Author: Momo Chan

On Valentine’s Day, my husband’s student sent him roses, and I sent him to prison. My husband Julian Vane was promoted to professor. We didn’t even have a wedding reception. Just signed the papers at the courthouse and called it done. But for this, he threw a party at our place to celebrate. Halfway through the evening, he pulled out a bouquet of roses his female grad student had given him and reached for the vase on the mantel. Without warning, I knocked the flowers from his hands, sent the vase crashing to the floor, and spoke into the stunned silence. “I want a divorce.” Julian froze. Then fury flooded his face. “Seraphina, have you lost your mind? I’m putting flowers in a vase. Flowers from a student. What the hell is wrong with you?” His mother stepped forward immediately. “Julian just made professor. It’s Valentine’s Day. A student brought him flowers. So what? Are you really that insecure?” I looked at the scattered petals on the floor and said, word by word, “Yes. Because of these flowers. I want a divorce.”

The room went dead silent. His father’s face darkened. His mother’s wine glass stopped halfway to her lips. My parents stared at me, completely lost. My mother recovered first and grabbed my wrist. “Sera, that’s enough. This is Julian’s night.” Julian’s expression shifted from shock to white-hot rage. His eyes burned with a fury that could incinerate me on the spot. “Say that again.” I repeated it. Not loud, but clear enough to reach every person in the room. “I said I want a divorce.” His mother slammed her glass on the side table and jabbed a finger in my face. “Have you completely lost it? Do you have any idea what tonight is supposed to be?” “Julian made professor. We’re here to celebrate. And you’re standing here making a scene. What the hell is your problem?” “My son works around the clock on his research. He can’t even accept a bouquet of flowers?” I didn’t look at her. My eyes stayed locked on Julian. His handsome face was twisted with outrage. “Over flowers? Seriously?” “Seraphina, are you really this insecure? I’m putting my student’s flowers in a vase. That’s all this is.” My father cut in, his voice cold and hard. “Watch how you talk to my daughter.” Julian shot him a look, took a breath, and forced his expression into something wounded and apologetic. He touched his mother’s arm, then turned and faced my parents. “I’m sorry. I really am.” “Seraphina’s been under so much pressure at work. She’s overwhelmed. Please don’t hold this against her.” “I’ll talk to her.” He reached for my arm. I stepped back. Julian’s face softened into regret, his voice gentle now. “I’m sorry, babe. I’ve been so wrapped up in my promotion that I’ve been neglecting you. That’s on me.” “But they’re just roses. You’re reading too much into this. She’s just a student.” His older brother Dominic cut in, trying to smooth things over. “Sera, come on. This has to be a misunderstanding. Julian didn’t mean anything by it. The girl gave him flowers. What was he supposed to do, throw them in the trash in front of her?” Dominic’s wife Isabella nodded. “Seriously, Sera. I’ve met Sienna. Sweet girl. Very polite. I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by it. Just let it go. Apologize to Julian and we can all move on.” I looked around the room. My father and Julian’s father stood with their arms crossed, frowning, silent. My mother’s confusion had shifted into something else. She looked at me now with reproach. Classic Julian. A few careful sentences and suddenly I was the hysterical wife making a scene. I ignored his performance and pointed at the roses scattered across the floor. The scent was getting stronger. “You said these are just ordinary flowers. Right?” I stared into his eyes. “Then close every window and door in this room.” “And stay here with me. Just you and me and these flowers. For one hour.”

The color drained from Julian’s face. He stepped back. His left thumb started rubbing his index finger and his whole body went rigid. That was his tell. He always did that when he was hiding something. His voice came out unsteady. His eyes wouldn’t stay still. “What are you… what’s the point of that?” I smiled, bent down, picked up a single petal, and held it out to him. “You said these were just ordinary roses. Didn’t you?” Julian turned his face away and pressed his lips into a tight line. He didn’t answer. His mother saw his reaction and jumped up from the couch. She grabbed a dustpan and brush from the hallway and marched toward the mess. “For God’s sake! She’s ruined everything! I’ll clean this up myself since some people can’t handle seeing their husband get a little attention.” My mother was shaking with anger. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I squeezed her shoulder and snapped at Beatrice. “Don’t touch them.” She flinched and froze. I grabbed the dustpan from her and tossed it aside. Then I stepped forward and backed Julian against the wall, trapping him between me and the wreckage. “Nervous?” “You said there’s nothing wrong with these flowers. So what are you scared of?” My questions made his eyes dart away. He couldn’t look at me. His father set down his drink, his face cycling through shades of gray. He slapped the arm of his chair. “That’s enough! All of you! What the hell is this? We’re supposed to be celebrating!” “Everyone calm down. Anyone who can’t keep it together can leave!” Then he shot me a look heavy with meaning. I knew. That last part was meant for me. Just then, the doorbell rang. Julian practically lunged for the door, moving so fast he nearly tripped. The door flew open. Standing in the doorway was the student he’d called sweet and innocent. Sienna Brooke. She wore a white sundress and carried a gift bag with a bottle of wine and some fancy chocolates. Clearly meant for his parents. When she saw the scene inside, her face went pale. Her eyes filled with tears and her voice trembled. “Professor… Mrs. Vane… what happened?” “Is this… is this because of the flowers I brought? Did I upset you?” “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought roses. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble. The florist said they were popular so I just…” “I’m so sorry to intrude. I should go.” She walked into the living room, set down the gift bag, and turned to leave. A three-second task stretched into three minutes. “Hold on.” Beatrice rushed over and threw Julian a reproachful look. She took Sienna’s hand and guided her to the couch, then shot me a venomous glare. “Sweetheart, this has nothing to do with you. Some people are just petty and can’t stand seeing anyone else get a little attention.” In that moment of fussing and positioning, I caught the look Sienna threw me. Challenge. Triumph. I didn’t acknowledge her. I simply said, “Get out.” Julian stared at me in disbelief. His fists clenched. Veins stood out on his hands. “Seraphina! What exactly has she done wrong?” “She apologized for the roses! She’s twenty years old. She’s sweet and innocent. The florist recommended them. Why the hell are you taking this out on her?” “I’m warning you. Stop projecting your sick paranoia onto this girl.” Beatrice stepped in front of Sienna like a shield. “I’d like to see you try. No one is kicking her out.” She turned on me with full force. “Seraphina, you’ve been married to my son for five years. You haven’t given us a single grandchild. And now you’re treating a guest in this house like this.” “All you do is lock yourself in that lab of yours, walking around like you’ve forgotten you’re even a woman. You can’t even do the one thing women are supposed to do. Marrying you was the biggest mistake this family ever made.” “I always said there’s something wrong with women who can’t have children. Bitter to the core. Can’t stand seeing anyone younger or prettier getting a little attention.”

“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” My father snapped. He stepped forward and put himself between us, glaring at Beatrice. “Your son Julian got down on his knees and begged me to let him marry my daughter.” “And this is how your family treats her?” Alaric picked up his drink, perfectly composed. “Let’s not get carried away, Arthur. What she said was out of line, but she’s just upset.” “This is between the women. We shouldn’t get in the middle of it.” One sentence. That’s all it took to wave off his wife’s attack as women’s business. My father’s chest heaved. I held him back and turned to Sienna. “You brought these flowers. You’re telling me you don’t know what’s in them?” She blinked those big innocent eyes and played the wounded lamb. “Mrs. Vane, I don’t understand. I bought them at a flower shop.” “If you think something’s wrong with them, I can call the shop right now and ask.” She reached for her phone, making a production of it. I watched her performance with cold eyes. A few careful sentences and she’d wiped her hands clean, shifted the blame to the florist, painted me as paranoid to Julian, and positioned herself as the victim. Textbook manipulation. Sure enough, Julian stopped her and shot me a glare. “You’re being paranoid. She doesn’t have to prove anything to you.” He walked up to me, grabbed my shoulders, and shook me. “Seraphina, are you done? You’ve embarrassed this entire family!” “Embarrassed?” I shoved his hands away. “You spent the whole night at your grad student’s place helping her with her thesis. That wasn’t embarrassing?” “That was work!” Julian roared. While we faced off, my mother slapped me. Her eyes were red with tears and full of disappointment. “Seraphina, is this what I raised you to be? Have you no shame? Apologize to Sienna. Now.” My cheek burned. My whole body went cold. My mother hadn’t even asked why. She’d taken their side and slapped me. Through the blur of tears I saw the smug satisfaction on Julian’s face. He even raised an eyebrow. Behind Beatrice, Sienna’s hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes went wide with practiced innocence. But deep down I saw it. Victory. Mockery. He thought he’d won. In his little script, I was supposed to be isolated, abandoned, defeated. Julian stood in front of me with a sneer. “Ready to admit you were wrong?” He jerked his chin toward Sienna and spoke in a tone that allowed no argument. “Get on your knees and apologize. Tell her you’re unstable and you made false accusations. Do that, and we’ll pretend tonight never happened.” “Who the hell is going to make her kneel?” My father roared and pulled me behind him. But my mother grabbed his arm, sobbing. “Haven’t you made enough of a scene? What’s wrong with her apologizing?” “You want a divorce over something like this? You want the whole family to be a laughingstock?” I looked at my father, his eyes bloodshot from defending me. I looked at Julian and Sienna, basking in their victory. I gently moved my father’s hand aside. Took a breath. Nodded. “Fine.” I paused, then gave them what they wanted to hear. “I’ll kneel. I’ll apologize.” The room went dead silent. Julian’s expression froze. He hadn’t expected me to fold. His voice softened, coaxing. “Sera, let’s stop this. Let’s just go back to the way things were. Okay?”

