Author: Momo Chan

I find out my husband is getting married this weekend , which is news to me, since he told everyone I died in a car crash two years ago. I’m on my way home when I spot two of Ryan’s childhood friends — guys I haven’t seen in years. I’m about to wave when their conversation stops me cold. “Ryan’s finally catching a break. He’s getting hitched again this weekend.” “Good for him. His first wife was a sad story — dropped dead not long after the wedding.” I freeze right there on the pavement. I’m dead? Last I checked, I’m very much alive. So what the hell is this about another wedding? Ryan and I have a son who’s almost three. We got married five years ago. Who exactly is he marrying? I stand there, quiet as a ghost — ironic, right? — and keep listening. The bride’s name is Vanessa Mills. Never heard of her in my life. I memorize the venue and the date, then slip away without a word. That Saturday, I show up at the hotel. The place is packed — music, flowers, guests everywhere. I walk up to the card table, grab an envelope, and stuff two hundred dollars inside. The girl minding the table smiles. “What name should I put on it?” I flash her a grin — all teeth. “Write ‘the dead ex-wife.’” She blinks at me. “That’s… a weird thing to say at a wedding.” I don’t bother responding. I turn and scan the room. Familiar faces everywhere — Ryan’s aunts, uncles, cousins. He didn’t even bother hiding this. He invited his whole family to watch him marry someone else. My eyes drift to the family table up front, and my blood turns to ice. Sitting right there — his parents. Richard and Linda Carter. My in-laws. Relatives keep stopping by to congratulate them, and the two of them are glowing. Smiles so wide they haven’t dropped once. Fragments of conversation float over to me — “Vanessa is such a sweetheart — she’s the best thing that ever happened to your son. You two must be thrilled!” Linda eats it up, beaming. “Oh, we are. Ever since Ryan met her, everything’s been going his way. Not like the last one — that girl was nothing but bad luck. A curse on this family, really.” She waves a hand. “But let’s not ruin today talking about her…” Her words hit me like a blade between the ribs. Six years I spent respecting these people, caring for them, treating them like my own parents — and behind my back, I’m a curse. If I were really cursed, they’d be six feet under by now. Richard chimes in. “I told Ryan not to marry her from the start!” Excuse me? Her? He means me. “Her family had nothing — no money, no connections. She brought absolutely zero to the table. The only reason she got in the door was because Ryan was young and stupid.” “That’s why we made sure to do it right this time. Dropped a hundred and fifty grand on this wedding — top-shelf everything. This is the kind of daughter-in-law the Carters deserve.” So that’s what I get. Back then, I knew his family wasn’t well off, so I told them we didn’t need anything big. A courthouse ceremony was fine. I didn’t want them spending what they didn’t have. And now I’m the joke. The poor girl who wasn’t worth a real wedding. They blow a hundred and fifty grand on Vanessa’s fairy tale and can’t stop bragging about it. Every cell in my body screams at me to march over there and blow this whole thing apart. But I don’t. Not yet. This bill is coming due. Just not this second. I turn and walk out of the banquet hall. In the bridal suite down the corridor, Vanessa is surrounded by her bridesmaids, putting on finishing touches before the ceremony. She notices me and smiles — warm, friendly, completely unsuspecting. “Hey! You must be one of Ryan’s coworkers, right?”

My chest is a hurricane, but I swallow every word trying to claw its way out. I just give a soft “Mm-hm.” One of the bridesmaids grabs Vanessa’s wrist, eyes wide, staring at the diamond bracelet glittering there. “Vanessa, you lucky bitch. Ryan dropped serious cash on this. What is that — six figures?” “He insisted.” Vanessa traces her fingers over the stones, her smile spreading on its own. “He said you only get married once, so why not go all out.” Something inside me cracks wide open. When Ryan and I got married, I had nothing. Not a single piece of jewelry. I’d suggested we at least get matching wedding bands — something to mark what we were to each other. He’d waved me off. “Why blow money on that? You can’t eat a ring, babe. And you’re not one of those high-maintenance girls.” When my face fell, he softened. “Give me a couple years, babe. I’ll get you something really nice. I promise.” And he did — sort of. Every year at bonus time, he’d buy me a gold bar. Said it was our safety net. Mine and our son’s “rainy day fund.” Wait. Where the hell did he get the money for a six-figure bracelet? Every paycheck goes straight to me. His bonus is a known number. I’ve seen the stubs. Before I can finish that thought, another bridesmaid pipes up, voice dripping with envy. “I heard his company’s been killing it — he pulls in over a million a year just in equity dividends. He could buy you ten of those bracelets and not even blink.” Equity dividends. Over a million a year. We’ve been married for almost six years, and I’m hearing about this for the first time. What Ryan brings home every month? About four and a half grand after taxes. He hands me four thousand and keeps the rest for “work stuff — drinks with the guys.” I never questioned it. Not once. Meanwhile he’s been pulling in seven figures on the side. Vanessa turns to look at me. “You work with Ryan, right? You’d know what he actually makes. Come on — just between us girls. I want a number in my head so he can’t hide money from me later.” A dull knife, twisting slow between my ribs. What does he make? Honey, you’d know better than me. The real money went to you. A six-figure bracelet I couldn’t have dreamed of. Million-dollar dividends I didn’t even know existed. And you’re asking me? My lip twitches. I almost lose it. Vanessa must catch something on my face because she rushes to smooth things over. “No worries if you don’t know! Forget I asked.” She tilts her head. “Actually — I’ve met most of Ryan’s coworkers. You’re a new face. You must’ve just started?” I push the storm down. “Yeah. Pretty new. Honestly, I have no clue what Ryan makes.” One of the younger bridesmaids sighs dramatically. “Your man is unreal, Vanessa. Hot, rich, and he doesn’t smoke? What kind of fairy tale are you living?” Vanessa laughs. “Oh, he used to smoke. He quit on his own — wants a honeymoon baby, so he tossed the whole pack.” My phone almost slips out of my hand. When I was pregnant — the worst two months of morning sickness — one whiff of cigarette smoke sent me straight to the toilet. I begged him to quit. He told me it was impossible. Client dinners, networking, stress — he couldn’t do it. Then three months ago, out of nowhere, he changed. Threw every pack in the trash. Told me he was finally doing it — for me and our son. No more secondhand smoke in this house. I cried. I hugged him. I thought he loved us. He wasn’t quitting for me. He wasn’t quitting for Noah. He was quitting because she wanted a baby. Vanessa gives me a sheepish little smile. “Sorry — the girls get wild. Don’t mind us.” My head is a roaring mess — waves crashing, sirens blaring — and before I can stop myself, the words rip out of me. “You really trust him that much? What if he’s got a whole other family you don’t know about?”

Vanessa stares at me, her smile faltering. “What’s that supposed to mean?” One of the bridesmaids jumps in before she can say more. “What — just because your husband cheats, you want everyone else to be miserable too?” I let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah. You actually nailed it.” Vanessa’s chin lifts, a flicker of superiority in her eyes. “My Ryan isn’t like your husband. He would never betray me.” “That so? Then where is this loyal, perfect man? I don’t see him anywhere.” “Oh, he’s picking up some college friends who flew in for the wedding. He’ll be here any minute.” Right on cue, her phone rings. She answers, voice bright. “Babe! Where are you?” The bridesmaids go quiet on instinct. His voice spills out of the speaker — “Almost there, baby. I keep thinking about how I’m finally gonna marry you and I can barely focus on the road.” Vanessa’s cheeks flush. She bites back a grin. “Just drive safe, okay?” The bridesmaids lose it. “Oh my God, did you hear that? Five years together, about to be husband and wife, and he’s still this whipped?” “Can you blame him? We only get to be together six months out of the year.” Something hits me in the back of the skull — a blunt, invisible blow. My ears start ringing. Five years. They’ve been together for five years. I don’t know if I was too blind or if he hid it too well. No — he didn’t hide it well. I just trusted him too much. I believed him when he said the company required rotational assignments. That he had to travel for work every other month. I thought he was ambitious. I thought I shouldn’t hold him back. So I carried everything alone. The baby, the cooking, my own job. Never once complained. One night Noah spiked a fever. I sat in the ER holding him until dawn. I didn’t call Ryan. I didn’t want to disturb his rest. All those months he was “on the road” — he was with her. The bridesmaids are groaning now, clutching their chests in exaggerated jealousy. “Your man is unreal — hot, rich, doesn’t smoke, clingy, and he talks sweet? Is there no justice in this world?” “Seriously! Give us one flaw. Just one. Let us feel better about our lives!” Vanessa laughs as they shake her shoulders, pretending to think it over. “A flaw? Hmm… I guess he makes me drink bone broth every single day. Says it’s good for my health.” “Gets up early and makes it himself. Every morning. Never misses.” The group erupts in groans, and the hit lands square in my chest. Every morning. Ryan has never made me breakfast. Not once in six years. When I was pregnant with Noah — belly so big I could barely bend over — he said he’d handle mornings. He burned batch after batch of oatmeal. No matter how many times I walked him through it, he couldn’t get it right. I always assumed he was just hopeless in the kitchen. Turns out it wasn’t a skill problem. It was a motivation problem. I stand there, feeling my heart go cold inch by inch. The bridesmaids won’t let up — they insist she’s showing off, demand a real flaw. No more humble-bragging. Vanessa bites her lip. Her expression shifts — suddenly serious. “There is one thing. But promise me — never bring it up in front of him.” “Ryan was married before.” “His ex-wife and their son — they were in a car accident a couple years ago. Didn’t make it. It destroyed him. He still can’t talk about it.”

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The night I officially took over my family’s New Orleans operations was the wildest night of Mardi Gras. I stepped out of a formal dinner. A mob of drunk party idiots surrounded me. They blasted super soakers straight at my chest. The one shooting hardest was my fiancé’s childhood sweetheart. Daisy-Mae Thorne. My custom gown soaked through in seconds. The fabric clung to my body like a second skin. Humiliating. I stepped forward and smacked the water gun out of Daisy-Mae’s hands. My voice stayed level. “There’s a limit to partying.” I didn’t finish the sentence. Daisy-Mae’s face was already drenched in tears. “Avalon, don’t be such a killjoy. It’s Mardi Gras. Why do you always have a problem with me?” Preston Vance’s expression shifted instantly. He pulled Daisy-Mae against his chest. Shot a look behind him. In that moment, a dozen super soakers aimed at me. They opened fire. A dozen high-pressure streams hit my chest and stomach. The water blasted through the fabric. The lace outline of my bra was visible to everyone. *** The crowd of onlookers swelled. My eyes burned red. I screamed. “Preston, I’m calling the cops!” “Call the cops?!” Preston snorted. His grin got wider. “Avalon, get this through your head. This is New Orleans. Not New York. This is my territory. God himself could come down from heaven and he’d still have to answer to me.” A cold smile pulled at my lips. I reached slowly into my pocket and pulled out the encrypted satellite phone. I dialed the only number saved on it. “Notify the New Orleans grid control center. Cut all power to Bourbon Street, Star Sea Square immediately. Lock down the block. Send in the Cleaners.” The words barely left my mouth. The crowd erupted in deafening laughter. Preston lunged forward and snatched the phone from my hand. He was bent over laughing. He waved it around for everyone to see. “Avalon, did the water fry your goddamn brain?!” He shouted at the crowd at the top of his lungs. “Hey, everyone get a load of this! She’s holding some no-brand piece of junk and she’s gonna lock down the block! You believe this? I’m dying over here!” A louder wave of laughter crashed through the square. Preston caught his breath. The amusement in his eyes sharpened. He grabbed my chin and squeezed. “Avalon, save that New York act for someone who’s scared of it.” Daisy-Mae stepped forward, pressing herself against Preston’s chest. Triumph was written all over her face. “She’s right, Avalon. This is Preston’s territory. Nobody here buys your New York attitude.” “Baby, no point wasting words on someone like her.” Preston pulled Daisy-Mae tight. He pointed at me. His voice turned sharp. “Apologize to Daisy-Mae.” “Or you won’t be leaving here in one piece.” Dozens of men aimed their super soakers at me. Their eyes crawled over the curves of my body, clearly visible through the soaked fabric. Their faces wore lewd, hungry smiles. I scrambled to grab the shawl I’d dropped. Cover myself. Preston ripped it out of my hands. He locked his grip around my wrist. A brutal squeeze. He shoved me down. I hit the ground on my knees at Daisy-Mae’s feet. “Avalon, are you deaf?! I said apologize to Daisy-Mae!” Daisy-Mae stepped forward. Her stiletto heel came down on my hand. She ground it in with vicious pressure. But her voice came out sweet and wounded. “Avalon, I really was just being nice. Getting wet is the whole point of Mardi Gras. Why can’t you just take it in good fun? Preston, is she mad at me? I was only playing around. Before Preston really loses his temper, you really should just apologize.” The crowd pressed closer. Pointing. Commenting on my exposed body.

