Author: Momo Chan

1 On our fifth wedding anniversary, my husband abandoned me on a rain-drenched street corner in the middle of a torrential downpour. He had more important things to do, like watching the anniversary fireworks with his first love. When I called to confront him, his voice carried nothing but cold irritation. Instead of an apology, he sent me a link to a ninety-nine-cent trial service. “Glinda, get a grip on reality,” his text read. “If my parents hadn’t insisted on marrying a quiet, easily managed doormat, do you honestly think a girl with a fishmonger father would ever set foot in the Goldblum estate?” “If you’re so lonely, here is a ninety-nine-cent virtual boyfriend. You can talk to him all month.” “I bought this to keep you entertained. Next time you want to cry, do it to him. Stop ruining my night with Gemma!” Behind the screen, I could picture his sneer, discarding me like a stray dog begging for scraps. But I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just quietly tapped the link. After adding the contact on the app, I typed with numb fingers: “What does a ninety-nine-cent monthly subscription actually get me?” I expected automated sympathy or cheap platitudes. Instead, the reply came instantly, presenting a stark, ice-cold menu: [99¢ Premium Service Package (Promo Code: First Month Free)] [1. Assist client in liquidating and transferring illicit pre-marital assets, ensuring the cheating husband is left penniless.] [2. Systematically dismantle the mistress’s reputation, leaving her completely blacklisted in high society.] [3. Provide a secure offshore tax haven to guarantee your legal claim to the entire Goldblum fortune.] “Who… who are you?” The freezing wind bit into my cheeks, but my eyes remained glued to the screen. My fingers trembled over the keypad. A random virtual chatbot found on a discount app? How could he make such absurd promises of destroying the city’s newest tech tycoon and transferring Goldblum assets? The other side didn’t answer. Three seconds later, an image popped up. It was a high-resolution wire transfer slip. A transaction from two weeks ago, routed through an offshore account. The sender was my husband, Garrick Goldblum. The recipient was an offshore real estate agency. The memo line read: [Gift for my beloved wife, Gemma Lin. Final payment for the Malibu Cove Villa.] “Beloved wife.” A dry laugh escaped my throat. I had given up my graduate studies for this man. I had lived on instant ramen for a year, pulling all-nighters to sketch designs that secured his company’s first investments. Now that Goldblum Holdings was a multi-million-dollar empire, he was using our hard-earned money to buy a beachside estate for his childhood sweetheart, calling her his “beloved wife.” The cold numbers on the screen woke me up from a five-year dream. [Take your time to think. Do not act rashly until you have established your leverage.] That was the last message. The chat fell silent. I didn’t reply. I simply turned around and walked back to the mansion that supposedly belonged to Garrick and me. The next morning. The click of the electronic lock echoed from downstairs. Garrick walked in, his designer jacket draped over Gemma’s shoulders. She was clinging to his arm, looking fragile and small. When she spotted me sitting on the living room sofa, she shrank back with practiced vulnerability. “Garrick… is Glinda mad at me? I’m so sorry. The fireworks last night were just so beautiful, and I got a bit tipsy. I didn’t mean to drag you away from her…” “Why would she be mad? She doesn’t have the right to be,” Garrick cut her off, walking over to the sofa. He looked down at me, his voice sharp with command. “Glinda, Gemma is pregnant. The doctor said she’s extremely delicate and needs absolute peace. The master bedroom gets the best sunlight, so pack up your things today. You’ll be moving to the maid’s quarters on the first floor.” I gripped the armrest of the sofa. Pregnant? He truly didn’t care about appearances anymore. If this had been yesterday, I would have thrown a tantrum, smashing the glass on the coffee table. But now, all I could see was the eighty-million-dollar wire transfer. I stood up. “Fine. I’ll move.” Garrick blinked, visibly caught off guard. A flicker of irritation crossed his face. “What kind of mind game is this?” he sneered. “Don’t think playing the quiet victim will make me feel guilty. Glinda, remember who you are. Without me, a fishmonger’s daughter is nothing in this city. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll make sure Gemma is comfortable!” I ignored him and walked into the master bedroom. I pulled out my suitcases and packed my clothes, books, and our wedding memorabilia. No tears. No drama. While they were downstairs eating breakfast, I pulled out a micro-camera I had bought at a convenience store the night before. Stepping onto a chair, I carefully hid it inside the smoke detector on the ceiling. I linked it to my phone, securing the live feed in an encrypted cloud drive. [Camera is live,] I texted the mysterious number. The response was prompt: [Patience. Let them expose themselves. Gather every piece of evidence showing him stripping marital assets. Remember, a hunter must play dead before drawing the net.] I locked my phone and dragged my bags down to the tiny service room. On the nightstand lay my hand-drawn drafts for Goldblum Holdings’ upcoming product line. I stared at them for a second, then tossed them straight into the trash. From this moment on, the Glinda who loved Garrick was dead. 2 On my third day in the service room, Garrick’s mother, Eleanor, arrived. She immediately pinched her nose as she entered the house. “Eleanor, what a lovely surprise! Please, sit down,” Gemma chimed, scurrying over with a freshly sliced fruit platter. “Oh, my sweet girl, don’t strain yourself!” Eleanor fussed, guiding Gemma to the sofa before turning a glaring eye toward me as I poured water in the corner. “Some useless hens can’t even lay an egg, yet they expect my pregnant daughter-in-law to wait on them?” “Glinda, is this how your dirty fishmonger father raised you? Dirt remains dirt, no matter how much gold you wrap it in!” I squeezed the glass in my hand, staring back calmly. “I’m finalizing the blueprints for next week’s corporate bid. I don’t have time for this.” “Oh, Eleanor, don’t be angry with Glinda,” Gemma sighed, rubbing her eyes with mock sadness. “She stays up all night drawing. It’s so hard on her. I just wanted to help look at her sketches, but I must have clumsy hands…” The front door swung open, and Garrick stepped inside. Seeing Gemma’s teary eyes, he rushed over and pulled her into his arms. “What happened? Who upset you?” “No one… I was just being careless…” Gemma sniffled against his chest. Eleanor scoffed. “Who else could it be but that ungrateful stray you took in? Gemma was only trying to help, and she gets treated like garbage!” “Garrick, I’m telling you right now, Goldblum’s reputation cannot be dragged down by a low-class street rat. Take her cards and car keys. Every single one.” Garrick frowned, walking over to me with an outstretched palm. “Hand them over.” That included the joint account card he had given me on our wedding day, which actually held my salary from working at his company. I pulled the card and the car keys from my pocket and tossed them onto the table. Garrick’s gaze drifted to the glowing computer monitor behind me. It showed the core design sketches I had spent three months perfecting for the upcoming international luxury bid. “Not bad,” Garrick muttered, turning to Gemma. “Gemma, aren’t you attending the anniversary gala as our chief designer next week? This is perfect. We’ll put your name on these blueprints. It’ll give you the perfect spotlight in front of the board.” I looked up, my eyes locking onto his. I had tolerated the financial abuse and the humiliation of moving into the service room, but now he wanted to steal three months of my sweat and blood to prop up his mistress? “That is my design!” I lunged for the computer to pull the external hard drive. “Garrick, don’t you dare!” “Get off!” Garrick shoved me back hard. I lost my balance, my forehead striking the sharp corner of the desk. A sharp sting followed, and warm blood began to trickle down my face, dripping onto the hardwood floor. I held my bleeding forehead, staring at him. Garrick flinched slightly at the sight of the blood, taking a half-step back, but he quickly recovered his cold composure. “Glinda, let’s get one thing straight. Everything you eat, drink, and wear comes from my pocket. Even your miserable life is funded by me!” “You work in my company, using my resources. Anything you draw belongs to Goldblum Holdings. Consider it paid for. Don’t push your luck.” With a swift yank, he pulled the USB drive from the port, wrapped his arm around Gemma’s waist, and headed for the door. “Come on, Gemma. Let’s go pick out your gown for the gala. We shouldn’t let this mess ruin our day.” Over Garrick’s shoulder, Gemma looked back at me, her lips curling into a triumphant smirk. The house fell dead silent. I leaned against the wall, letting the blood drip slow and heavy onto the floor. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was the mystery contact: [Does it hurt?] [Let them steal it. It’s a gold-plated death warrant.] I wiped the blood from my brow with the back of my hand. What Garrick didn’t know was that I had embedded custom timestamps and hidden digital watermarks deep within the source code. I opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a backup drive. Let them take it. I wasn’t just going to make them spit it back out. I was going to destroy them. 3 A week later, the Goldblum Group hosted its fifth-anniversary gala and new product launch. The grand ballroom of the Regent Hotel was packed with the city’s elite. Tonight, Garrick was set to unveil the design under Gemma’s name and secure billions in venture capital. I had no gown. Eleanor had ordered the maids to throw all my clothes into the incinerator. Instead, she had tossed a catering uniform at me that afternoon. “If you still want a roof over your head, you’ll work the floor tonight. Keep your head down, do your job, and keep your mouth shut.” I stood near the edge of the ballroom, dressed in a cheap vest and slacks, holding a tray of champagne. In the center of the room, Garrick stood with Gemma, who wore the Goldblum family heirloom, a rare pink diamond necklace known as the Heart of the Ocean. They were bathed in the adoring gaze of the crowd. “Thank you all for coming,” Garrick announced, raising his glass to Gemma. “Tonight is not only a celebration of our company’s journey, but also the debut of our brilliant chief designer, Gemma Lin. She is not only incredibly talented, but she is also carrying the future of the Goldblum legacy…” The crowd erupted into applause. I watched them silently. “Oh look, isn’t that the current Mrs. Goldblum?” a group of socialites whispered, walking over to my corner with their wine glasses. “Please, she’s the catering maid now. A street rat can wear designer shoes, but she’ll always smell like the fish market.” “Exactly. Can’t even keep her husband, lost her career, and now she’s serving drinks to the woman who replaced her. How pathetic.” “If I were her, I’d have jumped off a bridge by now. Some people have no dignity.” I ignored the venom, standing perfectly still. The phone in my pocket vibrated twice. [Showtime. I’m in position.] My palms grew sweaty. I was ready. Just then, Gemma detached herself from the crowd and glided toward me, holding a glass of red wine. “Glinda,” she said, her voice dripping with sweet poison, loud enough for those nearby to hear. “You shouldn’t be working like this. Garrick was just angry. Please, go rest. Seeing you like this breaks my heart…” She reached out to grab my arm. Before her hand even made contact, she twisted her wrist, splashed the dark wine all over her white designer gown, and threw herself backward onto the floor with a dramatic gasp. “Ah! My baby! Glinda, why would you push me? If you hate me, take it out on me, but please don’t hurt my child!” She clutched her stomach, whimpering on the carpet. Instantly, a crowd gathered. “Gemma!” Garrick pushed through the onlookers, his face pale as he scooped her into his arms. He stood up, spun around, and delivered a brutal slap across my face. The force of the blow spun my head to the side, the sharp metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. “Glinda! You psycho!” Garrick roared. “If anything happens to Gemma or the baby, I will personally destroy you!” The guests began to murmur in disgust. “How malicious! Pushing a pregnant woman?” “That classless woman is just consumed by jealousy.” “Garrick should have divorced her years ago!” I wiped the blood from my lip with my thumb. My hand slipped into my pocket, gripping the backup USB. “I didn’t push her,” I said, looking Garrick dead in the eye. “You dare lie!” Eleanor pushed through the crowd, pointing a manicured finger at me. “If you didn’t push her, did she trip herself? Security! Hold this crazy bitch down!” 4 Two heavy-set security guards grabbed my shoulders, pinning my arms behind my back. “Let go of me!” I kept my spine straight, looking directly at Garrick. “There are security cameras everywhere. Pull up the feed, and let’s see who the real actress is.” “The cameras are undergoing maintenance tonight!” Eleanor spat. Of course they were. It was a setup designed to ruin me publicly. “Garrick…” Gemma whimpered, clutching her chest. “My ring! Garrick, the diamond! The pink diamond is gone!” Gasps rippled through the ballroom. “What?!” Eleanor shrieked. “It was right on your neck a second ago! You were the only one near her, Glinda! You thieving little rat, you stole our family heirloom!” Eleanor lunged forward, clawing at my catering vest. Pinned by the guards, I couldn’t move. With a dramatic flourish, Eleanor pulled a glittering diamond ring from my pocket, letting it clatter onto the floor. The room fell silent before erupting into a chorus of insults. “Oh my god, she actually stole it!” “Assaulting a pregnant woman and stealing jewelry. She’s not just pathetic, she’s a criminal!” “Trash is trash. You can’t wash away that kind of filth.” I stared at the ring on the carpet. A cold laugh bubbled up from my chest. To get rid of me, they had resorted to the most cliché, desperate setup imaginable. “What are you laughing at? We caught you red-handed!” Garrick’s voice trembled slightly as he took a half-step back. He snatched a thick folder from his assistant and threw it right at my face. “Glinda, between the assault on a pregnant woman and the theft of a fifty-million-dollar heirloom, you’re looking at a lifetime behind bars!” Garrick picked up a microphone, his voice echoing through the ballroom. “But out of respect for our past, if you sign this divorce agreement and post a public confession admitting to your crimes, I won’t call the police.” He looked down at me, smug and entirely certain of his victory. He was convinced I would beg. He thought I couldn’t survive without him. I looked down at the document. The terms stripped me of every dime and saddled me with millions in shared marital debt. As the guards loosened their grip, thinking I was defeated, I wrenched my arms free and picked up the papers. “That’s more like it,” Garrick sneered. “Sign it, and get out of my sight…” I ripped the contract in half, then tore it into shreds, throwing the confetti right into his face. “I don’t need your mercy. Call the cops,” I said. “But before they get here, maybe the guests would like to see a different kind of show.” I pulled out the USB drive and walked toward the grand projection console. “Stop her! Grab that drive!” Garrick yelled, his face suddenly pale. Several security guards rushed toward me. I slotted the drive into the console, my finger hovering over the enter key. With one press, Gemma’s fake pregnancy, the plagiarized blueprints, and Garrick’s money-laundering schemes would be broadcast to the world. Just as my finger descended, the heavy double doors of the ballroom were slammed open. The chatter ceased instantly. Every head turned toward the entrance. A line of black-suited bodyguards marched in, forming a human corridor. Then, a man walked through. The entire room went dead quiet. The man scanned the room with cold, piercing eyes. I stood at the console, my hand frozen, staring at the intruder. Garrick’s face drained of color. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor. “You…” Garrick gasped, his voice shaking violently. “How are you alive… You’re supposed to be dead…”

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We were right in the middle of being intimate when my husband of ten years abruptly pulled away. “Honestly, I find this incredibly boring. You are just tedious.” The very next second, he walked straight to the guest room without looking back. When I stood outside his door, crying and begging him to open it, my son was busy pouring the warm bedtime milk I had prepared for him down the sink. “Daddy doesn’t like Mommy, so Archie doesn’t like Mommy either.” Late that night, entirely crushed by despair, the woman chose to hang herself in the study. But I am a top tier system host, born with an absolute deficit of empathy. When I took over the body, the System told me I had one wish. I pondered for a long time before speaking with icy calm. “I want to have some class.” So that very night, I did not go crying to my husband’s door again. Instead, I graced the biggest nightclub in the city with my presence. 1 The next day. Covered in a chaotic mosaic of hickeys in various shades of lipstick, I watched with great interest as Dillamond paid my bail with a face like thunder. [Ahhhhh! You stupid host, what the hell were you doing at the club last night!] [The male lead’s affection meter just dropped into the negatives! We are going to be obliterated at this rate, you jerk!] I ignored the noisy voice that had been buzzing in my head all night. Carefully, I adjusted the Burberry plaid silk scarf around my neck. I reached out and patted Dillamond’s broad, tailored shoulders. “Thanks. Whatever the fine is, I will wire you double later.” Dillamond’s spine jolted violently beneath my palm. He turned his face with great difficulty, gritting his teeth as he growled at me in a low voice. “Keep your voice down. Do you think it is glorious for Mrs. Lockwood to get caught soliciting female escorts?” I brushed it off, casually borrowing an excuse he used to give me all the time. “Nothing even happened between us.” “Stop being so paranoid.” Dillamond shook off my hand in disgust and strode ahead. “True. What could a woman like you possibly do to them anyway? You just wanted to get my attention.” A woman like me? Dillamond suddenly curled his lips into a smirk, turning back with a hint of cruel amusement. “I get it. Just because I said you were boring last night, you wanted to sneak out and learn a few tricks from other wo…” The rest of his sentence died in his throat. As his eyes swept over my entire figure, he suddenly jumped back as if stung by a hornet. He did not even bother to pick up his favorite designer sunglasses that had slipped from his face and clattered onto the pavement. He just frantically reached out, his hands trembling as he touched my waist. “Sylvia, are you insane? What did you do to yourself?” “What are these rock hard ridges on your stomach?” I shook my head and sighed to the System. “Look.” “Look at how interested he is in me now.” System: [?] [Care to repeat that? Does this look like normal romantic interest to you!] I let out a helpless, breathy laugh. Then, effortlessly, I caught Dillamond’s hands as he tried to feel further down. I pressed my long, slender knuckles against his lips, which were flushed red from agitation. I spoke with dripping indulgence. “Be good. There are too many people around, do not make a scene.” “I know you like it. Wait until we get home, and Daddy will let you take your time and look all you want.” After a burst of chaotic static in my brain, the System let out a roar of absolute despair. [What the hell are you talking about! Did the original host’s hanging cut off the oxygen to your brain too?] [And why are you acting like the dominant CEO! Dillamond is the actual male lead of this book!] I absentmindedly planted a soft kiss on the corner of Dillamond’s mouth to soothe his growing restlessness while replying to the System. “Who made the rule that there can only be one male lead? I have heard of a genre called double male leads.” Right as the System and I were deeply debating why romance novels could not have two alpha male leads, Dillamond finally snapped out of his daze and violently broke free from my grip. He frantically wiped his mouth, gagging, his eyes red as he roared at me incoherently. “Get away from me, you freak! This is disgusting. You belong in an asylum. I want a divorce!” I looked at him with profound disappointment, as if watching a street urchin throw a tantrum. “You are being entirely too unreasonable. You