Author: Momo Chan

On our wedding day, another woman bet my groom wouldn’t leave me at the altar. He proved her wrong. Liam dropped my hand right there on the altar steps. Turned to his groomsmen. Laughed. “Emily’s soft. I’ll sweet-talk her later. She’ll come running back.” His groomsmen erupted in catcalls. They called me a desperate gold digger. A girl who’d never have the spine to walk away. Chloe sauntered up the aisle in her four-inch Louboutins. She plucked the veil right off my head. Looped her arm through Liam’s. Walked out of the chapel laughing. Every guest in the chapel stared at me. I didn’t cry. I didn’t move. I stood at the altar with the same composed expression I’d worn walking in. But only I knew the truth. I wasn’t enduring anything. In that moment, I was carving him out of my life. One clean cut at a time. Liam glanced back over his shoulder. Almost approvingly. He left me with one last line. “That’s the composure a future Fox wife should have. Go home and wait for me.” I watched him walk away and almost laughed out loud. Composure? No. I was just done with him. Three years later. Liam Fox showed up at my boutique with nine black Maybachs and a pink diamond ring. “Cooled off yet?” He smiled like the last three years had never happened. “I’m here to keep my promise.” I didn’t even look at him. I cradled my belly and said flatly, “Excuse me. My husband is waiting for me at the hospital.” “Cute. You strapped on a fake silicone bump for the drama?” Liam had one hand in his pocket. His gaze slid lazily across my stomach like he was watching a bad joke unfold. His voice carried that smug certainty I used to mistake for confidence. I met his eyes without flinching. “Mr. Fox. Move.” The front of my boutique — Lambert & Co. on Madison — was sealed off by all nine of his blacked-out Maybachs. A drone hovered overhead trailing a banner across the morning sky. MARRY ME, EMILY. Pedestrians had started to gather. My staff stood pressed against the glass storefront. Phones were coming out. Whispers rippled around us. Liam didn’t seem to register any of it. He stepped closer and held out a bouquet of red roses. “Three years, Emily. The tantrum’s gone on long enough. Time to come home.” He looked at me with what he thought was indulgent affection. “You know how I feel about women who throw fits. But for you—” he tilted his head “—I made an exception. I gave you three whole years.” I looked at the roses in his hand. Three years ago, I’d been hooked up to an IV in an ER. Hives. Pollen reaction. He’d sent the exact same bouquet that day. Told me Chloe had picked them. Told me I should be grateful. I didn’t reach for the flowers. I slid a hand over my stomach and took a small step back. “Liam. I’m not throwing a tantrum.” I held his gaze. My voice was quiet. “I’m married. I’m five months pregnant.” Liam laughed softly under his breath. Then he tossed the roses into the trash can at the curb like they were used napkins. “You’d really make up a lie like that just to get a rise out of me?” He pulled a Tiffany-blue velvet box from his inside pocket and snapped it open. A pink diamond. Six carats, easy. “We didn’t get to finish three years ago. I’m making it up to you now.” He didn’t even kneel. He just held the box out. “Put it on. Tomorrow we’ll pick out a dress. This time, I promise — I won’t walk.” He said it like he was handing me the keys to heaven. I looked at the diamond and felt nothing. That night three years ago, I’d peeled the dress off alone in my apartment. I’d taken a pair of scissors to the stained hem. Then I’d thrown both the scraps and the engagement ring into the fireplace and watched them burn down to ash. From that moment on, Liam Fox was dead to me. “I don’t need it.” I stepped around him toward the curb. Liam’s brow finally creased. He reached for my wrist. I twisted away. His hand grabbed empty air. “Emily. Enough.” His voice dropped, low and warning. “My patience has limits. Who is this performance for?” Right then his phone buzzed. A custom ringtone. A girl’s voice — breathy, sweet, helpless. “Liam? Did you find Emily yet? I’m not feeling so good… I’m really dizzy…” The kind of helpless little tone that had always worked on him. Liam’s expression softened instantly. He held the phone up and pressed the voice reply. “Take something for it, sweetheart. I’ll bring her home soon.” Then he turned back to me. Harder again. “Chloe’s sick, and she’s still worried about you. You need to stop being so hostile toward her.” A note of reproach crept into his voice. “What happened three years ago was a joke. The Sinclairs spoiled her — she doesn’t always think things through. You’re the mature one, Em. Why hold a grudge against a girl like that?” Sinclair. The family his parents had spent decades trying to merge with. Chloe’s father was Liam’s father’s biggest business partner. An alliance between their families had been the Foxes’ lifelong dream. I had been Liam’s college rebellion. The girl he’d picked up at a frat party because she wasn’t on his mother’s approved list. I watched him stand there — righteous, certain — and felt my stomach turn. It was the pregnancy. But the man in front of me made it worse. I drew in a slow breath and pushed the nausea down. “Liam. Do you not understand English?” I pointed to the Uber pickup zone. “My husband is waiting at the hospital. Move.” Liam’s face went cold. His eyes dropped to my stomach. “Emily. You’re really not going to stop? You’d stoop this low just to force me to apologize?”

“Stoop this low?” I rolled the words around in my mouth. They almost made me laugh. “Think whatever you want.” I was done arguing. An Uber pulled up at the curb. I went straight for it. I yanked the door open. Slid into the back seat. One hand cradling my belly. Liam slammed his palm against the door before I could close it. “Which hospital? I’ll drive you.” He stared down at me — every inch the entitled Fox heir. “I want to see for myself which broke loser you hired to play house with you.” I stared at his hand on the door. “Let go.” “Emily. Don’t push it.” His patience was gone. He yanked open the front passenger door and got in. I sighed and gave the driver the address of a private OB clinic in Midtown. The driver glanced from me to Liam. Hesitated. Liam tossed a handful of hundreds onto the dashboard. ” Drive.” The car merged into traffic. The silence was suffocating. Liam leaned back against the headrest, head tilted toward me. “You used to flinch at a flu shot.” His gaze settled on my stomach, sharp and assessing. “And now you’re walking around with a fake bump just to spite me?” “Take it off. Aren’t you boiling in there?” I zipped my coat all the way up to my chin. Closed my eyes. Stopped answering him. Thirty minutes later, the car stopped at the hospital. I got out. Liam followed. The lobby was hushed — the kind of quiet that only money could buy. I walked straight to the self check-in kiosk and tapped my insurance card. Liam stood at my shoulder, eyes on the screen. Obstetrics – Follow-up. 20 weeks. A muscle twitched at the corner of his jaw. Then he composed himself. “Quite a commitment to the bit.” A cold little laugh. I took my slip and walked toward the elevators. He stayed glued to my side. On the third floor, I found an empty seat in the waiting area. I’d barely settled in when the elevator chimed again. Chloe Sinclair stepped out in red-soled stilettos, cradling a bouquet of white roses against her camel cashmere coat. She spotted us instantly and made a beeline over. “Liam, Em.” She thrust the bouquet at me, all wide-eyed innocence. “I heard you were pregnant. I just had to come and congratulate you.” The pollen hit me like a slap. I jerked my head away and sneezed hard. Liam frowned at her. “She’s allergic to pollen. Keep them away from her.” Chloe bit her lower lip. Her eyes welled up on cue. “Oh — Em, I’m so sorry. I totally forgot.” She pressed a hand to her chest, eyes wide. “I was just so excited for you.” Then she dropped the bouquet on the empty chair beside her and slid right down next to Liam, settling in like she belonged there. “But Em…” Her gaze drifted theatrically across my belly. “Isn’t this all a little fast, though?” She covered her mouth with her fingertips and giggled. “The baby’s already this big. You didn’t just marry the first guy who looked at you to get back at Liam, did you?” “And on such an important day — where is your husband, anyway? Did he leave you here all by yourself?” Liam didn’t stop her. Didn’t even glance her way. He was watching me. Waiting. Almost curious to see how I’d react. “Her husband’s too busy to bother,” he supplied for me, the sneer curling under the words. “What kind of paid actor takes a gig like this seriously?” I sat there listening to the two of them play off each other. Something cold and clear settled behind my ribs. This was the man I had loved for seven years. He could stand in a hospital waiting room and watch a woman humiliate his pregnant ex — and pile right on for sport. “Excuse me — is Mrs. Lockwood here?” A nurse appeared in the doorway of the exam suite, chart in hand. “That’s me.” I stood up. The nurse’s eyes flicked from me to Liam, then to Chloe. “For your appointment today, I’ll need your spouse to sign some consent forms. Which one of you is the husband?” Liam stepped forward without thinking. “I am.” I turned. My voice cut between us — flat, final. ” He’s not.”

The nurse froze mid-step. Her eyes flicked back and forth between me and Liam. Liam’s outstretched hand — the one already reaching for the chart — hung in the air, suspended. His face darkened. “Emily. Don’t do this.” He lowered his voice. The warning underneath it was sharp. “This is a hospital. Not the place for one of your scenes.” I didn’t look at him. I kept my eyes on the nurse and offered her a polite, almost apologetic smile. “I’m sorry — I don’t know these people. They followed me in. My husband is on his way. He’ll be here any minute.” The nurse nodded smoothly — the way nurses do when they’ve seen worse — and tucked the chart back under her arm. “Of course, Mrs. Lockwood. Please wait out here until he arrives. Some of these forms have to be signed by the spouse in person.” She turned and disappeared back into the exam suite. Liam’s hand fell slowly to his side. He slid it into his trouser pocket — that same casual, in-control gesture I’d watched him use in a hundred boardrooms. But his eyes had changed. There was something dangerous in them now. “Mrs. Lockwood. Strangers.” He let out a short, brittle laugh. “Three years, and look at you, Em. You won’t even let me sign as next of kin?” Chloe shot to her feet and clutched at his arm. Her white roses were forgotten on the seat behind her. “Liam, please. Don’t get worked up.” Then she turned to me. Right on cue, her eyes filled with tears. “Em — are you still upset about that silly little joke three years ago?” She sniffled. Voice quivering at exactly the right register. “I just made a bet with him. I was trying to make the reception more fun. How was I supposed to know you’d take it so personally and run off for three whole years?” She had reduced a man walking out on his bride at the altar to a silly little joke. She had reduced my breaking point to not being able to take a joke. I stared at her tear-streaked, doe-eyed face. I almost admired the sheer nerve of it. “Turning a wedding into a bet — that was a joke?” I turned to Liam. “Leaving me at the altar in front of my parents and two hundred guests — that was a joke?” I looked back at Chloe. “Stepping on my dress. Yanking the veil off my head. Putting it on yourself and laughing all the way out of the chapel. Was that a joke too?” Chloe shrank back and ducked behind Liam. Liam’s brow tightened. He stepped between us — putting himself in front of her like a shield. “Enough.” His voice was hard now. “Chloe grew up with everything handed to her. She doesn’t always think before she acts. You’re older than her, Em. Just once, can’t you be the bigger person?” He looked at me with open disappointment. Like a parent at a child who’d let him down. “You take one small thing and turn it into a three-year grudge. You weren’t always this petty.” This petty. I held his gaze. For that wedding, I had stayed up half the nights of an entire month. Hand-stitching his initials — L.F. — into the inner cuff of his groom’s shirt. By candlelight. Because I’d wanted something only the two of us would know about. I’d waited until two in the morning for him to come try on his tux. He’d never showed. Just a text. Too busy. I’d thought our wedding day was the start of everything. It turned out to be the glass of poison he handed me with a smile. “Liam.” I said his name quietly. “Do you really believe that all you have to do is crook your finger, and I’ll come crawling back to you on my hands and knees?” His eyes flickered. “That’s not what I said.” He shifted, recalibrating. “I just don’t think you needed to marry some random man to make a point.” He paused. Softened his voice — that low, coaxing tone he used on his investors when a deal started slipping. “This so-called husband of yours can’t even make it to a prenatal appointment on time. You really think he knows you better than I do?” He even remembered. “You hate needles. Someone always has to talk you through a blood draw. Does he know that?” I looked at him — that arrogant, self-satisfied tenderness on his face, like he thought he was being deep. Something close to pity prickled along the inside of my chest. “He doesn’t need to know.” I rested a hand on my stomach. “Because he’s never let me face any of this alone.” The door to the exam suite opened again. The nurse stepped out with a slim stack of papers. “Mrs. Lockwood — these are from your previous intake. Could you confirm the information is correct?” She held them out to me. Liam was taller. He read over my shoulder in a single glance. His eyes snagged on the spouse signature line. And stayed there. Two words. Black ink. Confident, slanting strokes. Damien Lockwood.

