead designer at Elysian Designs, the top wedding planning firm in Boston. Not luck. I started as an intern. Stayed awake for seventy-two hours straight solving a celebrity wedding disaster. Made my name. At Caleb Vance’s Napa Valley estate wedding. I’d been up all night watching over the setup. My blood sugar crashed. I went headfirst into the fountain. Grayson happened to be walking by. He pulled me out.

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Raina Monroe got her hearing back. The first thing she did was try to tell her fiancé, Brandon Thorne. She rushed to his office, heart pounding, already picturing the look on his face. She’d even picked out the restaurant for their celebration. She stopped outside his door. Brandon was talking to a group of friends. He didn’t know she was standing there. He didn’t know she could hear. “I banged some chick behind my fiancée’s back,” he said. “I’m taking her to a hotel today.” “My fiancée’s deaf. I could flirt with the girl right in front of her and she’d never know.” The words drilled into Raina’s skull. Her mind blanked. Her blood stopped moving. The office erupted. Whistles. Shouts. Some guy slammed the table. “Brandon, you’ve got some serious balls, man.” Another one laughed. “Brother, you’re playing with fire.” Brandon leaned back in his chair, drink in hand, a smirk cutting across his face. He lifted his glass for a toast. Then he caught a figure in the doorway. Raina. His face dropped. But the panic vanished fast. She couldn’t hear. He set down the glass, walked over, and said, “Why’d you come here alone? I was supposed to pick you up for the dress fitting. You didn’t even text me back.” His hands moved with the words. “I thought something happened to you. I was so worried.” The worry on his face looked real. She remembered being eighteen. Brandon fell for her at first sight. He chased her for two solid years. Flowers. Bags. Cash. Jewelry. He checked in every day. Every holiday, every birthday, he found a new way to surprise her. When her adoptive parents died, he never left her side. He held her through it, fed her, soothed her, walked her through the darkest stretch of her life. She finally said yes after his hundredth confession. Three years ago, she took a hit for him. The injury destroyed her auditory nerves. She couldn’t hear anymore. She was devastated. She tried to end things. More than once. Brandon refused. He held her, begged her not to leave him, begged her to stay. He learned sign language. When the silence crushed her, he was there. The Thorne family fought the relationship. His father threatened to disown him publicly, cut him off from every network that mattered. Brandon didn’t blink. He walked into the boardroom, slapped a trust fund waiver onto the table in front of his father, and said, “Fine. Keep the money. But you accept her.” The standoff lasted months. They froze his cards. Took his car. Took his apartment. At the lowest point, he was crashing in a freezing studio with no heat near the office, living on whatever his friends spotted him, taking the subway to work. Raina cried and begged him to stop. He just held her and said, “Without you, the money means nothing.” His father finally broke. Raina sobbed in his arms. “Why are you so stupid?” Brandon wiped her tears, gentle, and signed the words: I love you. The proposal was a spectacle. A mansion. A garden packed with her favorite pink peonies. The ring was Eternal Light, a diamond that had once belonged to European royalty. Priceless. He got down on one knee. The ruthless businessman who cut throats in the boardroom was trembling. His eyes were wet. He was terrified she’d say no. When she said yes, he jumped up. This man who never cried broke down completely. He held her for so long, wouldn’t let go, like a kid who’d finally gotten the one toy he wanted most. The day after the proposal, someone knocked into her on the street. She hit her head. Her hearing came back. After a full checkup, the doctors confirmed it. She could hear again. Raina was overjoyed. She thought a life with Brandon’s love was already more than she deserved. And now this. But when she went to tell him the good news, she learned about the other woman. No wonder. A month ago, the late nights started. He said work was crazy. His real work was between another woman’s legs. He’d promised he would never betray her. A few short years, and his heart had already wandered. She dug her nails into her palm and forced herself out of the daze. The truth was there. A crack in everything. He had changed. She pulled herself back. Brandon was still signing. “Couldn’t wait to see the dresses, could you? So you came without me?” After the engagement, he’d been obsessed with building their life. Their wedding was a month away. His dream. Raina knew there would be no wedding. The second she learned about his betrayal, she decided she was leaving.

She wasn’t about to let him know she could hear. She gave a small nod. Relief washed over Brandon’s face. He knew she was deaf. But those jackass friends of his were still in the office, and he didn’t want them running their mouths. He took her hand and led her out. He signed as they walked. “Come on. Let’s go look at those dresses.” At the curb, a Mercedes S-Class was waiting. He reached for the passenger door. Someone was already in her seat. A girl. Gorgeous. Sharp, bright features. Raina knew her. Serafina Vance. She’d met Brandon in college. She’d just gotten back from overseas. Brandon froze. He’d made plans with Serafina for tonight. The hotel. He’d figured she’d show up later. Not this early. He forced his face neutral and signed to Raina, “Fina’s on her way to the bridal shop too. We’ll give her a ride.” “She’s getting engaged too?” Raina signed back. Before Brandon could speak, Serafina nodded, her gaze sliding over to him. “That’s right. I’m getting engaged too.” Brandon’s expression twitched. He checked his watch, casual. “We should get going. The appointment.” Then, like he’d just remembered, he pointed at Serafina and signed to Raina, careful, almost timid. “Fina gets carsick. She’ll sit up front. Is that okay?” Raina remembered the rule. The passenger seat was hers. Only hers. He’d kicked out anyone who tried to sit there. She wasn’t his exception anymore. She shrugged and climbed into the back. The car pulled away. The two up front knew she couldn’t hear. They laughed and chatted like she wasn’t there. “Brandon, that couple’s meal at Moonlight last night was incredible. It’s a little far, though. You’re taking me again.” Serafina’s voice dripped sweetness. She flicked a glance at Raina in the rearview mirror. “Anything you want. I’ll drive however far you like.” He smiled at her, one hand on the wheel. “I knew it. You spoil me rotten.” Serafina beamed. A spoiled little girl who always got her way. Before, Raina would’ve thought it was innocent small talk. Now she heard every word. They were flirting in front of her. Brazen. Shameless. Believing she was completely in the dark. Every syllable churned her stomach. Moonlight. The trendy new couple’s restaurant in the city. She’d asked to go two weeks ago. He’d said he was swamped. Another time. He never mentioned it again. Too busy for her. But he had plenty of time for his little plaything. The man who used to share every meal with her now always had a client who couldn’t get free. His client had a name. And a body. Wind came through the window. It scraped against her nerves. An hour later, they stopped at a bridal shop. Inside, the staff had lined up a hundred gowns. The latest couture. Brandon’s eyes went soft, adoring. He signed, “Which designer do you like? I’ll fly them in from Paris. Custom.” “Raina, I’m giving you the most beautiful dress in the world. You’ll be the most beautiful bride.” The staff swooned. “Raina is so lucky. We see so many couples, but Mr. Thorne is the only one who always knows exactly what she wants. The styles. The sizes.” Seven years together. He knew everything about her. Her measurements. Her cycle. He remembered it better than she did. The world saw a perfect romance. She knew it was rotting from the inside. She was barely interested. She pointed at a fishtail gown and stepped into the fitting room. She stared at her reflection. After losing her adoptive parents, her deepest wish was to build a family with him. A home. A happy one. She’d dreamed of putting on a white dress, holy and pure, and marrying him. Now the thought gutted her. She was about to step out when voices drifted in. “Brandon, you tore the last one. I bought a new set. Black lace. Your favorite. Tonight. Eight. My place.” Serafina’s voice was low. Her fingers traced up his chest. “Raina’s in there. Not here.” “What are you scared of? The staff’s gone. And her?” She dragged out the pause, rising onto her toes, mouth close to his ear. “She can’t hear. Unless… you don’t want it anymore?” He laughed under his breath. A kiss. Soft. On her lips. “You’re nothing but trouble. But my favorite look on you is nothing at all.” “God, you’re terrible.” Low laughter. Murmured filth. Raina felt the bile rise. They’d been doing this in front of her the whole time. How many times? And she’d been too oblivious to notice. A fool. She couldn’t stay in that room another second. She tore off the gown and walked out. Her face was pale. Brandon stood immediately, worry carved into his face. He stepped toward her, signing fast. “Raina? What’s wrong? Is it your stomach again? Let me take you home.”

He scooped her up and walked out. Serafina called his name behind them. He didn’t look back. At the villa, he found her medicine. He made her a bowl of hot soup. She watched him rush around, and the weight of it pressed against her chest. He used to be the rich young master who’d never lifted a finger. She came into his life, and he stepped off his pedestal. He washed her clothes, cooked her meals, handled everything in the house. When she lost her hearing, he learned to sign. Just to speak to her. His friends always laughed at him. Whipped. Tamed. He didn’t care. He wore it like a badge of honor. His woman deserved to be cherished. It made him proud. After the stomach problems started, he researched every bland recipe he could find. He didn’t trust the housekeeper. He cooked all three meals himself. He swore he’d nurse her back to health. He had loved her that deeply. Down to the marrow. And now he was cheating behind her back. Her chest ached. His love, it turned out, could change in a heartbeat. She ate, then slept. When she woke, it was nearly eight. Brandon was still at her side. Waiting. He saw her eyes open and immediately brought her a glass of warm water. He held it to her lips. His phone rang. “Fina, relax. I’m heading out. Be a good girl and stay just like that for me.” He turned his back. His voice had that edge of anticipation. Raina’s heart pinched. She didn’t want to count how many times he’d played this part. The doting boyfriend one second. The eager plaything the next. Who mattered more to him? She wanted to know. She caught his sleeve. “Brandon, stay with me tonight. Please?” He smiled. Doting. He stroked her hair and signed, “Baby, be good. Something urgent came up at work. The client really needs me there. I’ll be back as soon as I’m done. Text me if you need anything.” He put on his coat and left. Cold sank through her. There was a time when one word from her would make him drop everything. He’d walk away from a major deal just to be with her. Now he’d dump her for another woman without a second thought. Fine. She was done with him. She found the number she hadn’t called in a long time. Her birth parents. She dialed. When the call ended, she opened her laptop. She studied maps of Europe, getting familiar with the place she’d soon call home. Her phone rang. Brandon. She stared at it. He hadn’t called her since she went deaf. He always texted. She picked up. A moan spilled through the speaker. Breathy. Explicit. “Brandon, who makes you feel better? Me or her?” Serafina’s voice. Sugary. “You. Obviously.” Brandon’s voice was thick with pleasure. No hesitation. “I knew it. Didn’t you say it yourself? She’s a dead fish in bed. Zero fun.” “You’re the only one for me. We fit.” “You insatiable little demon.” “Why do you keep bringing her up tonight—wait. Did you call Raina?!” His voice spiked. Panic. Anger. “She can’t hear. This just makes it hotter, don’t you think?” The line died. Raina’s fingers whitened around the phone. She was under the blankets, but her body had never been so cold. It was almost funny. The injury she’d taken for him had become their foreplay. Brandon came home the next morning. He leaned in for his usual good-morning kiss. She turned away, smooth. The thought of his mouth on another woman last night sent a wave of nausea through her. He blinked. “You didn’t change your clothes. You smell.” She wrinkled her nose. Sex and strong perfume. It made her stomach turn. He caught himself and signed, “Late night at the office. I fell asleep at my desk. Must’ve bumped your number by accident.” Lying. About last night. She didn’t care anymore. She was leaving. No point in calling him out. At the table, he’d bought her favorite. Crab eggs benedict. She had no appetite. The place was in the opposite direction from his office. But it was right near Serafina’s apartment. She’d seen Serafina’s Instagram this morning. A photo of the same dish. The caption: “He said he’d wait two hours for me. Anything I want.” Brandon had liked it. People in the comments asked if the guy was her boyfriend. She’d replied with a coy little emoji. One photo showed a man’s hand feeding her. His face wasn’t in the frame. But his fingers were long, a crescent-shaped scar on one of them. Exactly like Brandon’s. He’d gotten it learning to cook for Raina. A burn. “Not hungry? What do you want? I’ll make it right now.” “At least have some milk. It’ll settle your stomach.” He saw she wasn’t eating and went to warm a glass for her. “I’m not hungry. I’m going to the studio.” She brushed him off and called a car. She’d loved to draw since she was a kid. After college, she opened her own art studio. By noon, the last painting was done. She was leaving soon. The studio needed to go. She pulled up a real estate agent’s contact and sent a voice message. “I need to transfer my lease. I’m looking to sell the space. Before the end of the month.” Footsteps. She looked up. Brandon stood in the doorway, brow furrowed. “Transfer? Why would you transfer it?”

He remembered she couldn’t hear. He signed the question again. She answered without looking at him. “I’m relocating. So the space has to go.” His face relaxed. The doting smile returned. “About time. With your talent, you should be in a bigger space. Just focus on your art. I’ll find you the best location in LA. A huge studio. Don’t stress about the little stuff.” She didn’t answer. She was relocating. But not in LA. She was leaving the country. “Why are you here?” she signed. He hadn’t come to the studio since Serafina got back. “You mentioned that couple’s restaurant. I’ve got a free afternoon. Thought I’d take you.” He was all tenderness. He reached for her hand. She pulled away, smooth, and straightened her supplies. She wanted to say no. But her stomach was empty. She nodded. They sat down. A waiter hurried over, all smiles. “Mr. Thorne! The usual for you and your girlfriend? The ribeye and the red? We just got the freshest shipment flown in.” Brandon’s hand froze. Guilt flashed across his face. He glanced at Raina. She was still looking at the menu. She didn’t seem to notice. He relaxed. He ordered efficiently, choosing all her favorites. He made sure the waiter knew the steak had to be medium rare. The way she liked it. The waiter knew him too well. They’d been here more than once. While they waited, she didn’t want to talk. She excused herself to the restroom. When she came back, a server was holding a bottle of red wine. “Mr. Thorne, to celebrate you and your girlfriend becoming our VIPs, this is on the house. Enjoy your meal.” Brandon’s gaze cut past the server. Raina stood there, face blank. He knew she couldn’t hear. But his heart still jumped. He forced himself calm and waved the server away. Raina sat down. She glanced at the wine. “I don’t like red. And you’re driving. Why’d you order this?” He pulled a smile together and signed, “I didn’t. It’s a gift from the restaurant.” She made a cool, small sound and said nothing else. All those nights he’d said he was with clients. He’d been taking Serafina to dinner. The food arrived. He cut her steak into small pieces. He put them in front of her. He filled her plate, kept asking if everything was good, anxious she might not enjoy it. She gave him a few flat responses. He watched her carefully. She used to photograph every dish. She’d take selfies with him and post them on Instagram. Now she just ate, her face unreadable. An unease crept into his chest. “The food not good?” he signed. She shook her head. “It’s fine.” The food was fine. The company killed her appetite.