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A person only has one heart, and my husband wanted mine for his student. At a friends dinner, my husband got down on one knee and told me his student needed my heart. “She needs the transplant as soon as possible.” I went blank for a second. “A person only has one heart.” “I’ll get you the best cardiac surgeon in the city. We’ll put in an LVAD.” “I’m three months from my due date.” “The baby… we can try again. We’d have to let go of this one.” Before I could even respond, a girl’s laugh cut through the room. “April Fools, Professor! I made the whole thing up.” She was grinning behind her hand. “I didn’t actually think you’d go ask your wife.” The room erupted and friends started teasing. “That was brutal, man. Talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place.” “If she’d said she needed my heart, I’d already be on the operating table.” I was the only one not laughing. I sat on the couch and said nothing. I’d already booked the appointment for tomorrow. … Julian had never once been angry at Clara. He’d always treated this frail, sickly student like she was made of glass. But this time he stood up and his face went cold. The room caught on and fell silent. After a long pause someone quietly reminded Clara, “You know that joke landed on his wife, right? That’s the one line you don’t cross with him.” “He’s famous for it at the institute. First year on the job, a colleague cracked one joke about Sienna and ended up in the hospital.” Clara froze and tears gathered on her lashes. She reached out and tugged the edge of Julian’s sleeve. “I’m sorry. It’s April Fools. I wasn’t thinking.” He didn’t answer so she turned to me and sniffled. “Mrs. Thorne, I didn’t mean anything by it. If you’re upset, say whatever you need to. I can take it.” Friends jumped in to smooth things over. “She’s always been like this, says things without thinking. Don’t let it get between you two.” “Come on, Julian. She’s been your student for three years and you even put her in your acknowledgments. You’re not going to let one bad joke ruin that, are you?” Julian’s expression finally softened and he reached over to wipe the corner of her eye. “Don’t make jokes like that again.” Clara nodded over and over. Then he turned to me and his voice softened into something close to an apology. “I’m sorry, Sienna. I came to you before I even knew the facts.” Came to me for help. A heart transplant and he called it help. That was the word he chose. It wasn’t the first time. Anything that touched Clara turned this normally sharp and rational professor into someone emotional and careless with his words. He drove fourteen hundred miles on New Year’s Eve because she texted him about cramps. When I asked he just said, “She’s not well. I was worried.” But I was five months pregnant and alone the whole night. He wasn’t worried. I was in pain with contractions coming in waves and I couldn’t even speak. He wasn’t worried. Morning sickness, edema, clumps of hair on the shower floor every day. He wasn’t worried. With me he was always perfectly rational, like a machine. “Sienna, growing a life is hard. You’ll feel better once the baby’s here.” I became short-tempered and easy to cry and easy to snap, but he chalked it all up to hormones and said a few words and went to his study. Every time, I had to force down the urge to go after him. And yet in the acknowledgments of the paper he’d spent five years writing, the first name listed was hers. Clara, an undergrad who had no real research experience to speak of. By the time I found out it was already in the news. In the interview Julian was relaxed, almost offhand. “In five years of teaching, Clara isn’t the most talented student I’ve had. But she’s the most resilient.” “I’m grateful she came into my life. She gave me the courage to keep going.”

That day I dropped my favorite vase. Julian saw the pieces on the floor and told the housekeeper to clean it up. But that vase was one we’d made together in the Cotswolds, the year we were most in love. He’d said with a straight face that it was going to be a family heirloom. “Let me put it back together.” I crouched down with my hands shaking and tried to match the fragments. He frowned and pulled me up. “It’s just a vase.” My eyes went hot. He glanced at my stomach. “Baby acting up again?” I told myself he was like this with everything, that not caring about keepsakes was just who he was. But that night when I brought fruit to his study I saw a locked display case on the shelf. Inside, under glass, was a ballpoint pen. The kind you get for a few dollars at any campus shop. Clara had given it to him. It was like having cold water dumped over my head. We had our worst fight. I broke the case open and threw the pen in the trash but he picked it up like it was something precious. When he looked at me his eyes were full of impatience. “Look at yourself, Sienna. You sound unhinged.” “You broke the vase yourself. What exactly are you blaming me for?” I told him to swear to me that he hadn’t fallen for her. If he had, I said, neither of them would come to any good. Julian, a man who’d never believed in anything he couldn’t prove, actually hesitated. After a long pause he finally spoke. “You’re right. I did fall for her.” “But we haven’t crossed any lines and we won’t. You don’t need to act like the world is ending.” I couldn’t stop the tears. He sighed and reached over to smooth my hair back. “Sienna, we’ve been together eleven years. There’s nothing left to surprise me.” “To be blunt, kissing you feels like going through the motions.” “Sometimes I even regret it, getting married so young, going abroad right after we turned eighteen. I didn’t know back then that I’d feel this way about someone else ten years later.” The same man who once set off fireworks across the whole city just to make me smile was now standing over me and talking about his feelings for another woman like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Clara’s different. She’s light. She doesn’t carry herself the way you do.” “She likes doing silly things. Watches those cheesy romance movies. Stops to feed stray cats on the street.” “You like all those same things. But when she does them I can’t help it. She gets to me.” When he was done he lit a cigarette and his voice turned gentle and cruel at the same time. “The title of Mrs. Thorne is yours for as long as you want it. But you’re going to have to accept that she’s the only one in my heart.” After that night I fell apart slowly and steadily. I cried until my eyes swelled shut every morning. I tried to go numb. I tried not to notice when he came home late, tried not to care about the missed prenatal appointments, tried not to think about him taking her to Hawaii. But I was only lying to myself. Then today he knelt in front of me in front of everyone and asked me to give Clara my heart. He was even willing to give up our baby at six months to make it happen. I looked at this marriage and realized there was nothing left in it.

“Mrs. Thorne, I know I was wrong. Please forgive me.” Clara’s voice was steadier now and I could see something like satisfaction hiding behind her eyes. Someone backed her up. “She doesn’t mean any harm. She’s always been like this, says whatever comes to mind. She was drunk once and said she wanted to marry Professor Thorne.” The second it came out the guy winced and covered his mouth. “That’s not what I meant. I’m just saying she doesn’t think before she speaks. Everyone knows you two are solid. No one could come between that.” The room went dead quiet. I smiled and said nothing for a moment. Then I looked at Clara. “It’s fine. I don’t blame you.” Everyone exhaled. Then I kept going. “Julian and I are getting a divorce. Congratulations in advance.” “Sienna.” Julian’s face darkened. “Don’t say things like that in front of everyone.” “You can get down on your knees in front of everyone and ask me to give her my heart, but I can’t mention a divorce?” He frowned. “It was an April Fools prank. Clara already apologized. If you keep pushing this you’re the one making it awkward for everyone.” Friends jumped in. “You’re still pregnant. Don’t stress yourself out over this.” “We all saw how upset Julian got just now. He never talks to Clara like that.” I looked at him and my voice was strangely calm. “You weren’t upset for me. You were upset because she joked about needing a transplant. When you found out it wasn’t real you were relieved.” He blinked and I could see the irritation creeping into his face. “Please. Not here.” “You’re embarrassing yourself. And her.” The exhaustion hit me all at once. I closed my eyes. “Fine. Monday. Let’s get this divorce done.” I stood to leave but Clara dropped to her knees in front of me. “Mrs. Thorne, please don’t take this out on him. He only ever wanted me to be healthy.” I looked at this girl crying her pretty tears and couldn’t help but laugh. “You went to all that trouble to prove how much you matter to him. I hope it felt worth it.” She went white. I stepped around her and walked out. Then behind me I heard his voice, quiet and cold. “Sienna. Don’t forget your mother is at Thorne Medical.” I stopped. I would never have thought Julian would use my mother against me. After a long silence I turned back and pulled Clara off the floor. “I was joking. I don’t blame you for anything.” She sniffled. “I’m glad. I’d hate to cause problems for him.” That was the end of it. Julian drove me home. On the way he said, “I had to say that. I wouldn’t actually do anything to your mother.” “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll come with you to see the baby tomorrow.” “Sienna. We’ve been together over ten years. I’m not without feeling for you. If you can, I hope you’ll try to get along with Clara.” I leaned against the window. “I meant what I said.” “Julian, let’s get divorced. Whatever happens with you two after that has nothing to do with me.”