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Soldiers hurled my sister into a tub of pearls. Her tail glowed faint blue. They shoved their hands all over her, ripping off scales. Shimmering blue scattered across the floor. Then they cut her open and pulled out her heart. The Queen had heard rumors of sirens in the Southern Isles. That their princess carried a Siren’s Heart inside her body. Swallow it, and you’d have eternal beauty. An allure no man could resist. The Queen wanted it. So the King sent soldiers to slaughter us and gut my sister for her heart. That day the sea ran red. Everywhere I looked, my people lay split open. I hid beneath a reef, blood clouding my vision, tears rolling down and hardening into pearls. Every one stained red. My sister’s last words echoed in my ears. *”Elara, stay alive.”* The world knew our colony had one princess, one Heart. No one knew this generation, there were two. And one wasn’t just beautiful. She was a witch. That one was me. I dragged myself ashore and cast the old spell to trade my tail for legs. Then I summoned a familiar. It took shape of a snake. I fed it my blood and bound it to me. It coiled around my wrist, teeth glinting, and I named it Malice. Three months. That was all it took. I made my way to the capital, slipped into the palace as a dancer, and traded a pouch of siren tears for the King’s whereabouts. —

Moonlight spilled across the lake. I danced on the water, toes skimming the surface, ripples spreading silver beneath me. A sweet fragrance rose from my skin. Fireflies drifted in from the reeds, circling me, refusing to leave. Alaric stood on the bank, frozen. When I finished and turned, my eyes met his. I feigned surprise, slipped on my shoes, and made to leave. “Wait.” I stopped. “You’re a palace dancer? I’ve never seen this dance before.” I kept my head down. “It’s from my homeland, Your Majesty. Few have seen it.” The spring night was cool. I let myself shiver. He noticed. He took off his pale robe and draped it over my shoulders. I looked up at him, let my cheeks flush pink. The fragrance thickened. The air turned warm. I saw the flash of want in his eyes. He cleared his throat. “The Queen loves dancing. Her birthday approaches. You will perform this for her.” I dropped to my knees. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I didn’t know who you were.” He waved his hand, but his gaze lingered on my face. “Rise. No offense taken. Don’t disappoint me or the Queen.” I thanked him and accepted the task. As he walked away, I flicked my fingers. A tiny leech burrowed into his skin. It would feed on his thoughts, bend his feelings toward me. By the next morning, the whole palace was talking about the dancer who’d caught the King’s eye. Someone knocked on my door. A woman I’d never seen before. —

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To support my husband’s dreams, I gave up my career to be a housewife for eight years. When my husband’s company was about to go bankrupt, he begged me to come back and save it. I was closing a $100 million deal when my husband’s new intern barged in and demanded I go buy her breakfast. The client’s face went dark. I told the intern to get the hell out. Afterward, I apologized over and over and agreed to cut our margin by one percent just to salvage the deal—the deal that could save our dying company. I grabbed the signed contract and headed to my husband’s office to give him the good news. He slapped me across the face. Twice. In front of everyone. That’s when I found out Tiffany had ended up in the hospital for low blood sugar because she hadn’t eaten breakfast. But there was a Coke and a Snickers bar sitting right on her desk. I’d bought them for her this morning. I looked up at Greyson—my husband—his face twisted with rage over some intern. My cheek burned. My chest went cold. I was quiet for a long time. Then I finally said it. “Greyson. Let’s get divorced.” The second the words left my mouth, Greyson’s expression froze. Then he grabbed the janitor’s mop bucket and dumped it over my head. Freezing, rancid water soaked through everything. My white blouse clung to my skin, my bra showing through. The stench spread through the air. I stood there dripping, hair plastered to my face, water running down my cheeks. Everyone was staring. Greyson pointed at me, his voice vicious. “You out of your mind? Let me help you wake the hell up.” Dead silence. Every employee looked at the floor. I clutched the contract—now soaked and ruined—my fingers ice-cold. Bitterness clawed up my throat, but I snapped back anyway. “Greyson, do you even know what this deal was for? That bonus was supposed to save my mom’s life. What the hell is more important than keeping this company afloat? More important than keeping my mom alive? Tiffany had low blood sugar, but the Coke and Snickers I gave her were sitting right there on her desk. Why didn’t she eat them? There were plenty of people free in the office. Why did she barge into the meeting room while I was closing a $100 million deal? And let me say something ugly—I left my daughter at home to come save your company. I gave up eight years for you. Why the hell should I be buying breakfast for an intern?” Greyson’s face went pale. He had no comeback. Then he sneered. “Since you want that money so bad, fine. I’ll tell you right now—you’re not getting a single dollar of that bonus. I’m giving it all to Tiffany.” My whole body went cold. I couldn’t believe this was the man I’d been married to for ten years. “On what grounds?” His voice was ice. “Your mom’s got one foot in the grave anyway. Does it really matter if she gets the money or not? Tiffany’s young. She’s got a future. Giving her the bonus will knock you down a peg while I’m at it. Maybe remind you what happens when a housewife forgets her place.” The words hit me like a knife twisting in my chest. My body started shaking. Tears finally broke through. I’d sacrificed everything for this man. I had a degree in biochemical engineering—top of my class, recruited by three major firms before I even graduated. But when Greyson started this company, he begged me to quit. “Just stay home with the baby,” he said. “I need to focus on building this business. Once we’re stable, you can go back to work.” That was eight years ago. This company only survived because of my mother. Because of the patent she spent her whole life developing. She got cancer from years of exposure to experimental metal radiation while working on that patent. Six months ago, when the company was circling the drain, Greyson came crawling back. “I need you. Just this one deal. Use your connections. Save us.” So I left our daughter with a babysitter. I called in every favor from my old life. I sat through endless pitch meetings and business dinners, just to land a client willing to fund a 100 million contract. And now… My voice cracked. Tears spilled over. “Greyson, did you forget what you looked like when you had nothing? When you got on your knees in front of my mother and begged her to let you use the patent? My mom felt sorry for me. She felt sorry for you. She let the company use her core patent for over a decade—for free. She never asked for a single dollar. And now you talk about her like this? Doesn’t your heart hurt at all?” My voice echoed through the office. Dead silence. Every employee looked at me with sympathy. Then they started whispering. “That’s way over the line. How could he say something like that?” “Yeah, she gave up her whole career for him and he treats her like this?” “So this whole company only exists because of her mom’s patent, and he says that? That’s…” The murmurs died the second Greyson’s face darkened. The quiet sympathy hung in the air. Greyson’s face went from red to white. He looked humiliated. For once, his voice softened. “Elena, I… I didn’t mean it like that…” Before he could finish, footsteps echoed from the lobby entrance. Tiffany stumbled in, flanked by bodyguards, her face pale. She opened her mouth and the fake-innocent act started immediately. “Stop fighting—it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have bothered Mrs. Rivers to buy me breakfast.”