She finished fast and said she was going home. In the car, she stared out the window. His phone rang. He glanced at it and hit decline. The caller didn’t give up. Three more declines. Then he answered. Serafina’s syrupy voice filled the car. “Brandon, I’m at your office. Come find me.” He lowered his voice, even though he thought Raina couldn’t hear. “What are you doing at my office?” “The bedroom, the kitchen, the bathroom, the living room, the car… you said you wanted to try the office. I’m here to make your wish come true. I’ve got on that tight little dress you love. And the set you like best. You’ve got thirty minutes. Otherwise I might have to find someone else…” Her voice was pure provocation. Brandon’s expression shifted. His eyes darkened. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “You wouldn’t dare. You’re mine, you little wildcat. Stay right there. I’m coming to deal with you.” In all their years together, he’d been gentle with Raina in bed. Always careful. Always putting her comfort first. She’d never known he was chasing something like this. He hung up. He pulled to the side of the road and signed, “Baby, I’m so sorry. Work emergency. I need to get back right now. Can you grab a cab here?” His face was all apology. He didn’t notice her fists. This was the highway. It was nearly impossible to get a car. He was dumping her here for another woman. She looked at him, calm. “Actually, I have something to do near your office. Let’s ride together.” He blinked. Panic stirred in his eyes. But he kept driving. When they pulled up to his building, she said, “It’s been a while since I came up. I’ll take a look around today.” His face went pale. His signing turned sloppy. “I’m about to be really swamped. I probably can’t give you a tour. Let’s do it another day. I’ll take you around myself.” She smiled. “I’ll just wander. You do your thing.” He couldn’t find a way out. He walked her up. Every step, his face was tight with anxiety. His eyes darted. They reached his office door. He opened it. A small, curvy figure launched herself at him. “Brandon! I’ve been waiting forever. I missed you so much!” He shoved her off. His face went white, then red. Serafina’s pout melted when she saw Raina. Irritation flickered across her face. “Brandon, why’d you bring her? I got all ready. What a waste.” “Not now. Let me send her off. Be good. Don’t make a scene. I’ll make it up to you later.” Raina tilted her head. “What are you two talking about?” He turned to her fast, signing. “She was just passing by. Said it’s been a while, wanted to say hi. You know how she is. She just got back from abroad. Very huggy. That greeting didn’t mean anything.”

Raina knew exactly how huggy Serafina could get. She’d been there at the airport when they picked her up. Serafina had wrapped herself around him, hugging, kissing, calling it European etiquette. It felt off. But she let it go. Until the group dinners started. The touches went past friendly. Serafina drank from his glass. She ate off his plate. Her hands were always on him. She pressed against him at every chance. Brandon used to keep a careful distance. He had boundaries. So Raina never questioned their relationship. She hadn’t known they’d already been sleeping together behind her back. Her face stayed smooth. She nodded. “I’ll head out, then.” He escorted her down, all attentiveness, and got her a car. She climbed in. In the rearview mirror, she watched him spin around and rush back into the building. A dry smile touched her lips. He really couldn’t wait. Back at the villa, she went to the studio on the first floor. It was full of Brandon. His portraits. Back when they burned hot, he was her only model. She loved painting him. Every brushstroke held the weight of her feelings. The largest piece hung in the center. A portrait of the two of them. Young. Leaning into each other. Eyes only for each other. His eyes had plenty of other things in them now. Clenched sand is best let go. A changed man is best thrown away. She carried Brandon’s portraits to the garden. She threw them into the fire pit. Flames licked up the paper, hungry and fast. They ate through every memory. Last, the painting of them together went into the fire. “Raina! What are you doing?” Brandon. He’d come back. He saw what was burning. He lunged forward without thinking. He reached into the fire and pulled the painting out. But the flames were faster. Half of it was gone. Only his half remained. She watched him. “The paintings got old. They faded. No point keeping them.” Like him. He’d spoiled. She didn’t want him anymore. He clutched his burned hand, red and raw, and signed. “You still can’t just burn them. You said this one was your favorite.” Her eyes stirred. It had been. Now it was the one she wanted to see destroyed. She didn’t speak. She just looked at him. She didn’t understand what he was holding onto. He’d already given himself to another woman. These paintings were worth burning his hands for? He seemed to think she was angry. His face softened. Earnest. “No more, okay? These paintings were your love for me. It breaks my heart to see you throw them away.” The hurt on his face was real. Beneath it, panic. She shrugged. No more. She’d paint again. New things. Nothing to do with the old him.

When Raina woke, Brandon was holding a dress. Red. It shimmered. “Baby, the company gala’s tonight. Try this on. I had a Milan designer make it just for you.” She’d forgotten about the gala. She didn’t want to go. Before she could refuse, his phone rang. He took the call and signed at the same time. “Something at the office. I’ll come back for you tonight.” Then he was out the door. He returned to pick her up, already in his tux. He saw her in the dress. His face lit up. “Baby, you are the most beautiful woman on earth. Look, I chose a red tie. We match.” He looked at her, eager for approval. She glanced at him and said nothing. At the venue, she didn’t want to do the rounds with him. She made an excuse about getting food and slipped away to a corner. Serafina found her. A few of her friends trailed behind. She wore a gold backless gown tonight. Plunging neckline. Bare back. Curves on full display. Sexy. Provocative. Heads turned the whole way. Serafina’s eyes skimmed over Raina, cool and dismissive. No greeting. “Fina, you look insane tonight. Every man in this room is glued to you. Your guy won’t get jealous?” A friend sidled up with a wineglass, smirking. “Brandon picked this out himself. He spent all day with me. He said…” Serafina paused. She lowered her voice, just enough. “It’s easy access. Gets him going just looking at it.” “I told you. You’re the one he wants. The deaf girl? That’s pity. Put in some work. Get her gone.” “Don’t worry. Brandon will be mine soon enough.” The friend pressed a hand to her mouth, a fake little giggle, and glanced at Raina. “The deaf girl’s so stupid. We’re saying all this right in front of her and she has no clue. Probably still dreaming about her big wedding.” The group rippled with mocking laughter. Brandon finished his round and came over, pulling Raina along to greet everyone. One of his buddies leered. “Brandon, you lucky bastard. Look at Fina. That body’s a crime. If she were mine, I wouldn’t let anyone else see.” “We only get to look. Brandon gets to look. And taste.” Laughter exploded through the group. Serafina ducked her head, all coy, her eyes sliding over to Brandon. Everyone exchanged knowing glances. The looks bounced between the two of them. Raina had thought this was an affair. Hidden. Secret. But everyone around them knew. She was the only fool. The punchline. If she hadn’t gotten her hearing back, how long would the lie have lasted? She might’ve married him and never known what was happening beside her in her own bed. Her face was calm. Beneath it, ice. Brandon kept his expression steady, as if they weren’t talking about him. But when he spoke, his voice carried weight. “I told you. Not in front of Raina. If she finds out, I’ll make you all regret it.” He swept a cold look across the group. They shut up. Serafina’s face tightened. She pouted. “Brandon, you’re way too careful. What’s there to be afraid of? She’s deaf. She can’t hear.” The air changed. Everyone knew. Brandon’s number one rule. You didn’t mock his girlfriend’s deafness. Anyone who did walked away with bruises. Or worse. He’d destroyed a man’s business over it once. His best friend from childhood. Drunk. One comment. Brandon beat him so badly the guy couldn’t leave his bed for a month. Then he cut him out of his life completely. It was the ultimate taboo in their circle. Now, everyone looked at each other. Someone opened their mouth, maybe to step in. Someone else pulled them back. Raina waited. Would he still defend her? Would he fight for her like before? Brandon’s smile vanished. His eyes went dark. A long pause. Then, finally: “Don’t say things like that again.” No explosion. No violence. The crowd exhaled. Serafina practically glowed. She had her place in his heart. She knew it. The orphan girl was just a spell he’d fallen under. Give it time. She’d replace her. She came from the right family. She was his equal. So she took the out he’d offered. “Fine. Whatever you say.” The mood loosened. Chatter resumed. Raina held her glass and watched the farce in silence. Serafina had carved out her spot. Brandon wanted to keep the mask on. He didn’t want her to know. She wondered. If he found out she’d been able to hear this whole time, what would his face look like? Would he still stand there so calm, so composed? She was almost curious.

The speeches began. Brandon gave his remarks, polished and commanding. Then he called Raina to the stage. A thousand guests watched. He faced her, speaking and signing together. “Raina is the love of my life. My only love. She means more to me than my own life. Without her, nothing matters. I vow here, in front of everyone, to cherish her forever.” Applause thundered through the room. Every gaze on her was full of envy. She felt nothing. She was thinking about how he did it. The tender words. The lies. How did he hold both at once? If she didn’t know the truth, she’d believe she was the luckiest woman alive. His eyes burned with adoration. He expected her to light up. To tear up. Every time he made a grand gesture like this, she’d fall apart, laughing and crying, scolding him for ruining her makeup. This time, she just curved her lips. It looked like a smile. But what he saw in her eyes was cold. A flash of everything that had happened tonight cut through his mind. A nameless dread coiled in his chest. After the gala, she asked if he was coming home. He started to nod. His gaze caught something across the room. He paused. Then he signed. “I’m sorry. I’ve got more business tonight. You go ahead. Don’t wait up.” She nodded, indifferent. She turned toward the car. He grabbed her arm. His face was serious. “Once this stretch is over. After the wedding. I’ll make it all up to you. Every minute. All my time. Yours.” She gave him a faint smile. It meant nothing. She looked at him a moment longer, then shut the car door. In the mirror, she watched him climb into a red Porsche. The license plate was familiar. She’d seen it on Serafina’s Instagram. That night, Serafina posted again. A photo of her and Brandon in bed. His face was still hidden. But the bare chest was unmistakable. Red marks covered their skin. The caption read: “Someone couldn’t stop all night. His stamina is unreal. He told me I’m the only one who gets him this way. #blushing” Raina had thought this would still hurt. But staring at the screen, she felt nothing but stillness. That was what dead love felt like. She came downstairs the next morning. Brandon and Serafina were in the living room, talking. He saw her and hurried to explain. “Fina’s place is getting renovated. She’s staying with us. Just for now. Is that okay? If you’re not comfortable, I’ll figure something else out.” He looked at her, half hopeful, half nervous. She glanced at the suitcases lined up. They’d already decided. If she said no, she’d be the unreasonable one. Besides, it was his house. He could invite whoever he wanted. She’d be gone soon anyway. “Whatever,” she said. Relief broke across his face. He’d always known Raina was understanding. But something about her indifference unsettled him. He brushed it off. He grabbed Serafina’s bags and headed upstairs. Serafina beamed, trailing after him. “Brandon, I finally get to live with you. Now everything’s going to be so much easier.” “Enough. Not in front of Raina.” “What’s the problem? She can’t hear.” Serafina looked back at Raina. Her eyes held a challenge. A smirk of victory. Raina met her gaze. Still water.

