Author: Momo Chan

The woman who sold me to a trafficking ring is boasting about it on the dark web — and she just posted my photo. I’m scrolling through a dark web confession thread when I see it. One of those anonymous posts: “What’s the most fucked-up thing you’ve ever done?” The top answer has thousands of upvotes. “I stole the man who saved my life. Her fiancé. The Underboss of one of the biggest crime families in New York.” “She pulled me out of a shipping container when I was sixteen. Gave me a name. Brought me into the family like I was blood. Called me her sister.” “But the first time I saw her fiancé, I knew I had to have him.” “So I slipped Rohypnol into her Amaro at a family dinner, dragged her unconscious body into the Don’s bedroom, and screamed for her fiancé to come see.” “Later, I framed her for trying to poison the Donna.” “Her fiancé snapped. Destroyed her reputation. Had his soldiers drag her out of the estate and get rid of her.” “Me? I stayed. Played the heartbroken Goddaughter for five years. Cried on cue. Warmed his bed. Now we have a son in the most exclusive preschool on the Upper East Side.” “She was nothing. I became everything.” The comments are going feral. “Bitch, you literally sold the woman who SAVED you to traffickers and you’re bragging about it? What the fuck is wrong with you?” “This isn’t ‘survival of the fittest,’ this is straight-up psychopath shit. You belong in a body bag.” “You drugged an innocent woman, framed her, got her TRAFFICKED — and you’re posting this like a kill count? Rot, cunt.” Silvia’s reply comes fast. I can hear the smirk through the screen. “Guilty? She was soft. That’s the only sin that matters.” “I had better teeth. I bit harder. She lost. End of story.” “You’re all foaming at your screens because you don’t have the guts to take what you want. I did. And I’d do it again tomorrow.” She starts posting photos. Diamond choker against her collarbone. The Hudson Valley estate lit up at dusk. Her son in a tiny blazer at his preschool. Hermès bags thrown across marble like garbage. “See this? This is what winning looks like.” “My son will grow up in a palace. He’ll thank me one day.” My nails dig into my palms until the skin splits. If it weren’t for me, her own parents would have sold her before seventeen. I pulled her out of that container with my own hands. Washed the blood off her. Gave her a name, a home, a place in the Romano family. Treated her like my sister. And she repaid me by putting me in hell. For years, I’ve regretted saving that ungrateful snake. Now she waves it all away with “better teeth.” As if drugging me, framing me, and having me sold to a trafficking syndicate was just ambition with sharper claws. She keeps firing back at every commenter, fearless behind anonymity. “Cope harder. She couldn’t hold her man. I could. Natural selection, baby.” “The weak get devoured. I’m just honest about it.” But she underestimates the dark web. Within hours, someone cross-references her estate photos with property records. Someone else runs her IP through a leak database. The threads connect — the Hudson Valley compound, the family crest on the iron gate, the tech front used for laundering. They find him. Luca Romano. CEO of Romano Tech. Underboss of the Romano crime family. Comments flood his public accounts. “@LucaRomano — your wife just confessed to drugging your ex and having her trafficked. Care to comment, you piece of shit?” “So your fiancée was INNOCENT and you had her sold? What kind of man are you?” “If you found out she was framed — would you even care?” Only now does Silvia panic. She scrambles to delete — posts, photos, comments, account. All of it. Too late. I stare at the screen, five years too late, and feel — nothing. No satisfaction. No relief. Just a phantom ache where my right leg used to be. I look down. Titanium and carbon fiber, custom-fitted by the man who became my husband. The place where my leg ends and the machine begins still throbs sometimes. Ghost pain. Nerve endings remembering what was taken. My mind drags me backward. Five years. To the night that ended everything. The Cena di Famiglia. The annual family dinner at the Hudson Valley estate. My birthday. The night my life was destroyed. I was drinking Amaro with the family when the room started to blur. The next thing I remember — waking up naked in Don Marco’s bed. The old man unconscious beside me. Silvia had drugged us both. Staged the whole thing. And Luca — he stormed in and saw exactly what she wanted him to see. His hand closed around my throat before I could breathe. “Elena.” His voice wasn’t human. “You’re that desperate? That’s my father.” “You disgusting puttana.” I clawed at his wrist, choking, gasping. “It wasn’t me — I didn’t — Luca, please —” Silvia dropped to her knees behind him. Sobbing. Perfect. Rehearsed. “Luca, please let her go. She did a terrible thing, but she loves you — I know she does —” Every word poured gasoline. That was the point. He dragged me through the estate. Past the chapel. Past the Madonna in the hallway. Naked. Barefoot. December air cutting my skin like a blade. He threw me onto the gravel outside the iron gate and slammed it shut. “Get out. Don’t ever show your face at this estate again.” I pounded on that gate until my fists bled. No one came. I remember how cold it was. Frost creeping into my bones. Sitting on frozen ground outside the Romano compound all night, shaking, fever climbing. The Hudson River — black and still. Not a single light behind me. By morning, I couldn’t move. I collapsed outside the gates of the place I once called home — and the world went black.

When I come to, I’m lying on a leather sofa in the estate’s private clinic. Oak-paneled walls. Antiseptic and old money. Luca is beside me. Unshaven. Hollow-eyed. His voice is raw. “Elena. You win.” “Just promise me you won’t do this again, and we go back to how things were.” I open my mouth to explain — he grabs the glass off the side table and hurls it against the wall. “The evidence was right in front of my face!” he snarls. “You still want to play me for a fool?” “I’m already forgiving you. What more do you want?” There’s nothing I can say. So I lie there, tears sliding into my hair, repeating the only truth I have. “I didn’t do it. I’m innocent. I swear on my father’s grave.” He doesn’t hear me. After that day, things go back to “normal.” But nothing is the same. He doesn’t touch me. Every time his hand accidentally brushes mine, he goes rigid — then pulls away like I’ve burned him. Before the incident, I was always at the estate for Sunday dinner. Don Marco poured my wine. Donna Caterina kissed both my cheeks and called me figlia mia. Now — every time I walk in, Donna Caterina storms at me and slaps me across the face. Grabs my hair. Screams “Puttana! Disgusting puttana!” and shoves me toward the door. The old Luca would never have let anyone touch me. But now he watches. Eyes flickering with something — pain, maybe. And does nothing. When I beg him to stop her, his face twists. “My mother’s been half out of her mind since that night. You owe her this. Let her get it out.” I want to go to the police. The moment I bring it up, Luca explodes. “I’ve spent everything keeping this quiet. You want the other families to find out? You want them to know the Romano Underboss got cuckolded by his own fiancée and his own father?” “You want a war? Because that’s what happens when this gets out.” And just like that — what Silvia staged that night tears a wound between us that never heals. The alarm on my phone drags me out of the memory. Time to pick up Mia. I’m waiting outside the preschool gates when I check the thread one more time. Silvia’s deleted everything. Account gone. But people already screenshotted every word. Her confessions — mirrored, archived, everywhere. Now the mob is interested in me. The “poor ex-fiancée.” Within hours, they dig up my identity. A woman who came from nothing. Built herself from the ground. Ran one of the most respected anti-trafficking foundations on the East Coast — until she was publicly disgraced and blacklisted. But alongside that — they find the old smear. The story Luca planted five years ago. That I “drove the Goddaughter to attempt suicide.” That I was removed from the foundation and shut out of every circle in the city. I used to think being framed — drugged and placed in the Don’s bed — was the worst thing that could happen to me. I was wrong. Everything after pushed me closer to the edge. One thing after another. Until there was nowhere left to fall. The wedding was approaching. Luca texted me to come to the estate — said we needed to discuss arrangements. I went with my heart full. Hopeful. Thinking — finally. The family is accepting me again. I pushed open the door to his private quarters. And saw Silvia straddling him on the bed. She turned her head. Looked right at me. A slow, venomous smile. “Luca,” she purred, running a nail down his chest. “Are you going to call off the engagement with Elena?” Luca didn’t look up. Lazy. Bored. “I can’t even stand to touch her anymore. Marriage is out of the—” His words die in his throat. Because I’m already standing right in front of them.

I clench my fists so hard my knuckles crack. These two people. One — my fiancé of six years. The man who once ran into a burning warehouse to save me without a thought for himself. The other — the girl I pulled from a shipping container. The one I gave my protection. My trust. My name. And now they’re tangled together in his bed. Double betrayal. How am I supposed to bear this? Something snaps. I grab my bag and lunge at them. Before it touches Silvia, Luca kicks me away. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” The force sends me flying. My forehead cracks against the sharp corner of the nightstand. Blood pours — warm, thick, running down half my face. Luca doesn’t look at me. He wraps the sheets around Silvia, pulls her into his arms. Then turns on me, snarling. “Elena. You walk into my quarters without permission? You think you still have the right to act like this in my house?” No guilt. Just fury. My heart goes dead. I scream. “You’re in bed with her and you’re talking to me about RIGHTS?!” He lifts his head. Sees the blood. Something flickers. “Your head—” Silvia drops to her knees in front of me. Eyes red. Voice trembling. Perfect. “Elena, I’m sorry. Don’t blame Luca, okay? It’s all my fault. I couldn’t help myself.” “I’m not here to ruin things between you two. I don’t need a title. I just want to stay by his side.” She’s crying like I’m the villain. Every word soft. Every word a knife. I swing my hand at her face. My palm lands on Luca instead. He’s stepped in front of her. The handprint blooms red. His expression goes lethal. “Are you done?” “Why are you going after her?” “You want to know why I haven’t touched you?” “Silvia is cleaner than you’ll ever be.” “You make my skin crawl.” Everything goes silent. I stare at him. I forget how to cry. So that’s it. That’s why. Every flinch. Every time he washes his hands after touching me. I look at his face and don’t recognize him. This isn’t the man who used to shield me from everything. Now he stands on the other side. Arms around another woman. My legs give out. I collapse to the floor. And I laugh — the kind that comes with tears. Luca frowns. Reaches toward me. Reflex. Silvia’s voice. Soft. Silk. “Luca… my stomach hurts.” He scoops her up without a backward glance and walks out. I watch them disappear. Through the blur of tears, my heart goes quiet. Not broken. Not aching. Dead.

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In my sixth year working at NSA, it was the 99th time my husband had refused to visit. I decided to take a 36-hour train ride to surprise him. As I wrote my husband’s name on a greeting card at the florist, the clerk jumped out and accused me of trying to seduce her boss. I looked at my husband’s photo and name with suspicion, only to be told that he already had a child, and that I was his deceased sister. I laughed. I was treated like a relative, walking into my husband’s house, waiting for their true colors to be fully revealed… — I stood at the door, waited the clerk picked up her phone. I heard her murmur into it. A few minutes later, the shop door swung open and a woman walked in pushing a stroller, a little girl trailing behind her. She was pretty. Soft-featured. The kind of effortlessly warm-looking woman who shows up in insurance commercials. She looked at me and then at the roses, and something in her expression sharpened. “You’re the one who wants to send my husband flowers?” The small crowd that had started drifting in from outside shifted, curious. Someone called out: “Don’t be too hard on her, Maggie — Professor Mercer would never. You know how much that man adores you.” Another voice: “Maybe she’s here for his research. Just ask her.” The woman — Maggie — tilted her head and studied me with a cooler expression. “Is that it? Work?” I was still processing the marriage certificate on the wall. I grabbed the first thing that came to mind. “His journal submissions,” I said. “I need access to his latest work.” Something loosened in her posture. She laughed — easy and warm, like we’d just gotten past an awkward misunderstanding at a dinner party — and pulled out the chair beside her. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I completely overreacted.” She sat down and gestured for me to join her. “I’m Maggie. Daniel’s wife.” “You’re probably here about the neutron radiation research, right? That’s the one everyone wants lately.” “Neutron attenuation modeling,” I said quietly. She beamed. “You even know the name. I never could keep the projects straight. I barely got through high school.” She laughed again, the self-deprecating kind that women use when they want to be liked. “Daniel doesn’t mind. He always says I understand people better than anyone he’s ever met.” I managed a smile. Daniel and I had both earned our PhDs from the same program, the same year. He’d gone into academia. I’d been recruited — quietly, the way those things happen — into a classified division of the National Security Agency. I’d spent six years inside a compound with restricted communications, caring about the work, missing him, and wiring money home every month to cover his mother’s memory care facility. And he had been here. Building this. An older woman appeared in the doorway, recognized Maggie, and stopped to chat. “Did he actually let you out of the house on your own?” the woman teased. Maggie pressed a finger to her lips and grinned. “Don’t tell him. He’ll worry for a week.” The woman shook her head, fond and indulgent. “I have never in fifty years seen a man so devoted. He picks the jalapeños out of her food at restaurants. He walks on the traffic side of the sidewalk, every single time.” She sighed. “Where do they make men like that?” Each word landed like a small, precise puncture. Maggie slid a pastry across the table toward me. “You look like you’ve been traveling. Eat something.” I ate it. “And listen to me.” She leaned forward with the earnest warmth of someone giving advice they wished someone had given them. “I know women like you — driven, career-first — and I respect it. But don’t wait too long to find your person. Find someone like Daniel. A man who actually shows up.” She smiled. “Otherwise, honey, you’re going to be very lonely.” The irony was so complete it had become something else. Something without a name.