“My life isn’t worth anything. I don’t deserve to make you angry over me.” “It’s all my fault. Please don’t fight because of me…” Tiffany started crying. Then she actually dropped to her knees in front of me. “I was wrong. I never should’ve asked Mrs. Rivers to buy breakfast. She didn’t do anything wrong—it’s all on me. Someone like me isn’t worth living anyway. I should just jump out a window!” She screamed and lunged toward the window like she was about to kill herself. Greyson’s face went white. He grabbed her and yanked her back hard. “Tiffany! Don’t do it! I’m here!” They struggled. His top shirt button popped off. His neck and chest were covered in marks—fresh red ones and older bruises. We’d been sleeping in separate beds for almost a month now. Late nights. Perfume on his clothes. Unexplained charges on his card. His phone glued to his hand. Every sign I’d ignored suddenly clicked into place. He’d been cheating. With her. The intern he was so obsessed with protecting. My whole body went cold. It hurt to breathe. Greyson saw me staring at his neck. Panic flashed in his eyes. Then rage. “Elena, what’s the point of dragging up ancient history? I run this company now. You answer to me. And stop lying—your mom’s not that sick. She said herself it’s nothing serious. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.” The bitterness surged again. My mom had been pretending she was fine so Greyson wouldn’t get distracted from work. If he’d bothered to visit the hospital even once, he’d know she’d die without surgery. Before I could respond, he kept going. “You think coming back for one deal makes you special? You’re done here. Go home. Take care of our daughter like you’re supposed to. That’s all you’re good for anyway.” That was it. The final straw. All the humiliation, all the rage from finding out he cheated—it exploded. I raised my hand to slap Tiffany across the face. Greyson moved fast. He shouted. “Security! Hold her down!” Two massive bodyguards grabbed my arms and pinned me to the floor. Greyson’s eyes went dark. “She tried to hit someone. Beat her. Don’t stop until she learns her lesson.” Slap after slap landed on my face. Ten. Fifteen. My lip split. My cheek swelled. My ears rang. My vision went black. Greyson turned to the room and barked at everyone. “If anyone says a word about what happened today, you’re fired. Blacklisted for life.” The bodyguards shoved me to the ground. I was covered in filth, tears, and blood. I looked like a drowned rat. I tried to push myself up. Greyson crouched down in front of me. “Elena, if you even think about calling the cops, I’ll cut off your mom’s medication and let her die. And I’ll make sure you never see our daughter again.” My chest seized. My nose burned. My mom had spent her whole life as a professor. She lived frugally, donated most of her salary to scholarships and research funds, gave the rest to Greyson’s startup, and kept nothing for herself. I had no money of my own. I’d been out of work for eight years. Every dollar I’d earned before marriage went into this company. My bank account was joint with Greyson’s—he controlled everything. I bit down hard. I couldn’t say a word. I swallowed the lump in my throat. I stumbled out of the office and went straight to the hospital. But the second I got to the lobby, my phone rang. The doctor’s voice was frantic. “Mrs. Rivers, your mother’s medication has been stopped!” My whole body shook. I dialed Greyson’s number with trembling hands. He answered immediately. His voice was cold. “Consider this a lesson. Do what you’re told. Go home and stay there. Or your mom won’t last another day.” I heard Tiffany’s voice in the background, sweet and sickening. “Greyson, can we go to that French retaurant tonight?” The line went dead. I stood in the cold hospital corridor, watching patients and families pass by. I sank to the floor and finally broke down. I pulled out the debit card I’d opened secretly last month—the only account Greyson didn’t know about. I’d been putting aside grocery money, twenty dollars at a time. It had $340 in it. I handed it to the payment window with shaking hands. The nurse checked the balance and looked up at me gently. “Mrs. Rivers, your mother’s treatment costs $8,000 a week. This won’t cover it.” All the strength left my body. Ten years of marriage. I’d given up my career, raised his child, kept his house, and saved his company. And to him, I wasn’t worth a single dollar. My mom was in a hospital bed waiting for medication to keep her alive. I had no choice. I wiped my face and headed back to the office. By the time I got there, it was long past business hours. The whole building was dark except for the top floor—the CEO’s office. The lights were still on. I got to the elevator. The head of security blocked my path, looking me up and down with contempt. “Mrs. Rivers? What are you doing here? Didn’t Mr. Rivers tell you to go home?” I didn’t have time for this. I shoved past him and ran toward the office. The closer I got, the clearer the sounds became. A woman moaning. A man’s rough breathing. The desk rattling under the weight. “Greyson, slow down, I can’t…” “What if that old hag finds out? She’ll kill me.” Greyson’s voice came through, panting. “Don’t worry. She depends on me now. She’s got no job, no money, nowhere to go. Without me, she’s nothing…” My mom was dying in a hospital bed. And he was in here screwing his intern. Rage and humiliation hit me like a tidal wave. I raised my foot and kicked the door open. BANG.

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“Mr. Vance has asked to buy this dress for his fiancée —Mrs. Vance.” The staff said to me. Mrs. Vance? So who am I? And behind me, a young woman was wearing the wedding dress I’d designed for myself. ********** I was checking my custom-made wedding dress at the bridal boutique. I’m a fashion designer. I spent six months making my own gown, for a perfect, once-in-a-lifetime wedding. And a young and pretty girl walked in. The staff told me, “She’s rejected ninety-nine dresses in the last three months.” “And she has a husband funding every single tantrum.” I saw the staff scramble to flatter her. “This one.” She turned around and saw my dress. The manager told her that it is personalized customization with an apologetic smile. She pulled out her phone and made a call. Three minutes later, the manager came back to me and said in a low voice. “Ms. Valerie, her husband already acquired the building’s retail rights. He asked to buy her the wedding dress.” I didn’t agree. How could I possibly agree to that? One of the staff leaned close and murmured, “Valerie, you might want to think this over. She’s Mrs. Vance. Stella Vance. She is the fiancée of the Vance Group’s CEO. It’s not worth the friction.” Mrs. Vance? So who am I? I didn’t answer. I turned to the manager instead. “Get me the contract, please.” She handed over the folder. I flipped straight to the last page. There it was. A signature I would recognize anywhere. Bold, slanted, unmistakable. Dominic Vance. My blood ran cold. My fiancé, Dominic, was cheating on me. My knees buckled. I grabbed a glass of water and forced the panic down my throat. I looked up at the girl. She was watching me with a small and satisfied smile. “You’re a designer, right?” she said pleasantly. “Imagine the exposure when people see your dress at my wedding. Could really put your name on the map.” I stared at her for a long moment. Then I said yes. Stella clapped her hands and headed toward the private dressing room. I offered to do her makeup. “My husband doesn’t let me share a vanity with other clients,” she said, waving me in. “Everything in here—he had it all bought fresh. Brand new, just for me.” I smiled. “He spoils you.” She pouted, but her eyes were glowing. “He could at least show up when I try on dresses. I’ve been here so many times, and today he’s too busy.” The staff laughed flatterly. “Mr. Vance has come almost every single time. Today must be a real emergency.” Stella’s pout melted into a grin. “Fine. He would be here if he could.” I picked up the brush and started on her brows. She glanced at me in the mirror. “Hey—was that dress supposed to be a gift for someone? Why did the staff say it wasn’t for sale?” I paused. Then I smiled. “I designed it for myself.” Stella blinked. For a moment she actually looked embarrassed. “Oh. I’m so sorry.” She said sorry. But she didn’t look like she was letting go of the dress. She caught my eye in the mirror and gave me a little cute wink. “It’s just—you know how picky I am. I’ve turned down nearly a hundred dresses. This is the first one I’ve loved.” She tilted her head. “You’re so talented. I’m sure you can design yourself something even better. I believe in you!” I laughed softly and shook my head. “It’s fine,” I said. “I’m not in a rush.”

When I was working on her brows, Stella’s phone rang. She put it on speaker. A familiar male voice filled the room. “Hey, baby. How’s the fitting going?” The voice was full of affection. He used to talk to me like that. Back when we first moved in together, he’d wake up before me every morning just to whisper in my ear. Valerie. Time to get up. When I ignored him, he’d blow air on my face and tickle me until we were both laughing. I turned my head away. I was afraid Stella would see my tears. Stella pouted at the phone. “Still in the middle of it. Baby, you’re really missing out. The dress is unbelievable. I wish you were here.” “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” His voice was gentle. “Board meeting this afternoon. I can’t get out of it. Next time, I promise.” “No!” Stella whined. “I finally found one I love. You can’t miss this.” A short pause. Then he sighed and gave in. “Alright. I’ll come as soon as it wraps. Okay?” Stella broke into a grin. Last night I told Dominic I was picking up the finished dress today. I asked him to come with me more than once. He pinched the bridge of his nose and gave me four words. “Don’t be so needy.” Then he walked back to the bedroom and closed the door. And now Stella bats her eyes once, and he folds completely. His schedule wasn’t the problem. I was. Stella giggled into the phone a little longer, then hung up. The staff member beside her sighed dreamily. “Mrs. Vance, the way Mr. Vance treats you—it’s honestly unfair to the rest of us.” Stella smiled, satisfied. Then she looked at me. “What about you? When’s your wedding?” Before I could answer, another designer walked in carrying accessories. She’d never liked me much. She laughed. “Her wedding? We’ve been watching her design and custom-fit this dress for months. Not once has anyone seen this so-called fiancé of hers. Honestly, who knows if he even exists.” She turned to Stella, all warmth. “Not everyone’s as blessed as you, Mrs. Vance. Mr. Vance runs a whole empire and still finds time for all of this.” I looked down and said nothing. Because she was right. Dominic and I hadn’t even set a date. Every step of this had been me—just me, planning a wedding for two people. Stella frowned. She seemed genuinely annoyed on my behalf. “Your fiancé doesn’t help at all? You’re doing everything alone? That’s not okay. You really need to think hard about whether this is the right person.” She meant well. But the satisfaction underneath it was hard to miss. I smiled anyway. “You’re right. I’ll think it over.” I turned it back on her. “What about you? Have you set a date?” Stella thought for a moment. “Sometime in the fall. We already handled the legal part. He took care of everything—I just got to pick what I liked.” I stilled. “You already made it official?” “May 1st.” She stuck out her tongue a little, almost shy. “I love that day. He had a flight booked and I refused to let him cancel it—I mean, go. ” She laughed at herself. “Am I too childish? My mom always says I never grew up. But Dominic says that’s exactly what he loves. ” “He wants to spoil me, protect me. He says I should spend my whole life without a single worry.” She smiled. Bright and easy and completely unbothered. My chest went cold. May 1st. My birthday. I’d booked his favorite restaurant and waited until midnight. He texted at eleven: running late, don’t wait up. I didn’t dig into it. I told myself it was work. But I never expected on my birthday, he was with her. Making it official and promising her a lifetime. I’ve been with Dominic since I was eighteen. Ten years. In the beginning, he couldn’t wait to marry me. He used to joke that he was counting down the days until I was old enough to make it legal. And then he stopped mentioning it altogether. Now I know why. He’d already made his promise to someone else. Once, under a sky full of fireworks, he got down on one knee. He slid the ring onto my finger and said he would love me, protect me, and never let anything hurt me. Now he has made the same vow to another woman.