Raina woke in the middle of the night. The space beside her was empty. Thirsty. She got up for a glass of water. At the door, she heard noises. From the room next door. Serafina’s door wasn’t fully closed. Light bled through the gap. “Quiet, you little wildcat.” Brandon’s voice. Hoarse. Breathless. “You said she’s a heavy sleeper. And she can’t hear anyway. You love it when I’m loud. It drives you crazy every time.” Serafina’s voice. All pouty provocation. “Baby, don’t you think this is so much hotter? She’s right next door. We’re in here. You like it. I can tell. Your body doesn’t lie.” A soft laugh. Absolute certainty. “You’re going to kill me.” Desire soaked his words. His hands gripped her waist. He didn’t deny a thing. A crash of bodies. Her cries climbing. Raina lifted her phone. She pressed stop on the recording. She walked back to her room. Her face was blank. Brandon didn’t come back to bed. When she went down the next morning, breakfast was already on the table. A bowl of easy-to-digest oatmeal. Made for her. And a plate of fried eggs and bacon. The kind she’d never liked. She knew without thinking. That plate was for someone else. He’d once sworn he’d only ever cook for her. Now his devotion had a second portion. It felt cheap. Worthless. A little while later, Serafina floated down. Glowing. She sipped her coffee and purred, “Brandon, you wrecked me last night. I can barely walk.” “Delicate thing. You seemed to be having a pretty good time.” He set down a plate of French toast. “You asked for this. I’m fueling you up. Don’t tell me tonight you’re too tired again.” Serafina’s lips curved. Her eyes glittered. “More. I want more.” Brandon’s gaze lingered on her. He didn’t answer. He stood and ladled oatmeal for Raina. “I simmered this for an hour. I checked the temperature. It’s perfect. Eat. Good for your stomach. You’ve lost weight lately. I haven’t been taking care of you. Once this is all over, I’ll make it up to you.” He placed the bowl in front of her. Tender. Doting. The perfect boyfriend. She lowered her eyes. She was leaving. She didn’t need his care. The oatmeal smelled good, but she had no appetite. She drank a glass of milk and stood. “Something to do. I’m leaving first.” “Raina, please eat. I worry about your stomach.” He caught her hand, face tight with concern. She pulled free. Fast. Didn’t look back. “No need. I don’t like it.” He stared after her. The coldness in her voice sent a spike of dread through him. She’d never treated him like this. She used to love his cooking. Was he doing something wrong? Maybe he’d been distant lately. She was just sulking. She was easy to soothe. Once this was over, he’d buy her something nice. She’d come around. She always did. He exhaled. Raina did have business. The studio. Signing the transfer papers. The agent smiled. “Moving somewhere new? We cover the best listings in LA. Guarantee you’ll love what we find.” She shook her head, polite. “I’m leaving Los Angeles.” The departure was days away. She met her best friend, Delia Lin, for lunch. She told her everything. The hearing. Leaving the country. Delia’s face went from shock to joy to fury on her behalf. “Renie, I’m happy for you. Whatever you choose, I’ve got your back.” They spent the whole day together. When Raina got home that night, Brandon was on the couch. His face was dark. He held a courier envelope. “Raina. What is this?” She looked. The passport. Sent from the visa office. She walked over. She took it from his hand. Calm. “It’s a friend’s. She’s traveling. She had it mailed here for safekeeping.” The suspicion in his eyes dissolved. He pulled her into a hug. “Baby, you scared me half to death. You can’t leave me. I wouldn’t survive it.” Half joking. Half serious. His hands shook slightly as he signed. “By the way. I have a business trip. A week. You’ll be okay on your own? I’ll be back right before the wedding.” He watched her, careful. Scared she’d object. She looked at him. Into his dark eyes. “Maybe we should cancel the wedding.” He erupted. “No! Raina, what’s wrong? You don’t want to marry me? Or you’re worried I won’t make it back? I’ll be there. I swear.”

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I was the most untouchable daughter in the Moretti family. Then my brother Eli had me locked in the farm’s lower cellar under the name of “family correction.” I slept on concrete for three solid months. Every day I fought rats for whatever scraps they threw through the slot. If I resisted, the men would hold my head in a barrel of cold water, or press a cattle prod against my ribs. The only thing that kept me alive was the mute errand boy who brought my meals. He would slip me antibiotics in secret, sit quietly while I sobbed and begged him to get me out. He even promised to help me escape. I swore that when I got out, I would tell my brother: I’ve learned my lesson. I’m not the same anymore. Then one day I collapsed on the stone floor with a fever so high my heart gave out. I was convulsing in the dark when I watched the mute man pull off his hood and peel away the fake scar beneath it. The face underneath was Sebastian’s. My fiancé. “This is what you get for slipping something into Zara’s drink. Even if it was just a laxative.” “Consider three months in a cellar a fair trade for the scare you gave her.” “Kill the feed, Marco. Zara says watching me work this hard is breaking her heart.” I watched Sebastian take Zara’s hand and walk toward the stairs. My heart stopped. I drifted upward, floating above the stone floor, looking down at my own body. Covered in filth. Dirt packed under every fingernail. “Cut.” Marco’s voice cracked with satisfaction. “Perfect — absolutely perfect. That dying look in her eyes is incredible!” “Get me a close-up. The Don will want to see this.” Every camera in the cellar swung toward my face at once. A pair of polished oxfords appeared beside my head. Sebastian. He pressed a handkerchief over his nose and looked down at me with contempt. “Okay. Stop performing. Marco already called it — why are you still on the ground?” “Getting too deep into it?” My body rocked slightly as he nudged it with his foot. No response. “Ava Moretti.” Sebastian frowned. “Are you seriously holding your breath this long just to milk the sympathy angle?” “Three months in a cellar really did expand your lung capacity.” I floated above him, screaming into the nothing. “I’m not performing! Sebastian — I’m actually dead! Look at me!” “Don’t be too hard on her, Sebastian.” A black umbrella opened over his head. Zara Cole stepped around the drain and took his arm. “She really was trying her best this time to make it up to me.” “Look at the state of her. So grimy — someone who didn’t know better would think she actually lived down here.” She said it lightly, her eyes skimming over my body on the ground. A slow clap started somewhere nearby. My brother — Eli Moretti, heir to the family, the man every underboss in the city answered to — stepped out from behind the monitor. He looked down at my corpse from above. “Not bad. Three months and she actually got better at this.” He turned to Marco. “Pull that footage and cut it into the reel. Title it: A Moretti Daughter’s Confession.” “That last moment — the best thing she’s ever put on camera.” “I almost believed her.” Looking at my brother, something tore open inside me. Eli. This isn’t an act. I’m in real pain. Real, actual… pain. I’m dying. “Eli,” Marco asked quietly, “do we… wake the Miss now?” “Don’t let her track that filth into my car. It’s disgusting.” Eli barely glanced at me. “It’ll make Zara sick — she’s been under the weather.” “Then…” “Wrap her in a tarp and put her in the trunk.” “Since she’s so committed to playing dead, she can stay in character the whole ride home.” “Saves me from listening to whatever speech she had planned.” The men scrambled to obey. I watched two of them lift my stiff body and fold it into a plastic tarp. Sebastian was already fixing Zara’s rain-damp hair. He didn’t glance at me once. The trunk slammed shut. The engine turned over. My head hit the spare tire with a dull thud. I floated beside myself in the dark, and felt something almost like the urge to laugh. I remembered being eighteen — I bumped my head on a car door once, left a small red mark. Eli saw it and didn’t say a single word before he picked up a tire iron and destroyed the car. “Anything that hurts my little sister,” he’d said, “doesn’t deserve to exist.” And now my corpse was rattling around in the trunk of his car. Was that all an act too, Eli? Or is it simply that the moment Zara Cole walked into our lives, your own sister stopped being worth keeping? Zara turned from the front passenger seat and glanced toward the trunk. “Eli, do you think Ava will be upset with us for putting her back there when she wakes up?” Eli watched the road, the trunk’s direction a flicker in his rearview mirror. He let out a short, cold breath. “She doesn’t get to be upset. I have plenty of ways to keep her quiet once we’re home.” “The family sit-down is already set for tomorrow.” “If she dares cause a scene, I’ll ship her back to that cellar for another three months.” From the back seat, Sebastian added without looking up: “She’d better behave.” “Zara spent three days in the hospital over what Ava put in her drink.” “Three months is the bare minimum.” I drifted along the ceiling of the car, watching the three of them. I never put anything in Zara’s drink. Zara stole my heart medication and took it herself, then turned around and told everyone I tried to poison her. No one believed me. And now I can’t explain it to anyone, ever again. The car bounced along the mountain road, my body knocking against the trunk walls the whole way. When the car finally rolled through the gates of the Moretti estate, Eli popped the trunk and dragged the tarp out himself, one of the housemen taking the other end. One step. Two. Three. My head hit every stone step on the way up. The sound echoed sharp and hollow in the rain. My soul flinched. I reached out instinctively to shield my own skull — and my hands passed through the air. “Heavy,” Eli muttered, disgusted. “If she’s going to play dead, the least she could do is lose some weight.” He dragged the tarp into the main hall and let it drop onto the marble floor. The wrap tore open. My face, caked in filth, lips turning purple, eyes sealed shut, was exposed to the light. Eli stood over me and nudged my leg with his foot. “We’re home. Drop the act. Go clean up and don’t get the floors dirty.” I want to, Eli. I really do. But I can’t. Zara curled closer to Sebastian and murmured: “Did Ava actually pass out? Her color looks… wrong.” “That’s the cold.” Sebastian cut her off. “She was down there three months. Her circulation is shot.” “She fakes this all the time to get out of things.” “The doctor said her health is fine — she can handle it.” Eli’s patience ran out. He crossed the room, turned the thermostat down to its lowest setting, and walked away. “Fine. She wants to lie there — let her lie there.” “Nobody touches her or gives her a blanket tonight. We’ll see how long this lasts.” The three of them went upstairs. Only the cold air remained, moving slowly over my body on the floor. I floated above myself — above that small, alone shape on the marble — and I wanted to cry. But ghosts don’t have tears.

I kept watch through the night. By morning, the bruising had crept all the way up my neck and down both arms. The Moretti household staff arrived early. Today was the family sit-down Eli had organized — every capo, every underboss, every allied don in the region had been summoned to witness what he was calling a “public correction.” I was supposed to stand before them all and apologize. The woman they sent to prepare me reached for my hand, then recoiled. “She’s — cold. Mr. Moretti, her temperature is…” Eli was selecting a tie. He glanced over. “She spent three months underground. Cold hands are expected.” “She probably trained herself to stay still to sell the suffering angle.” “Just put some color on her face. She looks appalling.” “And those purple patches on her neck—” Sebastian came down the stairs. “Bruising from the cellar. Cover it. Today’s theme is reconciliation — we’re not showing up looking like we ran a torture operation.” The woman said nothing more and pressed concealer into my skin with hands that had not stopped trembling. Floating at a distance, I found it almost funny. Concealer could cover the discoloration. Nothing could cover the smell of death. “Get that jacket off her. She reeks.” Zara came downstairs and pointed at a white dress hanging on the rack. “Put her in that.” It was something Zara had worn once and discarded. The size was wrong. Too small. Two housewomen tried to dress me. That’s when the problem became clear. Rigor mortis. My limbs had locked rigid. They couldn’t bend my arms. One of them tried several times and said, “Mr. Moretti, she’s not cooperating.” “Her arms won’t move. She’s fighting us.” Eli’s expression darkened. He set his coffee cup down hard. “Ava Moretti. How much longer are you going to drag this out?” “If you won’t put the dress on, you can walk in there as you are.” My body, naturally, gave no answer. Sebastian crossed the room in four steps. “If you want to play stubborn, fine.” He grabbed my left arm and wrenched it outward. The sound of bone fracturing carried across the entire hall. My soul lurched upward. I screamed — then remembered there was nothing left to feel pain. “There. Strong grip for someone supposedly incapacitated.” Sebastian let go. My arm dropped at a wrong angle, bent where arms should not bend. “Stop the dramatics and get dressed.” He assumed it was defiance. That was all. The housewomen, hands shaking, worked the white dress onto my body. The broken arm required a long glove to hide the shape of it. They folded both hands over my lap and arranged them as best they could. I was dressed, positioned, and styled without a single word of protest from me. Foundation erased the purple of my lips. Concealer buried the bruising on my neck. A high collar covered the marks where the restraints had been locked around my throat in the cellar. Eli walked a slow circle around the wheelchair and nodded. “That’s more like it.” “Three months actually did something. That attitude is gone.” “When she’s quiet, she looks just like she used to.” He reached out and patted my face — cold, stiff, unyielding. “When we get to the venue — if you embarrass this family, or say a single word out of turn, I will make sure you spend the rest of your life wishing you’d stayed in that cellar.” Don’t worry, Eli. In this chair is where I’ll stay. And I will never speak again. “Let’s go. Don’t keep the families waiting.” A houseman wheeled me out through the front door. The sun was sharp. But I couldn’t feel its warmth. The hall where the sit-down was being held was already packed — capos, underbosses, allied heads, all of them in good suits with bad histories. Zara had changed into a fitted black dress; her makeup artist had given her the practiced look of a fragile, grievously wronged woman. While Eli and Sebastian worked the room, Zara drifted over to my wheelchair and crouched beside me. “Ava. You’re so quiet today. I love it.” She pressed her thumb into my side hard and twisted. “You always used to call me a pretty face with no spine. Nothing to say now?” “Tired? Or just out of ideas?” “Don’t worry. There are a few more surprises waiting for you up at that table.” I didn’t respond. Zara tilted her head. “You really can hold a grudge. But then you’re about to lose the engagement anyway. Might as well go quietly.” Lose the engagement? I looked over at Sebastian sharply. He was standing under the chandeliers, leaning toward Eli, murmuring something low. I drifted close enough to hear. “Today’s the right moment. In front of every head in the room. The whole commission watching.” “I’m cutting this loose permanently.” Eli was quiet for a beat. He looked toward my corner of the room. “She brought it on herself. No one else to blame.” In that moment, my soul felt it again — the same gutting pain. So even the last thing I had left — my name, my place in this family, the engagement you chose for me — means nothing. I don’t even get the dignity of being considered a person worth keeping.