know I prefer my partners to have some dignity.” “I will give you some time to cool off.” Then I slipped into his Porsche parked by the curb. Without a shred of hesitation, I slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The System instantly started screaming in my head again. [Who is the one that needs to cool off!] [Did you not see the male lead looking like he was about to wet himself? How are you supposed to win his heart now that you are acting like a macho man!] [Turn the car around right now and apologize to him sincerely! Tell him you will never go to a nightclub again!] Just as the System’s pitch reached a piercing high C, a sudden notification chimed. [Book’s Abuse Satisfaction Value +20] 2 The System’s screaming abruptly changed its tune. [Wait, what?] I curled the corners of my lips into a faint smile. “I am the main character too, am I not?” “I am perfectly capable of abusing others to make myself feel good.” I left Dillamond stranded on the sidewalk and drove back to the Lockwood estate with zero guilt. As I walked through the door, the usually quiet house was echoing with sharp, piercing wails. My eight year old son, Archie, was currently burying his face in my mother in law’s chest, crying as if his heart had been shattered. “I do not care, I want Auntie Lily to be my mommy!” “Mommy is mean and bad. She never takes me to play with other kids like Auntie Lily does. Archie hates the mommy we have now.” His pale little face, which looked exactly like a miniature version of Dillamond, was completely red from sobbing. My mother in law, her heart aching, kept wiping the teardrops from his cheeks. “Do not cry, my sweet boy. Grandma will tell Daddy to bring Auntie Lily home to marry him, okay?” As she coaxed him, her own anger flared up. “If Dillamond had not been so young and blind back then, insisting on marrying Sylvia, there is no way she could have scammed her way into our family.” “Look at Lily. She is so much better. Young, beautiful, and a PhD graduate. She would be a million times better at raising a child than this useless housewife.” “When Dillamond gets back, I am going to convince them to divorce immediately!” Archie did not understand the heavy words, he just kept hiccuping. “Thank you, Grandma. Archie loves Grandma the most.” The System was pacing anxiously in my head. [Why is this little brat turning on you? The original host used to love him more than her own eyes.] [Host, hurry up and butter up this vicious mother in law. If the male lead really marries the side character, we are totally screwed!] I slightly narrowed my long, sharp eyes, shooting a dangerous glare at the crying child. I reached out with a long arm, hauling him into my embrace by his collar, and warned him in a low, husky voice. “You spineless little thing. How can a son of Sylvia shed tears so easily?” Seeing me, the deep disgust on my mother in law’s face froze into shock. “Sylvia, what the hell are you wearing? Are you trying to get yourself killed looking like some androgynous freak?” “Children do not lie. If you are unlikable, do not take your anger out on Archie!” I ignored her completely, offering my son a merciful promise instead. “By the end of this year at the latest, I will give you a few younger brothers to keep you company.” Archie froze for a few seconds. Then, terrified tears instantly flooded his eyes again. “Archie does not want brothers!” “Mommy promised Archie would be Mommy and Daddy’s only favorite child!” He looked toward his usually doting grandmother out of habit, begging for help. But upon hearing the words younger brothers, my mother in law was practically ecstatic. She brushed Archie off with a half hearted pat. “Archie, you are still too young. When you grow up, you will understand the benefits of having brothers.” “When your little brothers are born, you have to let them have their way. You need to learn how to share and never bully them.” Archie’s little face went deathly pale, and he started wailing even louder. My expression gradually turned freezing cold. I raised my hand and slammed it viciously onto the solid mahogany coffee table. “Did you not just say you wanted lots of kids to play with you? Now that I am actually going to give you brothers, why are you throwing a fit?” “Crying constantly, changing your mind every five seconds. You do not have my last name, and you do not even look like me. Why should I waste my time raising a useless child like you?” “Shed one more tear, and you will stand in the corner of the study for half an hour.” Archie stared at me in pure disbelief, then opened his mouth and howled as if his lungs were tearing apart. “Mommy is mean! Bad Mommy, ugly Mommy! Get out of my house! I want Auntie Lily to be my mommy!” I stood right where I was, my eyes as cold as if I were training a disobedient dog. “Are you done crying?” “You can sleep on the floor of the study tonight.” I grabbed the wrist of my mother in law, who was trying to rush forward to comfort him, pinning it down hard. “Do not bother playing the saint. If you love serving a prince so much, go give birth to one yourself.” “Your husband was a very generous man in his youth. If you look hard enough, you might even find a few of his illegitimate kids to bring home.” 3 I dropped like a nuclear bomb, equally traumatizing everyone in the room. The System was already jumping up and down in sheer panic inside my brain. [It is over! Host, your life is totally over!] [Great, just great. You managed to deeply offend the two people the male lead cares about the most in one breath. Let’s just pack up our bags and hit the reset button.] I remained completely unbothered. I grabbed Archie by the collar and marched him all the way into the study. I forced him to stand right in front of the noose that was still firmly bolted to the ceiling. Only then did I raise my eyes, looking at that thick hemp rope, which still bore faint, dark red stains. “Last night, you poured out the bedtime milk I warmed for you, did you not? You said you only wanted to eat things made by Auntie Lily.” Archie stiffened his neck, shivering violently in fear, yet stubbornly refusing to look at me. I lowered my head, looking at him with a sliver of genuine pity. “As you wish.” “The love you so deeply despised will never be given to you again.” “Stand here and think about it. Consider it our final goodbye.” Archie did not get the comfort he imagined. He had no idea why his mother had suddenly become so bizarre and icy. Looking utterly pathetic, he tentatively reached out, trying to hug my leg. “Mommy, Archie knows he was wrong.” I remained entirely impassive. “You already did the thing you are sorry for, so keep your apologies to yourself.” He was sorely mistaken if he thought I would act like that pitiful woman. She would have melted into a puddle of forgiveness at the first sign of a half hearted apology. Not me. Ignoring the teary eyed child, I walked into the master bedroom and dove into the soft, luxurious mattress. In the dead of night, someone pounded urgently on my door. “Sylvia! Archie is having febrile seizures from a high fever! Get up right now and take him to the hospital!” It took me a long moment to process the noise before I slowly sat up. My hands patted around the nightstand. I easily pulled out a brand new pair of industrial earplugs. Dillamond used to wear these all the time. Because he detested the sound of my light breathing and the faint rustle of my pajamas when I slept. Once I put them in. Archie’s crying and the chaotic panic of the Lockwood household instantly vanished. They worked wonderfully. Forgive everything before you sleep, hold all grudges when you wake up. When I opened my eyes again, I felt incredibly refreshed. But it seemed someone else was the one holding a grudge. I was gently biting off a strand of pasta, enjoying my morning intermittent fasting routine. Suddenly, Dillamond’s cold, impatient voice echoed from the top of the stairs. “Lily is returning from abroad today. Give me the car keys, I am picking her up from the airport.” I paused my chewing. “Archie was hospitalized last night. He relies on Lily the most. From today onward, I am having Lily move in to keep him company.” “Sylvia, do not say I did not warn you. The crazier you act, the faster whatever feelings I have left for you will disappear.” “That girl is not like you. I sponsored her education, and she just graduated and entered the real world. If you dare to use your disgusting, underhanded tricks on her…” He tapped his fingers lightly against the stair railing, looking down at me with ruthless indifference. “I would not mind letting her become Archie’s actual mother.” I remained silent, meeting his gaze. The System was already losing its mind. [Dead dead dead! We have officially entered Nightmare Mode!] [Who told you to play crazy and ruin all your relationships! You stupid host, are you trying to destroy me?] The moment Dillamond turned his back to leave. I finally stood up, staring at him without blinking. “I think, between us, we should at least have a fair competition.” Dillamond looked as if he had just heard the funniest joke in the world. A mocking sneer touched his lips. “You? You think you can compete with Lily?” “Stop making a scene, Sylvia. Just sit quietly in your position as Mrs. Lockwood. Is it not better to just take the money and forget about love?” “This is the biggest concession I am willing to make, and it is only because you gave birth to Archie.” I watched Dillamond’s arrogant, aloof silhouette. I shook my head in regret. Who said I was competing with Lily for the title of Mrs. Lockwood? I picked up the phone from the table, which had been buzzing continuously from last night all the way to this morning. Slowly and methodically, I replied to Lily’s message. [Okay, I accept your confession.]

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Monday morning. I was standing in the conference room, waiting for our new intern to finish photocopying a contract. The irritating whir of the paper shredder finally ground to a halt. She turned around, cradling a massive pile of paper confetti in her arms, looking at me as if expecting a gold star. My eyes zeroed in on the remnants of the paper. It was the original copy of the thirty-million-dollar contract we had just signed. My blood pressure instantly spiked to a stroke-inducing level. “Are you out of your damn mind?!” Her lower lip quivered, and massive crocodile tears immediately pooled in her eyes. “I… I didn’t know. You are being too mean.” Right at that moment, a string of glowing pink text suddenly floated through the air right in front of my eyes. [The CEO is angry! He definitely thinks our baby girl is so clumsy and cute!] [This is such a unique way to get his attention! She didn’t shred paper, she shredded the walls around his heart!] [So sweet! The domineering CEO is falling for his clumsy little wife!] Domineering CEO? Walls around my heart? Cute my ass! That was a thirty-million-dollar deal I spent six months negotiating! And I need these floating idiots to open their blind eyes. I am a female Vice President! 1 “VP Wright, look!” Bella held up the overflowing wastebasket with a proud smile. “Nobody has used that shredder in days. I was worried it might rust, so I shredded all the papers on the desk to keep it running.” “Aren’t I so thoughtful?” I stared at the bucket of destroyed documents, feeling the blood rush straight to my temples. “Are you completely out of your mind?!” Bella shrank back, her eyes turning red. She bit her lower lip and looked up at me through her lashes. “I… I was just trying to help…” she whimpered, her voice dripping with fake innocence. “You are so fierce, you terrified me.” Another string of glowing pink text materialized out of thin air, scrolling rapidly across my vision. [Wow! The CEO looks so hot when he’s mad! Is he just trying to cover up how fast his heart is beating for her?] [She didn’t just shred a contract, she shredded his defenses!] [Is this the legendary enemies-to-lovers trope? I am living for this!] I froze right where I stood. Through the translucent text, I could still see Bella’s pathetic, pouting face. The conference room door swung open. Mr. Harrison from Apex Dynamics had arrived early for our meeting. His polite smile completely vanished the second he saw the floor covered in shredded paper and Bella clutching the wastebasket. “VP Wright,” Mr. Harrison said, his gaze darting between me and the crying intern. “What exactly is going on here? Where is the contract?” I forcibly swallowed my boiling rage. “Mr. Harrison, my apologies. There has been a slight accident…” “VP Wright!” Bella let out a high-pitched shriek and dove right behind me. She grabbed fistfuls of my tailored suit jacket, pressing her body flat against my back. “Mr. Harrison, please don’t blame him! It is all my fault, I was just too clumsy. VP Wright was just disciplining me…” She shivered dramatically behind me, her fingers wrinkling the expensive fabric of my jacket. Given our current posture, Mr. Harrison was absolutely going to think we were engaging in some sort of twisted workplace roleplay. Mr. Harrison’s face turned dark. “VP Wright,” he said, his tone turning to ice. “I was under the impression that you were a professional.” “I had no idea your private life was so colorful that you needed to bring it into the boardroom for entertainment.” He turned on his heel and stormed out. Thirty million dollars. Six months of my blood, sweat, and tears. I had literally been hospitalized three times for exhaustion and revised the proposal over a dozen times for this project. Now, it was all gone. “VP Wright…” Bella peeked out from behind my back, holding up a cup of boba tea. “Please don’t be mad. Have something sweet to calm down, okay?” She tried to shove the sickeningly sweet drink into my hands. I should have just thrown it right in her face. The pink comments went absolutely wild. [Look! His hand is trembling as he takes the tea! He is so emotional!] [He loves her so much! Even after losing thirty million, all it takes is a cup of milk tea from his baby to calm him down!] [This is pure indulgence! This is a CEO’s true love!] I looked at Bella’s innocent face, then looked at the brain-dead comments floating in the air, and suddenly let out a cold, hollow laugh. 2 The next morning, we held an executive debriefing. The conference table was packed with directors. Declan Cross, our CEO, sat at the head of the table, flipping through the damage report with a face like thunder. I stood in front of the projector screen, my back perfectly straight, analyzing our contingency plans point by point. “The legal team at Apex Dynamics has given us a forty-eight-hour grace period. For the new clauses, I will…” The door banged open. Bella pranced in carrying a tray of black coffees. She wasn’t wearing her corporate uniform. Instead, she had changed into a tiny pink slip dress with a hemline that barely covered her upper thighs. Declan’s brow furrowed into a deep V, but he didn’t say a word. “You all worked so hard!” Bella chirped, her voice airy and overly sweet. “Freshly brewed coffee to wake everyone up.” She bypassed several senior directors and made a beeline straight for me. Seeing that walking disaster in pink approaching, I immediately took a half-step back. “VP Wright, you have been talking for so long. Your throat must be so dry, right?” I didn’t take the cup. I just stared at her. “Put it on the table.” “Oh, come on, just take it. I brewed it especially for you…” She shoved the cup forward. Somehow, her left foot tripped over her right, and she pitched forward. The scalding coffee flew out of her hands and splashed directly onto my lower half. My suit trousers were instantly soaked. Acting on pure reflex, I raised my hands and shoved her away before she could plaster herself against me. “Ah!” She fell sideways, her short skirt flipping up. She clutched her elbow, tears instantly spilling from her eyes. “I am so sorry… I am sorry, VP Wright. I wasn’t trying to seduce you… Please don’t touch me like that in here…” Dead silence fell over the conference room. Over a dozen pairs of eyes stared at Bella’s exposed underwear. Then their gazes shifted to my crotch, which was currently dripping with hot coffee. Finally, they looked at my hands, which had just pushed her away. Someone awkwardly coughed and looked down. Others exchanged subtle, knowing glances. The pink comments danced across the air. [Wet shirt play! So spicy!] [He is panicking! He felt so bad seeing his baby fall!] [He only pushed her away because he was afraid he couldn’t control his urges if she touched him!] [And look where he got wet… Hehehe!] “Rowan!” Declan slammed his hand on the table. “What the hell are you doing?!” All he saw was me shoving a crying girl to the floor. I didn’t bother wiping the stain. I didn’t even dare to move my legs. “Declan, she just threw boiling water on me.” “You were clearly trying to grab me… your hands were everywhere…” Bella hugged her knees, shivering like a leaf. “VP Wright, we are in the office. There are people watching…” Her words made absolutely no sense, but they successfully cemented the dirty rumor. Declan threw his files onto the table. “Get out.” He pointed at the door. “Rowan, go clean yourself up. Bella, you leave too.” I grabbed my folder and practically sprinted to the restroom. Locking myself in a stall, my hands shook as I unbuckled my belt. The inner skin of my thigh was an angry, blistering red. Outside the stall, I could hear hushed whispers. “Did you hear? VP Wright just sexually harassed the new intern right in the middle of the boardroom.” “I knew it. He uses his executive status to act all proper, but since he’s a guy, you know he plays dirty behind closed doors.” “That poor intern was crying so hard. I heard she spent the night in his office a few days ago…” I didn’t go to the hospital. I needed a new proposal drafted within forty-eight hours. I blindly smeared some burn ointment on my leg, wrapped it in gauze, changed into my backup trousers, and marched back to my office. At eleven o’clock. I finished inputting the final set of core data. All I had to do was run it through the modeling software, and the risk assessment would be complete. I hit the Enter key. My screen flickered. The monitor went pitch black. Three seconds later, the screen lit up again. But it wasn’t my desktop. It was a bright pink loading screen. Right in the center, in bold, cursive font, read: Love Simulator: The Domineering CEO’s Personal Secretary. The system threw up a fatal error. My hard drive light blinked frantically before dying completely. Every single file, including my local backups, was wiped clean. “Surprise!” Bella bounded into my office holding a tiny cupcake, not even bothering to knock. “VP Wright, I saw how hard you were working, so I specially installed a stress-relief game on your computer! Are you surprised?” 