Author: Momo Chan

When the company’s funding came through, I wanted to surprise my wife. Instead, I walked in on her and her assistant whispering to each other. The assistant, half giddy and half nervous, said, “Boss, when you make the big announcement later, how about I joke that I’m your partner instead? Jackson won’t get mad, right?” My wife smiled indulgently, ruffling his hair like he was a spoiled child. “He wouldn’t dare. And don’t worry—I’ll make sure you’re added to his project. Once you’ve gotten enough credit, I’ll promote you to department head.” Hearing this, I didn’t hesitate. I kicked open the office door, startling everyone. My colleagues gathered around, eager to see the drama unfold. Calmly, I walked up and hung the project manager’s badge around the assistant’s neck. Smiling faintly, I said: “No need to wait for tonight. The project is yours. Good luck.” Bang! I kicked the office door open. Heads turned. Employees stopped working, peeking over their desks. Their eyes gleamed with curiosity, hungry for gossip. Inside the office, Veronica froze mid-motion, still ruffling Ethan’s hair. A second later, she stepped in front of him protectively and glared at me. “Jackson, are you out of your mind?” she snapped. “Breaking company property like that? Forget about getting paid this month!” Ethan put on his best “helpless puppy” act, clutching her arm for support. “Jackson,” he said pitifully, “did you overhear Veronica joking about announcing us at the dinner tonight? She was just teasing me! And she didn’t mean it when she said she’d add me to your project…” The office buzzed with whispers. “So Veronica and Ethan are… like that?” “No wonder Jackson looks so pissed. He’s totally in love with her and couldn’t take it anymore.” I’d heard these rumors for years. I was used to it by now. They didn’t bother me anymore. If Veronica wanted Ethan to climb the ladder so badly, why shouldn’t I help them along? I stepped forward, unhooked the project manager’s badge from my neck, and hung it around Ethan’s. Patting him on the shoulder, I said evenly, “No need to wait for tonight. The project is yours now. Work hard and make us proud. Who knows? Maybe you’ll be VP someday.” The room fell silent. Everyone stared at me in shock. After all, they knew how much I’d poured into this project: sleepless nights, endless experiments, even hospital visits from overworking myself. I wasn’t the type to hand over something so important, especially not to someone who hadn’t earned it. But the moment hung awkwardly in the air, and the employees quickly scrambled to cover for their boss. “Wow, Jackson’s so generous!” someone called. “No wonder Veronica’s kept him around for so long!” Veronica’s face darkened, her eyes narrowing like I’d just committed some terrible crime. I didn’t care. Calmly, I packed up my things and said, “If there’s nothing else, I’ll head out. The partners want to meet with me.” Without waiting for a response, I walked out of the office. I carried the project’s core patent in my bag as I left. It had taken months of grueling work, but the results were promising. The partners were thrilled and had just approved additional funding. The company was finally gearing up to go public. Originally, I’d planned to share this good news with Veronica. Now, there was no reason to. As I walked down the same dimly lit path I’d taken to work for the past seven years, I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. Veronica and I had been secretly married for seven years. To avoid suspicion, she’d always refused to carpool or walk to work with me, insisting that we take separate routes. She even made me park my car far from the office and take the long way home. But now? I didn’t have to pretend anymore. I could drive wherever I wanted. As I reached the parking lot, my phone buzzed. A message popped up from the florist. “The bouquet has been delivered to the front desk. Here’s a photo!” I stared at the picture for a moment, remembering why I’d ordered the flowers. Veronica had once said that once the company stabilized, we could finally make our marriage public. I’d believed her. I’d wanted to make the announcement special—complete with her favorite roses and a private movie night. But instead of gratitude, all I got was her blatant favoritism toward Ethan. It didn’t matter anymore. I’d just have to chalk it up as a loss. As I turned to leave, someone stepped in my way. It was Ethan. Ethan fiddled with the badge around his neck, smirking. “Jackson,” he said mockingly, “you know Veronica was going to announce your relationship tonight, right? But you just had to ruin it by throwing a tantrum.” He adjusted the badge and added smugly, “Oh well. She told me once this project is done, I’ll be promoted to supervisor. She’s even giving me company shares. You’re not jealous, are you?” His expression screamed petty villain. In the past, his taunts would’ve gotten under my skin. I’d have snapped back, and Veronica would’ve blamed me for “picking on him.” But now? I couldn’t even muster the energy to care. Sure enough, I heard the sound of high heels clicking against the pavement behind me. Ethan’s smirk widened as he suddenly staggered backward, falling onto the ground with a dramatic thud. “Jackson!” he gasped, clutching his chest theatrically. “I know you’re upset, but don’t take it out on me. If you’re mad, blame me, not Veronica!” He even pulled off the badge and held it out to me with trembling hands. “You’re right,” he said, his voice quivering. “Someone like me doesn’t deserve to handle such an important project. Only you can do it.” Veronica rushed forward, her face twisted with anger. She raised her hand to slap me, but I was ready this time. I caught her wrist before it could connect, though the impact still left my arm numb. “Jackson,” she snarled, grabbing my collar. “I’ve ignored your bullying before, but this? Hitting Ethan? Do you even know what workplace harassment is?” I smirked. Ethan’s fake collapse was painfully obvious, but Veronica was too blinded by her concern for him to see it. I stepped around her and reached for the badge, intending to shove it back into Ethan’s hands. But when he saw me reaching, his expression shifted to panic. He clutched the badge tightly, pulling it away. Suddenly, he let out a low groan, clutching his chest again. “My heart,” he whispered. “It hurts…” His acting was laughable, but Veronica ate it up. She immediately fumbled through her bag, pulling out heart medication and forcing it into Ethan’s hand. “Jackson!” she shouted, her voice shaking. “Help me get him to the hospital!” I rolled my eyes. What a waste of time. I turned toward the curb, raising my hand to hail a cab. But Veronica stepped in front of me, her expression cold and determined. “You scared him into this,” she said firmly. “You’re not going anywhere.”

I let out a cold laugh. I thought back to the time when I drank so much at a business dinner that I ended up vomiting blood into the toilet. Veronica had barely glanced at me, casually suggesting I take some antacids and get over it. Now, Ethan was clearly faking an illness, but the ever-composed Veronica—the same woman who could negotiate multi-million-dollar deals without breaking a sweat—was panicking like a street brawler ready to defend her precious assistant. I sighed and reluctantly called for an ambulance. When the doctor finally confirmed that Ethan was fine, Veronica practically sagged with relief, her eyes filled with gratitude. I couldn’t stand to watch their little performance, so I turned and headed for the exit. But just as I reached the hallway, Veronica rushed after me and grabbed my arm. I frowned, fully expecting her to yell at me, to blame me for “stressing Ethan out” and causing his so-called episode. Instinctively, I tried to pull away. To my surprise, she didn’t lash out. Instead, she slipped the project manager’s badge back around my neck and lightly touched the arm she’d slapped earlier. Her voice softened, almost coaxing: “Jackson, you know how Ethan is—he loves to joke around. You shouldn’t take him so seriously. There’ll be plenty of chances to make an announcement later. Just wait a little longer, okay?” She paused, her tone turning slightly stern. “This project is too important for you to mess around with. Let’s not be impulsive. I’m willing to let this slide for now.” I gave a noncommittal hum, not bothering to argue. Veronica studied me for a moment, as if trying to gauge my reaction. Then, almost as if she were offering an olive branch, she held out a crumpled gift box. “By the way, I saw the roses you sent me earlier. They’re beautiful—I appreciate it. When you get home, why don’t you put them in a vase? Oh, and I have something for you too.” I couldn’t help but smirk internally. This was classic Veronica—her usual “carrot and stick” routine. The gift box looked oddly familiar, though. Then I remembered: about two weeks ago, Ethan had posted on social media about accidentally staining a tie Veronica had given him. He’d thrown the whole thing—box and all—into the trash, lamenting the loss in a way that was more brag than complaint. Veronica had commented under the post, promising to buy him ten more. I opened the box. Inside was a cheap knockoff tie. Just running my finger along the edge made the dye rub off. The receipt was still tucked inside, confirming its bargain-bin status. She hadn’t blinked when buying Ethan a luxury-brand tie, but for me? A counterfeit piece of junk. I didn’t say anything, though. I simply nodded and replied, “Got it. If there’s nothing else, I’ll head out.” As I rounded the corner and passed by a trash can, I didn’t hesitate. I tossed the box inside without a second thought. Pulling out my phone, I dialed the number of a tech company that had been trying to recruit me for years. “About your offer,” I said. “I’ve decided to accept.” This was no ordinary company—it was a Fortune 500 giant, one of the best in the industry. They’d been relentless in courting me, but I’d turned them down every time. Why? Because I’d wanted to stay by Veronica’s side, to help her build the company we’d dreamed of together. On the other end of the line, the HR representative enthusiastically listed off the company’s benefits and competitive salary package. As they spoke, I realized I’d driven all the way home without noticing. I tightened my grip on the phone as I stared out the windshield. Years ago, I’d given up a promising executive role to support Veronica. Together, we’d built her company from the ground up. I’d sacrificed my health, working myself to exhaustion. Every ounce of my energy had gone into helping us succeed. Now that we’d finally “made it,” Veronica’s heart was no longer with me. Maybe it never had been. From now on, I’d live for myself. I sent a message to our project partners, informing them that I was stepping down as project manager. Since they’d invested based on my reputation and work, they deserved to know. Afterward, I booked a flight for the next day and started packing my things. As I pulled a coat from the back of the closet, an old photo album slipped out and fell open on the floor. The picture staring back at me was from eight years ago, back when Veronica and I had first started dating. We were both so young, leaning into each other shyly. I picked up the album and flipped through the pages. Veronica had insisted on taking these photos, saying they were a way to document our struggles so we could look back and appreciate how far we’d come. We’d gone through so much together—sharing a tiny apartment, watching pirated movies on an old laptop, splitting a single piece of meat on New Year’s Eve. Those moments had been hard, but they’d also been filled with happiness. They were what had driven me to work harder, to build a better life for us. But as I flipped further, I noticed a pattern. The people in the photos grew more polished, the backgrounds more luxurious. But the photos themselves became fewer and farther between. From one every few days to one a month. Then one a year. And after Ethan showed up? Nothing. Veronica and I no longer had a relationship outside of work. She didn’t care if I skipped meals, if I worked myself sick, or if I injured myself in the lab. But she doted on Ethan. She canceled business dinners to take him out to eat, claiming his mild stomach issues needed attention. She indulged him, excused his behavior, and protected him like he was some precious treasure. Once, I’d asked her why. Her response had been cold and dismissive: “We’ve been through tough times. I didn’t expect you to be so whiny at your age. Ethan’s different—he’s pure and kind. I don’t want him to suffer like we did.” I closed the album, suddenly disgusted by the memories it held. Without hesitation, I dropped it into the trash. As I continued packing, my phone rang. It was the movie theater. “Ethan, your private screening is about to begin. If you don’t arrive within ten minutes, we’ll have to release the tickets to other customers.” Back when Veronica and I were struggling, she’d always dreamed of watching a movie in an actual theater. She said it was her idea of luxury. I’d proposed to her in a theater, promising to give her the life she deserved. Tonight, I’d planned to recreate that moment—to finally announce our relationship publicly. I’d rented out the largest theater in the city, thinking it would be a romantic gesture. But she hadn’t shown up. I hung up and told the manager, “Give it to someone else.” A moment later, Veronica sent me a text: “I have a business dinner tonight. Can’t make it to the movie.” For once, I wasn’t angry. Just tired. Then Ethan posted on social media. The photo showed Veronica feeding him popcorn and holding a soda for him to drink. His caption read: “I like quiet nights. The boss rented out a whole theater just for us. The soda she fed me tasted so sweet.” So this was her “business dinner.” I didn’t confront her. I didn’t care anymore. That night, I slept better than I had in years. In the middle of the night, I was jolted awake by the sudden glare of the bedroom light. Blinking against the brightness, I saw Veronica standing by the bed, her face pale and filled with disbelief. “Jackson,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You’re… actually sleeping?”

I squinted at my phone screen, still groggy. It was 3 a.m. Veronica was home this late? That was a surprise. In the past, whenever Ethan had one of his so-called “stomach episodes,” Veronica would drop everything to stay by his side all night, fussing over him like he couldn’t survive without her. Now, standing at the foot of my bed, Veronica didn’t look pleased. Her face was dark with frustration as she complained: “Jackson, I come home this late, and you don’t even text to check on me? You don’t wait up? Don’t you think you’re being a little too cold?” I’m the one being cold? I rolled my eyes internally. I used to call her late at night to check on her, worried about her safety. She’d accuse me of being controlling, of not trusting her. I used to wait up for her, preparing midnight snacks, giving her foot massages, doing everything to make her feel cared for. Her response? “You must have too much time on your hands. Maybe I should give you more work to do.” Now that I’d stopped catering to her every whim, she was still unhappy. Women’s hearts—truly impossible to understand. I grunted a half-hearted acknowledgment and reached for the lamp, ready to go back to sleep. But Veronica wasn’t done. She nudged me, then leaned against me like a rag doll, her voice turning soft and whiny. “Jackson, I’m so tired today. Aren’t you going to get up and run me a foot bath?” The faint scent of Ethan’s cologne clung to her clothes. It was nauseating. Once, I would’ve jumped at the chance to pamper her without being asked. I’d have stayed up all night if it meant she’d sleep soundly. Now, I couldn’t be bothered. I pushed her off me, my tone sharper than usual, thanks to my interrupted sleep. “I’m tired. Handle it yourself.” Veronica froze, clearly shocked that I’d actually pushed her away. For a few moments, she just stared at me, her fingers gripping the strap of her purse so tightly they turned white. Then, her face twisted with anger. “Jackson, all this because I missed one dinner with you? You’re seriously treating me like this? Unbelievable!” She scoffed, her voice dripping with venom. “You think I wanted to come home?!” With that, she stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. I heard the jingle of keys as she left the house. In the past, I’d have chased after her, begging her to stay, apologizing for upsetting her. But now? I calmly turned off the light and went back to sleep. When I woke up, sunlight filled the room, and I felt more refreshed than I had in years. I’d planned to make myself breakfast, but as I walked into the kitchen, I was surprised to find Veronica still at home. Usually, if I didn’t grovel to make up after a fight, she’d give me the silent treatment and leave for work early. But today, she was sitting on the living room couch, carefully tying a ribbon around a sleek, expensive-looking gift box resting on her lap. Hearing me approach, she glanced up and stood, walking toward me with the box in hand. Before I could say anything, she grabbed my wrist and snapped the clasp of a watch around it. The cold metal against my skin made me flinch. Veronica held my wrist up, inspecting it from different angles like she was admiring a piece of fine art. “Perfect fit,” she murmured, smiling in satisfaction. “Subtle, classy—suits you perfectly.” I recognized the watch immediately. It was a new release from a luxury brand, worth well over a million dollars. But before I could even process what was happening, Veronica unfastened the watch and wiped it meticulously with a handkerchief, as if my touch had tainted it. Placing it back in the gift box, she muttered to herself, “Good thing your wrist size is the same as Ethan’s. If it fits you this well, it’ll look amazing on him.” I looked at her, my lips curling into a bitter smile. Of course. Ethan was the one who loved flashy watches. This wasn’t for me—it never was. Veronica threw on her coat and grabbed the box, her steps light and cheerful as she headed for the door. Before she could leave, I stepped in front of her, blocking her path. I pulled a folder from my bag and handed it to her. “Veronica,” I said calmly, “I need you to sign this.” She frowned, not even glancing at the document. “Can’t it wait until I get to the office? I’m in a hurry.” I held the folder out to her again. “It’s not work-related. It’s important. It’ll only take a minute.” Veronica let out an exasperated sigh, snatching the file from my hands. “You’re always making things difficult,” she grumbled, flipping it open. The moment her eyes landed on the first page, her fingers froze. Her expression shifted, disbelief flashing across her face. Because staring back at her was a divorce agreement.

Veronica froze for a moment before slamming the divorce papers onto the shoe cabinet. She let out a mocking laugh. “Jackson, I thought you had something new to say, but it turns out you’re just pulling the divorce card.” “Fine. What is it? You got a taste of success with one big project, and now you think you’re untouchable?” “I’m busy. I don’t have time for your tantrums.” I calmly picked up the crumpled divorce papers and held them out to her again. “I’m not throwing a tantrum, Veronica. I’m setting you free. Now you can give Ethan the title you seem so eager to.” Her face darkened as her brows furrowed. She snatched the papers from my hand, crumpling them further and tearing them into pieces. The shredded paper fluttered to the floor like snow. She jabbed a finger toward me, her eyes cold and sharp. “Don’t even try to deny it, Jackson. You’re just jealous! Let me warn you—don’t bring up divorce again.” “My care for Ethan isn’t what you think it is. He reminds me of us back in the day. It’s admiration, not whatever filthy nonsense is in your head.” “I was even planning to announce our relationship soon, but you’ve completely disappointed me!” With that, she stormed out, her heels clicking furiously against the floor as the door slammed shut behind her. I wasn’t surprised. I had anticipated this reaction and didn’t let it bother me. If she refused to end things amicably, so be it. I called my lawyer to draft a formal divorce lawsuit. After that, I submitted my resignation to HR. The HR manager called shortly after, asking me to bring my credentials to finalize the paperwork in person. When I arrived, I was greeted by the sound of enthusiastic coworkers flattering someone. “Ethan, is that the latest Patek Philippe on your wrist? Veronica must really care about you!” “Honestly, Veronica and Ethan are such a perfect match. With the two of you leading us, this company is only going to get bigger and better!” I looked over to see Ethan smugly showing off his new watch, his hand casually brushing his hair as though he were embarrassed by the attention. When he noticed me, his face lit up, and he hurried over, grabbing my hand as if we were old friends. “Jackson! Finally, you’re here!” he said warmly. “Veronica told me the project is going to be tough, so she wants me to treat everyone to milk tea to keep morale up. What do you want? Just say the word!” I yanked my hand out of his grip. Before I could respond, Veronica stepped forward, positioning herself between us like a shield. “Jackson,” she sneered, her voice dripping with disdain, “you’re late. Do you really think you deserve milk tea?” She crossed her arms and continued, her tone sharp: “I’ll make sure HR deducts your attendance bonus. And someone as unpunctual as you clearly isn’t fit to handle an important project. From now on, stay out of it.” “Maybe you should go back to the basics and start over as an intern. Learn the company policies properly this time.” Ethan, playing the role of the humble underdog, tugged at Veronica’s sleeve and whispered, “Veronica, don’t you think that’s a bit harsh? The project’s almost done, and Jackson’s put in so much effort. Even if there’s no credit, there’s at least hard work…” Veronica shot me a condescending look, her chin tilted high like a proud peacock. “Effort?” she scoffed. “Effort isn’t enough. If everyone worked like him, this company would’ve folded years ago.” Turning to Ethan, she added with a smile, “You’ll take over Jackson’s project from now on. You’re the real project manager.” Ethan’s eyes gleamed with greed, though he feigned modesty. “Veronica, I don’t know… I’m still young, and my experience is limited…” The older employees, sensing Veronica’s disdain for me, quickly chimed in to curry favor. “Veronica’s absolutely right! Jackson’s been getting a little full of himself lately. Didn’t work overtime yesterday, and now he’s late today. He needs stricter management!” “Exactly. Ethan is such a natural talent. Jackson might have seniority, but he just can’t compare.” Veronica raised her brows, pretending to hesitate before finally nodding. “Well, if you can shape up, Jackson, maybe I’ll consider keeping you around. But you’ll have to prove yourself.” I couldn’t stand their synchronized performance any longer and cut her off mid-sentence. “I’m sorry, Veronica,” I said coolly. “I think you’ve misunderstood. I’m not here to work. I’m here to finalize my resignation.” The room fell silent. Veronica blinked, visibly stunned. “What?” she asked, her voice rising. The HR manager stepped forward and whispered something into her ear. Her expression darkened. The lines on her forehead deepened as her fists clenched, her nails digging into her palms. “Jackson, are you serious? Throwing tantrums about divorce one day and resigning the next? Have you forgotten the company’s about to go public?” She scoffed, her tone dripping with disbelief. “You’re walking away from a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. When we go public, every employee will get bonuses and stock options. People would kill to work here!” I met her gaze with calm indifference. “I know. That’s why I’d appreciate it if you could approve my resignation quickly. Otherwise, I’ll have no choice but to file a complaint with the labor board.” The crowd exchanged uneasy glances, uncertain how to react. Veronica’s knuckles turned white as she tightened her fists, but she refused to back down. “Fine. Go ahead and leave,” she snapped, grabbing the resignation forms from HR. “I’ll sign it myself! And once you’re gone, I’ll promote Ethan to project manager immediately!” She scribbled her name onto the form with exaggerated force, her eyes locked onto mine as if daring me to react. Seeing that I remained unfazed, she added with a sneer: “When the company goes public, I’ll give Ethan a raise, a new car, and a house. That’s the kind of reward true talent deserves!” I couldn’t help but chuckle. She thought she could provoke me into backing down with her petty theatrics. What she didn’t know was that the project partners had already contacted me. They were downstairs, preparing to file a lawsuit against the company for breach of contract. Veronica’s eyes narrowed as she noticed my smirk. “What’s so funny?” she demanded. I stepped aside, gesturing toward the door. “Why don’t you ask him?” I said, my voice laced with irony. As I spoke, the door opened, and the lead representative from the project partners walked in, his expression grim. “Veronica,” he said coldly, “we’re here to terminate all cooperation with your company and file a lawsuit for breach of contract.”