“Hey, check out the body on that one. Not bad.” “Curves in all the right places. Definitely got something going on.” “Look at that outfit. She was asking for trouble.” The whispers fed the smug satisfaction in Preston’s eyes. A cold wave of disgust washed through me. I had turned down every arranged match my family proposed. I stuck with Preston for eight years. Eight years. Three times the Vance family business faced collapse. Three times I begged my father to pull strings from New York to save them. Earlier this year, Preston proposed. I thought I had finally found my happy ending. The day after he put the ring on my finger, his childhood sweetheart Daisy-Mae came back from Europe. Everything changed the moment she returned. The reason I agreed to take over the family’s New Orleans operations was to give Preston one last chance. Give us one last chance. I didn’t need to anymore. “Avalon, if you don’t apologize soon, I’m going to be really sad.” Daisy-Mae pouted. Tears rolled down her face like pearls falling off a broken string. I swallowed the nausea clawing up my throat. I surged to my feet. I swung my arm. My palm cracked across Daisy-Mae’s face. I grabbed the super soaker from the man next to me. Aimed at Daisy-Mae’s chest. Pulled the trigger. Instantly, her thin dress was drenched in filthy water. Her hot pink bra was on full display. “Don’t run!” I kept the water gun trained on her. Didn’t let up for a second. “It’s Mardi Gras! Getting soaked is the whole point! Come on!” Daisy-Mae clutched her chest. She shrieked the whole way as she scrambled into Preston’s arms. My handprint was still bright red on her face. I ripped the shawl out of Preston’s grip and wrapped it around myself. I shot him a cold look. Turned to walk away. I barely took a step. A boot slammed into my lower back. Preston. A searing, bone-deep pain spread from my spine through my entire body. But it didn’t come close to the ache in my chest. Three years ago, Preston was kidnapped by a rival. I led my family’s elite team from New York to extract him. A knife stabbed straight through my lower back. Eighteen hours of surgery. Thirty-six titanium screws to barely hold it together. When I was discharged, Preston knelt in front of me. He swore he would spend the rest of his life repaying what I did for him. For three years, every rainy day left me paralyzed with pain. Preston canceled every meeting, every obligation. He stayed by my side and applied heat packs without stopping. And now, for another woman, he aimed his boot directly at that same spot. “Avalon, I told you. Apologize. Or you don’t walk away from here in one piece.” Preston’s cold voice snapped me back to reality. He pressed his foot down on my lower back. A sickening crack. An unbearable, numbing ache shot through my spine. A strangled sound escaped my throat. I knew something in my vertebrae had snapped. The doctors warned me after surgery. Another serious injury to my lower back, and I would be paralyzed. Not even a miracle could fix it. The pain turned my vision black at the edges. My father’s warning echoed in my ears. I gritted my teeth and forced the words out. “Preston. Stop now. And I’ll—” “What’ll you do?” He cut me off. Nothing but vicious cruelty in his eyes. “Beg? Too late.” “Avalon, these eight years, I’ve spoiled you rotten. Today, I’m going to teach you your place.” He glanced behind him. Dozens of water guns aimed at me in perfect unison. Instantly, the dense water streams hit me like whips.

The force slammed me to the ground. Preston took Daisy-Mae’s hand. He guided her water gun. Pointed it directly at my face. Water flooded my nostrils, my ear canals. A sharp, burning pain exploded through my head. I tried to get up. The pressure blurred my vision. I couldn’t even lift my head. I just lay there, letting the freezing water pound against my body. Every hit came with the agonizing pressure of those high-powered streams. Daisy-Mae watched me flailing on the ground. High, piercing laughter spilled out of her. Preston only stopped when he saw Daisy-Mae was satisfied. He wrapped an arm around Daisy-Mae’s waist. His voice dripped with tenderness. “Baby, you happy now?” “Preston, everything you do makes me happy.” Daisy-Mae’s coy reply pulled a smug laugh from Preston’s throat. But the laugh barely hit the air. Daisy-Mae’s expression shifted. Her voice went soft and wounded. “But…” Preston’s smile vanished instantly. His brow creased. “But what, baby?” “Daisy-Mae, you’re with me. Whatever you want, just say it.” Daisy-Mae took Preston’s hand from her waist. She stroked the back of it, slow and deliberate. Her voice turned sickly sweet. “My dress got all wet because of Avalon. I’m so cold.” “No problem. I’ll take you to get a new one right now.” “No.” Daisy-Mae pointed at me. She tugged on Preston’s arm, pouting up at him with pleading eyes. “I want the one Avalon’s wearing. Right now.” “Absolutely not.” My sharp voice cut through her whining. This dress was the sacred heirloom of the Romano family. My family valued this dress as much as our family honor. This specific gown had been altered to fit my body by my mother’s own hands. Stitch by stitch before she died. My father had kept it safe for twenty years. He waited for the day I would take over the New Orleans operations. This was that day. I wrapped my arms around myself. I stumbled to my feet. The cold, wet fabric against my skin made me shiver uncontrollably. Preston glanced in my direction. Something unreadable flickered through his eyes. A few seconds of silence. He pulled Daisy-Mae into his arms. His voice dropped low. “Baby, that dress isn’t even special. The style is outdated. And it’s soaked in dirty water. You’ll catch a cold if you put it on. Let’s not take that one. I’ll buy you a new one.” “No!” Daisy-Mae tore herself out of his arms. Tears flooded her face instantly. Her voice pitched into a tearful tantrum. “I want Avalon’s dress! If you won’t get it for me, is it because you’re protecting her? Is she more important to you than me?! Oh my God, Preston, you’re still in love with her, aren’t you?!” “No. I just don’t think it looks good. And it’s wet.” “I think it’s beautiful! I don’t care if it’s wet!” Preston froze for two seconds. “You definitely still have feelings for her.” “I don’t!” Preston’s denial came fast and sharp. He spun around to face me. His voice went ice cold. “Avalon, you heard her. Daisy-Mae likes your dress. Take it off and give it to her.” I swept my gaze over the dense crowd of men surrounding us. I stared at Preston in disbelief. I lowered my voice. “Preston. You want me to undress. Here.” “Take it off!” The moment I spoke, the mob erupted. They tightened the circle around me. Their eyes devoured every visible curve of my body. “Take it off! Preston told you to strip! What are you waiting for?!” “Preston, thanks man! Without you, we wouldn’t be getting this show!”

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Liam stood at the entrance of the foster home, wearing a faded, wash-worn shirt. My sister Bella, who had loved money more than life itself since childhood, ran toward him cheerfully. She threw herself into his arms and sweetly called out his name. “Liam!” In that moment, I knew. Bella had been reborn, just like me. In our past life, we faced a choice between the Sterlings, a top-tier New York dynasty, and the Lombardos, who were dirt poor. Back then, Bella had shoved me to the ground. She was the first to rush toward the extended black Lincoln. “I don’t want to live a hard life, Chloe,” she had sneered. “You can suffer for me this time.” She got her wish and lived the life of an Upper East Side socialite. But her smile faded day by day. Five years later, she was kicked out of the family and died miserably on the streets of Brooklyn. I, on the other hand, relied on my grades to get a full scholarship. I got into an Ivy League school and went abroad with Liam for further studies. With the blessings of our foster parents, I married Liam, had children, and lived a happy, smooth life. Now, given a second chance, Bella made the opposite choice. I looked at Liam, the man who had spent a lifetime with me in my previous life. I waited for him to say something. Instead, he shielded Bella tightly behind him. His blue eyes looked at me with ice-cold hostility. “Don’t come near Bella.” Under Bella’s triumphant gaze, I turned and walked toward the extended Lincoln. That’s fine. I wanted to experience a different life this time anyway. … “Get in, Miss Chloe.” The Sterling family hadn’t sent anyone important. Just a chauffeur in a uniform. As he drove, he watched me through the rearview mirror, lecturing me on the rules I had to follow at Sterling Manor. The car soon arrived in the wealthy Hamptons area of Long Island. I followed the driver into the mansion, which was as luxurious as a palace. “Mrs. Sterling, I’ve brought her.” A beautiful woman sitting on a genuine leather sofa looked up from her Earl Grey tea. Her gaze swept over me, assessing my worth. She beckoned to me. “Come here, dear.” “What is your name?” “Chloe.” The woman nodded. “Very good. From now on, you are Chloe Sterling.” “Alfred, take her upstairs.” “Yes, Madam.” I followed Alfred, the butler, step by step. The staircase railing was made of precious mahogany. The floor was imported Italian marble. Everything screamed of the luxury and heritage of an Old Money family. In my past life, I had obtained all these things through my own hard work. So, I wasn’t particularly impressed or curious. The butler glanced back at me, a flash of surprise in his eyes at my calmness. He pushed open a door. A massive, princess-style suite appeared before me. “Miss, this will be your room from now on.” “Rest for a while. I will come back later.” After the butler left, I walked in and looked around. The environment was perfect. The Sterling family had adopted a daughter for tax breaks and charity points, but they certainly weren’t stingy. The room revealed the exquisite luxury of high society in every detail. Deep inside, a wave of excitement surged. In my past life, without a powerful family background, I had to fight my way up Wall Street with my own two hands. That was the only way I could afford a life like this. In this life, I was inside the Sterling house. With the resources of a billionaire family, I would achieve even greater success.

Just as I was thinking, shouting came from behind me. My bedroom door was suddenly thrown open. A basketball flew in without warning and smashed right onto my head. Thud. “Hey, you new hillbilly. Bring me my basketball.” The voice was arrogant, dripping with that specific type of wealthy American entitlement. I turned around slowly. A blond boy, about my age but much taller, stood there. He had his chin up, chewing gum, looking completely overbearing. If I remembered correctly, this was the sole heir of the Sterling family, Asher Sterling. He loved underground racing, skydiving, and extreme sports. A typical rich playboy. He had zero interest in the family’s multi-billion dollar business empire. In my previous life, he ended up paralyzed from the waist down after an accident during an underground drag race. His temperament became incredibly violent after that. “Hey, why are you spacing out? Did you hear me?” His impatient voice rang in my ear. I snapped back to reality, picked up the basketball, and handed it to him. Remembering the driver’s advice, I said softly, “Asher, here.” He paused for a second. “You really know how to suck up, don’t you? You don’t actually think this will get you a piece of the Sterling trust fund, do you?” He scoffed, turned around, and walked away. Over the next few days, I rarely saw Mrs. Sterling. Asher was even more elusive, probably out partying. Alfred took me around to get familiar with the estate. The manor was exceptionally large. When we finished the tour, he handed me a schedule. It was packed with elite education courses. “This is your schedule starting tomorrow. You will receive one-on-one training in business management, equestrianism, and etiquette. Madam has arranged everything. You just need to study hard. There will be benefits for you in the future.” “Can you handle it?” These were things I only encountered when Liam and I started our business in Silicon Valley in my last life. In this life, I was getting access to them at fifteen. Of course I was happy. I nodded. “Absolutely, Sir.” A trace of surprise flashed across his face, but he didn’t say anything more. To ensure I didn’t fall behind in my regular schoolwork, Mrs. Sterling hired expensive private tutors. But I had already learned all of this in my previous life. It was a piece of cake. In just one year, I absorbed and applied all the AP course material. “This child is a genius. She’s not only mastered the high school curriculum but also understands obscure MBA case studies,” the Ivy League tutor praised me in front of Mrs. Sterling. I sat on the side, listening quietly. He looked excited. “At this rate, she doesn’t even need prep school. She can apply directly to Harvard or Yale.” But Mrs. Sterling had a different plan. She wanted me to accompany Asher through an elite private high school, then go to the Ivy League together. She claimed it was so we could take care of each other. In reality, she wanted me to rein in that wild horse, Asher. Mrs. Sterling gave the teacher a check with a generous bonus. Her gaze toward me held a newfound approval. “Come here.” She pulled me to sit beside her and handed me an acceptance letter to St. Jude Preparatory Academy. “Good job. Asher’s GPA is terrible. Help him out. I don’t expect much, just get him to pass.” “Once high school is over, I’ll send you both to study in the UK. How does that sound?” Without any preamble, Mrs. Sterling laid her transaction on the table. I didn’t hesitate. “Thank you, Mom.” Her eyebrows raised, and she clearly became happier, holding my hand a little tighter. “Good child.”