“Three — two — one.” The lights blazed on. They wheeled me onto the stage. The restraints kept me upright in the chair, spine straight. Every head in the room turned. The capos. The underbosses. The allied heads who had known me since I was a child sitting under my father’s table playing with his cufflinks. A murmur moved through the room. 【Is that the Moretti girl? Why is she just sitting there like a mannequin?】 【Three months in a cellar broke her.】 【Good. Heard she tried to poison the woman Eli brought under family protection.】 The whispers reached me, word for word. Eli lifted his hand for silence. His expression was perfectly calibrated, a man doing something painful because it was necessary. “Gentlemen. Thank you for coming.” “The only reason we are here today is to confess in the open. No closed doors. No whispers.” He gestured to me. “My younger sister, Ava Moretti, acted out of jealousy and recklessness, causing serious harm to a innocent woman, Zara Cole.” “After three months of correction, she has confronted the consequences of her actions.” “She asked to come here today, in front of every head at this table, to apologize in person.” Murmurs moved around the room. 【Eli Moretti handling his own blood in the open — that’s a don who means what he says.】 【She poisoned a civilian. Three months is light.】 【Make her apologize on her knees.】 Eli turned his back to the room and moved to stand in front of me, blocking half the frame. “Stop this. Talk. Tell them what you did wrong.” I had nothing to give him. He pinched the soft skin under my arm, hard. My body shifted with the pressure, my head dropping lower. Nothing more. Zara stepped in, playing the peacemaker flawlessly. “Eli, don’t. She’s clearly overwhelmed with remorse.” “It’s fine. I forgive her.” She picked up a glass of red wine and pressed it into my broken arm’s hand. “Drink with me, Ava. We move forward together.” The glass tilted. Wine ran down the front of the white dress. My body didn’t react. Zara turned to the room with wounded eyes. “She still can’t look at me. I suppose she hasn’t forgiven herself yet.” 【Zara Cole is a saint. Ava doesn’t deserve it.】 【Someone drag her out of that chair.】 The old capo near the back was no longer murmuring. He was watching my hand. The way it had fallen. The angle of it. He had seen enough bodies in his life to know what a hand looked like when no one was home inside it. Sebastian took the floor and walked to center stage. He stood over my wheelchair and looked down at me. “Since Ava Moretti insists on silence, I have nothing more to protect.” He reached into his jacket and withdrew a small velvet box. What was left of my soul surged with a single reflex of hope. Our ring? He opened the box. Inside was something new — a pink diamond, gleaming, unfamiliar. Sebastian turned away from me. In front of my corpse, in front of every head of every family in the city, he lowered himself onto one knee before Zara Cole. The room went very still. “Zara Cole.” “For three years, you’ve been the constant I held onto.” “Your honesty, your loyalty — you are everything I ever wanted beside me.” He rose. He turned back toward me, and his voice went cold. “I, Sebastian Vane, formally dissolve my engagement to Ava Moretti.” “A woman this cowardly, this incapable of remorse, has no place in my family or in this world.” Every word landed somewhere in the place my soul used to live. He proposed to another woman in front of my corpse. He ground my name into the floor of my own family’s hall and pressed his heel into it. “Sebastian—” Zara’s voice broke beautifully. “I—” Sebastian reached into his other pocket and produced the plain silver band I had given him three years ago. He tossed it sideways without looking. It hit the rim of a waste bin at the edge of the room with a sharp metallic ring and dropped inside. “From today, Zara is the only woman I stand beside.” He slipped the pink diamond onto her finger. She leaned up and kissed him. The room erupted — applause from some, silence from others. In every eye that turned toward me, the background was the same: a girl in a white dress, slumped in a wheelchair, wine-stained, motionless, head bowed. Three years ago, Sebastian had knelt in the snow outside my apartment for three days and three nights to ask me to marry him. His lips had gone pale from the cold. He had gripped my hands and sworn: “Ava, this ring is my life. The moment you accept it, my life belongs to you.” Your life was cheap, Sebastian. Cheaper than I knew. The moment Zara appeared, every last scrap of patience and love you had ever given me transferred to her. I didn’t change. You just stopped looking at me. The ring in the waste bin. That’s where we ended up — you and me and every promise we ever made. Rotting in the same place.

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For three years, I warmed the Don’s bed in another woman’s place. Every night, I endured the Don’s ruthless possession in the dark. By dawn, I would kneel before Tiffany and repeat every word he had whispered against my skin. Until one day, I finally broke. That night, lying beneath him, I wrapped my arms around his neck and begged softly, “Could you at least give me a title? Even being your mistress would be enough.” Chad let out a low laugh. His fingers caught my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “You’re nothing but Tiffany’s maid,” he said coldly. “Making you my mistress would be a public insult to her.” My eyes slowly closed in despair. Everyone in the Lynch family knew how obsessed Chad was with Tiffany. The next morning, I knelt before the old Donna and volunteered to marry her eldest son—the one born with a congenital heart defect, the one doctors claimed would never live past thirty. The old Donna burst into tears. “According to old Sicilian custom, if you marry him, then when he dies, you die with him. Have you really thought this through?” I nodded quietly. “I’ll never regret it.” From the corner of my eye, I saw Chad and Tiffany’s faces turn pale. … That night, Chad walked past my room and entered Tiffany’s. I stood silently in the hallway, listening to his low voice and her soft laughter through the door, my hands clenched tightly at my sides. When Tiffany went to freshen up, I waited a few moments before quietly slipping inside. The room was dark except for thin strands of moonlight spilling across the floor. The moment I stepped through the door, Chad pinned me against it and kissed me hard. “Why’s your skin so cold?” he murmured against my lips. “I was outside watching the snow,” I lied softly. The truth was, I had been standing outside in nothing but a thin nightgown, waiting for Tiffany to summon me at any moment. Chad said nothing else. He carried me to the bed, parted my legs, and kissed me deeply. As always, he knew exactly how to make my body surrender before finally thrusting inside me. He kept me awake the entire night. Just before dawn, I slipped quietly out of bed. Tiffany was already waiting in the dressing room next door. Ignoring the soreness in my body, I knelt on the carpet and repeated every word Chad had said during the night—word for word. Her eyes drifted to the marks scattered across my neck, and her expression immediately darkened. After she returned to Chad’s side, he suddenly opened his eyes, rolled over, and pinned her beneath him. “Was last night not enough for you?” he teased lazily. “You still have energy to run around this early in the morning?” Tiffany blushed and lightly shoved him away. The two of them kissed again while I quietly lowered my head and slipped out of the room. Tiffany came from one of Washington’s most powerful political families. She was beautiful, elegant, and fragile from birth. She had remained unmarried for years simply because no man had ever caught her interest. Until Chad Lynch. The heir of the Lynch family fell for her at first sight during a high-society gala and pursued her relentlessly afterward. Tiffany’s father and the old Don Lynch got along immediately and soon arranged the marriage between the two families. As Tiffany’s personal maid, I had truly been happy for her. Until their wedding night. Tiffany fainted in Chad’s bed. Chad had been raised by Don Lynch like a weapon—ruthless, domineering, terrifying in bed. Tiffany’s delicate body simply couldn’t withstand him. For three nights straight, their marriage remained unconsummated. Rumors quickly spread throughout the Lynch estate that the Donna would soon be replaced by a mistress. Desperate, Tiffany came up with a solution. Every night after the lights went out, I would take her place in Chad’s bed. Among all her maids, my figure and voice resembled hers the most. She promised me it would only last three years. Once her health recovered, she would give me enough money to leave the Lynch family forever. But my entire family served under Tiffany. Their lives rested in her hands. I had no choice but to agree.

An hour later, Tiffany and Chad finally came downstairs together. By then, I had already returned to my room, cleaned myself up, changed clothes, and prepared breakfast in the dining room. The moment Chad saw me, though, his eyes narrowed slightly. “Why are you dressed like that?” Instinctively, my fingers tightened around the tray in my hands. I couldn’t answer. Chad was rough in bed. He always left marks all over my body. The high collar was the only way to hide them. Even in the middle of summer, I had no choice but to keep myself covered. Before the silence could grow awkward, Tiffany gently touched Chad’s arm. “You forgot? Nancy can’t speak.” I quickly lowered my head and nodded. Tiffany had always been terrified that our arrangement would be exposed, so she told everyone in the Lynch family that I was mute. No one had ever questioned it. Chad raised an eyebrow slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Pretty little thing,” he drawled lazily. “Shame she can’t talk.” Tiffany’s smile stiffened almost imperceptibly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked softly. “Don’t tell me you’ve taken a liking to her.” Her tone remained gentle as always. But I could hear the warning underneath it. I immediately lowered my gaze. Tiffany glanced at me coldly, the look in her eyes sharp enough to make my stomach tighten. Chad smirked. “I haven’t even questioned you yet, and you’re already interrogating me?” As he spoke, he casually rolled up his sleeve. “Then explain this.” The bite mark on his wrist instantly drained the blood from my face. Last night, he had been too rough. I had cried until my throat went hoarse, and in a moment of pain and humiliation, I bit him. But to them, it looked no different from flirtation between husband and wife. I stood frozen beside the table, my fingers icy cold. A few minutes later, Chad left the dining room. The second the door closed behind him, a cup of scalding coffee splashed across my chest. I gasped and looked up. Tiffany’s face was twisted with fury. The slap came so suddenly that my head snapped sideways. “You filthy bitch!” she hissed. “How dare you bite Chad? Are you trying to provoke me?” Before I could defend myself, she ordered the servants to drag me downstairs. They tied my hands and locked me in the basement. No food. No water. Chad had gone to the docks to handle family business and wouldn’t return for three days. So Tiffany locked me there for all three. By the time I was nearly delirious from hunger, Bella finally bribed one of the guards and slipped me a bowl of broth through the crack beneath the door. Bella was my younger sister. She had entered the Lynch household with me as a maid, though she knew nothing about my role as Tiffany’s replacement. “Nancy, what happened?” she whispered anxiously. “How did you upset Tiffany this badly?” I shook my head weakly. The only thing I asked was, “When is Chad coming back?” Bella hesitated before answering quietly, “Tonight.” I let out a slow breath of relief. Then I asked about the estate. Bella sighed softly. “The old Donna wants to arrange a marriage for Mr. Boyd according to old Sicilian custom, but nobody’s willing.” Above Chad, there had once been an older brother—Boyd Lynch. The eldest son of the family. But Boyd had been born with a congenital heart defect and had spent most of his life hovering between life and death. Years ago, he withdrew completely from family affairs, which was how Chad became the Lynch family’s acting heir. And according to Sicilian tradition, if a woman married Boyd, she would be expected to follow him into death once he died. With rules like that, no respectable family wanted anything to do with him. Not even the servants dared go near him. That evening, Tiffany finally ordered someone to release me. A lavish dinner had already been prepared in the dining room. Tiffany sat elegantly at the table and smiled at me as though nothing had happened. “Nancy, I acted too impulsively that day,” she said gently. “Things have been chaotic lately, and I completely forgot about you. Don’t take it personally.” “I wouldn’t dare,” I replied quietly. After a moment of hesitation, I finally gathered the courage to speak. “I want to leave the Lynch family.” The smile on Tiffany’s face disappeared instantly. “You want to leave?” I nodded carefully. Three years. That had been our agreement. And those three years were already over. But Tiffany only smiled faintly. “My health still hasn’t recovered. Chad still needs you.” I looked at her in disbelief. She had promised me. Only three years. Tiffany slowly crossed her legs. “If you insist on leaving,” she said lightly, “then I’ll simply have Bella take your place.” My blood ran cold. “You’re sisters, after all. Similar voices. Similar figures.” For a long moment, I couldn’t say a single word. Finally, I forced myself to ask in a trembling voice: “Then… could you at least ask Chad to give me a title?” Tiffany looked at me as though I had said something ridiculous. “You want to become the lady of the house now?” She laughed softly. “If Chad wanted a mistress, there are plenty of women he could choose from. You’d be the last one.” Then her voice turned colder. “And don’t even think about asking him yourself. To him, you’re nothing but a toy.” “Even if you became his mistress, I could still get rid of you whenever I wanted.” My chest tightened painfully. “The gatekeeper has a son around your age,” Tiffany continued casually. “Next year, I’ll arrange your marriage to him. Consider it a reward for your years of service.” I felt sick instantly. Everyone in the estate knew the gatekeeper’s son was mentally unstable and violently abusive toward women. Cold sweat spread across my back. In that moment, I finally understood. Tiffany never intended to let me go. She wanted me trapped forever— a nameless shadow hidden beneath her marriage for the rest of my life. When Chad finally returned that evening, I was standing silently in the corner of the living room. Tiffany immediately rose to greet him. “You’re finally home,” she said sweetly. “Nancy accidentally broke one of the Italian antique cups, so I made her stand here and reflect.” Chad barely spared me a glance as he loosened his tie. His expression looked exhausted. “What’s happening with Boyd?” Tiffany sighed softly. “You know how it is. No decent family would willingly send their daughter to die beside a dying man.” Chad frowned impatiently. “Then find someone desperate enough.” His voice was cold and indifferent. “Money. Threats. Whatever works.” “Mother already dislikes you enough. Handle this properly, and maybe her attitude will improve.” Tiffany obediently lowered her eyes. “Yes, darling.”

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Seven years of marriage. My husband ran from our wedding thirteen times. The first time, his personal assistant sprained her ankle. I stood alone under the flower arch, waiting from sunset until midnight. The second time, she had a migraine. He left the ring box on the altar and walked away. After that, every single time we set a wedding date, something happened to her. Food poisoning. Anxiety attack. A leak in her apartment. Thirteen times. Every single one. After the thirteenth, I finally decided to let go. But the moment I walked toward another man, he went insane trying to drag me back. … Seven years of marriage. Elliott Carrington and I never had a wedding. Today was our seventh anniversary, the day we’d stood in front of a city clerk and exchanged vows. It was also the day he’d promised, for the thirteenth time, to finally give me a real ceremony. At the anniversary party, I stood off to the side. Everyone was busy toasting Elliott and the woman who never left his side. I sat alone by the towering cake, drinking my own champagne. He didn’t look at me. Not once. The party was supposed to be mine. It ended with Elliott’s indifference and the guests’ carefully averted eyes. Afterward, he was supposed to come with me to the wedding studio and finalize Sunday’s ceremony. Instead, he left me on the curb. Outside the restaurant, his black Cadillac Escalade pulled up right in front of me. I reached for the passenger door. He spoke first. “Serena had too much to drink. I need to make sure she gets home safe. Handle the wedding stuff yourself.” “I won’t be back tonight. Don’t wait up.” He was already rolling up the window before I could even react. I pulled my gaze away from Serena Renée, sitting in the passenger seat where I rarely sat. Before the window closed completely, I said it. Calm. Level. “Sure. Drive safe.” Elliott had braced himself for her to scream, to cry, to demand why he was leaving again. Nothing came. She was so calm. Like she was saying goodbye to a stranger. It made something unfamiliar twist in his chest. But he was in a hurry to get to Serena. He shoved the unease down. His voice loosened, just slightly. “I’ll be there this time.” The window went up. He drove off without looking back. Late autumn in New York. The cold bit into me as I watched his taillights disappear. It wasn’t the autumn cold. It was the kind of cold that seeps out from inside your bones. Elliott rarely let me sit in his passenger seat. He never offered me that kind of careful, attentive escort. I used to think he was just a cold person. Now I understood. It was just the person in the seat who was different. I married him at twenty-two. Seven years of marriage. Not a single complete wedding. I’d known before we married that he had someone in his heart. Someone he’d loved since he was young. He agreed to marry me because his grandmother practically commanded it. And because that person had abandoned him and left for the West Coast. Now she was back. His personal assistant. Glued to his side day and night. I took a deep breath. Set my glass down. Some things need to end.