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On my birthday, I had a brain tumor attack. My vision blurred, my thoughts scattered. While the doctors worked to stabilize me, they picked up my phone to call my family. My wife answered, her tone sharp and impatient: “Why are you so annoying? Are you seriously checking up on me again? I’m about to board a flight to Florence with Tim—don’t call me unless it’s an emergency!” Then my daughter’s voice chimed in, casual and carefree: “Honestly, if he dies, that’d be great. The insurance payout can go straight to my account. My boyfriend’s been eyeing a new motorcycle.” Hearing that, I didn’t feel angry. Strangely, I felt… relieved. Maybe it was finally time to leave this miserable life behind. When I opened my eyes again, the doctor handed me my phone, his expression grim. “Mr. Carter, the tumor is pressing against your nerves. You need surgery immediately. You should discuss this with your family.” Still groggy, I held the phone loosely in my hand. The emergency room was silent except for the faint hum of machines. I could feel the pity radiating from the other patients and their families. Some even turned away, discreetly wiping their tears. I glanced at my phone screen—my wife, Monica, and my daughter, Julia, had already blocked me. With no other choice, I sent a message to someone I thought I’d never contact: Monica’s first love, Tim. “Please let Monica know she needs to come back. It’s urgent.” To avoid any misunderstandings, I added: “I want to talk to her about filing for divorce. It’s important.” After spending a few hours recovering at the hospital, I picked up my prescription and headed home. When I walked through the door, Monica was already seated on the couch. She was dressed for vacation: oversized sunglasses perched on her nose, a wide-brimmed straw hat on her head, and a breezy bohemian maxi dress that swayed with every movement. The moment she saw me, she let out a sharp laugh and slammed her sunglasses onto the coffee table. “Seriously? What’s your deal now? Tim and I were at the airport, about to board, and you dragged me back here for this nonsense. God, no wonder Julia finds you insufferable!” At 45, Monica had fine lines around her eyes, but with her impeccable skincare routine, her skin was still taut, her makeup flawless. Her bold red lipstick and voluminous waves made her look far younger than her age. Behind her, Tim stood dutifully, massaging her shoulders. He leaned down, murmuring in her ear with an intimacy that made my stomach twist. “Monica, calm down,” he said softly. “Let’s hear what Carter has to say. Maybe it’s actually important.” Tim, of course, still carried himself like the gentleman he once was. Despite the stiffness in his Botoxed face, his tailored designer suit gave him an air of sophistication. I stared at them and felt… nothing. My mind drifted back to the day Monica forgot Julia’s third birthday cake. She’d been too distracted by Tim’s unexpected return to the country. Later, when I picked up a drunken Monica from a bar, I overheard her telling her friends how I was just a stand-in for Tim. Now, my graying hair and tired face bore no resemblance to the man she once loved. Snapping back to the present, I pulled out the divorce papers and placed them on the table. “Monica,” I said evenly, “let’s get a divorce.” Her eyes flew open in disbelief, her body going rigid as if she hadn’t heard me correctly. “What?” she spat, her voice rising. “First, you fake being sick to get me back from the airport, and now you’re throwing a tantrum about divorce? Carter, you’re almost fifty years old. When are you going to grow up?” Her words stung, but I stayed calm. Yes, I was turning 49 today. If she’d gone into the kitchen, she would’ve seen the half-prepped ingredients I’d been cutting before the tumor attack—ingredients for dishes she and Julia loved. But when I collapsed, there wasn’t a single family member around to notice. There was no point sharing these thoughts, though. Monica would just call me dramatic and clingy. People say the dying speak only the truth. I had no intention of arguing. Instead, I smiled faintly. “It’s nothing,” I said quietly. “I just had an epiphany. There’s no point holding you back from Tim anymore.” Her eyes narrowed, but I continued. “Last month, when you and Tim went to Alaska to see the northern lights, you probably didn’t hear that my mom passed away.” Her lips parted slightly, but I didn’t let her interrupt. “My dad died saving you from drowning all those years ago, and my mom pressured you into marrying me to repay that debt. I know that was unfair to you. You’ve always wanted to be with Tim.” I gestured vaguely at the room around us. “For the past twenty years, I’ve worked tirelessly at your company to help it go public. That was my way of paying you back for everything my mom put you through.” I took a deep breath, my tone softening. “She’s gone now. You don’t have to worry about her showing up at the office to yell at you or make a scene. You’re free, Monica.” “For what it’s worth, I wish you and Tim the best. You’ve waited long enough—give him the life he deserves.” The weight I’d carried for years lifted as I spoke those words. Monica, however, clenched the divorce papers in her hands, her knuckles whitening. Her voice trembled as she said, “I’ve put up with you for over twenty years. What about Julia? Have you even thought about how she’ll feel about this?” Julia’s voice echoed in my head: “If he dies, that’d be great.” I smiled faintly. “She’ll be fine,” I replied, nodding toward Tim. “She likes him more than me anyway. Let him take care of her.” Years ago, when Julia was little, Monica had already started relying on Tim to help with parenting duties. She’d spent years building up his image in Julia’s eyes, ensuring he’d be her favorite. Now, I was just giving them what they wanted. But instead of looking pleased, Monica’s face darkened. She bit her lip so hard it looked like she might draw blood. Her chest rose and fell as she tried to compose herself, her gaze locked on me, searching for the anger or jealousy I’d always shown in the past. But this time, all she saw was indifference. Her voice dropped, cold and sharp: “Fine. You want a divorce? Then you’re leaving with nothing. No house, no money. Nothing.” She stared at me, confident I’d back down. After all, she’d spent years mocking me, calling me a gold-digger who married her for her family’s wealth. She’d always believed I’d never leave because I couldn’t survive without her money. But I simply nodded. “That’s fine,” I said. “I don’t need the house, the money, or even Julia.”

Monica hadn’t said a word yet, but Tim, standing silently beside her, broke into a wide grin, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Carter, I didn’t expect you to be this enlightened. Honestly, I should thank you for taking care of Monica all these years. Don’t worry—moving forward, I’ll take great care of her and your daughter.” Monica acted as if she hadn’t heard him. Her hand gripped the pen so tightly her knuckles turned white. Then, out of nowhere, she snapped. “Twenty years, Carter. Twenty years, and you pull this stunt now? What’s the point of all this? Can’t you just let things end peacefully?” She leaned forward, her voice sharp and cutting. “And what do you think happens after the divorce? Do you seriously believe I’ll let you stay at the company? A fifty-year-old man with no connections—what company would even take you? At least as my husband, you could live comfortably off our family’s wealth. But now? What’s your plan, huh?” Her words, meant to sting, didn’t faze me in the slightest. I gave a small, self-deprecating smile. She was right—our daughter was old enough to be married. What was the point of me kicking up a fuss now? Years ago, I used every resource I had—every favor, every ounce of credit—to bargain with the system for the chance to live a lifetime in this world. The system had warned me, its tone clinical: “You only get one shot at this. I have other hosts to assist. Once I leave, there’s no turning back. If you regret it later, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.” At the time, I wasn’t thinking about the consequences. My arms were wrapped around Monica, who was holding our newborn daughter. I was drunk on happiness, so much so that I’d promised with absolute certainty, “I’ll never regret it.” But that was before Tim returned. Before he destroyed the fragile illusion of our perfect life. What I thought was happiness turned out to be nothing but a mirage. Years ago, I’d considered leaving Monica. I even brought it up once, but our daughter had clung to my leg, sobbing, begging us not to divorce. My mother scolded me then, too: “You don’t know how lucky you are. As long as your name is on the marriage certificate, Tim can cause all the drama he wants, but it won’t affect your inheritance.” I stayed, telling myself I was doing it for Julia. For my mother. But I wasn’t happy. I felt smothered. This time, though, the brain tumor changed everything. Monica and Julia’s indifference, their coldness—it set me free. Snapping out of my thoughts, I looked at Monica and replied, my voice calm: “Monica, my life after this has nothing to do with you. Unless… are you actually concerned about me now?” I knew she hated it when I acted like this—calm, detached, and impossible to provoke. Sure enough, her face twisted as if she’d swallowed something bitter. She stared at me, disgusted, then snatched up the pen and scribbled her name onto the divorce papers. “Fine,” she spat. “But don’t come crawling back later, crying and begging for another chance. You’re not stepping foot in the company again.” With that, she grabbed Tim by the arm and stormed out, her heels clicking sharply against the hardwood floor. The house fell silent once again. I sat on the couch, staring at the home I’d lived in for over twenty years. Every piece of furniture, every decoration, was etched into my memory. Yet, I felt like a stranger here—as if I’d always been just a guest. After a while, hunger pulled me out of my daze. I went to the kitchen and tossed out the half-prepped ingredients: beef, lamb, salmon—all the things Monica and Julia loved. Then, I boiled a simple pot of noodles for myself. The noodles were plain, seasoned with nothing but a pinch of salt and oil. As I ate, I thought back to the early days of my marriage. Monica had been a spoiled heiress, completely unfamiliar with housework. Yet, for my birthday, she’d insisted on making me a bowl of noodles, tying an apron over her designer dress and covering herself in flour. She’d burned her hand in the process, but she’d brushed off the injury, laughing as she urged me to eat. “Eat up,” she’d said. “Longevity noodles for a long, happy life.” The noodles had been terrible—thick and undercooked, the broth far too salty—but I ate every bite, convinced that Monica was my forever. Now, her youthful face was just a blur in my memory. A sharp pain shot through my head, pulling me back to the present. I grabbed the painkillers the doctor had prescribed and swallowed them dry. When the pain subsided, I washed the dishes, dried my hands, and pulled out a suitcase to start packing. It didn’t take long—most of the belongings in the house were Monica’s or Julia’s. Once I finished, I went to the closet and retrieved an old chest I’d hidden away for years. Inside were all the things I’d once cherished: Ticket stubs from dates with Monica. Our wedding photos. A tie clip she’d given me as a gift. Julia’s childhood drawings, her handwritten notes from school—all carefully preserved in plastic sleeves. I carried the chest to the backyard, setting it on the firepit Monica and Tim used for their fancy dinner parties. Then, without hesitation, I lit a match and watched the flames consume everything. The firelight flickered across my face, but I felt nothing. Suddenly, rain began to fall, snuffing out the fire in an instant. I glanced down at the charred remains of the chest. Most of it had turned to ash. I didn’t bother inspecting it further. Afterward, I deactivated all my social media accounts and deleted my contacts. I’d always been a drifter, a man with no roots. Now, I was erasing myself entirely from Monica and Julia’s world. Once my suitcase was packed, I drove to the office to hand off my responsibilities and clear out my desk. As I packed up my things, my coworkers stopped by, their faces full of admiration. “Carter, I can’t believe you’re retiring already! Monica must really adore you to let you step down so early. We’re all jealous!” “Yeah, if I had a wife and kid like yours, I’d retire early too. Enjoy life, man.” I forced a smile, saying nothing. None of them knew the truth. Over the years, Monica had built the image of a perfect marriage for the sake of the company. Publicly, we were the model couple—attending charity galas, buying luxury cars, and flaunting our wealth. But every gift she “bought” for me ended up in Tim’s hands. And I had to play along, pretending to be modest and frugal while she showered him with everything I’d supposedly been given. As I carried my files out of the office, I overheard the HR manager giving instructions to a team. “Get the new VP’s office ready,” he said, glancing at me briefly. “Make sure it’s perfect. Monica’s bringing in someone new.” Curious, one of the employees asked, “Who’s the new VP?” The HR manager smirked slightly, then revealed a nameplate: “Vice President: Tim Evans.”

Everyone around me stared in shock, but I simply smirked, a self-deprecating curve tugging at my lips. For years, I’d been stuck using the oldest, most outdated equipment in the company. Every time the company upgraded its tech, I’d submit a request for a new computer. And every time, Monica would reject it with a frown. “Why are you so vain?” she’d say. “Your old computer still works, doesn’t it? Stop being wasteful.” But when it came to Tim, she never settled for less. Anything he wanted, she gave him in full—except for her last name. Once upon a time, the blatant disparity in how she treated us would’ve made my blood boil. It might’ve even broken my heart. But not anymore. Now, all I could feel was a strange sense of detachment, perhaps even amusement. Monica couldn’t wait to help Tim rise to the top. This was what true love looked like, wasn’t it? Shaking off the thought, I nodded at the HR manager, turned on my heel, and walked away from the company I had devoted my life to. After leaving the office, I drove to a funeral supply store. I figured if I was going to die, I might as well do it with a little dignity. The clerk showed me the options, but my funds were limited. Most of my money had already gone to prepay the mortician for handling my body when the time came. So I settled for the cheapest burial suit they had. Clutching the suit in my arms, I stepped out of the store, only to hear the roar of a motorcycle speeding past. The exhaust fumes choked me, making me cough. A few seconds later, the bike circled back and skidded to a stop in front of me. From the backseat, a girl hopped off—a teenager with smoky makeup, a crop top, and an attitude to match. It was Julia. She sauntered over, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Well, well, look who’s still alive. Hurry up and transfer me ten grand. My boyfriend wants a new bike.” Her words were like a slap to the face, but I forced myself to stay calm. “I don’t have any money,” I said flatly. Julia rolled her eyes, her heavily made-up face twisting in disbelief. “Yeah, right. You’re broke? Please. Mom would never leave you without money.” Her voice was filled with scorn. And why wouldn’t she think that? To outsiders, I was the epitome of a kept man—a trophy husband in a wealthy family. But the truth was far less glamorous. Monica never trusted me with money. My salary went directly into her account, and every expense—no matter how small—had to be approved by her. Even when I needed a pack of cigarettes, she’d insist I buy the cheapest brand. To make ends meet, I took on side gigs to scrape together a little extra cash. When I was diagnosed with the tumor, I brought the medical bills to Monica and asked for help. Her reaction? She accused me of scamming her, called me a liar, and demanded to know why I thought she’d hand over ten grand as if her money grew on trees. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, she locked me in the house to “reflect on my behavior” and took Tim on a private flight to Alaska to see the northern lights. While I was locked up, my mother passed away. I never got to see her one last time. When I heard the news, my relatives told me she’d died with tears streaming down her face, cursing me for being a selfish son who had married an even more selfish wife. The memory still stung, but I forced it down and focused on the girl in front of me. Julia smirked, clearly enjoying the situation. “Fine,” she said, flipping her hair. “If you’re not giving me money, I’ll just ask Uncle Tim. He’s way better than you—rich, handsome, and actually fun to be around.” Her words didn’t hurt me. Not anymore. I stared at her for a moment, wondering how the sweet girl I’d raised had turned into… this. When Tim first came back into our lives, Monica had all but abandoned us. I became both mom and dad, pouring everything I had into raising Julia. She used to be on my side, throwing icy glares and sharp words at Monica and Tim. But everything changed when she turned 17. She fell for a dropout with bleached hair—a boy who dragged her into his chaotic world. She dropped out of school, started skipping curfews, and regularly demanded money from me. I tried to stop her, to pull her back onto the right path. But one day, when I confronted her boyfriend, he showed up with a group of his friends and beat me within an inch of my life. And Julia? She stood on the sidelines, cheering them on. “Toughen up, old man!” she’d yelled. “Learn your lesson!” After that, something in me broke. I stopped trying to save her. Later, when I was recovering from my injuries, she showed up, all smiles and apologies. She promised to make it up to me, even offering to spend my birthday with me. I waited all day for her. Instead, I saw a video Tim posted on social media. In it, Julia was at a lavish dinner, hugging Tim’s arm and giggling as she said, “Happy vacation, Dad! Hope you and Mom have an amazing time in Florence!” Then she accepted a fat red envelope from him with a bright, grateful smile. I’d been in the kitchen preparing dinner when I saw the post. The next thing I knew, I was on the floor, my head pounding, the tumor finally catching up with me. Now, standing in front of her again, I felt… nothing. I let out a small sigh and said, “Go ahead. Ask Tim for the money.” Then, after a pause, I added: “Oh, and by the way, your mom and I are divorced now. You can stop calling him Uncle Tim. Just call him Dad—it suits him better.”