As a reward, Mrs. Sterling gave me a Black Card and let me have a free day out. This was the most relaxing day I’d had since arriving at the Sterling home. The driver took me to the most bustling part of Manhattan, Fifth Avenue. I got out of the car alone. I hadn’t walked far when a familiar figure appeared. It was Bella. Or rather, Bella Lombardo now. She was standing on the roadside under the scorching sun, handing out flyers for a fast-food joint. The Lombardo family lived in a low-income area and had almost no spare money. It wasn’t surprising she was forced to work. I had lived that life previously. During summer breaks, I worked three jobs a day while studying for the SATs. I also had to do all the household chores for my foster parents. They claimed to treat everyone equally, but they never let Liam lift a finger. I only found out later that they didn’t adopt me because they wanted a daughter. They just wanted the government foster checks and free labor. “Hello, would you like to see this—” A flyer was shoved in front of me. Bella looked up, saw me, and stopped mid-sentence. “Chloe?” Noticing my new season Chanel outfit and my well-maintained skin, jealousy flashed across her face. She forced a laugh. “You look comfortable. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Rich families aren’t easy to survive in. Mrs. Sterling is scarier than you think. You’ll find out soon enough.” “Oh,” I replied flatly. My indifference annoyed her. She started showing off her new family. “Uncle and Auntie Lombardo treat me so well. My days are so full. Liam helps me with my homework. Oh, and we both got full scholarships to St. Jude Academy this year.” St. Jude… That was the same school on the acceptance letter Mrs. Sterling gave me. Most students there were offspring of Old Money. Except for a few charity cases with exceptional grades. In the last life, Liam and I were the ones who got those spots. “Our life is only going to get better,” Bella said with certainty. “And you? You’re going to die miserably on the street.” The corner of my mouth twitched. I was about to speak when a voice called out. “Bella!” “Liam, you’re here!” Bella’s face lit up, and she threw herself into Liam’s arms. Liam was holding a cheap lunch box. “Mom asked me to bring you food. It’s hot out. You must be tired. Let me take over for a while.” “No need, Liam. I can do it.” The Lombardo family would rather starve than let Liam miss an expensive tutoring session or do manual labor. In my last life, I was the one being exploited like this. “You’re working so hard,” Liam said tenderly. Then, he noticed me standing there. “Liam, this is my sister Chloe. You saw her at the foster center,” Bella introduced. Liam looked me up and down. His cold expression held a trace of disgust. He didn’t greet me. Instead, he turned to Bella. “Don’t associate with trashy people. Let’s go.” Without giving me a chance to speak, Liam pulled Bella away. “Liam, why are you being so mean? What if you scared her?” Bella’s voice drifted back. “Silly girl. She doesn’t look like a decent person. Stay away from her, or she might hurt you behind your back one day.” His harsh words faded into the distance. I didn’t understand where Liam’s hostility came from. My heart rippled slightly, but not much. I took the Black Card Mrs. Sterling gave me and walked into a luxury store, buying a mountain of things.

When I walked out carrying bags stamped with luxury logos, Bella’s face turned green. “Tch. What are you showing off for? You’re going to die anyway. Unlike me and Liam—we’re going to run a huge company one day.” I smiled, laughing at her naivety. I turned and returned to Sterling Manor. Actually, none of the items were for me. They were gifts for Mrs. Sterling, Asher, and the household staff. When I got back, Asher was unexpectedly at home. Seeing me, he sneered. “Yo. You haven’t been here long, but you already learned how to drag bags of shopping home? Do you think our family’s money grows on trees?” “Asher!” Mrs. Sterling warned him. “She is your sister.” Asher curled his lip. “What kind of sister is she? I don’t have a hillbilly sister. It’s embarrassing to be seen with her.” Asher had always been against me, but I didn’t take the bait. I took the gifts out of the bags one by one. “Mom, this is for you.” I handed over a box containing an Hermès scarf. Then I gave gifts to Alfred the butler and the other maids, one by one. I saw a look of relief and pride on Mrs. Sterling’s face, different from her usual coldness. The butler and the staff looked flattered and touched. Asher’s face fell immediately. “Che. Do you think these cheap bribes will win people over? You really think—” “Asher, this is for you.” I ignored his tantrum and took out the final gift. It was a limited-edition Ferrari model car. “Mom told me you like racing. I saw this at the mall and bought it.” He froze. “Who cares about toys like this,” he muttered. But he still took it.

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Three years after my own brother exiled me to the lawless borderlands of South America, we finally met again at a private airport in New York. That place was Cartel territory. I had been gravely injured trying to protect the local children in that chaotic war zone and was rushed back to the States for emergency treatment. Meanwhile, Julian was preparing to take his precious adopted sister, Chloe, on a vacation to Europe. Our eyes met. He looked at my blood-stained clothes, his voice dripping with that familiar, arrogant disappointment. “I warned you, Serena. That place is a Cartel crossfire zone. No one but the Vance family could protect you, yet you still ran around causing trouble like a wild brat.” He adjusted his cufflinks, looking down at me. “I can let the family’s private doctor save you, but only on one condition: You must apologize to Chloe for what happened three years ago!” I lay paralyzed on the stretcher, coldly averting my gaze. “No need, Julian. We haven’t been siblings for a long time.” I had found a new protector in hell—he was the King of the Underworld. The best surgical team in New York was already on standby for me. … My body was riddled with shrapnel wounds of various sizes. Especially my leg. The nerve pain was so intense it felt numb. Just speaking that one sentence brought the taste of rusty iron to my throat. Julian’s face darkened. It was the typical look of an alpha male being defied. “Three years, Serena. Are you still playing this rebellious game?” “You’re half-dead, and you still haven’t learned your lesson?” I wanted to retort, but the movement pulled at my wounds, making me hiss in pain. The two soldiers from the Moretti family carrying me tried to move forward, but Julian’s bodyguards blocked them. “Serena Vance, is it so hard to just say ‘I’m sorry’?” The stretcher jerked to a halt, sending a piercing agony through my right leg. I gritted my teeth. It was an instinctual reaction to extreme pain. “I did nothing wrong. Fuck your apology!” Beside him, Chloe grabbed Julian’s arm. He was wearing an expensive custom suit. She tugged at it gently, acting like a frightened little deer. “Julian, forget it. My heart is fine now, really…” “You’re still defending her?” Julian looked at her with a mix of adoration and frustration. “If she hadn’t slapped you three years ago, would you have suffered that heart attack? Would you have needed to recover for this long?” He glared at me again. “Look at her. Covered in injuries. She obviously got into a brawl with some gang members. Since she still doesn’t know she’s wrong, sending her to the border was clearly too light a punishment!” The South American border is a lawless place. Naturally, Julian assumed my injuries were from a street fight. But he was wrong. Those were fragments from an RPG explosion. I had thrown myself over two children to save them. My leg was ruined, and one of my ears was nearly deafened by the blast. I looked at him with mocking eyes. “Yeah, you should have just put a bullet in my head back then.” “You want an apology? Maybe when hell freezes over!” Julian’s face turned green. His fists clenched tight, a sign he wanted to hit something. Just then, the airport announcement called for him and Chloe to board their flight to Paris. My soldiers were getting impatient. Hands rested on their holsters as they scowled, ready to push past. Chloe tugged his sleeve again. “Julian, let’s go. We’ll miss the flight!” Her face was pale, her voice weak and breathless. Julian always fell for this act. His tone softened immediately. “Okay.” When he looked back at me, his eyes were ice-cold again. “Wait until I get back from vacation with Chloe. We will settle the score then!” Surrounded by bodyguards, he and Chloe disappeared down the VIP channel. The two foreign soldiers rushed my stretcher to the waiting ambulance, speeding straight toward Mount Sinai Hospital. Three top surgical experts examined me quickly, their expressions grave. The only Asian doctor among them spoke to me in a heavy tone. “Ms. Vance, please rest assured. You came back in time. Your leg can be saved.” “Mr. Moretti gave a strict order to cure you at all costs. We are prepping for surgery immediately!” Mr. Moretti was my new brother—Dante Moretti. Hearing his name, I instantly felt safer. I nodded weakly and was wheeled into the operating room. The shadowless lights turned on. Anesthesia flowed through my veins. Consciousness faded, and I slowly closed my eyes. But right then, a commotion erupted outside the operating room. It was Julian’s furious roar. “Where are the doctors? My sister Chloe is having a heart attack! Get me your best surgical experts! I have money!” My heart sank with a heavy thud. But before I could think, the drugs took over, and I plunged into darkness.

I thought that after three years, I wouldn’t care about the old nightmares anymore. But in my sleep, I returned to the Vance family manor—that place that eats people alive. I was kidnapped at seven. When Julian found me, I was seventeen. In that lost decade, our parents died in a plane crash. Crushed by grief, Julian developed severe depression and fell into substance abuse. His therapist suggested adopting a child to shift his focus. That was Chloe. Chloe was three years younger than me and knew exactly how to wrap Julian around her finger. When I was found, their bond was at its peak. Julian always warned me: “Serena, Chloe has a congenital heart condition. She can’t handle stress. Stay away from her and don’t provoke her.” “She helped me through rehab. I can’t send her away, but don’t worry, you are my only blood relative!” I knew Julian had a hard time running the family business, so I endured everything. But in corners Julian couldn’t see, Chloe showed her fangs. She got me grounded during charity galas, claiming I didn’t know etiquette. She stole the jewelry family friends gifted me. If I said a word, she would clutch her chest and collapse on the sofa, gasping for air. Eventually, Julian became disappointed in me. “It’s just small stuff, Serena. Chloe has a bad heart. Do you want to kill her?” I held it in until Chloe “accidentally” smashed the herbal medicine I had spent hours brewing for Julian’s stomach ulcers. It was a small thing, but it lit the fuse of all my grievances. “Julian drank too much and has gastric bleeding! If you won’t help, why make it worse?” I slapped her. The next second, she collapsed, clutching her chest. An Oscar-worthy performance. I will never forget the cold look Julian gave me. “I’ll deal with you when I get back!” He carried Chloe and rushed to the garage. I was terrified. The next morning, Julian came home, threw a passport and a one-way ticket at me. “Chloe has heart failure. It’s serious. You can’t stay here. Go to the house in South America and reflect on your actions.” I couldn’t believe it. I screamed and cried, “If you send me away, I’ll never recognize you as my brother again!” He didn’t care. He signaled the bodyguards to drag me to the car. “You’ve been nothing but trouble since you came back. You think you’re a princess? If you can’t fix that temper, don’t come back!” “I can protect you in New York, but down there, it’s Cartel territory. No one will save you!” I cried until I couldn’t breathe, repeating myself like a broken record. “I didn’t do anything wrong! If you send me away, you’re dead to me!” He pressed his lips together and crushed my last hope. “Then consider me dead. You are going to South America!” It was an exile. Within a year, I was on the streets, living in a slum worse than a refugee camp. I don’t dare think about how I survived those three years. When I opened my eyes again, I was crying. The surgical lights stung my vision. A young intern stood next to me, holding a scalpel, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry, Ms. Vance… All the specialists were forcibly transferred by a Mr. Julian Vance. He donated ten million dollars to the board and used family connections, so…” My ribs were broken, and I had hundreds of stitches all over my body. The intern had managed to clean the wounds, but my right leg… Because Julian took my surgeon away, I missed the window for vascular reconnection. I faced amputation. “Ms. Vance, the bone is shattered, and the tissue is necrotic. You don’t have time to think.” “Amputation is the only way to save your life. Prosthetic technology is very advanced now.” Someone kept buzzing in my ear with that damn professional tone. My head was spinning. Images of maimed people in the slums flashed before me. When the RPG hit, those who couldn’t run were blown to pieces. I wanted to keep my dignity. I didn’t want to be buried missing a leg. My voice choked with sobs. “What happens if I don’t amputate?” “Sepsis. Muscle atrophy. Infection spreading. You could lose the other leg, or even die. If you amputate now, you can use crutches. If you wait, it’ll be a wheelchair for life…” I covered my face with my hands, tears streaming through my fingers. Suddenly, the phone under my pillow rang. It was a FaceTime from Dante. I took a breath, wiped my face dry, and forced a smile before answering. “Hey, Dante. What’s up?” He showed me a plane ticket, his dark eyes full of worry. “I’ll be in New York the day after tomorrow. Just wanted to let you know.” “Is the surgery done? How’s the recovery?” “I found the best trauma experts in the US. Everything went well, right?” I shifted the camera, showing only half of my pale face. “It went great. Don’t worry.” He let out a sigh of relief. A rare smile appeared on his stern face. “Leo and Mateo insisted on coming. They say you saved their lives.” Two little Latino boys burst onto the screen, waving and speaking excited Spanish. I forced a smile to greet them, then hung up, claiming the anesthesia was making me sleepy. As soon as I put the phone down, Julian’s voice came from the hallway. “Is this Serena’s room? I was in a rush earlier and borrowed her doctors. I want to apologize and discuss compensation.” The door opened. Seeing me, Julian froze as if he’d seen a ghost. “The person in the OR… was you?” I looked at him with pure mockery. “Let me guess. Did Chloe make a miraculous recovery the moment she arrived at the hospital? Just like every time before?” Before Julian could answer, the intern urged urgently. “Ms. Vance, have you decided? Amputation or not?” “If you choose amputation, we must operate immediately. Infection markers are rising!” Julian’s face turned pale. “Amputation? What’s going on?” The intern confirmed our relationship and explained the situation. When Julian learned that because he stole the experts for Chloe’s “palpitations,” I missed the golden hour for surgery… His expression became hideous. But almost instantly, he reverted to the decisive head of the Vance family and made the choice for me. “Amputate. We can’t let both legs rot!” I clenched my fists and shouted, “No! I choose conservative treatment!” I had to wait for Dante. Maybe there was a way. Moretti resources were far superior to Vance resources. Julian scowled. “Serena, why are you so stubborn? Did you hear the doctor?” “It’s just an amputation. Even if you can’t stand, the Vance family will support you forever. Who dares to mock you?” My voice cracked. “No! I’d rather die than lose my leg!” “We cut ties long ago! You have no right to decide for me!” “This…” The doctor looked conflicted. This was America; patient consent mattered. Julian frowned and pulled out legal documents. Passport, ID, and a medical power of attorney. He handed the papers to the doctor with a grim satisfaction. “I am Serena Vance’s legal guardian. She signed this proxy agreement before. Her mental state is unstable. Listen to me!” “We choose amputation. Do the surgery now!”