Stella stepped into the fitting room to change. I went in to help her tie the back and she suddenly lowered her voice. “Could you let the waist out a little?” I looked at her in the mirror. “It fits you perfectly. Letting it out would change the whole silhouette.” Stella hesitated. Then she leaned in close. “I’m pregnant. Dominic doesn’t know yet. I want to surprise him at the wedding.” She met my eyes in the mirror. “By then I’ll be showing. If we don’t adjust it now, it’ll be too late. Please don’t say anything.” I stood there for a long moment, not moving. She was pregnant. Dominic had gotten another woman pregnant. Stella stroked her stomach with a quiet, happy smile. That smile hurt to look at. I mumbled something and slipped out of the fitting room. I leaned against the door. Two years ago, I was pregnant too. Dominic said it was bad timing. Vance Group was restructuring. He said a baby right now would complicate everything. So I ended it. Because he asked me to. And now Stella was carrying his child. I caught myself thinking something ugly: maybe when he finds out, he won’t be so happy about it either. Then Stella’s phone lit up on the vanity table. Dominic’s name on the screen. “Can you grab that?” Stella called from inside. “I can’t move in this thing.” I hesitated. And then something dark rose up in me. What would he do if he heard my voice? I picked up the phone. “Hello?” I’d been crying earlier. My voice came out low and rough. Dominic didn’t recognize me at all. “Who’s this?” I almost laughed. Fine. I’d play it out. “I’m one of the bridal boutique staff. Ms. Stella stepped into the fitting room. Is there anything I need to tell her?” He didn’t suspect a thing. “Nothing, just letting her know I’m sending afternoon tea over. Make sure she eats something. I don’t want her feeling faint.” His voice was so careful and attentive. “Is Ms. Stella not feeling well? Is there anything we should watch out for?” A brief pause. “She’s pregnant. She thinks I don’t know. I don’t want to spoil her surprise. Just keep an eye on her. That’s all.” I hung up. I sank down slowly until I was crouching on the floor, both hands over my face. Tears slipped through my fingers. So he did want children. Just not mine. Valerie. All those years. And you never saw it. Stella came out of the fitting room. She was breathtaking. My dress was made to my measurements. And it fit her like it was always meant for her. Just like the man I had chosen. We had the same taste. The staff crowded around her, gushing. Stella loved every second of it. She lifted the hem, did a slow spin, then snapped a photo and sent it to Dominic. Baby, look at this dress. Good eye, right? His reply came back almost instantly. Beautiful. Wear it home for me. The staff smiled. “Oh my god, Mrs. Vance—you two are so cute. I can’t stand it!” Stella went a little pink and didn’t reply.

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My husband, Julian Serrano, the Don of the most powerful mafia family in North America, was a no-show at our fifth-anniversary party. Instead, his assistant-of-the-month, a girl named Laura Vance, explained his absence with a sickeningly sweet smile. “Mrs. Serrano, Julian was just so exhausted at my place last night. I felt bad for him, so I turned off his alarm. You don’t mind, do you?” Then, she shoved a bouquet of roses made from condoms into my hands. A wave of muffled laughter rippled through the guests. They all thought the little assistant was a fool for daring to provoke the woman Julian Serrano supposedly cherished more than anyone. After all, he’d sworn when we were young that he would marry me and never let me suffer a single injustice. He was just as possessive in bed. The second a tear rolled down my cheek, he would only get rougher, more demanding, fucking me until I couldn’t think straight. Everyone was waiting for the show, expecting me to tear the mistress apart. But they didn’t know what I knew. Just yesterday, I’d found this same girl sobbing, a complete mess. Julian had snatched a document from her hands, ripped it to shreds, and kissed her over and over. “Fine, fine, we won’t sign the ‘sponsorship agreement.’ Just think of me as your boyfriend.” “Stop crying, okay? You know I can’t stand it when you cry.” They were a tangled mess of limbs before their clothes were even fully off, their desperate gasps echoing as they stumbled into his private lounge. The open safe was right there. Ninety-nine identical sponsorship agreements spilled out, hitting me in the face and shattering the last of my delusions. When Julian finally arrived, he was so sure I wouldn’t dare make a scene. He wrapped an arm around me, his voice a low, soothing murmur. “Kate, don’t worry. We’re husband and wife. No one will ever come before you.” “I already gave that Gold Coast apartment to your butler. Don’t cry. I want to see you smile for the rest of your life.” But I didn’t smile. Last night, I had already gotten the only permission that mattered—from the true head of the Serrano family—to leave. My tears and my smiles had nothing to do with him anymore. … When Laura Vance handed me that disgusting bouquet, her eyes were shining with excitement. She had been waiting for this moment for a long time. For six months, she had been sending me things like a rat scurrying through the sewers. Julian’s underwear. Key cards to five-star hotels. And finally, a small, bloody bundle—the proof of what she’d gotten rid of. My legs gave out, and I fell down the stairs, losing our child. The old Don never asked for reasons, only results. “It is your failure to allow harm to come to a Serrano heir.” Julian’s mother just sighed, calling me useless. They paid a fortune in hush money and hired the best doctors, thinking they had done more than enough. No one cared that I was so overwhelmed with guilt that I sliced my own wrists open. Julian rushed home, glanced at my bandaged arms, and smiled. “We’ll get you a skin graft. You care about your looks, you don’t want scars. Once you’re better, we can have another one.” He never mentioned punishing Laura. I just stared at him, too stunned to even cry. “But what about our promise…” “Enough!” He smashed his whiskey glass against the wall. “She already lost the baby, what more do you want?” “The baby you were carrying was mine, but so was hers!” “Do you really need her to pay that penalty for leaking a few family secrets to feel better? Katherine Hayes, you came from nothing, too. Can’t you have a little compassion for her?” That was the first time Julian had ever yelled at me like that. It was the second time since our marriage that my world completely fell apart. But now, facing Laura’s provocation, my face was a mask of terrifying calm. She seemed surprised, then took a drag from a cigar, a sneer on her lips. “Mrs. Serrano, my boyfriend was so good to me last night. He loves feeding me things. Especially this.” She held the moist cigar right in front of my face. “Want a taste? Or maybe you’re already used to ‘second-hand’ things.” I was going to ignore her. But if she wanted a scene, I wasn’t going to back down. I turned and winked at Julian. “Miss Vance is telling me all about her boyfriend. It’s so funny. Does she not know about the declaration you made when you took over the family? The one that the entire Chicago underworld remembers?” Julian froze, staring at me in disbelief. The room went so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Everyone remembered the words of a 16-year-old Julian Serrano as he took control of his family. “A woman’s loyalty is between her legs. To ensure there areno mistakes, my personal assistant can’t have so much as a male fly near her.” So those ninety-nine condoms… they could only have been for Julian and Laura. Shock was written on everyone’s faces. After all, our love story had been so public, so epic. Everyone called us “the last fairy tale of the Chicago Outfit.” “I’ve never seen a mistress brazen enough to crash the wife’s party like this. So shameless!” “Exactly! And showing off that kind of filth? It’s a disgrace to the family name!” The whispers made Laura stumble, and she looked at Julian, her eyes welling up with tears. “Julian…” A single tear was all it took for the always-composed man to fall apart. He grabbed my hand, his words spilling out in a rush. “Katherine, you’re older now, you don’t get it. It’s normal for young girls to want to share everything. She didn’t mean any harm.” “I’ll apologize for her, okay? Just let it go. Go say something nice to her. If you don’t, she’ll be crying in my arms all night.” I pressed my lips together, then let out a laugh. “You’re right, I don’t like to share. Which is why I have no use for cheap trash that anyone can have.” Julian’s eyes widened. “What did you just say?”

Laura covered her face, sobbing. “Julian, she’s attacking my character! How can I ever show my face again?” I laughed. She had the nerve to be a mafia boss’s mistress, but she was afraid of a few words? But what Julian did next sent a tremor of pure terror through me. He dragged me roughly toward the floor-to-ceiling window and ripped open the curtains! A raw, physical fear stole my voice. When I was ten, my wannabe gangster father brought his mistress into our home. The shock of it gave my grandparents fatal heart attacks, one right after the other. My mother attacked him like a madwoman, but my dad just laughed. “Betrayal? I was a nobody. You think I was interested in you, you naive little princess? It was always about your family’s connections.” In the end, my mother leaped from a high-rise building, landing in a pool of blood at my feet. Ever since, heights have been my deepest fear. Julian was so preoccupied with Laura’s tears that he didn’t notice I could barely breathe. “Katherine, your dad was right about you. You just don’t know what’s good for you!” I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood, but my vision still blurred. On my wedding day, my father was blocked at the door and screamed at me in a rage. “Katherine Hayes, you’re just as ungrateful as your mother! No man will ever love you forever!” Julian had been furious, throwing his dignity aside to fight him. “You listen to me, you old bastard! As long as I’m alive, I will love Kate for the rest of my life!” But now, he was using my father’s own words to humiliate me. Through the haze, I heard someone shout. “Mrs. Serrano lost control of her bladder!” Laura choked back a laugh and clutched her chest, crying out in pain. The grip on my wrist suddenly loosened. Julian looked down, hesitating for only a second before scooping Laura into his arms and striding away. That night, Chicago’s underground forums exploded. Some cursed the shameless mistress. But many more mocked me and my mother, calling us pathetic for not being able to keep our men. They even asked if my mother used to piss herself every time her husband mentioned divorce. Meanwhile, Laura’s Instagram was blowing up. Julian took her to exclusive private clubs for dinner and to watch the sunset over Lake Michigan. These were all the places Julian had once taken me, places that were no longer just ours. Before I left for good, I wanted to erase our memories from this city. My first stop was the high-end bridal boutique. The wedding dress that had been on display for five years was still the dream of countless girls. But at that moment, Laura was wearing it. The boutique owner gushed with praise. “Mrs. Serrano, you look absolutely stunning!” Julian and Laura exchanged a loving, knowing smile, both of them accepting the title. But I didn’t care. Just as I was about to speak, Laura tilted her head at me, playfully using my first name. “Katherine, this dress fits me perfectly, don’t you think?” That’s when I realized it. My one-of-a-kind wedding dress, my perfect dress, had been completely altered to fit her. No wonder it felt so wrong on the day of our anniversary party. But I hadn’t wanted to disappoint Julian. So I had squeezed myself into someone else’s skin and played the fool. The straps kept slipping, and he had just laughed, telling me I’d gotten fat and needed to lose weight. A wave of nausea washed over me. “Don’t you have your own clothes? Take it off.” Julian just smirked. “Come on. Laura has no official status with me, she’s insecure. It’s just a dress, let her have it.” I stared at the dress I had spent over six months designing. I gritted my teeth and stood my ground. “No official status? Didn’t you hear them calling her Mrs. Serrano?” “I don’t want the dress anymore. But I’m not letting a piece of trash have it either!” I reached out to tear the dress. Before I could even touch it, she screamed and started flailing her arms as if possessed. Julian panicked, grabbing my chin and yelling at her. “Here! Hit her here!”