“Mom.” A small voice from the doorway. A little girl, maybe seven, crossed the room and pressed herself against Maggie’s side. She had Daniel’s eyes. His exact shade of gray-green. His too-serious brow. “When is Daddy coming home? I miss him.” I looked at the infant on Maggie’s lap. The girl nestled at her hip. The stroller with its cheerful mobile. A complete, self-contained world. I pressed my hands flat against my thighs beneath the table. “A son and a daughter,” I said. “You’re so lucky.” Maggie glowed. “We really are.” Daniel and I had tried to have children. Or rather: I had tried, and he had managed to be unavailable for every carefully timed attempt. Too tired. Too stressed. We were intellectuals, he said. Responsible people. A child right now would derail everything. Later it became something he called a lifestyle choice. A philosophy. He’d talk about the freedom of a childless marriage with the quiet conviction of a man who’d given it a great deal of thought. He had. Just not in the direction I’d assumed. He already had his children. He hadn’t needed mine. Maggie glanced at her phone. “He’s almost never late getting home. Today is just one of those days — sorry to keep you waiting.” I stared at her. Daniel had told me “working late” so many times the phrase had become white noise. Every unanswered call. Every canceled visit. Every holiday I spent alone in a government facility, eating cafeteria food and telling myself the work was worth it. He was apparently home for dinner every single night at this address. “My place is close,” Maggie said, standing and lifting the baby. “Want to wait somewhere warm?” I stood before she’d finished the sentence. “Does he live with your family?” I asked, keeping my voice light. “His parents are gone. It’s just mine. And honestly—” she smiled, a little proud, “—he treats my parents like his own. My dad actually cried at Christmas last year. Said he never thought he’d have a son like Daniel.” I thought about the woman in the memory care unit. The one who’d wandered out of her room during a storm, ended up in the facility’s ornamental pond, and had to be pulled out by two nurses. The one Daniel had told me was “handled” when I called in a panic from a secure phone line at two in the morning. Handled by me, as it turned out. We turned a corner, and I glanced down at the little girl’s backpack. Embroidered on the front panel, in neat yellow thread: NSA FAMILY SERVICES SCHOOL — FORT MEADE. I stopped walking. Maggie noticed and smiled back at me. “Her school. Special placement — Daniel qualified because of his sister.” Her voice softened. “She died on duty. Six years ago. NSA.” The sidewalk tilted. “His sister,” I said. “Claire.” She said the name gently, like she’d said it many times. “He cleared out all her things afterward. Said he couldn’t bear the reminders. Even the photos.” She reached into her bag and pressed a hand warmer into my palm — small, flat, already warm. “You look pale. Are you cold? Daniel always keeps extras in my bag. He worries about my circulation in winter.” My name is Claire Mercer. I am apparently dead.

Maggie talked the entire way to her building. She had a gift for it — a natural, generous warmth that would have been entirely likeable under any other circumstances. “The NSA survivor benefits have been such a blessing,” she was saying. “Healthcare, school priority, the monthly support — Daniel always says Claire would have wanted her niece and nephew taken care of.” Her niece and nephew. The dependent allowance assigned to my personnel file covered exactly two children. That was why. That was the specific, calculated reason he had spent six years explaining to me why responsible, educated people don’t rush into parenthood. Because the quota was full. Because his other children were already using it. “When was your son born?” I asked. “November third. Daniel arranged everything — a private hospital, the best OB in the city. He was so wonderful about all of it.” November third. The day my father died. The ER doctor had told me afterward: if he’d gotten there forty minutes earlier, they could have saved him. A forty-minute window. I had called Daniel seventeen times that afternoon. Seventeen. I still had the call log. He had wept at the funeral. Fallen to his knees in the parking lot and hit himself across the face with an open hand, sobbing so hard that people around him looked frightened. I had held him and told him it wasn’t his fault. That he hadn’t known how serious it was. He’d been in a private hospital suite, watching his son come into the world. “The age gap between them is funny,” Maggie continued, adjusting the baby on her hip. “Almost seven years. They fight constantly.” She laughed. “If you ever have kids, put them closer together.” I already knew everything I needed to know. Maggie gestured ahead. “Here we are.” Not an apartment. A full townhouse on a quiet, tree-lined street, with a real front door and window boxes. The kind of place that costs four times what Daniel’s university salary could cover. Inside: high ceilings, warm light, a vase of white tulips on the dining table, a gallery wall of family photographs, every sharp corner cushioned with silicone bumpers for the baby. It smelled like a candle that cost forty dollars. “Daniel did all of this,” Maggie said. “He says a home should feel like one.” Daniel, who had never once done the dishes in the apartment we shared. Who left his clothes on the bathroom floor and waited for me to pick them up. Who watched television while I scrubbed the kitchen on my four-day home leave visits, because those were the only days anyone cleaned anything. “It’s beautiful,” I said. “He must be doing well. Did he buy this place?” “Six years ago.” She poured water for both of us. “I was new to the city when we met. He set me up — the flower shop, this house. He said he wanted me to feel secure.” Daniel’s family had nothing when we married. Our apartment was my parents’ property. His salary was modest and I had seen every bank statement. The front door opened. A man stepped in — mid-sixties, heavyset, with the slow, territorial movements of someone who considered this his ground. He looked at me with immediate suspicion. “Who’s this?” Maggie introduced me brightly: a government contact, here about Daniel’s research. The man — her father, I gathered — settled into his armchair with the satisfaction of a man claiming a throne. “Daniel’s like a real son to me,” he said. “The government recognizing his work — that makes me proud. Stay for dinner. I’ll cook.” Maggie’s phone rang. She answered on speaker, without thinking. Daniel’s voice filled the room. “Hey, sweetheart. I’ll be late — probably after midnight. I know you’ve been craving that bakery on Elm Street, so I grabbed you a box on my way. Sorry to keep you waiting again.” Maggie’s whole face lit up. The call ended. My own phone buzzed. A text from Daniel: *Happy almost-New Year. Sorry I can’t be there this holiday — you know how it is. Take care of yourself at the base. I’ll check on Mom. Come home soon. You work so hard. I love you.* I read it twice. Then I opened my contacts and called my unit’s legal officer. “I need a full records pull,” I said, keeping my voice very even. “Property, dependents, financials. And get me an attorney. My husband is committing adultery.”

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Everyone in town called my father a rabid dog. And my mother held his leash. He was a mob enforcer. She was a police detective. She told him she couldn’t love a man on the wrong side of the law. So he went undercover and brought the whole organization down with him. While he was in prison, my mother was targeted for revenge. They tortured her for three days and three nights. She never broke. So they injected something directly into her brain. It turned her into a psychopath. When my father found out, he didn’t say a word — but that same night, he broke out. He put over a thousand cuts into the men who had hurt her, then turned himself in again. He earned his way out after that. From convict to criminal investigator. He married my mother. They had me. Everyone called it a love story for the ages. Then a beautiful woman showed up at our house. She stood there, visibly pregnant, and looked down at me. “Your mother is mentally ill. Your father has had enough of her.” “I’m going to be your new mom. And I’ll give you a little brother.” My mother heard every word. One second she was perfectly still. The next, she had a knife. She cut open the woman’s stomach. She dropped something at my feet, then looked at me with the softest smile I had ever seen. “Don’t worry, baby. Mommy won’t let anyone threaten your place.”

When my father burst through the door, Celeste had already passed out from the pain. “Vera.” His voice was ice. “You went too far this time.” He scooped Celeste up and left for the hospital without another word. Two hours later, he came back. My mother was still on the couch, exactly where he’d left her. Eyes empty. Somewhere far away. He filled a basin with water and cleaned the blood from her hands and face, one careful stroke at a time. “Get changed. You’re coming with me to apologize to Celeste.” My mother came back to life. She smiled. “Dream on.” “Vera!” His patience snapped. He slapped her across the face. “Her father is my direct superior. One word from Commissioner Quinn and my career is finished. My life is finished! So you are going to—” “Don’t you dare touch my mother!” I threw myself at him and bit down on his hand as hard as I could. I tasted blood almost immediately, iron flooding my mouth. His other hand closed around my jaw. He pressed his fingers in. I heard a crack, and the pain was blinding. He’d dislocated my jaw. I had no choice but to let go. He wiped his hand clean with a tissue. “Vera, you’ve raised quite a daughter.” He looked at my mother. “But do you understand what you’ve done? Celeste will never be able to have children again.” “She was barely twenty years old. She was just teasing you, and you did that to her. How ironic, for a former cop.” My stomach dropped at that last word. The worst thing anyone could do to my mother was remind her of who she used to be. She had been brilliant once. Decorated. Respected. Now she was mentally ill, living like something trapped in the walls of this house. She couldn’t walk out the front door without my father’s permission. Sure enough — her eyes went red. A sharp, terrible sound tore out of her throat. She grabbed the fruit knife off the table and lunged at him. “I’m not going anywhere! I’m not apologizing! Don’t you even think about it!” But she was never a match for him physically. He had the knife down and her wrists cuffed within seconds. He sat on top of her and made a phone call. “Madam is having an episode. Open the greenhouse.” The color drained from my mother’s face. She thrashed, screaming, “Not the greenhouse — don’t take me there — let go of me—” I grabbed the back of his jacket, sobbing. “Daddy, please. Please don’t send her to the greenhouse. Please.” He pinched my face in one hand. His smile was cold. “Ruby, your mother always said — if you do something wrong, you face the consequences.”