Julia froze, staring at me with wide eyes. Her fingers twisted the hem of her shirt as her face flushed with embarrassment. “How did you know…?” she stammered, before quickly shifting to defiance. “It’s your fault anyway! You’re so stingy! Every time I ask for money, you drag your feet, so I had no choice but to ask him! At least he understands me—he knows what real love is!” Her defiance turned to scorn as she crossed her arms, giving me a once-over. “You’re lying about the divorce, right? You think I’d actually believe you? Stop pretending.” Her eyes fell on the package in my hands, her expression shifting to curiosity. “What’s that ugly thing you’re holding? Is it… clothes?” Before I could answer, her boyfriend—a bleached-haired punk with a cigarette dangling from his lips—rested a hand on her shoulder and squinted at the package. “Wait a second… isn’t that a burial suit? Someone in your family kick the bucket?” The words hung in the air as Julia stepped forward, reaching for the package. “Well, let me see for myself! What kind of stunt are you pulling now?” I frowned and instinctively pushed her back. Caught off guard, she stumbled and fell to the ground with a thud. From her pocket, a small card slipped out. I bent down and picked it up. It was an ID card. The photo was hers, but the name read: Julia Evans. For a moment, I felt like the world had gone silent. Then the pain started—a sharp, unbearable ache in my head. When Julia was born, Monica had a severe hemorrhage. I was terrified I’d lose them both, so I insisted Julia take Monica’s last name as a way to honor her survival. Years later, when my relationship with Monica soured, Julia had come to me more than once, begging to adopt my last name instead. She’d said she wanted nothing to do with her selfish mother. But now… At some point, she had willingly chosen to take Tim’s last name instead. I clutched my head as my vision blurred. The doctor had warned me this would happen—that the tumor would eventually press on my nerves, causing vision problems, memory loss, even cognitive decline. How pathetic I was now, I thought bitterly. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push back the darkness. When I opened them again, I could see Julia snatching the ID card from my hand and shoving it into her pocket, her movements frantic. “Don’t get mad!” she said, her voice rushing out in a jumbled explanation. “I just thought Uncle Tim was really pitiful, you know? He’s getting older and has no kids of his own. It’s just a name change—it doesn’t mean anything! I’m still your daughter. Isn’t it nice to have two dads who love me?” She glanced at my face, her confidence wavering as she noticed my expression. “What’s wrong with you now?” she asked, frowning. “Don’t tell me you’re pretending to go blind again. No wonder Mom doesn’t like you—you act like a child, always faking illnesses to get attention.” I didn’t reply. I simply shook my head, brushing past her as I walked away. She hesitated, as if she wanted to say something more, but she didn’t follow me. By the time I left, the pounding in my head had subsided somewhat. I took the bus to my childhood home—it wasn’t far, just on the outskirts of town. The building was old, its walls stained with years of neglect. Dust coated every surface, and the air smelled faintly of mildew. This was where I’d grown up, before Monica had taken us in after my father drowned saving her life. I hadn’t been back in years. Now, the place felt like a tomb. I cleaned off the bed, shut the windows tightly, and locked the door. Then, I opened the gas canister I’d brought with me, letting the sharp scent of natural gas fill the room. Calmly, I changed into the burial suit I’d bought earlier and lay down on the bed, positioning myself so the mortician could find me easily. As I settled in, my phone buzzed. I considered ignoring it, but out of habit, I answered. Monica’s impatient voice came through the line. “Carter, where are you? There’s a dinner party tonight, and you need to be there. I’m giving you thirty minutes to get ready.” Her tone was sharp, like I was nothing more than an inconvenience. I replied evenly, “I won’t make it. I’m about to die.” There was a loud crash on the other end, followed by the sound of glass shattering. Then Monica’s voice, shrill and angry: “Carter, what the hell is wrong with you? Stop saying such unlucky things!” Before I could respond, I heard Tim’s voice in the background, calm and calculated as always. “Monica, maybe Carter just can’t handle the divorce. If he’s really that upset, why don’t you take him back? I don’t mind—I’ll always be here to support you.” Classic Tim. Playing the martyr, always angling for sympathy. And Monica, blind as ever, never saw through his act. Just as I expected, her anger flared. “Carter, don’t you dare use this to guilt me! Do you think I’m asking you to come because I want to? The CEO specifically requested you, or I wouldn’t have bothered. Fine, don’t come. And while you’re at it, don’t bother coming home either. Don’t expect to see Julia again, either!” She hung up, leaving me in silence once more. I exhaled slowly, my grip on the phone loosening until it fell to the floor. The gas filled the room, thick and suffocating. My limbs grew heavy, my vision darkening. The doctor had said that the end would feel like drifting off to sleep. But this wasn’t peaceful. I could feel every second of my body shutting down, every painful gasp for air. My face felt swollen, my skin tight. It’s fine, I told myself. It’ll all be over soon. Death, I thought, was like a quiet summer night—eerily serene. I could hear the faint hiss of the gas, a sound that seemed almost soothing. Thank God I’d hired someone to handle my body. Otherwise, I might have rotted here for weeks without anyone noticing. But just as I was surrendering to the darkness, the door burst open with a deafening crash. Someone had kicked it in. An uninvited guest had arrived.

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My boyfriend’s “one true love”—his precious Carol Laurel—stole highly radioactive material from my home, putting me at risk of a prison sentence. When I confronted her, she denied everything, playing innocent like it was second nature. Worse, my boyfriend, Nathan Reed, refused to testify for me, instead doing everything in his power to throw me under the bus. What neither of them realized, though, was that I worked for a top-secret government research facility. And the material they stole? It wasn’t just dangerous—it was lethal. The radioactive material I’d been tasked with transporting was stolen from my apartment overnight. Nathan, my boyfriend, was out of town at the time. The only other person with a key was Carol—his “close family friend,” though everyone knew that was just a convenient label. I didn’t hesitate. This wasn’t a situation I could take lightly. I called the police immediately. When Carol was brought in for questioning, she played the part of the innocent victim perfectly. “Claire,” she said, her voice trembling, “I know you don’t like me, but accusing me of something like this? That’s just cruel.” Nathan burst into the room moments later, his face red with anger. “Claire, are you serious right now?” he snapped. “Carol’s already been through enough because of you. She lost her baby! And now you’re trying to pin this on her?” Because of me? I stared at him, stunned by the sheer audacity of his words. This was the same man I’d caught in bed with Carol just weeks ago. I’d returned early from a work trip to find them lounging together, scrolling through maternity websites and picking out baby items. I had demanded we break up on the spot, but Nathan refused to let me go. As for Carol, she disappeared for two days before reappearing, pale and fragile, as though she’d just been through hell. “Claire,” she’d said softly, tears streaming down her face, “I terminated the pregnancy. Please don’t blame Nathan. It wasn’t his fault—it was mine.” Her “sacrifice” had driven an even deeper wedge between Nathan and me, turning our fractured relationship into an all-out war. But now wasn’t the time to hash out personal grievances. “The missing material,” I told the officers, “is Iridium-192. A highly radioactive source.” The room shifted instantly. The officer in charge straightened, his expression turning grim. “That’s an incredibly dangerous substance,” he said. “We need to locate it immediately.” He turned to the small group in the room, his sharp gaze cutting through the air like a blade. “If anyone has it, hand it over now. Stealing something like this isn’t just theft—it’s a felony. You’re looking at serious prison time.” Carol broke down, crying as though the weight of the world had just fallen on her shoulders. Nathan rushed to her side, his voice trembling with anger. “Carol is a public figure! She’d never risk her reputation by doing something illegal. We have surveillance footage to prove it.” Carol was an up-and-coming social media influencer who made her living as a product promoter. Her career relied heavily on her public image, so Nathan’s confidence made sense. But something about his tone put me on edge. We had a security camera in the hallway outside my apartment, installed for safety reasons. When the footage was reviewed, my stomach dropped. The video only showed me entering and leaving the apartment. There wasn’t a single trace of Carol—or anyone else, for that matter. “This can’t be right,” I said, my voice faltering. But Nathan and Carol exchanged a knowing glance, their expressions smug. That’s when it hit me. This was a setup. They had tampered with the footage. Nathan stepped forward, pointing an accusatory finger at me. His voice was loud, filled with righteous indignation. “It was you,” he declared. “You staged this whole thing. You stole it yourself and are trying to frame Carol!” The same hands that had once held me, that had promised me love and loyalty, were now pointing at me like I was a criminal. I locked eyes with him, my voice calm but firm. “Do you even realize what you’re saying?” If I was charged with theft, I’d be looking at years behind bars. Was his hatred for me really that deep?

“Claire,” Nathan said coldly, “you shouldn’t be dragging Carol into this.” “You made this mess, and you should take responsibility for it.” His gaze shifted to Carol’s stomach, and for a moment, his expression softened into something that almost looked like grief. He was blaming me for her miscarriage. Did he really love children that much? A pang of pain shot through my chest as memories flooded back. We had once had a child, too. Back when he went missing during a mountain hike, I had spent days searching for him. I fell during the search, tumbling down a slope, and woke up covered in blood. I’d lost the baby that day. When I found him, alive and well, he held me and cried his heart out, swearing he would never let me go. Now, it seemed he’d forgotten all of it. The tension in the room was broken by the arrival of someone unexpected—a man with sharp features and gold-rimmed glasses. “Elliot?” I said, startled. He nodded at me. “I’ve brought the detection equipment from the lab.” The lead officer wasted no time. “Good. This is serious. We’ll conduct a full-scale search.” “What does that mean?” Carol asked, confused. The officers ignored her, moving quickly to coordinate the operation. They began sweeping the area, starting with my apartment and extending outward in a radius. Even Carol’s home was included in the search. Nathan pulled me aside, his voice low and accusatory. “What kind of job do you have, Claire? What’s so important about this ‘missing item’ that it warrants this kind of manhunt?” I stared at him, my voice flat. “It’s classified. What was stolen is deadly. If you don’t want to die, I suggest you find it.” Carol scoffed, cutting in. “If it’s so dangerous, wouldn’t stealing it make you even guiltier?” Her words seemed to bolster Nathan’s confidence. “She’s got a point,” he said, his expression hardening. Neither of them believed me. They were so caught up in their lies that they couldn’t see the truth staring them in the face. The search lasted all night, but Elliot eventually packed up his equipment, shaking his head. “There’s no trace of it,” he said. “It’s likely still sealed in its lead container. Let’s hope no one is stupid enough to open it.” The lead officer sighed. “Well, that’s… something, at least.” Carol’s tense expression melted into relief. “See?” she said smugly. “Nothing’s missing. Someone’s just trying to cover their tracks.” Nathan nodded in agreement. “The surveillance footage is clear. There’s only one suspect here.” The room fell silent. Elliot placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “The lab has decided to pursue this. Don’t worry—we’ll clear your name.” I nodded, grateful for his support. But it didn’t matter. As the person responsible for the missing material, I was now the prime suspect. Carol and Nathan were practically glowing with satisfaction when the officers informed me that I’d be taken into custody. “Are you happy now?” I asked, looking directly at them. Carol lifted her chin, her voice dripping with arrogance. “The person who killed my baby is finally getting what she deserves. Of course I’m happy.” “And you?” I said, turning to Nathan. “Does it matter what I think?” he spat. “Did you care about my feelings when you caused Carol’s miscarriage?” His eyes, once filled with love, were now cold and filled with hatred. For a moment, I wavered, remembering the man who had once fought for me, defended me, loved me with everything he had. But that man was gone. I lowered my gaze, steeling myself. If they wanted to ruin me, I wouldn’t go down without a fight. Before handing in my phone, I made a few quick adjustments. Elliot raised an eyebrow. “Making your move?” I smiled. “If I don’t fight back now, I’ll be nothing but a punching bag.” I uploaded a detailed timeline of everything—our relationship, their betrayal, and the missing material—to every major social media platform. If they wanted war, I’d give them one.

Because of the structured format of my post and the explosive nature of the title, the story spread like wildfire online. Meanwhile, Nathan and Carol remained clueless, basking in the thrill of successfully framing me. Before I was taken in, I turned to them with a small smile. “Don’t get too comfortable,” I said calmly. “Remember the way you look right now—so smug, so self-satisfied. Because soon enough, you’ll be paying for this with your blood. And when that time comes, it’ll clear my name.” If they were foolish enough to steal something as dangerous as Iridium-192, I had no doubt their recklessness would catch up to them. They dismissed my words as empty threats, laughing as they walked away hand in hand. But it only took one night for cracks to appear in their confidence. The next morning, Nathan frantically requested to see me, his desperation apparent. I refused every single one of his attempts to meet. Three days later, Elliot paid my bail, and I was released on probation. The moment I stepped out, I could tell the situation had shifted dramatically. Nathan was waiting for me, holding a large bouquet of roses. He rushed toward me, reaching out to grab my arm, but Elliot stepped in, blocking him effortlessly. Elliot turned to me with a questioning look. I smiled softly. “It’s fine. Let me talk to him.” The conversation took place at a nearby coffee shop. Nathan shoved the bouquet into my hands, acting as though the last few days hadn’t happened. There wasn’t even a hint of shame on his face. “Claire,” he said, his tone light and casual, “we’re about to face a few years of long-distance. Let’s use this time to make peace, okay? No hard feelings.” I almost laughed out loud. He was referring to my impending prison sentence as a “long-distance relationship”? I shoved the bouquet back at him. “If you’re not going to speak like a human being, I’m leaving.” Nathan’s smile faltered, and he quickly got to the point. “What you posted online,” he began, lowering his voice, “has caused a lot of problems for Carol.” I pulled out my phone, scrolling through the latest updates. The public backlash against Carol was brutal. The internet was ablaze with stories about the influencer who knowingly became “the other woman” and framed me for a crime. Her reputation had taken a nosedive. She wasn’t just losing followers—she was losing brand deals and sponsors left and right. “She’s not doing so well these days, is she?” I said, my tone mocking. My eyes wandered to the table next to us, where a woman sat wearing a mask and a baseball cap pulled low over her face. Even disguised, I could tell it was Carol. Her hands, resting on her lap, were covered in angry red rashes. I glanced at Nathan. He coughed lightly, a persistent, dry sound that made my stomach twist. My heart sank. Those were early symptoms of radiation poisoning. They must have opened the lead container holding the Iridium-192. Nathan, oblivious to my realization, continued speaking. “I need you to issue a public apology,” he said. “Admit that you were jealous of Carol and me, and that everything you posted was a lie.” I blinked, certain I’d misheard him. “You want me to confess that I’m the one who tried to sabotage your relationship?” Nathan nodded, his tone soothing, as though he were offering me a favor. “It’s just a title, Claire. Who cares what people think? We love each other—that’s what matters.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice further. “Think about it. Once you’re in prison, no one will even remember this after a few years. But Carol? She has to live with public scrutiny every day.” Slap! The sound echoed through the coffee shop as my hand connected with his cheek. Nathan recoiled, stunned, his face turning red with anger. The surrounding patrons turned to stare, some even leaning closer to watch the unfolding drama. “You’re shameless,” I said coldly, my voice cutting through the silence. Nathan finally snapped. “Claire! You’re on probation! If you cause trouble, I’ll call the police right now and have you thrown back in jail!” I didn’t flinch. Instead, I grabbed my coffee and threw it in his face. Hot liquid splattered across his shirt, the strong smell of espresso filling the air. “If you have time to threaten me,” I said, my tone icy, “you should be calling a hospital. You might not live through the winter.” Nathan jumped to his feet, his face contorted with rage. “All you ever do is curse people! What’s wrong with you?” He lunged forward, grabbing for my arm, but before he could touch me, a strong hand shot out and grabbed him by the collar.

“It’s not a curse—it’s a fact.” Elliot, who stood a full head taller than Nathan, leaned in close, his presence radiating quiet menace. Instinctively, Nathan stepped back, his confidence faltering. “You again?” he sneered, his eyes darting between Elliot and me, suspicion flickering in his gaze. “So this is what you’ve been hiding, huh?” he spat. “Always claiming your job is some big secret, disappearing for months at a time—turns out you were shacking up with him the whole time.” His voice rose, laced with bitterness. “How long has this been going on? You’ve probably been sleeping together for years. And now you’re pretending to be some innocent victim in front of Carol? It’s pathetic.” Before I could respond, Elliot’s fist shot out, landing squarely on Nathan’s jaw. The punch sent him sprawling to the ground, clutching his face in shock. Carol, who had been trying to blend in with the crowd, finally broke character. With a gasp, she rushed forward, throwing herself down beside Nathan to help him up. “You can’t just hit someone in broad daylight!” she shrieked, glaring at Elliot. “Aren’t you afraid we’ll call the cops?” I crouched down next to her, my tone light but cutting. “You should worry more about yourself.” I reached out and brushed a lock of hair off her shoulder. A few strands came loose, falling into my palm. “You’re losing hair,” I said flatly, letting the strands drift to the ground. “Might want to get that checked out.” Her face twisted with anger, and she slapped my hand away. “You’re insane. It’s just a cold! Stop trying to make everything into some dramatic performance.” I stood, brushing off my hands. “Suit yourself.” Carol’s hostility didn’t faze me anymore. Without another word, I grabbed Elliot’s arm and led him out of the café, leaving the scene of chaos behind. Snow was falling softly, the crisp air cooling the lingering heat of my frustration. “Sorry about that,” I said, glancing at Elliot. “I didn’t mean for you to get bitten by rabid dogs.” Elliot shoved his hands into his coat pockets, walking in step beside me. “Don’t worry about it.” His voice was calm, steady as always. “They’re already showing symptoms. Are you going to feel sorry for them?” I stopped in my tracks, the question hanging in the frosty air. “Maybe I would have,” I admitted after a pause. Iridium-192 is dangerous. I had warned them repeatedly, but they treated my words as empty threats, too focused on framing me to realize the risk they’d taken. I glanced down at the snow beneath my feet, where the pristine white flakes mixed with the muddy street. The filth reminded me of them—shameless, self-serving, and beyond redemption. I stepped forward, leaving the mess behind. “But now?” I said, my voice cold. “Now, I just hope they get exactly what they deserve.” Later that evening, Carol went live on her social media platform. Her face filled the screen, tears streaming down her cheeks as she crafted the perfect sob story for her audience. “I never tried to steal someone else’s boyfriend,” she said, her voice trembling. “Nathan and I have known each other for years. We’ve been together long before Claire ever came into the picture.” She sniffled, her makeup smudging as she leaned closer to the camera. “And Claire? She’s the one who stole from herself and tried to frame me for it. Thank God there was surveillance footage to prove my innocence.” Her voice cracked as she continued, “She’s about to go to prison soon. Are you really going to believe anything a criminal says?” Carol’s tears were convincing, and her performance was Oscar-worthy. Her followers ate it up. The comments section exploded. “Wait, what? Claire’s a criminal?” “Lies. The cheater and her boyfriend got exposed, and now they’re trying to shift the blame.” “Hold on… what did Claire even accuse her of stealing?” I sipped my tea, scrolling through the comments like a casual observer. I copied the last comment and pasted it into the chat, spamming it a few times to make sure Carol saw it. As the flood of questions grew, Carol finally addressed the elephant in the room. “She said it was some… Iridium-192 or whatever,” she said dismissively, waving her hand like the whole thing was ridiculous. “It’s just some pretentious science term she threw around to scare me.” She rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair. “She even tried to tell me it was dangerous—like it could kill people or something. So dramatic, right?” But her smug attitude faltered as she suddenly covered her mouth, gagging uncontrollably. Among the flurry of comments, someone finally connected the dots. “Wait… Iridium-192? Are you serious? That stuff is deadly!” “Can someone explain? I don’t know what that is.” “You don’t need to know what it is. Just understand this: if you carry that stuff around for even two hours, you’re going to get radiation poisoning. And trust me, it’s not a pretty way to go.” The comment section exploded, the chat scrolling so fast it was almost unreadable. And then, on live stream, it happened. Carol’s eyes suddenly rolled back, and her body went stiff. Without a word, she collapsed, hitting the floor with a sickening thud.