3 I slowly turned my head to look at her. “You touched my computer?” “Yeah!” Bella blinked her big, innocent eyes. “This game is super fun! Once you max out the affection meter, you unlock…” “Get out.” Bella froze. “VP Wright?” “Get the hell out of my office!” She stumbled back in terror, dropping the cupcake onto the carpet. Tears immediately flooded her eyes. Her mouth scrunched up. “Why are you yelling at me… I was just trying to be nice…” Pink text literally bounced in the air around her. [Our clumsy beauty is so cute! She just wants him to have a healthy work-life balance!] [Who cares about a bunch of boring data when he has his baby’s love?] [He looks so hot when he’s mad! He’s just using anger to hide how flustered she makes him!] [Kiss her! Press her against the desk and kiss her right now!] I stared at the floating words, the veins in my temples pulsing violently. “Boring data?” “That is the livelihood of hundreds of employees for the next month! It is something a brainless idiot who only thinks about being in heat could never comprehend!” I pointed directly at the door. “Disappear from my sight right now. HR will be contacting you tomorrow.” Bella’s expression stiffened. The very next second, she suddenly pitched her voice an octave higher and burst into screaming sobs. “VP Wright! Last night in your office, you clearly told me you loved how clumsy I was!” “You said I was like a little kitten! You even… you did all those things to me on the sofa… How can you just pull up your pants and pretend you don’t know me today?!” The CFO and several coworkers who were working overtime suddenly appeared at my door. They saw my face pale with absolute fury, while Bella huddled in the corner, shaking like a victim. “Rowan, this is…” The CFO adjusted his glasses, looking extremely uncomfortable. Bella wailed even louder. “I won’t leave! I gave my body to you, you can’t just throw me away! I don’t care about a title, I just want to stay by your side…” There were no security cameras inside the private offices. And I had been the only one pulling an all-nighter last night. My coworkers exchanged loaded glances, looking me up and down before turning their pitying eyes to Bella. “Rowan, this is really too much,” the CFO shook his head, turning to walk away. “You young men really need to watch your professional boundaries.” The pink comments scrolled at lightning speed. [Abuse your wife now, chase her in the crematorium later!] [10/10 execution! The rumors are locked in, he can never escape her now!] [Tonight is the perfect time to take him down!] [Sleep with him tonight! Once the rice is cooked, the domineering CEO will never be able to leave his baby!] The victory gala was held at the Grand Hyatt. Relying entirely on a proposal I had written by hand overnight, I managed to salvage the Apex Dynamics contract. To save face and show off our success, Declan invited over a dozen media outlets to the event. Bella was there too. She didn’t have an invitation, yet she was standing in the crowd wearing a plunging lace dress cut all the way down to her navel. I changed locations three times, and she followed me with a wine glass three times. Finally, in a secluded corner of the lounge, Bella blocked my path and offered me a glass of champagne. “VP Wright,” she said, pushing the flute toward me. “Drink this as an apology, and we can wipe the slate clean. Deal?” Several guests nearby turned their heads to watch. I took the glass but didn’t drink. “Too scared to drink it?” Bella leaned her body against mine. “Afraid I poisoned it?” I sidestepped to avoid her touch. Turning my back slightly, I dumped the champagne straight into the soil of a potted money tree, then raised the empty glass to my lips and tilted my head back. Five minutes later, my stomach began to burn. The chandeliers overhead blurred into glowing halos. The chatter of the crowd faded in and out. I pinched my thigh hard, but I couldn’t feel any pain. Whatever she used was incredibly potent. “Are you drunk, VP Wright?” Bella whispered right into my ear. “Let me help you.” She shoved me down a quiet corridor and into a private VIP suite, locking the door behind us. I collapsed heavily onto the leather sofa. Standing in front of the coffee table, Bella entirely dropped her innocent victim act. She reached up and violently ripped the collar of her dress. The lace tore with a loud rip. Then she messed up her hair and used her own fingernails to scratch harsh red lines down her arms. I couldn’t force a single sound past my lips. “System,” she muttered, staring at the empty air. “Has the item taken effect?” Pink comments exploded across the ceiling. [High-grade synthetic aphrodisiac deployed! You got this, Host!] [Forced love! Right here! So exciting!] [The villainous male side character has been immobilized. Please initiate the victim protocol immediately!] Bella suddenly unleashed a bloodcurdling scream. “Help! No, VP Wright, please! I am a decent girl!” She threw herself onto me, using her half-naked body to pin me down. She grabbed my paralyzed hand and forced it onto her chest. Crash! The door was kicked open. Declan, Mr. Harrison, and a swarm of reporters flooded the room. From their angle, all they could see was me pinning Bella to the couch. My face was flushed red, and my hand was aggressively grabbing her chest. Bella sobbed so hard she could barely breathe, desperately shoving at my shoulders. “He threatened me… He said if I didn’t obey him, I would fail my probation…” Declan stormed forward. “Rowan!” He pointed a shaking finger right in my face. “Look at what you have done!” He turned around and yelled at the security guards. “Call the police! Call them right now!” I opened my mouth to defend myself, but all I could do was gag on my own stomach acid. Bella shrank back and buried her face into Declan’s chest. In the blind spot where no one else could see, she tilted her head to look at me. The corners of her mouth curled up into a bright, victorious smile. The pink text completely flooded my vision. [Congratulations, baby! The villainous male side character has been eliminated!] [Now you are the terrified little bunny in the CEO’s arms!] [This is what happens when you mess with our clumsy beauty!] Right before my vision went completely black, I heard those five words echo in my mind. Villainous male side character. So I was nothing more than a stepping stone meant to add flavor to the male and female leads’ romance. I tried to raise my hand to rub my pounding forehead, but I was met with the sharp clatter of metal. My right wrist was yanked back. A pair of silver handcuffs locked me securely to the metal bedrail. Sitting in a chair next to the hospital bed was a female police officer in full uniform, staring at me coldly. “Awake?” The officer snapped her notepad shut. “Rowan Wright. You are under investigation for attempted sexual assault and workplace harassment. Given your medical condition, you are under supervised residential surveillance here at the hospital.” Heh. I closed my eyes. Villainous male side character. The entire foundation of Bella’s master plan relied on the core assumption that I was a “man.” Because I was a “CEO,” I was supposed to spoil her. Because I was a “male executive,” I was supposed to harass her. Because I was the “villainous male side character,” I was supposed to force myself on her. That so-called System had gotten my gender completely wrong. And Bella had never once bothered to question it. That was their fatal flaw. My phone was resting on the nightstand. The screen was lit up, bombarded with push notifications. Famous Corporate Executive Sexually Assaults Intern. A Beast in a Suit! The Dark Private Life of VP Wright. Survivor Bella Speaks Out: I Just Wanted to Do My Job. I didn’t even need to click the links to know the comment sections were praying I rotted in prison. People were probably already throwing red paint on my front door. “Officer.” The female cop looked at me coldly. “Save your breath for the interrogation room.” “The burn on my thigh needs a fresh dressing,” I said, slowly pushing myself up. “Also, I want to request a blood test.” The officer frowned. “A blood test?” “I was dosed with a heavy sedative last night. The residue should still be in my system. And…” I paused for a second. “I want to request that you personally conduct a preliminary physical examination on me, right here in this room.” “Check for what?” “Check my biological sex.” The officer froze. Her eyes scanned my face, completely bewildered. “What are you talking about? Your ID says…” “My ID says I am a woman,” I interrupted her. “But Bella, the media, and everyone outside this room seem to think I am a man.” The officer opened her mouth, but no words came out. She stood up, took three quick steps to the bed, and sharply drew the privacy curtain closed. Five minutes later. The curtain was pulled back. The officer’s face was rigid, a mixture of utter shock, deep embarrassment, and rising fury. “I will get a doctor in here to draw your blood immediately,” she said, her tone entirely stripped of its previous hostility. “And I will report this to my superiors right away.” I leaned back against my pillows, staring up at the blinding fluorescent lights. “Officer, I want to report a crime.” “Defamation, malicious framing, and poisoning with a dangerous substance.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “455109”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Heavy snow sealed the mountain passes, burying the jagged peaks in deadly white. As the only woman to conquer Deadwood Pass’s seventy-two switchbacks unscathed, I was offered a ten million dollar rescue job. The target was stranded at the ridge’s end. I’d been there before—ten years earlier. My seventeen year old daughter and her friends were paragliding when a sudden storm forced a brutal cliffside landing. Rescue never came in time. My girl froze to death on those merciless rocks. Later, I learned my husband, James, ignored her plight. He spent millions redirecting every helicopter and snowcat to save his first love’s child—who’d only sprained an ankle. That day, I quit my tenured professorship and moved to this frozen backwater, becoming a penniless tow truck driver. For a decade, I ran that lethal highway until every icy curve and drop was etched in my bones. No one else died on my watch. Now my best friend begged me to take this job, slapping the offer on my grease stained table. I glanced at the photo—a face I’d never forget—let out a dry laugh, and dropped my keys. “Not this one.” Jess was still riding the high of a massive payday dropping out of the sky. Hearing my words, she froze, her jaw practically hitting the floor. “Wait, Sarah, are you out of your damn mind? This is ten million bucks!” “We’ve been rotting in this frozen armpit of a town for a decade and haven’t seen a fraction of that kind of cash. And you’re just walking away?” We had bled and frozen together on these roads for years. Jess wasn’t about to let me throw away a winning lottery ticket. She physically blocked the door as I tried to leave the dispatch cabin. “Sarah, wake the hell up. Go splash some freezing water on your face and think about this! Ten years ago, you dragged yourself in here looking like a stray dog. You had nothing. Your ex-husband threw you away like garbage!” “This is your golden ticket! Don’t you want to shove this massive win right in his arrogant face? Make him grovel and beg for a second chance?” I gently but firmly pushed Jess’s hand away from the doorframe. My chest felt incredibly heavy. “I don’t care about getting back at anyone. My mind is made up. Drop it, Jess. I’m going home.” “Sarah!” Frustrated by my stubbornness, Jess was practically sweating despite the drafty cabin, screaming at my back. “Even if you bail on this, you need a damn good reason! I know you. You are not the kind of person who just sits back and watches someone die!” I stopped in my tracks. Slowly, I turned to look at her, my eyes entirely dead. “Maybe I am exactly that kind of person.” Jess’s chest heaved. “We’ve known each other for a decade. Every time the scanner goes off, you never say no. You are always the first one behind the wheel. It doesn’t matter if it’s an avalanche warning or a whiteout blizzard. When the whole crew begs you to stay back, you always say a kid’s life matters more than yours.” “How could you possibly be that cold? Sarah, just tell me why.” “There is no why. Find someone else. I’m not driving.” I pushed the door open. Jess followed me out into the biting cold, violently running her hands through her hair in pure agitation. “The weather up on Deadwood gets worse every year! A few guys tried to run it a couple of winters ago and none of them came back alive. If you don’t go, nobody on this mountain will touch that route.” “Are you sick? Is it your back? Look, I’ll ride shotgun. I’ll handle the winches and the heavy lifting, you just drive.” “You have to give us something, Sarah! The girls in our crew are drowning in debt. They are waiting for a miracle, and you owe them an explanation!” Looking out at the towering, snow-capped peaks in the distance, I asked myself what had kept me coming back to these seventy-two deadly switchbacks that had claimed so many lives. It was my daughter. It was her voice, echoing in my nightmares, crying out for her mom to save her. It was the sheer, desperate will to keep her memory alive. Even when I was bleeding out in a wrecked cab, I forced myself to stay awake. I swore to myself that no other mother in this world would ever have to feel the soul-crushing agony of losing a child. Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I fought back the tears threatening to spill. “I’ll explain it to the crew myself. Just stop pushing me.” Maybe it was the absolute, raw devastation in my eyes that finally silenced Jess. She didn’t try to block my path again. “I don’t get it,” she whispered. “But you’re my girl. I believe you have your reasons. I’ll go talk to the others.” Before I could even reach my beat-up truck in the yard, my burner phone buzzed. It was a number I had spent a decade trying to scrub from my brain. “My wife and I are almost at the base of the mountain. I want to know why you’re refusing the extraction. Is it the money? I can write a check for another ten million right now.” “Or name your price. As long as you pull my daughter off that ridge, I will give you anything you want.” That familiar, suffocatingly arrogant voice pierced right through my eardrum, exactly the same as it was ten years ago. My knuckles turned white around the plastic casing of the phone. “I don’t want anything. I cannot save your daughter.” James didn’t recognize my voice. He began to shout, the polished veneer cracking to reveal a desperate, trembling panic. “You sound old enough to be a parent! Do you not have kids of your own?” “If your child was trapped in a freezing death zone, could you really just sit there and leave them to die?” 2 Leave them to die? A bitter, twisted smile crept onto my lips. Back when I found out James had diverted the entire fleet of helicopters for his first love’s kid, I had screamed those exact words at him. I had screamed until my throat bled, asking him how a stranger’s child could possibly be more important than his own flesh and blood. He was terrifyingly calm. His voice over the phone hadn’t held a single tremor. “I had the medical team analyze their vitals. Sophie has a stronger baseline constitution than Beth, so logistically, we had to secure Sophie first.” “Neither of us wanted anyone to die. It’s a tragedy, but the situation is what it is. I’m grieving too, you know.” He claimed he was grieving, yet the moment I shoved the divorce papers at his chest, he turned around and married his precious first love before the ink was even dry. “The kid up there isn’t your biological daughter, right? If she was your real flesh and blood, would you be doing all this?” James didn’t hesitate for a microsecond. “I don’t care about biology. I raised her. She is my daughter.” “And if she was my biological child? I would liquidate every asset I own and risk my own life to get her down from there.” Before I could even formulate a response, he let out a scoff of pure condescension. “Since you clearly did your homework and know I’m the CEO of Bode Holdings, you should understand that doing me this favor will set you up for life.” “I can bump the bounty to fifty million dollars. People like you couldn’t make fifty million if you worked for a thousand lifetimes.” “If you have half a brain, you’ll grab this ticket out of poverty instead of being a stubborn hillbilly and dragging your husband and kids down with you.” I actually laughed out loud. “You really are Father of the Year.” I had dreamed of my little girl more times than I could count. In the dreams, she always looked up at me with those big, innocent eyes, asking why Daddy didn’t want to save her. Why he picked a friend’s daughter over his own. I could never give her an answer. Deep down, I knew the ugly truth. James never loved me, which meant my child was never going to be his priority. “Fifty million is a hell of a lot of money. But it’s a shame. I don’t need it. Find another driver.” I killed the call and powered off the phone completely. The second I stepped out of the yard, the rest of the crew swarmed me. Rhonda, our grizzled team captain, blocked my path. “Sarah, you can’t walk away from this. Do you have any idea who’s trapped up there? The Bodes. We are dirt-poor mechanics and tow-truck drivers. We cannot afford to piss off billionaires.” Of course I knew. James and Lexi’s fairytale wedding had been plastered all over the national news. A real-life romance that made the internet swoon. Nobody remembered me. Nobody remembered my daughter. “James is Sophie’s stepdad, but he treats her like gold! And he controls Bode Holdings. He practically owns Denver!” “And Lexi Bode? She’s a world-renowned surgeon. People like that can crush us like bugs.” Jess stood there with red eyes, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “On top of that, they did background checks. They found out about Brenda’s kid needing a kidney transplant. Lexi said if you drive the rig, she’ll pull strings at the transplant center. Toby will have a new kidney by next Friday.” Brenda dropped to her knees right in the filthy slush, dragging her sickly son Toby down with her. She looked up at me, absolutely broken. “Sarah. Please. I’m begging you. I’ll kiss the dirt you walk on. He’s my only baby. Please save my Toby.” Toby, his face pale and swollen from the dialysis, wrapped his thin arms around my work boots. “Auntie Sarah… I don’t want to die…” James hadn’t changed a bit. He still knew exactly how to manipulate human weakness. He was still completely devoid of humanity. I stood there in silence. I pulled a crushed cigarette from my leather jacket, lit it, and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke into the freezing air. My voice came out like gravel. “Today is my daughter’s death anniversary.” Rhonda rushed to speak. “We know, Sarah, we remember! Once you get this kid down the mountain, we will all go visit Beth’s grave with you.” “Yeah!” Brenda sobbed, snot and tears freezing to her face. “You’ve saved so many kids out here! Just save Toby too! This is the only chance he has left!” Before I could say another word, the deep, aggressive roar of a V8 engine echoed through the canyon. A sleek, matte-black G-Wagon skidded to a halt right in front of us. The heavy door swung open. James stepped out into the mud, his sharp, predatory eyes locking instantly onto my face. 3 Almost immediately, naked disgust flashed across his features. He didn’t recognize me. I hadn’t seen a salon in years. After a decade of brutal mountain winters, I was no longer the radiant, soft-spoken, highly respected university professor he once knew. Right now, I was wrapped in a greasy, peeling leather jacket I hadn’t washed in weeks. My face was weather-beaten, covered in rough windburn and premature, deep-set wrinkles from squinting into snowstorms. Compared to his tailored wool overcoat and pristine Italian leather shoes, I looked like absolute gutter trash. “So you’re the so-called legendary female driver of Deadwood Pass?” He let out a short, mocking laugh. “Do you have any concept of what fifty million dollars is? It could buy your pathetic life a hundred times over.” I didn’t answer. I just took another drag of my cigarette. The passenger door opened. Lexi stepped down into the slush. Her gaze swept over me. She tried to maintain a facade of calm grace, but the elitist superiority practically rolled off her in waves. “My husband’s delivery might be harsh, but he’s stating facts. Your entire crew works yourselves to the bone year-round, and what do you bring in? Maybe thirty grand? Split five ways?” “This fifty million won’t just buy you groceries. It will catapult you into a tax bracket you can’t even comprehend. It’s generational wealth.” “Are you really going to let pride ruin your life?” I gave her a faint smile. “My answer is still no.” “Why? Give me a rational explanation.” “I don’t need one.” James’s patience snapped. He glared at me, his eyes looking like chips of dirty ice. “Bullshit. Every human action has a motive. If you’re refusing, it’s because you think you have leverage to squeeze more out of us!” Lexi’s elegant mask finally slipped, her face hardening. “Look, don’t be greedy. People who bite off more than they can chew end up choking.” “You people reek of cheap booze and desperation. All you want is to climb out of the mud and be somebody, right? I can give you that.” “Cash, status, connections. I can get your husband a cushy corporate job in Denver. Whatever he wants, I can make it happen by making a single phone call.” “And your kid. I can get them into an Ivy League feeder school. Pay for a study abroad program in Europe. I’ll even set up a trust fund for when they get married and have kids of their own.” I chuckled, the sound dry and hollow. “Married and have kids?” Beth had actually talked about that. When she was a little girl, she watched some cartoon where the kids grew up and left the parents behind. She had buried her face in my chest, crying her eyes out. “Mommy, I’m never getting married! That way, when you and Daddy get old, I can just stay with you forever so you won’t be lonely!” Someone in the crew, eager to appease the billionaires, blurted out an answer to James. “Her ex-husband cheated on her, man. And her daughter passed away.” James raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms with a smug, knowing look. “Well, your ex-husband was a smart man. A cold-blooded, heartless woman who’d watch a kid die for leverage? Any random whore off the street would be a better partner than you.” “Walking out on you was the best decision he ever made. And your kid died? Let me take a wild guess. Was it your fault?” My hands balled into tight fists, my nails digging into my palms as I glared at him with pure hatred. James didn’t back down an inch. He sneered, enunciating every syllable. “When your kid was dying, were you acting exactly like this? Stubborn, detached, playing stupid mind games until you literally dragged her to her grave?!” “Shut your damn mouth!” I hissed through clenched teeth. The