My mom liked flowers very much. So my father built the greenhouse for her. When she first saw it, she cried from happiness. Every flower inside — they had chosen together, grown together. It was the only love letter they’d ever written together. Every flower in it was a vow. Then his enemies destroyed it. The year Dad turned himself in, he handed over enough evidence to bring down the biggest criminal organization in the city. The whole network collapsed. He was the one who’d delivered them — but he wasn’t clean himself. He still had to serve time. Prison politics were complicated, and Dad had made too many enemies. To protect him, the authorities buried his identity and transferred him to a facility out of state. The organization wanted to know which prison. So they took Mom. They locked her in the greenhouse. Over a dozen men, taking turns to torture her. They pulled her hair out by the roots. Knocked her teeth out one by one. Ran current through her body again and again for three days and three nights. She didn’t say a single word for three days and nights. It was only when a piece of her flesh tore away that they realized she was pregnant. They forced her to consume the remains of her unborn child. Then they injected something directly into her brain. When her colleagues finally found her, she wasn’t the same person anymore. Her condition had fluctuated ever since. A doctor once said the best treatment would be desensitization therapy — in the greenhouse itself, confronting the fear at its source. My father had tried once. She collapsed before she even reached the door — beating her head against the wall, her fingernails tearing into his throat. He never took her back. He couldn’t stand to see her like that. But now he was taking her back for someone else. She broke down before they even reached the door. When she screamed, he gagged her. When she fought, he bound her. The men in white coats strapped her into the chair and began the treatment. They turned the current to its highest setting. Her body went rigid. Saliva and tears ran down her face and neck. Every sound she made landed somewhere in my chest. I dropped to my knees in front of my father and pressed my forehead to the floor. “Please stop hurting her.” “I’ll go. I’ll apologize to Celeste myself. Just please stop.” He had made up his mind. Nothing I did reached him. I couldn’t take it anymore. I ran to my mother and tried to pull the electrodes off her body. The current threw me back the moment I touched them. I was numb all over. I got up and reached for her again. Once. Twice. Three times. Then my father called out for them to stop. I thought he had finally felt something. I turned around — and saw that it was my mother who had raised her hands. Both of them, in surrender. We all understood. She had given in. She would go and apologize. Half an hour later, my father helped her change her clothes. He brought me along, and the three of us went to the hospital together. My mother stood at Celeste’s bedside and bowed her head. “I’m sorry, Celeste. I shouldn’t have hurt you.” Celeste looked past her to my father. “That’s how you’re letting her apologize to me?” “What do you want from her?” he asked. “She took my uterus,” Celeste said. “A real apology means she loses hers too.” “She doesn’t have one,” my father said. “She hemorrhaged giving birth to Ruby. They removed it to save her life.” The memory passed across his face like a shadow. He looked away. “Anything else — she’ll do.” “Alright.” Celeste thought for a moment, then smiled. “Then I want her on all fours. Crawling. Barking like a dog while she apologizes.” She tilted her head toward me. “And Ruby too.” My father’s jaw tightened. He said nothing. Which meant yes. Fury shot straight to the top of my head. “You’re the one who provoked my mother first. If she owes you an apology, then shouldn’t you—” My mother cut me off. “I’ll do it,” she said calmly. “But not Ruby.” She stepped toward Celeste. “Let my daughter go, and I’ll tell you a secret about my husband.” Celeste loved my father. Anyone could see it. She agreed without hesitating. My mother leaned in close, lips near Celeste’s ear. But she didn’t say a word. She bit down — and kept biting. Then she pulled a knife from somewhere and drove it straight into the artery on the side of Celeste’s neck. Blood sprayed hot across my face. My father tore them apart, eyes wild. My mother had taken Celeste’s ear off. He held Celeste against him, soaked in red, and looked at my mother with something I had never seen in his face before. “Vera.” Just her name. Like a warning. “You wait.”

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I grabbed my phone to call my husband when I was trapped in my car during a massive highway pile-up. Then an urgent voice rang out: [Mommy, don’t call Daddy!] I froze. The only other person in the car was my newborn baby. Where was that sound coming from? Just as I was wondering, the sound rang out again. [Daddy’s assistant told him she’s having a mental breakdown. She’s on a rooftop, threatening to jump. If Daddy comes for you right now, she’ll actually do it!] My phone connected. Julian’s voice came through the speaker. “Aren’t you tired of using the same pathetic excuse? If I show up and find out you’re just faking it, Claire, you’re finished. I won’t let you go!” [Mommy! Don’t let him come!] I became clear-headed at once. “I can handle it,” I said firmly. “Don’t come.” I hung up. Baby. It’s just you and Mommy now. A second later, something slammed into my rear bumper. Then another hit. Then another. My car was sandwiched from both sides. The doors weren’t just jammed — they were crushed completely shut. I pulled my baby tight. [Mommy, run! Daddy lent this car to his assistant Vanessa. She cracked the fuel line and the chassis and never got it fixed. It’s going to explode!] I grabbed the emergency hammer and swung it at the windshield. I clutched my baby and crawled out, rolling behind the highway guardrail. The moment I hit the ground, the screaming started. “That car’s on fire! Get back!” Flames were already tearing through the undercarriage. Black smoke swallowed the sky. My whole body screamed in pain. Blood soaked through my clothes from a dozen places at once. [Mommy… it hurts. Am I going to die?] My baby’s voice was tiny and terrified. I held her still and pressed her close. I fumbled for my phone with bloody fingers and dialed 911. “Interstate pile-up, multiple vehicles. I have a baby. We’re both bleeding—” “Ma’am, stay calm. Your exact location?” I told him. Every word cost me something. “Copy. Dispatching the nearest unit now. Keep this line open.” My shoulders dropped half an inch in relief. Then my phone rang again. “Hello? How far out are—” “Claire.” Luke. Julian’s best friend. Head of local emergency dispatch. “Julian already called me,” he said flatly. “It’s a holiday weekend. First responders are slammed. Stop tying up the emergency line.” The bottom dropped out of my stomach. Everything my baby had said — it was all true. “Luke, listen to me.” My voice cracked raw. “My car is actively on fire. It could explode any second. My newborn and I are both injured. Please—” He actually laughed. “Give it a rest, Claire. Julian warned me you’d try something like this. We don’t have time for your drama. Handle it yourself.” I sat there in the smoke and heat, phone in my bloody hand, flames roaring twenty feet away. [Mommy!] I tried to stand. Made it two steps. The world tilted hard and I hit the asphalt, curling my body around my daughter on the way down. Someone nearby said quietly, “She’s losing too much blood. I don’t think she’s going to—” No. My baby already had a father who failed her. She was not going to lose her mother too. I forced myself up, shielding my baby in my arms. I didn’t even make it two steps before my legs gave out and collapsed.

[Mommy! Ask someone for help!] The voice cut through the darkness just as I was about to go under again. I dragged myself to the guardrail. “Please—” My voice came out in a ragged whisper. “Please. Someone help my baby.” Heads turned. Within seconds, strangers were running toward me. “There’s a woman down over here!” “She’s got a newborn — the baby’s head is bleeding! Someone call 911!” “She’s still breathing! Help me move her!” More people came. Then more. “I have a first-aid kit in my car!” “Get them away from the wreckage — it’s not safe here! Anyone know first aid?” “I do!” A young woman shoved through without hesitating. “Let me through!” Tears ran down my face before I could stop them. In my worst moment, it was strangers who came. They carried us carefully to an open stretch of road away from the flames. “Ma’am, can you hear me? Can you tell me how you feel?” A calm voice. Close. I managed a nod. “She’s conscious!” he called out immediately. Someone ran back to their car for a first-aid kit. A young woman knelt beside me and began checking my wounds, then the baby’s. “Don’t be scared,” she said softly. “Your little girl looks okay. Just surface cuts. She’s tough.” The people around us moved with quiet efficiency. Some passed supplies. Others held back the gathering crowd. Then an older woman crouched down beside me, holding something small between her fingers. “Sweetheart — is this yours?” A ring. My engagement ring. I stared at it. I remembered the night Julian proposed — how nervous he’d been. He knelt down. When I said “I do,” tears streamed down his face. His hand trembled as he put the ring on my finger, vowing to love me for the rest of his life. [Mommy. He’s not worth it.] My baby’s voice was gentle. Heartbroken for me. I turned my face away from the ring. A man nearby was already on his phone, furious. “Hello? 911? Interstate pile-up — multiple vehicles! I’ve got a woman here who just gave birth and her infant — both seriously injured, both bleeding! When are you people getting here?!” The voice that came through the phone made me utterly desperate. It was Luke. “Claire.” His tone was bone-dry. “Wasn’t I clear enough the first time? Stop wasting emergency resources. We’re busy.” The man stared at his phone and then exploded. “Who the hell are you talking to?! What do you mean you’re busy?! There are people dying out here — doesn’t that mean anything to you?! You’re supposed to prioritize!” Luke paused. Then, dripping with contempt: “Nice try, Claire. Hiring actors now? I’ll admit, this one’s convincing.” “You—” Before the man could fire back, a thunderous crash shook the interstate. A heavy freight truck had lost control and plowed into the wreckage ahead of us. The sound roared through the phone. Luke finally realized the seriousness of the situation. “That sound… how bad is it over there? Everyone hold on — I’m redirecting units to your location right now.” The people around me exhaled in shaky relief. But I heard something no one else could hear again, and those were my baby’s mind voices. [Mommy, he’s lying. He still thinks you’re faking. He didn’t send anyone.] [Tell everyone to run. That freight truck — it’s about to explode.]

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I got his call while the engagement hall was already full. Calder Rhys, my fiancé of three years, had cancelled our ceremony overnight — to escort his fallen packmate’s sister to the hospital. My brother Drew grabbed my arm, his jaw tight. “Neva, call it off. We’re not sitting here to be laughed at.” “Calder doesn’t show — that’s his loss.” I looked at the slideshow still running on the reception screen. Our photos. My white dress. His uniform. I smiled at nothing in particular. “We’re not calling it off. The food’s already ordered.” “Call it an early Christmas dinner.” — The hall went quiet when I said that. My parents’ faces were unreadable, but they didn’t argue. They moved through the room, guiding relatives to their seats, filling the silence with small gestures. I stepped down from the platform and went table to table with my glass raised. No one mentioned Calder. No one asked what had happened. They said happy holidays and congratulations and drank when I drank. I drank a lot. By the end, my stomach felt like I’d swallowed embers. Drew held me steady, his eyes red at the rims. “Was it worth it, Neva?” I set my glass down. “There’s no worth it. There just is.” We said goodbye to the last guests. The hall emptied until it was only family. My mother finally broke. Tears ran down her face before she could stop them. “How could he do this to you?” My father rubbed her back. “She knows what she’s doing.” I checked my phone. No new messages. No missed calls. Calder had called in the afternoon. His voice carried no guilt, the same flat tone he used to issue orders. He said Lila Voss had sudden appendicitis. She needed to be transferred for surgery immediately. He said he was her only family. He had to take her himself. He told me to cancel the ceremony and explain things to the guests. He said it the way he issued orders on the field. I asked him one question: “An appendicitis? Our Pack Medical Center can’t handle that?” I was a field surgeon at that center. I could perform that procedure in my sleep. A pause on the line. Then one sentence. “She’s scared.” He hung up. She was scared. Lila Voss, the younger sister of Logan, his packmate who died beside him in the field. The girl he had sworn to protect for the rest of his life. She was timid. Fragile. Couldn’t stand the sight of blood. “She is my responsibility.” Calder said it so often it had become a second nature to him. So because she was scared, our engagement ceremony could be cancelled. Because of one word from her, three years of waiting could be unmade. I opened my phone. Lila had just updated her social feed. A photo. Calder sat at the edge of her hospital bed, head down, carefully peeling an apple. His profile was focused. Calm. The caption read: With my brother here, I’m not scared anymore. Wishing everyone a safe and happy holiday. In the corner of the photo, I could see his phone on the nightstand. Screen lit. A game open. He had time to play. Not to send me a single word. I closed my phone. “Drew,” I said. “Take me home.”