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The day I found out I was pregnant, Shane was helping his childhood sweetheart, Rose, pick out a cat. The day I lost the baby, Shane was with her again—this time at the vet, taking care of her sick cat. Later, Rose posted on social media, showing off their closeness for the world to see: “Fifteen years and counting. So lucky to have you by my side.” The photo? Shane holding her cat at the vet, smiling softly at her like she was the center of his universe. Meanwhile, I was lying in a cold hospital bed, empty and broken. I couldn’t reach Shane; his phone kept going to voicemail. After my tenth attempt, I gave up. I laughed bitterly, opened Rose’s post, and left a comment below her picture: “I hope you two stay together forever and don’t go around grossing others out.” The moment I lost the baby, I knew my marriage to Shane was over. Three years of marriage, and Rose had always been between us. Shane’s childhood friend, his precious Rose—so precious, in fact, that whenever she called, Shane would drop everything to be by her side. It didn’t matter what the reason was. If Rose needed him, he’d leave me without a second thought. I used to tell myself that having a child would fix things, that it would bring us closer. But even a pregnancy couldn’t keep Shane from running to her. If that was the case, why should I fight for this marriage anymore? As I scrolled through Rose’s post again from my hospital bed, I saw the photo of Shane holding her cat, his smile soft and warm. Her caption read: “Fifteen years and counting. So lucky to have you by my side.” I stared at my phone, bitterness curling in my chest. Then I left my comment: “I hope you two stay together forever and don’t go around grossing others out. A second later, my phone rang. It was Shane. I answered, and before I could say anything, his angry voice cut through the line. “Claire, what the hell is wrong with you?!” “What’s wrong with me?” I repeated, my tone icy. “What were you thinking, leaving a comment like that on Rose’s post? Do you know how bad that makes her look? People are already misunderstanding her because of you!” In the background, I heard Rose sniffle dramatically. “Shane, don’t blame Claire,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “It’s my fault. She probably called you earlier, and you didn’t pick up because you were busy with the cat. She must’ve misunderstood…” Shane’s frustration spiked. “Claire, I’m ordering you to delete that comment and apologize to Rose right now!” I listened to his rant in silence, my hand tightening around the phone. Then, without a word, I hung up. I got out of bed, discharged myself from the hospital, and went home to the apartment Shane and I shared. The first thing I did when I got there was call a lawyer. I had the divorce papers drafted immediately. Afterward, I went to the bedroom, packed a suitcase, and was about to leave when Shane walked in, his hair disheveled and his face flushed from rushing back. He froze when he saw my suitcase, then his lips curled into a mocking smile. “Running away from home? Really, Claire? How childish can you get?” I looked at him, my expression calm. “It’s not running away.” “I’m leaving you.” I pulled my suitcase toward the door, but his voice stopped me. “Claire, how long are you planning to keep up this tantrum? Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused Rose? People are calling her a homewrecker because of you!” He took a step closer, his tone dripping with condescension. “You knew I’d come back to talk this out, didn’t you? That’s why you’re pulling this dramatic little stunt—to guilt me into staying.” “Claire, you know I don’t have the patience for this.” His words were so certain, so full of himself, as if he knew I’d eventually back down. And I did. I stopped, turned around, and walked back toward him. For a moment, a smug look crossed his face, like he thought he’d won. But then I raised my hand and slapped him. Hard. The sound echoed through the room. “That,” I said, my voice steady, “was for everything you put me through.” “Shane, you are so disgusting, you make me want to throw up.” Before he could respond, a gasp came from the doorway. There stood Rose, her hands covering her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. “Claire, if you’re angry, blame me!” she cried, rushing over to Shane, her tears falling as if on cue. “I’m the one who asked him to come with me to the vet. It’s not his fault!” She touched his cheek gently, her fingers brushing over the red mark I’d left. “How could you hit him?” she demanded, glaring at me. “Don’t you know how much men value their pride?!” Then she turned back to Shane, her voice soft and full of concern. “Are you okay? Does it hurt?” Shane’s expression softened immediately. He reached out to comfort her, his voice low and reassuring. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” When he turned back to me, though, his gaze was cold. “Claire, stop this nonsense. You’re ruining Rose’s reputation. Do you even care what kind of damage you’re doing?” “She’s an unmarried woman. Do you know how hard it’ll be for her to move on if people keep thinking she’s a homewrecker?” He took a step closer, his voice sharp. “Delete your comment. Post an apology. Now.” “And if I don’t?” I asked, my tone mocking. Shane’s jaw tightened. “If you walk out that door without fixing this, don’t expect me to come after you.”

Of course. To Shane, no one could ever be more important than Rose. Not me. Not even our child. Even when I lost the baby, even after the procedure, when I was still bleeding and weak, Shane chose to stand by her. To protect her. Me and our baby together couldn’t compete with one Rose. So why did he marry me? Why drag me into this mess, pull me into the mud, only to leave me there alone? The overwhelming sense of injustice hit me like a wave. My throat tightened, my vision blurred with tears. When Shane saw me crying, he hesitated for a moment, his hand twitching as if he wanted to reach for me. But Rose stopped him, slipping her arm through his. She smiled faintly, her voice soft but cutting. “Claire, you can’t just cry and expect your mistakes to disappear like magic.” “You’re not a child anymore. You need to grow up.” She turned to Shane, her expression filled with mock indignation. “It’s fine if she takes out her anger on me, but how could she let people spread such awful things about you? Shane has been nothing but devoted to you. He’s never even looked at another woman since you got married, and he tells everyone how much he loves you. What more do you want?” Her tone turned pitying, almost condescending. “Shane’s been like a brother to me ever since my parents died in that car accident. He’s just looking out for me, that’s all. If we really had something going on, do you think you’d even be in the picture?” Word by word, she painted me as some petty, jealous wife who couldn’t tell the difference between friendship and an affair. I looked at her, my chest tightening as my mind flashed back to the baby I’d lost before it even had the chance to live. The anger hit me like a spark in dry wood, burning away all reason. I raised my hand and slapped her with everything I had. The sound echoed through the room as Rose’s head snapped to the side, the mark of my hand blooming red across her cheek. Before I could take another breath, Shane shoved me hard, nearly knocking me off balance. “Have you lost your mind?” he yelled, his eyes filled with fury. I met his gaze, my voice cold and trembling with emotion. “Shane, you will never understand what we lost today.” He froze, blinking in confusion, as if he wanted to ask what I meant—but Rose cut him off. She clutched her face, glaring at me with tears in her eyes. “Claire, I’ve held back again and again because you’re Shane’s wife. But that doesn’t mean I’ll just let you humiliate me. First, you hit me. Then you spread disgusting rumors about me. What’s next? Are you going to try to kill us?” She sniffled, her voice dripping with venom. “No wonder you can’t have a baby. A woman as cruel and spiteful as you? Karma’s just paying you back.” Her words hit me like a knife to the chest. I thought of the ultrasound, the tiny flickering heartbeat on the screen. The doctor had said the baby was healthy. I thought of the evening I had planned, how I’d been so excited to tell Shane he was going to be a father. We were supposed to have dinner together that night. I’d chosen a quiet little restaurant, imagining his reaction when I told him the news. But then Rose called. She was crying, her voice trembling as she told Shane her cat was sick. She begged him to come. “It’s raining,” she’d said. “And I’ve already lost my parents. I can’t lose my cat too.” Shane didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his keys and told me, “Claire, you’re not like Rose. She lost her parents when she was just a kid. Her cat is like family to her. Dinner can wait, but Rose needs me right now.” And then he left. I stood there in the rain, stunned, heartbroken—and completely alone. Moments later, as I tried to cross the street, a delivery bike came out of nowhere. I didn’t even see it until it was too late. I was knocked to the ground, clutching my stomach in pain. The driver called for an ambulance. Shane didn’t. He was already gone. I was taken to the hospital, where they told me I’d lost the baby. And while I lay in the cold, sterile hospital bed, bleeding and broken, Rose posted a picture of Shane holding her cat, smiling at her like she was the only thing that mattered in his world. The memories hit me all at once, like a dam breaking. I snapped. Rose ducked behind Shane, clutching his arm like a scared little girl. “Shane, help me!”

Rose was always like this. She’d act weak and helpless in front of Shane, letting him fight her battles, while flashing me her smug, triumphant smile when his back was turned. It wasn’t even subtle. If Shane had cared enough to look, he would’ve seen right through her. But he never wanted to see. Rose’s boldness came from the security Shane gave her. She knew he’d always take her side. I didn’t have that. I never did. Looking at Shane now, I wasn’t angry anymore. Just… disappointed. My silence seemed to anger him even more. “What the hell is that look?” he snapped. I didn’t bother responding. I turned and grabbed my suitcase, heading for the door. As I reached the threshold, Rose’s voice rang out behind me. “Claire, you keep this up, and even the most patient man will get tired of you eventually.” She said it like a casual observation, but it was clear she was baiting Shane. And it worked. His tone grew colder. “You know what, Claire? If you walk out that door, don’t bother coming back. I’ll file for divorce myself. I’m done wasting my time with someone as impossible as you.” He thought I’d beg. He thought I’d cry and plead for him to forgive me. But he was wrong. I didn’t even look back as I walked out the door. That night, I checked into a hotel and got a call from my lawyer. The divorce papers were ready. I signed them without a second thought, handed them off to the lawyer, and booked a one-way ticket to Riverton. My family lived in Riverton. This city didn’t belong to me. It belonged to Shane and Rose. The moment my plane landed, my brother’s car was waiting to pick me up. When I arrived home, my parents were standing outside, waiting for me. The moment my mother saw me, she burst into tears and pulled me into her arms. “You’ve lost weight. It’s okay now. You’re home.” My father, usually so stoic, stood awkwardly behind her, his eyes red as he fumbled with something in his pocket. Finally, he pulled out a black card and shoved it into my hand. “Take this. Buy whatever you need. I’ll take care of you.” My brother laughed and ruffled my hair. “What were you thinking, acting like you didn’t have a home to come back to?” He wasn’t laughing for long—our parents smacked him upside the head in unison. And just like that, I felt the weight on my chest lift. This was family. No matter what mistakes I made, no matter how far I fell, they would always be there to catch me. Three days after leaving Shane, I sent him a little farewell gift. That afternoon, I was helping Mom water the flowers in the garden. Earbuds in, I listened to my best friend laughing wickedly through the phone. “You should’ve seen Shane’s face,” she cackled. “He went pale. Like, really pale. Claire, how the hell did you even come up with such a savage move? Genius!”

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The day my husband and I were supposed to finalize our divorce was also the day his first love returned to the country. On my way to the courthouse, I was in a car accident. As the paramedics rushed me to the hospital, I clung to my phone, hoping—praying—that he would call. When his name finally flashed on the screen, I answered with trembling hands. His voice came through, sharp and cold, the first words out of his mouth a scathing accusation: “Annie, what game are you playing now? You’re late.” “Miss, are you heading to the courthouse to get married?” The cab driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror, grinning as he tried to make small talk. I smiled faintly back at him. “No, I’m going there to get divorced.” The smile froze on his face, and for a moment, he looked genuinely awkward. “Oh… uh… I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to assume,” he stammered. “It’s fine,” I said gently. “Most people wouldn’t think of divorce as their first guess. It’s not your fault.” He chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head. The atmosphere in the car grew a little tense. After a few beats of silence, he spoke again, his voice hesitant. “If you don’t mind me asking… what happened? Why are you getting divorced?” His question caught me off guard. Realizing how intrusive it might’ve sounded, he quickly added, “I just mean… you’re young, beautiful. Any man would be lucky to have you. Why would anyone let it get to this point?” There was genuine curiosity in his tone, even a hint of pity. I let out a soft “oh” and decided there was no harm in telling the truth. “He’s still in love with someone else,” I said lightly. “His first love. She’s back in the country, and now that she’s here, there’s no room for me anymore.” I tried to sound unaffected, brushing it off as something trivial. But the driver fell silent, clearly unsure how to respond. He didn’t ask anything else after that, and I turned my attention to the window, letting the conversation die. A few years ago, his first love, Summer, had left the country. She’d married a wealthy man overseas, and the news had devastated Ethan. He had spiraled, a shell of himself, drowning in his heartbreak. That was when I saw my chance. I’d loved Ethan for as long as he’d loved Summer, and when she disappeared from his life, I swooped in. I was there for him when he was at his lowest, and eventually, I became the one he leaned on. It worked. Ethan and I started dating, and over time, we got engaged and then married. For a few years, Summer’s name stopped haunting our lives. Things were never passionate between us, but we coexisted peacefully, and I thought that might be enough. It wasn’t perfect, but at least it was something.

I thought we’d continue living that way indefinitely—quietly, without excitement, but also without turmoil. Then, a few weeks ago, everything changed. Summer got divorced and announced she was moving back to the country. The moment Ethan found out, it was like a switch flipped inside him. He became a man possessed. If it hadn’t been for his work commitments, I knew he would’ve been on the first flight out to see her. I watched in stunned silence as he transformed before my eyes. The man who had always been so composed and distant suddenly had the wide-eyed excitement of a teenager. He had no hesitation, no shame. Right in front of me, he picked up his phone and called her. I sat there as he asked her one question after another, his voice trembling with excitement. They made plans to meet the moment she returned. When he hung up, he turned to me, his eyes bright with an almost childlike glee. “Annie,” he said, “Summer’s coming back. Let’s get divorced.” He was so eager, so casual, as though I weren’t his wife, as though I were just some placeholder to keep him company while she was gone. Now that the woman he truly loved had returned, I was nothing more than an obstacle. I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. For the first time in years, I lost my temper. We fought. In all our time together, we’d never raised our voices at each other. But that day, I screamed, cried, and begged. By the end of it, Ethan was ice-cold. He didn’t look at me as he snapped, “Thursday. Courthouse. Don’t be late.” Then he slammed the door behind him, leaving me alone with the pieces of my broken heart. That night, I cried until I couldn’t breathe. When the tears finally stopped, regret set in. I called him over and over, desperate to take it all back, to apologize, to ask him to stay. But he didn’t answer. When I tried again the next day, I realized he had blocked me. For days, I didn’t see him. Not at home. Not anywhere. Finally, Thursday came. I hesitated for hours, debating whether or not to go. I didn’t want to divorce him. I wanted one more chance to talk to him, to convince him to stay. But the courthouse was the only place I could be sure to find him. I had no other choice.

As I sat in the back of the cab, my thoughts started spiraling, unraveling the calm façade I’d tried so hard to maintain while chatting with the driver. Why? Why had I been the one standing by Ethan all these years, and yet he still couldn’t forget Summer? My fists clenched involuntarily. The sharp sting of my nails digging into my palms was the only thing anchoring me to reality, holding together the fragile pieces of my composure. And then it happened. A truck, out of control and going the wrong way, barreled onto the road. It came out of nowhere, veering straight toward us. The driver saw it too late. There was no time to react. The collision was instant and deafening. In that split second, it felt like the world dissolved into nothingness. The noise around me faded into a distant hum, like static on a broken radio. My body felt weightless, as if it were floating in the air. Even pain seemed to disappear, leaving only an eerie, hollow silence. I didn’t know how much time passed before sensation returned, but when it did, it came back all at once. The pain hit me like a tidal wave, sharp and unrelenting, driving me to the brink of unconsciousness. Every nerve in my body felt like it was on fire. I barely registered the people around me, their voices muffled as they worked to pull me from the wreckage. They lifted me carefully and placed me on the waiting stretcher. The ambulance doors slammed shut, and as we sped toward the hospital, a faint vibration in my pocket broke through the haze of pain. My phone. It was still intact, somehow, miraculously surviving the crash. And now, it was ringing. I didn’t need to look to know who it was. Ethan. Even though I couldn’t move, I just knew. “Please,” I croaked, my voice barely audible. I turned my head toward the nurse, desperation thick in my tone. “Please, answer it for me. Please.” Something in my plea must have moved her, because after a moment of hesitation, she picked up the phone and held it to my ear. I wanted to hear his voice. I wanted to tell him I was hurt, that I needed him, that I missed him so much I could barely breathe. But before I could say anything—before I could even whisper a single word—his voice came through, cold and biting. “Annie,” he snapped, his tone laced with irritation, “what stupid stunt are you pulling now? You’re late.” 3 Tears streamed down my face, hot and uncontrollable. The pain from the crash was unbearable, but it was nothing compared to the ache his words left behind. What was I to him, really? His partner? A convenient distraction for his loneliness? No, I was less than that. I was air. Invisible, unnoticed, but always there. In the years when Summer was gone, he’d needed me—not because he cared, but because I was just there, filling the empty spaces she left behind. Now that Summer was back, I had become carbon dioxide. Something he couldn’t wait to exhale, discard, and forget. I forced out a bitter, hollow laugh, though it felt more like a gasp. “Hang up,” I said, my voice raw and cracked. The nurse looked at me, her face a mixture of pity and hesitation, but I nodded weakly. She ended the call. I had come to the courthouse not to finalize our divorce but to see him one last time. I wanted to beg him to stay, to give us another chance. But his cold indifference had shattered the fragile dream I’d been clinging to. The truth, raw and brutal, stared me in the face. Ethan did not love me. He never had. Reality hit me like a freight train. My dream of a life with him—of being his wife, of mattering to him—was nothing more than a cruel illusion. I felt the nurse’s sympathetic gaze on me, but I didn’t care. I broke down completely, sobbing uncontrollably in the back of the ambulance. The people around me whispered, their voices hushed. “Poor girl,” one of them said. “She must be in so much pain. That crash was brutal.” I wanted to laugh at the irony, but the sound wouldn’t come. The tears fell harder instead. Yes, I was in pain. But it wasn’t the crash that was killing me. No, this was a pain that went deeper than broken bones and torn skin. It was the pain of a thousand dull knives carving through my chest, ripping apart everything I thought I knew about love. Every blade stripped away another piece of my dignity, my pride, my self-worth. And yet, in its cruel, merciless way, the pain also woke me up. It forced me to see the truth I had been too blind to face. Ethan never loved me. And now, I needed to stop loving him. For the first time in years, I felt something stir deep inside me—a spark of clarity, of resolve. I would crawl out of this endless cycle of heartbreak. I would let him go. I would find myself again.

The accident was brutal, but I was lucky—just a broken left leg. When the truck tipped over and came crashing toward me, I thought I was going to die. But somehow, fate decided to spare me. As I lay in the hospital, Ethan texted me. “Why are you standing me up? You’ve ruined my chance to show up with the divorce papers and finally see Summer without guilt.” I stared at his cold, emotionless words, and surprisingly, I smiled. Once I’d made the decision to let go, these words, which would’ve shattered me before, now felt like nothing more than a breeze in passing. I looked at his name pinned at the top of my messaging app. The chat history was pristine—completely empty. He had never initiated a conversation with me, not even once. And I, well, I had learned to be “considerate.” I didn’t bother him with texts, only calling when absolutely necessary. Even then, I used to feel a strange satisfaction just seeing his name at the top of my screen whenever I opened the app. But now, things were different. Scrolling through my feed, I saw his most recent post: a nine-photo collage of a candlelit dinner. Two hands intertwined under the warm glow of the candles, their matching couple rings sparkling as though they were stars themselves. It was the kind of romance I’d never had with him. Once, I had suggested buying wedding rings for us. He had frowned and flatly refused, saying he wasn’t comfortable wearing “extraneous things.” Yet here he was, proudly wearing a couple’s ring. But I had no right to question him. No right to ask why. I glanced at the divorce papers sitting on the bedside table. Without hesitation, I signed them, sealed them in an envelope, and mailed them to Ethan. The nurse knocked softly on my door. “Miss Lane, your discharge papers are ready.” “Thank you,” I said. I had spent two weeks in the hospital. During that time, Ethan hadn’t called, hadn’t visited, hadn’t even asked where I was. I should’ve felt devastated, but instead, I felt a strange sense of relief. I packed my things and glanced at my phone one last time, still open to our empty chat. I didn’t hesitate this time. I blocked him. Before I hit “confirm,” I typed one final message: “Ethan, goodbye forever.”