Before I could process what was happening, a heavy slap sent my head spinning. Then another, and another, dozens of slaps raining down on my face. My eyes were wide with shock, my cheeks burning. Julian carefully pressed an ice pack to my face, his voice tinged with a hint of apology. “She’s been having nightmares. A Gypsy psychic told her that the next time she sees her demon, she has to strike it down immediately.” “It’s my fault, really. I haven’t been taking good care of my woman, I’ve let her get upset. You’re my wife, you should understand me better than anyone. Just let her have this.” I suddenly laughed, a hollow sound that made my eyes burn. I wanted to hit back, but I was too disoriented to even see straight. Blood dripped from my nose onto the white dress. The dress was ruined, my dignity was shattered, and I was covered in bruises. I broke down completely, swinging my arms wildly, screaming and crying. “Get out! Get the fuck out!” “Miss Katherine, you don’t have to be like this. I’ll apologize when I’m feeling better, okay?” Laura pouted, melting into Julian’s embrace. Compared to her, I was the crazy one. And Julian believed every word she said. Seeing me defy him again and again, his expression hardened. He snorted. “The psychic said Laura needs to spend a night with her demon. Then she’ll be cured.” I stared at him blankly, not understanding what he meant. Not until I was tied to the bedpost like a footstool, a humiliating restraint. Laura stepped heavily on my stomach to climb into the bed. The man’s heavy breathing, the woman’s shameless moans—every sound was a knife twisting in my gut. I hugged my knees, my whole body shaking. I knew they had been together countless times, that they’d even had a child that didn’t make it. But seeing it with my own eyes was a pain like no other. When a pair of sticky panties landed on my face, Julian lifted my pale chin, his hand trembling slightly. “You must be hurting right now, right? Remember this feeling. And don’t ever mess with Laura again.” I closed my eyes, a strange numbness spreading through me. “Fine. Let’s get a divorce. We’ll have nothing to do with each other.” After that night, I didn’t see Julian again. I stopped following their lives and quietly booked a flight out of the country. Before I left, I wanted to visit the graves of my mother and grandparents to say goodbye. Surprisingly, when I called, Julian actually remembered the anniversary of their deaths. “Kate, wait for me.” The wind in the cemetery was cold enough to make my eyes water. Ten years ago today, I had lost everyone I loved in a single night. I ran a high fever, refusing to eat or drink, just waiting to die. If Julian hadn’t forced me to take the medicine, I would have been long gone. After he saved me, my father tried to sell me to a 60-year-old rival boss to pay off his gambling debts. That night, Julian went to the underground racetrack and bet his life. He came back at dawn, covered in bandages, and threw a check in my father’s face before leading me away from that house forever. His right hand, the one he broke that night, still trembles slightly when he signs documents. My thoughts returned to the present. I clutched the divorce papers in my bag and managed a weak smile. We shouldn’t have ended up like this, but maybe it was the only way. I never expected Laura to be the one who showed up first. She didn’t even bother to pretend, showing off the love bites on her collarbone. “Do you know what he said when he was on top of me last night?” “He said he can never really let go with you. He’s always afraid you’ll get too excited and lose control of your bladder.” “He said he regrets it all. Saving you, ruining his hand for you, and especially marrying a woman who does nothing but embarrass him.” “He also said… he should have just let you die all those years ago!” With that, she kicked her high-heeled shoe hard against my mother’s headstone! My sanity snapped. I lunged at her, ready to kill. But Laura didn’t move, just smiled a slow, chilling smile. Something was wrong. The next second, a dozen of the family’s enforcers surrounded us. “What do you want?”

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At dinner, my son asked my husband in German, “Dad, when are you going to divorce Mom and marry Miss Elena?” Julian kept peeling the shell off my egg, his expression perfectly calm as he answered in German, “That depends on when your Miss Elena agrees to my proposal.” My son rolled his eyes. “Then you’d better step it up. I don’t want to call the witch ‘Mom’ anymore.” I kept eating breakfast. My eyes burned. Julian tensed the moment he saw. “What’s wrong, Viv?” I shook my head. “Nothing. Just choked on the egg.” But the egg he’d peeled for me sat untouched on my plate. The tears came because I understood every word they said. … Julian must have forgotten. I minored in German during my master’s program and finished top of my year. He only took that class because he was trying to get close to me. Now he was watching me with that worried look. “Feeling better, babe?” I nodded absently and reached for my glass of milk. Before I could bring it to my lips, Julian snatched it away. “It’s gone cold. Let me heat it up for you.” I watched him walk away. I couldn’t reconcile the man who cared for my every need with the man who had already given his heart to someone else. My son rolled his eyes. “Dad, you’re going to spoil her until she can’t do anything for herself.” I couldn’t tell if he was teasing or mocking me. Julian ruffled his hair. “One day you’ll have a wife of your own, and you’ll be even worse than me.” “Besides, if I didn’t love your mom this much, where would you be?” My son said nothing. Maybe he was marveling at his father’s acting skills too. I married Julian fifteen years ago, when I was twenty. The year after our wedding, I quit my job and followed him abroad to build his career. That same year, our son was born. For fifteen years, I devoted myself to this family. I had no career left, no circle of my own. I lived for the two of them. And now my husband had betrayed me, and my son despised me. I had almost forgotten who I used to be: top of my class, fluent in six languages. Julian set the warmed milk by my hand. He noticed me staring into space. “What are you thinking about, babe?” I smiled at him. “Just wondering if you’re this attentive with other women too.” He stroked my hair. “You and your imagination. There’s no one else.” His voice was tender, his gaze steady. If I hadn’t understood their conversation, I’d still be falling for it. Julian took my hand. “Silly girl. I promised you on our wedding day: you’re the only one I’ll ever love. Don’t you believe me anymore?” I smiled back. Of course I believed he meant it when he said it. But words spoken in love only hold while the love lasts. When Julian was chasing me, he wasn’t much to look at, and he hadn’t made his fortune yet. I was the one everyone wanted. Top of my class, beautiful, accomplished. He worked hard to win me over. In the end, his sincerity got to me, and I chose him. For fifteen years, he took care of me. And then, six months ago, he started sleeping with his secretary. I used to think we’d be happy forever. Now I knew it was time to leave. I didn’t confront him. I didn’t scream or cry. I prepared to leave in silence, while he suspected nothing. One month. That’s how long until my doctoral admission letter arrived. Then I could leave Julian Sterling for good. —

After breakfast, Julian cleared the table like he always did. “Babe, I actually have some free time today. Let me take you shopping.” Our son, home for the weekend, whined about wanting to go camping instead. Julian frowned. “What’s the rule in this house? Mom comes first.” Watching him lecture our son, I couldn’t help but think: without Elena, he might actually be a decent husband and father. But how could I keep believing this act? My phone buzzed on the table. I picked it up. Elena had sent me a photo of her and Julian, faces pressed together. I turned off the screen and said nothing. A few minutes later, she texted again: “Julian has the day off. Who do you think he’s going to spend it with—me or you?” I almost laughed. She was the only one who still cared about the answer to that question. Julian walked over and leaned against my chair. “What is it, Viv? Something wrong?” I set the phone face-down. “Spam. It’s nothing.” Before, I would have shoved the photo in his face and screamed at him. Now I didn’t have the energy. I didn’t care anymore. I just wanted to slip out of his life without a sound. Julian sensed something was off. He reached for my phone. I pressed my hand down on it. His phone rang. A breathy voice came through: “Julian, come keep me company, pleeeease?” He straightened up and stepped away. I ignored him and went to the bedroom to change. Half an hour later, I came back out. Julian had just hung up. I picked up my bag. “Weren’t we going shopping?” He looked me over, guilt flickering in his eyes. “Viv, something came up at the office. I can’t go with you.” I nodded. “Then go.” My easy acceptance seemed to throw him off. I pushed him toward the door. “She’s waiting for you. Hurry up, or you’ll be late. Work is important.” Julian kissed my forehead with a show of reluctance. It made my skin crawl. When he was gone, I felt lighter. I had more important things to do today. My visa had come through, and I needed to pick it up in person. An hour later, I walked out of the government building with a fresh visa in my hand. I felt like I could breathe again. Julian was probably having a good time right about now. Ten minutes ago, Elena had sent me another message: a photo of Julian’s bare back in the shower, and a line of text. “Vivian, you lose again.” I hailed a cab on the curb. “The mall, please.” I didn’t need Julian to go shopping. I could buy my own clothes. Most of my wardrobe came from him anyway. If I was leaving, I might as well replace all of it. —

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My bestie vanished the moment we landed in this godforsaken werewolf kingdom. I searched for years. No trace of her. Seven years later, I had become Luna Queen Artoria. Brutal. Feared. The kind of name mothers whispered to make their pups behave. Until a kid pounded on the locked palace gates, screaming that he was my pup. Ridiculous. I had never been pregnant. How the hell could he be mine? Just when I was ready to scold him, the kid lifted his little face and looked at me. That face — the mini version of my bestie. The words died in my throat. The kid tugged at my cloak, whispering cautiously: “My mother is Meryl. She said you’d believe me when you saw my face. She always says you share the same family origin from far, far away.” My eyes swelled with tears. I gritted my teeth. “Meryl, you good girl… How dare you hide when you knew exactly where I am?” “She’s dying… too sick to come herself.” No. That was impossible. Before we came here, Meryl had just won Gatorade State Player of the Year. She was way too healthy to die. “How the hell could it be…” “Father listened to his mistress. He didn’t call the Leech Priest for her. She’s just… lying there. She told me to find you. And… from now on… you’re my mom.” Fire ignited inside me. Back in our world, the law would have crushed that man. But here? I was the law. I was the Luna Queen who had fought her way through the bloody game of the throne. “Kid… let’s go bring Meryl back.” This time, it was the Queen’s kill to avenge.

The Silvermane Velvet tributed from Serravia was laid before me — moon-white or silver-blue. Too plain. Not my style. “Wait. Put them in the old place,” I said, walking into the side chamber. “Yes, Your Highness.” Meryl. You always loved these quiet colors. My hand brushed over the velvet, then drifted to the Sucre d’Orge, the diamond jewels, the piles of gold. I had gathered everything for her. A flashback: Meryl in modern clothes, ponytail bouncing. “I’ll be a super athlete and you’ll be a super scholar! When one of us gets filthy rich, she’ll buy Fifth Avenue for the other!” But seven years ago, everything had changed. Meryl and I fell into this werewolf world. She vanished. I landed in the royal palace — a stranger who crossed the Crown Prince. “Forty lashes!” Then Gwyn appeared. Moon-white robes, gentle eyes. He bent down and pulled me to my feet. “I’ll protect you.” Later, he knelt before the Alpha King. “Father, I wish to marry Artoria.” Those years were hard. The Crown Prince schemed against us. Gwyn was forced into the succession game for the Alpha’s throne. I had no family background here, but I had twenty-first-century knowledge. I learned to read people, to win powerful ladies and their mates to my side. We worked as one. He rose to become the Alpha King. And I became Luna Queen Artoria. Brutal. Feared. But through all of it — the battles, the blood, the throne — I never stopped searching for Meryl. Now I had gathered everything for her. But I still couldn’t find her trace. “Luna Queen, this child refuses to leave the palace gates. He claims to be your pup. How shall we punish him?” Ridiculous. I had never had a child. First, I was too busy helping Gwyn win the throne. And after that… we tried, but never succeeded. I pushed the thought aside and turned to the boy. “Who put you up to this? Lying at such a young age?” The boy’s face flushed red. “I’m not lying! I’m not lying!” He lifted his face and looked straight at me. I froze. That face — it was Meryl’s. “My mother is Meryl. She told me to find you.” My heart pounded. So this was Meryl’s child. I touched his soft cheek. “Where is she? Why did she send you instead of coming herself?” His lips trembled. His eyes turned red. “Mom is home in Serravia. Father listened to his mistress. He didn’t call the Leech Priest for her. She’s just… lying there. She told me to find you. And… from now on… you’re my mom.” “Pack my things. Prepare the carriage. We set off for Meryl now.” “His Majesty King Gwyn arrives!” “Artie, what are these about?” “Meryl is in the Serravia pack. I need to go bring her back.” Gwyn knew well where I came from, and he knew exactly what Meryl meant to me. After a frozen moment, he started stuffing coins and food into my packages. “Take coins — for emergencies. And your favorite marzipan. Take care of yourself. Write to me.” He followed me all the way to the palace gate. I took Corin’s hand and stepped over the threshold. Behind me, his voice cut through the cold: “Artie! My queen — be safe. And don’t keep me alone for long.” I waved. “I will.” I lifted Corin into the carriage. The horses charged forward, out of the palace gates. My gaze turned from warm to ice-cold. Meryl, I am coming for you. And those who hurt you… this time, it’s my kill.