I spent Christmas alone. My parents and Drew wanted to stay with me. I sent them away. I didn’t want them to see me like this. I sent Calder a few messages. Asked how Lila was doing. Asked when he was coming back. No reply. Christmas Eve, every house on the street was lit up. I heated up a frozen pot pie and sat alone at the table. The holiday special on TV was loud and bright, but I couldn’t take in a single word. I scrolled through my phone instead. Lila had posted again. A video this time. Calder carried a bowl of stew to her bedside and fed it to her, spoonful by spoonful, the steam rising between them. Lila’s face was pale, but her eyes were full of warmth. At the end of the video, she turned to the camera and flashed a peace sign. Christmas dinner made by Calder himself. I swear nothing in the world has ever tasted better. The comments flooded in. “Okay what kind of perfect brother IS this??” “Lila, is that your boyfriend?? He’s so handsome!” Lila replied to one: No no, he’s my brother. My absolute favorite person. A blushing emoji followed. I stared at that bowl of stew. I remembered telling Calder once that my mother made the best Christmas stew in the world. He’d laughed and said that when he learned the recipe, he’d make it for me every single year. He had learned. The first person he made it for wasn’t me. I poured my bowl down the drain. The ache in my stomach came back. — When the holiday break ended, I went back to work. Surgery. Rounds. Charts. Life seemed to settle back into its rhythm. Until I saw them in the corridor. Calder in civilian clothes, a thermal carry bag in one hand. Lila on his arm, smiling up at him. She’d been discharged. They were here for her follow-up. They saw me. Lila’s smile faltered for just a moment, then she looked at me with careful eyes. “Neva.” Her voice was small. Calder’s expression didn’t shift. He gave a single nod. “You’re back at work.” “Yes.” I waited. For something. Anything. But he simply turned to Lila. “Wait here. I’ll get you checked in.” Then he walked past me like I was a stranger he had never met. Lila drifted toward me, her voice dropping low. “Please don’t be angry with him.” “The ceremony — that was my fault. All of it.” “I was in so much pain that day. I thought I was dying.” “I panicked and I called him.” “I didn’t know that day was your—” Her eyes went glassy. “But now you do know,” I said, cutting her off. She blinked. “Neva, I—” “Your attending is Dr. Mara,” I said. “She’s the best surgeon in this entire center.” “An appendectomy is a routine procedure for her.” “Your so-called fear wasted her time and drained this facility’s resources.” “And cost me my engagement ceremony.” Lila had gone white. She bit her lip, and the tears spilled over. “I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t mean for any of this.” Then Calder came back. He saw her face and his brow pulled tight immediately. He crossed the corridor in three strides and stepped in front of her, shielding her with his body. “Neva.” His voice was ice. “What did you do?” “I stated facts.” “Facts? You made her cry. Is that what you call facts?” He looked at me, and his eyes were full of disappointment. “I thought you were above this kind of pettiness.” “You’re a soldier, Neva. How can you be so unreasonable?” Unreasonable. I had given up a position at the capital’s top medical center to stay in this remote posting — for him. I had waited three years without a single complaint for him. And now, in his eyes, I was unreasonable. “You owe me an explanation, Calder.” My voice came out unsteady. “I explained it. Emergency. That’s all there is.” “Escorting an appendicitis patient is your idea of an emergency?” “She is not just anyone. She is my packmate’s sister.” His voice rose. “I made a promise to Logan. I swore I’d treat her like my own blood.” “Then what am I?” I looked at him. “Calder, what exactly am I to you?” He went silent. Colleagues passed in the corridor, glancing at us, murmuring to each other. I felt like something to be pitied. Lila tugged at his sleeve, her voice a wet whisper. “Let’s go. Please. This is all my fault.” “This is not your fault.” He turned to her immediately, his voice dropping to something gentle. Then he turned back to me, and the cold returned. “Lila isn’t well. Stop doing this to her.” “Apologize to her. Now.” Apologize. For telling the truth. I looked at Calder’s face — that flat, distant expression. And felt, for the first time, like I was looking at a stranger. I almost laughed. “Fine,” I said. I walked to Lila. She flinched back slightly. I met her eyes and said it clearly, one word at a time. “I’m sorry.” “I shouldn’t have interrupted such a devoted brother and sister.” Then I turned and walked away. Behind me, Calder’s voice cracked like a whip. “That’s your idea of an apology?” I didn’t turn around.

The week that followed, Calder didn’t reach out. Neither did I. The rumors started quietly, then didn’t. Some said Calder had fallen for the fragile girl he’d been protecting and was looking for a way out of our engagement. Some said I had a temper that drove away a good man. I heard all of it. I let it pass through me. Until Mara pulled me into her office and closed the door. She’d known my mother for years and had always looked out for me. “Neva, what is actually going on between you and Calder?” I shook my head. “Nothing.” “Don’t do that.” She exhaled. “I’ve heard things.” “That Lila Voss is not what she seems.” “The surgical team told me — her appendicitis never required a transfer.” “She refused treatment here. Made a scene. Said she was afraid of scarring and demanded a specialist at the regional hospital for a minimally invasive procedure.” “Calder called in every favor he had to get her that bed.” “Do you know how long one of our warriors, a real emergency case, spent lying on a cot in the hallway that night because that bed was gone?” Mara’s words hit me like a blow to the chest. I had told myself Calder was simply blinded by loyalty. I had told myself his sense of responsibility had gotten the better of him. I had not let myself think he had crossed this far. That was a warrior’s life. And in his mind, it had mattered less than Lila’s fear of a scar. “Neva,” Mara said, her voice softening. “Calder is a good man. But good men make terrible mistakes.” “They get blinded. It happens.” “Don’t let this destroy you.” I nodded. “I hear you, Mara.” I left her office and walked to the inpatient ward. Lila’s room. The door was slightly open, just a crack. I stopped in the doorway and heard Lila’s voice from inside — she was on the phone with someone. Her voice carried no weakness. If anything, she sounded excited. “He treats me so well, you have no idea.” “That Neva? Total control freak. Suffocating to be around.” “He’s been done with her for ages. Just didn’t know how to end it.” *”The ceremony? I faked the whole thing. Cried twice on the phone and he dropped everything and ran. Didn’t even look back.” “So who do you think he really cares about?” “Money? Obviously. I told him my mom was sick and needed help. He transferred the funds without blinking. Five figures.” “He said I’m like his real sister now. Monthly allowance and everything.” “The designer bag? I told him all my friends had one and I was the only one left out. It arrived the next day.” “He’ll believe anything that comes out of my mouth. Anything.” “Once I’ve got him completely, Neva won’t even be a memory.” The sunlight in the corridor was very bright. I couldn’t feel any warmth in it. Every drop of blood in my body seemed to freeze in that moment. So I was the fool all along. Calder Rhys, the man I had loved for three years, the man I thought I could build a life with. In his heart, I was nothing but a burden he didn’t know how to put down. My faith. My love. Everything I had quietly carried. It shattered completely in that moment. I didn’t go in. I simply turned and walked away. I went back to my office, sat down, and opened my laptop. I began writing my discharge petition.

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Declan Vance has worked in Chicago for eight years. Every time he drives back to our home in Naperville from downtown, I have dinner ready and waiting. Even though I know he always stops to see his “first love”—Sienna Miller—before coming home to me. Every time he visits her, he promises me some kind of compensation. It became a routine. A transaction. Until last month, when he gave the company’s only transfer slot for the Chicago headquarters to Sienna. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I just calmly presented him with my 100th request. Seeing my rare “understanding” and “generosity,” he signed the document without hesitation. He even promised to take me to see a Broadway tour as a bonus. But he didn’t know what he was signing. Sandwiched inside that file was our divorce application. When you save up enough disappointment, it’s time to leave. Chicago, November. The sun was setting, casting a lead-gray shimmer over Lake Michigan outside the window. The steak on the dining table had gone cold hours ago. This was the sixth time I’d taken it to the microwave to reheat it. Six o’clock. Seven o’clock. Eight o’clock. The clock hands spun round and round, but Declan still hadn’t returned. Finally, the phone rang. “Elena.” Declan’s voice sounded tired, but mostly entitled. “I’m not coming back for dinner tonight. There’s an issue with Sienna’s transfer paperwork. I need to help her handle it.” My grip on the phone tightened. Today was our eighth wedding anniversary. But clearly, he forgot. Or rather, he remembered, but he just didn’t care. “The slot has already been submitted,” he continued, his tone like he was reporting to a subordinate. “Her family really needs her back in Chicago to take care of her parents. Whatever compensation you want, just tell Marcus.” This wasn’t a discussion. It was a notification. To him, my feelings never mattered. “Okay,” I said. My voice was terrifyingly calm. Declan paused, seemingly surprised by how agreeable I was. “So… I’ll be back late. You go to sleep first.” After hanging up, I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, looking at my reflection. Eight years. For eight years, I forgave, I compromised, and I waited. And what did I get? Broken promises, constant absences, and him choosing someone else—always choosing her. The phone rang again. This time it was Declan’s assistant, Marcus. “Elena, I’m so sorry,” Marcus said, his voice full of apology. “Declan asked me to pass on a message. He said you can raise the ‘price’ for the compensation this time. He’ll agree to anything.” I was silent for a moment. “No need to trouble yourself, Marcus. I’ll talk to him myself this time.” “Really? That’s great. Declan will be relieved—” I hung up. I walked to the study, opened the safe, and took out the manila envelope. Inside was a property transfer agreement regarding Declan’s grandfather’s abandoned auto repair shop. And, clipped to the last few pages— Joint Petition for Dissolution of Marriage Circuit Court of Cook County, Illinois The divorce papers. I opened the notes app on my phone and looked at the list I had maintained for eight years: The Compensation List Thanksgiving 2017: He went to Sienna’s parents’ house, leaving me alone—Tiffany bracelet. Valentine’s Day 2018: Cancelled dinner to take Sienna to the doctor—Weekend spa trip. My 30th Birthday 2019: He “forgot”—Dinner the next day. 2020 Pandemic: I had a fever at home, he went to deliver food to Sienna—Apology + Cartier bracelet. … November 2025: The only Chicago HQ transfer slot given to Sienna—TBD. Tomorrow, I will ask for the 100th compensation. Then, this eight-year farce can finally end.

The next afternoon, I put on that emerald green cashmere coat—the one Declan said made me look too aggressive. Good. Today, I intend to be aggressive. The offices of Vance & Associates were in the Loop, on the 27th floor of a glass-walled skyscraper. The receptionist looked stunned to see me. “Elena… you’re here to see Declan?” “Yes.” “He’s in a meeting—” “I know. I’ll let myself in.” I walked through the open workspace. A few employees recognized me, their eyes filled with subtle pity. The whole company probably knew the boss and his “first love” Sienna were transferring to Chicago together. As for the boss’s wife? Who cares. I knocked on Declan’s office door. “Come in.” Declan sat behind his massive mahogany desk, staring at three computer monitors. Hearing the door, he looked up. Seeing it was me, he frowned slightly. “Elena? Why are you here?” His tone held a trace of impatience. “Didn’t Marcus tell you? Whatever you want, just tell him and—” “I want the old auto repair shop,” I interrupted, placing the file on his desk. “The one your grandfather owned in Pilsen. It’s closed, but the land has value. I can redevelop it.” Declan paused, then sighed in relief. “That’s it?” He almost eagerly pulled the file toward him. “You should have said so. It’s just a run-down garage.” He didn’t even read it. He flipped directly to the last page, the signature block. “Anything else?” he asked while signing. “The dividends from the Lincoln Park project just came in. You want a new car? A new house? Jewelry? Just tell Marcus—” “No need.” I took the signed document back and carefully placed it in my bag. Declan looked to be in a good mood, probably thinking this “crisis” had been easily resolved. “Seriously, Elena,” he leaned back in his chair, his tone bordering on lecturing. “The things you’ve received in these eight years are more than most people get in a lifetime. You should be grateful.” “I am grateful,” I smiled. “Alright, I have a conference call.” He waved his hand. “You go home. I might be late tonight. Sienna still has some paperwork to finish.” “Okay.” I turned and left his office. I walked into the elevator and watched the doors slowly close, shutting out that space filled with hypocrisy. Declan didn’t know that from page 15 of the document he just signed, it was our divorce application. He also didn’t remember that when we got married, he gave me 99 gifts and said the 100th gift would be growing old together. Now, my 100th “gift” has arrived. It is freedom.