Life without Ethan felt… quiet. Without him, time slowed down. He left me the house, the car, and even our joint savings—as if he wanted to make a clean break. I didn’t feel sorry for him; he still had his company, his success, and most of all, her. With Summer back in his life, why would he care about material things? Recovering from a broken leg gave me plenty of time to reflect. For years, my entire world had revolved around Ethan. Even my career was built around supporting his. I had been so consumed by him that I forgot I was once an ambitious, top-tier graduate with dreams of my own. As my leg healed, I began sending out résumés, determined to start over. By the time fall rolled around, I was ready to move forward. One crisp autumn afternoon, as I lounged in my rocking chair by the window enjoying the golden sunlight, I received an email. It was an invitation from Simon Crane. Simon Crane—Ethan’s biggest business rival. Over the years, I’d crossed paths with Simon countless times while working alongside Ethan. He was sharp, disciplined, and utterly relentless—a man who seemed more like a machine than a person. I couldn’t imagine him wasting time mocking me, but still, I hesitated. After three minutes of deliberation, I replied, accepting his offer. When Simon arrived to pick me up, his reaction to my slight limp was immediate. His sharp eyes widened in surprise. “It’s been a few months, Annie, and now you’re… disabled?” “Just some lingering effects of a broken leg,” I said casually, brushing it off with a smile. “Shouldn’t you be doubling my salary now that I qualify as a disabled hire?” He smirked. “You’ve got a good attitude.” “I’ll take that as a compliment,” I replied smoothly. “It was.” His gaze caught the autumn sunlight, his dark eyes glinting like polished obsidian. I studied him for a moment. The sharp features, broad shoulders, and tapered waist—he was the very definition of unfairly attractive. It was no wonder women fell for him in droves. “Now I see why so many women practically throw themselves at you,” I teased with a grin. Simon raised a brow as he helped me up the steps. “And yet, you’re not one of them?” I chuckled, accepting his assistance. My leg still gave me trouble, and climbing stairs was a challenge. “Let’s be honest, Simon. How many times have we gone head-to-head over business deals? I’ve spent years wanting to tear you apart.” He laughed—a rare, genuine sound. “Fair enough.” When we reached the top, I turned to face him, my expression serious. “Why did you send me that invitation?” I asked. “Be honest.” He didn’t look like he was here to gloat or mock me. But still, I couldn’t shake the suspicion that he had ulterior motives. Did he know about my divorce? Was he planning to use me to get under Ethan’s skin? To my surprise, Simon’s answer was simple and sincere. “Annie, you’re a talented woman,” he said, his tone steady. “I respect your abilities. That’s why I invited you.” His words caught me off guard. Before I married Ethan, I had dreamed of building something of my own—a business, a legacy. But those dreams had been buried the moment I saw an opportunity to win Ethan’s love. I had thrown myself into his world, willingly becoming the woman behind the man, sacrificing my ambitions for his. Now, standing in front of Simon, I felt something stir deep inside me. It was time to stop living for someone else. It was time to stand on my own again. “Alright,” I said, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Let’s get to work.”

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To retrieve her engagement ring from her first love, my wife sent our five-year-old daughter into an old, abandoned house rumored to be haunted. Inside, our daughter was terrified by the bloodstains on the walls. Panicked, she lost her footing and fell down the stairs. A rusted metal rod pierced straight through her small body. When I found her, she was already gone. Her tiny hand clutched the ring tightly, refusing to let go even in death. I collapsed beside her lifeless body, sobbing uncontrollably as I held her close. Desperate and shattered, I dialed my wife’s number over and over. When she finally answered, her voice was impatient and cold. “Stop calling me!” she snapped. “David’s daughter is about to undergo her heart transplant surgery. Don’t mess this up!” Her words hit me like a sledgehammer. I stared at my daughter’s pale face, my heart breaking into pieces. In that moment, something inside me died. I hung up on my wife and dialed a different number. “Hello. This is Emily’s father,” I said, my voice trembling with rage and grief. “I’m calling about the heart donation.” “I’m sorry, but we’ve decided not to proceed with it.” If you took my daughter from me, you don’t deserve her heart.

For an entire day, my wife’s phone was turned off. She didn’t come to see our daughter. Instead, she sent a delivery driver to pick up the engagement ring that Emily had been clutching in her tiny hand as she died. My wife said the ring was something she’d given her first love, David Lee, back in the day—a symbol of their youthful romance. It was important to her, she claimed. Too important to be lost. The hospital nurse looked at me with a mixture of pity and anger. “How could such a young child be sent alone into an abandoned house to fetch something? That place hasn’t been lived in for years, and there was a recent death there. What kind of parent does that?” “I heard she was already born with a weak heart. How could anyone think it was okay to send her to a place like that?” “That poor little girl… I hope her next life is kinder, without parents like this.” They were right. I hated myself more than anyone else ever could. I’d always known my wife didn’t care about Emily’s health. So why had I let her take Emily that day?
I sat alone in the living room all night, my mind a storm of grief and regret. By the time the sun rose, my wife finally came home. “Sign this,” I said, pushing the divorce papers across the table. She frowned, clearly annoyed. “What’s gotten into you now? Are you losing it?” “Is this about me not answering your calls? You’re being ridiculous,” she said, rolling her eyes. “David’s daughter is about to have surgery. As his friend, of course I had to be there for him. Don’t start acting like a child, Noah. I’m warning you—don’t push your luck.” The faint smell of hospital disinfectant clung to her clothes, the same sterile scent that filled the air when Emily was taken into the emergency room. But back then, my wife wasn’t by Emily’s side. She was off comforting someone else’s child. I let out a bitter laugh, my face twisted with disgust. “Comforting him all night? The surgery hasn’t even started, and you’re already playing the role of a grieving parent? What’s next—holding his hand when it fails?” Before I could say more, my wife slapped me hard across the face. “Noah, let me tell you something,” she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. “The only reason I’ve tolerated you all this time is because we had a daughter together. But if you keep running your mouth, I’ll throw you out of this house myself!” Daughter? She dared to bring up our daughter? The memory of Emily’s pale, pain-stricken face flashed in my mind, and my chest tightened with unbearable grief. “Monica,” I said through clenched teeth, “how dare you even mention Emily? She was only five years old. How could you send her to that abandoned house alone? That place had been empty for years. Someone had just died there! Do you even know—” “Oh, here we go again,” Monica interrupted, rubbing her temples as if I were giving her a headache. “David is an adventure blogger, and the ring got lost there during one of his shoots. What was I supposed to do? Emily was perfectly capable of fetching it. It’s not like it killed her!” Her words made my blood run cold. “Besides,” she continued, “there weren’t any ghosts in that house. I sent her there to toughen her up. It was for her own good.” “Look at David’s daughter. She’s so brave, facing surgery like it’s nothing. And now look at Emily. She couldn’t even handle a simple errand without whining to you about it.” Monica’s tone grew sharper, each word cutting deeper than the last. “And don’t blame me for liking Sophie more than Emily. Let’s be honest—Sophie’s cheerful and outgoing. She’s a joy to be around, unlike Emily, who was always so quiet and dull.” “She was useless, Noah. She couldn’t even find a ring without making it into a big deal. If Sophie’s surgery fails because of that, I’ll make sure Emily apologizes for it—even if I have to drag her to the hospital to kneel outside Sophie’s room!” Her words were knives, slicing me to pieces. I had been a fool. I’d clung to the hope that Monica might feel even a shred of guilt after Emily’s death. But now I saw the truth: Emily’s life had meant nothing to her. All she cared about was David. His feelings. His daughter’s surgery. She didn’t deserve to know what had happened to Emily. If I told her, she wouldn’t mourn. She’d only accuse me and Emily of plotting to ruin her life. “Enough of this,” Monica said, tossing a battered Barbie doll onto the couch. “This is for Emily. Tell her to come out of her room and thank Sophie for the gift.” I stared at the doll, my heart sinking. Emily had always wanted an Elsa doll from Frozen. I’d lost count of how many times she’d begged for one, only for Monica to brush her off with excuses. And now, Monica had brought home this broken, secondhand Barbie—its paint chipped, one arm missing. It wasn’t even Elsa. It was Sophie’s cast-off. The irony was suffocating. Monica, an executive at a prestigious company, couldn’t even buy her own daughter a new toy. Instead, she expected Emily to play with Sophie’s rejects. Ever since David came into our lives, Monica had hurt me in ways I thought I could no longer feel. But when it came to Emily, I couldn’t stop the tears from welling up. “Monica,” I said, my voice trembling with rage, “if you love Sophie so much, why don’t you go be her mother? We’re done. I want a divorce.” Monica grabbed a pillow and threw it at me. “Are you out of your mind, Noah?” she snapped. “I’ve been supporting this family for years while you sat at home playing house. You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you out!” “And now you want a divorce because I said a few things about Emily? Let me tell you something—Emily turned out the way she did because of you. You made her weak.” She opened her mouth to say more, but her phone rang, cutting her off. When she saw the caller ID, her expression softened immediately. “Oh, Sophie, don’t worry, sweetheart. Auntie’s coming right now.” Her voice was warm and tender, full of concern. But when she turned to me, her face hardened again. “Fine. You want a divorce? Do whatever you want.” She grabbed her coat and stormed out, slamming the door behind her. To her, I was just a lovesick fool. She probably thought I’d come crawling back as soon as she tossed me a few kind words. Once, I might have. I’d stayed silent, endured everything, just to give Emily a complete family. But my silence had cost my daughter her life. I wanted to leave this house, this city, this grief behind. But then I thought—why should I go? If anyone should leave, it was Monica and David Lee. So, I changed the locks that same night. If she wanted to be Sophie’s mother so badly, then she could stay with Sophie forever. But she wouldn’t be coming back here. Not to this house. Not to me.

Monica and I fell in love in college. At the time, she was drowning in $30,000 of debt left behind by her parents after their sudden deaths in a car crash. Each day, she survived on boiled cabbage in a run-down apartment, hiding from creditors. I gave her every penny of my scholarship money and part-time job earnings. For three years, we worked together to pay off the debt. After graduation, we both landed jobs at a prestigious company thanks to our stellar academic performance. A year into our careers, I bought an engagement ring, decorated a small apartment we could call home, and proposed to her. Monica was overcome with emotion, crying as she said yes. Not long after we got married, she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Monica was so excited to name the baby that she spent hours flipping through name dictionaries. She would curl up in my arms at night, softly reciting the names she’d picked out to the baby in her belly. I teased her for being overly sentimental, but she just smiled and said, “This is only the beginning. One day, I’ll read bedtime stories to her every night. Fairy tales, adventures, and the story of how we fell in love.” After our daughter was born, the company downsized. To support Monica’s ambitions, I quit my job and became a stay-at-home dad, taking care of Emily full-time. Every evening, Monica would come home with a small gift for me or Emily. Our life was simple, but it was warm and full of love. Back then, I truly believed this happiness would last forever. But then David came back into her life. I’d known about David even before we got married. He wasn’t just Monica’s first love—he was her “one that got away.” One night, I heard her mumbling his name in her sleep. I’d heard the story before. They grew up as childhood sweethearts and were even engaged at one point. But after Monica’s parents passed and she was left with their debt, David broke it off and moved with his family to another city. At our wedding, Monica had tears in her eyes as she thanked me. “Thank you, Noah, for giving me a home again.” I held her tightly, thinking only of the pain she’d endured and the strength it had given her. I never realized she was still carrying the weight of her past—David included. The first time I met David was at the hospital. It was pouring rain. He was kneeling in the lobby with a little girl by his side, begging the doctors to save her life. Monica froze when she heard his voice. She turned toward him instinctively, and the moment their eyes met, I saw the panic on her face. She hesitated, visibly flustered, before whispering to me that we should let him have our appointment slot because “the child looked so pitiful.” David’s daughter, Sophie, had a congenital heart defect and needed a transplant to survive. But finding a donor wasn’t easy, so they were relying on medication to keep her alive for as long as possible. After that, Monica started visiting the hospital more frequently, and her relationship with David and Sophie grew closer. Meanwhile, the time she spent with me and Emily dwindled. She would talk endlessly about “Sophie,” comparing her to Emily, and the warm smiles she once gave us became rare. I thought that once Sophie’s situation stabilized, Monica would come to her senses and resume her role as a mother. But I was naive. It took losing Emily for me to realize how wrong I was. Monica and I had been together for nine years. Nine years, reduced to a single sheet of divorce papers. When I signed the organ donation consent form for Emily, my hands were trembling. Organ donation has to happen quickly. Emily was always kind and selfless. Two years ago, she’d seen a news report about donors and told me that if she ever passed away, she wanted to help others in need. This was her wish, and I honored it. But as I watched her tiny, lifeless body lying there, my heart felt like it was being torn apart. “Emily, are you frowning because your stomach still hurts?” I whispered, tears streaming down my face. “Sleep peacefully now, my sweet girl. Daddy will make sure the people who hurt you pay for what they’ve done.” After the organs were harvested, the hospital prepared Emily’s body for cremation. Not long after Monica left, I received a call from the hospital. It was the director. “Noah, we understand this is an incredibly difficult time, but there’s something we need to discuss. Emily’s heart… it’s already been removed.” “I don’t care,” I said coldly. “We’re not donating it.” There was a long pause before he hesitantly replied, “Sir, the transplant was scheduled for today. The patient—” “Is her name Sophie Lee?” I interrupted, my voice ice cold. “I’m sorry, but we can’t disclose patient information. Please reconsider—” I hung up. Later that day, I sat in Emily’s room, holding her ashes in my lap. “Look, Emily,” I whispered, forcing a smile as I held up an Elsa doll I’d just bought. “Daddy finally got you the one you wanted.” The sunlight streamed through the window, but every step I took on the way home felt like walking on broken glass. The pain was unbearable. And it only got worse when I reached my house and heard Monica screaming outside. “That bastard Noah changed the locks! David, don’t worry—I’ll handle this. I’ll make him pay!” David sighed theatrically. “Let it go, Monica. I’m sure Emily didn’t mean any harm.” He looked every bit the victim, his face etched with false sorrow. Monica’s anger flared even higher. She turned to the building security guard and shouted, “Break the lock!” “What are you doing?” I demanded as I approached. Monica spotted me and stormed over, grabbing my collar. “Where did Emily hide it?” she snarled. “That little thief stole Sophie’s Elsa doll! What a disgrace of a child!” I froze, disbelief washing over me. My wife didn’t know that Emily was gone… and here she was, accusing her of theft. “I’ve given her everything—how dare she steal from Sophie! Do you know Sophie is so upset about this that she doesn’t even want to go through with her surgery?” “She’s evil! How could a child be so malicious at such a young age?” “Stop, Monica,” David said gently, tugging at her sleeve. “She’s just a kid. We’ll find the doll and move on.” I couldn’t hold back a bitter laugh. Sophie’s surgery was delayed because they couldn’t find a donor, yet Monica had the audacity to blame my daughter. “Do you have any proof?” I asked coldly. “If you’re so confident, why not check the security cameras?” David paled, his fake righteousness faltering as he stammered, “There’s no need for that. Let’s just drop it.” Monica patted his hand reassuringly, then turned to glare at me. “Sophie told us herself,” she said. “And Sophie doesn’t lie.” I stared at her, my heart growing colder with every word. Monica didn’t even need evidence. She was willing to condemn her own daughter based purely on the word of someone else’s child.

“Today, I’m here, and no one—no one—will slander my daughter!” I clutched the urn tightly to my chest, my hands trembling. David’s eyes narrowed as he noticed my protective grip and the faint outline of the Elsa doll taped to the urn. His gaze locked onto it, and a triumphant grin spread across his face. “Monica, look! That’s the doll!” he shouted. Monica’s expression shifted to one of smug satisfaction. Her voice was icy as she declared, “Caught red-handed. And you still want to deny it?” With that, she lunged forward, reaching for the urn. Instinctively, I pulled it closer to me, cradling it as if it were my daughter herself. To them, though, this act of desperation only made me look more guilty. Monica let out a derisive snort and, with David’s help, grabbed at my hands, prying my fingers away from the urn. “Stop it! Don’t touch it!” I shouted, trying desperately to hold on. But against their combined strength, I couldn’t win. With a loud crash, the urn fell to the ground, shattering on impact. Ashes scattered everywhere. I dropped to my knees, frantic and heartbroken, trying to gather what was left. “Ugh! What the hell is this? It’s so disgusting!” David recoiled, covering his nose in exaggerated disgust. Monica turned to me, her face twisted in anger and disbelief. “Noah Carter, are you insane? What is this mess? Did you plan this because you knew David is allergic to dust? Were you trying to sabotage him?” She waved at the security guards. “Get rid of this filth. Flush it down the toilet!” Her voice became background noise as I ignored her, crawling on the floor like a man possessed, trying to scoop up my daughter’s ashes with trembling hands. “Stop! Don’t touch her!” I screamed, my voice ragged and desperate. The guards, perhaps fearing I’d cause a scene, restrained me, pinning my shoulders to the ground. I thrashed against their hold, but I was powerless to stop them. I could only watch helplessly as they swept up Emily’s ashes like trash, preparing to dispose of them. I failed you, Emily. I couldn’t protect you while you were alive, and now, I can’t even shield you in death. The pain was too much to bear. My chest tightened, and blood surged up my throat. With a wrenching cough, I spat it out, staining the floor red. “Noah!” Monica’s voice broke into a shriek as she stepped back in alarm. She waved frantically at the guards to release me. I barely registered her panic. Weak and trembling, I crawled toward the scattered ashes, my body too broken to stand. David watched me with a sneer, his lips curling as if he were about to say something cruel. But before he could, his phone rang. He answered with his usual air of confidence, but his face fell almost immediately. The voice on the other end was loud enough for me to hear: “Mr. Lee, I’m sorry to inform you that the heart transplant surgery for Sophie has been canceled. The donor’s family has withdrawn their consent.” “What?!” David shouted, his voice tight with panic. The hospital director’s voice was grim. “The donor’s condition was a perfect match, but the family changed their mind at the last minute. Sophie’s condition is critical—if we delay any longer, her chances of survival will drop significantly.”

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After years of helping the company prepare for its IPO, my girlfriend—finally ready to go public about our relationship—was about to make the announcement. But before she could, her ever-smug assistant, who’s never liked me, beat her to it. Stepping onto the stage, he wrapped his arm around her waist, a triumphant smirk on his face. “Didn’t you say we’d wait a few more years? Couldn’t hold out even for that long, huh?” he said, his tone thick with mockery. My girlfriend didn’t bother explaining. Instead, she handed him a document—the transfer of shares agreement—and announced to the room that he was the company’s newest shareholder. The crowd erupted in shock, with murmurs and whispers spreading like wildfire. The assistant, clearly basking in the attention, turned his smugness toward me, throwing out thinly veiled jabs. And my girlfriend? She didn’t stop him. In fact, her tone was cold as ice when she added: “You’ve done a lot for the company, but his talent is what we need to ensure a brighter future.” I didn’t flinch. I didn’t argue. Instead, I smiled, nodded, and graciously handed over my remaining shares to the assistant as well. “Let’s see,” I thought to myself, “how far they can take this company without its biggest investor.” And with that, I walked away.