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I am the illegitimate half-blood daughter of Hermes, god of trickery—forced to become my stepsister Victoria’s body double in bed. Every night I endured her husband, the war god Ares, taking me like a beast that knows no satiation. And every morning, I knelt before her and recited his pillow talk back to her, word for word. When our three-year agreement expired, she tried to marry me off to a violent, deranged guard. I begged Ares for some kind of status. He laughed and said: “You’re nothing but a gift with purchase.” So I turned around and knelt before Geneteira, the Mother Goddess—and volunteered to marry the dying god, Apollo. Everyone thought I was walking into my own grave. But in the end, it was Ares who dragged his broken, stripped body through the dirt, weeping. And my name was already carved at the very top of the divine register. …… …… Ares had come to Victoria’s bedchamber again. The two sat entwined in candlelight, temples brushing, murmuring sweet nothings only they could hear. Victoria rose with flushed cheeks to bathe. Before she left, she blew out every candle, as she always did. Half an hour later, I pushed open the door. The chamber was pitch black—only a thin wash of moonlight seeped through the latticed windows. Ares lifted his eyes lazily, amusement lacing his voice. “What took you so long?” He pulled me into his arms in one swift motion, then frowned. “Why are you so cold?” “I was outside watching the stars for a while,” I answered, keeping my voice low. The truth was, I’d been standing outside the chamber door in nothing but a thin handmaiden’s robe, waiting. I didn’t dare stray far—I had to be ready to take Victoria’s place at any moment. The whole night was relentless. Ares left countless marks across my body. He was a beast that never knew satiation, and I was prey thrown into his cage. Just before dawn broke, I slipped out of the bedchamber barefoot. Victoria was waiting for me in the side hall. I knelt before her despite the ache in every muscle, reciting every word Ares had spoken during the night—each one repeated exactly as he’d said it. That was her rule. Her gaze settled on the red marks along my neck, and her expression darkened instantly. Then she smoothed her gown and slipped silently into the bedchamber, easing herself into the bed beside Ares. Ares rolled over, half-opening his eyes, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her cheek. “Where’d you disappear to in the middle of the night? Sneaking off to meet some other man behind my back?” His tone was teasing. Victoria pouted and swatted his chest playfully, and the two dissolved into laughter. I withdrew from the chamber without a sound and pulled the door shut behind me. Victoria was Hermes’ legitimate daughter—pure-blooded divine, noble in every sense. But she’d been gravely injured before, leaving her body too frail to endure anything remotely intense in bed. Because of this, despite her unmatched beauty, no god had been willing to offer her a marriage contract when she came of age. Until a spring banquet, when Ares saw her. The war god was captivated at first sight. He proposed to Hermes on the spot, offering her the position of principal wife. Victoria was equally smitten. The two became inseparable—the most celebrated couple in all the divine realm. As her attendant, I’d once been genuinely happy for her. But on their wedding night, Victoria fainted dead away on the marriage bed. Ares was the god of war. Strength and dominance were etched into his very bones, and nowhere more so than between the sheets. Victoria’s body simply couldn’t withstand it. For three consecutive nights, the marriage went unconsummated. Word spread fast, and Victoria became the laughingstock of the entire realm. The war god’s bride can’t even survive the first night—everyone was waiting to see her cast aside, replaced. Desperate, Victoria devised a solution. Each night, she would extinguish every candle and have someone take her place in the dark. And I—as her father’s illegitimate daughter, our shared blood giving us similar builds and voices—was her perfect choice. I didn’t want to do it. But I had no choice. My mother was mortal. Her affair with my father had been nothing more than one of Hermes’ passing amusements in the human world—no one cared whether she lived or died. She was gravely ill, and only the divine realm’s spirit medicine could keep her alive. The supply of that medicine was entirely in Victoria’s hands. I was forced to become her handmaiden. I knelt and thanked her for the privilege. “Relax—three years at most. Father’s already looking for a healing god to restore my body. After that—” She glared at me with undisguised revulsion. “Even if you wanted to stay, I’d never let a half-breed mongrel like you remain.” Then, fearing exposure, Victoria used sorcery to seal my voice. She announced to everyone that I was a born mute. Only in Ares’ bed was I permitted to speak. And every night thereafter, when the candles died and the chamber doors closed, I ceased to be Nysa. I became Victoria’s shadow—bearing everything in the darkness that was never meant to be mine.

Half an hour later, Victoria and Ares finally rose. I returned to my small room for a quick wash, changed into clean clothes, and went to the main hall to set out breakfast. Ares sat behind the table, and his gaze landed on me. He paused. “Why are you dressed like that?” I instinctively tightened my collar, pressing my lips together nervously. Ares never knew restraint in bed. He always left marks on me—bite marks, bruises, finger-shaped imprints. My only option was high-collared garments to hide them, even when they clashed with what I’d normally wear. Victoria gave him a gentle push, her voice sweet and coy. “You forget? Nysa’s a mute. She can’t speak.” I nodded quickly. But Ares raised an eyebrow, studying me with open interest. “This little mute of yours is rather pretty, in that pitiful, waif-like way.” Victoria feigned jealousy, chiding him playfully. “And what’s that supposed to mean? Don’t tell me you’ve got your eye on her.” She shot me a glance—the warmth in her eyes plummeting to nothing, a blade’s edge hidden beneath. Ares laughed, unbothered. “I haven’t even accused you of anything, and you’re already accusing me.” He rolled up his sleeve, revealing a clear ring of teeth marks on his forearm, his expression somewhere between amused and challenging. “Come on. Tell me—is this your handiwork from last night?” Those marks hit me like a slap across the face. Last night he’d been too rough, pushing me past my limit. I’d clenched my jaw against the pain but couldn’t hold back a cry. In a frenzy of desperation and fury, I’d bitten him. I knelt on the floor, hands ice-cold, body rigid. Sure enough—the instant Ares’ footsteps carried him out of the hall, scalding tea came splashing toward me. I jerked my head up and met Victoria’s face, twisted with rage. The next second, her palm cracked across my cheek hard enough to fill my mouth with blood. “You worthless mongrel—how dare you leave marks on his body? Are you trying to provoke me?” Before I could utter a single word in my defense, the servants she’d summoned bound my hands and feet and dragged me into the confinement chamber. No water. No food. Nothing but darkness and myself. Ares had departed to inspect the war territories. He wouldn’t return for three to five days—which meant Victoria had no use for me, and I could be left to rot here just as long. Victoria also sent people in. Every night, they administered punishments. They were careful about it—nothing that would leave conspicuous scars. But they could make me wish I were dead. By the third day, I was barely clinging to life. A bowl of chicken broth was slid under the door—my sister Phoebe had been worried about me and found a way to send food in. My younger sister. Born to my mother and a mortal man. She was human too, scraping by at the border between the human and divine worlds, unable to even set foot inside the realm proper. She knew nothing about the body-double arrangement—only that I served as Victoria’s handmaiden. “Nysa, I heard you were punished. What did you do to upset her?” Phoebe had also sent word through a messenger. I couldn’t answer her. All I could do was ask the low-ranking servant who relayed the message: When would Ares return? The servant said, “He should be back tonight. He’ll go to the mistress’s bedchamber as usual.” I let out a breath of relief. Once he returned, Victoria would need me. I also asked about recent happenings in the divine realm. The servant sighed. “Nothing major. Only that Apollo’s condition has worsened. Thaniel says there’s nothing more he can do. Geneteira wants to find him a wife before he goes, so he might leave behind an heir—but no one’s willing.” Apollo. Above Ares, there was an elder brother—the one who should have been the most likely heir to Zeus’s power and position. But his life had been borrowed. If not for a forbidden art performed by a healing god named Thaniel, barely extending his life by thirty years, he would have been stillborn. Perhaps fate had shown him a sliver of mercy: in his youth, his brilliance was unmatched, his radiance blinding. He was hailed as the most extraordinary genius in ten thousand years. But at eighteen, an “accident” cast him into the abyss. Since then, he’d been confined to the Lake Heart Temple, waiting to die. And marrying a dying god meant a lifetime of confinement. Never mind noble goddesses—even the lowliest handmaiden would flee from such a fate. But it was precisely because of his decline that Ares had been able to seize control of the divine clan.

By the evening meal, Victoria had me released. She ordered food prepared and even arranged her features into something resembling remorse. “Nysa, I was too impulsive with that punishment. I got busy and forgot about you. Don’t hold it against me.” I kept my head down. “I wouldn’t dare.” After a moment of silence, I mustered the courage to bring up leaving. Victoria’s expression shifted instantly. “You want to leave?” I nodded carefully. The three years were up. She’d promised me. Her lips curved into a thin smile, but her tone was that of someone discussing something utterly trivial. “My body hasn’t recovered yet. Ares still needs you.” I froze. She’d given her word—three years, no more. Victoria lifted her teacup and blew on it idly. “If you absolutely insist on going, I’ll have someone fetch Phoebe to replace you. You’re blood sisters—your voices and builds are close enough.” Every drop of warmth drained from my body, as though I’d been plunged into an ice pit. After a long silence, I heard my own teeth chattering. “Then… could you at least ask Ares to give me some kind of status?” “Climbing the ladder now, are we?” Victoria’s smile went glacial. “If I wanted to find Ares a mistress, I’d have my pick of candidates—none of whom would be you. And don’t even think about going to Ares yourself. To him, you’re nothing but a plaything. Even if you became his personal attendant, I could make you and your decrepit mortal mother disappear with a snap of my fingers.” My throat felt as if someone had a hand around it. “I can’t stay unmarried forever.” “The gate guard’s son is willing to take you,” she said flatly. “He’s a bit rough-tempered, but he’s still a minor god. More than good enough for someone like you.” That guard’s son—I’d seen him. Intellectually impaired. Violent by nature. His favorite solution to everything was his fists. Especially in bed. I understood Victoria’s intent immediately: she wanted to weld me permanently into her grip. Married to someone like that, I’d never escape. I’d have no choice but to keep being her shadow—invisible, unspeakable, forever. Ares returned to find me still kneeling on the floor in a daze. Victoria rose with a smile to greet him. “You’re back. These past few days must have been exhausting. This handmaiden was clumsy—broke a crystal lamp. I’m having her kneel for a quarter hour.” Ares stepped past me without a second glance, hair slightly disheveled, fatigue written across his face. “What’s the status on the Apollo situation?” Victoria sighed. “Marrying a god who’s practically dead? Everyone thinks it’s bad luck. No young goddess will agree.” Ares frowned. “Find someone low-born. Get leverage over her family. Offer enough incentives or apply enough pressure—it’ll get done. Geneteira’s never approved of you. Handle this well, and her opinion will change.” Geneteira—the Guardian of Progeny, mother of both Apollo and Ares, and the most revered mother goddess of the entire divine realm. In all matters of bloodline succession and marriage contracts, her verdict was final law. Perhaps out of a mother’s guilt and tenderness, she cared about Apollo’s situation above all else. She’d even put out word across the entire realm: anyone willing to be Apollo’s companion could name one wish, no conditions attached. Clearly, Victoria also craved the approval of the divine mother. She agreed obediently. And I remained rooted where I knelt. Both knees had long since gone numb and swollen, but my mind had drifted far away. A bold idea was taking shape in the depths of my heart.

That night, Ares naturally stayed in Victoria’s bedchamber. Every time he returned from inspecting the war territories, he’d go at it all night long. It was how he released his energy—whatever he couldn’t kill enough of on the battlefield, he made up for in bed. That night, I gave everything I had to match him. Ares lost control several times, gripping my waist, laughing. “What’s gotten into you tonight? Did you miss me?” I said nothing. With great effort, I propped myself up and pressed a trembling kiss to the side of his face. Near dawn, I came back to my senses and tried to push away, to leave. His arms clamped down like iron, locking me against him. “What—still thinking about leaving the realm?” My entire body went rigid. Ares nuzzled the tip of his nose against my cheek, his voice lazy and unhurried. “Don’t bother hiding it. I’m extremely sensitive to scent. You and Victoria pulling your little switch—I knew from the very first night.” “Besides—” He paused, bringing his breath close to the back of my neck. “Vic doesn’t have a mole here.” My body turned to stone. No wonder he’d grown more brazen each time, more reckless without limit—he’d known from the very beginning that the woman beneath him wasn’t his wife. I was silent for a moment. Then, carrying a hope I couldn’t quite name, I spoke softly. “Then… when are you going to give me a proper status?” “Proper status?” Ares laughed—as if he’d just heard the funniest joke. “You’re Victoria’s handmaiden. Only she gets to decide your status. If I said something, wouldn’t that be an insult to her?” “Tell you what—give me your name. I’ll have someone send you some dresses and jewelry. Once Victoria’s body recovers and she conceives, I’ll promote you to my personal attendant.” I closed my eyes, bitterness flooding my chest. Victoria had been right. In his eyes, I was nothing but a toy. Why would Ares go out of his way to publicize a scandal and invite trouble upon himself? When I didn’t respond, his tone hardened. “Just because I’ve bedded you for a few years, you think you’re the lady of the house now? Personal attendant isn’t enough? What else do you want?” He’d always despised greedy women. There was open anger in his words now. I knew perfectly well: with my birth, I didn’t even qualify to be his mistress. And Ares would never turn against Victoria for my sake. Hermes valued this daughter, and had helped Ares in countless ways, openly and covertly. He would never create conflict with Victoria over a woman who meant nothing to him. Finally, I spoke quietly. “My station is too low to hope for anything. I only wish you and Victoria a thousand years of happiness together.” I knew now. My way out—I’d have to find it myself.