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It was my eighteenth wedding with Julian Sterling, and once again all the guests left with my adopted sister. My parents called, impatient and barely hiding it. “Seraphina’s stomach is acting up again. We’re taking her to the hospital. Cancel the wedding, you should be familiar with what to do.” My maid of honor, my best friend since childhood, clicked her tongue at me over the phone. “You really think your wedding is more important than Seraphina’s health? She nearly passed out from the pain and you didn’t want us looking after her. When did you become this cruel?” And my fiancé didn’t even bother to call. He just texted: Wedding’s off. Discuss it next time. I rolled those words around in my head. He’d used that same line to brush me off eighteen times. A cold laugh slipped out before I could stop it, and I realized I felt nothing at all. Eighteen times. Enough. I was done begging for scraps from people who’d already made their choice. Whatever came next, I’d figure it out on my own. I picked up the microphone and walked onto the wedding stage, every inch of it draped in amethyst violets, Seraphina’s favorite flowers, not mine. “I’m sorry, everyone. Today’s wedding is canceled.” The guests traded glances. Not a single person looked surprised. “Called it. Not one of these weddings has ever gone through. If I were Celeste, I wouldn’t have shown my face.” “The whole family’s obsessed with the little sister. If I were Celeste I’d just let her have him and walk away. Save yourself the embarrassment and at least come out looking classy.” “You don’t know the half of it. She’s like that girl from Just My Luck. Everything she touches turns to gold, everyone around her hits the jackpot. Every time Julian tries to call it off with her, Sterling Global’s stock tanks the next day. He’s tested it a few times and lost billions. That’s the only reason he’s still with her.” I walked off the stage under their stares. I heard every word. My lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. This time, a stock dip was going to be the least of their problems. I changed out of the gown and drove back to the Vane estate to grab my things and leave. But the second I reached the door, a whole parade came pouring in. Seraphina at the center, everyone laughing and fussing over her like she’d just survived something heroic. The moment they saw me, every smile dropped. Julian’s eyes went dark. “Celeste, you canceled and didn’t even bother to give people a reason? Now they’re all going to think it’s because of Seraphina again. That’s on you.” My father scoffed and didn’t bother looking at me. “You really dropped the ball this time, Celeste. Every other time you handled the PR yourself and we didn’t have to think about it. Go put out a statement. Tell them you were the one being unreasonable.” Jade was already pulling out her phone. “I’ll get my agent to call the press. If Celeste puts out a statement now we can still fix this. Get some trolls to go after her online and nobody will be talking about Seraphina.” I didn’t respond to any of them. I just stood there. Okay. Fine. I’d had enough. Three days. I was giving myself three days to cut every last tie and walk away from this life for good. “Celeste, are you even listening? I’m telling you, if you don’t clean this up, I can’t promise when the next wedding will be.” Julian stopped right in front of me, voice sharp and impatient. And then Seraphina finally opened her mouth, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s all my fault. I ruined things between Julian and Celeste. I’m the one to blame.” “This month still has a few good dates. Please don’t push the wedding back any further.” She didn’t even finish before she started coughing. Julian rushed to her side and rubbed her back. “It’s not your fault. Don’t overthink it. Your sister can’t live without me, so it doesn’t matter when we get married.” “Then you’re the one overthinking it.” Those were my first words since I’d walked in. Everyone froze. I lifted the bag in my hand. “I’m leaving.” The words barely left my mouth. The next second, a sharp crack split the air. The slap echoed through the entire living room.

I tilted my head and let out a bitter laugh. My mother’s hand was still shaking from the slap. “Are you done? After everything we’ve given you, this is what you turn into? A spoiled, ungrateful brat?” “You want to walk out? And go where? So the whole city can talk about how we’re the bad guys, how we don’t love you enough? When are you going to stop embarrassing this family, Celeste? God, I wish I’d never had you. Seraphina would never pull this shit.” The taste of blood filled my mouth. I ran my tongue along the corner of my lip. Yes, every other time, I would have made a scene. Because I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand why when Seraphina broke my father’s antique, they said I was the one who smashed it. I didn’t understand why there was security footage and they still refused to believe I hadn’t pushed Seraphina down the stairs. I didn’t understand how buying flowers that happened to trigger Seraphina’s allergies made me a bully. This wasn’t the first time my mother had hit me. The last time was two days ago. Because Seraphina wanted to wear my wedding dress and I said no. Then she fainted on the spot. My mother shoved me and cut up the custom gown I’d waited six months for with a pair of scissors. Over Seraphina, my mother and I had become almost enemies. So yes, I used to fight back. I used to scream and demand that someone, anyone, tell me I wasn’t crazy. But this time, I wasn’t going to make a scene. I’d always been the lucky one in this family. The day after I was born, the Vane Empire landed a deal that pulled it back from the edge of bankruptcy and made my father the richest man in Oceana. His stage-two liver cancer went into full remission around the same time, and the doctors never could explain it. My best friend Jade was a plain, forgettable girl before she met me. After we became inseparable in grade school, she grew into the kind of beautiful that made people stare. She landed every audition, won Best Actress, and became the most bankable star in the country. And Julian. He used to be nobody. A guy hawking knockoffs at a flea market, chased off by cops and beaten up by competitors. Until the night he found me lost at a street fair and walked me home. I fell for him on the spot. After that, everything he touched turned to gold. He built his own brand, never lost a deal, and took Sterling Global public before he turned thirty. They adored me for over twenty years. Julian treated me like I was the center of his universe. And they got everything they ever wanted. Then Seraphina was brought into the Vane family. And everyone changed. My father’s voice went cold. “Take all her things. Everything here belongs to this family. She doesn’t walk out with a damn thing.” “You want to go, Celeste? Go. But nobody’s chasing after you this time. We’ll hold a press conference and cut you off for good. You won’t be a Vane anymore.” They didn’t even let me grab a change of clothes before they pushed me out the front door. Julian sighed and quietly slipped me a key. “Here. It’s an apartment. You can stay there. Celeste, we’re done. None of us have the energy for this anymore.” “I wish I’d saved Seraphina that night instead of you.” I scoffed. “Then marry her.” Julian let out a long, exhausted breath. “Don’t start. I said I’d marry you and I will. That’s not going to change.” “Seraphina is a good person. A genuinely good person. I’m not going to let you talk about her like she’s something you can throw away. Don’t say that again.” He turned and walked back up the steps. I dropped the key on the ground and turned to leave. Seraphina rushed over and grabbed my sleeve. “Don’t leave, Celeste. I’m the one who overstepped. I wanted things that were never mine to want. I don’t deserve any of it.” “You stay. I’ll go. I’ll leave the house right now.” I knew exactly what she was doing. So I just stood there and let her cling to me and fake-cry. But when she realized I wasn’t going to shove her away like I always did, she gasped for air and collapsed at my feet. “Seraphina!” “Call the doctor! Seraphina, my baby girl!” Everyone came running and swarmed around her. Julian’s hand closed around my throat and his eyes were murderous. “You touched her? You really think I won’t hit you?” Turns out when you’re past the point of anger, all that’s left is a laugh. I didn’t even touch her. And somehow I was still the one who did. “Julian, I hope none of you ever regret this.” My father’s voice cracked like a whip. “Someone get her out of my sight. Lock her in the basement. I’ll deal with her myself.”