When Emily announced on stage that Ryan had become the company’s newest shareholder, the room erupted in thunderous applause. I stood there frozen, my mind foggy from too many late nights of overtime. For a moment, I thought I had misheard her. “Look at Jake’s face—it’s priceless!””He’s been with the CEO for years and only got 2% of the shares. Ryan’s barely been here and snagged 20% just like that.””Jake’s always nitpicking Ryan’s work, but now? He looks like a total clown.” The crowd wasn’t even trying to be subtle with their laughter, making sure I could hear every word. They weren’t mocking me for fun—they were trying to curry favor with Ryan. And Emily? She didn’t even bother stopping them. Ryan shot me a smug grin, his voice dripping with fake innocence as he said, “Jake, no applause from you? Don’t tell me you’re upset about me getting shares.” He paused, a theatrical pout forming on his lips. “I mean, if we’re talking seniority, I guess you should’ve gotten them instead.” With that, he lazily extended the contract toward me, like he was handing me a consolation prize. But before I could react, Emily snatched the papers away and pushed them back into his hands with a playful yet firm gesture. “Ryan, you’re too kind,” she said with a soft laugh. “But the company values talent, not tenure.” Then, her gaze turned cold as it landed on me. “And you, Jake, don’t you dare make a scene. Let’s not forget the massive mistake you made last quarter, costing the company millions. The fact that I didn’t fire you outright was already generous. What right do you have to expect shares?” The two of them were perfectly in sync, like actors in a well-rehearsed play. I couldn’t help but find it amusing. That “mistake” she mentioned? It was Ryan’s fault. He panicked when things went south and pinned the blame on me. I’d tried to present evidence and explain the truth to Emily, but she didn’t believe me. She never did. I’d grown used to it by now. Over the years, Ryan had shown little talent but had poured all his energy into undermining me. Fresh out of college, he knew how to charm people with his words. He’d won over most of our colleagues, and even Emily thought he was harmless and honest. So, every time Ryan and I clashed, Emily always assumed I was at fault. And because of that, my coworkers had grown increasingly disrespectful toward me. Ryan’s voice interrupted my thoughts, still dripping with mock humility. “But I’m just worried Jake might feel bad.” As he spoke, he leaned closer to Emily, his head almost resting on her shoulder in an uncomfortably intimate gesture. Emily didn’t push him away. Instead, she shot me a sharp look. “Jake, wipe that sour look off your face!” she snapped. “I thought long and hard about this decision. Stop sulking and ruining everyone’s mood. If you can’t handle it, maybe you should just leave!” The room erupted in agreement, voices chiming in to back her up. I knew Emily was just venting her frustration, but I couldn’t help but laugh. The investors? I had brought them in after countless sleepless nights. The proposals? I had rewritten them over and over again. The IPO? It had only succeeded because of my efforts. And now, with the company finally going public, they wanted to cut me out entirely? They thought a few harsh words could erase all my hard work? I grabbed my bag and strode toward the stage. Ryan, clearly nervous, shrank behind Emily, his eyes wide with fear. Emily immediately stepped in front of him, shielding him like a mother bear protecting her cub. “Jake, what do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, her voice sharp with warning. I pulled a document from my bag and held it out to her. “I just think,” I said calmly, “that Ryan’s worked so hard, the shares you’ve given him aren’t enough.” I smiled faintly. “Take mine too. Let’s hope he can keep up the momentum.” Ryan’s eyes lit up as he stared at the document, practically salivating at the thought of owning more shares. Emily, however, looked at me with suspicion, her expression unreadable. The room fell silent as everyone tried to process what I had just done. They all knew how much I had sacrificed for the company. I’d been there since day one, building it from the ground up. I’d handled everything—from securing investments to juggling the smallest of tasks. Now that the IPO was a success, my shares were worth millions. Everyone had assumed I’d use this opportunity to negotiate for more. No one could have imagined I’d simply give them away. What they didn’t know was that Emily wasn’t just my boss—she was my fiancée. For years, she had insisted we keep our relationship a secret to avoid workplace gossip. But when Ryan showed up, I started to worry. I begged her to acknowledge our relationship, and after much pleading, she finally agreed to announce it on the day of the IPO. Last night, I was so excited I couldn’t even sleep. But when the moment came, Ryan stepped onto the stage first, wrapping his arm around her waist. And Emily… she didn’t stop him. She didn’t even seem uncomfortable. Everyone assumed they were a couple, and Emily didn’t bother correcting them. It wasn’t that she didn’t want our relationship to go public. She just didn’t want this relationship to go public. She remained silent, and I didn’t say another word. I turned and walked away. I had barely made it a few steps when I felt a warm hand grab my wrist. I turned, surprised to see that it was Emily. She had never stopped me before. She always let me leave, knowing I’d inevitably come back to apologize. But this time was different. She pressed her lips together and said, “Jake, you’re too impulsive. Ryan is calm and collected—everything you’re not.” “I didn’t want to cut you out, but after today, I don’t have a choice. These shares need to go to someone who can handle them responsibly.” I couldn’t help but laugh. This wasn’t about my “impulsiveness.” She was just trying to justify giving my shares to Ryan. In the past, I might’ve argued with her. But now, I just felt… nothing. “Okay,” I said simply. Emily blinked, clearly expecting me to put up more of a fight. Before she could say anything else, one of our coworkers called for a champagne toast. Emily shot me one last glance before turning away, the contract in her hand. I watched her walk toward Ryan, then turned and left the banquet hall. Outside, I pulled out my phone and made a call. “Dad,” I said, my voice steady. “You were right. I’m ready to come back and take over the family business.”

My dad owns over a hundred companies and regularly ranks in the top twenty on Forbes. I’m the textbook definition of a trust fund kid. But when I first met Emily, I vividly remember her telling me about how, as a child, her father had been killed in a hit-and-run by some spoiled rich kid. The driver, protected by his family’s wealth and influence, avoided any real punishment and was out of jail within days. Ever since then, Emily has harbored a deep hatred for the wealthy. So, to be with her, I hid my background. I turned down every opportunity my family offered me, moved to a small city with her, and poured my entire savings into helping her start her business. Until yesterday, I naively believed that Emily and I had finally made it, that all our sacrifices had been worth it. But now, I realize just how badly I’ve lost. After hanging up the phone, I returned to the small apartment Emily and I shared. The room was decorated beautifully—warm and romantic. Heart-shaped candles lined the floor, and in the center was a bouquet of vibrant blue roses. Nestled within the roses was an elegant diamond ring. Beside it, there was the deed to a luxury house—the one I’d planned to surprise Emily with. I had imagined her reaction so many times, picturing the joy and love in her eyes. But now, none of that mattered. Emily would never even see it. I grabbed everything—the ring, the flowers, the deed—and tossed it all into the trash. Then, I booked a flight for the next evening. I needed one day to wrap up my work and hand everything over. “Ding.” My phone buzzed with a notification. It was a video from Ryan. In the clip, Ryan was carrying Emily bridal-style, her face flushed as she clung tightly to his neck, burying her face in his chest. They looked every bit the perfect couple. Around them, coworkers cheered and clapped, shouting for them to kiss. The video disappeared seconds later, deleted. Then, a message popped up. “Oops, sorry, sent that by mistake.” Of course, I didn’t believe him. Ryan had always been deliberate with his moves. This was just another one of his games. Over the past few years, he’d pulled stunts like this countless times. Normally, I’d lose my temper, confront Emily, and end up being scolded by her. “Can you stop being so sensitive? Maybe focus more on work instead of this nonsense?” At first, I thought I was overthinking it. But one time, when Emily was sick and half-delirious, she called out Ryan’s name. That’s when I realized her heart was no longer with me. This time, I didn’t feel anything. I simply blocked Ryan without hesitation and deleted his contact. Not long after, my phone rang. It was Emily. “Jake, did you block Ryan?” she demanded the moment I picked up, her tone icy and accusatory. She didn’t care what Ryan had done—only that I had blocked him. “I did,” I replied flatly. “What’s wrong with you? He’s your coworker! How is he supposed to do his job now? He thinks he must have done something wrong and has been blaming himself, crying nonstop. Add him back and apologize!” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you even know what he sent me?” There was silence on the other end, probably as she checked with Ryan. A few seconds later, she replied dismissively, “So what if he sent the wrong picture? It’s not a big deal.” Of course. When it came to Ryan, nothing was ever a big deal. I let out a cold laugh. “You’re right, it’s no big deal. Just like when he ‘accidentally’ sent the wrong pricing sheet to a client, and we lost millions because of it.” That incident had been catastrophic. Ryan had sent our bottom-line pricing to a partner, leading to multiple contract cancellations and negotiations. A week’s worth of hard work—and over a million dollars—went up in flames. Emily hadn’t cared then, either. The line went quiet for a moment. Clearly, she remembered the incident. Then I heard Ryan’s voice in the background, soft and hoarse. “Emily, Jake’s probably just upset about the shares you gave me today. I should apologize to him.” Emily’s tone immediately softened. “No need, Ryan. It wasn’t your fault. Let him cool off on his own.” And with that, she hung up. It was always like this. Whenever we argued, Emily would use the excuse that I needed to “calm down” to spend more time with Ryan instead. But this time, I didn’t feel angry. I calmly drafted my resignation letter and sent it to HR. 3The moment I hit send on the resignation email, I felt a wave of relief wash over me, as if a heavy weight had been lifted. Around 2 a.m., I was deep asleep when my phone buzzed with another call from Emily. “Pick me up. I’m still at the hotel from earlier,” she said. I could hear the lively background noise on her end—probably another one of her work events. Normally, I’d have jumped out of bed, thrown on some clothes, and rushed over to get her. But this time, I simply yawned, my voice calm and lazy. “Call a rideshare,” I said. “There are plenty around that area.” Emily paused, her tone shifting to suspicion. “Are you asleep?” “Yeah,” I replied, nonchalant. In the past, whenever Emily went out for work or networking, I’d stay up worrying about her safety, unable to sleep until she was home. But tonight, I slept like a baby. Even her call felt like an unwelcome disruption to my rest. She didn’t argue further. About half an hour later, she came home. I had just stepped out of the bathroom when we locked eyes in the hallway. “You’re up,” she said softly. “Make me some noodles. I’m starving.” Her tone was gentle, almost coaxing. I knew this was her way of extending an olive branch, trying to smooth things over. Whenever we fought, she’d lean into her vulnerability to reopen communication and bridge the gap. But that only worked because I loved her. Now that love was gone, ground down to nothing, and all I felt was irritation. “Cook for yourself,” I said flatly. “Or order something if you don’t know how.” I turned and headed toward the bedroom, but Emily stepped in front of me, blocking the door. That’s when I caught the faint scent of Ryan’s cologne lingering on her. “Jake, are you seriously still upset?” she asked, her tone a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “I’ve already explained this to you—everything I’m doing is for the company. Just because we’ve gone public doesn’t mean we can relax. If anything, now’s the time to focus even harder.” “Ryan may not be the most capable,” she continued, “but he’s got connections, he’s great at networking, and his family owns businesses we might collaborate with in the future. Giving him shares wasn’t about favoritism—it was about what’s best for the company.” I hadn’t expected her to justify herself like this. But it didn’t matter. Whether she believed her own excuses or not, I didn’t. “Mm-hmm,” I replied dismissively and walked into the bedroom, shutting the door behind me. Emily must’ve been stunned because she stood outside for a moment before angrily kicking the door. “Fine! Act like this all you want, Jake! But don’t come crying to me later when you regret it!” The next morning, I came out of the bedroom to find Emily sitting on the couch, meticulously ironing a brand-new suit. When she saw me, she immediately jumped up, holding the suit out toward me. “Here, try this on,” she said cheerfully, practically shoving it into my hands. I recognized it instantly—it was a limited-edition Chanel suit. Not only was it outrageously expensive, but it was also notoriously hard to get. Social media was full of posts about how it was the perfect gift for a boyfriend. I’d even hinted to Emily once that I thought it looked amazing. After changing into the suit, I stepped out of the bedroom, feeling an unexpected tightness in my throat. I was about to say something, but Emily spoke first, her tone light and teasing. “You and Ryan are about the same size. It fits you perfectly, so it should look just as good on him.” She smiled as she reached out to carefully take the jacket off me. “Be careful not to wrinkle it,” she added. “I spent so much time getting it just right.” Then, she folded the suit back into its gift box, looking pleased with herself, and headed out the door with it. I knew she was doing this on purpose, punishing me for yesterday. But instead of feeling angry, all I felt was a sense of detachment. It was childish, after all. Later that morning, I got a call and made my way to the office to finalize my resignation. The moment I stepped into the building, I spotted Ryan sitting on my desk, surrounded by coworkers fawning over him like he was the star of the show. One of them walked up to me with a smug grin. “Jake, go grab some coffee for everyone.” “Why?” I asked, checking my watch. I wasn’t late. The coworker grinned wider. “Emily said whoever gets to the office last has to buy everyone coffee. And guess what? You’re the last one here.” “Don’t worry about it,” Ryan cut in, standing up and adjusting the suit jacket he was wearing—the same one Emily had taken that morning. “I wouldn’t want Jake running errands for everyone,” he said, his voice loud enough for the whole room to hear. “I’ll go instead.” Of course, he made no move to leave. Right on cue, Emily walked out of her office. Her eyes flicked to Ryan’s suit, and for a split second, her expression faltered before she quickly recovered. She stepped forward, straightening his collar with a smile. “I knew it would look great on you,” she said warmly. The others erupted into cheers and laughter. Emily’s face flushed slightly as she glanced at me, clearly checking to see if I’d react with jealousy or anger. But I didn’t. My heart was like a still lake—calm, empty, and unaffected. Emily didn’t seem satisfied with my lack of response. Her tone turned cold as she said, “I already told everyone—whoever got here last needs to buy coffee. If you’re not going to cooperate, why are you even here?” A coworker pointed at me. “Jake was the last one in.” Emily smirked. “Go on, then. And if you don’t, I’ll fire you.” Apparently, she hadn’t seen my resignation email yet. I didn’t bother hiding it anymore. “I’m not here to work,” I said calmly. “I’m here to resign.” 4 The room fell silent. Some of my coworkers, the ones who still got along with me, couldn’t help but lean in and whisper. “Jake, are you sure about this? The boss just announced raises for everyone. Quitting now would be a terrible move.” “Yeah, didn’t you hear her tone? She was just joking earlier.” I stayed calm, my voice steady. “I’m not joking. I already submitted my resignation to HR yesterday.” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flicker of excitement in Ryan’s expression. He opened his mouth, ready to say something, but when he saw Emily’s unreadable gaze, he swallowed his words and stayed quiet. Emily frowned, her eyes narrowing as she looked at me. “Do you even realize what you’re doing? Do you understand how much you’re giving up by walking away from this company right now?” Of course, I knew. I was giving up stress, manipulation, and the invisible chains that had kept me tied here for far too long. Ryan, ever the opportunist, put on his usual wounded act. “Jake, I get it. You’re still upset with me, right?” He sighed dramatically. “Maybe I should just leave instead. After all, you and Emily have worked together for so many years. It’d be a shame for you to go now.” As he spoke, he started heading for the door, glancing at Emily out of the corner of his eye, clearly waiting for her to stop him. I almost laughed out loud at how obvious he was. Sure enough, Emily fell for it—or pretended to. She grabbed his arm, her voice soft and affectionate. “This has nothing to do with you, Ryan. No one’s asking you to leave.” Ryan’s face lit up with smug satisfaction. Still, he wasn’t done with his performance. He sighed again, shaking his head as though he were making a huge sacrifice. “But Jake’s been with the company for so long. I’ll try to talk some sense into him.” He walked up to me, putting on a show for the audience. “Jake, come on,” he said, his voice dripping with fake sincerity. “Think it over. We’d all hate to see you go. Honestly, we’ve always thought of you as a good friend.” As he spoke, he patted my shoulder—harder than necessary. And then, when no one else was watching, he pinched me. Hard. The sharp pain shot through my shoulder. Without thinking, I kicked him square in the chest. Ryan fell to the ground, clutching his chest and gasping for air. Emily rushed over, kneeling beside him, her face full of concern and panic. I couldn’t help but think back to the time I’d worked so hard to close a deal that I drank myself into the hospital with stomach bleeding. She hadn’t cared half as much then. Emily shot to her feet, her face twisted with anger. She slapped me across the face. “Are you insane, Jake?” she yelled. “Ryan was just trying to help you, and you attacked him? What kind of person bullies their coworker like this?” At that moment, HR walked into the room, clearly on their way to discuss my resignation. Before they could even speak, Emily snapped, “Process his paperwork and get him out of here. Now.” She signed off on my resignation without hesitation, but she wasn’t done. As if to rub salt in the wound, she added, “This company is making hundreds of thousands in profits every day. Only an idiot would leave now.” Then she turned to Ryan, her tone softening again. “Don’t worry, Ryan. In a few months, you’ll have everything you’ve ever wanted—houses, cars, anything. I’ll make sure of it.” The other coworkers chimed in, their excitement palpable. “Emily’s the best!” “Next month, whoever hits the top sales goals, I’ll buy them a house,” Emily declared confidently. Ryan’s eyes sparkled with greed, and the others cheered louder. Emily’s arrogance grew as she basked in their praise. “And as for certain people,” she said, casting a cold glance my way, “who think they can bully their coworkers and refuse to follow orders—I’ll make sure no company ever hires them again.” The room erupted into laughter and insults aimed at me, their voices growing more frenzied by the second. For a moment, I hesitated. Should I say something? Should I tell them what I knew? That morning, my dad had called to let me know something interesting. Turns out, the biggest investor in Emily’s company for the past two years was… him. When he heard I was planning to quit and return home to take over the family business, he decided to run a full background check on her company. The results weren’t good. He’d already decided to pull the investment, citing breach of contract. Not only that, but he was planning to sue for triple damages. I knew exactly how much weight my dad’s company carried in her investment portfolio. Once he pulled out, forget about buying houses and cars—keeping the company afloat for another month would be a miracle. I opened my mouth to say something but stopped. Emily mistook my silence for regret. She rolled her eyes and sneered. “Well? If you apologize to Ryan now, there’s still time to fix this.” “Otherwise—” Before she could finish, someone burst into the room. It was the head of finance, their face pale and anxious. “Emily, we’ve got a problem,” they said quickly. “Our biggest investor just sent a notice. They found serious discrepancies in our financial records and suspect fraud. Not only are they pulling out, but they’re also suing us for triple damages!” VIP part

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Everyone knew that Lucas Ryan only married me out of spite because he couldn’t have the one he truly loved. For five years of marriage, he was the perfect husband in public—a renowned cardiologist adored by many.But behind closed doors, he was cold, distant, and had asked for a divorce more times than I could count. Then his first love, Evelyn Snow, returned to the country due to illness. Lucas devoted himself to her care, never leaving her side. He even warned me repeatedly:“Eve’s heart condition is delicate. If you dare show up and stress her out, we’re done for good.” Finally, during his hundredth demand for a divorce, I agreed. What Lucas didn’t know, however, was that I was already carrying his child. On the way to the courthouse to finalize the divorce, I was in a car accident. Both my life and my unborn child’s were lost in an instant. Lucas didn’t get the divorce papers that day, but he did get the news that Evelyn had found a perfect heart donor match. Excited, he rushed back to the hospital and performed the surgery himself, taking the heart from my lifeless body and placing it into hers. It wasn’t until later that he remembered our divorce—but by then, my phone would never ring again.