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I spent three days and three nights saving a dying alpha named Ryder. I cast a life-binding spell that tied our souls together — the price? My voice. Gone. The deal was simple: if he chose me as his mate, the curse would break. If he didn’t, it would drain me dry. Then came his birthday banquet. He laughed in front of everyone and said: “A pathetic mute? Worthy of an alpha? Please.” I raised my glass and signed a toast with my hands. Nobody saw me shatter inside. “Are you sure about this? Accepting a mate-bond with the Northern Alpha?” I lit the flame on the Moon Goddess altar. My wolf was howling at me, furious. She was getting weaker. So was I. The life-binding spell — it was feeding on me. That was the price of saving Ryder. Everyone assumed he’d choose me. But two weeks ago, I saw them in the garden. Ryder and Freya. His hands on her face. Their lips together. “You’re the only one worthy of me.” “What about the mute girl?” “Her? Don’t even put her in the same sentence as you.” I pressed my hand over my mouth. The pain hit me like a blade to the chest. My wolf screamed. The life-binding spell tightened around my throat like a rope — and I couldn’t breathe. The mute girl. That’s what they called me. He had no idea I lost my voice for him. “If you leave, he’ll be devastated,” my wolf said. “He’ll find out eventually.” The later, the better. I just wanted out of here. Alive or dead — I didn’t care anymore.

I gathered everything Ryder ever gave me. Jewels. All of it. I was going to give it back. A gemstone ring. Silver earrings. A pearl necklace. Every single piece engraved in the same elegant cursive — Ryder & Evelyn. His name. And mine. He’d given them to me when we first returned to the pack together. “This is too much. I can’t accept this.” I signed frantically. “You deserve the best.” He clasped the pearl necklace around my neck before I could stop him. In the mirror, he looked so stunning. So gentle. My heart wouldn’t slow down. Back then, I thought it meant something. I thought it meant — I choose you. But now he’d thrown me away. His words echoing — that lowly mute. He’d chosen Freya. And soon, the spell I cast to save him would finish off what was left of me. Dead girls don’t need jewelry. I carried the jewelry box down the hallway. Whispers trailed behind me. “Why didn’t the Alpha pick her? She’s way prettier than Freya.” “Doesn’t matter how pretty you are if you can’t even speak.” Then — an arrow. It grazed my ear and sliced across my cheek. Blood ran down my face instantly. Another inch and I’d have been dead. The jewelry box hit the ground. The pearl necklace snapped apart. Pearls scattered everywhere — like tears rolling across stone. I dropped to my knees, ignoring the gash on my face, and started collecting them one by one. That’s when I saw it. The arrow. Engraved on the shaft, in that same elegant cursive — Ryder & Freya. Identical to my jewelry. Just with a different name where mine used to be. My chest caved in. I had to press my hand to the floor just to keep from collapsing. Then someone stepped on my fingers. “Oh — sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I’ll make it up to you.” Freya crouched down, bow still in hand. Her red heels were still on my fingers. My wolf went feral. I opened my mouth — the pain nearly split me in two — but not a single sound came out. Blood soaked through my hand. “Oops. Didn’t see you down there.” She stepped back. Finally. “Why didn’t you say something?” A beat. Then — “Oh right. I forgot. You can’t.” She picked up one of the pearls, turning it over with a look of pure disgust. “This necklace is ugly. The pearls are so small. So dull.” She smiled. “Just like you.” She grabbed my hand and pulled it up — right where she’d crushed it. The wound split back open. Blood dripped onto the ground. “I heard you saved Ryder’s life. Is that true?” She slid a diamond bracelet off her wrist. “Here. Consider this your compensation.” “Once I’m the Alpha’s mate, you can be my handmaiden. I don’t mind being friends with you.” She moved to clasp it on me. I shoved her away. I didn’t want her compensation. I didn’t want her friendship. We struggled — and my blood smeared across her dress. Freya laughed. Then she let go. The bracelet slipped from her fingers — and fell over the cliff’s edge. “Evelyn! What did you do?!” “Ryder gave me that as an engagement gift! Even if you didn’t want it, how could you just—” Liar. I turned to walk away. “Stop.” Ryder was standing right behind me. Looking down at me like I was something he’d scraped off his shoe. “Where do you think you’re going?” “What did you do to Freya? Why is there blood all over her?”

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Three years ago, my legs were broken by the black bear. Now, my beast-husband brought back a female from the border. Once again, unable to express my anger, I resorted to whipping our son with an iron whip to inflict pain on my husband. Suddenly, a golden light flashed in my mind. It was the Mother Goddess. “Foolish guy, how dare you treat your own cubs like this?” “Your punishment is imminent. You are unworthy of your beast-husband husband’s love. The true mate for this male is about to arrive.” “Your destiny is already arranged. Your cubs will see you as a stranger. Your lovers and family will abandon you. You will be banished from this bountiful land. The frozen wilderness will be the only place to shelter your broken body.” My hand trembled. I looked instinctively toward the sire and cub standing before me — both wore the same expression, cold and flat as hammered iron. When they saw me lower the whip, both sets of brows furrowed in unison. They were waiting for the screaming to continue. I pulled my neck in and forced a dry laugh. “Dravik,” I said, “you want to take a second female — I accept.” Silence swallowed the room whole. Dravik, son of the Stoneclaw line, raised his head and looked at me. There was a flicker of something in his eyes. The realization struck me at once. A male like him would never allow a female he cared for to enter as a lower-ranked claim. That would be beneath her in his eyes. So I waved a generous hand. “You want to bring her in as an equal claim? That’s fine too. I don’t care either way.” Dravik’s brow furrowed deeper. He was still kneeling, though his spine never curved — straight as a siege post, wearing the particular expression he reserved only for me: barely-concealed impatience. “Mira.” He used my name like a blade. “What game are you playing now?” “Is this another scheme to get the Pack-Lord to strip my power?” I opened my mouth. Before I could speak, my cub — Dravik’s and mine — cut in with his usual flat, measured voice. Sorren was eight years old, and he had not looked at the welt-marks rising on his arms from my whip. He might as well have been discussing the weather. “Dam,” Sorren said, “are you finished striking me?” “If you are, I’ll take my leave. My studies are waiting.” The golden light flashed again. The Mother Goddess spoke. “You see it, don’t you? Your cub cannot bear to remain in the same room as you.” “Three years of your rages have burned away every last thread of his love for you.” “Do not imagine you can use my chosen female’s arrival to run weeping to the Pack-Lord and punish your beast-husband. That road is already closed. Your blood-brother’s patience for you ran dry long before your legs did.” I pressed my lips together. My blood-brother was tired of me. I knew that. Since the black bear ruined my legs three years ago, my moods had grown worse with each passing season. I hated that I could not manage my own body without a den-servant’s help. I hated watching other females circle close to Dravik. I hated that swinging a whip at my own cub required every last ounce of strength left in me. So I had become a creature of rage — because I needed their eyes on me. I needed to exist in their world. But I had forgotten: no one can hold an endless tide of cruelty. Not even blood. My blood-brother couldn’t do it. How much less, then, could Dravik and Sorren? I looked at the cub before me — eight years old, back held ramrod-straight, the marks from my whip vivid against his tender skin, face utterly empty. I pushed my roll-seat forward. I wanted to help him up. I hadn’t even touched him when Sorren knee-walked backward, cold and efficient, opening a gulf between us. His palms pressed flat against the stone floor, knuckles going pale. Then he rose, turned, and walked away without meeting my gaze. “It seems Dam has no further business. I’ll attend to my lessons.” As he passed through the doorway, I caught a flash of rose-pink cloth at the corner. The golden light came again. “Why do you still linger here? She is waiting for him outside — she who saved what you could not protect.” “On the road back from the borderlands, he chose to stay at her side. He held her through the cold of the night.” “She has earned what she is given. Remember that.” My heart clenched as though a fist had closed around it. The female in rose-pink at the doorway — that was the one Dravik had brought back from the borderlands. Her name was Thalwen. She had traveled with the hunt-pack as a bone-mender, and by the accounts that reached me, she had pulled Dravik back from the edge of death three separate times. The third time, he had carried her out through a field of bodies with his own arms. After that, it was said, he had eyes for no one else. I drew a long breath. These years, I had been reckless. I had been cruel. I had lost my own blood-brother’s patience. I had lost the use of my own legs. And I had nothing left but the charity of others to keep me alive. The Mother Goddess had shown me my ending: cast out of Warlord’s House, left to rot in the burial grounds. Even with grief eating through my chest, I tilted my chin up and spoke to Dravik. “She’s been waiting outside for a long time. Go to her.” Dravik paused. He looked at me for a long, strange moment — and said nothing at all. He simply stood, turned, and left. The door closed. From the other side, I heard Thalwen’s soft voice: “Warlord, are you unharmed?” And Dravik’s low reply: “I’m fine.” I looked down at my useless legs, at the roll-seat that had become my prison, and I laughed — a quiet, helpless sound. Tears landed on my hands without warning.