The next afternoon, I went to the wedding studio alone to finalize everything. “Ivy, are you sure you want to cut all these elements? You really don’t want to discuss it with Mr. Carrington first?” Madeleine Shaw, the wedding planner, was asking me for the third time. She’d handled all twelve of my and Elliott’s previous attempts. We went way back. I let out a tired smile. “No need. Simple is fine. He won’t care.” “I still remember the first time the two of you walked in here together. The chemistry between you, the sparks. Like something out of a movie. Bright. Happy. I don’t know why your weddings never make it to the altar, but the state you’re in now, it looks like you’ve been drained dry.” The ache in Madeleine’s voice cut deeper than professional concern. She was right. Elliott and I had once shared moments beautiful enough to survive countless heartbreaks. That time was short, but it was enough to keep me going through all the pain. It was late when I got home. I collapsed onto the sofa, exhausted. I looked around. Festive decorations everywhere. I’d put them up myself for Sunday’s wedding. White and champagne balloons floated in the living room. Eucalyptus leaves and ribbons draped the mantel. By the floor-to-ceiling windows stood the wedding dress I’d flown to Paris to commission for our first attempt. When I’d ordered that dress, my heart was so full. So hopeful. I’d poured every dream of our future together into it. That dress never made it through a single complete ceremony. The house was so quiet. All those thoughtful decorations, and it still felt empty. Just like my heart. I washed up, then opened a folder I hadn’t touched in a long time. My old design work. Sitting in the cloud, gathering digital dust. One by one, I looked at the jewelry designs. Some of my best work. Something warm stirred in my chest. Before the marriage, I was a jewelry designer. I had a name in the industry. After, he said he wanted me home more. I dropped everything. Poured every ounce of myself into him. Slowly, my sketchbook got shoved into a storage closet. Thinking back now, I realized what I’d lost wasn’t just a career. It was me. I wasn’t always like this. People used to say I was decisive. Efficient. Never dragged things out. These past years, I barely recognized myself. Once I saw it clearly, I made the call. I knew the number by heart. “I’ve thought about it. I’ll take the offer.” The voice on the other end paused, then lit up. “Great. I’ll book your flight right now.” I hung up. My fingers rested on the satin of the wedding dress for a moment. So smooth. And so cold. Sunday would be the last time. Two more days. Then everything would go back to where it was supposed to be. Elliott and I, we probably wouldn’t see each other again.

A little past three in the morning, my phone blew up with notifications. I picked it up. Over a dozen messages from Serena. All photos, short videos of her with Elliott, and a voice recording. I hesitated. Then I tapped the recording. The clink of glasses came first. Then Serena’s voice, tipsy and probing. “Eli, just admit it. You married her because your grandmother told you to. Right?” Long silence. Just when I thought no answer was coming, Elliott’s voice came through. Low. Rough. Not an answer. A warning. “Serena. Enough.” He didn’t deny it. She laughed. Smug. Knowing. My stomach seized. There it was. Thirteen times. It was over. I didn’t cry. I didn’t even feel sad. Just tired. Too tired to even be angry. I closed the recording. Shut out the sounds that were getting harder to stomach. I wasn’t going back to sleep anyway. I got up and started packing. There wasn’t much in this house that was truly mine. Seven years. Two suitcases was all it took. By the time I finished, the sky was starting to lighten. Elliott came home just as I’d drifted off on the sofa. I used to leave a light on for him, no matter how late he came back. Or if he came back at all. I’d hear his car pull into the driveway and walk out to the porch to meet him. Maybe time does that. Or maybe I just got used to it. This time I didn’t wait. And it turned out he’d forgotten his keys. I opened the door. His complaint hit me first. “Why did it take you so long?” “I fell asleep. Actually, you could have—” used the fingerprint lock. He cut me off. “Never mind. What are you doing? What’s with all the boxes?” He stared at the cardboard boxes in the corner. Gifts he’d given me over the years. His face flickered. “Oh. I’m going to East Hampton today to see Grandmother. Some things don’t fit here. I’ll store them at her place.” I shifted a box out of his way without a second glance. “Yeah. Give Grandmother my regards. And you know she’s older now. No need to go into details about everything.” His voice softened. I nodded. He exhaled, relief on his face, and headed for the study. I ignored him. Went back to sorting the gifts I’d once treasured. A few minutes later, Elliott came back out carrying two velvet jewelry cases. I recognized them instantly. The heirloom sets Grandmother had given me. One was an Edwardian diamond tiara. The other, an Art Deco emerald necklace. She’d said they were meant for the woman who would carry the Carrington name. Elliott had asked for them back a while ago. I understood now. They were always meant for Serena. He saw me glance at the cases. He hesitated. “Serena has a charity gala next week. She wanted to borrow these to go with her dress. She’ll return them after.” I nodded. “Whatever you want.” They belonged to that role anyway. Not to me. “You…” He stopped. Stared at me. Something flickered in his eyes. Unease. The old me would have screamed at him, fought him, forbid him from having anything to do with Serena. Would have dragged Grandmother into it. But these past two times, my reaction had been calm. Cold. Elliott felt something slipping out of his control. He just couldn’t name it. “After Sunday’s done, we could take a trip. Where do you want to go?” He said it at the door, glancing at the pile of his gifts against the wall. The words came out stiff. Forced. Then he shut the door and left.

I looked at what was left. The teddy bear had toppled over when Elliott slammed the door. I picked it up and just held it for a long time. My mother never believed in marriage. She wanted a child, not a husband. She found a sperm bank. Did IVF. I was sixteen when she landed a dream curatorial position in Paris and fell into a new relationship. She moved to Europe. Left me with her old friend, Eleanor Carrington. When I first arrived at the Carrington estate in the Hamptons, I was drowning in the grief of being abandoned. It was a warm afternoon. Seventeen-year-old Elliott walked up to me holding this teddy bear. The sun felt soft that day. He didn’t say a word. Just shoved the bear into my arms and walked away, cool and untouchable. That bear was the beginning of everything. I put the bear at the bottom of a box. On my way out, I stopped at a Goodwill donation bin by the curb. The metal lid was a little rusted. It creaked when I pushed it open. The teddy bear caught for a second, its head too big, tilting sideways before sliding silently into the dark. No echo. Nothing. Just like my seven years. “Ivy, are you sure about this?” Grandmother set a cup of Earl Grey in front of me in the old East Hampton house. Across from her sat Bill Carter, the divorce attorney she’d used for forty years. I flipped the thick prenup to the property division clause. When Elliott had me sign it back then, the terms were generous. A vacation house in the Hamptons. A substantial trust fund. “I’m sure, Grandmother.” I picked up the pen and signed my name on the divorce papers. “According to the agreement. The money and the house, I’ve authorized Bill to sell them. The proceeds go to my alma mater’s scholarship foundation.” Grandmother watched me do it all. Silent. She took my hand. Her eyes glistened. “You’re a good girl. He doesn’t deserve you.” “It’s not about deserving, Grandmother.” I held her hand, meeting those eyes that had seen so much. “These years, the problems between Elliott and me, you didn’t cause them. You’ve only ever been good to me.” “Four years ago, I saw hope. I thought he was finally getting serious about you. You two had a stretch of real marriage. And then Serena came back right at that moment. It’s my fault. I let you suffer all these years.” She was right. I’d spent three years trying. Slowly melted his ice. We’d had a brief stretch of something sweet. Something real. I thought everything was finally getting better. Then Serena returned from Los Angeles. Everything stopped. Elliott pulled away harder. Grew colder. More cruel. I promised Grandmother again and again that I’d visit. Only then did she let me go. I left the estate, her reluctant gaze following me out. At the end of the driveway, a black Escalade sat waiting. “The wedding’s tomorrow. I’m coming home tonight. Thought I’d pick you up.” Elliott rolled down the window before I could speak. I nodded. Got in. Said nothing. The drive back was dead silent. Elliott seemed to hate it. His fingers tapped the steering wheel, restless. He started to say something several times, then swallowed it. Finally, he broke. “How’s Grandmother?” “She’s fine. You should visit her more.” Silence again. Elliott pressed his lips into a hard line. He didn’t speak for the rest of the drive. When we got home, he went straight to the study and closed the door. Maybe I imagined it, but he seemed angry. The thought lasted about three seconds. Elliott never had much of an expression around me anyway. I showered and was about to say a final goodbye when he came to me first. “Serena’s not feeling well again. You know she doesn’t have many people here. I’ll go check on her. Try to come back soon.” Something was different. He sounded almost guilty. Almost like he was asking permission. I swallowed the words I’d meant to say. Put on a clean, practiced smile. “Okay. Drive safe.” Relief washed over his face. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t worry. I said I’d be there Sunday, and I will.” He grabbed his jacket. Changed his shoes. The promise fell with the slam of the door. I let out a bitter laugh. He wasn’t coming back tonight. I’d wanted to say goodbye in person. Guess that wasn’t happening.

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I am the Matriarch of all Lycans — ancient beyond counting, immortal, ageless. The Lycan keeps me hidden within the palace, a sacred relic they parade as their good-luck charm. I have guided every Lycan King across the centuries. I devised their strategies, advised their wars, and carved out kingdoms from nothing. Then a new Luna arrived. The moment the Lycan King stepped away, she kicked open my chamber door. “I always wondered what kind of cheap little whore had the King running to this corner of the palace every day,” she spat, stepping inside as though she owned every stone beneath her feet. “You don’t even have a title. You’re nothing but the lowest mistress around here. Disgusting.” I almost laughed. My great-great-grandson — who is barely a thousand years younger than I am — would make me his mistress? The thought alone was absurd. Beside me, my handmaiden tugged anxiously at my sleeve, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Matriarch, please don’t let it upset you. When the King returns, he’ll set things right for you…” I smiled, rose from my chaise, and smoothed my robe. Whether the King set things right was the least of my concerns. After all, whoever sat on the throne of this kingdom — that was my decision to make. Word had reached me that Alpha Lucas had returned to the capital just days ago, victorious from the northern campaign. That boy. I had raised him with my own hands. He had ten times more sense than this Lycan King. … I had no interest in wasting breath on such a foolish creature. I tilted my chin toward my handmaiden. “Elara. Go deliver a message.” “Go to Alpha Lucas’s pack. Tell him my peace has been disturbed, and I’d like him to come collect me.” The Luna blinked — then burst into laughter, doubling over and clutching her stomach. “I didn’t realize the palace had produced such a character. Invoking Alpha Lucas, of all people.” “Do you have any idea who Alpha Lucas is? He is the Lycan King’s own uncle. He commands five hundred thousand elite warriors. And you — a nameless, titleless nothing — think you’re worthy of being collected by him?” Those five hundred thousand warriors were mine to begin with. I trained them personally and passed them to Alpha Lucas when he came of age. He had begged me for years to come live at his pack. But the Lycan King had been young and fumbling on the throne, running to me every single day with questions. I had declined out of obligation. I said nothing to the Luna. I simply glanced at Elara. Elara finally snapped to attention and hurried toward the door. “Stop.” The Luna’s voice cracked like a whip. The attendant at her side moved instantly to block Elara’s path. “I have not given permission to leave. Since when do handmaidens walk wherever they please? Have you no sense of order?” I reclined against the chaise and watched the scene unfold with quiet eyes. A thousand years. I had seen this exact performance more times than I could count. Every generation, someone new had to try it. The Luna noticed that Elara would not answer her, and her interest sharpened. She turned toward me, wearing a grin. “Oh, how loyal. Your mistress stays silent, so you stay silent too. Tell me — do you both think you’ve found someone important to hide behind?” “I’m genuinely curious about you,” she continued, prowling closer. “What exactly is your story? The King is here every other day. He skipped the Lycan royal’s anniversary banquet. He walked out of a council session mid-deliberation because someone told him you weren’t feeling well.” “I expected some breathtaking beauty. But looking at you now…” She shrugged. “Nothing special.” I kept the amusement off my face. Of course the King put my wellbeing first. Without me, he would never have clawed his way onto that throne as a weak werewolf of a lesser line. And he certainly would not have kept it. The Luna stepped closer and cupped my chin in her fingers, forcing my head up. “Let me guess,” she said, studying me. “Is it that you’re exceptional in bed? Or did you use some kind of spell — slip something into his drink to keep him crawling back?” I let her hold my chin. I smiled. “How old are you, Luna?” She blinked, thrown off by the question. She answered before she could stop herself. “Eighteen.” “Eighteen.” I nodded slowly. “When I was your age, your great-great-great-great-grandfather was still in diapers.” Silence settled over the room like snowfall. The Luna’s expression traveled from confusion, to blankness, to fury. “You — you dare insult me?!” She raised her hand to strike.