The basement was damp and dark. This was the second time I’d been locked down here. The first time was still fresh in my mind. I’d caught Seraphina sneaking into Julian’s bedroom in the middle of the night. I found her in his bed. She cried and said it was sleepwalking brought on by childhood trauma. She didn’t know why her feet had carried her to Julian’s room. She just felt safe there. She didn’t mean it. My parents and Julian believed every word. Julian even told her, gently, that she could come to him whenever she was scared. Back then I was at the peak of my obsession with him. I wouldn’t tolerate a female assistant anywhere near his office. Apart from junior staff, no woman was allowed on the executive floor. So I slapped Seraphina across the face. And my parents locked me in this basement. Seven days. One bowl of plain rice porridge a day. They didn’t let me out until the hunger broke me and I agreed to apologize. This time, they clearly had no intention of stopping at starvation. My father walked in with a cane and Julian followed behind him. “Thirty would have been fair. But Seraphina begged me to go easy on you, so I’m using the switch instead of the belt. That means fifty.” Crack. The first blow raised an instant welt across my skin. He hit me a dozen times. The welts split open one by one. Every strike after that came with a numb, searing burn. I remembered them saying Seraphina had begged for the switch. It had been soaked in something. Pepper water, from the feel of it. “Apologize to your sister!” “Are you going to apologize or not?!” He never got the answer he wanted, so he just kept hitting harder. After fifty strikes, my entire back and arms were covered in open wounds. The skin had peeled back in raw strips and blood ran down my spine and dripped onto the floor. I was numb from the pain. I curled up in the corner and gasped for air. My father threw the cane on the ground and left. His last words on the way out were, “Stubborn to the bone.” Julian crouched in front of me. “Seraphina sent medicine and clean clothes for you. She’s never been anything but good to you, Celeste. You’re her older sister. I’m about to be her brother-in-law. We should be taking care of her. Why do you always have to make her into the villain?” “Just apologize and get it over with. Stop putting everyone through this.” He unfolded the clothes Seraphina had prepared for me and laid them over my back. The fabric touched my open wounds and my entire body seized like I’d been dropped into a vat of salt. I doubled over and curled into a ball. “Drama queen. Seraphina turns white every time she’s in pain and you don’t see her making a show of it.” Julian stood up with a look of disgust and walked out. I finally managed to catch my breath. Two more days. I just had to hold on for two more days.

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My mate killed my pup to protect an Omega; now he’s begging for a single glance from the Luna he rejected. I came home to find the packhouse locked. Kaelen wasn’t back yet, so I waited outside in the snow. Two hours later his black SUV finally rolled up the drive. He climbed out looking apologetic and unlocked the front door. “One of the pack members was sick. I drove her to the healers’ ward first.” “Sure. Health comes first.” I stepped past his hand and walked inside. There were plenty of shewolves in Kaelen’s pack, but only one could make him drop everything and come running. Cynthia. A soft-spoken Omega with doe eyes and a gift for making every Alpha in the room feel like her personal protector. I’d fought with him about her before. Screamed at him. Let Ember, my Wolf, claw to the surface. Nearly got thrown in the dungeon for it. Then came the fight that killed our pup. I’d gone to find him at the pack hall, pregnant and happy, and walked in on Cynthia sobbing into his shoulder. Ember surged forward. My vision went gold. I shoved Cynthia away from him. One push and she went flying. Kaelen’s eyes went pitch black. Kruger, his Wolf, exploded out of him. Before I could even flinch, he lunged at me in half-shift and sent me crashing sideways. My belly hit the corner of the stone table. The pup was gone before I hit the ground. After that he seemed to wake up. He knelt at my bedside and swore on the Moon Goddess he’d keep Cynthia away, move her to a room on the far end of the compound with the other Omegas. No more contact. Now he watched me brush snow off my coat. His brows pulled together. “Elena, you’re not going to ask which pack member?” I looked at the red creeping into the corners of his eyes. And smiled. “Doesn’t matter who.” Because I didn’t care anymore. … Kaelen stood frozen in the doorway, rubbing his nose. “Cynthia’s place doesn’t have heat. She came down with a fever, a bad one. Nobody would help her.” He sighed. “You know how it is. After you made that scene, the whole pack turned on her. They call her a mate-betrayer behind her back. Even the other Omegas won’t sit with her.” “Helping her out was me cleaning up your mess.” The memory scraped at the old wound in my chest. The aftermath of that fight had been loud. Within days the entire pack knew what happened. Most of them sided with me. Behind closed doors they called Cynthia what she was. The shewolves in her circle froze her out, moved her to the worst room in the compound. I nodded and kept walking toward the bedroom. Kaelen’s voice sharpened. “Cynthia’s already forgiven you. Can’t you just move forward?” My feet stopped. My hand pressed flat against my stomach. “Sure.” I looked him dead in the eye. “When the pup comes back.” Kaelen went rigid. The light drained from his face. I didn’t wait. I walked to the bedroom. Since losing the pup we hadn’t shared a room in months. But the moment I pushed open the door, I froze. Dresses tossed across the bed. A bundle of belongings on the floor, piled halfway to my hip. Kaelen caught up and draped his arm across my shoulders, trying to play it casual. “Cynthia’s fever is bad. She shouldn’t be alone. I told her she could stay here a few days.” I stared at the bundle. A few days. And she packed half her life for it. “Besides, we’re mates. Sleeping in separate rooms isn’t right.” He squeezed my shoulder. “You still want a pup, don’t you? We can try again. Tonight.” I’d already been gutted by this man in every way that mattered. But hearing him dangle a pup like bait to keep his Luna in line still turned my stomach. “Kaelen, how about this. I move into your room, and you pick a different bed each night. Me or her. Whoever you’re in the mood for. Sound fair?” His face flushed. “What the hell are you saying?” “Luna, please don’t fight with Alpha Kaelen because of me. I’ll leave right now.” I turned around. Cynthia stood in the doorway, doe-eyed and trembling. Scarf on. Gloves on. Not a snowflake on her. Not a trace of the blizzard outside. It hit me all at once. While I’d been standing in the snow for two hours with my legs going numb, the two of them had been sitting in that heated SUV working out how to handle me. I was done talking. I shouldered past Kaelen, yanked open the closet, and shoved my few worn clothes into a bag. He was at my side in two steps, his hand locked around my wrist. “What are you doing now?” “It’s the middle of winter. You have a perfectly good house and you want to leave? The rest of the pack will talk.” “Do you have to make everything worse?” I shook his hand off and zipped the bag. “A house?” I said. “I don’t have a house. This one is yours and hers.” I grabbed the bag and shoved past him toward the front door. Behind me, Cynthia’s voice drifted out, soft and shaking, perfectly pitched. “Alpha Kaelen, she’s just jealous. I should go. It’s only a fever, I can take care of myself.” “Let her go. She gets more impossible every day.” “You stay right here. I’ll make you some soup later.” The wind hit my face. The tears that slipped out froze before they reached my jaw. The night I lost the pup, he’d made me soup too. So in his mind, a dead pup and a fever weighed exactly the same.

The blizzard was brutal. I fell several times on the way, but I finally made it to the old place I’d stayed before Kaelen and I were mated. The door creaked open and the smell of mold hit me in the face. I pulled the light cord a few times. The bulb flickered once and went dead. I sighed, dragged a stool over, and tried to fix the wiring. A flashlight beam swept in through the doorway. Doctor Julian from next door was standing there, eyes wide. “Luna Elena? Is that really you? I heard noise coming from over here.” He took one look at me and seemed to guess I wasn’t in the mood to talk. He didn’t ask questions. He just pushed the flashlight into my hand. “I’ve got a spare bulb. Let me put it in for you.” He grabbed a wooden chair, climbed up, and started screwing it in, chatting to fill the silence. “Hell of a storm tonight. Have you eaten? I’ve got fresh soup at my place.” “You lost the pup not long ago, and now you’ve been out in this cold. A warm bowl would do you good.” My eyes stung. I almost cried right there. A pack doctor I barely knew remembered what my body had been through. My own mate just thought I wasn’t forgiving enough. “No thanks. I already ate.” The bulb clicked on. Julian steadied himself on the chair and climbed down. The old wood groaned under him. I rushed forward to hold the chair steady. Then I heard a gasp behind me. “Luna, you left home in such a hurry and it was for him?” Cynthia stood in the doorway with three of the pack’s biggest gossips behind her. She pressed a hand over her mouth, looking back and forth between me and Julian. “Alone together with the lights out. In the middle of the night.” The three women exchanged looks, muttering just loud enough to hear. “Betraying her Alpha. Right under his nose.” “And I thought she was the decent one. Guess not.” Julian’s face went red. He jumped down from the chair. “Don’t twist this. Luna Elena just got here. I saw the lights were out, so I came over to change a bulb. That’s it.” Cynthia raised her voice even louder. “So the lights were out and you were already in here with her?” “Luna, how could you do this to Alpha Kaelen?” “Bullshit.” I grabbed Cynthia’s wrist and yanked her to the door. “Look. Door’s wide open. Key’s still in the lock. Say one more word and I’ll slap the taste out of your mouth.” Cynthia blinked. Then the tears dropped, right on cue. That two-faced act made Ember snarl inside my skull. I was about to keep going when a massive hand clamped down on my shoulder and wrenched me back. “Elena, so this is why you wanted separate rooms? For this pretty boy?” Julian saw Kaelen and stepped forward immediately. “Alpha Kaelen, it’s not what you think.” Kaelen turned and glared at him. “Shut your mouth. You’re a doctor. You should know better. I haven’t even begun dealing with you.” He swung back to me, disgust clear on his face. “Elena, you’d throw away your honor just to spite me?” “I thought you were just throwing a tantrum.” “But you couldn’t even wait one night before running to another wolf.” “This isn’t just about me. You’ve disgraced the entire pack.” I almost laughed. I stood near another male for two minutes and suddenly I’d betrayed my Alpha and disgraced the pack. But Cynthia could cry on his shoulder for months and that was a misunderstanding. I looked at him, cold and steady, one word at a time. “I have nothing to hide.” “The door is open. My bag is still packed. The flashlight is still on.” “Ask the gate guard what time I got here and you’ll have your answer.” Kaelen paused. His eyes drifted to the bag on the floor. Then he looked around the room. The cobwebs. The dust. The bed frame made of stacked bricks. Something in his expression cracked. He was almost swayed. But Cynthia grabbed his sleeve, sniffling. “Alpha Kaelen, after what Luna did to me last time, people still point at me and call me names.” More tears, right on the edge of falling. Kaelen looked at me. Then at Cynthia. Something hardened in his jaw. “Call the enforcers.” “Lock her in the dungeon. We’ll sort this out in the morning.” Three enforcers rushed in and surrounded me. My head was spinning. “Kaelen, are you insane? You can see there’s nothing between me and Julian.” Kaelen sighed. “Elena, I’m doing this for your own good.” He waved his hand. The enforcers grabbed me by the arms and dragged me into the dungeon. Four concrete walls. Cold enough to see my breath. I curled up in the corner. The old ache in my belly started up again.