sheer venom in my eyes was impossible to hide. Lexi stepped smoothly in front of him, playing the diplomat. “Excuse my husband’s temper. But since you’ve been a mother, you should be able to empathize with the absolute panic of parents trying to save their child.” She glanced at her Rolex. “The blizzard hits in exactly thirty minutes. If we delay, the extraction becomes physically impossible, and you’ll be risking your own neck.” “Playing hard to get once is a negotiation tactic. Doing it twice is just arrogant stupidity. Get in your truck. Now.” When I still didn’t move, James suddenly pointed a manicured finger right at Brenda. “You can stand your ground. But what about these friends of yours? The ones who bleed with you? Are you really going to screw them over too?” “You cross me today, and not only will her kid never see a kidney donor, I will personally guarantee that everyone standing in this yard is blacklisted.” His voice dripped with absolute malice. “Unless you can guarantee your families will never get sick, there isn’t a single hospital in the state of Colorado that will admit you. And no company in this city will ever hire you.” 4 Brenda’s face drained of all color. She practically crawled to my boots, her tears running completely dry from sheer terror. “Sarah. Sarah, please. Please, I am begging you on my life. Just say yes.” “Nobody else can drive that ridge! Have some mercy, please look at my boy!” Rhonda’s face was grim. She grabbed my shoulders, letting out a heavy sigh. “The Bodes actually have that kind of power, Sarah. You have to…” I shoved Rhonda’s hands away. I looked down at Brenda and her frail son. In their desperate bid to survive, Brenda had slammed her head against the frozen ground so hard that blood was trickling down her forehead, mixing with the dirt. “I will figure something out for Toby,” I said softly. “But this gig… I really can’t do it. My hands are tied.” Something snapped inside Lexi. She lunged forward, grabbing the collar of my heavy leather jacket, and delivered a vicious, stinging slap across my face. Every ounce of her fake, upper-class grace evaporated. “We called every single rescue outfit in the state! They all said you’re the only freak crazy enough to run this pass, and now you’re telling me your hands are tied?!” “That is a human life up there! You let her die, and you are a goddamn murderer!” I let out a dark laugh. My hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of her expensive, blown-out hair. I yanked her head back and returned the slap, twice as hard. “You’re the goddamn murderer!” James, who had just watched his wife slap me with smug satisfaction, turned purple with rage the second my hand made contact with her cheek. “Get her!” he barked. The massive private security guards he brought swarmed me, slamming me face-first into the filthy, packed snow. James stepped forward, grinding the sole of his designer shoe directly into the side of my face. “You think you can lay hands on my wife, you piece of trash? You want to do this the hard way? Fine. Tie every single one of her friends up. For every minute she refuses to drive, throw one of them off the ravine!” I struggled wildly against the heavy boots pinning me down, screaming at the top of my lungs. “Don’t you dare!” “Watch me,” he growled, pressing his shoe down so hard I could hear my own teeth grinding together against the ice. “This place is off the grid anyway. We’ll just tell the cops your little crew got buried in an avalanche during a heroic rescue attempt. Who’s gonna prove otherwise?” The guards dragged Rhonda, Brenda, and the others toward the sheer drop at the edge of the yard. The first one they pushed to the brink was Jess. Sweat soaked through her winter gear despite the freezing wind. She was absolutely terrified, screaming back at me. “Sarah! Sarah, please! I don’t want to die! I haven’t even seen my boy graduate yet!” My eyes went bloodshot. I stared at my crew, my jaw clenched so tight I tasted copper. Slowly, I turned my gaze up to James’s face. “Pull them back from the edge!” James smirked. He lifted his foot off my face and surprisingly reached down, grabbing my arm to help me up. He even brushed the dirty snow off my lapels with a patronizing smile. It was as if the psychotic billionaire from three seconds ago had never existed. “I’m so glad you’ve come to your senses. I expect you to bring my daughter back without a single scratch on her.” “Because if anything happens to her, my wife and I will get very, very creative with you.” Hearing those words, a raw, manic laughter clawed its way out of my throat. I couldn’t stop. “Is that right? Losing a kid makes you suffer? Really? Because rumor has it, the kid you had with your first wife died too.” James’s eyebrow twitched violently. “You didn’t shed a single tear for her. You finalized the divorce, married the mistress without skipping a beat, and didn’t even bother to go to the morgue to identify your own daughter’s body.” “Do you ever think about her? Does your chest ache? When you wake up in the dead of night, have you ever shed a single goddamn tear for her?” James’s lips began to tremble. For a split second, a flash of genuine, agonizing pain cut through the ice in his eyes. “Who… who the hell are you? How do you know that? Did you… did you know me before?” I spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva. “Someone as high and mighty as you? How could gutter trash like me ever know you?” “James, stop! A broke mechanic wouldn’t know us. She’s just reading tabloid garbage. Stop wasting time and get her in the truck!” Lexi grabbed my arm, practically dragging me toward my reinforced tow rig. “Get in the damn driver’s seat!” When I still refused to move my feet, she shrieked at the guards. “Throw the loudmouth off the cliff!” Rhonda screamed until her voice cracked. “Sarah, get in the truck! Are you really going to let Jess die? She’s had your back for ten years!” Jess was ghost-pale, her eyes wide with total despair. “Sarah, why?! At least tell me why before they kill me!” I squeezed my eyes shut. The pain radiating through my chest was so intense my knees almost buckled. “Because if I get up there,” I whispered, my voice trembling with a decade of suppressed venom, “I won’t be able to stop myself from wrapping my hands around her throat and choking the life out of her.” “I can save anyone in this godforsaken world. But I will never save her.”

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Our marketing agency was practically bleeding out, inches away from total bankruptcy. I was the one who pulled us back from the ledge. I spent a month practically living at the office, surviving on black coffee and sheer willpower, until I finally locked down a ten-million-dollar contract that would save all our jobs. Just hours before the official ink was supposed to dry, my phone buzzed. A notification from the company’s main Slack channel. Brittany, our newest intern, had tagged me. [Hey Nicole. No offense, but I’m just curious.] [Did you take a massive kickback on this deal?] [The company is literally failing to make payroll, and you’re secretly lining your pockets. How do you sleep at night?] Within seconds, the typing bubbles from other coworkers flooded the screen. They were backing her up. Okay. Fine. I canceled my morning alarm. I wasn’t going to sign the contract. I was going to drop the entire ten-million-dollar account directly into our little intern’s lap. Let her see exactly how those “kickbacks” taste. 1 I had worked myself to the bone for thirty straight days. When I finally got the verbal confirmation for the ten-million-dollar account, I crawled into bed, ready to sleep for a week. Suddenly, my phone started vibrating off the nightstand. At first, I smiled. I figured the team had heard the news and was losing their minds with excitement. After all, management hadn’t issued a paycheck in two months. This deal meant everyone was finally getting their back pay, plus a massive bonus. I opened Slack, my thumb hovering over the screen, ready to type out a celebratory message. Then I read the chat. My blood ran cold. Brittany, a twenty-one-year-old intern, had publicly tagged me in the #General channel. [@Nicole, no offense at all!] [I just want to know… for a ten-million-dollar account, you must have negotiated a pretty sweet under-the-table cut for yourself, right?] [Every dollar you pocket is a dollar taken right out of our bonus pool.] [Based on what I know about the industry, you’re probably taking home at least seven figures in kickbacks, aren’t you?] My fingers froze over the keyboard. Every ounce of exhaustion vanished, replaced by a spike of adrenaline. Was she actually out of her mind? Did she seriously believe I was embezzling? Earlier that afternoon, right before I left the building, Brittany had cornered me by the elevators. She had given me this sly, conspiratorial wink and whispered something about me securing a “retirement fund” from the client. I was rushing to a final pitch meeting and didn’t have time for her games. I just told her to mind her own business and stepped into the elevator. She took that as a confession. Logically, I didn’t owe a junior intern an explanation. But Brittany was a special case. She was hired under the table, bypassing HR completely. The office rumor mill swore she had deep, personal ties with our CEO. Because of her supposed status, the rest of the desperate, unpaid staff treated her words like gospel. [Wait, seriously? The company is literally drowning and Nicole is skimming off the top?] [I haven’t been paid in eight weeks! Are you kidding me?!] [We all worked on the pitch deck. If she’s taking a secret payout…] We were in the most critical window of the negotiation. If the client caught wind of internal fraud rumors, they would pull the plug instantly. I swallowed my rage, kept my professionalism intact, and typed a response to the entire company. [Every single cent of the project funding is legally bound in the contract and routed directly into the corporate escrow account. I have not received a single dime in personal kickbacks. Do not spread baseless, defamatory rumors.] That last sentence was a direct warning. 2 The Slack channel went dead silent for a few minutes. Slowly, private messages started trickling into my inbox from the core team. [God, sorry Nicole. We just panicked. We know you wouldn’t do that.] [Yeah, we know how hard you’ve bled for this agency. Just ignore her.] [Brittany is just a kid. She doesn’t know how corporate billing works.] My team wasn’t stupid. They knew my character. I let out a long breath, tossed the phone aside, and let the sheer exhaustion pull me under. I had been averaging four hours of sleep a night. I passed out the second my head hit the pillow. The next morning, I walked into the bullpen with a coffee in hand, only to be met with dead silence and averted eyes. I pulled my lead designer, Jenna, into a glass meeting room. When she told me what happened, the floor dropped out from under me. While I was asleep, Brittany had created a new, private Slack channel. She invited everyone in the company. Except me. Jenna showed me the chat logs. Brittany had spent the entire night brainwashing the staff. [I can’t stand watching her play you guys for absolute fools while you’re struggling to pay rent.] [Nicole signed a backdoor deal. The official contract shows one price, but the client is paying her a massive consulting fee on the side.] [I have an inside source.] [She already pocketed a cool million.] [That million was supposed to be our hazard pay. Why are we letting her steal food from our tables?!] Between her untouchable status as the boss’s favorite and the absolute certainty in her tone, the desperate staff swallowed the bait. [What the hell do we do? A million bucks split between us… that’s five figures each.] [I can’t believe Nicole is a thief. Does Richard know?] [Telling the CEO won’t help if we don’t have paper evidence.] [She’s smart. She probably scrubbed the paper trail months ago.] Jenna looked at me, her eyes filled with conflict. “Nicole… I don’t want to believe you’d do this to us…” My heart ached. This was my team. But the agency hadn’t paid us in two months. People were missing mortgage payments. Panic makes people turn on each other. But what was Brittany’s endgame? Was she clinically insane? Regardless of whether the rumor was true, if this leaked outside these walls, our client would drop us like a bad habit. No company wants to work with a vendor under investigation for embezzlement. If the deal died, the agency died. None of us would ever see our paychecks. I had to cut the head off this snake right now. 3 Some things need to be handled in public. I marched out of the glass room and walked straight to Brittany’s cubicle. She was sitting there, sipping an iced latte, a smug little smile on her face. She was expecting me. Before I could even open my mouth, she leaned back in her ergonomic chair and spoke loud enough for the entire floor to hear. “So, Nicole. Does your conscience hurt at all? Stealing the team’s hard-earned money?” I had no idea where she got this psychotic delusion, but everyone in the bullpen had stopped typing. Dozens of eyes were locked on me. They needed an answer. I forced my voice to remain perfectly level. “Every single financial transaction goes through the corporate accounting department. I have absolutely zero private financial dealings with the client. Every wire transfer goes to the agency. Not a single cent touches my personal accounts.” Not to mention, the contract wasn’t even signed yet. Nobody pays a bribe before the ink is dry. Brittany stared at me, letting out a sharp, mocking laugh. “No private dealings? Really?” My stomach did a slow flip. She picked up her phone and tapped the screen. A second later, a notification chimed on every single computer in the office. She had dropped a photo into the main channel. It was a picture of me, taken from a distance, walking out of the client’s corporate lobby. I was carrying a heavy, polished wooden box. The kind used to hold vintage Macallan 25 Scotch. “Look closely, guys,” Brittany announced, her voice dripping with venom. “Nicole doesn’t drink. She hates whiskey. So why did the client’s VP personally walk her out and hand her a luxury liquor box? We’re all adults here. Do I really need to spell out what was stuffed inside that box?” The implication hung heavily in the dead air. Cold, hard cash. The moment the staff connected the dots, the energy in the room shifted violently. The looks they gave me turned from doubtful to downright hostile. 4 The picture was real. But there was no money in that box. I had been running between meetings all day and the heel of my Louboutins snapped cleanly off in the client’s lobby. Their HR director felt terrible. She gave me a pair of company-branded slide sandals to wear home and handed me an empty wooden display box from a corporate gift to carry my broken heels in. Saying it out loud in my head, I realized how incredibly absurd the truth sounded. Seeing my momentary hesitation, Brittany pounced. She slammed her hand on her desk, her eyes lighting up with vicious triumph. “See?! Look at her face! She’s completely speechless because she knows I caught her!” I gritted my teeth and explained exactly what happened with the shoes. Exactly as I predicted, nobody bought it. Even Jenna, who had warned me earlier, looked away, her face hardening with disappointment. Brittany looked me up and down, putting on a highly exaggerated theatrical performance. “Wow. A broken shoe? Really? If you didn’t do it, why are you sweating so hard to invent these ridiculous stories?” She fluttered her eyelashes at me. I finally understood what it meant to be trapped in a kangaroo court. If I explained myself, I was being defensive. If I stayed silent, I was admitting guilt. A sudden, chilling calm washed over me. Playing nice in the corporate world only makes you a target. Brittany felt perfectly comfortable humiliating a senior director because she truly believed she was untouchable. “What exactly is your goal here, Brittany?” I asked softly. I still had her final internship evaluation on my desk. Regardless of who she was sleeping with, I was going to make sure she never worked in this industry again. She pouted her lips and held her hand out to me, palm up. “Spit out the kickback. Distribute it to the team. Do that, and we can sweep this little indiscretion under the rug.” She paused, letting her voice drop into a sickly-sweet threat. “If you don’t… well, I’ll just have to go to the CEO. And corporate fraud carries a pretty heavy prison sentence, Nicole.” 5 A low murmur of approval rippled through the bullpen. They were actually moved. They saw Brittany as some sort of corporate Robin Hood, risking her own internship to fight the evil management for their paychecks. One of the senior copywriters stood up, his face red with stress. “Nicole, just give the money up before the feds get involved. Split it with the floor and we’ll call it even.” “We are drowning here,” another developer chimed in. “I haven’t brought a check home in two months. My wife is threatening to take the kids to her mother’s.” “Brittany is just trying to look out for us…” Wow. Okay. “Fine,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise like glass. “Since you’ve all unanimously decided I’m a criminal, let’s take this straight to the top. Let’s go see Richard.” The sheer injustice of it made my chest physically ache. I knew they were struggling. That’s exactly why I had destroyed my physical and mental health for thirty days straight to land this account. I practically gave myself an ulcer for these people. I didn’t get a single word of thanks. Only a lynch mob. I swallowed hard, fighting the burn in the back of my throat. As I turned toward the executive suites, I caught a glimpse of Brittany’s face. A flash of pure, unadulterated victory crossed her eyes. It was so fast I almost missed it. Half the office trailed behind me as I marched into Richard’s spacious corner office. Before I could even close the door, Brittany turned on the waterworks, spinning her wild narrative to the CEO. “Richard, Nicole took a massive under-the-table payout from the client, and she’s refusing to make the company whole!” Richard leaned back in his leather executive chair. His brow furrowed deeply. His gaze swept over the angry crowd of employees before finally landing on me. His voice was dripping with accusation. “Nicole. Explain the Macallan box.” The absolute lack of hesitation in his voice—the immediate assumption of my guilt—was a physical blow. He knew me. Out of everyone in this building, he knew I had built this agency from the ground up with him. I had never taken a single penny that wasn’t on my W-2. Staring at the hostility in the room, I forced my heart rate to slow. “Richard,” I said, enunciating every single syllable. “Are you forgetting that the contract hasn’t even been signed yet? The client hasn’t wired a single cent to anyone. Brittany’s entire accusation is legally impossible.” I turned slowly, looking every single person in the eye. “Even if I was a corrupt, thieving executive, I would have to wait for the ink to dry and the funds to clear escrow before securing a kickback, wouldn’t I?” “Put yourselves in the client’s shoes. Would you hand over a million dollars in cash to a vendor before the legal documents were even drafted?” The crowded office suddenly went dead silent. A few of the developers shifted uncomfortably, the logical flaw in the witch hunt finally dawning on them. 6 Brittany didn’t miss a beat. She immediately doubled down, raising her voice. “So what?! The only reason they agreed to the deal is because of the pitch deck the team built! Anyone could have walked in there and closed the deal! Why should you get a massive payout while we starve?!” She took a step toward me, a vicious sneer on her face. “You already shook hands on the backdoor deal. You’re just waiting to sign the official papers tomorrow so the client can wire the dirty money to your offshore account!” I stared at her in utter disbelief. The mental gymnastics required to spin reality like that were staggering. But what truly shattered my faith in the company was what happened next. Richard, the CEO I had worked alongside for five years, slowly nodded. “Brittany makes a valid point.” In that exact second, all the exhaustion, the loyalty, and the late nights evaporated. A cold, heavy void opened up in my chest. All the fight drained right out of me. I let out a soft, hollow chuckle. “So that’s how it is, Richard? You, and everyone standing in this room, truly believe I’m defrauding the company?” Nobody said a word. The heavy silence was all the confirmation I needed. The ice in my veins solidified. When I spoke again, my voice was completely devoid of emotion. “Since you all think closing a ten-million-dollar account is so incredibly easy, and since I’m apparently too corrupt to handle it…” I looked right at the intern. “Let Brittany sign the master contracts tomorrow. I wash my hands of this entirely.”