I did not move out of the way. Not because I couldn’t. After a thousand years of living, there was not a soul in this palace fast enough to touch even the hem of my robe if I chose otherwise. But I suddenly remembered the last time I had been struck. More than four hundred years ago. A Lycan Queen, just as entitled, just as blind to her own smallness. She had stormed through my door the same way. Called me the same names. She later spent an entire night on her knees outside my chamber, forehead to the ground, begging me to put in a good word for her with the King. The slap landed. My cheek burned. I lay against the chaise and let it hurt, and I thought: four hundred years, and these people have learned absolutely nothing. The Luna froze after hitting me. “Why didn’t you dodge?” I looked at her. I didn’t answer. Something in my gaze unsettled her. Her humiliation curdled into rage, and she lunged forward, grabbing my collar. “What kind of look is that? I hit you and you look at me like that?” Elara was frantic on the other side of the room — trying to push past the much larger attendant, unable to break through, her voice cracking with tears. “My Lady! You can’t do this! You really cannot — she’s not — she isn’t—” The attendant moved before Elara could finish. A single strike, precise and brutal. Elara crumpled to the floor, unconscious. The fist I had tucked inside my sleeve tightened. A thousand years. I had made my peace with loss long ago. The handmaidens in my life came and went like tides — each one a brief shimmer in the long river of time, and then gone. But that did not mean I would stand by while they suffered for serving me. The Luna noticed my reaction. Her eyes lit up as though she had found something delightful. “Oh. That hurt you, didn’t it?” She released my collar and strolled to where Elara lay, nudging the girl’s face with the toe of her shoe. “She’s just a handmaiden. Is she really worth your feelings?” “Luna.” My voice was even. “Does the Lycan King know what you’re doing here today?” She paused. “The King? He’s in council with his advisors right now. No time to worry about something as small as you.” “And even if he knew — do you really think he’d pick a nameless, titleless thing like you over me?” I said nothing. She seemed to remember something then, and turned to her attendant with a curious frown. “Actually — how long has she been in this palace? What exactly is she?” The attendant smiled nervously. “My Lady, I looked into it. She has no rank, no title. Everyone in the palace calls her the King’s… outside mistress.” The Luna’s face transformed. She laughed until her sides shook. “A mistress? An outside mistress? All this time I thought she was someone, and she can’t even claim the lowest rank among the mistress!” I rose slowly to my feet. She took one instinctive step back. “What do you think you’re doing?” “Only trying to tell you something, Luna,” I said, unhurried. “You are eighteen. That is a young and beautiful age — a time when life has given you everything and asked nothing in return. You grew up cherished. Nothing has broken you yet.” Something almost like pride crossed her face. “Naturally. My father and brother gave me everything I ever wanted.” “Which is exactly why,” I continued, “you do not yet know which words must never be spoken, which lines must never be crossed, and which people must never be provoked. You need know which is your power and rights boundry.” “Leave room with your respect, Luna. The bridges you burn today are the ones you may need to cross tomorrow.” She stared at me for a moment. Then she laughed again, high and sharp. “You — a mistress without even a name to call your own — are lecturing me about power and rights?”

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My father hated me for ten years. He blamed me for my mother’s disappearance. He hated that my face bore no resemblance to hers. He adopted a girl who looked almost exactly like her — eight out of ten, people said — and spoiled her rotten. He took her on trips around the world, brought her to Ice-Moon Pack gatherings, paraded her on talk shows, and announced to every werewolf in the territory that she was his one and only daughter. Meanwhile, I wore ill-fitting hand-me-downs and slept in the servants’ quarters. He let her bully me, slander me, push me — a girl who couldn’t swim — into Moonlight Lake. He said I deserved it. And I believed him. Until the day I turned sixteen. That was the day Mom came back. ———- Three days from now was my sixteenth birthday. Every year, on that same day, Father threw a birthday banquet — for Vivienne Hartwell. Every single classmate had received Vivienne’s birthday invitation. Every one of them except me. “Rosalind, don’t take it personally,” Vivienne said, drifting up to my desk with practiced sympathy. “It was probably the butler’s mistake. He must have miscounted and missed one.” She stood there, her face a mask of apologetic innocence. I kept my head down, working through my problem sets without so much as a glance in her direction. I’d had nearly ten years to study Vivienne’s tricks. I’d long since stopped being surprised by any of them. “Vivienne, why are you even explaining yourself to her?” A classmate shot to her feet, indignant on Vivienne’s behalf. “You’re too kind, that’s the problem. That’s why she keeps walking all over you.” “Exactly!” another chimed in. “She’s a servant’s daughter, freeloading under your roof, eating your family’s food, going to school on your father’s money — and instead of being grateful, she steals from you. Anyone else would have thrown her out by now.” “She’s nothing but an ungrateful little snake!” “She’s just jealous, Vivienne. Jealous of your family name, your grades, your popularity.” “Better she doesn’t come at all. Last thing we need is for her to ruin a perfectly good birthday party.” “She lives at Hartwell Manor anyway — she doesn’t need an invitation. On the mistress’s birthday, shouldn’t the help be there to serve?” Laughter rippled through the room. Vivienne waited until they’d had their fill, then spoke in her soft, unhurried way. “Oh, please — I wouldn’t ask Rosalind to do that. Other days, maybe, but that day is her birthday too.” She tilted her head, an artful little frown playing at her lips. “Rosalind, I’m so sorry. I did want to invite you to cut the cake with me. But Father said no. Can’t exactly blame him, can we, after what you did? It’s only natural he doesn’t want you there.” I picked up my pen and threw it directly at her face. “Get out.” —

Ten years ago, my mother disappeared. She had gone to pick up the birthday gift she’d ordered for me — a gift I had begged and pleaded for — and she never came home. Father searched for her like a man possessed. He turned the territory upside down. He found nothing. I cried for her every day. Mom had raised me like a little queen. All my life, one cry from me had been enough to make the world bend in my direction. One afternoon, the nanny couldn’t settle me down and brought me to Father as a last resort. He stared at me for a long moment with something cold and dark in his eyes. Then he kicked me away. “Get out of my sight.” “How dare you cry. How dare you.” “If you hadn’t thrown your tantrum about that birthday gift, your mother would never have gone out. This is your fault.” “Don’t let me see your face again. Go.” From that day on, the little princess who had been cradled in her mother’s arms became a burden no one wanted. Whether I ate depended on the nanny’s mood. And then Father brought home a girl from the orphanage. A girl who looked like Mom. He gave her my bedroom. He gave her my princess dresses. He gave her my birthday. He gave her my identity. While he filmed a family reality show with her at age six, I was back at the manor being mistreated by the nanny, eating soured leftovers. The day he publicly announced that Vivienne Hartwell was his only daughter, I understood: I had lost my father. —

After school, I came home bleeding. Vivienne was wildly popular. The moment I’d thrown the pen at her, a boy in our class had leapt up and shoved me into a desk. My forehead caught the corner of it, and as I lay there on the floor, I looked up at a room full of faces — cold, amused, utterly indifferent. From elementary school through high school, I had never had a single friend. Vivienne had seen to that, cheerfully orchestrating my social exile year after year. I wasn’t afraid of being isolated. What I was afraid of was the teacher’s demand: a parent had to come to school by Monday. The boy’s parents arrived that same afternoon, all fierce defense and wounded pride. “My son was standing up for what was right — everyone saw it. She threw the pen first.” “Baby, are you hurt? Let me look at you.” “A girl this unstable shouldn’t be allowed in school. Who knows what she’ll do next time?” I stood there with blood drying on my face and thought: if Mom were still here, she’d fight for me like this. She wouldn’t do what Father did — check Vivienne’s face for scratches while waving me away with a look of disgust. —

“You knew Vivienne had a filming session today, and you still had to go and mark up her face.” “Rosalind Hartwell, your mother was one of the kindest souls I’ve ever known. How did she produce something like you? Sometimes I wonder if you’re even hers.” “Haven’t you done enough damage to your mother already? Now you want to destroy Vivienne too?” I studied my father’s face. That look of revulsion — I’d been watching it for ten years. He hadn’t always looked at me that way. When Mom was alive, he loved me. He grieved sometimes that I didn’t resemble her the way he wished I did, but he poured himself into being my father all the same. He named me Rosalind. Said I was Hartwell’s most precious jewel. He bought me beautiful dresses and fine jewelry. On my fifth birthday, he gave me an estate. When a classmate shoved me on the playground, he was furious — he summoned the child’s family to apologize in person and hired three different coaches to teach me self-defense. “If someone hurts you,” he told me, “you hit back. I don’t care who it is.” “No matter what happens,” he promised, “your father and mother will always have your back.” The man who had made that promise was now standing in front of me, demanding to know why I had hurt *his* Vivienne. “Go to your room and think about what you’ve done. You don’t leave until I say so.” Not once, through any of it, did he look at the wound on my forehead. Not once did I find the courage to tell him what the teacher had said. He wouldn’t come to school for me. In all these years, he had only ever attended parents’ meetings for Vivienne. —

By the time they let me out the next morning, my wound had gone septic. I pushed open my door to find the main hall full of cameras — lighting rigs, production crew, a host and her assistants arranged around Father and Vivienne in the sitting room. The tenderness on Father’s face was something I hadn’t seen directed at anyone in ten years. Host: “As the Alpha of Ice-Moon Pack, you must have very little time to spend with your daughter. How have you managed to raise such a remarkable young woman?” Father: “She’s just naturally good. I only have the one daughter, and no matter how busy I get, I always make time for her.” Vivienne snuggled into his arm and pouted prettily. “My daddy is the best daddy in the whole world. I just wish he had even more time for me! Daddy, we haven’t gone abroad at all this year!” Father laughed, indulgent and a little helpless. “Alright, alright. After your birthday, I’ll take you wherever you want to go.” I blinked. My chest felt hollow. I had seen this scene so many times that it barely cut anymore. Not much, anyway. But I couldn’t help it. My mind drifted back — ten years, to when Mom was still here. I had been the one tucked under her arm, making ridiculous little demands, testing the limits of how much she would give me. The answer was always: everything. She’d had a moonstone necklace she’d worn for as long as I could remember. I mentioned once that I liked it, and she took it off and fastened it around my neck without a second’s hesitation. “Take good care of this, my Rosalind. It belonged to your grandmother. I’ve worn it for so many years.” She had stroked my hair as she said it, and there had been something in her eyes I was too young to understand — a grief and a longing I couldn’t name. On the other side of the room, the host’s voice shifted. “Vivienne, do you think about your mother often? The late Mrs. Hartwell was known throughout the pack as the perfect Luna. We’ve heard that Vivienne hopes to attend the Luna Academy — is that ambition inspired by her mother’s legacy?” The air in the room tightened. Mom’s name was a forbidden thing in Father’s house. Normally, a question like that would have made him explode. But today was different. Today was Vivienne’s first public appearance since her wolf had awakened. She had emerged as a low-ranking Omega, and Father was already laying the groundwork to position her as a future Luna — hoping that status, carefully cultivated, might one day attract a powerful mate. Vivienne’s expression fell into practiced sorrow. “I miss my mother every single day. I want to be a Luna who truly cares for the members of this pack — partly because I want to become someone as perfect and capable as she was.” She reached into her collar and drew out a necklace. “This is the only thing she left me. Whenever I’m sad, I take it out and hold it, and I feel like she’s still with me.” The moment I saw it, something detonated in my chest. That was my necklace. My mother’s necklace. The one she had given me. Vivienne had taken everything from me over these ten years. That necklace was the last thing I had left. I crossed the room in four steps and tore it from her hands. —

“Rosalind Hartwell!” Father’s face darkened instantly. “Who gave you permission to come out here?” “Rosalind?” Vivienne stood, confusion arranged perfectly across her features. “What’s going on? Are you alright?” “When did you steal it, Vivienne?” I checked the box where I kept the necklace every night before I slept. Last night, it had still been there. Through every year they’d refused to care about me, that necklace had been the one thing that kept me from drowning. It was proof that someone had once loved me. Proof that my mother had been real. “Steal? I — what?” Vivienne’s eyes went wide with theatrical innocence. “Rosalind, that is enough.” Father’s jaw was tight. “This is Vivienne’s interview.” “I don’t care about any interview! This necklace belonged to my mother and she gave it to me. What gives her the right to take it? She’s already taken everything else — wasn’t that enough?” “And another thing — my mother is not dead. Watch your mouth, Vivienne. This is not a keepsake. It is not a relic.” The host looked between us uncertainly. “Is this…?” Vivienne shot Father a panicked glance. Father’s expression settled into something smooth and cold. “A servant’s relative. She lives on the grounds.” I gripped the necklace until the chain bit into my palm. The cold started somewhere at the base of my spine and spread upward. Father had told the world long ago that he had only one daughter. Vivienne had spent years at school calling me the nanny’s child. But this was the first time he had said it to my face, out loud, with cameras rolling. The panic drained from Vivienne’s expression. Satisfaction replaced it. She moved while I was still reeling, and snatched the necklace from my hand. “Rosalind, I think you’re confused. This isn’t yours.” “If there’s something else you’d like — anything else, no matter the cost — just tell me and I’ll give it to you. But this necklace is the only thing my mother left me. I can’t let it go.” The crew watched me with poorly concealed contempt. A servant’s child, crashing a live broadcast to steal from the young mistress. The math wasn’t hard for them. Someone muttered: “She’s doing it on purpose. Wants the drama. Wants to go viral.” I didn’t have the energy to care what any of them thought. I only wanted the necklace back. “Give it back. It’s the last thing she gave me. Give it back.” Vivienne let me grab her wrist — then opened her fingers. The necklace fell. The moonstone pendant struck the marble floor and shattered into pieces. I stumbled. My mind went perfectly blank. The last thing my mother had ever given me. Gone. “Now are you satisfied? Get out.” Father’s voice was barely controlled fury, his eyes like he wanted to tear me apart. Vivienne pressed a hand to her mouth, tears welling. “Rosalind — how could you?” The crew murmured their disapproval. I heard none of it. I was already on my knees, gathering the fragments. The broken edges sliced my fingertips. My tears fell onto the cuts — warm, wet, stinging. —