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I spent five years working day and night to pay off my boyfriend’s debt. He gave his mistress a million to buy a dress. I gritted my teeth and grabbed the last box of marked-down shrimp. Next to me, a girl dripping in designer labels was picking through the imported seafood. She glanced at me, then dropped a blue lobster straight into my cart. “It’s New Year’s Eve. Treat yourself.” She smiled like it was nothing. “Everything in your cart tonight, I’m paying.” I stared at the five-figure price tag. I waved my hands and tried to refuse. She pulled out a black card without blinking. “Don’t worry about it. My man gives me way too much to spend. He actually gets mad when I don’t use it.” I forced a laugh. “He sounds… really generous.” “That’s an understatement. I can’t spend it fast enough.” She tilted her head. “You know what’s funny though? His girlfriend’s been killing herself for years. Back-breaking temp jobs, double shifts, all to pay off some debt that doesn’t even exist.” “I told him I wanted a home-cooked New Year’s Eve dinner. He ditched her right then and there to come cook for me.” I froze. My boyfriend was in debt too. Before the coincidence could sink in, my phone buzzed. A text from Caleb: “Tessa, the company scheduled me for a holiday shift. Triple pay.” “Buy yourself something nice. Be good and wait for me. I’ll be home tomorrow.”

A sharp ringing filled my ears. Nothing else. The world tilted. Everything blurred. When I didn’t reply, Caleb called. His voice was patient. Gentle. “Tessa, why aren’t you saying anything?” That sweet, doting tone. I opened my mouth. “Can you come home today? Forget the money. We don’t need it.” He paused. Then he let out a low laugh. “Missing me already? Once we pay off the debt, we’ll be together every single day.” Someone on his end told him to get back to work. He hung up in a hurry. I stared at the hundred dollars he’d just transferred. Next to me, the girl let out a dramatic sigh. “He just sent me another million. Told me to buy something sexy to wear tonight.” “But even the most expensive piece wouldn’t cost more than a hundred grand. I’ll use the rest to get you a few outfits.” Before I could say a word, Seraphina grabbed my arm. She paid for everything at the supermarket, then dragged me into a luxury boutique. I looked at the price tags. A string of zeroes. Suddenly, it all felt like a joke. After college, Caleb’s startup had failed. He’d racked up millions in debt. Then came the severe depression. I worked multiple jobs every day. All I wanted was to see a little spark come back to his eyes. Five years. I scraped and saved. I couldn’t count how many meals were just bread and tap water. And now the coat draped over my shoulders cost more than two hundred thousand dollars. The sting hit the back of my nose. I couldn’t breathe. Seraphina chattered on, oblivious. “You know what? He made his girlfriend get three abortions. All for me.” Something exploded in my head. My hand went to my stomach without thinking. I’d lost three babies too. The first time, I was racing to make a delivery on time. I gunned the scooter through a yellow light. A luxury SUV clipped me and sent me skidding across the asphalt. The second time, I needed the seventy dollars from a sign-spinning shift. I stood in a thunderstorm for two hours, holding up an ad board on the side of the highway, soaked to the bone. The third time, Caleb held me and cried. He said we couldn’t afford to raise a child. He took me to some cheap clinic and bought the pills himself. For so many nights after, he’d jolt awake from nightmares. He’d hold me and whisper he was sorry. He said, “Tessa, when I get back on my feet, I’ll give you a real home. I promise.” Seraphina didn’t notice my face going white. She kept talking. “Oh, and when that idiot girlfriend rear-ended the SUV, she was so scared she couldn’t even speak.” “Babe was sitting in the back seat the whole time, video-calling me to watch.” “And that sign-spinning job? It was supposed to pay seven hundred. He pulled strings to cut it down to seventy.” I looked at the pride on her face. I asked her, “Doesn’t it bother you that he has a girlfriend?” Seraphina stared at me like I was the crazy one. “His love, his money, his bed. All mine.” “Sweetie, other than the word ‘girlfriend,’ what does she even have?”

I don’t know how I made it home. Our apartment was barely a hundred square feet. We’d made it cozy and warm, just the two of us. Back then, Caleb swore it would always be that way. Just us. Forever. I lived inside that beautiful lie for years. Happy. So happy I forgot how hard life actually was. Maybe it was fate. I stumbled across Seraphina’s social media account. She was livestreaming. The camera was pointed at a man’s back. I’d know that silhouette anywhere. Caleb pulled off the T-shirt he’d worn so many times it was practically falling apart. He changed into a silk loungewear set. The comments flooded in: “Does a man like this actually exist? Rich, gentle, AND faithful?” “He’s cooking for her! You can tell he adores her.” “You guys don’t know, Seraphina has a sensitive stomach, so he went and learned recipes from a private chef just for her.” Every word cut into me. Five years. I hadn’t had a proper meal in five years, all to help Caleb pay off his debt. Outside the window, the roar of the New Year’s countdown swelled louder and louder. Fireworks cracked open the sky. Cheering swallowed the whole neighborhood. On screen, Caleb set down the knife and walked toward the camera. The screen went black. The sound of kissing, loud and shameless. Seraphina ended the stream. But she didn’t forget to leave her followers a parting gift: “He wanted it. He got it.” The photo underneath showed a man’s hand gripping her, knuckles sharp, possessive. The whole city was celebrating. Every window glowed warm. I scrolled through every single post on Seraphina’s account. Like I was punishing myself. In all her showing off, the details I’d missed came into focus one by one, filling in every gap. The day Caleb gave me a pair of two-dollar crystal hair clips, he’d just bought Seraphina a diamond necklace worth millions. The day he brought home a bubble tea to celebrate paying off half the debt, he’d also wired Seraphina enough to buy herself a Chanel bag. Every time I needed him. Every time I worried about him. He was in the villa he’d bought for Seraphina, tangled up with her, getting off on the thrill of cheating. Even my lucky penny, the one I’d held onto since I was a little girl, the only thing my mother left me, ended up clipped to his mistress’s purse. My hands and feet went cold. I curled up on the wooden plank bed. … Caleb came back three days later. He’d changed back into his ragged clothes. He hugged me the way he always did. Warm. Eager. My stomach flipped. I shoved him off and threw up everywhere. The smile on his face collapsed into panic. His eyes went red. A second later, tears spilled over. “Tessa, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me…” There was nothing in my stomach. By the end I was heaving up bile. He looked at me, full of concern. “Have you been skipping meals again?” “A coworker hooked me up with extra shifts. That’s why I was gone a couple days. How did you let yourself get this bad?” I listened to the lies rolling off his tongue. I almost wanted to laugh. I did laugh. But halfway through, I couldn’t even see his face anymore.