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I spent thirty years battling chronic, agonizing stomach disease—a permanent condition I developed after diving into freezing water to save my drowning husband. Recently, the doctors told me it had mutated. Without immediate surgery, I would die. When my husband, Adam, heard the news, he didn’t come alone. He brought the mistress he had been hiding for decades to visit my hospital room. “Tina, the doctors ran the tests. Chloe is a perfect match. She can donate her kidney to you.” “But she has one condition. She wants a clean divorce. You walk away with nothing, and you give up custody of the kids.” He paused, a complicated expression crossing his face. “Of course, if you don’t agree to that, I could always…” “I agree.” I cut him off instantly, terrified that his mistress would change her mind. Because I wanted to live. I needed to survive to finally experience the freedom I had lost the day I married Adam thirty years ago. 01 The moment the words left my mouth, a dead silence fell over the hospital room. Adam’s expression twisted into something incredibly dark. “You’re willing to abandon your own children just for a kidney?” He let out a cold, sharp laugh. “I had no idea I married someone so heartless.” I didn’t answer. I just looked out the window. Outside, a heavy snowstorm was raging. The snow was so bright it physically hurt to look at. I squinted my eyes, feeling his heavy gaze still burning into the side of my face. I let out a long sigh and finally spoke the truth. “No matter what, Adam, I am actually grateful to you.” He frowned, looking genuinely confused. I turned my head to face him, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. “I’ve been in this hospital bed for a month. I never expected you to be my very first visitor.” “And I definitely didn’t expect you to be the one bringing me good news.” Exactly one month ago. The specialist had walked into my room, his face grim, and handed me the lab results. “Tina, your kidneys are failing rapidly. Your only chance of survival is an immediate transplant.” “You need to notify your family right now. Immediate relatives, especially your children, have the highest statistical probability of being a match.” My hands shook violently as I gripped the medical chart, but I slowly shook my head. My voice was rough as sandpaper. “Forget it. Don’t call him.” The doctor froze, ready to argue with me. I turned my face to the wall, avoiding his eyes. My son, Brian, had just fought tooth and nail to secure a VP position at Adam’s firm. He was managing multi-million-dollar accounts, right at the peak of his career trajectory. I refused to drag him down with my dying body. But late that night, the tiny, pathetic sliver of hope buried in my chest won out. I opened my phone and sent him a text. “Brian, Mom is in the hospital. I’m very sick and I need a transplant. Please don’t worry too much.” I stared unblinking at the screen, terrified I would miss his reply. I couldn’t even remember the last time I saw Brian in person. He hated my guts. Every text I ever sent him vanished into the void, completely ignored. But I thought—I hoped—that maybe, just maybe, knowing I was dying would make him care. I waited. And waited. From sunrise until the sky went black. I unlocked the screen a hundred times. Nothing. Around midnight, shivering in the cold hospital bed, I swallowed my pride and sent one last message. “Brian, can you please come sit with Mom? Just for tonight. I don’t understand any of these machines, and I’m so scared. I don’t know who to ask.” This time, the phone buzzed instantly. Brian replied. I scrambled to open the message. My hands were shaking so badly, and my outdated phone lagged, causing it to slip from my fingers and crash onto the linoleum floor. The screen shattered into a spiderweb of cracks. Through the broken glass, I read his reply. “I’m in a board meeting. Stop blowing up my phone and annoying me.” All the strength completely drained from my body. I let the phone lie on the freezing floor until the battery died. The room plunged into total darkness. The only sound left was the rhythmic, soulless beeping of the heart monitor, keeping me company through the longest night of my life. I sat up for hours until my eyes burned. Finally, I laid back and closed my eyes. I didn’t even have the energy to cry. I survived like that for a month. I lived on agonizing dialysis treatments, waiting for a donor that never came. I watched the other patients in my ward find matches, get wheeled into surgery, and go home to their families. The panic grew every single day. The suffocating terror of my own impending death slowly ate me alive. I knew I was out of time. Driven entirely by the desperate need to survive, I opened a chat history I hadn’t touched in years. I sent a message to my husband, Adam. 02 Adam stood there in silence. A flash of genuine guilt crossed his eyes. “Get some rest. I’ll go talk to the surgical team and fast-track the prep.” As he turned to leave, I finally noticed Chloe. She had been shrinking behind him the entire time, completely silent. Adam stood frozen in the doorway for a long time, staring out into the hallway. She finally reached out and tugged his sleeve. “Adam?” He snapped out of it and looked down at her. “What?” Chloe asked in a quiet, cautious whisper, “Did… did she really agree to it?” Adam nodded slowly. “Yeah. Tina agreed to sign the divorce papers.” But his face was completely blank as he said it. It was impossible to read his mind. Hearing his confirmation, a tiny, triumphant smirk flickered across Chloe’s lips. The next afternoon, Adam returned. He walked into my room holding a thick manila folder. But he didn’t pull the papers out immediately. He stood by the bed, looking down at my sickly, pale face, his expression incredibly complicated. After a heavy silence, he slowly pulled the divorce settlement from the envelope. His voice carried a rare, hesitant edge. “Tina… if you really don’t want to sign this, you don’t have to.” “I can leverage the company’s resources to find another donor. We don’t have to do it this way.” I forced a weak smile, my voice perfectly flat. “Give me a pen. I’ll sign.” He pulled the papers back, refusing to hand them over. “Tina, you’ve been my wife for decades. You built the foundation of this family. You managed the estate flawlessly. You put up with a lot of misery for me.” “The family needs you.” I looked up into his eyes and gave him a soft, genuine smile. “Adam. You don’t need me. You just need a maid who never complains.” His jaw clenched instantly. “I don’t owe you or your family a damn thing. Whatever debts I had when we got married, I’ve paid them back in blood over the last thirty years. Let me go, Adam. I couldn’t even keep the son I raised for twenty years from hating me. I have absolutely nothing left to stay for.” I didn’t wait to see his reaction. I reached out with a trembling, bruised hand and pulled the settlement out of his grip. I uncapped the pen and carefully, deliberately signed my name on the dotted line. Watching me do it, Adam’s knuckles turned white. His face darkened with fury. “Tina, after all these years, do you really feel absolutely nothing for me?!” “Do you really think thirty years of marriage is just a transaction you can write off?!” I looked at him, completely bewildered. “I just signed away my entire life so your little mistress can take my place. What more do you want from me?” “You kept her as a pet for decades. Did I ever scream? Did I ever throw a tantrum? I covered for you with your mother! I killed every tabloid rumor to protect your reputation! I played the perfect, loving wife to the entire world! I have done everything a human being can possibly do for you, Adam! Right now, all I am asking for is my life!” Adam ground his teeth together, letting out a hateful, venomous laugh. “Fine. The perfect, loving wife.” “Don’t come crying to me when you realize what you just threw away.” I stared him dead in the eye. “I will never regret this.” He turned on his heel and slammed the hospital door so hard the walls shook. The noise startled the little sparrows that usually nested on my windowsill. They took flight, scattering into the blizzard. The only living things that had kept me company for the last month were gone. Look at that, Tina. You really can’t keep anything, can you? 03 Suddenly, I had a reason to wake up in the morning. The surgical prep moved at lightning speed. Nurses came in every few hours to check my vitals, running me through the pre-op protocols. I forced myself to eat. I forced myself to sleep. Even when the dialysis left me feeling like I was hit by a truck, I fought through the nausea, desperate to get my body ready for the table. Out of nowhere, Brian sent me a text. “Keep your mouth shut about Dad and Chloe. If this leaks to the press, it will tank the company stock.” “And since you signed the papers, don’t bother contacting me ever again.” Reading his words, I didn’t feel the soul-crushing grief I expected. I just felt a profound, hollow relief. I tapped the text box, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Slowly, I deleted the draft and locked the screen. It was better this way. From this day forward, I had no son. I started planning my life after the surgery. I was going to move to New Zealand. The private stash of money I had saved over the decades was more than enough to buy a small cottage with a garden. I pictured myself watering the flowers in the morning and sitting on the porch in the afternoon sun. But right as I was dreaming of my new life, the door slammed open. My lead surgeon practically sprinted into the room, his face completely pale. “Tina, I am so sorry. Chloe backed out. She panicked about the surgical risks and revoked her consent. She is refusing to give you the kidney.” “What?!” My chest tightened so hard I couldn’t breathe. “Doctor, are you sure?! She swore she would do it! Why would she back out now?!” The tiny flame of hope in my chest was violently snuffed out. The suffocating terror of death rushed back in, drowning me completely. The doctor looked absolutely defeated. “We tried to reason with her. But she completely lost it. She said the thought of going under anesthesia terrified her. She was hysterical. We can’t force her onto the table.” I grabbed my phone with shaking hands and dialed Adam’s number. It rang five times before he finally picked up. He sounded exhausted. “I know why you’re calling. I’m trying to talk her down, but she won’t stop crying. She’s terrified of the complications.” He paused, lowering his voice. “Tina, calm down. The surgeon told me the risks are real. I can’t force Chloe to endanger her own life. I’ll figure something else out. I promise I will save you.” He hung up. I dialed him back instantly. He sent it straight to voicemail. I called again. And again. Nothing. After thirty years of swallowing my pain, I finally broke. The tears spilled over my cheeks, soaking the hospital gown. I was one signature away from living. Why was God torturing me like this? That night, I didn’t sleep a single second. Every tick of the clock felt like a judge reading my death sentence. The physical agony of the failing kidneys combined with the absolute despair in my mind was suffocating. My body started shutting down rapidly. I lost the strength to speak. Adam never called back. He never sent an update. I didn’t have the courage to call him again, terrified he would tell me to give up. I spent every hour staring blankly at the dead leaves blowing past the frozen window. Maybe this was just my karma. Maybe I was always meant to die here. 04 A few days later. The surgeon burst into my room again, this time practically glowing with excitement. “Tina! Great news! The national registry just flagged a perfect match! And her pre-op vitals are incredible! The success rate is through the roof!” I snapped my head up, convinced the lack of oxygen to my brain was causing hallucinations. He kept talking, talking incredibly fast. “She’s a young girl in the terminal ward. She has an incurable disease and only a few days left. She signed a blanket organ donation form, wanting to save whoever she could. And her tissue markers are a near-perfect match for yours! It’s an absolute miracle!” Hearing those words, the dam broke. I sobbed uncontrollably, the tears blinding me. I grabbed the doctor’s hand with both of mine, thanking him over and over again. Thank you to that little girl. Thank you to whoever was looking out for me. The surgery went perfectly. When I opened my eyes in the ICU, the bright, warm morning sun was pouring through the blinds. I laid there in pure shock. I actually survived. After a few days of aggressive recovery, my strength started coming back. I practically begged the nurses to tell me who the donor was. I needed to see her. My surgeon finally caved and wheeled me down to the palliative care ward. “This is her room. Her name is Maya. She’s very weak, but her spirit is incredible.” When my wheelchair cleared the doorway and I saw the girl lying in the bed, my heart completely stopped. The tears instantly flooded my eyes. She looked exactly like her. She looked exactly like the baby girl I lost decades ago. The exact same shape of her eyes. The exact same smile. Even the way she pursed her lips when she breathed… it was identical. Thirty years of suppressed trauma violently ripped through my chest. I buried my face in my hands, sobbing so hard I couldn’t catch my breath. Maya saw me crying. She forced a weak, incredibly gentle smile and slowly reached her hand out toward me. “Please don’t cry, ma’am. I’m so happy I could save you. My time is almost up. Please, just promise me you’ll live a beautiful life for both of us. See the world for me, okay?” I pushed myself out of the wheelchair and stumbled to her bedside, gripping her fragile hand in mine. “I promise. I swear to God I will live for you. I will see everything beautiful in this world. I won’t let your sacrifice be in vain.” Maya smiled. It was the purest, cleanest smile I had ever seen. Like a beam of pure light cutting through the darkest night of my life. 05 I demanded an early discharge. Before I left the hospital, I calculated exactly how much cash I needed for a one-way ticket to New Zealand. I wired every single remaining cent of my life savings directly into the bank account of Maya’s parents. After the transfer cleared, I went back to the palliative ward to check on them. When they saw the deposit, they grabbed my hands, weeping uncontrollably. Maya’s mother wiped her face, her voice cracking as she confessed the truth. “Tina… Maya isn’t our biological daughter. We adopted her years ago. We have a biological son, and we barely make enough to survive. We couldn’t afford the aggressive treatments for Maya when she first got sick. We delayed it for years until it became terminal… I will never forgive myself for failing her.” “Adopted?” A violent chill shot down my spine, freezing the blood in my veins. “Tell me right now. Exactly how old is Maya?” She wiped her nose. “She’s twenty-two. When we found her, she had severe head trauma. She couldn’t remember anything about her past, and the police could never track down her real parents.” I stumbled backward, slamming my shoulder into the doorframe just to stay upright. The room started spinning. A completely psychotic, impossible thought clawed its way into my brain. I took a ragged breath, my voice barely a whisper. “I… I need to ask you for a massive favor. Please… please let me run a DNA test with Maya.” Her parents froze, exchanging a confused look. But seeing the absolute desperation in my eyes, they slowly nodded. The next forty-eight hours were pure psychological torture. I replayed every memory of Maya’s face, comparing it to the toddler I had buried in my mind. The memories I had aggressively repressed for decades came flooding back with terrifying clarity. When the lab finally called, I practically ran down the hospital corridor to grab the envelope. My hands were shaking so violently I almost tore the paper in half. My eyes locked onto the bold text at the bottom of the page.