Dravik had surely forgotten. Eight years ago, he had ridden through every street and lane of Iron-tribe, calling out to anyone who would listen that he would take no mate but me for as long as he drew breath. He had sent riders across two mountain ranges to bring back the whitest winterbeast pelt from the far border — because I hated the cold. For eight years he had given me something real, something bone-deep. So real that when the black bear threw me, when I woke and the bone-mender told me my legs would never carry me again — I didn’t weep. I screamed. I came apart at every seam. Because I had believed, with everything in me, that Dravik would hold me through all of it without condition. I was wrong. A mate’s love is not bottomless. And love is a fragile thing — anything can wear it away. Time wears it. Rage wears it. Neediness wears it down to nothing. Three years of coming apart had cost me not only Dravik but my cub as well. Sorren no longer came to tell me small stories from his lessons. He no longer pressed against my side and begged for the roasted honey-bark sweets I used to make him. I raised my head. The tears ran faster than I could stop them. In the empty chamber, there was nothing but the sound of my own muffled crying. Mira. You brought this on yourself. You had a full life and you ground it to dust. I strangled the ache in my chest and forced myself not to look backward. When I had steadied myself enough, I pushed my roll-seat toward Sorren’s quarters, meaning to dress his wounds. I heard Thalwen’s voice before I reached the door — soft, careful. “Brave cub, hold still. Almost done.” I stopped. Through the gap in the door I saw her sitting at the edge of his sleeping-pelt, her hands moving gently over the marks on his back. Sorren lay perfectly still, obedient in a way he had never been for me. They looked, in that moment, exactly like a dam and her cub. The golden light descended. “Look well at what gentleness does, Mira. A dam’s hands are made to heal what is broken — not to break what is whole.” “Has your touch ever brought that cub anything but pain?” “She brought him a gift from the battlefield. She tends his wounds without being asked. He has never needed you the way he needed her today.” I gripped the remedy-vial until my palm hurt. Footsteps behind me. Dravik had appeared at my back — I hadn’t heard him — and was studying me with a crease between his brows. “What are you doing here?” He glanced at the remedy-vial in my hand, then at the scene in the room. His tone was mild and flat. “Your legs aren’t steady. Stop wandering.” I swallowed the sting of that and wheeled myself through the door. “I came to treat Sorren’s wounds.” Sorren heard my voice and turned his head slowly. He looked at me, and one corner of his mouth lifted in a smile that was not a smile. “Dam’s hands are too fine for this sort of work.” “Besides.” He turned, showing me his back — a map of crossing welts, red and dark against his skin. “I should thank Dam for gifting me all of these.” I went still. I had struck him countless times over these years. Every time he had made no sound and appeared the next morning as though nothing had occurred. So I had never understood how hard I had been hitting. The golden light came without warning. “Look at those marks, Mira. You made every one of them.” “Ask yourself what kind of dam leaves her cub with wounds like these and calls it discipline.” “Turn your eyes — there, at the head of his sleeping-pelt.” I looked where the Goddess directed — and there, at the head of his sleeping-pelt, sat a small carved black horse, the kind of fine craftsmanship that did not come from any workshop in Iron-tribe. Sorren dressed himself and climbed down, moving to stand before the carving, placing his body between it and me. He looked up. “Does Dam need something else?” His gaze was hollow. Dravik stood beside him wearing an identical expression. The pain in my chest was a needle pushed slowly through. I dropped my eyes and left. Back in my own quarters, I dug through the chest at the bottom of the wardrobe until I found a small wooden carving — a leaping hare, worn smooth from years of handling. My blood-brother had made it for me when I was five. I could still hear his voice, bright and certain, lifting me up over his head. “Ria, your blood-brother will always be here.” I closed my fingers around it. I needed to see him. I sent word to the Pack-Lord’s Den through a den-servant. The den-servant came back after a long while, head bowed. “The Pack-Lord says… the matters of the packs press heavily today. He asks the First-Claimed to come another time.” A pause. “He also says — if Warlord’s House lacks for anything, the First-Claimed need only send word to the den-keepers.” A bitter smile moved across my face. Understood. My blood-brother was tired of me too. He did not want to see me. The day grew dark. I ate a few mouthfuls of the evening meal and set it aside. Dravik didn’t come. In the early seasons after I was hurt, he would spend the first few nights back from any campaign in my quarters. Tonight I waited until the third watch of the night, and he never appeared. The golden light came faintly, like an ember in dying ash. “Stop waiting, Mira. He is not coming to you tonight.” “You have had your years with him. Those years are behind you now. What he gives his time to — that is where his heart has already gone.” I reached over and put out the lamp. I lay in the dark with my eyes open. This is how it is. It’s normal. He loves Thalwen. This is normal.

I was halfway through a dead sleep when thunder cracked overhead, and I flinched awake, curling instinctively into myself. I have been afraid of thunder since I was a cub. When I was small, my blood-brother shielded me. After I mated with Dravik, he was the one I pressed against. But tonight— The door swung open. Dravik came in fast, still wearing the clothes he’d had on all day, his face caught in something that looked like alarm. He saw me folded against the headboard and crossed the room in a few strides, sitting down at the edge of the sleeping-pelt. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.” He pulled me against his chest. My face rested over his heartbeat — quick and steady all at once. I breathed him in and wanted to ask him to stay. But before the words formed, he released me. “You’re alright.” A pause. “Thalwen needs me. I should check on her.” The golden light struck hard. “Did you truly believe he came for you?” “He came because he has not yet fully put away the habit of you. That is not the same as love.” “Do not mistake duty for devotion, Mira. You have made that error for three years and it has cost you everything.” “Watch him leave.” The door shut. Thunder rolled on. I sat up slowly and looked at the lightning crawling across the sky beyond the shutters. The Mother Goddess’s words settled into my bones: cast out. Burial grounds. The frozen wilderness, east of the wall. I gripped my sleeping-pelt. Suddenly, intensely, I wanted to do one thing. First light the next morning, I sent for someone from the trail-runners’ guild. Not to carry goods. To carry me. My whole life I had been kept inside walls — first the Pack-Lord’s Den, then Warlord’s House. When my legs worked, there was nowhere to go anyway. Now that they didn’t work, there was even less reason to go — so everyone assumed. But I wanted to see what was past these walls. I wanted to move through the wide world, even if I rolled through it on a roll-seat. Even if I died somewhere out there on an open road — it was still better than rotting in a place where no one wanted me. The trail-runner had barely left when Dravik appeared. He saw the travel-contract on the table and his brow drew together. “What is this for?” I picked it up and tucked it away, face calm. “Nothing important. I wanted to send something back to my birth-pack.” Dravik looked at me once, didn’t press, and walked out. As he always did. I swallowed the bitterness and went on packing my things. That evening I sent word again to my blood-brother. I wanted one more feast-day with him before I left — just one, to say farewell, even if he didn’t know it was farewell. His refusal came back before the candle had burned down a finger’s width. “The Pack-Lord must honor the hunt-packs tomorrow. A birth-feast is held every year — this year, let it go.” From the moment the den-servant began speaking, I had already been talking myself around to acceptance. It’s a waste of resources anyway. If he doesn’t want to, so be it. Then the pack-decree arrived the next morning. The Pack-Lord’s howler read it out in the central yard with a voice that carried through every corner of Warlord’s House: Thalwen the Bone-Mender had shown extraordinary valor in the border campaigns. By the Pack-Lord’s hand she was named as Honored Blood-Sister and granted a feast of celebration on the occasion of her birth-season. I received the pack-decree on my knees, my roll-seat pushed back so I could kneel on the stone. When I raised my head, Thalwen was standing in the doorway in flowing rose-red cloth, her face like a flower turned toward the sun. Dravik stood at her side, his expression — for the first time in three years — soft. The golden light blazed. “You are surprised. You should not be.” “Your blood-brother’s hand wrote that decree freely. He did not hesitate. This is the measure of where you now stand with everyone who once called you theirs.” “No legs to carry you. No blood-brother who will see you. No mate who chooses you. No cub who turns toward you. The hollow shell of a First-Claimed, emptied out by her own doing.” “And she whom I have chosen stands in the light you threw away.” I held the pack-decree so tightly the edges cut into my fingers. So the busy schedule had been a lie. The contempt was the truth. Sorren walked out from inside and bowed to Thalwen with genuine courtesy. “Congratulations, Honored Thalwen.” From first to last, he did not look at me. I wheeled myself back to my quarters and sat in the silence. The den-servants were moving things — not mine. Thalwen’s. She was being received into the Pack-Lord’s Den, and Dravik was going with her to present her. Warlord’s House was empty. Just me. Just the crutch leaning against the corner. Just my own shadow. I looked down at my legs, which felt nothing, and I laughed. Good. Quiet. I pushed slowly back toward my room and held the little carved hare in my palm. My blood-brother had stopped wanting me. My cub had stopped wanting me. My beast-husband had stopped wanting me. That was fine. I still had myself.