I got sick. A hundred and two degrees. In and out of consciousness, all I could see was Caleb. From the day we started dating, he’d set his profile picture to a photo of me on every platform, just so I’d feel safe. He quit smoking after ten years because I couldn’t stand the smoke. He remembered everything I liked. He even tracked my period better than I did. This was the man who would always shield me first without thinking. How could he cheat? Why would he cheat? My body burned, then froze, then burned again. I could feel Caleb moving around me, never stopping. A fresh towel on my forehead every thirty minutes. A cotton swab on my lips every fifteen. When I finally opened my eyes, he looked the same as every other time I’d been sick. Red-rimmed eyes. Aching with worry. I lifted my hand and pressed it against his cheek. For the first time, he felt so far away. “Tessa, you’re finally awake. I was so worried.” “I made you some soup. Come on, let me help you sit up.” I opened my mouth. Tears pooled in my eyes. I swallowed it down. Forced a smile. “It’s good.” He smiled when he heard that. His eyes lit up. Just like when he was eighteen. I looked at the band-aids on his fingers. My heart softened again. Five years together. It’s not something you just walk away from. He held me, rambling about how scared he’d been these past three days. For the first time, I didn’t comfort him. I just asked quietly, “How much do we still owe?” Caleb blinked. Then answered like it was nothing. “A lot.” I looked at him. “Caleb, aren’t you tired?” He tucked the blanket around me and smiled. “Tired of what? I’ve been the one resting all these years, taking my meds, not doing any real work.” “It’s you I worry about. You barely get any sleep.” There was a moment, just a flash, where I wanted to ask him the real question. Your family is worth billions. Why are you pretending to be poor? Living in a lie every single day. Doesn’t that exhaust you? But I couldn’t say it. I realized, terrified, that I didn’t have the courage to face the truth either. “Tessa, I’ve been off work for days because of you. My boss isn’t happy.” “Tomorrow I need to go back. Just stay home and rest, okay? I’ll come straight back after my shift.” He said this while his fingers were still hovering over his phone screen. I gripped the edge of the blanket. My voice came out shaking. “Stay a few more days. Please. Just a few more days with me.” He sat there, tilting his head, watching me. Then he said, “Okay.” When everything slowed down, my mind got clearer. All the things I didn’t want to think about came crashing in at once. These past years, I was out the door before sunrise and home long after dark. Caleb had his own endless overtime and night shifts. When I added it up, we’d barely spent any time together at all. Caleb wrapped his arms around me. He kissed behind my ear. Down my neck. But once a heart cracks, nothing fills it back up. All I could think about was that girl. Bright-eyed, sheltered, spoiled by him. Did he hold her like this too? Was he this tender with her? The nausea hit me like a wall. I threw up all over the floor. Caleb didn’t notice anything was wrong. He just held my hair back, full of worry. But if he worried so much about me, why was he being tender with someone else?

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On the ninety-ninth day after my birth parents took me home, they asked me to marry the head of the mafia in my sister’s place. “Vera,” my mother said, “this engagement was always meant for you. Now that you’re back, we wouldn’t dream of taking away what’s rightfully yours.” I laughed. Everyone knew Wolf was a savage. He married three times a year, and not a single one of his wives had ever lived to see Christmas Eve. After I refused, my adopted sister Elaine burst into tears. “I just don’t want people saying I stole what belonged to my sister,” she sobbed. “I’ve already enjoyed so many things that were hers. I won’t take anything else from her. If she says no, I won’t go either.” My mother pulled the weeping Elaine into her arms. “Silly girl,” she murmured. “You will always be our daughter. That will never change.” Then she turned to look at me, her eyes full of reproach. “You’re still not as sensible as Elaine. This isn’t just about your marriage — it’s about our family’s honor. But I can’t blame you. We found you too late.” I had been about to take the whole matter to my adopted parents. Instead, I drank the warm glass of soothing milk they gave me — and blacked out. When I came to, I found myself tied in the back of a filthy cargo truck, wrists and ankles bound. My hands were bound behind my back. The rope had already cut through the first layer of skin. Every time the truck lurched, a fresh wave of pain shot up both arms. The air reeked of motor oil and rotting meat. Twenty years living with my adopted parents — the Sinclairs, a mafia dynasty — had taught me exactly what this was. I’d been kidnapped. And without thinking twice, I was fairly certain it had something to do with the marriage they’d been pushing last night. Half an hour later, the truck stopped. They threw me out into the desert. Scalding sand flooded my nose and mouth. My already raw wrists screamed as the coarse grains ground into the wounds. “Dear sister,” came a sweet voice. “Do you like the little trip I arranged just for you? You’ve been gone for twenty years — why did you have to come back? But since you’re here, and since you seem so determined to claim everything that’s yours, let’s start with Mr. Wolf. He says he’ll show you the most exquisite pleasure a woman can know.” I forced my head up. Elaine stood over me, dressed in a pink MiuMiu suit, her smile radiant. “There was never any real engagement with Wolf, was there,” I said, spitting sand from my mouth. “You just wanted to get rid of me.” She tilted her head, crouching down in front of me, still smiling. “Sister, do you have any idea how much Mom and Dad missed you while you were out wandering all those years? Don’t you think you owe them something? If you make Mr. Wolf happy, he’s promised us three city blocks’ worth of business.” So that was it. They had traded me like cargo. Wolf’s businesses were the filthiest in the city. Even my adopted parents had publicly declared him a disgrace — more than once. “You should let me go right now,” I said. “Or you’ll pay a price you can’t even imagine.” Elaine let out a sharp laugh and kicked me in the stomach. “Who do you think you are? You’re a vagrant. You have no voice in this family.” Then they threw me back into the truck. But at least now I knew exactly what was waiting for me. Wolf — that blood-hungry deviant. He liked to share his women with his men, a way of buying their loyalty, getting them to kill for him. Even strippers refused to endure that kind of degradation. Most of the women were thrown into water dungeons, broken through violence, sometimes controlled with drugs. The best outcome they could hope for was death by their own hand. I thought of the footage Calista — my adopted parents’ daughter, my sister — had once shown me. My breath caught. But anger came faster than fear. The rage of being betrayed by the people who called themselves family. Still — Wolf was nothing but a groveling lackey to the Sinclairs. Once I revealed who I was, he wouldn’t dare touch me. ———

I had miscalculated one thing. I had been delivered to Wolf under the name Vera Draco — the name I’d taken after being reclaimed by my birth family. In his eyes, I was nothing more than a toy to be used and discarded. Which meant before I ever reached Wolf himself, I had to get through his men first. They would make sure I was broken in, properly “trained,” before presenting me to him. The moment they threw me into the water dungeon, I started talking. “I’m Vera Sinclair — the adopted daughter of the Sinclair family. Go verify it. Check my identity—” The lead guard grinned. “Last month some woman said she was the mayor’s niece. You’re a little more creative, I’ll give you that.” I strained to raise my hand, desperate to prove myself. “My right ring finger — there’s a black-and-gold ring. The inner band is engraved with my name and the date I joined the family. Everyone in the Sinclair organization recognizes that ring—” But my words were swallowed by a wave of mocking laughter. I looked down at my hand. The finger was bare. Only a pale ring of skin where it had rested for years. A flash of memory: them dragging me across the ground. I must have lost it when I pushed myself up, trying not to be scraped raw. “No ring, no proof. That’s enough.” Before the words were even finished, a baseball bat connected with my left cheekbone. No warning. No windup. “Rule one: you don’t speak unless spoken to.” My skull rang like a struck bell. The ringing swallowed every other sound. I felt something shift in the wrong direction along my cheekbone, and then the ground came up to meet me. “Rule two,” he said, “no fighting back.” I swung my foot at his wrist. The baton clattered to the floor. I lunged for it — and he tackled me from behind. My face hit the concrete. My mouth filled with the taste of rust. He flipped me over and drove his fist into my stomach. I couldn’t help it. I retched. There was nothing in my stomach — only bile, yellow and bitter, running down my chin. I choked through a few ragged coughs. I could feel my face swelling fast. Then — a flash of light. I squinted toward it. Elaine. She stood in the doorway on her high heels, a perfect porcelain doll, absurdly out of place in this mold-stinking, waterlogged dungeon. She looked down at me the way you’d look at something disgusting on the bottom of your shoe. “Oh my,” she said, hand over her nose, voice bright with barely concealed delight, “Sister, if Mr. Wolf sees you looking like this, don’t you think he might want a refund?” “But it’s fine,” she crouched down, meeting my eyes, her gaze traveling over my face and pausing on my swollen cheekbone. Her smile widened. “He doesn’t want you for your face anyway. He has so many men, and they all need to be entertained, right? Sister, you should thank me. I’ve made sure you won’t be lonely.” “Elaine,” I said. “There’s still time.” “Time for what?” “Time for this to end differently.” She laughed — the polite laugh of someone who’d just heard a joke that wasn’t very funny. She stood up, looking down at me. “Sister, did all those years on the streets scramble your brain? What exactly makes you think you have any leverage here?” “Oh, and your wedding night is almost here. Mr. Wolf is in a good mood today. He’s decided to grace you with his presence early.” She turned and walked out on her heels. “Clean this place up. Miss Calista can’t stand the smell of blood.” At the sound of my sister’s name, something cracked open inside me. Calista. She toured the territories every month without fail. She would find me. She had to find me. ———