I sat in my car but didn’t start the engine immediately. Instead, I opened my phone and dialed a number. “Elena?” A gentle female voice answered. “It’s Vivian, HR from the Department of Commerce.” “Vivian, I’ve decided,” I said. “I accept the offer.” “That’s wonderful!” Vivian’s voice was full of excitement. “Public Affairs Specialist, GS-11, starting salary $75,000. When can you start?” “Is two weeks okay?” “Perfect! I’ll email you the offer letter and onboarding documents immediately. Welcome to D.C., Elena!” I hung up and dialed my lawyer. “Harper, I got the papers.” “He signed them?” My lawyer, Harper, sounded surprised. “He really didn’t read the content?” “Not a single word.” Harper sighed on the other end. “Men.” “I’m taking them to the court now,” I said. “According to Illinois law, in 60 days—” “In 60 days, you will be legally single,” Harper said. “Elena, are you sure about the asset division? That house has at least $150,000 in equity. You deserve it.” “I don’t want it,” I said. “I just want a clean break.” “Alright, your choice,” Harper paused. “By the way, what if he finds out and causes trouble?” “In 60 days, I’ll be in D.C.,” I said. “He won’t be able to find me.” Back at the house in Naperville, I started packing. We lived in this four-bedroom colonial-style house for seven years. I planted the maple tree in the front yard. We painted the deck in the back together. I picked the backsplash in the kitchen. But none of that mattered anymore. I opened the closet and packed my clothes into boxes one by one. Those designer bags, the jewelry, the luxury goods he “compensated” me with— I didn’t want any of them. They could stay, or be donated. I only wanted the things that were truly mine: photos, books, my mother’s jewelry box, and my vintage Canon camera. Halfway through packing, my phone buzzed. It was an Instagram notification. Sienna had posted a photo: She and Declan standing in front of Gibson’s Bar & Steakhouse, with the Chicago River nightscape in the background. Sienna was wearing a black Hervé Léger bandage dress, linking arms with Declan, smiling brightly. Caption: “Celebrating new chapters with my favorite person 🥂✨ #ChicagoHereWeCome #DreamsComeTrue” I tapped on Declan’s profile. He had reposted Sienna’s story, adding: “Proud of you. Cheers to new beginnings.” The comments were full of congratulations: “You two are perfect together!” “When’s the wedding? 💍” “Power couple alert! 🔥” I stared at those comments for a long time, then calmly closed the app. New beginnings? Yes. For me, it’s a new beginning too. Only my new beginning doesn’t include Declan Vance.

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We worked at the same company and had been secretly married for five years. Today, my husband, Alex Carter, handed out slices of his assistant Chloe Jensen’s birthday cake to everyone’s desk. The entire open-plan office was buzzing about them. When Chloe cut the cake, she made a point to walk over to me, a bright smile on her face. “Emma, you have to try this. Alex said he ordered it from the best French patisserie in town.” I took the paper plate without an expression, turned around, and dropped it directly into the trash can beside my desk. Chloe’s smile froze. She quickly walked to Alex’s office and shut the door. I could hear her muffled sobs through the glass. A few minutes later, Alex stormed out of his office, his face dark. He stopped at my desk and hissed, “My office. Now.” The moment I was inside, he exploded. “What the hell are you doing? This is an office, not a place for your tantrums!” I looked at him calmly. “You’re the one who turned the office into a birthday party.” “Chloe’s father is our biggest client! Can’t you be mature for once? This is about the company’s business, about my promotion!” “So your promotion is more important than your wife’s feelings?” He froze for a second, then got even angrier. “Don’t you dare start with that here. If you don’t want to work here anymore, HR is on the second floor.” I nodded. “Fine.” He clearly didn’t expect that answer. A flicker of panic crossed his face. “Emma, you…” “I’ll go talk to HR about my resignation,” I cut him off. “And by the way, we should also talk about a divorce.” With that, I turned and walked out of his office. That night, Chloe updated her Instagram story: a selfie of her with the birthday cake, captioned, “The best boss! So lucky to have you ❤️” A few minutes later, she added a screenshot of a reply. “Someone asked if we’re a thing? Hehe, my lips are sealed~ 😉” I stared at the post, opened my contacts, and long-pressed Alex’s name. Block. Delete contact. Unfollow on Instagram. It was time to end this.

After the cake incident, the atmosphere in the office was tense. Alex stood in front of my desk, and I could feel our colleagues listening in. “Are you insane?” he whispered fiercely. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” “Perfectly,” I said, continuing to pack my personal belongings—a picture frame, a coffee mug, a small succulent. “Emma,” he said through gritted teeth. “Don’t make a scene. We’ll talk about this at home.” “There’s nothing to talk about.” I sealed the last box. “And for the record, Chloe needs to learn some professional etiquette. Bringing a cake for your boss is one thing, but that Instagram caption? Does this company not have a social media policy?” His face paled. I picked up my box to leave. As I passed the trash can, I casually picked up the slice of cake and held it out to him. “Since it’s from the best patisserie, don’t let it go to waste. Enjoy your work.” I heard his voice behind me. “Emma! You stop right there!” “If you dare walk out that door…” I didn’t stop. It had started to rain outside. After getting together with Alex, I had gotten used to him driving me to and from work. To keep our secret, I always had him drop me off at the Starbucks a block away from the office. Now, I stood in the lobby of our building, pulling out my phone to order an Uber. Just then, Alex’s black Audi drove past. The passenger-side window rolled down, and Chloe leaned out. “Emma! Need a ride? I see you don’t have an umbrella. Alex was going to just leave, but I made him stop.” In the driver’s seat, Alex stared straight ahead, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. I had told him countless times that the passenger seat was my spot. I even had a small, custom-made sign from Etsy that I’d hung there—”Emma Vance’s Official Seat.” He had laughed at me. “How old are you? Still doing this stuff?” Then he ripped it off and threw it in the trash. Now, I just turned my head away, ignoring Chloe’s “kindness.” Her eyes immediately welled up. “Emma, I was just trying to help… Why are you always so mean to me?” That move always worked on Alex. He turned his head and said coldly, “If she wants to get soaked, let her. Let’s go.” As the car sped away, it sent a wave of dirty rainwater splashing onto my pants and shoes. By the time my Uber arrived and I got home, I was shivering. I changed into dry clothes and saw that it was starting to hail. On days like this, I used to always text Alex: “Be careful driving home, the roads are icy.” I instinctively reached for my phone, only to see an Instagram post from Chloe, uploaded ten minutes ago. It was a picture of a restaurant, and you could clearly see Alex’s profile and the dark blue shirt I bought him. The caption read: “A cozy dinner on a cold night 🥰” The office gossip channel on Slack immediately blew up. “@Chloe Congrats! Are you two finally making it official?” “OMG, I knew there was something between them!” “I totally ship them!” Both Alex and I were in that channel. He never once tried to shut down the rumors. I left the channel immediately. Late that night, Alex came home. “You’re still up?” he asked, tossing his suit jacket onto the sofa. “Are you over it yet?” He walked to the kitchen to pour a glass of water, his voice filled with impatience. “When you’re done with your drama, get some sleep. You have work tomorrow—oh, wait. I forgot you quit.” I walked out of the bedroom. “I’ve made up my mind.” He paused. “I want a divorce.”

Alex stopped loosening his tie. “What did you just say?” “A divorce,” I repeated. “We’re over.” He scoffed. “Weren’t you the one who was dying to get into this company? You agreed to a secret marriage for five years just for this job. And now you’re just walking away?” “Yeah, well, I was naive back then.” “Emma,” he said, walking toward me. “Do you even hear yourself? Is this about Chloe? She’s just an intern. Her father is a major client, and I have to maintain that relationship. Can’t you understand that?” “Understand what? That you let her sit in my seat? That you run out in the middle of the night to take her calls? Or that you let the entire office think you two are dating?” “That’s all for work!” he yelled. Just then, his phone rang. The name “Chloe” flashed on the screen. He hesitated, glancing at me. Ever since Chloe started, calls like this had become a daily routine. We had fought about it countless times. I asked him not to take her calls at home, and he said I was being unreasonable. This time, I just turned calmly and went back into the bedroom. I heard his hushed voice from the other room. “What’s wrong?… Uh-huh… Okay, I get it… Don’t cry, I’ll deal with it when I get to the office in the morning…” Then the sound of the front door opening and closing. He was gone again. I thought I would be up all night, but I slept surprisingly well. The next morning, I woke up with a dull ache in my lower abdomen. I tried to ignore it, but by noon, the pain was getting worse. I decided to go to the hospital. When I got the lab report from the OB/GYN, I froze. I looked up and saw Alex at the end of the hallway. He was helping Chloe walk, and the Burberry trench coat I had bought him was draped over her shoulders. Chloe saw me too. She walked over, her face pale and her voice weak. “Emma, what are you doing here?” “I had acute gastroenteritis last night, the pain was awful. Alex took care of me all night, and he was still worried this morning, so he insisted on bringing me in for a check-up,” she said, managing a faint smile. I clutched the lab report in my hand. “How thoughtful of him.” Alex finally noticed me and let go of Chloe. “Why are you at the hospital?” I forced a smile. “Just a check-up. Company benefits.” “Didn’t you quit?” “It’s a routine check-up before I leave,” I said, turning to walk away. “Emma,” Chloe called out from behind me, a hint of triumph in her voice. “Want to grab lunch? I know a great brunch spot near here. My treat.” I turned back. She was holding Alex’s arm, her eyes full of provocation. “No, thanks,” I said, pausing. “By the way, Chloe, acute gastroenteritis should be treated in the ER, not the OB/GYN department. If you can’t even find the right department, maybe you should see a neurologist first.” Without waiting for a reply, I walked straight to the doctor’s office and knocked. “Doctor,” I said as I walked in. “I need to ask about the procedure…”

Alex came home unusually late. “Have you eaten?” he asked as he walked in. “We could go out. Remember that taco truck from our old college town? They opened a spot near here. You used to love their tacos.” He was trying to use our memories to bridge the gap between us. “I don’t like them anymore.” It wasn’t that I didn’t like them; it was that my stomach couldn’t handle them anymore. Over the years, to help Alex establish himself at the company, I had worked day and night, entertaining clients and taking drinks for him. Chronic gastritis, stomach ulcers… my doctor said I was close to a perforated stomach if I wasn’t careful. On the nights he was out with Chloe, I would often be curled up on the sofa in pain, relying on painkillers to get through. Alex’s face immediately darkened. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? Just trying to pick a fight.” “I don’t have time to coddle you. Look at yourself, how old are you? Still throwing tantrums like a twenty-year-old girl?” He grabbed my arm and pulled me in front of the bathroom mirror. “Take a good look, Emma. Do you really think you’re still some fresh-faced college grad?!” He slammed the door on his way out. I stood in front of the mirror, looking at the tired woman staring back at me, with fine lines already forming around her eyes. He was right. We weren’t kids anymore. It was time to take responsibility for our choices. Alex and I met in college. He pursued me for a whole year before we finally got together. Like all young couples, we had our romantic moments: driving to a mountaintop at 4 a.m. to watch the sunrise and kissing in the morning light; chasing each other through the first snow in our college town; comforting each other on a park bench after a failed job interview, saying, “It’s okay, we still have each other.” Right after graduation, we rented a tiny studio apartment, less than 200 square feet. We kept the heat on the lowest setting to save money in the winter, often huddling together to stay warm. No matter how late I worked, he would always leave a plate of food for me in the microwave. Even if it was cold by the time I got to it, I ate it happily. Nine years with Alex. There were too many memories to count. But it seemed he was much more forgetful than I was. Nine years. My entire youth was marked with his name. The next morning, Alex left for work without me. He sent a text: “You need some space to cool off. Let me know when you’re ready to talk like an adult.” I didn’t reply. Without a car and with snow falling, both Lyft and Uber had surge pricing. It took me a long time to get a ride. By the time I reached the office, the snow on my coat had melted, and I was soaked. I pushed open the office door, and all eyes turned to me. Chloe was slumped over her desk, her shoulders shaking slightly. As I stepped inside, Jessica from marketing—one of Chloe’s friends—walked over with a cup of coffee and sneered, “Some people act so proper, but behind everyone’s back, they’re just shameless.” A colleague next to me nudged me, motioning toward the office gossip channel on Slack. Someone had posted a photo: me getting out of the back seat of Alex’s Audi this morning. The angle was sneaky, like it was taken by someone following us. The caption read: “Some people really know how to take advantage, don’t they? 👀” The replies were a firestorm. “OMG, isn’t that Alex’s car?” “So that’s why Emma is always picking on Chloe…” “So she’s the other woman.” “Disgusting. Everyone knows Alex is Chloe’s boyfriend.” I had become the homewrecker.