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I’m an A-list actress. But I have the worst makeup artists in the business, my boyfriend, Dorian Cross. Every time he touches my face, he turns me into a failed Picasso painting. And the night before the Vanity Fair Oscar Party, the biggest night of my career. He pressed a serum mask loaded with chemical irritants against my skin. Until my face was so badly burned I couldn’t even get foundation on. He dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around my waist: “Baby, I can’t figure it out. I really can’t figure it out.” I just sighed. Later I snapped a photo of his profile when he was working and posted it. [HELP. This man destroys my face every time.] [Ma’am you’re kind of asking the impossible here] [Hold on! Do you guys not know who he is? He used to be the super model Odette Laurent’s personal makeup artist. He designed the look behind her most iconic shoot.] [Girl, are you sure he’s not doing it on purpose? Did you piss him off?] He literally formulated the serum the British royals use. There’s no way he’s accidentally burning your skin. I touched my still-raw cheek. A push notification hit my screen: [Odette Laurent makes her comeback and stuns at the Vanity Fair Oscar Party.] The party I’d just missed. Because of my face. “Dorian, have you seen Vesper’s face?” Dorian’s brother’s voice carried through the phone as I stopped outside the door. “Honestly looks terrifying. She used to be so pretty. Now I’m having nightmares.” My chest went tight. Dorian’s voice cooled: “I don‘t care. She’s not my girlfriend.” “Oh, my bad — Odette’s the real one. And honestly? If Dorian hadn’t given Vesper the wrong face mask, her comeback wouldn’t have hit half as hard. This whole thing was genius.” I covered my mouth. His sister’s voice chimed in: “He knew Vesper would steal Odette’s thunder, so he made sure she couldn’t show up. I’d love to see her try to walk a red carpet looking like that. Watching her suffer? Honestly, I’m living.” Dorian, flat and unbothered: “It was Odette’s comeback. It mattered to her.” “Please — when has Odette’s anything not mattered to you? Remember that tiny cable interview three years ago? You pulled three all-nighters designing her look. We genuinely thought you were going to drop dead.” Tears slid down my face without a sound. Dorian let out a quiet laugh. The call ended. Through the gap in the door, I watched him scroll his phone. The internet was losing its mind over Odette’s look from last night. Every beauty account was breaking it down, replicating it — posts racking up twenty thousand likes minimum. He scrolled through the #QueenIsBack tag, pausing on photo after photo of Odette. A smile crept onto his face. And in the second I saw it, I finally understood what his real smile looked like. So the one he’d been giving me all this time — that was fake. He kept scrolling. Hit pieces about me. [Vesper Sinclair skips Oscar Party — too scared to face Odette Laurent?] The top comment was a photo of Odette from last night: Honey, Vesper could never. Odette isn’t just back — she’s untouchable. Dorian let out a short laugh. My legs went weak. I made it back to my dressing room. Looked at myself in the mirror. Red, raw, broken skin in patches — one spot near my cheekbone had started to weep. I touched it. Like pressing a bruise, but with needles. My phone buzzed. A message from him: [How’s your skin today? Any better?]

I stared at the message on my screen. Then I put the phone face-down and didn’t answer. I called Nyx instead — a Gen-Z TikTok makeup artist I’d been following. Underground, no industry ties and no agenda. She showed up with a full kit. She’d barely gotten started when Dorian appeared in the doorway. “Why aren’t you replying to me?” He crossed the room and gently cupped my face, tilting it toward the light. “It looks better than yesterday. I’ve been—” I turned my face away. His hand froze in the air. “Vesper?” “I think you should take a break from my prep for now,” I said. “Nyx will handle it.” “You’re mad at me.” He seemed to be a better actor than I was. Every time he “accidentally” ruins my makeup, he feels guilty and gets even more anxious than I do. Now he’s resorting to this trick again. Acting pitiful. Even Nyx glanced up for half a second. Only I stayed cold: “Go back and practice. I don’t need you here.” He looked at me for a long moment. His eyes went slightly wet. He murmured something to Nyx about my skin sensitivity, then left. “Vesper, he’s not that bad—” one of the assistants started. “Drop it,” Nyx cut in, already uncapping a brush. “He wrecked her face. She’s allowed.” Nyx’s team worked their magic. By the time I got home that evening, the pain was mostly gone. I unlocked the door quietly. Dorian was on the phone in the living room, back to me. “You think I went too far? Did she ever go easy on Odette?” “She’s the reason Odette spiraled for three years. Three years off every major stage — she could’ve gone international by now. ” “Vesper did that. So who’s going to give Odette back those three years?” Odette Laurent? When had I ever done anything to Odette? “If Vesper hadn’t pushed her into that depression — forced her out of the industry for three years — Odette would be a global name by now. ” “I spent three years pulling her back from the edge. Three years before she finally had the guts to come back. Vesper took that from her. ” “She only burned a face. But who compensates Odette for three years?” Tears hit without warning. I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor. Only I and a few other artists knew the truth about Odette’s previous depression. Odette had gotten tangled up with a married studio executive. His wife had put out the word — Odette’s career, her safety, everything was on the line. Odette was terrified. She begged everyone who knew to stay quiet. I stayed quiet for three years. Without a word. The executive’s wife died of cancer six months ago. And right on schedule, Odette’s “depression” made a full recovery. So this whole time, Odette had been telling Dorian that I drove her to it? I pressed both hands over my eyes. Odette had Dorian to make up for her three years. Who was going to make up for mine? This Oscar Party was supposed to be my shot at breaking internationally. Instead I didn’t show. And the major jewelry partnership pulled out the same night. My stomach turned over. I made it to the bathroom just in time. Apparently, when you find out your partner has been playing you, your body just — reacts. “Vesper?” Dorian appeared in the doorway. Rushed over to rub my back, face full of concern. I pushed his hand off. “Vesper—” I wiped my mouth. Stood up straight. “You’re not my makeup artist anymore.”

“Vesper—” His voice cracked, just barely. I walked to the bedroom and lay down. He followed. Sat on the edge of the bed. “I promise it won’t happen again. Please don’t shut me out — okay?” I pulled my hand out of his and closed my eyes. “I’m tired.” He went quiet. A long time passed. Then I heard him stand. Careful footsteps across the floor. He turned off the light and gently closed the door. I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. Tears ran sideways into my hair. After that, I stopped letting him anywhere near my prep. Nyx’s team handled everything. Dorian didn’t push. He just — lingered. Hovering at the edge of makeup room I was in, watching from a distance. When I accidentally caught his eye, he’d drop his head and walk away. Without him, my skin healed fast. Visibly, almost by the day. Within a few weeks, it was down to a faint redness. Easy to cover. My doctor said I was ninety percent recovered. And on the red carpets, I started trending again. Three years ago, I’d already been pulling ahead of Odette. Three years later, my face could still hold its own against hers. I don’t play the comparison game. It’s not my style. But Odette and Dorian came at me first. They wanted to ruin my face and hand her the crown. Fine. The Vanity Fair after-party — Hollywood’s unofficial power gathering — was in three days. I was going to remind Odette exactly why she was afraid of me three years ago.

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“If the Moon Goddess grants us another life, I will never take you as my mate again.” These were Silas’s final words to me at the end of his life. It seemed the Moon Goddess answered our prayers, sending me back to the exact night Alpha Silas saved my life. When I opened my eyes, the thick stench of ash and blood filled my lungs. I crawled out from the hidden bunker beneath the burning ruins of our packhouse. Silas stood before me, his heavy combat boots planted firmly on the scorched grass. He had just shifted back into his human form, and the silver blade in his hand was still dripping with the blood of rogues He asked, “Are there any other survivors from your family?” In my past life, I had no idea that my sister, Serena, had hidden in the abandoned Moon Shrine to escape the massacre. I had shaken my head and denied it. Because of my ignorance, she was captured by the savage rogues. Later, Silas took me as his mate, but only to repay a life debt he owed my late parents. It was a completely loveless bond. Everything fell apart the day he returned from a border patrol mission, bringing my sister Serena back with him. She was five months pregnant and completely shattered. Seeing her like that, the usually cold and collected Alpha entirely lost his mind. Silas believed I had intentionally hidden the truth about her out of jealousy. He hated me for the rest of his life. He hated me for letting the female he truly loved fall into the hands of rogues and suffer unspeakable horrors. He loathed himself for being bound to me, unable to spend his life with Serena. Right up until his final breath, he never once looked at me with an ounce of tenderness. Suddenly, a low, rumbling growl from Silas’s inner wolf pulled me back to reality. I looked up at him, my voice perfectly steady. “My sister… Serena is still alive. She is hiding in the abandoned Moon Shrine.” As soon as the words left my mouth, a frail figure stumbled out of the dark woods, sprinting toward us. Serena grabbed my hands tightly, tears streaming down her soot-covered cheeks. “Aria, are you hurt? I thought I would never see you again.” Her hands were incredibly warm. I stared at her blankly and murmured, “I am fine.” Silas took a step forward. His tall, imposing figure cast a long, dark shadow over us. He took off his heavy tactical jacket and draped it gently over Serena’s shivering shoulders. His voice was impossibly gentle. “The night air is freezing. Do not catch a chill.” In that moment, everything finally made sense. I understood why, in this life, Silas had arrived at our packhouse fifteen minutes later than he did in the past life. Serena collected herself and wiped away her tears. She looked at me and explained, “Aria, this is the Chief Enforcer of the Lycan Council, Alpha Silas Thorne. He visited our pack when we were just pups. If he had not fought off those rogues at the shrine, I would have…” Her face turned pale with horror, unable to finish the sentence. Silas gripped her hand tightly, his knuckles turning white. His lips were pressed into a grim line. His inner wolf was clearly terrified of losing the female standing in front of him. He cut her off softly. “This is not a safe place to talk. I am taking you back to my pack.” Silas guided Serena toward his armored SUV, pulling open the passenger door and carefully helping her inside. Not once did his gaze fall on me. I knew exactly what he was doing. He was fulfilling the dying vow he made in our past life. Finally, I could breathe a sigh of relief. My life was my own again. After a three-day drive, we arrived at the territory of the Bloodwood Pack. Serena and I were settled into the East Wing of the packhouse. In my past life, this area had been strictly forbidden. It was the one place Silas had entirely banned me from entering. Now, basking in the light of Serena’s privilege, I finally got to see what was inside. White roses bloomed beautifully in the private garden. The interior design of the rooms was almost a replica of Serena’s old bedroom in our destroyed packhouse. Even the diffusers were filled with the exact vanilla and jasmine scent she always used. The only thing missing was a certain portrait. In my past life, I had sneaked into this wing only once. I found Silas standing in front of an oil painting of a female. His eyes held a profound, tender love that I had never seen before. Before I could clearly see the face of the woman in the painting, his wolf sensed my presence. The tenderness vanished instantly, replaced by his usual cold, ruthless demeanor. His eyes filled with absolute disgust, and his voice was like ice. “Who gave you permission to enter?” “I told you, without my direct order, you are never to set foot in here.” At the time, I did not understand the bitter regret in his eyes. It was not until much later that I realized the woman in that painting must have been Serena. Silas was a man with a heart of stone. During the harshest winter of my past life, he had the heating in my quarters cut off for three days straight. The bitter cold seeped into my bones, making my knees ache as if thousands of needles were piercing my joints. To survive the freezing nights, I had no choice but to swallow my pride and beg him to stay in my bed a little longer, just to share his body heat. Silas would laugh coldly, gripping my chin tightly. “The Vance bloodline is supposed to be noble and pure. How did your parents raise such a shameless Omega? You are nothing like…” He would cut himself off, realizing what he was about to say. A flash of vicious hatred would cross his eyes. “Since you brought this upon yourself, do not regret it.” That night, he had claimed me with unbearable roughness. The pain was so agonizing that I nearly blacked out. “Do you need anything else for your room? I can have the omegas fetch it for you.” A warm, polite voice pulled me back to the present. Serena smiled shyly. “You are too kind, Alpha. I have everything I need.” Then, she turned to look at me. “What about you, Aria?” As soon as she spoke, a heavy, unfathomable gaze fell upon me.