The pain finally disappeared the moment my soul left my body. I hovered above the scene, staring at the mangled car smoking in the rain. The driver’s seat was crushed beyond recognition, and the body slumped inside was twisted and broken in every way imaginable. Today was supposed to mark our fifth wedding anniversary. Ironically, it was also the day Lucas asked for a divorce for the hundredth time. Over the years, I had tried to ignore the cracks in our fragile relationship, hoping that somehow, we’d make it work. But this time, I finally agreed to let go. Five years is a long time, even if most of it was marked by distance and tension. Regardless of how things were, we’d spent a significant part of our lives together. But everything changed a month ago when Evelyn returned from abroad, her health deteriorating. From that moment on, Lucas never came home. He stayed at the hospital, tirelessly caring for her. Everyone knew he had married me out of anger and heartbreak after Evelyn rejected him. But I had loved him for years, long before he even knew my name. So, even when I found out the truth, I stayed. Loving him was as natural as breathing, no matter how much it hurt. My thoughts returned to the present as I watched the ambulance from St. Mercy’s Hospital load my broken body into the back. I followed instinctively. Lucas worked at St. Mercy’s, where he was a legendary cardiologist. Patients and staff worshipped him. Yet, as his wife, I couldn’t even go to him for a cold. On our wedding day, he had made it clear:“I don’t want to see you at my workplace.”“And don’t bother me over trivial things.” That’s why I never told him I was pregnant. As I floated above the ambulance, my hand drifted to my stomach. The life I had carried, the one I had dreamed of for years, was gone now—just like me. Tears streamed down my face, silent and endless, as an ache settled deep in my chest. That child was supposed to be my miracle, my hope after five long years. My body wasn’t taken to the morgue. Instead, it was wheeled into the operating room on the fifth floor. The door to the operating room opened, and two figures stepped inside. “Dr. Ryan, this isn’t legal without the family’s consent…” The voice belonged to Mason, Lucas’s protégé. I knew him well; over the years, he had eaten countless meals I’d brought for Lucas. Evelyn scoffed and crossed her arms as she walked toward my lifeless body. She glanced at me before quickly turning her head, unable to hide the disgust in her eyes. “I’ve waited far too long for a compatible heart. I’m not about to let this opportunity slip away,” she said coldly. Then, without hesitation, she turned to Mason. “Call Lucas. Tell him to come back and perform the surgery himself.” Mason hesitated, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. He opened his mouth as if to protest but said nothing. Evelyn pulled out a card from her purse and handed it to him. “There’s fifty grand on this card. This stays between us. No one has to know.” Mason stared at the card, torn between guilt and greed. Finally, after a long pause, he took it and dialed Lucas. The phone rang a few times before Lucas’s voice filled the room. “What is it?” he asked, sounding impatient. Mason glanced at Evelyn before answering softly. “Dr. Ryan, we found a suitable donor for Evelyn. The body is in the operating room. You should come back.” The indifference in Lucas’s voice evaporated, replaced by palpable excitement. “Are you serious?! I’ll be there right away!” “Eve won’t have to worry about this anymore…” His voice was jubilant, overflowing with relief and joy. Each word felt like a dagger to my chest. My tears blurred everything as I looked at the operating table where my body lay. If Lucas knew it was my heart he was about to take, would he still sound so happy?

It didn’t even take thirty minutes for Lucas Ryan to return to the hospital. Out of breath, he rushed down the hallway and pulled Evelyn Snow into his arms. His voice was filled with relief and joy as he said,“Evelyn, you’re finally going to be okay.” Hearing this, Evelyn’s eyes welled up with tears, and she leaned into his chest, her voice trembling as she whispered,“Lucas, if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t even want this heart… I’d rather give up.” Lucas tightened his embrace, gently placing a kiss on her forehead. His voice was full of unwavering promise:“Don’t worry. I’ll divorce Claire soon.”“I only married her because I was angry with you.” Even though this was something everyone seemed to know, hearing it from Lucas’s own lips still sent a sharp pain through my heart. So, this was how deeply he loved Evelyn Snow. So, even after five years, I hadn’t been able to melt the ice around his heart. The ache in my chest deepened as Lucas comforted Evelyn, telling her to prepare for surgery. He then walked into the operating room with Mason to scrub in. Performing a heart transplant was nothing more than routine for Lucas. It was the kind of procedure he could do with his eyes closed. But when he saw the bloodied body lying on the operating table, he couldn’t help but frown. “Mason, why wasn’t this cleaned up before it was brought in?” he asked, his tone sharp. Mason hesitated, his nervous gaze avoiding Lucas’s. He stammered,“Dr. Ryan, Evelyn’s match is so rare… And, well… keeping the heart fresh was the priority.” Lucas didn’t respond right away. Instead, he took the scalpel from Mason’s hand and prepared to begin. But just as he was about to make the first incision, he paused. I followed his gaze and realized he was staring at my left hand. There, on my ring finger, was the diamond wedding ring I had designed myself. The blood that covered it only made it more striking. I had even made Lucas a matching band for our wedding, but he had hated it. On the day of our marriage, he locked it away in a drawer and never wore it again. “What’s wrong, Dr. Ryan?” Mason asked, confused by his hesitation. Lucas shook his head but spoke with a faint trace of regret in his voice.“She was unlucky. Her husband must be devastated.” As he said this, he made the incision, opening up my chest. Mason stood beside him, passing him tools as needed. At one point, he added,“And… after running the tests, we found out she was two months pregnant.” “Really tragic when you think about it.” This time, Lucas didn’t reply. The atmosphere in the room grew heavier, like an invisible weight pressing down on everyone. I watched him from a distance, memories flooding back. Last winter, I fell terribly ill. My fever was so high that I couldn’t even get out of bed. Lucas was home that night, but he barely noticed. He was too busy working on a paper for some medical journal. I spent the entire night shivering and burning up, too weak to call for help. By the time I was rushed to the hospital, the doctors said I had narrowly escaped death. When I finally woke up, the first thing Lucas did was scold me. “You’re an adult. If you’re feeling this bad, why didn’t you say something?!” His eyes were cold, filled with anger. “Or was this your way of getting my attention?” I didn’t have the strength to argue with him. I wanted to remind him that he had always told me not to bother him, even if I was sick. I had been nothing but obedient, so why was he still angry? Now, standing in this operating room, I couldn’t help but wonder: How could Lucas show compassion for a stranger but be so heartless toward me, the woman who had been by his side for five years?

The heart was successfully transplanted. Six hours later, it beat again—this time inside Evelyn Snow’s body. The moment Lucas Ryan stepped out of the operating room, he went straight to Evelyn’s recovery ward. He stood by her bedside, watching her sleep peacefully. Only then did he let out a long sigh of relief. Once he was sure Evelyn was stable, Lucas returned to his office. He sank into his chair and pulled out his phone, only to find the screen blank—no messages, no missed calls. It was strange. I used to text him endlessly every single day, sharing every mundane detail of my life—what I ate, what I was working on, how my day went. But Lucas never responded. Not once. He stared at his phone for a few moments, then opened his contacts. His thumb hovered over my name before he hesitated, but eventually, he made the call. The line rang and rang, the mechanical tone echoing in the silence, until it automatically disconnected. On the other end, there was no one to pick up. Frustrated, Lucas put the phone down, opened our old chat thread, and recorded two voice messages, his irritation unmistakable: “Claire, you already agreed to the divorce. Whether you answer your phone or not won’t change my decision.”“And don’t think playing hard to get will make me reconsider.” I watched him angrily send the messages, a faint smile tugging at my lips. It was bitter and hollow. “Lucas Ryan,” I murmured softly, “if you hated me this much, why did you marry me in the first place?” But it didn’t matter anymore. The wife he despised had died in today’s storm. He wouldn’t have to deal with me ever again. For the first time, Lucas’s messages disappeared into the void, unanswered. I faded from his world, quietly and without a trace. And yet, he didn’t look for me. He assumed I was being difficult, hiding away because I didn’t want the divorce. He was so certain of it that he didn’t bother to question my absence. Meanwhile, my body lay unclaimed in the hospital morgue. It wasn’t surprising. After all, I was an orphan. Growing up in a group home, I had no family to call my own. My only real accomplishment in life was earning a spot at one of the country’s top design schools. And, of course, marrying Lucas Ryan. Back in college, Lucas wasn’t just the star of the medical school—he was the star. Top of his class, impossibly handsome, and untouchable, he was the dream of every girl on campus. Even at my school across town, everyone had heard about the perfect love story between Lucas Ryan and Evelyn Snow. The first time I saw him was at a joint event between our universities. He stood tall in the crowd, dressed in a custom-tailored suit that screamed wealth and elegance. He spoke with effortless charm, surrounded by people who seemed magnetically drawn to him. His presence was so dazzling, it was almost blinding. That night, I was cornered by a drunken guy who wouldn’t leave me alone. Lucas was the one who stepped in, pulling me out of the situation. My quiet, reserved heart raced for the first time. But I knew better. Lucas Ryan was a world apart from me. He was untouchable, and besides, he already had Evelyn. So I buried my feelings deep inside, content to admire him from a distance. It was a foolish dream, I thought. People like me—those who clawed their way out of the dirt—had no business reaching for stars like him. I thought that would be the first and last time our paths crossed. But fate had other plans. Lucas and Evelyn eventually broke up. I wasn’t sure why, and it wasn’t my place to ask. One sunny afternoon, I happened to be delivering custom cufflinks to one of Lucas’s friends. Lucas was there, standing by the window, bathed in golden light. He looked up at me, his gaze calm and detached, and asked a question that would change everything: “Do you want to marry me?”

“Claire still isn’t answering her phone?” In the hospital room, Evelyn Snow’s pale face grew even more ashen. Her eyes reddened, and tears spilled over as she looked at Lucas Ryan, her voice trembling. “Lucas, in the five years you were married to her… did you really never feel anything for her? Not even once?” Her voice cracked as she continued, her emotions unraveling. “Is she really missing, or are you lying to me? Was this all a trick because… you never actually wanted to marry me? Because you never forgave me for leaving you back then?” By the time she finished, Evelyn burst into heart-wrenching sobs. I stood by the window, quietly leaning against the frame, watching them. My emotions had oddly settled over the past few days. I wasn’t even angry anymore. I had expected this. I guessed Lucas would pull her into his arms, soothing her like he always did. And sure enough, a second later, he frowned, stood, and wrapped the trembling Evelyn in a comforting embrace. See? I guessed right. “Claire agreed to the divorce,” he said calmly, patting Evelyn’s back as if to reassure her. “I don’t know why she suddenly disappeared, but don’t worry. I’ll go through with the divorce.” “And then I’ll marry you.” Just as those words left his mouth, hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway. Before Lucas could react, two uniformed police officers walked into the room. Lucas froze, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Officers, is there a problem?” Before the police could respond, the door burst open again. Mason stumbled in, panting heavily, his face pale as he stammered, “Dr. Ryan… C-Claire… Claire is dead.”

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In the third year of my marriage to Ethan Williams,his “first love” reappeared in his life, this time as a struggling sales clerk. Ethan, overcome with sympathy for her fall from grace, bought the entire store as a “reunion gift.” His grand gesture caused a sensation through our social circles. Meanwhile, I, his wife, became the joke of the town—Mrs. Williams, the pitiful fool. But I said nothing. Instead, I sent the newly opened store a polite bouquet of flowers. Then, clad in black, I went to his brother’s grave and cried my heart out. “Ethan,” I whispered, my tears soaking the cold marble, “I’ve finally found a way to break free from your brother. He may have your eyes, but he’s nothing like you.” My words hung in the air, heavy with grief, until I heard a familiar voice behind me: “What the hell did you just say?” The day after Ethan’s lavish display of affection, the group chat was buzzing with gossip. [Ethan really went all out for her. Buying an entire store? Must be true love!][It has to be her—the infamous first love. When’s he going to introduce her to us? We’d love to see what the real deal looks like.] Their comments were mocking, dismissive. None of them cared that I, Mrs. Williams, was still in the group. My hands trembled as I read their messages. For once, I didn’t swallow my anger. Instead, I quietly exited the group chat. Ethan’s call came not long after. I was pinning a white flower to my lapel when my phone buzzed. I put him on speaker, freeing my hands. “Zoe,” he said, his tone sharp, “what the hell were you thinking, sending flowers to Claire?” “I’m your wife,” I replied calmly. “Sending flowers to a friend is just basic courtesy.” He let out a short, scornful laugh. “Don’t think I don’t see through you. You just wanted to flaunt your status as ‘Mrs. Williams’ and humiliate Claire.” “Let me remind you,” he continued coldly, “any status you have, I gave it to you. Don’t forget your place. Go pick up your pathetic flowers and apologize to Claire. Now.” His voice was so loud it startled me, making my hand slip. The pin pricked my finger, and I let out a small gasp of pain. On the other end of the line, Ethan sneered. “Zoe, don’t play these cheap little tricks with me. They don’t work. If you don’t show up today, don’t bother waiting for me to come home. Ever.” “Oh, and one more thing—quitting the group chat? That’s disrespectful to my friends. I’ll deal with you for that later. You chose to marry me. You knew what that meant. This is what you signed up for.” The line went dead. I looked down at the crimson stain blooming on my blouse. The sharp sting in my chest was nothing compared to the ache in my heart. Ethan always knew exactly how to hurt me. He wasn’t like my Ethan. The Ethan I once knew would never have spoken to me this way. I lowered my eyes, pinned the flower in place, and thought back to the choice Ethan had mentioned—the choice that had led me to this life.

I first met Ethan Williams in college. Everyone on campus knew I liked him. I wasn’t subtle about it. Among the many girls who admired him, I was the most shamelessly devoted. One day, he finally asked me, “Why are you so nice to me?” I looked up into his deep, shining eyes and answered with all the sincerity I could muster: “Because I like you, Ethan Williams. I like you so much it hurts.” That night, for the first time, he invited me to a club dinner. I was over the moon, thinking he was finally starting to notice me. But during the party, I caught him watching Claire Moore. When he saw her laughing with another guy, his expression darkened. When it came time for a game of truth or dare, Ethan tossed aside the “truth” card and picked a dare instead. His challenge? To kiss someone of the opposite sex for one full minute. Without hesitation, he turned to me, grabbed my face, and kissed me. My eyes widened in shock. His lips tasted faintly of mint, his scent intoxicating. But just as I was about to close my eyes and savor the moment, I noticed his gaze had shifted. He was looking at Claire. I didn’t need to guess why. She must have reacted just how he wanted, because when he pulled away, there was a triumphant smirk on his face. That night, Ethan declared that we were officially a couple. Looking back, it felt less like love and more like a consolation prize. He asked me to move into his off-campus apartment, and of course, I agreed. I thought if we spent more time together, he’d eventually fall for me. To the outside world, we were a picture-perfect couple, “madly in love.” But the truth was, I slept in the guest room, while Ethan treated me more like a live-in maid than a girlfriend. I cooked, cleaned, and kept his home spotless. Over time, he even gained a little weight, thanks to my cooking. People joked that I was Ethan Williams’s personal housekeeper. I didn’t care. As long as he let me stay by his side, I was happy. It reminded me of how my Ethan used to take care of me. For two years, we stayed like that. He never broke up with me, but he never fully committed either. Then, the day Claire left for graduate studies abroad, I saw them kissing outside our building. Their embrace was so intimate, so tender, it felt like a knife to my chest. I panicked. What if he left me for good? What if I never saw those eyes again? That night, Claire boarded her flight, and Ethan came home drunk. He stumbled into my room, reeking of alcohol. What followed was a night of pain and tears. I cried through it all, but I couldn’t stop myself from memorizing every detail of his face, every flicker of emotion in his eyes. The next morning, Ethan leaned over me, his voice cold and detached. “Zoe, let’s get married.” He pulled out a ring and handed it to me. The diamond gleamed faintly in the dim light, like a spark in the darkness of my hollow heart. “This… this was Claire’s, wasn’t it?” I asked, my voice hoarse. His eyes darkened, a flicker of anger crossing his face. “Take it or leave it,” he said flatly, pulling the ring away. Desperate, I snatched it back and slid it onto my finger. It was too big, the band loose around my knuckle. It looked absurd, like a child playing dress-up with an adult’s jewelry. Ethan laughed, but there was no warmth in it. His gaze was filled with mockery. I turned away, unable to bear the sight of him. And that’s how I became Mrs. Williams—a role the world saw as enviable, but one I knew was hollow. To everyone else, I was the picture of a devoted wife—gracious, patient, long-suffering. I never questioned Ethan’s affairs or his late nights. My only condition was that he come home every evening, no matter how late. When he stumbled in, reeking of perfume, I would get out of bed to make him tea or heat up a glass of milk. More than once, he sneered at me in his drunken haze, calling me pathetic, spineless, and boring. I would only smile in response. I knew what I was. I hated myself too. But I couldn’t let go. I couldn’t give up those eyes.

It was a sunny day when I left home, driving toward Claire’s boutique. Outside her store, two perfect rows of extravagant flower stands lined the entrance, each adorned with bright, colorful ribbons glinting under the sunlight. They were Ethan Williams’ grand display for her—a gesture impossible to miss. Ethan stood beside Claire, holding a little girl in his arms. The way they laughed together, so carefree, they could easily be mistaken for a family. I walked closer. Claire caught sight of me, and for a brief moment, a flicker of unease crossed her face. Then, she gently took the girl from Ethan’s arms and spoke softly: “Sweetheart, don’t cling to Ethan like that. Come to Mommy now.” She glanced at me, her voice warm and deliberate. “This is Mrs. Williams. Say hello to her.” “Mrs. Williams!” The little girl’s voice was bright and sweet, like a crisp apple freshly bitten into. I smiled and nodded, but before I could respond, Claire added casually, as if by accident, “You’ve been married for years now. Still no plans to have kids?” Her words landed like a blade, sharp and cutting. My face paled at the memory of what I’d lost, while Ethan’s expression darkened, guilt flashing briefly in his eyes. It happened early in our marriage. I had just found out I was pregnant. But when I told Ethan, he didn’t look excited or happy. Instead, he frowned, his voice cold and detached as he said: “A child will only complicate things between us. Our relationship is already unstable. I think it’s better if we don’t have this baby.” He said this barely an hour after Claire had posted an emotional breakup message on social media. His precious first love was single again, and Ethan wanted to leave himself a way back to her. In his eyes, our child was an obstacle. Something to be discarded without hesitation. The doctor warned me that terminating the pregnancy could leave lasting damage. My body was too weak, they said. If I went through with it, I might never be able to conceive again. But Ethan didn’t care. “You’re still young,” he said dismissively. “You look perfectly healthy to me. If something goes wrong, I’ll pay for the best doctors to fix it.” He made the decision as casually as if he were choosing a restaurant for dinner. But bad food can be replaced. A wrecked body cannot. That day, lying on the hospital bed beneath the blinding fluorescent lights, I felt my first pang of regret for marrying Ethan Williams. Tears streamed down my face as I stared blankly at the ceiling, the weight of his words crushing me. Later, Ethan came into the room holding a massive bouquet of lilies, their cloying sweetness filling the air. He wiped my tears away and spoke gently, his tone almost tender: “Zoe, don’t be sad. We can always have another child.” A slap in the face, followed by a sugar-coated lie. It was his favorite tactic. Through blurry eyes, I stared at him. For a fleeting moment, his face resembled someone else’s—someone who would have known I hated lilies and loved baby’s breath instead. But I swallowed the words I wanted to say. I didn’t ask for a divorce. Claire eventually got married, and the Williams family began pressuring Ethan to have a child. Suddenly, he wanted one too. But the doctor’s warning turned out to be true. I never got pregnant again. Ethan, ever the master of appearances, brushed it off when people asked. “Zoe’s health isn’t great,” he’d say with a sympathetic smile. “We’re just not planning for kids right now.” It was a convenient excuse, one that painted him as a caring husband while subtly shifting the blame onto me. What he never mentioned, of course, was the real reason—the child he’d forced me to lose, all for the sake of leaving the door open for Claire. A truth that would tarnish the perfect image of Ethan Williams, the golden boy of the Williams family. But to me, he was nothing more than a coward. Selfish, spineless, and cruel. Claire, however, wasn’t about to let the matter drop. “I didn’t realize Zoe’s health was so bad,” she said, covering her mouth in mock concern. “I guess I shouldn’t complain. I thought my body was weak too, but I had no trouble carrying my daughter. From pregnancy to delivery, everything went so smoothly.” Her words dripped with false sympathy, but the implication was clear: There must be something wrong with you. I didn’t take the bait. I hadn’t come here to trade petty insults with her. Instead, I turned and walked toward the flower stand I had sent, intending to take it back. But as I reached for it, a sharp, searing pain shot through my stomach. It felt like a thousand knives twisting inside me. My body trembled as I clutched my abdomen, struggling to stay upright. Before I could react, Ethan was at my side, grabbing my empty hand.