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I booked a fifteen-thousand-dollar Valentine’s proposal gig. The bride-to-be’s vision matched my own dream exactly, with an outdoor lawn, champagne towers, and a floral castle built from imported roses. Oak trees lined the space, wrapped in fairy lights and hand-drawn heart cards crafted by the groom. By the time we finished, I was drenched in sweat, my hair stuck to my cheeks, my clothes clinging to my back. I sank onto the grass, rubbed my lower back, and sent my boyfriend a selfie. “This is the absolute minimum standard,” I wrote. Connor replied instantly with a tiny saluting dog animation. The speakers flared to life with a soft acoustic song. Before I could slip away, guests pulled off my mask and guided me into the center of the lawn. From the far end, through scattered petals, Connor appeared in a fitted grey suit. My ears buzzed, my thoughts blanked. He dropped to one knee in front of me. “Ella, the proposal you always wanted, I built it for you.” Surrounded by cheers and bursts of confetti, I watched him slide a glittering diamond ring onto my finger, still streaked with black soil from the flowers. Five days later, a formal refund request arrived on my desk. The complaint stated the arrangement was unsatisfactory, the scenery cheap, and the event far below expectations. The client’s name was Connor. 1 “Ella, will you marry me?” I had just stood there staring at Connor. His voice sounded like it was echoing from the bottom of a well, miles away, yet deafeningly close. My boyfriend of seven years was actually proposing? I should have been thrilled. I should have been crying tears of absolute joy. But I had spent the last twelve hours hauling heavy wooden props across a field. My lower back was screaming in agony. My palms were covered in tiny, stinging paper cuts and thorn scratches from arranging thousands of roses. I was makeup-free, sweaty, and smelled like fertilizer. Every single physical sensation made it impossible for me to smile naturally. People were pouring out from behind the floral arches. My best friend was there, along with our entire college friend group. They started chanting, clapping their hands in rhythm. “Say yes! Say yes!” Connor was looking up at me, his smile impossibly gentle and confident. My head was spinning. The bride-to-be with the exact same taste as me was me. I had built my own dream proposal. A tiny voice in the back of my head tried to rationalize it. You built the perfect stage with your own two hands, the man you love is kneeling in front of it, and your friends are here to celebrate. Isn’t this the ultimate fairytale ending? My throat tightened, and my voice cracked. “Yes. I will.” My hands were shaking as I reached out toward him. But then I saw the dark grime shoved deep under my fingernails. Humiliation flared hot in my chest, and I instinctively tried to pull my hand back. He didn’t let me. He grabbed my wrist, firmly sliding the ring into place. Standing up, he pulled me into a tight embrace. The crowd erupted into wild applause and shrill whistles. Camera shutters clicked frantically from every direction. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to force myself to just soak in the happiest moment of my life, even if it had ambushed me in the worst possible way. Half an hour later, the venue began to clear out. Connor gently let go of my hand, his face falling into an expression of deep apology. “Babe, the guys at work just hit me with an emergency. I have to head out.” He kissed my forehead. “We’ll invite your parents out to a nice dinner next week and celebrate properly, just us.” Looking into his seemingly sincere eyes, a wave of hollow disappointment washed over me. But I swallowed it down and nodded. “Go handle it. Drive safe.” He turned and practically sprinted away, leaving me standing in the middle of a field with a dozen out-of-town friends. I spent the next hour booking them tables at a nice restaurant downtown, toasted them twice with a fake smile, paid the tab, and rushed back to the venue. When I got back, my assistant Lily was wiping her forehead, her smile awkward and strained. “Ella, it’s your big day. You should be celebrating with your fiancé. We can handle the teardown.” But event production doesn’t work like that. No matter how magical and breathtaking a setup is, once the client gets their perfect photos, it all has to be torn down and packed into trucks for the next gig. We were severely understaffed. If I left, my crew would be stuck here until sunrise. I took a deep breath, bent down, and picked up a heavy coil of binding wire. “If I bail, you guys won’t sleep tonight. Let’s get to work.” I threw myself back into director mode. Amidst the exhausted groans of my crew, we finally stripped the lawn back to bare grass at two in the morning. By the time I parked my beat-up sedan outside my apartment building, it was nearing 4 AM. The living room was pitch black, save for the eerie, flickering blue light of a dual-monitor setup. Connor was hunched in his gaming chair, headset securely clamped over his ears, his fingers mashing the mechanical keyboard in a frenzy. “Mid! Mid lane! Push the damn tower! Let’s go!” The victory banner flashed across his screen. He let out a triumphant whoop, ripped off his headset, and finally noticed me standing motionless in the doorway. “Oh, you’re back?” His tone was incredibly casual, like he was asking if I had picked up milk from the store. “Your massive work emergency was sitting in the dark playing video games?” My voice was hollow, trembling from pure physical and mental exhaustion. He blinked, clearly taken aback, but then his posture stiffened defensively. “Yeah. I promised the guys I’d run some ranked matches tonight. You expect me to just flake on my squad?” A violent tremor started in my hands. The sheer audacity of his words made my blood boil. “You left me entirely alone out there to clean up a massive logistical nightmare, and you came home to play games?” “Clean up what?” He scoffed, standing up. His tone shifted from defensive to flat-out accusing. “Ella, be reasonable for a second. Building sets and tearing down props, isn’t that literally your job?” 2 Your job. Those two words felt like a serrated knife twisting right in my chest. I was so furiously angry I couldn’t even form a syllable. Hot, stinging tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. Seeing me cry, he just rolled his eyes and waved a hand dismissively. “Alright, whatever. It’s not a big deal, why are you being so dramatic? Go take a shower. You reek of sweat, it’s gross.” Without another word, he sidestepped around me and walked straight into the bedroom. I stood rooted to the spot. Watching his back disappear into the hallway, I felt the blood turn to ice in my veins. My phone started buzzing relentlessly in my pocket. It was the massive group chat our friends had made to share photos from the day. I opened it, and a picture loaded on the screen. Connor looked like a million bucks, tailored suit, perfect hair, the absolute picture of a successful gentleman. And right next to him was me. Wearing a faded company polo, my face shiny with grease, strands of hair plastered awkwardly to my neck. If you zoomed in, you could even see a fresh, bloody scratch on the same hand wearing the diamond ring. We looked like we belonged on two completely different planets. Josh: “Can’t believe you two are the first ones to tie the knot! So happy for you guys!” Nate: “For real, Connor texted us yesterday stressing over every detail. Told us to keep it a secret at least three times!” Stella: “Ella, I am so jealous. You bagged such a handsome guy!” A bitter, self-deprecating laugh escaped my lips. I couldn’t even begin to explain the sour, suffocating feeling in my chest. Then another message popped up. Tyler: “Man, Connor must have dropped a fortune on that setup. Really broke the bank for our girl Ella!” I stared at the screen. Tyler was right. The invoice for this specific setup was exactly fifteen grand. The Bulgarian roses alone required expedited air freight. The floral castle was a heavy-duty custom build that took my crew two full days to construct. The champagne towers used imported crystal glass. For a couple with our income bracket, that price tag was absolutely astronomical. A second later, Connor’s reply popped into the chat. Connor: “You guys know nothing. Locking Ella down was the steal of the century!” A brief, pathetic warmth flickered in my chest. But then I remembered the cold, dismissive look on his face just moments ago, and the warmth instantly died. I didn’t send a single message to the chat. I tossed my phone onto the counter and walked into the bathroom. As the scalding water beat down on my shoulders, I stared at my dark circles and pale face in the foggy mirror. Then I looked down at the glittering stone on my left ring finger. I didn’t sleep a single minute that night. I dragged myself to the agency the next morning looking like a zombie. Connor didn’t text me once. A sudden, terrifying thought crept into my mind. What if this was exactly what the rest of my life would look like after we signed the papers? Should I break up with him? But how do you just casually throw away seven years of history? I couldn’t forget how, back in college, he ran across town in a blizzard just to bring me my favorite scarf. I couldn’t forget when I was hospitalized with a brutal flu, and he sat by my bed for three days straight, refusing to sleep. I let out a heavy, ragged sigh and pulled up the design briefs for my next client. By the third night of our cold war, I was sitting at my home desk, rushing to finish a rendering. A soft knock came at the door. “Babe, open up, please? I brought that red velvet cake from the bakery you love.” My heart gave a stupid, involuntary flutter, but I kept quiet. “Ella, I know I messed up. I’m so sorry. I was being a total jerk.” His voice was thick with guilt, carrying that familiar, boyish vulnerability that always broke my defenses. I walked over and unlocked the door. Connor was standing there holding a pristine white bakery box. When he saw me, his face lit up with a brilliant, relieved smile. “I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me forever.” He gently grabbed my wrist, pulling me out to the kitchen island, and opened the box. “Eat up. I had to hit three different spots before I found a place that still had it in stock.” Watching him hover over me, so eager to please, the glacier in my chest finally began to crack. I picked up a fork and took a small bite. The rich, sweet cream melted on my tongue. It was exactly what I needed. Seeing me eat, he let out a massive sigh of relief and carefully wrapped his hands around mine. “Babe, my brain was totally fried from the screen the other night. I didn’t mean a single word I said.” “I swear on my life, it will never happen again. Okay?” He pulled me into his arms. He smelled like laundry detergent and the faint scent of cedar, the smell of home. All the grievance and fury that had been suffocating me finally found a release. I buried my face in his chest, though I kept my voice dead serious. “Connor, you better mean that.” He raised three fingers in the air, swearing a solemn oath. That night, we slept tangled together, just like we always did. The next morning, I woke up early, kissed him while he slept, put on some light makeup, and headed to the office in a genuinely good mood. I hadn’t even set my bag down on my desk when my boss, Valerie, barked my name from her office. Her face was an ugly shade of purple. She slammed a manila folder onto her desk the second I walked in. “Read it.” I picked up the paper. It was a formal dispute and refund demand. Under the reason for complaint, it clearly stated: Unsatisfactory arrangement, cheap scenery, severely fell short of expectations. Requesting a full refund. The client name at the bottom: Connor. 3 All the blood rushed straight to my head, leaving my fingertips numb. “Valerie, this is impossible. This…” “Impossible? The client is literally sitting in our conference room right now making a scene!” Valerie’s chest heaved with suppressed rage. “Ella, you were the lead director on this account. Now we have a fifteen-grand disaster on our hands. How are you going to fix this?” I gripped the edge of the paper so tightly the edges crumpled. Connor. “Let me go talk to him.” I spun around, practically sprinting down the hall, and shoved the heavy glass door of the conference room open. Connor was sitting at the head of the long oak table, leaning back with one ankle casually resting on his knee. The company’s legal consultant was sitting uncomfortably across from him. He didn’t even bother to look up when I stormed in. “Ah, Ella. Good timing.” “I was just explaining to your boss here that the venue you put together was an absolute mess. The aesthetic was incredibly tacky.” “Half the roses looked like they were bought out of a discount bin, totally wilted. And honestly? Your crew has a terrible attitude. I asked them to move a few things and they acted like I was asking for their kidneys.” He leaned forward, slamming his hand flat against the table. “Fifteen grand for that garbage? Are you guys running a scam here?” He wasn’t yelling, but every single word felt like a rusty nail being hammered into my skull. My entire body was shaking. I could barely stay upright. “Connor, what the hell are you doing?” “What am I doing? I’m exercising my rights as a consumer!” “I paid for a premium service. Do I not have the right to leave an honest review?” “Look, just because we’re engaged doesn’t mean I’m going to give your company a free pass. Business is business, personal is personal.” “The setup was trash. I want my money back. It’s completely justified.” I stared at his face. He looked like a complete stranger. The man who had been holding me tight and whispering sweet apologies just twelve hours ago was currently sitting in my office acting like a shameless con artist. “Bullshit! Connor, you signed off on every single detail of that rendering!” Valerie had hurried into the room behind me. She grabbed my arm, shooting me a frantic look, silently warning me not to curse at a client. But I shook her off. My voice dropped to a freezing, venomous pitch. “Every single flower, every piece of staging, was procured specifically to your exact instructions. You literally hand-drew the neon sign design yourself.” “And now you’re sitting here telling me you hated it?” He let out a short, arrogant chuckle and threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Oh? Is that so?” “I’m the one writing the check. If I say it sucked, it sucked.” He turned to look at Valerie, a smug smirk playing on his lips. “Besides, Ella is my fiancée.” “My proposal setup was built by the woman I proposed to. Why on earth should you people get a cut of that money?” “Process the refund right now, or I’m taking this straight to the Better Business Bureau and dragging your agency’s name through the mud for fraud.” Valerie’s eyes went wide. She slowly took a step back, distancing herself from me. In that split second, all the puzzle pieces snapped violently together. I finally understood what he meant in the group chat. Locking her down was the steal of the century. He had planned to file a chargeback from the very beginning. “Connor!” I glared at him, the name scraping through my gritted teeth. There wasn’t an ounce of shame on his face. Instead, he looked incredibly proud of himself. He leaned back in the plush leather chair, crossing his arms like he was the smartest guy in the room. “Did I say something wrong? You did the manual labor, why should they get the profit!” I was vibrating with rage. Suddenly, he stood up and threw an arm around my shoulder, making sure his voice was loud enough for everyone in the hall to hear. “Babe, it’s fifteen thousand dollars!” “You already said yes. If we get this money back, that completely covers our actual wedding ceremony! You’re the top creative director here anyway, they’ll totally waive the fee as a perk for you!” Valerie hit her breaking point. She pointed a manicured finger right at my face. “Ella, this agency has spent years building your portfolio, and you use us to run a free scam for your boyfriend?!” “How can you be this incredibly selfish?!” 4 Hearing those words, I felt like I had been dipped in liquid nitrogen. A dozen different explanations piled up in my throat, but I couldn’t choke a single one out. The logistics crew had already confirmed my timeline. The massive Valentine’s build was indeed for my own proposal, and I had technically been off the clock for hours during the actual event. I just turned my head and looked at Connor’s familiar face. It had never looked so repulsive. He hadn’t just ruined my memory of getting engaged. He was actively destroying my career. Losing fifteen grand on a single chargeback was a massive hit to the quarterly margins. Valerie’s face was completely drained of color. She refused to even look at me. “Mr. Connor, we have a signed contract for that venue build.” “You were present on-site and verbally expressed total satisfaction with the deliverables. Coming in here days later to demand a reversal is entirely unacceptable. We will not process this.” Connor let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “I only smiled for the cameras to save Ella’s face. You think I wanted to start screaming in the middle of a park?” “Now that the party’s over, you expect me to just swallow the cost of a garbage product?” I was so disgusted I actually laughed. “Connor, if you are this broke, why the hell did you sign the contract in the first place?” “You know exactly what’s in your bank account. Why play the big shot when you can’t even afford the deposit?” I looked at him, my eyes heavy with absolute, unfiltered disappointment. Something about my tone must have struck a raw nerve, because Connor jumped up from his chair like he’d been burned. “Me? Playing the big shot?” “I did all of this for you! To feed your ridiculous ego!” “You’re the one constantly sending me TikToks of these insane, over-the-top, expensive aesthetics! You think I didn’t know you were dropping hints?” “And now I’m the bad guy for trying to look out for us? You were smiling ear to ear that night! You loved the attention!” He pointed a finger inches from my nose, practically screaming. So this was it. After seven years of building a life together, this was how he saw me. To him, I was just a vain, gold-digging burden. The TikToks I sent him, the little jokes about wanting something romantic—all I ever wanted was for him to care enough to try. I just wanted to feel chosen. I took a slow, agonizingly deep breath, forcing down the acidic bile of humiliation rising in my chest. “Fine.” Just one word. “Valerie, authorize the refund.” Valerie froze, opening her mouth to argue, but I cut her off immediately. “Deduct the fifteen grand entirely from my year-end bonus.” “Give him every single cent. Full refund.” Seeing the dead, hollow look in my eyes, Valerie let out a heavy sigh and gave a tight nod. A massive, victorious grin spread across Connor’s face. He looked like a general who had just won a historic war. “See? That’s what I’m talking about. We could have skipped all this drama. Put on something nice tonight, I’m taking you to a steakhouse!” “We’ll throw this money straight into the wedding fund. And hey, you can direct the venue setup yourself again! You can make it look however you want!” I stared directly into his eyes, enunciating every single syllable. “Connor, we are done.” His triumphant smile instantly completely froze. “What are you talking about?” “I’m calling off the engagement. We are breaking up.” I gripped the diamond ring, ripped it off my finger, and slammed it down hard onto the oak table. “Keep the ring. And don’t bother going back to the apartment, because my name is on the lease, not yours.” “Take your blood money and get the hell out of my sight.”