His overwhelming Alpha aura was suffocating. A phantom ache flared in my knees, a lingering memory from my past life. I lowered my head, avoiding his gaze. “Thank you, Alpha Silas. I don’t need anything.” A faint, scoffing laugh broke the silence. Even without looking up, I knew exactly who it was. It was the sound I had heard the most in my past life. Cold and laced with heavy mockery. My previous life was filled with unbearable suffering. I wanted absolutely nothing to do with him anymore, neither as a pack member nor as a mate. But avoiding him was impossible. Because of Serena, Silas visited our wing frequently. Sometimes he brought imported pastries from the eastern market, other times rare perfumes and romance novels to make her smile. It was obvious that Serena was falling for him， too. It was perfect. Without me standing in their way, they were destined to be the perfect mates. “Aria, is this pretty?” Serena’s soft voice sounded next to my ear. It was a hand-stitched leather amulet pouch, finely embossed with two intertwined wolves. I nodded. “It is beautiful. Your stitching has always been the best among the females in our pack. He will absolutely love it.” She smiled bashfully, looking down. “You always know what to say.” Then, a hint of melancholy crossed her face. “There are so many high-ranking noble she-wolves in the Bloodwood Pack. I don’t know if the Alpha will actually like something so simple.” I gave her an encouraging nod. “He will.” It was exactly like my past life. Back then, shortly after Serena was brought back to the pack, my relationship with Silas had hit rock bottom. An older Luna I befriended gave me some advice. She told me to stitch an amulet pouch for him, claiming that male Lycans could never resist a mate’s soft, devoted gesture. But my hands were clumsy. The intertwined wolves I stitched looked like stray dogs. I pricked my fingers until they bled, and some of the blood even stained the leather. Then, a few days later, I saw Silas walking out of Serena’s room with a rare, genuine smile on his face. Hanging from his tactical belt was a leather amulet pouch. I knew immediately it was Serena’s handiwork. That older Luna was right. Male Lycans could not resist such gestures. But she left out one crucial detail. It only worked if the gesture came from the female they truly loved. For the next few days, Silas was surprisingly decent to me. He even bought me my favorite pastries from the market after finishing his Council duties. I ended up never giving him my ugly pouch. Later, it disappeared from my room entirely. One of the omegas probably saw it, thought it was trash, and threw it away. Serena was called out of the room by one of the pack’s omegas. I stared blankly at the beautiful amulet pouch left on the table. If my stitching were this perfect, would someone treat me with that kind of love, too? A tall shadow fell over me. Thinking Serena had returned, I picked up the pouch and held it out to hand it back. I looked up, only to crash straight into a pair of pitch-black, predatory eyes. Silas’s gaze dropped to the pouch in my hand. A cruel, mocking smirk formed on his lips. “Aria Vance, what kind of pathetic trick are you trying to pull now?” I didn’t miss the absolute disgust swirling in his eyes. “Are you really that desperate? Trying to shamelessly crawl into my bed again?” “I told you before. I will never claim you as my mate. You’d better kill that delusion right now.” A long-forgotten terror gripped my heart. His aggressive pheromones carried the chilling bite of that past winter, making me shiver violently. I trembled, taking a long moment to find my voice. “Alpha, this is Serena’s handiwork. She made it for you.” Silas froze. The vicious expression on his face twisted for a fraction of a second, shifting into a scrutinizing glare. “Alpha Silas, you are here.” Serena’s gentle voice drifted from the doorway. Silas immediately stepped back, putting distance between us. His cold features softened into warmth as he looked at her, his tone slightly probing. “Aria just showed me something. She said it belongs to you.” Serena understood instantly. A deep blush spread across her cheeks, though she met his gaze earnestly. “You have taken care of us for so long, and I have nothing valuable to offer in return. Fortunately, my stitching is passable.” Even though I wasn’t the smartest, I knew how to read a room. I quickly shoved the pouch into Serena’s hands and practically ran out the door. My legs were still shaking. I wiped the cold sweat from my forehead. The spring air in the Bloodwood Pack was surprisingly freezing.

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Eight years since I was cast out of Olympus, and Ares finally found me — here, at the wind-scoured edge of the mortal realm. He found me looking wrecked, surrounded by eight children. “Thena…” His voice cracked. His eyes went red at the rims. “Weren’t you the one who despised children? The one who swore she’d stand at Father’s right hand and counsel the gods?” I was chewing dried bark. Without a word, I reached into the mud and hauled two filthy children out by the backs of their tunics, then turned and called the rest of them home. Aphrodite stepped into my path, tears catching the light, voice breaking. “Sister. It was Ares himself who convinced Father and Mother to drug you. Apollo switched the bridal chariot — Aphrodite rode away in yours, saffron-veiled and unrecognized, while you were sent in hers.” Apollo stood at her side, her hand loosely held in his, expression unreadable. He was waiting, perfectly still, for me to erupt in fury. Ares’s tone turned cold. “The mortal was rough, yes — but he looked after Aphrodite when she had nowhere to go. He was decent enough. You endured some hardship. Don’t make a spectacle of yourself.” Eight years ago, Aphrodite had returned to Zeus’s halls on Olympus to reclaim her birthright as the true daughter. She told everyone I — the false daughter — had barred her from the gates. These eight years were the lesson they decided I needed to learn. “Sister.” Aphrodite’s smile was patient, almost gentle. “The man is dead now. We’ve come to bring you home. But these children are low-born — you cannot take them with you. They’ve caused you nothing but suffering. So let’s simply kill them.” I looked up, startled. Kill them. All of them. I glanced around. The girl swinging from the branch overhead was the only daughter of Poseidon, Lord of the Deep. The one glaring at Aphrodite like she wanted to draw blood was Harmonia, daughter of Hephaestus, the great Forge-God. The two boys wrestling each other over a cricket cage were Castor and Pollux, the twins blessed by God. “You must be so relieved to finally be rid of them.” Aphrodite saw me react and smiled wider, dabbing prettily at her eyes. Behind her, Apollo’s guards closed their circle around me and the eight children. Swords came up. I pulled the farthest child into my arms and let out a slow breath. This one, above all, could not be harmed. Poseidon had carried his bloodline through five generations without a daughter. This girl was the miracle his entire household had prayed for across lifetimes. Every member of Poseidon’s domain was a gloriously unstoppable force — not one of them safe to cross. “What — you’d rather they live?” Apollo’s eyes were arctic, the cold radiating off him like a drawn blade. “Thena. Do you truly intend to drag eight strays back to Olympus with you?” I moved fast and pressed my hand over Harmonia’s mouth before she could open it. That girl’s tongue could flay stone. “Is Sister ashamed?” Aphrodite tilted her head, eyes soft with performed sympathy. “Apollo holds no grudge about your history. Once you come home with us, he’s willing to receive you into his sanctuary.” The tone was charity. She delivered it like a gift from the Fates themselves. “I’m not going back.” All of them stared. Ares’s face went hard. His voice dropped to a cutting snarl. “You pull faces at Aphrodite the moment you see her. Have you forgotten every lesson Father’s house ever taught you?” I had forgotten more than lessons. I had forgotten the night the snow fell thick and white, and Ares walked away through it with Aphrodite sheltered against his side, never once looking back. I had forgotten how Aphrodite crushed my betrothal token under her heel while Apollo watched — and felt nothing. Eight years was more than enough to set all of it down. “Go ahead, then.” Apollo smiled, slow and cruel. “Thena. Don’t tell me you’ve grown fond of playing the grieving widow. Addicted to suffering among mortals?” He looked at the children the way a god looks at something fouling his path. “None of them are mine,” I said flatly. “You cannot touch them. And you would be wise not to try.” God of Light or not — had he not noticed that not one of these children was the slightest bit afraid of him? They were simply ignoring him, wrapped up in their own games and quarrels. “You won’t even claim them, yet you’d die to protect them?” Apollo let out a cold laugh and drew his silver bow in one motion, levelling it at the smallest child. “I cannot try?” Something lurched in my chest. I lunged to block — and Ares’s hand cracked across my face, hard enough that my ears rang and sparks burst behind my eyes. “I thought you’d been forced into this life. Now I see you chose it willingly. You disgrace everything Father’s house stands for.” The sound of the slap rang out sharp and clear. Every child went still. The ringing in my ears settled into a low hum. I drew a slow breath. Something deep and heavy sank inside me. “Apollo.” My voice came out steady. “Look at this child. Does he not seem familiar? He is your royal kinsman’s son — blood of Olympus.” Oktos had moved fast — but not fast enough. The arrow had grazed his arm. A long, clean cut opened along the skin. Blood welled and dripped. He ran into my arms crying, his face drained white. I pulled the divine seal-token from his waist and held it high. “Look carefully.” The mark of Olympian blood. Aphrodite’s eyes went wide with something that looked almost like fear. Apollo raised his bow again. “My kinsman has no children.” “You can’t even recognize your own cousin, and they made you Zeus’s heir?” Harmonia’s face scrunched with withering contempt. She thrust out the Forge-Seal — the divine sigil her father Hephaestus had crafted. “My father is the Forge-God of Olympus. If you want to kill someone — come for me.” This time, Aphrodite didn’t bother with words. She slapped the Forge-Seal out of Harmonia’s hand. “Are all of these ‘proofs’ something Sister prepared in advance? A little theater for our benefit?”

I tore a strip from my robe and pressed it hard against Oktos’s wound, jaw tight. “Aphrodite. Wounding Olympian blood is a capital offence — even for you.” Ares waved a lazy hand. “Olympian blood. Thena, your performance is embarrassingly thin.” Aphrodite lifted her chin like a goddess who has just rendered a great service and took Apollo’s arm with both hands, leaning into him with practiced ease. From across the space between us, I held Apollo’s gaze. Steady. Unblinking. After a long moment, he spoke, face empty of expression. “Thena. You’ve learned to lie.” He had almost believed me. Aphrodite pressed her lips together and arranged her face into something wounded and uncertain. “Sister is having children impersonate Olympian blood. If word of this reaches Father Zeus, it will bring ruin down on all of us. She still hates me.” Both Apollo and Ares frowned. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.” Apollo pulled her close and pressed his lips to her brow. Ares, however, let his fury burn through what little reason he had left. “Eight years and you still haven’t learned your place! What exactly do you want, Thena? Aphrodite is the true daughter — you are the counterfeit! What right do you have to compete with her? What right do you have to resent her?” Each word landed like a blade finding a gap in armor. Then something warm closed around my cold fingers. “You used to have it very hard,” Harmonia said quietly. I pulled a smile from somewhere and gave it to her, then turned back and gathered myself. “Wait one quarter-hour. Then you’ll know whether I was lying.” One quarter-hour — the time every day when the children’s guardians came to collect them. The time when, on ordinary days, I would dust myself off and walk home unencumbered. “You’ve stalled long enough!” Ares’s fury was at its peak. Aphrodite stepped forward quickly, playing peacemaker. “Father’s house can certainly afford eight children. If Sister truly insists on sparing their lives… then let them live.” Apollo’s expression flickered, faintly displeased, but he gave a reluctant nod, his eyes already softening again as they found Aphrodite. “Whatever Aphrodite wants, I’ll go along with it.” Ares relented as well. My arms tightened around Oktos until my fingertips went white. “To the outside world, they can be called lost strays,” Aphrodite said pleasantly. “But Sister is returning to Olympus. She cannot remain entangled with these children — not even by a thread.” She drifted closer, eyes full of something that wasn’t quite a smile. “To make sure Sister remembers clearly — for every life we spare, we mark it on Sister’s body. One cut per child.” The moment the words left her mouth, all eight children surged around me. “How dare you — all three of you!” “Athena is brilliant — even my royal father has praised her wisdom before all of Olympus! How dare you treat her this way! I’ll tell him at once and bring her home with me. She won’t suffer another moment of your cruelty!” “My mother is waiting for Thena to teach her to play the lyre. You are not allowed to hurt her!” “If you have any courage at all, wait your quarter-hour! Using us as threats against her — you’re cowards! When Poseidon arrives, I’d like to see who among you dares lay a hand on her!” Within moments, all of them were seized — gagged, bound, forced to their knees in the dirt. But the quarter-hour was up. “Lady Athena!” Diomedes wrenched his horse to a halt, vaulted from the saddle, and put himself between us with wide, furious eyes. “Stand down! Who are you people?” I looked past him. No one else. My heart dropped into my stomach. “You came alone?” Diomedes’s jaw was tight, voice rough and low. “A wave of chaos spirits surged at the eastern border — origin unknown. Lord Poseidon led the others to drive them back. They haven’t returned.” Border unrest. The escort the twin realms sent for Castor and Pollux would be blocked as well. “Stop playing games.” Apollo’s expression was complicated, something shifting beneath the surface of it. When he spoke again, his voice had roughened almost imperceptibly. “Thena. Are these children truly worth this much to you? Worth your life? You’d go to every length to save them?”