The next day, I heard her voice. That word rippled down the corridor like rings on water — “Young Mistress, Young Mistress” — announced by the shifting posture of everyone in her wake. That was what everyone inside Black Crown called Calista. Hearing that title from inside this cell was the closest I had ever come to a miracle. I started making noise. I beat my chains against the wall in a steady rhythm — three strikes, pause, three strikes, pause. I called out until my voice was nothing but gravel. Guards were inside within seconds — more than one. “Shut up!” “Calista is right there in that corridor,” I said. “Bring her in here to see me. Or go tell her someone is calling her name. Either one—” He slammed me down, knee grinding between my shoulder blades, face shoved into the concrete. I inhaled everything this place had ever witnessed — iron, rot, the chemical ghost of something I couldn’t name. “Make another sound,” he said in my ear, “and I’ll cut out your tongue.” “The Young Mistress hates hearing noise from things like you. If she gets angry, you’ll get us all killed.” He pulled out a stun baton and pressed it against my side. The world inverted. I felt my body convulsing against the cold filthy floor like a dead fish, my vision dissolving into white flares and spinning light. When I could see again, they were shoving something into my mouth — a dirty rag soaked in sweat and motor oil and something chemical I couldn’t identify — tied tight behind my head, forcing my mouth wide open. I could still breathe through my nose. But I could smell her. Cedar. The scent she always wore. The scent that had always made me feel safe. I screamed into the rag. What came out was low and animal, a muffled, broken groan that couldn’t get through the iron door. I beat my chains against the wall, but my arms were shaking from the electric burns, and the sound barely carried above the voices in the corridor. “This one?” Calista said, just outside. “Mr. Wolf’s new bride,” came a careful, deferential voice. “She’s unstable, though. Violent. So we’ve had to…” A pause. Calista’s voice came back, edged with displeasure. “Wolf…” “Young Mistress, this was a voluntary arrangement between the Draco family and—” The other voice had begun to tremble. Three seconds later, the cedar scent thickened. Calista. She stood in the doorway dressed in a black trench coat, looking colder than I’d ever seen her. My heartbeat lurched. Sister. She walked in, crouched down, stopped less than half a meter away. Her eyes moved over me with a practiced sweep — and then slowed. Went still. She was looking at my face. “What’s her name?” “Vera Draco.” Something shifted in her brow. Barely a flicker. But I saw it. Vera. Vera and Vera — one letter apart. She had to feel it. She had to— “Young Mistress, this woman is dangerous, please don’t get too close—” Calista ignored him. She reached up and cupped my face in both hands. I nearly broke down completely. Her hands were cool. I knew these hands. When I was seven years old, she had taken my hand just like this and walked me through the gates of Sinclair Manor for the very first time. I wanted to speak — Sister, it’s me, it’s Vera, look at me, really look— But the rag turned everything into a wet, shapeless moan. I couldn’t even form syllables. I poured everything I had into my eyes. It’s me. It’s me. Sister, it’s me— Her expression changed. From intent, to uncertain, to something I had never seen on her face before. Revulsion. Not at me — I knew that. At what was in front of her. This unrecognizable woman. This complete stranger. She let go of my face. She stood up. She wiped her hands. “Get it sorted,” she told the guard, back to business, “Don’t let it end in a death.” She left. The sound of the door closing echoed through the dungeon. The lead guard walked in and crouched down in front of me, something pleased moving through his expression. “You just made the Young Mistress frown.” He stood, tilted his chin at the men behind him. “Wolf doesn’t come until tonight, right? Plenty of time to find a new one.” I stared up at the light overhead. White. Blinding. My eyes could barely stay open. Was this really how it ended? ———

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The first thing Jax did after winning the highest honor at the Werewolf Hockey Cup was sleep with his omega assistant. Someone from a rival team caught it on camera. As his mate and head coach, I swallowed the pain of being betrayed by my mate and went to clean up his mess. On the way there, I was ambushed by a pack of rogues. When I came to, I was in a hospital. The life force of the three pups I’d been carrying had gone completely silent. The next day, Jax sent me to a bar to settle his tab. Instead, I found him raising a cocktail glass with the same people who had jumped me. “So this is the great Ice Queen,” one of them sneered. “Couldn’t even take down a few rogues like us.” My heart dropped. I had been taking suppressants to delay labor for the sake of his games. It had cost me every ounce of my strength. I laughed, cold and quiet. A man like this doesn’t deserve my mark. Later, I put him on the ice myself and made him eat it. He looked up at me and demanded to know why I had betrayed him. I gave him my most innocent smile. “Did you just figure out that only the strong get to stand beside me?” I had barely walked through the door when Jax called. But the voice on the other end wasn’t his. It was Lyra — sweet as candy, with a needle of provocation underneath. “Coach Astrid, Jax has run up quite a tab. You should come drink it off with him. Otherwise, Jax might have to face the consequences~” Before, I always put Jax’s needs first. I covered for him, cleaned up after him, absorbed every consequence of every line he crossed. Including the pregnancy. That one was on him too — he wanted the full experience, but once I was actually carrying his children, he panicked. Didn’t want to derail his career. Didn’t want to lose the fans. So he asked me to take suppressants to limit the development of the pups inside me. Because I loved him, I kept sacrificing. I kept letting it go. But now — that love is gone. It left with the last trace of my pups. As for Lyra, I know exactly what she’s been after. She’s been working to hook Jax for a long time now. A man with no accountability and a woman climbing her way up through him — honestly, they deserve each other. The next morning, Jax and Lyra were all over the headlines. The fan backlash was immediate and ugly. He showed up running a hand through his still-hungover hair. “Astrid, handle this for me. These reporters are like dogs that won’t let go.” I looked down at my phone screen, which had just lit up. “Ms. Astrid, I hope today’s headlines meet your approval. Consider it a gesture of goodwill from Alpha Killian.” I typed back: With pleasure. Screen off. This was the first time I hadn’t jumped to do what he asked. Jax frowned and came to stand beside me. “What are you busy with?” “Tell me — is it the reporters who can’t keep their lenses clean, or is it you who can’t keep your hands to yourself?” I crossed my arms. “Your performance on the ice has been slipping lately. Even the new bench players are outpacing you.” Jax flinched at that — just for a second — before annoyance took over. “With my record, you think I need to be compared to a bunch of new birds?” I didn’t argue. I just looked at him with a half-smile. The alpha dominance Jax had just pushed out pulled back. In the past, moments like this always ended in a fight — he would lean on his alpha pressure out of habit, and it worked. This time I just stood there, looking at him quietly, my eyes bloodshot from the weight of it. He didn’t apologize for this, just rubbed the back of his neck, a little awkward. “I haven’t been in great shape lately. Maybe I need some time off.” I said nothing. I already knew exactly why his shape was off. He was drinking almost every night, flying to Vegas to gamble until dawn just for the thrill. And at the center of all of it was Lyra. She didn’t even try to hide it, posting photo after photo of the two of them splashing around in an infinity pool, captioned: “Life is freedom and joy!” Half the internet called her Jax’s secret weapon. They praised her as a proud example of what an omega could be. Only I knew how many performance-enhancers she’d been quietly slipping him. And Jax was too drunk on easy wins to care. As for me — I had stopped caring about where his career was headed. I was just waiting for him to fall. “Oh, right,” he said. “I heard you ran into some rogues the other day. You okay?” I looked at him steadily. He was one of the reasons it happened. This concern of his — coming days late, wrapped in lies — meant nothing. My hand drifted to my stomach without my permission. My three pups… “What do you think could happen to me?” I said. Jax blinked, then let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “You omegas are so good at playing the victim. Honestly, I just wanted to make sure no one was poaching what’s mine.” I stood up and met his eyes. “Whether I’ve been faithful — our bond doesn’t lie.” He felt my anger. More than that, he felt his own guilt — because every time he betrayed me, it left something like a blade buried in my chest. Then he pulled me into his arms without warning. “Astrid, you’re the only one in my heart. I fight for you. For our children. Always.” I looked into his deep blue eyes. These were the eyes I had thrown away my own career for — stepped down from being one of the top players in professional hockey to become his personal coach. But standing here now, I felt nothing but cold. Because I’d seen what those same words looked like when they were aimed at someone else. Killian had sent me a video. For the past three days, Jax had been telling Lyra the same things, word for word: “Astrid is carrying my kids, sure — but I never marked her. Lyra, you’re the best woman I’ve ever known. You’re the one who deserves everything I have.” This cheap, disgusting love. This cheap, disgusting man. He doesn’t deserve to be my mate. I pulled away from him without making it obvious. His smile cracked. “You’re still hung up on me and Lyra, aren’t you? She was right — women your age are always paranoid and clingy. Lyra and I are just colleagues.” I smiled without a sound. Just colleagues. Colleagues who share a bed, you mean? I’m old? Wasn’t it him — begging me to train him — not so long ago? But I was too tired to say any of it out loud. A man who treats hurting me like entertainment isn’t worth a single second more of my time.