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1 My boyfriend, Blake, got the girl who made my life a living hell a part-time job. When I found out, his face didn’t even twitch with guilt. “She lost her financial aid because of what you did. I’m just helping her out so you don’t have to carry that guilt.” He scoffed, crossing his arms. “Instead of thanking me, you’re interrogating me?” Usually, this was the part where I’d swallow my pride and coax him, begging him not to be mad. But this time, I was just so exhausted. I was done paying the price for her pathetic, innocent victim act. When he dumped that blame on my shoulders, my mind went entirely blank. I couldn’t fathom why the victim was supposed to feel guilty when the bully finally faced the consequences of her own toxic actions. “You really think Ivy getting disciplined by the board and losing her scholarship is my fault?” Blake shrugged off his jacket, tossed it to me, and sprawled out on the couch like he owned the place. “It’s the truth, isn’t it? Because of you, she lost her funding. She can’t pay her tuition. She’s practically being forced to drop out.” He rolled his eyes. “The whole campus is talking about it. Everyone thinks you went way too far.” “And as your boyfriend, it’s my job to clean up your mess.” So his brilliant idea of ‘cleaning up my mess’ was getting her a high-paying gig at the cafe where I worked. He even went as far as draping the jacket I bought for him over her shoulders. It was a joke. A sick, twisted joke. The fabric of the jacket in my hands suddenly felt disgusting. I dropped it right onto the hardwood floor, staring him down with eyes like ice. “Sierra, are you seriously blaming me?” “Yes.” No hesitation. Just pure, unfiltered anger. Blake sat up, tilting his head back to glare at me. “You think I’m just sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong?” “Are you saying you aren’t?” “Fine.” He let out a bitter, sarcastic laugh. “I’m a fucking idiot for trying to do you a favor. Don’t worry. I won’t lift a finger for you ever again.” In the past, whenever he threw a tantrum like this, I’d practically be on my knees, begging him to stay. I’d buy him designer sneakers and expensive hoodies just to smooth things over. Not today. I didn’t care anymore. I bit the inside of my cheek, swallowing down the thick lump of betrayal in my throat. “Good. I hope you keep your word.” Blake’s eyes darkened. He grabbed my wrist and yanked me forward so violently that my shin smashed into the edge of the glass coffee table. A sharp gasp tore from my lips. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? You breaking up with me?” “Yeah. We’re done.” It was the first time I had ever said those words to him. He stared at me, his face turning an ugly shade of purple. When he realized I wasn’t going to take it back, he lashed out, kicking the coffee table with brutal force. The glass top shattered. “Fuck you.” He spat. “Don’t come crying to me when you want to get back together. You’re too much drama.” Flying shards of glass sliced into my calves and toes. I bit down hard on my lip to keep from screaming, collapsing onto the sofa as I gasped for air. He walked out, slamming the door behind him. My phone buzzed on the cushions. A text. It was the guy who had tipped me off earlier today. [I saw him leave. Are you… okay?] A cold sweat broke out across my spine. Whoever this was didn’t just know where I was going. They were sitting outside my apartment building right now, watching. My fingers trembled as I deleted the message and blocked the number. But he wasn’t going to give up that easily. A minute later, a text popped up from a completely different number. [He threw the jacket you bought into the dumpster. Can I have it?] [I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be creepy. I just think it’s a waste.] The room started to spin. The pain in my leg was making me nauseous. I managed to call my roommate, Lexi, before the darkness swallowed me whole. When I opened my eyes again, the harsh white lights of a hospital room blinded me. “How are you feeling?” The voice was low, smooth, and oddly familiar. I followed the line of a warm hand resting lightly against my fingertips. My gaze traveled up an immaculate suit to a devastatingly handsome face. Silver wire-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of his perfect nose, hiding the dark, swirling emotions in his eyes. Rowan. Lexi’s older brother. What was he doing here? “Lexi went back to grab you some clean clothes. She asked me to keep an eye on you.” “Oh. Then I…” “The doctor said you’ll be fine. You caught a fever from the rain.” His tone was professional, yet strangely gentle. “The cuts on your leg and foot have been cleaned and stitched. Keep them dry.” “Okay. Thank you.” I murmured, shrinking back a little. Rowan and I weren’t exactly close. My only interactions with him consisted of passing along stuff Lexi forgot to bring to campus. To say thanks, he’d occasionally send over premium pastries or expensive little gifts, always making sure there was a portion for me. The silence in the room was suffocating. Desperate for a distraction, I unlocked my phone, only to be hit with another wave of absolute dread. [Did he hurt you?] [Do you want me to teach him a lesson?] Terrified that this lunatic might actually do something violent, I hammered my thumbs against the screen. [Stay away from the people in my life. Stop stalking me.] [You’re sick.] A loud clatter made me jump. Rowan’s phone had slipped from his grip, hitting the linoleum floor. “Rowan? Is everything okay?” He picked it up, the corners of his mouth twitching into a forced, rigid smile. “It’s nothing. Just a little tired, I guess.” He did look exhausted. The edges of his eyes were faintly red. I felt a pang of guilt. He was a busy CEO, and I was just his sister’s roommate. I shouldn’t be wasting his time. “You should head home and get some rest. I can manage on my own.” He didn’t argue. He picked up his leather duffel bag from the floor and headed for the door. Just as he reached the handle, I called out. The bag looked bulky, sitting awkwardly against his broad shoulder. “Hey, do you need a shopping bag for whatever’s in there? It looks heavy.” His broad shoulders went rigid. He didn’t turn around. “It’s just company files. I don’t need a bag. Thanks.” The next text came the following morning. [I’m sorry.] Just that. No context. I felt suffocated in that sterile room, so I decided to take a slow walk down the hall to clear my head. And of course, my luck was garbage. I ran straight into Blake. He was leaning heavily on a crutch, his face bruised in shades of purple and blue, one leg encased in a thick white cast. He was practically hanging off Ivy’s shoulder. Ivy was struggling to support his weight. She looked up, making dead eye contact with me standing right in the middle of the corridor. She raised a single, perfectly plucked eyebrow. Her grip on Blake’s waist tightened. Then, with Oscar-worthy precision, she twisted her ankle and collapsed, dragging Blake down with her. Blake crashed right on top of her, groaning in pain. I dug my nails so hard into my palms that they left crescent-moon indentations. I took a deep, shaky breath, forcing myself to stand my ground. Ivy poked Blake in the ribs, playing the flustered angel. “Blake, get up. Look, it’s Sierra.” Blake froze. He pushed Ivy’s hands away and awkwardly scrambled to his feet, leaning heavily on his crutch. “What happened to you? Why are you hooked up to an IV?” He demanded, looking me up and down. “Who brought you here? Why didn’t you call me?” Then his eyes fell on the thick gauze wrapped around my leg. He instantly looked away, running a hand through his hair, shifting his weight guiltily. I bit down on the soft inside of my cheek, refusing to let my voice shake. “Since when is my life any of your business?” His fleeting moment of guilt vanished, replaced by that familiar, arrogant irritation. He scowled. “Look, you’re sick. I’ll let your little attitude slide.” He sighed like he was doing me a massive favor. “Just apologize to Ivy, and we’ll pretend the breakup never happened. Then I can focus on taking care of you.” I didn’t even want to waste my breath. I grabbed my IV pole, turned my back on them, and started walking away. Suddenly, Ivy lunged forward and grabbed the clear plastic tubing of my IV. “What the hell are you doing?” I snapped, trying to swat her hand away. But before I even touched her, she threw herself backward onto the floor, taking the tube with her. The needle was violently ripped out of my vein, tearing the medical tape right off my skin. Blood spurted instantly, hot and fast, running over my knuckles. I pressed my hospital gown against the wound, but the crimson stain just kept spreading. My teeth clamped down on my bottom lip, but hot, angry tears finally spilled over my cheeks. Ivy looked up from the floor, crying beautifully, like a fragile porcelain doll. “I’m so sorry, Sierra. I swear I didn’t mean to!” She sobbed. “I just wanted to explain that Blake and I aren’t doing anything behind your back! I know I was jealous of you. I know I did awful things, and I’m sorry.” She choked out a perfectly timed gasp. “But I paid for it! I got suspended. I lost my scholarship. Can’t we just… call it even?” Blake didn’t even notice the blood dripping from my hand. He dropped his crutch and pulled Ivy into a protective embrace. “Sierra, stop being such a vindictive bitch!” I had heard those words so many times before, but it still felt like a knife twisting in my ribs. When someone stole my project credit and I fought back, he told me to ‘be the bigger person’. When I was bullied out of my dorm room, he said I just needed to ‘learn how to fit in’. He would always look at me with that disappointed sneer and say, Why do they only pick on you? You must be doing something wrong. Every single time, I had backed down. “I know you care about me, Sierra, but your paranoid delusions aren’t an excuse to hurt people.” Blake sneered. “I’m drawing the line right now. If you want us to work, you apologize to Ivy right this second. Then we drop it.” He reached out and grabbed my bleeding hand, squeezing it so hard that the blinding pain paralyzed me. I couldn’t pull away. “No.” I hissed, glaring at the floor, my vision blurring. Just as my knees were about to buckle, a warm, solid chest pressed against my back. Strong arms wrapped around my shoulders, shielding me completely. A familiar, deep voice vibrated right next to my ear. “I’m sorry. Am I late?” Rowan’s assistant was efficient. Within minutes, the hospital security footage was playing on a tablet in my room. It showed Ivy lunging to grab my IV line in high definition, followed by her pathetic, theatrical dive to the floor. Blake couldn’t defend her anymore. Under Rowan’s icy glare, he was forced to choke out an apology. “You think that’s enough?” Rowan was sitting on the edge of my bed. He placed a hot water bottle on his right palm and raised an eyebrow at me, silently telling me to put my hand on it. I froze, unsure of what to do. He didn’t wait. He just took my uninjured hand and sandwiched it between the warm rubber and his own large, incredibly warm palm. Maybe it was the blood loss. My brain short-circuited, and I completely forgot to pull away. “Sierra…” Blake started, taking a step toward the bed. “Mr. Blake,” Rowan’s voice was soft, but it carried the lethal edge of a loaded gun. “You’re already injured. I suggest you tread carefully. It would be a real shame if you accidentally tripped and shattered every bone in your body. Don’t you agree?” Blake deflated like a popped balloon. He hung his head, awkwardly shuffling toward the door on his single crutch. As he hobbled past Rowan, Rowan’s foot shifted just an inch. A loud thud echoed through the room. Blake hit the floor face-first. I tugged nervously at the hem of Rowan’s immaculate blazer. “Rowan…” I whispered. Rowan let out a low, breathless chuckle. He leaned in, shifting his broad shoulders to block my view of Blake groveling on the floor. His face was mere inches from mine, his warm breath ghosting over my lips. “Can’t I do this, little Sierra?”

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1 When my ex-wife rushed into the emergency room with her childhood sweetheart, who had nothing more than a paper cut, I was in the middle of performing CPR on a patient in cardiac arrest. Seeing that I did not immediately drop everything to tend to her precious Tristan, Hannah threw a tantrum right there in the ER. She immediately filed a formal complaint under her real name, accusing me of medical malpractice and using a personal grudge to withhold treatment. I did not even bother to explain myself. I quietly took off my white coat and accepted the hospital’s suspension. Later that day, Hannah posted a photo of Tristan’s bandaged finger on social media, gloating for all to see. “Only a pathetic, petty man brings personal drama into the workplace. He deserves to lose his white coat. Let this be a lesson.” Five days later, Tristan’s aorta ruptured. He was clinging to life. In the entire state, I was the only surgeon capable of performing the highly specialized repair. On the phone, she was sobbing hysterically, begging me to save him. I cut her off, my voice entirely flat: “I am sorry, Hannah. I am currently suspended. I do not even have the authority to write a prescription. Find someone else.” I hung up on Hannah. The living room was dark, save for a single cigarette burning on the glass coffee table, its orange glow fading in and out. My phone lit up again, her name flashing frantically across the screen. I picked it up and shut it off completely. Then I reached into the drawer, pulled out an old burner phone, and slipped in a backup SIM card known only to a few colleagues in my department. Five minutes later, loud, heavy knocks shook my front door, followed by a violent kick. “Owen! Get your ass out here!” Through the thin wooden door, Hannah’s shrieks of rage mixed with another woman’s desperate crying. I stubbed out the cigarette, stood up, and pulled the door open. Four or five people stood in the dimly lit hallway. Hannah was soaked from the rain, her expensive silk trench coat clinging to her body, making her look utterly miserable. Next to her was Tristan’s mother, shivering and supported by two burly men. “You have got some nerve, Owen! How dare you hang up on me!” Hannah swung her arm, aiming a slap right at my face. I caught her wrist mid-air, blocking her effortlessly, and shoved her back. Her high heels slipped on the wet concrete of the hallway, and she tumbled to the ground. “Are you out of your mind, Owen?” one of Tristan’s distant cousins barked, stepping forward and shoving a finger in my face. “I swear to God, I will tear this piece of shit apartment down!” Tristan’s mother threw herself forward, grabbing my collar. “Dr. Owen, please! I am begging you! My boy is dying! Have some mercy and come to the hospital!” I looked down at her wrinkled hands. Five days ago, in that very ER, those same hands had violently grabbed my arm while I was holding the defibrillator paddles. She had screamed at me: My son is bleeding! Are you blind? “Mrs. Coleman,” I said, peeling her fingers off me. “You have the wrong man.” Hannah scrambled up from the wet floor, her face streaked with muddy water. She tore open her designer purse, pulled out a gold credit card, and flung it at my chest. It bounced off and fluttered to the floor. “There is a hundred thousand dollars on that card,” Hannah said, her eyes bloodshot as she glared at me. “I know you are bitter, Owen.” “That is enough to buy you a decent place. But you are performing this surgery tonight, whether you like it or not.” “Save Tristan, and everything in the past is wiped clean.” I looked down at the muddy plastic card. A hundred thousand dollars. Two years ago, as the hospital’s administrative director, Hannah had personally diverted the last two bags of emergency blood reserved for my little sister. She gave them to Tristan, who had a mild stomach bleed after a night of heavy drinking. Back then, she had looked at me and said, “Don’t be so petty, Owen. It is just your sister’s bad luck that she got caught in a pileup.” My sister Lily was only nineteen. She bled out on the operating table because there was no blood left. A human life, dismissed as “bad luck” in Hannah’s eyes. And now, Tristan’s life was worth a hundred thousand dollars. I stepped forward, grinding the heel of my boot right into the center of the card. “Take your money back,” I said, looking Hannah dead in the eye. “I no longer have a medical license.” 2 Hannah’s face darkened, her teeth grinding. “Don’t use that pathetic excuse on me! My uncle signed that suspension, and I can make him rip it up right now!” She fumbled with her phone and dialed Vice President Richard. “Uncle! Owen is refusing to go! Tell him!” She slapped the phone onto speakerphone and held it up to my face. Richard’s voice boomed through the speaker: “Owen, the board only suspended you to appease the patient’s family. As a doctor, you need to show some grace.” “Tristan is in critical condition. Get back to your department immediately.” “Pull off a clean surgery tonight, and I will have your suspension lifted by tomorrow morning.” I looked at Hannah’s bloodshot, desperate eyes. “Mr. Vice President, the official suspension period is two weeks,” I said calmly into the phone. “If I step into that operating room right now, it is illegal practice.” Richard’s voice rose sharply: “Owen, I am the Executive Vice President of this hospital! If I say you can operate, you can operate! The hospital will take full responsibility if anything goes sideways. Don’t push your luck!” “Fine,” I agreed, nodding slowly. “Send a formal, written directive to my apartment, bearing the hospital’s official seal and your personal signature, explicitly stating that you assume all legal and medical liability. Once it is in my hands, we will talk.” The line went dead silent. Asking a bureaucrat to sign his name to liability was harder than pulling teeth. I pushed her phone away and grabbed the door handle. “Until that document arrives, don’t bother me.” I slammed the heavy door shut. The cursing outside grew louder. Tristan’s burly cousin began kicking the door with brutal force. The old lock groaned under the impact. I walked back to the living room and took a sip of cold tea. The burner phone buzzed. It was Gavin, a senior resident in cardiothoracic surgery. “Owen, they are coming to your place with muscle! Don’t open the door!” “Tristan’s aortic dissection has torn all the way up to his brachiocephalic artery. It is a complete disaster.” “Hannah is losing her mind in the department, trying to force Dr. Bradley to operate.” “Dr. Bradley took one look at the angiogram and said even if we flew in the best specialists from Boston tonight, the survival rate is barely ten percent. He said you are the only surgeon in the state who can pull this off.” I typed back quickly: “Don’t let anyone in your team touch him.” Gavin replied almost instantly with a sigh emoji. “Dr. Bradley would not even let them open the OR doors. He already issued a critical condition notice.” “Hannah’s uncle is rushing to the ER now. I think they are planning to drag you back by force.” I stared at the screen and let out a cold laugh. By force? They really thought they could. Suddenly, the kicking stopped. It was replaced by the high-pitched whine of a power drill. They were drilling out my lock. Two minutes later, the deadbolt gave way with a loud crack. The door was kicked open. Several men in dark suits flooded into the small entryway, blocking any escape. Hannah walked in, stepping over the metal shavings on the floor. A sneer twisted her lips. “Did we really have to do this the hard way, Owen?” “I don’t care if we have to trash this dump of an apartment. Tristan does not have time.” She waved her hand, and two of the hired men grabbed my arms, locking them behind my back. Tristan’s mother rushed in, her eyes red as she shrieked at me. “You heartless bastard! If my son dies, I will make your life a living hell!” I did not struggle. “Using physical force to coerce a medical professional,” I said, looking at Hannah. “You sure know how to dig a grave for your uncle’s career.” Hannah sneered. “Get him to the car. Take him straight to the ER.” 3 I was hauled out of my apartment and shoved into the back of an SUV, sandwiched between two large men. Hannah sat in the passenger seat, frantically coordinating with the hospital over her phone. “Where is Dr. Bradley? Tell him to prep the blood bags! Is the anesthesiologist ready?” The charge nurse’s voice on the other end was trembling: “Hannah, Dr. Bradley said we cannot prep blood or administer anesthesia without a lead surgeon. It is against protocol.” “To hell with protocol! Owen is on his way. Tell them to get ready now!” Hannah slammed her phone shut and whipped around to glare at me. “Listen to me, Owen. If Tristan dies tonight, I will make sure you and everyone you care about pay for it.” I leaned back against the leather seat, watching the streetlights blur in the rain. Two years ago, Tristan was complaining of dizziness in a VIP ward after drinking himself into a mild stomach bleed. Hannah had bypassed all protocols to take the last two bags of O-negative blood from the bank, blood that was flagged for Lily, who was actively bleeding out from a car crash. I had stood in front of Hannah, pleading, arguing, screaming for my sister’s life. She had simply leaned back in her leather office chair, inspecting her manicure, and said, “Tristan is dizzy, Owen. Your sister is not going to drop dead this second. She can wait.” Wait. But Lily could not wait. And now, it was Tristan’s turn to wait. The SUV tore through the storm, pulling into the hospital’s ambulance bay fifteen minutes later. The hired men dragged me through the sliding glass doors and straight to the trauma bay of the ER. The double doors to the resuscitation room were shut. Dr. Bradley stood outside, drenched in sweat, arguing with a group of residents while holding a stack of scans. When he saw me being escorted in by force, he froze. “Owen? What on earth…” Hannah pushed past the crowd and stood in front of Dr. Bradley. “I brought him. Get the OR ready immediately!” Gavin pushed his way through the huddle. Seeing my arms pinned, his eyes flared. “What the hell are you doing? This is kidnapping!” Gavin lunged forward to push the guards away, but Hannah grabbed him by his scrubs. “You had better watch your tone, Gavin. If you want to play hero for him, I will have your medical career ended by tomorrow morning.” Gavin clenched his jaw, glaring at her with pure disgust. Dr. Bradley stepped in, his face dark. “Hannah, Owen is suspended. You filed the complaint yourself.” “He has no privileges, no authority to operate. If he touches a scalpel, the entire department will take the fall.” “I told you, my uncle is taking responsibility!” Hannah screamed, pointing a finger in Dr. Bradley’s face. “You have been here long enough to know what is important. If anything happens to Tristan, you are losing your job as department head!” Dr. Bradley’s chest heaved with anger, but he was speechless. Suddenly, the resuscitation room doors burst open. A nurse, her scrubs covered in blood, ran out. “His pressure is down to sixty! The dissection is tearing downward, and he has gone into V-fib!” Hearing this, Tristan’s mother gasped, her eyes rolling back as she fainted onto the floor. The hallway erupted into chaos. Hannah’s face went white. She lunged at me, grabbing my collar so hard her fingernails dug into my neck. “Do you hear that? Go scrub in! Now!” I let her claw at me, my eyes fixed on the half-open door of the resuscitation room. Five days ago, in this exact lobby. I was in the middle of administering a shock to an elderly patient in cardiac arrest. Hannah had rushed in because Tristan had nicked his finger while peeling an apple. She had literally yanked the plug of my defibrillator out of the wall. “He is just an old man, but Tristan is bleeding!” she had screamed. The old man died right there. Today, fate was playing the exact same joke on Tristan. “Owen!” Seeing me motionless, Hannah let go of my collar, reached into her bag, and slapped a document against my chest. I looked down. It was an eviction and disposal notice for Lily’s ashes from the hospital columbarium. After my sister passed, my parents could not bear the grief and passed away shortly after. I was left alone, keeping Lily’s ashes in the hospital’s private memorial niche while I saved up for a proper burial plot. Since Hannah ran administration and logistics, she had intercepted the renewal notice. “Still refuse to operate?” She sneered, her face twisted in malice, holding the paper inches from my nose. “The lease expired today. You thought keeping your sister’s ashes here made them safe?” “Let me remind you, my department oversees the grounds. One word from me, and since you have not renewed, your precious sister gets cleared out.” She crumpled the paper in her fist. “If you don’t get into that OR right now, I will have her ashes thrown into the biohazard bin and sent straight to the incinerator!” 4 The surrounding doctors and nurses gasped in horror. Gavin cursed aloud: “Are you even human, Hannah?” The two hired guards immediately pinned Gavin against the wall. My eyes burned red. I stared at the stamped notice, my hands clenching into tight fists at my sides. “Well?” she hissed, her eyes dripping with venom. “What is it going to be, Doctor? Your precious rules, or your sister’s final remains?” Just then, hurried footsteps echoed down the hall. Richard, the Vice President, arrived with several administrators. “Owen!” Richard roared before he even reached us. “This is an emergency override! Scrub in and operate immediately! I, as the Executive Vice President, will take full responsibility!” I looked at him and let out a cold laugh, standing perfectly still. “Uncle, Tristan is dying!” Hannah shrieked. Richard grit his teeth and turned to the reception desk. “Give me a pen and paper!” Right there on the counter, he scribbled an emergency authorization, stamped it with his personal seal, and shoved it in front of me. It read: In light of the patient’s critical condition, Dr. Owen is authorized to perform emergency surgery. All clinical outcomes are to be managed by the surgical team. I looked at the paper and smiled. A bureaucrat is always a bureaucrat. Even pushed to the edge, he was still playing word games. If the surgery succeeded, his niece’s lover lived, and he would take the credit for a miraculous save. If it failed, I was practicing without a license, and the surgical team would take the fall. Richard waved at the guards. “What are you waiting for? Put the sterile gown on him and get him into the OR!” The two men grabbed a spare sterile gown from the desk and tried to force it onto me. Dr. Bradley stepped forward to stop them, but Richard shoved him back. “Stay out of this, Bradley!” Richard barked. I stood there, letting the gown hang loose from one shoulder. I turned my gaze to the back of the reception desk, where a half-empty bottle of high-proof whiskey sat. Some drunk patient must have had it confiscated earlier. Under the watchful eyes of everyone in the hallway, I broke free from the guards’ grip and grabbed the bottle. I twisted the cap off. Hannah froze. “What are you doing?” Richard frowned. “Go wash your hands and sterilize! Stop wasting time!” I ignored them, raising the bottle to my lips.