The smile froze on Aphrodite’s face. She gripped Apollo’s hand tight beneath the folds of her golden robe. He didn’t react. She cut a sharp glance at me, then turned to Diomedes with a gasp, one hand flying to her mouth. “Diomedes — aren’t you dead? No wonder Sister refuses to leave with us!” Apollo’s gaze went dark and unreadable. Cold in a way that made the air feel thinner. “Don’t stay here,” I said to Diomedes. “Find Poseidon. Or Heracles. Bring them back.” Both figures were legendary — bearers of divine honors directly given by Zeus, never to be set aside. Apollo would know them on sight. Diomedes startled, then immediately moved to remount. Apollo moved without warning. Before anyone could react, he was across the ground, silver arrows loosed, knocking Diomedes off his horse — the shafts aimed at his heart. “Apollo, stop — he is a guardian of the mortal realm!” The words tore out of me. The god didn’t listen. Diomedes twisted, dodging the killing shots — but he was one against many. Apollo’s guards drove their blades in. One. Then another. Blood hit my face. I stood there with my mouth open, mind blank. “Don’t hurt him. He doesn’t deserve this!” No one listened. They pulled their blades free. Diomedes knelt on one knee in the dirt, bleeding from a dozen wounds, still trying to hold himself upright. Aphrodite’s guard stepped on the back of his neck and drove his forehead into the ground. Apollo stepped back with an expression of pure distaste. “Sister, that was no guardian. He drew arms against Zeus’s chosen heir. He’s an assassin.” Aphrodite’s smile grew brighter by the moment. Beside me, a blade rose, pale and cold in the light. “Sister should think carefully. These eight children — are you saving them or not?” “I’m saving them.” Eight cuts won’t kill me. These eight years, their families had looked after me in ways that had no name for it. Four cuts came down. The iron smell of blood thickened in the air until it was hard to breathe through. Ares grabbed the blade from the nearest guard, the vein at his temple pulsing. “Thena! You would still save them?!” Somewhere behind me, a child was crying, small and broken. Cold sweat soaked through my clothes. Each breath came in pieces. “I’ll save them. And I’m not going back to Father Zeus’s house.” Fury cracked through Ares like a thunderbolt. He drove four more cuts across my body, voice like hammered iron. “Whether you go back is not your decision. What you owe Aphrodite — what you owe this family — you haven’t finished paying it.” I swallowed the sound that tried to come out. Both hands found the ground. I pressed myself up, slowly, until my back was straight. Aphrodite watched my desperate, ragged breathing and looked genuinely pleased. “Ares, look — Sister is bleeding so much below. Is she… is she with child? We shouldn’t force her back to Olympus in this condition, I shouldn’t have pushed her—” I looked down, dazed. It was Oktos’s blood. Apollo turned sharply, jaw set. Two words, barely audible through his clenched teeth. “Get rid of it.” The guards obeyed immediately. They seized my arms and wrenched them back. Forced my abdomen bare. Fists came in. I could only make sounds I didn’t choose to make, feeling like everything inside me had been displaced. I couldn’t form a single word. “Nonsense — Lady Athena is pure. There is no child!” Diomedes’s mouth was full of blood. He held on, and he held his ground. Aphrodite laid one hand across the throat of the nearest child, fingers curling slowly. “Nonsense?” She glanced at Diomedes’s sudden tension. “If they aren’t Sister’s children, why do you care so much what happens to them?”

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“Tomorrow morning, I’ll have my mom slip a sedative into Nora’s champagne.” Dominic’s voice came from the hallway outside my room. I froze with my hand on the door. Tomorrow was supposed to be our wedding day. I had loved Dominic Thorne, my childhood sweetheart, for eight years. But now, the man I was supposed to marry was planning how he planned to give me to another man. “After we pick up the bride tomorrow, drive straight to the Astor estate.” “The Astor estate?” his friend asked, confused. Dominic’s voice dropped. “Clair’s family went bankrupt. They owe the Astors hundreds of millions. Her parents are trying to sell her off to the old Astor to settle the debt.” “I can’t just stand by and watch her life get destroyed. Nora will have to take her place.” His friend sounded shocked. “You can’t bear to ruin Clair’s life, so you’ll ruin Nora’s instead?” “The old man is ninety and dying. The family demands a marriage to secure the inheritance. They need a young bride for this.” “When he’s dead, I won’t mind that Nora’s a widow. I’ll still marry her.” “But do you really think Nora will just go along with marrying some old man?” Dominic paused. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll have my mom slip a sedative into Nora’s champagne. By the time she wakes up, she’ll already be in the old man’s bed.” “Once the deed is done, she won’t have a choice.” I stood there listening to every word. I didn’t scream or cry. I just walked back to my room and waited for tomorrow’s wedding. The next morning, Dominic arrived with his groomsmen to pick me up. Clair Kensington showed up with them. The moment she saw me in my wedding dress, she burst into tears. “Nora, I’m so jealous. You get to marry the man you love. You’re so lucky.” “Not like me. My parents want to sell me off to some ninety-year-old man to pay off their debts.” Then she wiped her tears and glanced pointedly at Dominic. “But thank God, someone already took me to register our marriage yesterday. That old man can’t have me now, even if he wants to.” Hearing the smug triumph in her voice, I froze. I thought being forced into a substitute marriage was the worst betrayal. I never imagined Dominic had already registered his marriage with her. My best friend Gemma, oblivious to the truth, whispered angrily in my ear. “Why is she even here? Today is supposed to be your wedding day with Dominic.” “She’s crying on purpose. Is she trying to bring bad luck?” “It’s fine.” I patted Gemma’s hand gently. Today was never my wedding day with Dominic anyway. This whole charade of picking up the bride was just a trap to get me in the car—a carefully planned bait-and-switch. Dominic and his groosmen rushed into the room. “We’re running out of time. Just find the wedding shoes.” His groomsmen searched the room and quickly found my heels. But Dominic didn’t bring them to me. He walked straight to Clair. “Nora, Clair twisted her ankle on the way here and broke her heel.” He knelt down in front of Clair and smoothly helped her change out of her damaged shoe. “Clair has delicate skin. She can’t wear rough, uncomfortable shoes. Let her wear your wedding heels.” Then he pulled a cheap pair of flats from the shoe rack and tossed them at my feet. “They’re just shoes.” He looked at me with that same gentle smile. “You won’t make a fuss over something so small, will you?” “Dominic, those are her wedding shoes!” Gemma couldn’t take it anymore. “So what if they are?” Dominic frowned slightly. “They’re just shoes. What difference does it make?” “It’s not just about the shoes—” “Forget it, Gemma.” I stopped her. “Let her have them.” Clair was the boss’s daughter at Dominic’s company. For the past two years, Dominic had been making me bend over backwards for her with the excuse that “the boss’s daughter can’t be offended.” I’d given her my work projects. I’d given her my pet. I’d given her my clothes and jewelry. And now, I was about to hand over my husband too. Eight years with Dominic Thorne, and this was what I got—a carefully orchestrated betrayal.

Clair slipped on my wedding heels, her face glowing with satisfaction. “Dominic, these fit me perfectly. It’s like they were custom-made for me.” She smiled with that fake sweetness. “Where did you get them?” These shoes were made by Dominic. When he was twenty, he spent six months flying to Paris, working with a top designer to create a pair of custom diamond-encrusted heels just for me. Back then, he’d said, “Nora. When we get married, you’ll wear these shoes. I want to give you a pair of wedding heels that are one of a kind in the entire world.” He’d said, “Nora, I want to give you the best of everything.” Back then, Dominic really was good to me. He couldn’t bear to see me suffer even a little. He wanted to give me everything good in the world. But after Clair appeared, everything changed. Lost in thought, I barely noticed Dominic kneeling down to slip the cheap flats onto my feet. The rough fabric scraped painfully against my skin. The bridesmaids, oblivious to the tension between us, started chanting, “Kiss! Kiss!” Dominic couldn’t resist the cheering and leaned in to kiss me. But at that exact moment, Clair stumbled and fell straight into his arms. Dominic caught her instinctively, and their lips collided perfectly. The room went dead silent. Gemma exploded. “Clair, you did that on purpose!” “I’m sorry, I just lost my balance…” “You lost your balance? And out of everywhere you could fall, you fell right into the groom’s arms?” “Enough. Stop it.” Dominic helped Clair to her feet, his expression displeased. “Clair twisted her ankle earlier. It’s normal that she lost her balance.” He turned to Gemma, his tone cold. “It’s such a small thing. Is it really worth getting this angry over?” “This isn’t a small thing—” Gemma was about to lose it, but I stopped her. Over the past two years, Dominic had called too many things “small.” Last year, when Clair plagiarized the marketing campaign I’d worked on for three months, he said it was a small thing. Six months ago, when Clair crashed our anniversary dinner as a third wheel, he said it was a small thing. Even when Clair accidentally killed my cat, I had raised for six years, he also said it was a small thing. Every single time, Dominic told me not to make a fuss over Clair. This time, there really was no point in making a fuss anymore. While we were at a standoff, Dominic’s mother walked in carrying a champagne flute. “Nora, I’ve been waiting so long for you to grow up and get married.” She lifted the glass to my lips. “Here, drink this quickly while it’s fresh. It’ll calm your nerves. Your future will be bright and beautiful.” Staring at the champagne in front of me, my mind went blank for a moment. My parents died when I was young. For over a decade, the Thorne family took me in and raised me as their own. But now these two people I trusted most were working together to push me into hell. I knew exactly what swallowing this drink meant. But I opened my mouth and drank it anyway. Someone shouted, “It’s time! We need to go to the wedding!” Dominic scooped me up in his arms and carried me downstairs, step by step.

When I was little, Dominic used to carry me like this too. When I was twelve, my parents died in a car accident. The trauma sent me into shock, and I hid myself away for three days without food or water. Dominic was the one who found me. He carried my half-dead body back home. Back then, he held my frail hand and said firmly, “Nora, from now on, my home is your home. My parents are your parents.” “Don’t be afraid. I’m here. I’ll always protect you.” His shoulders were just as warm and solid as they used to be. Except now, they didn’t belong to me anymore. When we reached the lobby, Dominic set me down. “Nora.” He adjusted my veil, his eyes soft and smiling. “I’ll walk you to the car.” But the moment we stepped outside, he stopped at the entrance and gestured toward the limousine waiting at the curb. “Actually, you should go ahead. I need to handle something with the groomsmen first.” Gemma was furious. “What? The groom isn’t even escorting his bride to the car? What kind of wedding is this?” “It’s just a short walk, Gemma. Don’t make a scene.” “Dominic, what’s wrong with you today?” Gemma was shaking with anger. “You’ve been acting strange from the moment you walked in. Did someone brainwash you?” “Gemma.” I grabbed her hand and patted it reassuringly. “It’s fine. I can walk by myself.” Dominic was never my groom to begin with. What right did he have to escort me anywhere? The wedding car was parked just steps away. Once I got in that car, my past with him would be completely over. After I climbed into the back seat, Dominic stood at the door without moving. “Nora.” He stared at me, his eyes filled with an emotion I couldn’t read. Finally, he just said, “Take care of yourself.” Gemma’s tone was sharp. “What are you still standing there for? Get in!” Dominic smiled and pointed to the car behind us. “I’ll ride in the other one. I’ll follow behind and make sure you get there safely.” With that, he slammed the door shut. Gemma frowned, her confusion deepening. “What’s gotten into Dominic today? Why is he acting so weird?” “Nothing’s wrong.” My voice was quiet. “He just wants me to be a substitute bride for Clair.” “Substitute bride?” Before I could answer, Gemma suddenly realized something was off. “Wait—driver, stop!” “You’re going the wrong way! Why are you heading in that direction? Turn around!” “Gemma.” I cut her off. “The driver isn’t going the wrong way. I’m being sent to marry into the Astor family.” “The Astor family?” I told Gemma everything—the whole story from beginning to end. When she finished listening, she was trembling with rage. “That bastard! How could Dominic do this to you? Did a dog eat his conscience?” But I felt calm. “The Thorne family raised me for over a decade. Consider this as repaying that debt.” “They raised you, sure, but you saved Dominic’s life! You’ve already paid them back!” “And these past two years, whenever Dominic’s back pain flared up and he was lying in bed useless like a cripple, you were the one taking care of him every single day!” “You’ve given him so much. What gives him the right to treat you like this?” Gemma was right. If we’re talking about debts, I’d already repaid mine a long time ago. But it didn’t matter anymore. Just then, my phone buzzed with a message. It was from Clair. [Nora, today is such a wonderful day. Dominic just gave me a wedding gift. Isn’t it beautiful?] I stared at the antique emerald necklace in the photo, and my blood ran cold. This necklace was the only thing my mother left me before she died. It had been passed down from my great-grandmother’s generation. Back then, I was too young, so Dominic’s mother kept it safe for me. They’d promised to return it when I got married. How could he give it to Clair without my permission? “Stop the car!”