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I used to be one of the top deep-sea divers in North America. Eight years ago, Sophia—the adopted daughter my parents treasured more than anything—caused a fellow diver’s death underwater so she could keep all the gold from a sunken ship for herself. After it happened, my husband Ryan forced me to sign a confession and take the blame in order to protect her. I was sentenced to twelve years in prison. Later, I got out early for good behavior. Now, I make a living gutting fish at a seafood market in Seattle. Until one evening, while I was standing there cleaning a tuna with my head down, my parents and my ex-husband came storming toward me like they’d lost their minds. My mother, Laura, dropped to her knees on the blood-slick floor covered in fish scales and melted ice, shaking as she sobbed. “Rosalind! Sophia went diving an hour ago, and she still hasn’t come back up!” “You’re the best diver in the country. Please—you have to save her!” My father Richard’s face was pale as he grabbed my arm with a death grip. “You’re the only one who can save her now!” And Ryan—my ex-husband—actually pulled out our old wedding ring and forced it back onto my finger. His eyes were red as he looked at me, his voice trembling. “Rosalind, if you bring Sophia back, I’ll remarry you.” I said nothing. I just instinctively touched the hearing aid in my right ear. Had they forgotten? Back then, all they could see was Sophia. They called me the real murderer. My father had even slapped me so hard he ruptured my eardrum. Since then, I’ve been permanently deaf in my right ear. The doctor had warned me clearly. With my current condition, if I went deep diving again, the pressure underwater could very likely cause a cerebral hemorrhage. I would die. … “Don’t be so damn ungrateful, Rosalind!” The market manager, Mary, suddenly snapped at me coldly. She’d always loved sucking up to rich people. Now she was practically bowing to Ryan and my parents with a flattering smile plastered across her face. But the second she looked at me, all that remained was contempt. “Mr. Miller and Mr. Carter are important people in Seattle.” “You’re just a fish seller. What are you acting so high and mighty for? If you save her, you’ll get money and your old life back. Why are you still making such a big deal out of this?” The people around us, clueless about the truth, immediately started whispering. “Isn’t that her sister? She’s really just going to let her die?” “Probably thinks the money isn’t enough.” “I heard she used to be a murderer.” Their stares pierced into me like needles. And the cruelest part was this— I was the one whose life had been destroyed. I was the one forced to take the fall for Sophia. Yet even now, everyone still believed I was the villain. I pulled off the ring and shoved it back into Ryan’s hand. Then I pointed to my hearing aid. “It’s not that I won’t save her.” “My ear is permanently damaged.” “If I force myself underwater, I could suffer a brain hemorrhage. I’ll die.” My mother Laura froze for a second. But in the very next moment, she collapsed onto the filthy floor covered in fish scales and dirty water and burst into hysterical sobs. “You spent eight years in prison, and you’re still this selfish?!” “You’d even fake a disability just to avoid responsibility!” “That’s Sophia! She’s your sister!” Father looked at me with utter disappointment. “How did I end up with a daughter like you?” “You’d leave someone to die and still stand here lying through your teeth. You’re vicious beyond belief.” Ryan’s eyes were bloodshot. Panicked, he dug a bank card out of his bag and shoved it into my hands. “Rosalind, I’m begging you…” “There’s five million dollars in that account.” “If you bring Sophia back, I’ll give you anything you want.” “We can even get remarried!” Hot tears splashed onto the back of my hand. But all I felt was unbearable pain. I suffered through eight years in prison, and Ryan never visited me once. And now, after finally seeing me again— it was still for Sophia. Still for the real killer. I swallowed the storm of emotions rising in my chest and pulled a medical report from my pocket. The diagnosis was written there in black and white: 【Severe Eardrum Perforation. Deep-Sea Diving Strictly Prohibited.】 But Ryan didn’t even look at it. He slapped the report out of my hand and completely lost control. “Enough!” “Rosalind, don’t you just want money? Name your price and I’ll pay it!” “Sophia doesn’t have time left! I’m begging you, okay?!” The next second, Mary suddenly rushed over and flipped my entire fish stall onto the ground. Fish and ice crashed everywhere. “Get out, you murderer!” “Don’t pollute our market!” “If you refuse to save her today, then don’t ever come back here again!” The crowd immediately joined in. Some spat at me and threw rotten vegetables. Others pulled out their phones to record. “Get out!” “Murderer!” “People like you don’t deserve to live!” I lowered my eyes to the medical report lying on the ground, smeared with dirt and footprints. And for the first time, everything felt absurd beyond words. For the past eight years, I had already lost everything. All I wanted was to live like a normal person. So why— why were they still refusing to let me go?

The feeling of being attacked from all sides nearly crushed me. I couldn’t stay there another second. I could only shove through the crowd and flee the seafood market in humiliation. All the way home, strangers held up their phones and filmed me. Those looks of disgust, contempt, and hatred cut into me like knives. By the time I made it back to my tiny rental apartment, my back was already drenched in cold sweat. But before I could even catch my breath, my phone suddenly began vibrating nonstop. News notifications flooded the screen one after another. #MurdererSisterRefusesToSaveMissingDiver# #HeiressInCriticalDangerAsBiologicalDaughterColdlyStandsBy# #RyanOffersFiveMillionRewardToFindExWifeDiverAndSaveFiancée# I froze. Then I tapped on one of the livestream links. On the screen, Ryan was standing by the ocean. The sea wind whipped through his hair. That face I had once loved so desperately now looked twisted with anguish. In front of the cameras, my mother Laura was crying so hard she could barely stand. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry everyone… for taking up public resources…” “But I really have no other choice…” “Eight years ago, Rosalind caused a diver’s death over gold and was sentenced to prison. I thought she’d changed after all these years…” “I never expected her to still be this cold-hearted…” “Now Sophia’s life is hanging by a thread. Rosalind could save her, but she’s hiding on purpose and refusing to come out…” Father held Laura upright and bowed deeply toward the camera. “Please help us.” “If anyone can find Rosalind, we’re willing to offer a one-million-dollar reward.” The livestream exploded instantly. Comments flooded the screen at terrifying speed. “Expose her!” “People like this deserve punishment!” “Anyone know where she lives? Let’s drag this bitch out together!” “Trash like her should die!” My hands turned colder and colder around my phone. I had never imagined— they would take things this far. Just then— violent banging suddenly erupted outside my door. BANG! BANG! BANG! Before I could react, the already rotting wooden door was kicked open. My landlord stormed in with a crowd of people behind him. Dozens of phone flashlights instantly lit up my face. “They found her!” “She really was hiding here!” “Damn, she looks harmless, but she’s actually a murderer!” They flooded into my tiny apartment. My table was overturned. Dishes shattered across the floor. Someone deliberately dumped garbage onto my bed. I tried to stop them, but two large men pinned me down immediately. “Stay still!” “Apologize to your parents!” “Say you’re a bitch! Say you betrayed your sister!” Humiliation swallowed me whole like a tidal wave. My hair was yanked back as they forced me onto my knees. Phone cameras were shoved inches from my face. And then— the crowd suddenly parted on its own. My parents walked in. For one ridiculous moment, I actually thought— they were finally willing to believe me. But the next second, Father’s face darkened as he pulled out a thick coil of rope from behind his back. He glared at me through clenched teeth. “Tie her up!” “If she won’t go willingly, then drag her there!” I jerked my head up, almost unable to believe what I was hearing. “Dad?! Do you even hear yourself?!” “I already told you my ear is damaged! I can’t dive! I’ll die!” Then I turned desperately toward my mother. “Mom… doesn’t my life matter too?” “For Sophia, are you really willing to force me to my death?” Laura’s reddened eyes avoided mine, hesitation flashing briefly across her face. But only for a moment. Soon, that hesitation was replaced by cold resolve. “Sophia may not be our biological daughter.” “But she’s a thousand times kinder than you ever were.” “For the past eight years, she stayed by our side and took care of us in your place!” “And what about you?” “You’re a murderer who went to prison!” It felt like my heart was being torn open. So in their eyes, the daughter who sacrificed eight years of her life for Sophia was nothing but a stain. Disposable trash they could throw away at any moment. “I didn’t kill anyone!” I struggled violently and screamed the words out. “There was more to what happened back then!” “Why won’t any of you ever believe me?!” But no one cared. And just as despair was about to swallow me whole— Ryan suddenly walked in from outside. There was a high-voltage stun baton in his hand. Those eyes that once looked at me with tenderness were now terrifyingly cold. “Rosalind, don’t force me.” “For Sophia, there’s nothing I won’t do.” The next second, without a moment of hesitation, he slammed the stun baton hard into my back. Violent electricity tore through my body instantly. My entire body convulsed. And then my vision went completely black.

When I opened my eyes again, I had already been thrown onto the deck of a salvage ship. All around me was the dark, violent ocean. The freezing sea wind lashed endlessly against my face. My entire body still felt numb, and the sting from the electric shock lingered across my back. Ryan stood in front of me. His expensive coat whipped wildly in the wind. He looked down at me, his eyes filled with agitation. “Quit pretending to be unconscious.” “Get in the water and bring Sophia back up.” When I still didn’t respond, he clenched his jaw and softened his tone slightly. “Rosalind, I’ve already hired a lot of divers, but none of them are as capable as you. Even the coast guard can’t compare.” “Just listen to me. If you save her, I’ll remarry you.” “You’ll never have to do that filthy kind of work again.” Filthy. The moment I heard that word, my heart twisted painfully. Half a year ago, when I first got out of prison, I had still foolishly believed things might return to the way they were before. That night, I secretly went back to the family villa. Through the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows, I saw the house glowing with warm light. My parents, Ryan, and Sophia were gathered around the dining table, laughing as they raised their glasses together. Like a real, happy family. And me— I stood outside in the snow like a homeless stray. A ruined woman who had spent eight years in prison for someone else. A criminal abandoned by the entire world. I didn’t even have the courage to walk through the door. That was the moment I finally understood. From beginning to end, there had never been a place for me in that family. … Slowly, I came back to myself. My eyes landed unintentionally on a photograph in Ryan’s hand. It was a candid shot from a beach volleyball game. In the picture, Sophia stood in the middle of the crowd wearing a fitted diving tank top, smiling brilliantly beneath the sun. But the most glaring thing— was the scar on her right shoulder. My pupils contracted violently. And in an instant, my memories were dragged back ten years. Back then, I was the captain of the diving team. Ryan and Sophia were both on my team. That day, a sudden underwater current hit without warning. The situation turned deadly in seconds. I immediately signaled everyone to retreat. But the accident still happened. In the chaos, I shoved Ryan and Sophia toward safety with everything I had. And then I was swept away by the current myself. Later, I was rescued from a deserted island after being unconscious for three full days. When I finally returned home, Sophia was the first to rush over and throw her arms around me, crying so hard her face was soaked with tears. “Rosalind! You’re finally back!” “This is all my fault…” “If I hadn’t failed to hold onto you, none of this would’ve happened…” “Thank God I managed to save Ryan…” At the time, I hadn’t noticed anything strange. Not until now. Only now did I finally understand. During the three days I was missing, Sophia had stolen my place and become Ryan’s savior. And I— became the person responsible for putting everyone in danger. No wonder Ryan later destroyed my life for her without hesitation. So everything had already gone wrong that long ago. How ridiculous. I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms, my voice hoarse. “I already told you…” “I can’t dive anymore!” “My ear can’t handle deep-sea pressure!” “I’ll die from a brain hemorrhage!” Ryan’s expression visibly shifted. For a brief second, hesitation flickered across his eyes. But the very next moment, Father suddenly stormed over and kicked me hard in the chest. “Enough!” “How long are you going to keep pretending?!” “Rosalind, you’re rotten to the core! You’re nothing but trash!” “You’d even fake a disability just to avoid responsibility!” The force of the kick sent me crashing onto the deck. Pain exploded through my chest so violently I could barely breathe. Not far away, Mother Laura had already broken down completely. “Oh God…” “Sophia is such a kind girl…” “If something really happened to her, what would we do…” She knelt on the deck with her hands clasped together, praying over and over. But her prayers had never once been for me. All she wanted was for Sophia to come back alive. I looked at this so-called family in front of me— and suddenly, all of it felt absurd beyond words. Just then, the captain hurried over. “Mr. Miller.” “According to the tracking data, Ms. Sophia disappeared in this area.” “Based on the timing, her oxygen supply can last thirty more minutes at most.” That sentence completely shattered the last thread of Ryan’s restraint. He spun around and roared at the bodyguards. “What the hell are you waiting for?!” “Put the diving gear on Rosalind!”

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