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1 My wife is severely obsessive-compulsive about time. In our three years of marriage, our lives have been calculated down to the second. Just because I was a minute late delivering a forgotten document to her office, she ordered me to stand outside the building and reflect on my mistake. I waited in sub-zero temperatures for three hours, only to end up in the hospital with a raging fever, where I stumbled upon her. She was sitting beside a hospital bed, fussing over a young man with a tiny scratch on his knee. This was the son of her “key business partner,” the one she claimed she had to look after. I turned and left. The next day, as she rushed to a crucial bidding meeting, I drove straight into a traffic bottleneck and parked. “Wait as long as you like,” I said. “Isn’t your time cheap anyway?” She said nothing, but the young heir beside her snapped. “Gavin, you’re just Fiona’s driver. You have no idea how important this bid is!” “Letting your petty jealousy ruin her business is pathetic.” I casually lit a cigarette. “Your partnership with Summit is terminated.” Fiona, who always maintained a perfect, elegant public image, lost her composure, stepping out of the car to slam her hand against my window. “Gavin Geller, you have no right to interfere with my business!” I let out a cold laugh. There is no need to keep a woman who does not know her place. I will simply withdraw all my anonymous financial support and find a woman who actually knows how to be grateful. At 4:07 AM, Fiona’s fingertip tapped lightly on my forehead. This was the optimal wake-up time for a husband she had calculated. It was exactly eighteen minutes before she got out of bed, leaving me just enough time to prep her breakfast so it was served at precisely forty-two degrees Celsius. She had severe time-related OCD. In our three years of marriage, seventeen atomic clocks hung throughout our house, calibrated to zero-point-three seconds of accuracy. A “Husband’s Schedule” was taped to the refrigerator. From how many centimeters of toothpaste to squeeze onto her brush, to exactly how many seconds we should hug before she left, everything was highlighted in red. I used to think this was the self-discipline of a successful female entrepreneur. Until 9:21 AM today, when she called me. “Gavin, bring File G-7 to Meridian Tower. Be there at ten sharp.” “A minute early, I’ll wait. A minute late, you stand and wait.” Outside, a blizzard was howling, the temperature dropping to fifteen below. I grabbed the file and bolted out the door. Following her rules, I did not even grab a heavy coat. As soon as I cleared the neighborhood, traffic ground to a halt. A jackknifed semi had blocked the entire intersection, paralyzing the main road. I ran half a mile through the blinding snow, holding the file to my chest. When I reached the lobby of Meridian Tower, the digital clock flashed 10:01. Fiona stepped out of the revolving doors, completely ignoring me, and reached her hand out to her assistant. Then, she finally spared me a cold glance. “Reflect on your mistake right here, Gavin. You leave when I leave.” “Fiona, it’s fifteen below out here.” “Even if it were fifty below, it is the price of your tardiness.” She walked away. I stood outside that building for three hours. First, my toes lost feeling. Then my fingers, ears, and the tip of my nose. Eventually, the line between standing and floating blurred. My throat burned, and every cough felt like a minor explosion in my chest. My buddy, Nate, happened to drive past the business district. Seeing me shivering violently under a streetlight, he immediately pulled over and dragged me into his car. “Gavin, are you out of your mind?!” I could not speak. I just laughed weakly. He rushed me to St. Jude’s Hospital. The ER doctor took my temperature and snapped, “103.6! Another thirty minutes, and you’d be looking at severe pneumonia!” After three hours on an IV drip, my fever broke to 99.5. I wrapped my down jacket tightly around myself and walked toward the inpatient wing. As I passed the third floor, I spotted a familiar silhouette. Room 302’s door was cracked open. Fiona’s back was to the door. She was sitting by the bedside, gently blowing on a spoonful of soup. In the bed lay a man in his early twenties. A tiny band-aid sat on his knee. A mere scrape. Yet he was staying in a private VIP suite. “Careful, it’s hot,” her voice was as gentle as a feather. In three years of marriage, she had never used that tone with me. “Fiona,” the boy whined, tugging at her sleeve. “Do you still have to deliver that bid today?” “No. I had the driver do it.” When she said “driver,” there was not a single second of hesitation. I stepped back, leaning my cold forehead against the hospital wall. Nate caught up to me, looked inside, and gasped. “Is that… Zach? Arthur Coleman’s son?” I closed my eyes. Zachary. The boy she called “the poor, motherless son of a business partner who needs extra care.” Outside the window, the snow kept falling. I turned and walked away. Nate whispered, “Gavin, do you want me to have the Kingsley Group intervene?” “Not yet.” “Why?” “I want to see how far Fiona will play this farce when she has no idea who I really am.” Tomorrow morning at ten, Fiona was scheduled to attend the Metropolis Center for the Metropolis Landmark bidding meeting. An 1.8 billion dollar contract. The prize she had been clawing for all year. She demanded I have the car at the south gate at precisely 9:45 AM. To ensure a thirty-second window of accuracy, she had forced me to practice driving the route seven times over the past week. The next morning at nine sharp, Fiona walked out of her building. She had not come home last night, but she looked immaculate. “I redesigned the route,” she said, sliding into the passenger seat. “Go to 32 Michigan Avenue first. We’re picking up Zach.” My hands tightened on the wheel. “Michigan Avenue? That’s the opposite direction. Going there and then to the Metropolis Center will add at least forty minutes.” “Just do what I say,” she snapped, finally looking at me. “Zachary is joining us today.” “Joining us?” I chuckled. “There are only five pre-qualified bidders: Summit, Apex, Horizon, Crest, and Kingsley. Coleman Group isn’t on the list.” “Their credentials don’t even meet the baseline requirement for a supplier on this project.” Fiona’s expression hardened. “Gavin,” she said coldly. “Since when does a driver analyze my bids?” “I invited Zachary to observe. Is there a problem?” Coleman Group had absolutely nothing to do with the Metropolis project. I knew this better than anyone. But she wanted to bring him anyway. Not for business, but to show everyone who the charming young man beside the great CEO Fiona Campbell was. “Fine,” I said, starting the ignition. “Michigan Avenue it is.” At 9:21 AM, we stopped outside 32 Michigan Avenue. Zachary was already waiting, dressed in a tailored suit, his hair slicked back. He opened the back door and slid in. “Fiona, how is Driver Gavin so punctual today?” Fiona ignored him. I glanced at him through the rearview mirror, shifted gears, and drove. At 9:38 AM, as we approached a narrow construction lane, I slammed on the brakes and parked the car directly across the entrance to the emergency lane. The cars behind us erupted into a chorus of angry honking. “Gavin!” Fiona’s voice pitched high. “What are you doing?!” “Fender bender ahead,” I said, lighting a cigarette. “We wait.” She checked her GPS. The route was completely clear. “Have you lost your mind, Gavin?!” “Fiona,” I exhaled a puff of smoke, “didn’t you say time was precious? Today, we take our time.” “After all, your assistant Zach wants to see you win the bid, doesn’t he?” Zachary leaned forward from the backseat. “Gavin, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Do you have any idea how important this bid is for Fiona today?” I turned to look at him. “Zach, why are you even going to Metropolis Center today?” “Coleman Group isn’t one of the five bidders. You don’t even meet the vendor threshold.” “Are you going as her mascot?” Zachary’s face went white. “Mind your own business!” “I am minding it, on Fiona’s behalf,” I said, tapping the ash from my cigarette. “And as of today, your partnership with Summit is terminated.” Zachary let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Who the hell do you think you are? A driver making decisions for the CEO of Summit Enterprises?” Fiona flung her door open and marched over to my window, slamming her palm against the glass. “Gavin! Get out of the car!” I rolled the window down. “Who the hell do you think you are to terminate my partnerships?!” her voice was trembling with rage. “The annual trade volume between Coleman and Summit is 160 million! Can you afford that loss?!” “You are nothing but a driver who shuttles me back and forth!” She finally screamed the words she had kept bottled up. The blaring horns of the cars behind us echoed in the air. Passersby stared. The refined, elegant image Fiona carefully cultivated for the media lay shattered on the asphalt. I stubbed out my cigarette. “Fiona, you are going to be late.” “Mr. Coleman.” Zachary stepped out and held Fiona’s arm. “Fiona, don’t waste your breath on him! We’ll hail a cab. We can still make it!” Fiona glared at me one last time. “Let’s go!” The two of them flagged down a taxi and sped away. I watched them disappear, the final thread of hesitation in my heart snapping. I started the engine and drove off the ramp. I wanted to witness her downfall with my own eyes. At 10:13 AM, Fiona pushed open the doors of the bidding hall. She was late by exactly thirteen minutes. The presenter paused, and all the evaluation experts turned their heads in unison. In that moment, she was no longer the brilliant rising star of the business community. She was an unprofessional latecomer who could not even manage basic punctuality. I did not enter the hall. I sat in the VIP lounge on the thirty-sixth floor, listening to Nate’s live audio feed. “Gavin, she tried to explain the delay, but the board didn’t buy it.” “Summit’s presentation time was cut to eight minutes.” “Apex’s presentation was perfect. They bid 1.68 billion.” “It’s over. Apex won the contract.” I pulled up my encrypted messaging app. My directive from last night sat quietly on the screen: “Execute the plan. Cap the bid at 1.68 billion. She leaves empty-handed today.” Fiona had no idea. Of the five pre-qualified bidders today, three were shell companies I had quietly established over the past three years. Nested through seven layers of holding companies, the ultimate owner was an offshore trust. She could investigate for a lifetime and never trace it back to me. She also did not know that the anonymous investor who injected twenty million into Summit three years ago, rescuing her from bankruptcy and placing her on the city’s under-forty list, was me. The very man she treated like a chauffeur, whose life she regulated down to the second. At 11:47 AM, the doors of the bidding hall opened. Fiona walked out first, her face as pale as paper. Zachary rushed to her side. “Fiona! How did it go?!” She ignored him, walking straight toward me and stopping. “Gavin,” her voice shook violently. “Apex bid 1.68 billion, which is twenty million below our cost margin. They won.” “Do you know why?” Her eyes began to redden. “Because I was thirteen minutes late.” “The board’s exact words: If Director Fiona Campbell cannot even manage basic punctuality, how can we trust Summit to deliver an 1.8 billion dollar project on schedule?” She glared at me. “You did this on purpose. You blocked me on the highway. You made me late. You ruined this bid.” Zachary quickly stepped in, rubbing her back and acting comforting. “Fiona! I told you! That driver did this on purpose!” “You were so good to him! You made sure his breakfast was exactly forty-two degrees, you made schedules for him, and this is how the snake repays you!” “How is Summit going to make up for an 1.8 billion dollar loss? How are we going to face the shareholders?” Fiona’s tears began to fall. In three years of marriage, it was the first time I had ever seen her cry. “Gavin, did you do this on purpose?” I looked at her tear-streaked face. The face that had looked down at me so coldly every single morning over a stopwatch. I smiled. “What if I did? What if I didn’t?” I pulled a document from my breast pocket and slapped it onto the glass coffee table. “Divorce papers. I had my lawyer draft them last night.” “I was hesitating this morning, but I’m not anymore.” Fiona froze. “You…” “How much money you lost today is none of my business. That 1.8 billion has nothing to do with me.” “I want a divorce. Right here, right now.” “I don’t want a dime. You keep the house, the car. I’m leaving with nothing.” Zachary let out a mocking laugh. “Driver Gavin, you cost Fiona 1.8 billion and now you’re just going to pack your bags and run?” “Fiona, don’t sign! He’s trying to escape liability!” Zachary slipped his hand around Fiona’s waist. “Fiona, this man is dangerous. If he had the nerve to ruin your bid today, who knows what he’ll do tomorrow?” “I should stay with you tonight. It’s not safe for you to be alone.” “What if he regrets signing and tries to take revenge? What if he thinks he has nothing to lose and tries to extort you?” “I need to protect you.” I said nothing. I just looked at Zachary’s hand resting on Fiona’s waist. On his thumb, he wore a jade ring. The exact same ring Fiona had told me she bought as a “small souvenir for a girlfriend” during her business trip last month. Fiona looked at me, expecting me to rage, to plead, to argue. But I just nodded slowly. “Fine. Since Zach is so concerned about your safety, let him go home with you. Sign the papers first.” Zachary urged her, “Fiona, sign it! The sooner we cut ties with this parasite, the better! I’ll take you to the courthouse tomorrow morning!” Fiona grabbed the pen. The tip hovered over the paper for three agonizing seconds. She looked up at me one last time. There was a flicker of panic, a touch of hesitation, and perhaps a sliver of regret. But only a sliver. The next second, she grit her teeth and scribbled her name. The ink was still wet as Zachary snatched the folder. “Signed! Fiona, let’s go!” Fiona slipped the papers into her bag. “Gavin. Nine tomorrow morning, at the courthouse.” “According to your punctuality rule, if you are a single second late, I will make sure you never get this divorce.” She turned to leave. Zachary leaned in close to her ear. “Fiona, I’ll take care of you tonight. Driver, assistant, whatever you need me to be.” He paused, looking back at me with a smirk. “After all, Gavin’s position is officially open starting tonight.” The two of them walked toward the elevators. Fiona never looked back. In that moment, the anger in my chest burned to its absolute peak. But a second later, I smiled. I pulled my phone out and opened my encrypted messaging app. To: Command Center. I typed the first message: “Initiate a full financial audit and liquidation of Summit Enterprises.” “Recall the twenty million anonymous investment from three years ago as a private high-interest loan, principal plus interest.” “Inform all suppliers and vendors by midnight tonight: Fiona Campbell is no longer trustworthy.” Send. An instant reply came back: “Understood, sir.” I stared at the closed elevator doors and typed the second line: “And don’t forget the Coleman Group. Tear them down together.” “The time for reckoning has come!”

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