Chloe’s crying continued as other colleagues joined in. “Emma, you knew Alex and Chloe were together. How could you do something like this?” “So shameless. You should just quit and get out of here!” “HR should fire people who ruin workplace relationships…” Chloe lifted her head, her eyes red and swollen. She looked at me and said, “Please don’t be like this… If Emma just apologizes to me… I… I can forgive her…” “Yeah! Apologize now!” “Beg for Chloe’s forgiveness!” Just then, Alex walked out of a conference room. “Is this an office or a high school cafeteria?” his voice was cold. “Doesn’t anyone have work to do?” The office fell silent instantly. But Chloe chose that moment to start sobbing again, walking over to Alex. “Alex, they’re saying Emma… they’re saying you two… but I know it’s all a misunderstanding, right? There has to be something wrong with that photo…” Alex’s expression tensed as he looked at me. Chloe pressed him. “Tell them. Tell everyone that there’s nothing between you two…” Everyone stared at Alex, waiting for him to clear the air. He was silent for a few seconds before finally speaking. “She lives in my apartment building. I just gave her a ride because of the snow. That’s it.” A wave of understanding washed over the crowd. Chloe’s tears turned into a smile. “I knew it… Alex, thank you…” I suddenly found the whole situation hilarious. Nine years of marriage, and in his words, I was just “a neighbor from the same building.” I walked to the center of the office, looked around, and spoke clearly. “Alex Carter and I are legally married. We registered at City Hall and have a marriage certificate. I am not his neighbor, and I am certainly not the other woman.” I paused, then added, “However, we are in the process of getting a divorce.” The office was dead silent. Alex’s face was pale with fury. “Emma, what the hell are you talking about?!”

Alex grabbed my arm and dragged me into his office. The door slammed shut. “Are you out of your mind?” he hissed, his anger obvious. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” “I do. I’m telling the truth.” “The truth?” he sneered. “Do you know how this is going to affect my career? Company policy explicitly forbids office relationships! I’m about to be promoted to Vice President, and you pull this stunt now…” “So your Vice President title is more important than our marriage?” “This isn’t about what’s more important!” he said, angrily loosening his tie. “Emma, what has gotten into you lately? If you’re not feeling well, just take the day off and go home. Get some rest.” “I’m perfectly calm,” I said, looking him straight in the eye. “Alex, let’s get a divorce.” He finally snapped. “On what grounds? Why do you get to just call it quits?” “Do you really think you’re in a position to be calling the shots right now? Emma Vance, you better think this through!” “I’ve thought it through very clearly,” I said, walking toward the door. “I’ll take that as a yes.” My hand had just touched the doorknob when I heard him call my name from behind, his voice laced with a threat. I pretended not to hear him, opened the door, and walked out. As expected, people had been eavesdropping outside. They scattered awkwardly when they saw me. Only Chloe stood behind the crowd, her eyes cold, but with a smug smile playing on her lips.

That night, for the first time in a long while, Alex came home early. The dull ache in my abdomen had returned, and I was already in bed. I didn’t move when I heard the door open. The bed dipped beside me. His hand rested on my shoulder. “Sleeping so early? I ordered takeout for you, your favorite Thai food. It’s in the kitchen.” I didn’t respond. He tried again. “Emma, can we please talk?” I opened my eyes. “There’s nothing to talk about.” He leaned in to kiss me, but I turned my face away. “Emma,” his voice hardened. “Don’t be like this.” “Then stop making me sick,” I said, getting out of bed. “I make you sick?” He was instantly furious. “I’m your husband!” “Oh, so now you remember you’re my husband.” I was about to leave the bedroom when he grabbed my arm and pushed me back onto the bed. “After all these years, now you’re disgusted by me?” I tried to push him off, but he held my wrists tightly. “Let go!” I was scared he would do something worse, and even more worried about the baby… Just then, his phone rang. It was Chloe. He glanced at the caller ID and let me go. Then, he walked out of the bedroom to take the call. I sat on the edge of the bed, gasping for air. A few minutes later, Alex came back. “I have to go out. Chloe’s… her father is in the hospital. She needs someone with her.” He grabbed his coat. “Heat up the takeout. Use my card.” And with that, he left. I never knew Alex could be so greedy. He wanted me to stay in this marriage while he played the hero outside, protecting his “career prospects.” After he left, I started packing my bags.

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At Old Mr. Sinclair’s eightieth birthday gala, my husband’s first love sobbed that my brother had forced himself on her. The elite guests murmured amongst themselves, tongues sharp enough to draw blood. “Clara Hayes was hand-picked by Old Mr. Sinclair as a potential bride for his grandson. The Carver boy has gone too far!” Out of respect for the two families’ long-standing ties, Old Mr. Sinclair chose not to pursue legal action. Instead, he decreed that my brother marry Clara, using the union to atone for the alleged offense. But my husband Sebastian stepped forward in front of everyone and personally shattered both of my brother’s legs. Afterward, he took my hand with a helpless expression. “The Sinclairs have reach on both sides of the law. If we don’t let them have this, the whole Carver family could pay for it later.” Seven and a half months later, Clara gave birth to a healthy baby boy. Ethan sat in his wheelchair and screamed until his voice broke. “I told you — I never laid a single finger on her!” He had said it a hundred times that night. Not one person had believed him. They mocked him instead and called him a coward who couldn’t own what he’d done. He scooped the newborn out of the bassinet and moved to take the story to the press. Sebastian came up behind him and brought something down hard against the back of his skull. Ethan dropped to the floor. I lunged forward to scream — and Sebastian’s hand closed around my throat. “If you two blow this open, what kind of life do Clara and the child have left?” His eyes were cold and without mercy. He squeezed until everything went dark. When I opened my eyes again, I had been reborn — back to the evening of the gala. This time, I zip-tied Ethan’s wrists myself and locked him in the supply closet. Three deadbolts. But Clara still walked into that ballroom claiming someone had violated her. … Clara had nothing on but Sebastian’s suit jacket draped over her bare shoulders, angry red marks trailing down her skin. She covered her face with both hands, her sobs wretched and practiced. “I’ve shamed myself in front of Mr. Sinclair. I can’t face anyone.” She twisted toward the nearest marble pillar. “Sebastian, don’t stop me — just let me die!” Several society wives lunged forward to pull her back. Their eyes, when they turned to me, were full of contempt. “Ethan Carver thinks he can come back from abroad and act like an animal?” “His family scraped together their reputation off military service, and now he puts his hands on the woman Old Mr. Sinclair himself chose? He clearly has no respect for this family.” “Clara was supposed to marry the Sinclair heir next month. That’s finished now.” I glanced at Sebastian, Clara sheltered behind his broad back like something precious, and swallowed the sneer threatening to curl my mouth. I pushed through the crowd and walked straight to Clara’s side. “Miss Hayes.” My voice came out even. “Look carefully. Is the man who attacked you actually my brother?” Clara flinched. Fresh tears spilled down her face. “Miss Carver, I understand you want to protect Ethan. But who would lie about something like this?” Her voice cracked. “I don’t want to live anymore.” She threw herself toward the pillar again. The society wives caught her in a flurry of silk and pearls. Sebastian crossed the room in three strides and yanked me aside, fingers biting into my wrist hard enough to leave bruises. His face was a thundercloud. “Lena. Your brother commits something unforgivable, and instead of making him apologize, you come here and bully Clara?” “Your father spent his whole life building something decent. You and Ethan just burned it to the ground.” His grip was iron. My wrist throbbed. But inside, I was laughing. Thirty minutes ago, I had tied Ethan up myself and padlocked him in the supply closet. Three locks. Unless someone physically broke him out, there was no way he’d touched Clara Hayes. I met Sebastian’s eyes without flinching. “Are you certain, Sebastian? Certain the man you saw was my brother?” His brow creased. He bit out his answer through clenched teeth. “I watched him put his hands on her with my own eyes. I knocked him out myself to pull her free. You think I can’t recognize my own brother-in-law?”

My stomach dropped. The certainty in Sebastian’s voice made something cold crawl up my spine. Had Ethan somehow gotten out? “Mrs. Holt.” An older socialite cut across the room toward me, voice shrill with indignation. “How much longer do you intend to make a scene?” “You’re the wife of the Holt Group’s heir. Instead of protecting this family’s name, you’re shielding a criminal from your own bloodline. You have no business calling yourself the mistress of the Holt household.” “What — should Sebastian turn a blind eye while your thug of a brother destroys Clara and drives her to her grave?” Sebastian shot me a withering look. “Lena. Stop embarrassing yourself.” I let out a short, cold laugh and swept my gaze across the room — all these people so certain of their righteousness, so eager to follow whoever was loudest. “It seems no matter what actually happened tonight, the blame was always going to land on my brother.” “How dare you—” Clara recoiled as though I’d slapped her, fresh tears streaking her cheeks, her expression the perfect portrait of wounded innocence. She bit her trembling lip. “I have never tried to attach myself to anyone. I have never wanted anything I didn’t earn.” “And now I’m being called shameless. Desperate.” Her voice splintered. “Fine. If the Carver family won’t believe me, I’d rather die than have any part of this.” She spun and threw herself toward the floor-to-ceiling window. Three society wives caught her in a shrieking tangle of arms. “Miss Hayes, don’t!” “It’s that Carver boy’s fault — every bit of it!” “You can’t let him win by doing something like this!” They comforted Clara with one breath and spat venom at me with the next. “Clara was going to be the Sinclair heir’s wife. The Carvers are what — a mid-tier business family? You think a woman with her future would risk her reputation to frame you?” Sebastian stepped in close, his tone softening into something that might have looked like concern. “Lena. It’s over. Let Ethan marry Clara, issue a public apology, make the financial settlement.” “If this goes to court, a sexual assault charge alone puts him away for ten years. The Carver Group’s stock collapses overnight. How do you explain that to the board?” In my last life, I had believed every word of this. I’d convinced myself Ethan had done it — drunk, reckless, out of control — and I’d spent years drowning in guilt. I handed over Carver Group’s most valuable contracts to the Hayes family. I treated Clara like royalty. And seven and a half months later, she delivered another man’s child and took everything we had built. Nausea rolled through me in a slow, vicious wave. I pulled my arm free from Sebastian’s grip. “Letting Clara Hayes walk into my family without the truth coming out first?” I said. “Not a chance in hell.” The last trace of warmth vanished from Sebastian’s face. His eyes went flat and mean. Before he could speak, Mr. Hayes stormed through the doors, his face the color of iron. He crossed to Clara without a word and struck her across the face — clean, sharp, loud enough to echo. Clara staggered and hit the floor, blood welling at the corner of her mouth. “You embarrass me in front of these people?” he snarled. “Get out. Buy a plane ticket. Die abroad if you have to — just don’t come back and drag the Hayes name any further through the dirt.” Two bodyguards moved in to drag her out. “Don’t touch me.” Clara snatched a fruit knife off the nearest table and drew it across her wrist without hesitation. The room erupted. Someone screamed. Others rushed to stop her. Hands grabbed at my sleeve. “Mrs. Holt — you’re just going to stand there?” “If Ethan hadn’t done what he did, she wouldn’t be doing this!” “Can the Carver family even live with themselves?” I watched the performance in silence. A flash of something vicious crossed Clara’s eyes. Her grip on the knife tightened. The blade parted skin. Blood came fast and bright. The society wives shrieked in unison. “The Carver family has blood on their hands!”