I became the target of everyone’s rage. The footage went out the same day. Viewers flooded in to comfort Father and Vivienne while I was dissected and denounced by thousands of strangers. Several of my classmates set themselves up as insiders and began posting exposés — claiming that the Hartwell family funded my private school tuition, that Vivienne had endured my abuse with saintly patience for years, that I was the aggressor, always had been. *Ungrateful little snake.* *This is exactly why you shouldn’t help people. They raise them up and get bitten for it.* *That necklace was moonstone — Hartwell-level quality. Where would a servant’s daughter get something like that? If her mother could afford moonstone, what was she doing working as a nanny?* *Make her pay for what she broke. That was Vivienne’s mother’s property.* *Vivienne looks so much like her mother. I used to follow Serena — seeing Vivienne cry is breaking my heart. If Serena were alive, she’d be heartbroken to see her daughter treated this way.* *Serena adored her daughter. If she knew this was happening…* Serena was my mother’s name. I read that last comment and felt a dull, deep ache. If Mom were still alive, would she grieve for me? If she came back — would she even recognize me? Would she take Vivienne’s side the way Father did? After all, it was my fault she’d disappeared. After all, I looked nothing like her. —

Vivienne’s birthday party: the whole class was invited, and they all came. They knocked on my door and shouted insults through it, rallying to Vivienne’s honor. I was locked in. Father’s orders. He hadn’t even deigned to enter the room — he’d delivered his verdict through the door. “Rosalind Hartwell, do you have any idea how much your mother would be ashamed of you? That necklace was the most precious thing she owned. It belonged to your grandmother.” “You deliberately went after Vivienne. Do you know how long she spent preparing for that broadcast?” “If your mother could see you now, she would regret ever having you.” After Father left, Vivienne let herself in with a key. “Rosalind. Tell me — when Father said out loud that you were a servant’s daughter, what did that feel like?” “You’ve got real nerve, staying in this house. You killed your mother. Father despises you. He wishes you were dead — he just hasn’t said it to your face yet.” I didn’t answer her. I looked out the window. The grounds were lit up and alive. They’d set up a venue along the edge of the artificial lake — flowers, banners, helium balloons in clusters, a champagne tower. Gift boxes were stacked in every color. The birthday cake was ten tiers high. I had seen this scene every year for ten years. It was my memory, my dream. The birthday that had been taken from me and given to someone else, in my own home, while I watched from the window. Someone called Vivienne down to cut the cake. Her face went cold. She hated being ignored. “Rosalind! I’m talking to you!” “Why didn’t you die with your mother?” She grabbed the moonstone fragments from my hand and hurled them out through the open window — into the lake. I was on my feet before I’d made any decision. I climbed the windowsill and jumped. Screams. Shouts. Cold water flooding my ears and nose. As consciousness slipped away from me, I thought I heard her voice. Mom’s voice. Calling my name. “Rosalind! Baby, I’m here!” —

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On my wedding day, my wife’s crew of guy friends cornered my little sister in the bridal suite. I grabbed a chair and tried to smash the door down to save her. My wife wrapped her arm around my throat and threw me to the floor. “It’s our big day, babe. The boys are just having a little fun.” Her father sat on the couch across the room, rolling a pair of walnuts in his palm, watching like it was entertainment. When the door finally opened, my sister stumbled out — clothes torn, blood running from her mouth. She had bitten through her own tongue trying to end it. Her father called in favors to have it ruled an accident. They told me to keep my mouth shut for the sake of both families’ reputations. I came at them with a kitchen knife. My wife kicked me square in the chest. I choked on my own blood and died right there in the hallway outside the bridal suite. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment the wedding cars pulled up. The first thing I did was send my sister away — told her to go find our aunt. I watched her walk out the front gate of the estate and finally let myself breathe. I thought we were safe. I thought we’d escaped. Then, a few minutes later, a scream tore through the ceiling above me. I looked up in horror at the locked door of the bridal suite. My sister was gone. So who the hell was inside? A scream from upstairs. Then a heavy thud — the kind that vibrates through the floor and makes the crystal chandelier in the foyer sway. My head snapped up toward the second-floor landing. The door to the bridal suite was shut tight. I straightened my jacket and bolted for the stairs. An arm shot out from nowhere and shoved me hard in the shoulder. I lost my footing and slammed my lower back into the banister, the pain punching the air out of my lungs. Linc was leaning against the railing, chewing gum, casually wiping his hand on the lapel of his groomsman suit. “Easy, brother-in-law.” He grinned. “Big day like this, you don’t wanna go killing the vibe upstairs, do you?” “Something goes wrong up there and you cause it? That’s on you.” I stared at the grease on his face and said nothing. Another sound from above — glass shattering, clean and sharp. Then fabric tearing. Then a woman’s muffled, broken sobbing. The sounds filtered through the door like they were coming from underwater — heavy, suffocating, hopeless. I shoved Linc aside. “Move. Someone up there is screaming for help.” He didn’t budge. He shoved me back, his knuckle dragging a raw line across my forearm. “Help?” He laughed. “That’s just Zane giving the place some good luck. That girl should be thanking him.” “Half the women in Florida would kill to get Zane’s attention, and she just stumbled into it. Lucky her.” “Especially since it’s your wedding night. She’s riding your coattails.” I shook from head to toe and raised my fist. Someone caught my wrist mid-swing. Cassidy — my bride — reeking of champagne, wrenched my arm down and stepped between us. I stumbled backward and nearly went down. She adjusted the neckline of her wedding dress, her expression flat with irritation. “Ethan. What the hell is your problem?” “That’s the boys blowing off steam. Why would you go up there and ruin it for everyone?” “They came out today as a favor. You should be grateful.” “The more chaos, the more blessing. It’s tradition, babe.” I pointed at the ceiling. “Tradition? Tradition is rape?” “That is a crime, Cassidy. Open that door. Right now.” She let out a cold laugh and planted herself at the foot of the stairs. “Rape.” She said the word like it tasted ridiculous in her mouth. “That’s just fun. That’s just a good time between grown-ups.” “Your uptight little sister has been acting holier-than-thou her whole life. I bet she’s having the time of her life up there.” “Getting Zane’s attention? She won’t have to worry about money for the rest of her life.” Her father — Hector — was spread out on the leather sectional, cracking open pistachios with his thumbnail, dropping the shells on the floor. He didn’t look up. “Enough. You’re embarrassing yourselves.” He gestured lazily. “This is a gift. That girl getting Zane’s attention? That’s good fortune for this family.” “You’re her brother and you’re standing there screaming like a lunatic. You’ve got no manners.” Then the scream from upstairs shifted — higher, more animal, ripping through every wall in the house. “Help me! Please — somebody help me!” My heart pounded so hard it hurt. I lunged again. “I’m calling 911.” Cassidy’s eyes went hard. She spun and drove her stiletto heel straight into my gut. I folded, gasping. My phone skidded across the tile. She crossed to it in three steps and brought her heel down on the screen. The crack was clean and final. She picked up the broken shell of it and dropped it into the fish tank by the entryway. It sank slowly, trailing a string of small bubbles. Cassidy walked to the front door and turned the deadbolt. She pocketed the key. Then she got in my face, her cheeks flushed and shaking. “Nobody leaves this house. Not until Zane is finished. You hear me?” “If you do anything — anything — to mess this up for me, I will put you in the ground myself.” Hector spit a pistachio shell at my chest. “Pathetic. You married into this family and the first thing you do is try to sic the cops on your own wife.” “Men like you deserve everything coming to them.”

The noises from the second floor went on for a full ten minutes. I tried to get to a window to signal someone outside. Linc grabbed me by the collar and hauled me back. Buttons popped off my shirt and scattered across the floor. I gritted through the pain and drove my fist into the side of his face. He yelped. His cheek went red immediately. Cassidy came at me from behind, grabbed my shoulders, and slammed me onto the couch. Hector was up now, wielding a feather duster like a whip, raining it down on me. “You hit my nephew? In my house? On my daughter’s wedding day?” “You piece of trash — your own parents didn’t even want you!” He kept swinging. The feathers hissed with every stroke. I covered my head and pushed into the corner of the couch. And then the sounds upstairs changed. A single dull impact. Like a skull meeting a wall. Then a faint, faint trembling — barely audible. Then nothing. Total silence. The kind of silence that makes your skin crawl. Linc straightened his jacket, grinning. “Well. Sounds like she finally came around.” “Told you. They all act tough. Then they get in the room and their whole attitude changes.” “Brother-in-law, your sister knows a good opportunity when she sees one.” “When she’s rolling in Zane’s money, don’t forget who set it all up.” Hector dropped the feather duster on the coffee table and picked up his drink. “Young girls today.” He sipped, satisfied. “They say no with their mouths and yes with everything else.” “Zane’s a real man. Not every guy can handle a firecracker like that.” I stared up at the closed door, my palms slick with blood from where my fingernails had dug in. I had watched my sister walk out the gate with my own eyes. But what if she’d come back? Cassidy checked her watch, smoothed out her gown, and smiled like she’d just closed a business deal. “All right. We’re about due. Zane’s probably wrapping up.” “I’ll go check in. We’ll bring him down for a toast.” “The construction contract hits our account by Monday. Vega Construction is going to own this whole city.” She started up the stairs. Each step she took landed somewhere inside my ribs. She reached the door — painted a deep colonial red — and turned the handle. A click.

The door swung open. Cassidy stepped inside and disappeared. Several seconds of absolute silence. Then a shriek — not a scream, a shriek — from upstairs. Cassidy’s voice, completely unraveled. “Oh my God—” Then Zane, furious and snarling. “Would you shut up? Jesus Christ. What is wrong with you people?” “The girl is out of her mind. She threw herself headfirst into the damn wall.” “I barely touched her and she loses it. I almost got blood all over my shirt.” Downstairs, Hector’s hand jerked and tea sloshed down his front. He was on his feet. “What happened? Is someone hurt? Oh God, don’t tell me someone’s dead in this house.” He scrambled for the stairs. Linc followed, loosening his tie. “Cass! Talk to me!” I was alone in the foyer. I dragged myself to the front door. Still deadbolted. No key. I grabbed a vase from the console table and hurled it at the window. Glass exploded outward — but the security bars bolted to the frame didn’t move. I turned and stared at the staircase. Five minutes passed. Footsteps coming down — uneven, stumbling. Cassidy came first. Face drained of color. Sweat on her forehead. Hector behind her, clutching the railing, knees buckling. Linc last, hand pressed over his mouth, gray-faced. Zane came down with his shirt hanging open, something dark spattered across the fabric. He didn’t look at anyone. The woman from the room — she wasn’t with them. Cassidy reached the bottom of the stairs and sat down hard on the couch. Her hands were shaking too badly to unlock her phone. She tried three times before the screen responded. Zane dressed himself with aggressive, impatient movements, like the whole thing had just been an inconvenience. “Cassidy. Your girl has problems. I barely touch her, and she starts acting like she’s dying.” “She ran her own head into the wall. I couldn’t even stop her.” “If this gets out, people are going to think I’m some kind of psycho.” I crossed the room and grabbed Cassidy by the neckline of her gown. “Where is she? Why didn’t you bring her down? I need to call an ambulance.” Cassidy jerked her head up. Her eyes were red, wild. “Shut up. There is no ambulance.” “She’s resting. She passed out. Nobody goes in that room.” Linc was across the room, pressing his hand to his chest like he’d nearly had a heart attack. “Scared me half to death. Face all swollen, blood everywhere. I couldn’t even tell who—” He stopped. “Brother-in-law, your sister is one dramatic girl.” “Is she trying to set up a lawsuit? Destroy her own face just to get money out of Zane?” “She’s trying to trap him. Has to be.” Hector straightened up, his triangular eyes narrowing. “Exactly. Classic shakedown. Trying to use this to claw her way into Zane’s world?” “Zane, this has nothing to do with you. She lost her footing. We all saw it. We’ll all swear to it.” Zane pulled a card from his wallet and slapped it on the coffee table. “Five hundred thousand. Get her face fixed — or don’t. That’s not my problem anymore.” “Cassidy. Clean this up. If even a whisper of this gets out, your whole family disappears. You know what I mean by that.” Cassidy stared at the card. Her eyes went from terrified to hungry in the span of a second. She snatched it off the table. “Done. Handled. Nobody will ever know.” “This was an accident. A family matter. You have nothing to worry about.” I lunged for the landline by the kitchen. “There’s a woman bleeding out upstairs. I am calling 911.” Cassidy grabbed an ashtray and brought it down on the phone like a hammer. Plastic and circuitry exploded across the counter. She spun on me, her mascara running in dark rivulets. “Ethan. Do you want to get us all killed?” “Zane is running for president of the Chamber of Commerce. This cannot come out.” “We handle this in-house. Private doctor. No hospitals.” “Until the doctor gets here, that door stays closed.” A sound from above — barely there. Like a fingernail, scraping slowly across hardwood. In the dead silence of the house, it sounded like a scream. Hector flinched so hard his glass hit the floor. “That girl is… she’s still moving? After all that blood?”