“Zoe, you still owe Claire an apology.” Ethan Williams’ voice buzzed in my ears like an annoying fly. I couldn’t even turn around from the pain coursing through my body. “Zoe,” he continued, his tone laced with irritation. “How many times do I have to tell you? These tricks don’t work on me. Stop playing games to avoid responsibility.” His words were meaningless noise to me. The pain in my stomach twisted deeper, spreading like fire through my chest and into my very bones. My legs gave out, and I slowly sank to the ground. Only then did Ethan seem to notice that something was wrong. For a brief moment, I caught a flicker of panic in his expression. “Zoe, are you serious right now?” he asked, hesitating as though unsure if I was faking. He finally moved to step toward me, but before he could reach me, a sudden, sharp cry came from behind him. “Ah! Mommy, are you okay?” I turned my head slightly to see Claire sitting on the ground, clutching her ankle, her face twisted in pain as tears welled up in her eyes. Ethan immediately dropped my hand and spun around to rush to her side. I stayed where I was, hunched over, beads of sweat dripping from my forehead onto the ground, leaving dark marks on the pavement. Slowly, the sharp pain in my stomach began to subside. When I finally managed to stand, the space around me was empty. My husband—my husband—was kneeling beside another woman, his hands gently touching her pale, uninjured ankle, his face filled with concern. My throat burned, and my eyes stung with unshed tears. Five years of loyalty and love, wasted on a man who cared for me less than a dog. At least a dog would wag its tail when it received affection. Ethan? He didn’t even have the heart of a beast. Without a word, I strode toward the flower stand bearing both our names. The gaudy display stood tall, a symbol of everything I had endured. With a single, violent push, I sent it crashing to the ground. The sound of flowers scattering and the collective gasps of onlookers filled the air. I didn’t care. I walked to my car, my steps unsteady, and drove away without looking back. I ended up at the cemetery. A streak of vibrant sunlight filtered through the trees, landing directly on a small gravestone. The black-and-white photo on it gleamed in the light, the boy in the picture smiling warmly. He looked so much like Ethan—the same face, the same eyes—but there was a softness to his expression that Ethan never had. The sunlight made his smile seem alive, as though he were standing right in front of me. I crouched down and gently placed a bouquet of white baby’s breath on his grave. Then, as the tears I had been holding back all day finally spilled over, I whispered: “Jared… every year, I bring you stars. But no matter how many times I do, they’ll never shine as brightly as the ones in your eyes.” I paused, my voice breaking. “Jared, I’ve finally come to see you.” From my bag, I pulled out a folded piece of paper—a medical report. I placed it in front of his photo and continued, my voice trembling: “This isn’t me giving up, okay? But the doctors said… that even if I go through treatment, I won’t make it past a year.” I laughed bitterly, wiping at my eyes. “So, I figured when the time comes, when I can’t hold on anymore, I’ll come find you. We’ll be together again.” I tried to smile, but my lips quivered. “In a way, I’m grateful for this illness. It means I can finally leave this world—a world without you. I don’t have to keep pretending Ethan is you anymore. He might have your eyes, but he’s nothing like you. Not even close.” My hand shook as I reached out to touch Jared’s photo. If he were here, he’d probably scold me for not taking better care of myself. But now, all he could do was smile at me from inside the photo, frozen in time. He couldn’t stop me now. He couldn’t stop me from running toward the destiny I’d always believed was ours. But just as I closed my eyes, ready to let the quiet surround me, a voice shattered the stillness. “Who the hell did you just say I look like?” My eyes snapped open, my heart pounding in my chest. VIP part

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When my younger brother announced his wedding, I requested two days off from work. My boss flatly denied my request. She sneered, “Why does your brother’s wedding matter to you? You’re not even dating anyone. Aren’t you embarrassed to attend?” Without another word, I logged into the system and submitted my leave request anyway. Her calls came flooding in soon after. “Who gave you permission to take time off?” “If you’re gone, who’s going to drive me to and from work tomorrow?” 0It was the end of the year—always a chaotic time at our branch, with everyone scrambling to meet their quotas. I had already hit mine early, so I figured asking for two days off for my brother’s wedding wouldn’t be a big deal. I approached my team leader, Julie Zhang, and politely made my request. I thought it’d be a simple matter, but she refused me without hesitation. “Why does your brother’s wedding matter to you? You’re not even married! Shouldn’t you be embarrassed to show up?” Julie has always been known for her sharp tongue and condescending attitude. Everyone on the team has dealt with it at some point. And sure, it was a busy time of year, with strict rules around taking time off. But her outright rejection felt personal. I took a deep breath, keeping my tone calm. “Julie, I’m his sister. I need to be there for him. I hope you can understand.” She glanced up from her phone, her expression darkening. “Do you even realize what quarter we’re in? This is the end of the year—the most critical time for our branch’s performance reviews! If everyone took time off like you, our entire team would be eating dirt next year. Can you handle that responsibility?” Sure, I could understand that taking leave during the busiest season wasn’t ideal. But wasn’t she being a little dramatic? What made it worse was that just the day before, she had approved our male colleague’s leave request without a second thought. “Why is it different for me?” I couldn’t help but ask. Julie scoffed, crossing her arms. “Are you seriously comparing yourself to him? He’s taking marriage leave. That’s a once-in-a-lifetime event! If you want time off, wait until you get married.” Her words were ridiculous. My brother’s wedding wasn’t some excuse—it was a legitimate reason to take leave. No matter how I tried to reason with her, she wouldn’t budge. And to make things worse, she piled extra work onto me over the next few days, assigning me customer follow-ups that were supposed to be her responsibility. I knew she was being petty, but I didn’t bother arguing. Instead, I followed the proper channels. I informed both her and our department manager of my plans, then submitted my leave request through the system. In the meantime, I kept up with all my tasks, ensuring there was no room for complaints about my performance. By Wednesday evening, our manager had approved my request, and it was on its way to HR for final processing. After finishing my daily report and posting it in the team chat, I packed up and left for the highway. Before crossing the toll gate, I checked the group chat one last time to confirm no one was looking for me. Then, I switched my phone to airplane mode. The drive required my full attention, and I focused on the GPS as I made my way home. By the time I exited the freeway, it was nearly midnight. When I turned my phone back on, I was greeted by over twenty missed calls and dozens of unread messages. Julie had sent me countless voice notes, each around sixty seconds long. I didn’t even bother opening the first one. Whatever she had to say, I knew it wouldn’t be good. Instead, I tucked my phone into my bag, stopped by a local diner, and treated myself to a warm bowl of noodle soup. When I finally got home, my phone buzzed with yet another incoming call. “Emma, what were you doing? Why didn’t you wait for me after work?” Julie’s voice was sharp and accusatory. I replied matter-of-factly, “Julie, I told you earlier this week—I’m attending a wedding this weekend.” That sent her into a full-blown tirade. “Who gave you permission to take leave?” “If you’re gone, who’s going to drive me to work tomorrow?” “Do you even want to get promoted? Where do you get the audacity to ignore your superior’s instructions?!” 0

Her barrage of yelling left me momentarily stunned. That’s when I remembered—Julie had been hitching rides in my car to and from work for almost six months now. We lived in the same neighborhood, and about a week after I started at the company, I realized my direct supervisor lived just across the hall. Out of politeness, I offered her a ride one morning. I didn’t think much of it at the time—but from that day on, she latched onto me like I was her personal driver. I’ve never been one to make a fuss, so I let it slide. After all, she was my boss, and it wasn’t exactly out of my way. But now, hearing her demand that I cancel my leave and prioritize her commute? It was like she genuinely believed I existed just to chauffeur her around. My dad, who had been sitting nearby, noticed my darkening expression and opened his mouth to speak. I quickly shot him a look, silently telling him to hold back. Instead, I grabbed my phone, took a screenshot of my approved leave request, and sent it to Julie with a calm message: “Julie, I’m not skipping work. My leave was approved by Mr. Reed. You can check the system if you don’t believe me.” Her reply came almost immediately, and it was just as aggressive as before. “Don’t try to pull rank on me with Mr. Reed. I’m your direct supervisor, and you report to me! I’ll say it one more time—get your ass back here now. This is your only chance.” “And tomorrow morning, at 8:30 sharp, I better see your car waiting for me. Do you understand?” Her entitlement was so absurd, I actually laughed. What a power trip. I took a moment to breathe deeply, trying to remind myself to stay calm. After all, I’d worked hard for over a year, and permanent employment was just within reach. A little patience now wouldn’t kill me. I forced myself to respond politely. “Julie, I’m sorry, but my car’s being used as the wedding car this weekend. I really can’t bring it back.” “You might need to grab a cab for the next two days. I apologize for the inconvenience.” Our neighborhood is well-connected, and it’s easy to hail a ride. Plus, the company provides a monthly transportation stipend for city commutes. It wasn’t like I was asking for the moon and stars. But my calm tone only seemed to fuel her rage. “What do you mean, I should take a cab?!” she snapped. “Emma, don’t let your little achievements go to your head. Do you even know your place?” “Let me make this clear—if I don’t approve your leave, you don’t get to take it. I don’t care if someone in your family died! You don’t just waltz out of here whenever you feel like it!” “And if you’re not back tomorrow, don’t bother showing up again. Just pack up your things and leave.” Her voice practically exploded through the phone, every word sharp and cutting. Does she think I’m some pushover? Even the most patient person has their limits, and mine had just been crossed. I was about to shoot back a response when, suddenly, she hung up. And then she blocked me. Blocked. Me. I stared at my phone in disbelief, anger simmering in my chest. My dad, who had been trying to remain calm, finally lost it. His thick eyebrows knitted together as he fumed. “Didn’t your mom say your boss was supposed to be a decent person? Listen to the way she talks! How could anyone treat their employee like this?” “And to think I let Old Xu help with their sales targets. She repays us by cursing at my daughter?” I gave him a wry smile and shrugged. “Guess you never really know someone. She seemed nice enough at first.” It was true. When I first started, Julie had been charming and approachable. But somewhere along the way, her true colors had come out. The more leniency I gave her, the more she pushed, taking advantage of my kindness. My dad grumbled under his breath and then asked, “Do you want me to help you find another job? You don’t have to put up with this.” I quickly shook my head. This was my mess to deal with. I’d let her walk all over me, and now I was paying the price. It was time to grow up. I couldn’t rely on my dad to fix all my problems forever. If I wanted to make it in this world, I’d have to learn how to stand my ground. 0

Over the next few days, Julie didn’t bother me again. It felt like the calm before the storm, and although I was uneasy, I managed to attend my brother’s wedding without further interruptions. On Monday morning, I returned to the office carrying a few bags of local treats for my colleagues. But something felt off. People who were usually warm and friendly with me now greeted me with strained smiles and avoided eye contact. One of my former classmates, now a colleague, pulled me aside into the stairwell. Once she made sure no one else was around, she leaned in and whispered, “Emma, I heard HR is planning to let you go after your probation ends. What’s going on?” Her concern was genuine, but her words hit me like a punch to the gut. “What? Why? I’ve been performing well—my metrics are some of the best on the team,” I said, bewildered. She sighed. “I don’t know the details, but word is spreading. You might want to brace yourself for the meeting.” I thanked her and returned to my desk, pretending like nothing had happened. It didn’t take long for my suspicions to be confirmed. As soon as our morning team meeting wrapped up, Julie called me out in front of everyone. “Emma,” she began, her tone sharp and authoritative, “you took two days off without my approval, which is a blatant violation of company policy.” I stood my ground, trying to keep my voice steady. “Julie, my leave was approved through the proper channels. It’s all documented in the system.” Her face darkened. “I don’t care what the system says. If I didn’t approve it, it doesn’t count! I’M your supervisor. My word is final.” “And since you’ve shown no remorse for your actions, there’s no need to discuss your permanent position anymore. Pack your things and leave.” I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. “Julie, if the system bypassed your approval, that’s an issue HR and IT need to address. It’s not something within my control.” The tension in the room was palpable. My coworkers exchanged uneasy glances, unsure of how to react. One of the younger women tugged at my sleeve, silently pleading with me to back down. But I was done staying quiet. If Julie wasn’t going to show me respect, I had no reason to give her any either. Her anger boiled over as she slammed her hand on the table. “Don’t try to argue with me. If you have a problem, take it up with HR!” Before leaving, she turned to the rest of the team and delivered a pointed warning: “Let this be a lesson to all of you. Follow the rules, and don’t defy your superiors. Work hard now, and you’ll all get your promotions and raises next year.” Her words were empty promises—just more lies to keep people in line. She’d used the same tactic on me when I first joined the team, promising recognition that never came. Not long after, I got a message from HR’s representative, Lisa Wu, asking me to meet her in the conference room. When I walked in, Lisa started with some polite small talk before cutting to the chase. “Emma, I’ll be honest. You’ve done a decent job these past six months, but you’ve made some serious mistakes.” “Work isn’t just about hitting your targets. Building good relationships with your superiors is critical—especially with your direct manager.” “By taking leave without Julie’s approval, you’ve shown a lack of respect for her authority. And then, to make matters worse, you took her car for a personal event, forcing her to take public transportation.” For a moment, I was too stunned to respond. “Julie’s car?” I repeated, incredulous. She nodded, her tone turning accusatory. “Yes, Julie told us you’ve been borrowing her car for months. And then you even used it as a wedding car. That’s highly inappropriate, Emma.” It all clicked. Julie was spreading lies, claiming my new BMW was hers. No wonder she always made a show of calling me to fetch the car in front of our colleagues. She’d been laying the groundwork for this narrative all along. 0

I clenched my fists, feeling a surge of anger. Enough was enough. Without another word, I stood up, grabbed Lisa by the arm, and marched straight to Julie’s desk. Julie glanced up lazily, her expression indifferent. “I already told you—if you have a problem, take it up with HR. I’m busy.” I smiled coldly. “Oh, this involves you, Julie. We’re going to clear the air right now.” Her composure faltered for a split second, but she quickly recovered. “Fine,” she said, crossing her arms. “Say what you need to say.” I turned to face our team, my voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “Julie, I thought we were neighbors. I didn’t mind giving you rides because it was convenient, and you were my boss. I was trying to be polite.” “But for the past six months, you’ve treated me like your personal chauffeur, calling me at all hours and ordering me around. I let it slide because I didn’t want to make waves.” “But now you’re telling people my car is yours? How does that make any sense?” The room fell silent. My teammates stared, wide-eyed, while Julie’s face turned an alarming shade of red. Before she could respond, Lisa spoke up, trying to regain control of the situation. “Emma, that’s a serious accusation. You’re still just an intern. Do you really expect us to believe you can afford a car like that?” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Why not? Does buying a car require permission from my title or age?” Julie coughed awkwardly, cutting Lisa off. She patted Lisa’s shoulder, feigning concern. “It’s fine, Lisa. Let’s not be too hard on her. The car is hers. I just didn’t correct people’s assumptions because I didn’t want Emma to face unnecessary scrutiny.” Her words were laced with fake pity, but I saw the smug glint in her eyes. She thought she’d outmaneuvered me. “After all,” she continued, “a young woman driving a luxury car… people might get the wrong idea. I didn’t want anyone accusing her of, say, being a—well, you know.” Her insinuation was clear, and it worked like a charm. Lisa’s expression shifted into one of disapproval. “I knew it,” Lisa muttered. “Emma’s family didn’t seem wealthy. I saw her dad in sandals at the branch once—doesn’t exactly scream ‘BMW owner.’” Julie smirked, satisfied as the gossip shifted away from her and onto me. 0

It felt like my stomach was on fire, but I took a deep breath and forced myself to stay calm. This was outright slander. Julie and Lisa were throwing baseless accusations at me, smearing my reputation with their lies. Anyone with less resolve might’ve broken down by now, sobbing as they packed up their desk and walked out the door. And seriously, who says you have to wear designer clothes to be wealthy? My dad—who spends his days in flip-flops and a tank top—is a low-key real estate mogul. If he ever found out someone had dismissed him as a nobody, he’d probably be so mad he’d cough up blood. But I wasn’t going to let them get away with this. Turning to Lisa, I let out a cold laugh. “What’s wrong, Lisa? Did Julie’s words replace whatever critical thinking skills you had? Whatever she says, you just blindly agree?” Everyone in the office knew Julie had a distant relative in corporate, which meant most people gave her a wide berth or went out of their way to stay on her good side. But Lisa was HR—her blatant bias was downright embarrassing. “You’re supposed to be HR,” I said, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “Aren’t you supposed to think independently? Or are you just here to parrot Julie’s every word?” “And let’s be real for a second—whether I stay or leave isn’t up to either of you. That decision rests with Mr. Reed, not you two.” Lisa’s face turned beet red, and she stammered as she tried to come up with a response. Julie, meanwhile, looked like she was seconds away from exploding. Her eyes burned with anger, and her brow was so tightly furrowed I thought it might stay that way forever. “Emma,” she hissed, her voice dripping with venom, “after everything I’ve done to mentor you, this is how you repay me?” “I’m your direct supervisor. If I say you’re out, you’re out!” I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Mentor me? What a joke. I’d spent half a year as her unpaid chauffeur, bending over backward to accommodate her ridiculous demands. And now, instead of gratitude, she was paying me back with lies and insults. Before I could respond, the sound of a door opening cut through the tension. Mr. Reed, our department director, stepped out of his office. His expression was stern as he scanned the room. “What’s going on here?” he asked, his voice sharp. “This is an office, not a playground. If you’re not working, then what are you doing?” He turned his focus to Julie. “Come to my office. Now.” Julie shot me a venomous glare before following him inside, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. God only knows what kind of story she was about to spin in there. As I watched her disappear into the office, one of my coworkers—a former classmate—passed by with a water bottle in hand. She gave me a quick thumbs-up, clearly amused by the scene. I scratched my head awkwardly, letting out a dry laugh. Sure, maybe my approach wasn’t the most professional, but at some point, you’ve got to stand up for yourself. Still, I knew that things couldn’t go back to normal. Staying on Julie’s team after this would be a nightmare. As I mulled over my options, my phone buzzed. The caller ID showed it was Mr. Mitchell, one of my dad’s longtime business partners. I stepped into the stairwell to answer the call. “Emma,” Mr. Mitchell began, “just wanted to let you know—Julie’s been on my case again. She’s pushing me to deposit more money into your branch and trying to sell me a bunch of insurance policies.” I rolled my eyes. Julie was relentless, squeezing every client for all they were worth without any regard for their circumstances. An idea suddenly clicked in my mind. “I’m so sorry about that, Mr. Mitchell,” I said, my voice apologetic. He chuckled. “It’s not your fault, but honestly, it’s the end of the year, and I’ve got tight cash flow. I don’t think I can swing it.” “That’s okay,” I said, my tone light. “Go ahead and have your accountant withdraw the funds. Just do what works best for you.”

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