Sebastian’s face went white. He crossed the room and wrenched the knife from Clara’s hand. “Get the house physician — now!” He stripped off his tie and wound it tight around her bleeding wrist. Clara let herself be surrounded, blinking weakly up at the crowd. Her eyes slid to me for just a moment — no despair in them, no death wish. Only the bright, quiet gleam of someone who thought she was winning. Once Clara had been carefully arranged on a chaise in the rest area, Sebastian turned and came straight for me. “Lena.” The slap landed before I could move — open-handed, full force, ringing off the walls of the ballroom. I staggered into the edge of a marble table. The corner caught my forehead. Blood ran into my eyebrow. My left cheek burned, my ear rang, and the room tilted sideways. Sebastian stood over me, pointing down like I was something he’d scraped off his shoe. “You wanted her dead, right? You didn’t stop until you pushed her there?” “I don’t need such a wife. I want a divorce. Tonight.” The room erupted in agreement. Someone actually smiled. “He’s right to do it. A wife like that is a curse.” “The brother’s a predator and she’s no better — God knows how she landed Sebastian in the first place.” “The Holt family and Clara Hayes are the real victims here. These two Carver siblings are a plague.” The words came in waves, each one uglier than the last. They looked at me like I was something that needed to be put down. I swallowed the blood pooling at the back of my throat. I pressed a hand to the floor and pushed myself up, slowly, until I was standing straight. “Proof.” My voice didn’t shake. “Show me one person in this room who actually witnessed my brother attack Clara Hayes.” Silence. Faces exchanged glances. Sebastian’s smile was brittle. “You never learn, do you?” He turned and walked to the far corner of the ballroom, where two bodyguards stood flanking a large black duffel bag. He crouched, unknotted the drawstring, and reached inside. When he straightened, he was holding a custom lapel pin between two fingers — small, expensive, engraved with a single letter: C. He raised it above his head so the whole room could see. “This pin was commissioned for Ethan Carver’s twenty-first birthday. Custom design, one of a kind. No duplicate exists anywhere in the world.” He turned and threw it at my chest. “Still want to tell me your brother wasn’t there?” The floor shifted under me. Cold sweat broke across my back. That pin. I recognized it instantly. Ethan had been wearing it tonight. Had someone gone to the supply closet and let him out? But I had left a guard posted. I had given specific instructions. Something wasn’t adding up. Mr. Hayes spat on the ground at my feet. “The evidence is right in front of you. What exactly is left to argue?” I held Sebastian’s gaze and let the smile come slowly. “Funny thing, isn’t it?” “Ethan and I haven’t been back long. We don’t run in these circles often, but we’ve never caused trouble. We know how to conduct ourselves.” “So why is it that on the one night I specifically asked my brother to stay close to Sebastian and keep his head down — this happens?” I let the question sit. “Someone set Ethan up. Someone who wanted my family to take the fall.” “That is a lie—” The composure cracked. Just for a second — but I saw it. Sebastian’s eyes flickered with something he couldn’t quite bury. The men closest to him grabbed his arms, quietly, firmly — keeping him from doing something he couldn’t walk back. The room turned on me instead. “Lena, have you lost your mind? You’re accusing your own husband to cover for your brother?” “You want to take the Holt family down with you?” “The Holts have suffered enough bringing you into this family!” Several older women rushed over to pull me aside. “Lena, apologize to Sebastian. There’s still time to fix this.” I shook them off. “I have nothing to apologize for.” Someone murmured nearby. “Sebastian and Clara grew up together. If something was really going on between them, they’d have married years ago. Why would she need to bother with any of this?” It was a small thing — barely above a whisper. But in a room full of people who’d been so certain a moment ago, it landed like a stone in still water. Eyes shifted. Expressions changed. The crowd that had been pointing at me began, almost imperceptibly, to point somewhere else.

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After my husband’s childhood friend committed suicide, he forced wolfsbane potion down my throat. The Southern Border had always been our kingdom’s shield against the Rogue Fang Syndicate. This day, the Alpha himself presided over the inspection—a rare honor that proved how crucial our position was. Gamma Silas marched proudly leading the way among all warriors. Every warrior’s eyes blazed with anticipation, waiting for the Alpha’s praise. But Silas didn’t know that before the inspection, his spoiled little “childhood friend” had already swapped out his silver bullet gun with a prop replica handgun. The moment he pulled that trigger, a plastic rose would pop out from the barrel, ending his brilliant career right there and then! *** In my past life, I was an elite pack warrior who also participated in this very inspection. During backstage preparations, Gamma Silas ignored all protocols and forcibly brought his cousin and childhood friend Mia to observe. I caught Mia acting suspiciously—she’d switched out Silas’s silver bullet gun with a toy replica. I reported it immediately. Fortunately, we caught it in time. The inspection proceeded flawlessly to thunderous applause. We stood on stage receiving praise from alpha, while Mia—who’d acted suspiciously and switched out the Gamma’s gun—faced public censure and punishment. Mia’s relatives and friends, mortified by the disgrace, disowned her. Her university, convinced she was connected to the Rogue Fang Syndicate, expelled her after issuing a formal notice. Unable to show her face anywhere, Mia ended her own life with a silver dagger. But Silas blamed everything on me! He bound me tight and rammed wolfsbane potion down my throat. The toxin seeped into my veins, burning my lungs. I was consumed by crippling pain, my breath ragged and failing. “Nora, she was just trying to joke around with me, help me relieve the pressure—but you were so vicious you drove her to suicide!” “In your heart, is an inspection more important than a human life? I think you’re just pathologically jealous, looking for any excuse to cause trouble. Die, you vicious bitch!” I gasped for air, desperately begging for help, yet he only sneered and kicked me to the ground, as if revelling in my agony. “Might as well tell you—I’ve already forged letters in your handwriting implicating your parents in treason with the Rogue Fang Syndicate. This time, not only will you pay with your life, your entire family will pay the blood price!” I died full of regret, struggling until my last breath. When I opened my eyes again, I’d somehow returned to the day before the inspection! “Mia sweetie, you came all this way to see me in this blazing sun—come inside, sit down, don’t be shy.” Hearing that familiar voice, my heart clenched. I accidentally knocked over the cup in my hand. Mia, pressed up against my husband Silas, heard the noise and glanced at me with contempt. “Gamma Silas, maybe I should wait outside. With me here, certain people will get upset.” Silas’s expression immediately darkened. He grabbed Mia’s hand and, under everyone’s astonished stares, led her into the backstage area and sat her down front and center. “Nora, don’t go too far. Mia’s just curious and wanted to take a look.” “I’m warning you—this inspection was specifically requested by the Alpha himself. If you dare cause a scene at such a serious event because of your jealousy, I won’t let you off!” Mia blushed as she pulled out a bag of candy and distributed pieces to Silas’s teammates one by one. “Sorry, my sister-in-law tends to be petty. She’s probably offended all of you before, so I’m apologizing on behalf of Silas.” As she spoke, she stuck out her tongue playfully. Her adorable manner prompted everyone to speak up for her. “Ma’am, Mia’s so sweet—don’t make things difficult for her.” I looked at Silas. He was nodding approvingly. After Mia finished handing out candy, she nestled happily against Silas’s side. Compared to me, they looked like the real mates! I took a deep breath and quietly clenched my fists. I’d love to see if you’ll still defend Mia when this grand inspection turns into a circus act!

Seeing I hadn’t exploded, Mia lazily lifted her eyelids. “Nora’s in such a good mood today. If this were any other time, she’d be all over me like a hawk, not letting me anywhere near Silas.” Laughter rippled through the crowd, followed by murmurs. “If you ask me, Mia’s the one who’s actually the perfect mate—gentle, considerate, beautiful, fun-loving. You’d be proud to take her anywhere!” “You must not have tasted Mia’s homemade pizza. Last time she came to visit Gamma Silas, she made extra for us. Absolutely divine!” Mia giggled and bantered with them. Only now did I realize that in this place where I’d never been allowed to visit, this so-called childhood friend had been countless times! While I stayed home being the good wife and good daughter-in-law, managing the household and caring for his paralyzed mother, he was flirting with a woman he claimed not to be close to, letting her bond with all his men. All these years—I was such a blind fool! The group seemed deliberate in their actions, crowding around Mia and Silas until I was squeezed outside the circle. Mia glanced at me smugly through the crowd, then actually took out a bottle of wine! “Everyone’s so bored waiting around—why don’t we have a quick drink to settle our nerves?” “Nora, I’m only thinking of everyone’s benefit, helping them unwind. You wouldn’t stop me, would you?” By my usual standards, I would never allow warriors about to be inspected to drink. But I’d been reborn once already. Whether they lived or died—what did it have to do with me? Seeing my cold expression, Silas frowned deeply. “Nora, don’t stir up trouble. Mia’s doing this for everyone’s sake. What’s with that sour face!” I rolled my eyes and walked out. You’re all looking for death yourselves—don’t drag me down with you! Just as I stepped out, a camera crew documenting the inspection walked over with their equipment. An idea struck me. “You’re here to film backstage at the inspection, right? I’m a warrior. I’d like to borrow a camera to document our team’s preparation. Could you help me film?” In our pack, warriors were revered as heroes. So they agreed immediately, not only lending me the camera but thoughtfully teaching me how to record video! I thanked them, turned on recording mode, and positioned the camera on the side of Silas and his men. Just as I finished setting everything up, Mia’s loud complaint rang out. “Who gave you permission to come in here? Was it that bitch Nora!” “What gives you the right to film here? I suspect you’re trying to leak secrets. Get out, all of you!” The moment I approached, I saw Silas with a furious expression, his arm around Mia. Seeing me return, Silas’s face turned completely cold. “Nora, how impressive!” “Acting all virtuous and magnanimous on the surface, but scheming behind everyone’s back—sending people to film us drinking. What exactly are you trying to do!” The group chimed in, accusing me of being malicious. I actually laughed at the absurdity. “Seems you all know drinking is wrong, since you’re so afraid.” “If that’s the case, why insist on doing it anyway!” Mia’s eyes reddened with anger. “Silas, look at her—she’s just jealous that everyone likes me…” Silas glared at me viciously, declaring he’d deal with me after the inspection ended. Just then, the assembly whistle sounded. Everyone forgot the argument and quickly grabbed their equipment to form ranks! Stirring music filled the venue. With the blast of military horns, Silas held his head high, secured his silver bullet gun, and led the warriors in precise marching steps! Silas cut an impressive figure—broad shoulders, narrow waist, one in ten thousand. Applause thundered from both sides of the route. At the command to “fire salute,” Silas raised his gun proudly. Everyone held their breath in excitement, covering their ears, staring at Silas with anticipation. Silas took a deep breath and pulled the trigger. After the bang of the gunshot, before the watching crowd, an inferior plastic rose slowly emerged from the gun barrel.

The Alpha’s face turned green, his mouth hanging open, unable to make a sound for what felt like an eternity. It was the civilian spectators who reacted first, erupting in mocking laughter and angry shouts. “What kind of joke is this? At such a solemn occasion, are you messing with us?” “This is the Alpha inspecting the troops—what’s with the rose? Are you celebrating your love life?” “This is insane! What’s going on? We came to see a military inspection, not a magic show!” Silas stood frozen, his mind completely blank, still holding the same pose. It wasn’t until the warriors behind him kept jabbing him that he finally snapped out of it, and crushing the gun. The smiles on the elders’ faces in the viewing stand faded inch by inch, their gazes toward Silas growing progressively darker. Silas panicked so badly he didn’t know what to do with his hands and feet. He was completely stunned, walking stiffly through the entire route with his limbs moving in awkward synchronization! As his formation exited, our female warrior unit received the signal to enter. I walked at the front, specifically instructing everyone that no matter what mistakes others made, don’t lose focus—we cannot disappoint the watching crowd. With Silas’s formation as contrast, we garnered countless applause and cheers the moment we appeared. Wherever we marched, applause followed, and even after the inspection concluded flawlessly, the applause beside us continued unabated. When everything ended, I sprinted into my parents’ waiting arms. My parents affectionately helped me remove my cap and wiped the sweat from my forehead, praising me nonstop. “Nora, you were amazing! You’ll always be our pride!” After saying this, they thought of Silas, their voices dropping with slight concern. “What’s going on with that Silas? How did he end up with a toy gun instead of his silver bullet gun? Has he lost his mind?” The memory of my brutal death in my past life flashed before my eyes. I sneered coldly. “Who knows? Maybe his wolf’s gone feral and scrambled his brain.” I didn’t want Silas to ruin the mood. I pulled my parents along, asking them to throw me a celebration banquet. Our family was just about to leave cheerfully when someone with a dark expression suddenly blocked our path. “Nora, after doing something so vicious to frame Silas, you still dare to leave?!”