Cassidy pulled a notepad and pen from the kitchen drawer and started writing. When she finished, she dropped the paper in front of me. It was a settlement agreement. “She pressed the pen into my hand, eyes flat and cold.” “You’ve seen how this sits, Ethan. Zane cannot be touched. I cannot be touched.” “You sign this — you confirm it was consensual, confirm it was an accident — and I call the best private doctor in the state right now.” “You don’t sign it, and she bleeds out up there. That’s your choice.” Linc crouched down to my eye level with a fake-sympathetic look. “What are you waiting for? Every second you don’t sign, that’s on you.” “Half a million dollars. She could buy a house back home. Even with a messed-up face, she finds a good man, she’s set.” “You love her? Sign the paper.” Hector was staring at the card in Cassidy’s hand, practically drooling. “Sign it. We’re helping her. This is us looking out for her.” “Stop being dramatic and put your name on it.” The scraping from upstairs had stopped. The kind of silence that feels like a door closing. Linc glanced up at the ceiling and made an exaggerated face. “Uh oh. She’s gone quiet, brother-in-law.” “You better hurry up, or you’re going to be signing a death certificate instead.” My hands were shaking. I picked up the pen and signed my name. Pressed my thumb in the ink. Left a print. Cassidy ripped the paper from the table and actually kissed it. “There you go. Smart man. We are going to be rich.” “Zane, we’re good — it’s done.” Zane gave a single approving nod. “Good. Now I’m going to walk out that front door, and this never happened.” I was on my feet immediately. “You said you’d call the doctor. Call him.” Hector grabbed Cassidy’s arm before she could dial. “A private doctor costs a fortune. You know what those house calls run?” “The girl isn’t even that bad. Shock, probably. Let her sleep it off upstairs, and in the morning we drive her to the walk-in clinic and they stitch her up.” “The face is already done. What difference does it make where she heals?” I stared at him. “You just promised—” Cassidy slipped her phone back into her pocket and looked away. “Dad’s right. The doctor might report it. We wait. She’s not going to die.” “Don’t push it, Ethan.” While the three of them started talking about how to divide the half-million dollars, upstairs the person in that room was alone and bleeding. And then — three hard slams against the front door. BANG. BANG. BANG. Like someone trying to take the door off its hinges. Cassidy’s head shot up. “Who is that? Who’s here?” Linc swung around toward me. “Did you tip someone off? I knew it — I knew you had a backup plan—” The person outside started kicking. “Cassidy Vega, you open this door right now!” Cassidy, afraid the neighbors would hear, had no choice but to go to the door. “Who is it? This better be important!” She unlatched the deadbolt and the door burst inward, catching her across the forehead. She staggered back with a cry. In the doorway stood seven or eight people — some of them holding bats. My relatives. The ones I’d quietly called to the wedding from out of town. Cassidy took one look at them and immediately shrank. “Oh — hi, everyone. Today’s been a little chaotic, it’s not really a great time to—” She was already sidling toward the stairs, trying to block the bottom step with her body. Linc ducked behind her and poked his head out. “You can’t just break into a private residence! This is trespassing!” “We will call the police on every single one of you!” I stood in the center of the foyer. “I asked them to come.” I said it quietly. “They’re here to take someone home.” Hector jumped to his feet, pointing. “Nobody is taking anyone anywhere! My family’s guest is resting upstairs!” “Get out of this house! All of you!” The group parted. A clear voice came from just behind them. “Resting upstairs?” A young woman stepped through the door, grocery bags looped over both arms, looking around the room with open confusion. “Sir, who exactly are you talking about?”

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The night I got off work early, I came home carrying a barely touched kale Caesar salad. I pushed open the door. Jimmy Choo red-soles lay scattered in the entryway. Alex’s bespoke blazer was tossed over the couch. Heavy breathing and a woman’s moans leaked through the bedroom door. I knew this scene too well. But this time I didn’t storm out like before. I sat at the kitchen island and ate every last cold, soggy crouton and wilted salad leaf. *** Ten minutes later, the bedroom went quiet. Alex strolled out, shirtless, fresh scratches bleeding down his back. He saw me at the island. Didn’t even blink. Cracked open a beer. “Thought you were pulling an all-nighter at the firm.” I swallowed the last bite. Wiped my mouth. “Finished the cross-examination prep early.” He took a swig. Nodded. A young woman trailed out after him. Torn Victoria’s Secret lace chemise. Pale skin covered in red marks. Looks like it got intense. I recognized her. Alex’s new assistant. Madison. Fresh out of Cornell. Classic blonde sweetheart. She wrapped herself around him from behind. Voice lazy. “Alex, how did I do?” He smirked and ruffled her hair. “Perfect.” She pushed her luck, lips nearly pressed to his ear. “Next time… your Hamptons pool?” Before she finished, she spotted me at the island. Shrieked. Scrambled behind him like she’d just seen a burglar. I snorted. “She’s jumpier than the last one. That one just raised her martini and clinked glasses with me.” Madison’s face went scarlet all the way to her hairline. Alex shot me a glance. He patted her cheek. “Go get dressed, sweetheart. I’ll have my driver take you back to the Upper East Side.” After Madison left, he pulled a sparkling water from the fridge. Casual. “She’s young. Just out of school. Don’t take it out on her.” I let out a cold laugh. “You bring her to our marital bed. You want me to applaud?” The fresh hickey on his neck was still raw. Not a trace of guilt on his face. He sprawled on the couch. “I’m hungry. Heat up some pizza for me.” He grabbed the remote and flipped to ESPN. Like nothing happened. I didn’t move. He frowned. “What?” A sly grin spread. “What, jealous?” He came up behind me. Slid his arms around my waist. Fingertips dipping under my blouse. Cologne and stale sex hit me. My stomach lurched. I shoved him away. He froze. I’d never pushed him off before. His face darkened. “What the hell is wrong with you, Evelyn?” I looked down. A used condom wrapper on the carpet. He followed my gaze. Clicked his tongue in irritation. “I told you. You’re the lady of this house. Always. Can’t you just turn a blind eye? Every wife on the Upper East Side does it. They have their fun on the side. What’s with the face?” I stared at him. Blank. He buttoned his shirt. Cold. “Looking at you pisses me off.” The door slammed. A Porsche 911 engine roared in the garage.

Half an hour later, Alex’s Story popped up. Him and Madison in his penthouse jacuzzi. Fingers laced. Bubbles up to their chests. His left ring finger had a pale stripe where his wedding band used to be. I stared at the screen. Felt nothing. Almost laughed. This wasn’t his first time. Two years ago. Our Hamptons vacation house. I walked in on him and a client. My hands shook. A wine glass shattered on the floor. Two words came out. “Get divorced.” That was me. Obsessive love. Couldn’t stomach betrayal. He dropped to one knee. Held white roses. Cried till dawn. Swore it was a one-night stand during a Vegas work trip. He was blackout drunk. I cried all night. Didn’t give in. That next month, Alex tried everything. He booked out the three-Michelin-starred spot where we had our first date. Dug up old Yale Law photos. Recited every detail from the day we met to the wedding. Stood outside our firm holding a sign that said “I’m sorry” for an entire day. Suit rumpled. Face wrecked. I caved. For a while, he was perfect. Signed a postnuptial agreement. Shared his location 24/7. Blew off every work dinner to marathon Netflix with me. Less than six months later, I found him in the guest room with a Silicon Valley intern. He said he’d smoked too much weed. Thought she was me. I stood there holding my coffee, smiling like ice. He lost his temper and stormed out. After that, Alex stopped hiding anything. No more excuses. No more lies. He flaunted different women at charity galas. Brought them home. Over and over. I fell apart. Every morning I stood in front of the walk-in closet mirror. Stared at the fine lines under my eyes. The skin starting to sag along my jaw. The woman in the glass looked exhausted. Old. Was I not attractive anymore? Too boring? Was that why he had to chase thrills elsewhere? The thoughts wouldn’t stop. I stopped sleeping. Clumps of hair on my pillow. In the shower drain. The therapist’s report read “severe depression.” I was trapped in a maze with no exit. Every time I thought I found a way out, I turned the corner and saw Alex with another woman. Those images flashed on repeat. Three in the morning in our Manhattan apartment. I wanted to scream until I couldn’t breathe. The worst part? I knew the marriage was rotten. And still I couldn’t leave. Like I was cursed. Every time I got ready to call a divorce attorney, Alex would toss out a casual, “Hey sweetheart, I’ll be home for dinner tonight.” And I’d light up with pathetic hope again. I yelled. I fought. Dragged us to expensive counselors. The worst time, I grabbed a knife. I pressed the blade to his throat. Voice hoarse. “Alex, if you can’t keep it in your pants, let’s just get divorced. You do what you want. I get my freedom.” I knew I was sick. He’d driven me insane. I wasn’t myself. He just sighed. Pushed the knife away. “Evelyn, don’t make a scene. It’ll end up in the New York Post gossip column. What’ll that do to our families’ reputations?” “I promise you. You’ll always be Mrs. Cross. You’re the primary beneficiary on every legal document I have. That will never change.” Even more ridiculous, friends from the Hamptons crowd tried to talk me down. Those socialites sipped their Prosecco and spoke like they knew better. “Alex is the youngest managing director at Goldman Sachs. A husband who makes that much money? Count your blessings. Your trust fund is full. You’ve got a Hamptons house. What more do you want? His fidelity?” “Let him play around. Just don’t let him rub it in your face. That’s the Upper East Side code. Making it ugly only makes you look like the joke.” “Those women out there mean nothing. You’re in your thirties. Stop chasing true love.” Every word was a dull knife. I went numb from the humiliation. It took a long time before I could admit it to my therapist. Alex didn’t love me anymore. The boy who passed me a note in the law library, ears turning pink. The man who sobbed at our Central Park wedding, swearing he’d love only Evelyn forever. He died the night of that first Vegas affair. This man wore the same face. A stranger. The next morning, I called my old Columbia mentor, Professor Hathaway. “Professor, do you still need people for your climate project? I want in.” A few beats of silence. When I graduated, Professor Hathaway had pressed me hard to join her polar ice research team. A top National Science Foundation project. But it meant long stretches in Alaska or Greenland. Alex had held me and said, “Evelyn, I can’t stand the thought of you so far away. Stay in New York. Do corporate law. I’ll take care of you. We’ll get a penthouse on Park Avenue. Get a golden retriever.” “Evelyn.” Professor Hathaway’s voice pulled me back. “Are you sure? Conditions are brutal. Our next mission is the North Slope of Alaska. Might only have satellite internet for months.” She paused. “Does Alex… agree?” “Professor.” I cut in. “I’ve decided to divorce him.” “What happened?” “He cheated.” “Ten years together…” “Nothing to hold onto.” I took a breath. “Professor, I need to leave. As far as possible.” “Good. Evelyn, come. Your spot is still open.”

I handed in my resignation at the firm. The senior partner looked regretful. “Evelyn, with your cross-border M&A skills, junior partner next year was basically guaranteed. You’re sure?” I shook my head. Smiled. That seven-figure job. I only took it to prove myself in Alex’s Wall Street world. My real dream was always Professor Hathaway’s team. Real science. The remote corners of the world. What a joke. I traded my dream for endless billable hours and Alex’s betrayal. The next few days, Alex didn’t show up. Texts ignored. Calls bounced to his secretary. “Mr. Cross is in a meeting.” I was too busy handing off cases to chase him. Finalized the departure date with Professor Hathaway. Two weeks out. Flying to Fairbanks, Alaska, then a bush plane into the Arctic Circle. I went to his Midtown hedge fund office. I pushed open the glass door to his corner office. Madison was straddling him, tongue-deep. Clothes half off. Her silk blouse unbuttoned to her waist. “Bad timing.” I stepped back. Calm. Madison scrambled to button up. Her pencil skirt was bunched around her knees. She glared at me. “Nobody taught you to knock before entering the CEO’s office?” Alex said nothing. Just flicked her a glance. He straightened his Hermès tie. Slow. Smirk curling. “What, finally decided to come find me?” He slapped Madison’s backside. “Sweetheart, go grab a latte from Blue Bottle downstairs. I need to talk to my wife.” Madison shot me a venomous look. Slammed the door on her way out. “Miss me?” Alex leaned back. “Told you. Just a little tantrum. Give you two weeks and you cool off. How about that place with the three-month waiting list tonight?” “I want a divorce.” His hands stilled on his cufflinks. Eyes narrowed. “Say that again.” “I want a divorce.” He burst out laughing. “Evelyn, is this your new move? Using divorce to get my attention?” He reached for my face. “I know I’ve been neglecting you. Tell you what. Next week I’ll clear my schedule. We’ll go to St. Barts.” I stepped back from his touch. His smile froze. I pulled the divorce papers from my bag. Held them out. He didn’t take them. I set them on his mahogany desk. “I’m not joking. I’m done wasting my time with you. It’s all laid out. Asset division is clear under the prenup and the postnup. Sign when you’re done reading.” Alex stared at the document. His pupils shrank. He dropped into his chair. Flipped a few pages. Then ripped the papers in half. “Divorce? Over my dead body.” I rubbed my temples. “What’s the point? Divorced, nobody cares how many girlfriends you fly to the Hamptons.” “Evelyn.” His voice softened. “We’ve been together since law school. When my father cut off my trust fund, you were there in that tiny Brooklyn apartment.” “Everyone else is just a fling. I never once thought about leaving you.” He rounded the desk. Bespoke suit. The cologne mixed with the stench of what he’d just done. My stomach turned. How noble it sounded. He’s the one who brought his mistress into our home. Left me with a 104-degree fever to fly his side piece to the Hamptons for her birthday. Stabbed me in the heart over and over with his promises. Strip it all down. He wasn’t scared of losing me. He was scared of his perfect image cracking in front of the Wall Street elite. He needed an Ivy League wife as a front. A prop to keep up the respectable businessman act.

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