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Jerome had gone out of his way to throw a banquet at the summit of the snow mountain, forcing me to crawl a hundred kilometers up the slope to atone and beg for forgiveness. All because, three years ago, an avalanche had occurred, and Jerome was convinced I’d been the one to cut the lifeline—the reason his first love, Zenobia, lost the use of both her legs. “Just one more kilometer to go. Strip off your parka and lay it under Zenobia’s feet, then kneel down and lick the slush off her shoes clean. Do that, and I’ll forgive you.” A roar of laughter rose from the surrounding heirs and heiresses at Jerome’s words. Bank cards came flying out as bets were placed. “I’ll put ten million on it—she’d strip down to her underwear for a single word of forgiveness from Jerome!” Jerome looked down at me, his voice cold as ice. “You hear that? Just take it off, and out of consideration that this is your ninety-ninth time begging me, I’ll show you mercy and grant you a proper place at my side.” Everyone assumed I’d grovel and obey, just like all the times before. Instead, I rose unsteadily to my feet and hurled the bracelet Jerome had once given me off the cliff. “Jerome, I’m not asking for your forgiveness anymore.” Because last night, my little brother—the one who’d sold his blood and contracted an infection just to scrape together the compensation money—had died. I had nothing left to live for. … “Oh? New angle this time? Throwing things now?” Laughter erupted again. “Jerome, I’ll raise five million. I bet she’s on her knees within ten minutes, begging you to fetch that bracelet back. After all, you gave it to her with your own hands. She’s bound to regret it.” “I’ll raise five million too. I bet she still ends up kneeling. This is her ninety-ninth time begging, after all.” The bets came flying, one after another. I stood at the edge of the cliff, both knees crusted over with scabs of dried blood. For three years, in the name of so-called “atonement,” whenever Jerome and Zenobia wanted a show, I had to throw away every shred of pride and dignity, anywhere, anytime, and crawl on the ground. By now, I had crawled a total of nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine kilometers. Dignity had long since become a luxury. I’d nearly forgotten what it felt like to walk like a normal person. Zenobia sat in her wheelchair, tucking the cashmere blanket tighter over her knees, and spoke to me gently. “Leona, don’t push yourself. The wind’s so strong—if you actually freeze to death up here, what a damper that’d put on Jerome’s mood.” She paused, then leaned closer and lowered her voice. “After all, you haven’t finished paying for your sins yet.” The bitter wind hurled snow against my face. The blood-soaked legs of my pants had long since frozen stiff. Jerome stared at me. “Leona, after you climb the last kilometer, it’ll be over.” “I’ll take you home and give you a proper title.” I pulled my hand back into my sleeve. “No need.” The red string my brother had braided around my wrist had snapped, leaving only a tiny stub of red thread. Jerome tucked the blanket closer around Zenobia. “Zenobia, are you cold? Maybe we should head back to the tent first?” Zenobia caught his cuff. “I’m not cold—I’m just worried about Leona.” “Her brother’s still waiting for her down at the foot of the mountain. Don’t be too hard on her.” My fist clenched tight inside my pocket. “He died last night.” The laughter cut off for a beat. Then someone snickered. “Here we go again.” “Last time it was her foster mother dying. Time before that, the orphanage running out of food.” “Now she’s gone and made up her brother’s death too.” “Jerome, her acting really is getting better and better.” Jerome frowned. “Don’t joke about family. That’s not like you.” I pulled a crumpled piece of paper from my inside pocket and held it out. One corner of the death certificate had been softened by melted snow. Jerome glanced at it once, then flicked it back into my arms with a sneer. “Leona, you’re really getting good at lying.” “Wasn’t it just yesterday that Zenobia’s legs were hurting again? I held off on transferring you that money on purpose, just to make her feel a little better. One day. You expect me to believe he died in one day?” I looked at him, my throat clogged like it was stuffed with bloody cotton. Yes. Just one day. But in that one day, my brother Duncan had bled from every part of him, curled up on his hospital bed in agony, too weak even to cry out. To scrape together the medical bills, I’d knelt sobbing all over that hospital. I’d thrown away every last shred of pride. But Duncan had seen me. That little brother who’d treated me like the whole world ever since we were children, who could never bear to see me bow my head—he couldn’t stand watching his sister beg on her knees. While the nurse was changing his dressings, he dragged his bleeding body to the rooftop of the hospital and threw himself off. And now, Jerome was looking at me as if granting me alms. “Enough. Your punishment ends here.” “Once we’re off this mountain, I’ll arrange treatment for your brother abroad.” Suddenly, I laughed. “No need. There’s no point anymore.” Jerome’s face darkened. “Leona, stop this nonsense.” “It’s freezing up here, and Zenobia didn’t bring enough layers. Take that parka off and put it under her feet.” I lowered my eyes to the parka I was wearing. It was the birthday present Duncan had saved for three months to buy me. He’d told me the wind on the mountains was harsh, and as long as his sister had this on, she wouldn’t be cold. But now, he was gone. This jacket couldn’t protect me. It hadn’t protected him. Better to trade it for an ending than to let it lie filthy beside me here. I crouched down and unzipped the parka. The crowd erupted again. “Here it comes! Here it comes! I want in on the bet!” Cold air rushed in against my skin. I walked up to the wheelchair, folded the jacket neatly, and laid it down at Zenobia’s feet. “My brother bought this. Don’t get it dirty.” Few people knew that when Zenobia first arrived in the New York scene, I had been the one to bring her into Jerome’s circle. When people sneered at her background, I was the one who’d stood in front of her, time and time again. Later, she became everyone’s precious darling, cradled in their hands. And I became the sinner she named—the one who’d crippled her. Zenobia’s fingers curled beneath the blanket. Jerome’s gaze was cold and fixed on me. I took a step back, and a small slip of paper fell from the pocket of the parka. It landed on the snow and flipped over, revealing the writing inside. 【Leona, the wind on the mountain bites. Bundle up. Stop saying you’re not cold. —Duncan】 I bent down to pick it up. But Zenobia suddenly jerked her feet back, as if I’d startled her. Jerome instinctively threw himself between us, seizing my wrist in his grip. “Leona, what do you think you’re doing?” “You’ve already hurt Zenobia once. Now you’re going to do it again, right in front of me?” I looked down at where his fingers were biting into my wrist. “Let go. What I’m picking up is the last thing Duncan left me.” Jerome paused, then unconsciously released his grip. I plucked the slip of paper out of the slush. A flurry of hurried footsteps came from the entrance. The mountain caretaker was running toward us, an old, battered cloth bundle slung over his shoulder. “Excuse me—who’s Leona?” “The funeral home down at the base asked me to deliver this. Said it’s the deceased’s belongings.” Every gaze in the crowd snapped to that worn-out bundle. I reached out to take it. The instant my fingertips brushed the wrapping, a length of coarse rope poked out through the opening.

Jerome moved first, snatching the old length of knotted rope out of the bundle. The rope was worn, its fibers fraying loose, and the inner core was stained a deep, unwashable red. Three years ago, when Jerome, Zenobia, and I had gone climbing in the Alps, we’d been caught in an avalanche and swept down the ridge. When I came to, Zenobia’s legs were ruined. Everyone said I’d cut the lifeline to save myself—that was how she’d ended up crippled. Zenobia spoke, her voice trembling. “Leona, why do you still have this?” Someone nearby let out a cold laugh. “What did I tell you? Only the guilty hold on to the evidence!” A few others chimed in. I ignored the jeering, my eyes locked on the rope. Back then, I’d been unconscious. It was Duncan who’d gone to the rescue station and collected everything that belonged to me. Everyone had been so eager to brand me guilty—everyone except Duncan. He’d kept this knotted length of rope all that time, saying he hoped that one day it would clear my name. “Give it back to me. That belongs to Duncan.” Jerome’s fingers paused for a heartbeat over the dark red staining the rope. His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly—then he sneered again. “Don’t keep using your brother as an excuse to lie. This is evidence. There’s no way I’m handing it over to you.” My eyes burned. “Didn’t you say you’d already gotten to the bottom of this three years ago?” He shot me a glance. “Just because the matter’s settled doesn’t mean you have the right to touch it.” I lunged for it. Jerome hadn’t expected it. He stepped back and caught my cracked, frozen wrist in a reverse grip, the pressure light. “Stop it. The wound will split.” “That was left to me by my brother.” Jerome let go and tucked the knotted rope into the inner pocket of his coat. “It was left to make you face what you did, not so you could keep weaseling out of it.” My hand fell to my side, the joints too stiff to bend. During the avalanche, a secondary rope had wound around Zenobia’s left leg, and the bleeding wouldn’t stop. What I’d cut was that secondary rope. But when she woke up, she’d cried and said it was my fault. All Jerome had said was, “Zenobia would never lie about her own legs.” Then he turned and walked over to her. The wind sent ash from the bonfire drifting onto my arm. I went back to the bundle, crouched down, and started looking through my brother’s belongings. A few worn pieces of clothing. A pair of sneakers with the soles worn smooth. A notebook with the words “Account Book” written across the cover. And a photograph. Duncan, standing in front of a blood donation van, giving a thumbs-up to the camera, grinning wide enough to flash his canines. He was thin to the point of being gaunt, his cheeks hollowed, his chin sharp enough to hurt to look at—but the smile was the same as ever. I pressed the photo to my chest, my nails biting deep into my palm. Don’t cry. My tears would only become their next punchline. I bound the bundle back up, gathered it against my chest, and stood. “Leona.” Zenobia called after me. She glanced down at her own legs, then suddenly smiled. “Leona, do you know what I’ve hated most these past three years?” She lifted her head to look at me. There was no fragility in her eyes now—only a satisfaction she couldn’t quite hide. “What I hated most was that you crippled me, and yet you still get to walk on those legs of yours, all the way over to Jerome.” She lifted her chin, gesturing at the slush-soaked ground beneath her feet. “So today—you’re going to kneel. Get down on the ground at my feet.” “You owe me a pair of legs from three years ago. You’re going to pay it back with your dignity.” The bonfire lit up her innocent face. Jerome stood right behind her, and said nothing in protest.

A thin sheet of ice covered the gravel road, crunching beneath every step. I pushed Zenobia along it. Each time my knees bent, the old, broken-open wounds seeped fresh blood. For three years now, the injuries they’d inflicted on me had split open, scabbed over, and split again. My skin had long since lost its normal elasticity. Jerome followed two paces behind. He had someone bring me a pair of knee pads. “Don’t push yourself. I didn’t tell you to push her on your knees.” Someone hooted from behind. “Jerome’s gone soft. If it were me, I’d have made her crawl while she pushed.” Jerome shot him a glance and replied, his tone neither sharp nor mild. “This is punishment, not torture. The point is to make her remember what she did wrong.” Remember what I did wrong. I’d been hearing those words for three years. The wind picked up at the bend, and I lowered my head, putting more weight into pushing the chair. Zenobia didn’t turn around. She lowered her voice. “That parka of yours—the fabric’s pretty thick. How many times did your brother have to sell his blood to afford it?” My step faltered for a beat. Her tone stayed casual. “Enough to cover a pair of my shoes?” I stopped. It wasn’t anger. My fingers were spasming. I couldn’t keep a grip on the handles. Jerome came up beside me. “Why’d you stop?” Zenobia’s eyes reddened, her voice fragile. “Jerome, it’s my fault. I was just trying to comfort Leona, and I said it wrong, and now I’ve upset her…” Jerome looked between us and said evenly, “Leona, apologize to Zenobia.” Apologize to her? For what? The words caught in my throat. I didn’t say them. Not because I didn’t want to. Because saying them wouldn’t matter. For three years, Zenobia would always strike first, then play the wounded victim in front of Jerome, and the ending was always the same. The one apologizing was always me. “And if I don’t?” Jerome was silent for a few seconds, as if seriously weighing some fair solution. “Then I’ll have to reconsider next month’s winter supplies for the orphanage.” His tone carried a reprimand. Winter on the plateau dropped to thirty below. The orphanage had twenty-seven children. The youngest was only four. The blankets weren’t thick enough. There weren’t enough medicines. The coal they used for heating wouldn’t last till spring. Over the years, in the name of atonement, Jerome had taken control of every resource connected to me. When he chose to loosen his grip depended entirely on his mood. I lowered my head. “I’m sorry.” Zenobia tilted her head. “Leona, you’re too quiet. The wind’s loud—I didn’t catch that.” “I’m. So. Sorry!” I said it again, louder. Zenobia smiled, satisfied, as if she’d finally gotten me to bow my head. When she’d first arrived in New York, she hadn’t even owned a decent coat. I was the one who’d given her my clothes, my contacts, every resource I had. But now—what she loved most was watching me kneel and apologize to her. She tucked the blanket closer and said softly, “Leona, if you’d only been this obedient from the start, wouldn’t life have been easier?” Jerome’s friends behind us were murmuring that I clearly still loved him, otherwise I wouldn’t be this compliant. I pushed the chair forward another two steps. “Jerome.” He gave a noncommittal hum. “All these years, all those apologies—did you ever, even once, actually hear them?” The wind howled. He didn’t answer. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter.” I turned my head and kept pushing. By four in the afternoon, the light was already fading fast. The moment the high-altitude sun dipped below the horizon, the temperature plunged toward forty below. I wheeled Zenobia back to her tent. Just as she was about to go inside, she turned and looked at me, about to say something—but Jerome got there first. He stood at the tent’s entrance, his tone as imperious as ever. “Leona.” His gaze swept over my hands, blue with cold, and my scab-covered knees, as if doling out the last of his patience. “Stop throwing tantrums. If you behave, I’ll let the matter with Zenobia drop, and you won’t have to worry about your brother’s medical bills anymore.” My fingertips clenched tight at my sides. But he took it for hesitation, and his voice softened. “I’ll send people to handle the hospital end of things. The best doctors, the best medication—we can even discuss treatment options abroad.” “But only if you stop upsetting Zenobia.” Snow blew into my throat, and I almost tasted blood. He said it so easily. He didn’t know. Duncan didn’t need doctors anymore. He didn’t need medication. Zenobia, in her wheelchair, gave Jerome’s sleeve a small tug. “Jerome, I’m a little cold. Let’s go inside.” The tent flap fell shut. I stood where I was, the snow pouring into my throat, like a dull blade slowly slicing open my chest. The phone in my pocket buzzed. The number for the funeral home at the foot of the mountain. “Hello, ma’am. Please come to collect your brother Duncan’s ashes on time.” I clutched the phone, my knuckles white. “He left instructions before he passed—that the ashes be handed to you personally. He said he still owed you a trip home.” The line went dead. I looked out into the storm and whispered to myself: Duncan, wait for me. I’m coming to bring you home.

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