My parents’ expressions hardened as they immediately stepped in front of me. “Who are you people to make baseless accusations against our daughter?” Seeing the gleaming honor medals covering my parents’ chests, the accusers slunk away, though their voices still drifted back. “What baseless accusations? Gamma Silas crossed her, and his gun was immediately switched. Now he’s been taken in for investigation—bet she’s thrilled!” “I’m telling you, it has to be her. Backstage was all our own people. Who else would be vicious enough to frame our Gamma?” My parents’ faces flushed with anger, but they stood firm in defending me. Silas’s supporters glared at me viciously before turning to leave. My mind stirred, and I grabbed my parents who were about to argue on my behalf. “Don’t bother with them now. I need to sever the bond first.” My parents had long heard the gossip about Mia and had been critical of Silas for ages. But because I’d been devoted to Silas, they’d held their tongues. Now that I was initiating the bond severance, they naturally agreed and immediately took me to see the elders. The High Elder was my parents’ close friend. Learning I’d been wronged, he immediately dispatched someone to process the paperwork. While waiting for the severance documentation, my parents and I went to the restaurant we’d reserved. For this inspection, we female warriors had prepared for three full months, forging deep bonds of camaraderie. For this celebration banquet, my parents had reserved three large tables of fine food and drink. Everyone took their seats, celebrating not only the applause and praise our formation had received, but also toasting repeatedly to celebrate my finally having the resolve to sever my bond with Silas. “Nora, I’ve had my eye on that Silas for a while now. Out of respect for you, I didn’t want to say anything, but I once saw him and that ‘cousin’ embracing on the street!” “I saw it too! Last time I went to the supply store, I saw Silas buying Mia a whole outfit of designer clothes!” “Thank the Moon Goddess you finally came to your senses, or those bastards would’ve completely walked all over you!” My hand on the table clenched slightly, nails digging into my palm. In the past, Silas always said Mia was his cousin, orphaned young and forced to rely on him. I’d pitied Mia, treating her like a sister and helping her in every way. Who knew that in the end, I’d helped myself right into being betrayed! Fortunately, the topic quickly shifted as everyone began celebrating my new beginning. But just as we were raising our glasses in harmony, a crying voice suddenly came from the restaurant entrance. “Nora, you’ve destroyed your own husband like this—how can you still have the face to throw a celebration banquet!”

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My boyfriend locked me in a hotel room with men to test if I was a slut. April Fools’ Day. My boyfriend sent me a hotel room number. We’d only been together for six months. It felt too fast. I was still figuring out how to turn him down when I opened Reddit to kill time and a trending post caught my eye. *Apex Industries heir setting up the ultimate loyalty test on his girlfriend tonight* I clicked in. Someone was hyping up their friend Logan, the so-called heir to Apex Industries, and his plan to test his girlfriend on April Fools’. There was a livestream link in the comments. I scrolled down and my stomach dropped. *lol she actually fell for it* *imagine walking into a room full of dudes thinking it’s a romantic night* *this is cruel but I’m here for it* *plot twist: she calls someone else to come save her lmaooo* I blinked. So this was what an April Fools’ prank looked like when someone went all out? I smiled and forwarded the room number to Silas Thorne, the guy who’d been chasing me for years. Sure enough, the next morning my boyfriend kicked the hotel room door open with a whole crew behind him. He held up his phone and screamed at me while I was still half-dressed. “I knew it! You’re nothing but a cheap slut! I send you a room number and you actually show up!” “Good thing Chloe tipped me off, or I’d never have known how dirty you are!” The woman standing next to him gave a coy little laugh. “I told you she was a gold digger. Believe me now?” “And thank god you never told her you’re the heir to Apex Industries, or she would’ve bled you dry!” Heir to Apex Industries? Silas owned Apex Industries. Since when did he have a son this old? I was about to ask Silas what the hell was going on with this supposed son of his. Then I remembered. He’d gone out to buy condoms. Last night wasn’t enough apparently, because he’d just gone out for more. My phone buzzed. New comments on the thread. *wait what happened?? the guys just ran off??* *I work there lol. she called some dude and he beat them all up* *bro is like 6’4 and built like a tank* *so she’s cheating… loyalty test successful I guess?* I almost laughed. What even were these people saying? So Logan could scheme to destroy me and that was fine, but I wasn’t allowed to protect myself? He saw me smiling and lost it. “What are you laughing at?!” “Where are those guys? Where did they go?!” “If you don’t talk, I’m posting the video online! Let the whole world see what a shameless whore you are!” I rolled my eyes, then straightened my clothes and stood up nice and slow. “Those guys?” “Logan, so you knew ahead of time there’d be more than one man in this room?” He froze. His eyes darted to Chloe. Chloe frowned, and then she saw something and clapped a hand over her mouth with a shriek. “Elena! You did all this and you still need someone to spell it out for you?” Before I could figure out what she meant, she snatched Logan’s phone and started snapping photos of the nightstand next to my bed. “Look at all these condom wrappers! There’s no way this was just one guy!” “Elena, you’ve really been having yourself a party.” She turned to Logan with tears already forming. “Babe, you never slept with her, right?” “I don’t mean anything by it, I’m just worried about, you know, diseases. You’re going to be somebody important and your health matters.” Logan glanced at the wrappers on the floor and his face went green. “Elena, have you no shame?! All these wrappers and you still won’t admit it?!” “Thank god I never brought you home to meet my dad, or you’d have dragged our whole family name through the mud!” The people behind him got even more fired up at the mention of his family. They all held up their phones and pointed them at me. “This is hilarious. What are you gonna say, Elena? You just like blowing them up for fun?” “A girl like you doesn’t deserve Logan!” “Exactly. A slut like her thinks she can marry into the richest family in the country? Dream on!” “Good thing Logan caught her before it was too late!” Excuse me? I finally couldn’t hold it in anymore. I looked at every single one of them and said, word by word, “The richest family? You all just say it and it’s true? Where do you get the nerve?” The smug look on Logan’s face went cold. He pulled out a paternity test result and slapped it in my face. “Open your damn eyes and read! The DNA test confirms it. I’m his biological son!” “My dad said he’s coming to bring me home any day now! What do you know!” My phone buzzed again. The thread was blowing up. *he just pulled out a whole paternity test lmaooo* *girl fumbled BAD* I picked up the test and scanned it, and I froze.

The names on the test were Logan Sterling and Arthur Reeves. Arthur Reeves, if I remembered right, was the old butler at Silas’s estate. Silas lost both his parents when he was little. His aunt raised him. Because he missed them, he never let go of anyone who’d worked for his parents. The old butler, even the nanny. He kept every single one. Did Logan actually think Arthur Reeves owned Apex Industries? Since I hadn’t walked into the trap they’d set, since I hadn’t been assaulted by those thugs and left broken, everything after that had gone off the rails. And the people commenting on that thread didn’t seem to know the actual relationships between any of us. Still, I had to thank whoever posted it. If it weren’t for that thread, I’d never have known Logan was a piece of shit. When I didn’t say anything, Chloe got even more pleased with herself. She checked her phone and grinned. “The livestream just hit a hundred thousand viewers, babe! We’re going viral!” “Everyone’s saying you’re a genius for exposing a gold digger!” “The comments are saying that many wrappers means at least five guys!” “Ew, Logan, is it just me or does the air in here suddenly smell rotten?” I glanced at the phone in Chloe’s hand. The comments section was filthy. I refreshed the Reddit thread on my phone. More comments rolling in. *that many wrappers??? girl was BUSY* *wait so she cheated on him with some other guy?* *lol she belongs to the streets* *honestly both of them are trash for this* Both of them? I was trash for protecting myself? Chloe was the one who introduced me to Logan in the first place. I met Chloe during my internship at my dad’s company. I knew her family didn’t have much, so I looked out for her. We got close over time. When she found out I was single, she brought Logan to meet me without a second thought. After a few dinners, he started pursuing me and I thought he was fun, so I said yes. And now somehow in their minds I was the villain? Were these people even paying attention to the same reality I was living in? I snapped back to the moment and looked at Logan with a cold smile. “A few condom wrappers and you’re already losing it?” “Not my fault you can’t keep up.” “Logan, since you were willing to set me up for Chloe’s sake, we’re done.” “We’re breaking up.” Logan didn’t expect me to be the one saying it. His face flushed red in an instant. “Elena! Have you lost your mind?!” Chloe threw herself into his arms. “See, babe? She’s basically admitting it!” “This is all my fault. I never should have introduced you two.” Logan didn’t push her away. He patted her on the back to comfort her. “She’s the dirty one. That has nothing to do with you.” He turned to look at me, his eyes full of disgust. “Chloe’s right. Thank god she doesn’t know I’m the Apex heir, or she’d have wormed her way into the family and I’d be the one humiliated!” “You want to break up? Fine! Once my dad takes me back, she’ll be crawling on her knees begging me to take her back!” So it was true. When you’re stunned beyond words, you really do just laugh. I smiled, stood up and rolled my wrist, and slapped Logan across the face. The crack echoed through the room. He stood there in total shock, holding his cheek and staring at me. “You! You’re the one who cheated! And you have the nerve to hit me?!” I smiled. “I hit you because I want to. Do I need to book an appointment?” Then I threw the paternity test back at him. “Logan, the owner of Apex Industries is a Thorne, not a Reeves.”

They all froze when they heard me. But Chloe recovered fast. She doubled over laughing, clutching her stomach. “Elena, are you seriously this jealous?” “Logan already showed you the DNA test and you’re still making excuses?” “The owner of Apex Industries is a Thorne, not a Reeves? That’s hilarious. Who do you think you are? You think you know more about his family than he does?” Logan snapped out of it too. He smirked and pulled a set of car keys from his pocket, dangling them in front of my face. “See these? My dad gave them to me.” “Every car registered under his name, I can drive whenever I want.” “Rolls-Royce. You probably won’t sit in one your whole life.” “And he told me once I come home, shares in the company are mine too. If that’s not the heir to Apex Industries, what is?” He was getting more and more worked up, like he could already see himself inheriting it all. But did Arthur Reeves actually say all that? He was just a butler. Where did he get the nerve? Chloe chimed in with her sugary little voice. “Elena, it’s too late to regret it now.” “Logan is going to inherit an entire empire. Why would he ever want a girl who can’t even respect herself?” The people behind them with their phones out started piling on. “Elena’s so salty right now, it’s pathetic.” “Can’t have him so she starts making stuff up. What a joke.” “Logan just flashed a Rolls-Royce key and she’s still talking back!” I rolled my eyes internally. Thank god I’d listened to my dad and kept my family’s money a secret. Otherwise a nobody like Logan would’ve thought he’d hit the jackpot and treated me even worse. Whatever. Not worth thinking about. I took a deep breath. I was done arguing with these people. “Logan, since you’re so sure you’re the Apex heir, I’ll be here waiting to watch you eat those words.” “We’re broken up. If you’ve got nothing else, get out.” Logan stepped forward and grabbed me by the collar. “What did you just say?!” “You still want to run that mouth?!” He was strong. I stumbled from the force of it. Chloe rushed over and shoved me. “Elena, how dare you talk to Logan like that?” She shoved me again as she said it. I staggered back two steps and my shoulder slammed into the bedpost. It hurt. “What the hell are you doing?!” I snapped. Before I could even touch her, she let out a shriek and threw herself backward. She dropped to the floor and grabbed her knee, sobbing. “I was just trying to calm you down! How could you push me?” Logan rushed over and helped her up. “Chloe, are you okay?” She shook her head, eyes brimming with tears. “I’m fine. I’d rather it be me than you getting hurt.” Logan looked like his heart was breaking. He whipped around to face me, eyes burning. “Elena! Get on your knees!” “Apologize to Chloe!” I almost laughed from the sheer audacity. “Why should I?!” “Why?” Logan sneered. “Because I’m the Apex heir!” “Because you slapped me and pushed Chloe!” “Now get on your knees and apologize!” Right then, the door handle turned. Silas? I looked toward the door, and hope surged through me. But before I could react, a figure walked in. “I’d like to see who has the balls to cause trouble in my hotel!”

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