“Ms. Astrid, have you made your decision?” Another message from Killian. A photo came with it — timestamped three minutes ago. Jax had just told me he was going to training. He was at a high-end French restaurant having afternoon tea with Lyra. I looked around the apartment Jax and I had shared for five years. The shelves were lined with trophies of every size. But the things that belonged to me had been quietly disappearing. I kicked aside the pink lunch bag near my feet — Lyra’s “lovingly prepared” breakfast for Jax. A white bread sandwich from Subway. I pressed one word into the keyboard and hit send. Then I went to find the club’s owner — Sloane, who had also been my coach once — and handed in my resignation. Before he could respond, Lyra and Jax’s voices drifted in. “Can I really be your personal assistant? I’m worried Astrid won’t agree — everyone knows she likes keeping you all to herself.” “I’m not anyone’s property. And given how many games I’ve been winning lately, I think I know what’s actually good for me.” Sloane shot me an awkward glance. I just smiled. “Your call,” I said. “I just hope we don’t end up on opposite sides.” “My opponents,” I added, “are always the people who’ve hurt me.” I turned to leave. Jax and Lyra were walking through the door at the same moment. We passed each other without a word. Three minutes later, Jax grabbed my arm — no care for the way it made me wince. “Was it you? Did you go behind my back to stop Lyra from getting that position?” “I can’t believe how petty you are. Bullying someone hardworking and innocent just because of me?” I yanked my arm free. The truth was simple: Lyra was the weakest person in the whole club. The only reason anyone put up with her was to keep Jax happy. “Sloane made his own decision. You really think he takes orders from me?” Before Jax could answer, Lyra came rushing out, eyes already red. “Astrid, if you have a problem with me, say it to my face. I just want to take care of Jax. It’s all my fault. Jax has nothing to do with it…” I watched her perform. Watched Jax roll out his alpha dominance in my direction. Both of them, suddenly dull to me. Then Sloane stepped between us. “Lyra hasn’t even made it through her probation period. She can’t take on a personal assistant role right now — it’s in the handbook. Any transfer requests have to go through HR.” I shrugged, making clear this had nothing to do with me, and walked away. But I knew it wasn’t over. Sure enough — three days later, Jax threw a game on purpose. The club dropped three places in the standings. We locked eyes from across the ice. Lyra was at his side, handing him water. I knew exactly what he was doing — using the thing I cared most about as leverage against me. Three years ago, he had been a nobody. Eight straight losses, on the verge of being cut. He’d come to me with red-rimmed eyes and said he didn’t want to lose, and he wasn’t going to keep losing, and he needed me to teach him. I saw something in him that reminded me of who I used to be. So I spent forty-eight hours watching every game he’d ever played, built a strategy around the way he moved, and handed it to him. He became someone overnight. He hasn’t lost since. And now he uses the game as a bargaining chip. Maybe he stopped being that person a long time ago. People who don’t respect the ice always end up losing everything. I picked up my bag and walked out of the stands. On the way out, my phone flashed with a prenatal appointment reminder. I drew a slow breath, hand trembling, and pressed cancel. “You’re using the baby against me now?” Jax’s voice came from behind, low and bristling. “I thought someone your age would know better. But you’re acting worse than Lyra, who is five years younger than you. At least she knows how to be supportive.” “Cancel the prenatal appointment, fine. Then don’t expect me at any of them going forward. That was our agreement.” He hurled his phone at the floor and walked out without looking back. I touched my stomach. I used to be able to feel them there. In one more week, I would have stopped the suppressants, and they would have come into the world. I lost them because of those rogues. And Jax — the father of my children — was one of the people responsible. I wiped away tears I hadn’t noticed falling. “My children are already gone. There are no more appointments to go to.” For three days after that, Jax didn’t come home. Word was he was at a strip club until sunrise every night. Same as always. Waiting for me to come and beg him back. He just didn’t know. There was nothing left between us that was the same as before.

Jax found me while I was packing up my office. He rubbed the back of his neck, a little awkward. “Training’s been running late. I didn’t want to disturb you coming home so early.” I looked down and smiled to myself. Was this him making excuses? Or had his numbers on the ice gotten bad enough that he suddenly remembered I existed? “Astrid. I’ve made up my mind.” “Once the baby is born, we’ll hold the mate ceremony. Our little one can be the ring bearer. You’ll be my luna.” “You were right — Lyra needs more time before she’s ready. Let her keep training under you for a while, and then she can be my personal assistant. That way you won’t have to deal with all the small stuff. You can just focus on coaching.” “She’s not a bad person. Just a lot of energy. Give it time and I think you’ll get along.” I placed the last stack of files into the moving box and looked up at him briefly. Said nothing. A baby. A ceremony. The only thing he actually wanted was to get Lyra that title. But I had more important things to deal with. I needed to get back on the ice. I needed to go from retired coach to peak athlete again, and I needed to do it fast. Jax must have read my silence as agreement. The next morning he showed up at the rink right on time and worked through the full training program I’d designed for him three years ago — one rep at a time, from the beginning. I stood at the edge of the ice and watched for ten minutes. Then I turned and switched the day’s outdoor drills to indoor strength work. Over the next three games, Jax climbed back to his peak form. Lyra started posting about it on social media. Every photo showed her sitting courtside with a coffee in hand, captioned: “Watching a king rise again. This is why I’m here.” The comments were unanimous. “Lyra is so devoted.” “She’s the real support behind Jax.” I looked at it for two seconds and turned my phone face-down. Let them live in their little fantasy for now. The higher you climb, the harder you fall — isn’t that how it goes? After getting a taste of what credit felt like, Lyra changed. She got louder on the practice floor — telling one player he was too slow, another one had no instincts — wearing the expression of someone who believed criticism was part of her job description. She got in front of the whole team and told Jack — a veteran who’d been playing professionally for years — “Isn’t it time someone your age stepped aside and made room for younger players?” Jack smiled, dropped his glove on the ice, and left without a word. Two days later at a qualifying match, Lyra caused another scene. She made a gesture at a player from the opposing team — everyone in the arena saw it. The other team’s supporters booed. Their players came out angry and played like it. Jax spent the whole game managing the fallout Lyra had created, pulled in every direction at once. They lost. After the final whistle, Jack looked over at me. His eyes were wet. He had been my teammate once — side by side on the ice for years. As he skated off the rink for the last time, he dropped to one knee on the ice, beneath the glowing scoreboard that read 2-1, and pressed his lips to the surface. I knew what it meant. Fifteen years of a career, ending in a loss. At the post-match press conference, Jax sat up at the table and fielded questions about the defeat. “The head coach has been inconsistent lately,” he said. “There have been some friction points with team dynamics.” He looked over at me then. “Of course, I understand. Some people express their feelings this way. I hope I’m paying attention.” When a reporter asked why Lyra had made that gesture toward the opposing players, Jax went red and couldn’t find a single word. Lyra, on the other hand, turned to the cameras with wet eyes, voice catching in her throat. “I only wanted to encourage our players. I never imagined it would be taken the wrong way. But it’s all my fault. I let everyone down.” Jax was on his feet immediately, pulling Lyra into his arms, pushing both of them squarely under the spotlight — and leaving me standing in it alone. After the press conference, Jax caught up with me in the corridor. “Is this about driving Lyra out?” “You think leaving will make me send her away — and then you’ll come back, and everything goes back to the way it was. Is that it?” “You’re the most powerful voice in this club. Even Sloane reads the room around you. So why can’t you just let Lyra exist?” “And lately everyone’s been avoiding her. She’s been crying. What exactly did she do wrong? Is this really how you treat someone — just a girl you’ve decided to freeze out?” I stopped walking when he finished. “Jack retired today. Did you know? He said he wanted to make room for the younger generation.” Jax went still. I walked away before he could answer. At the far end of the corridor, Sloane’s assistant was going over next week’s schedule with a few players. He gave me a nod when he saw me. The players noticed too. Their eyes caught on the moving box in my arms — and then they looked away, pretending they hadn’t seen it. Everyone in the club knew I was leaving. Everyone except Jax. Just then, Lyra appeared — rushing over to Jax as he started walking toward me, throwing her arms around him. “Jax, I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. You lost because of me. Fire me.” Jax glanced at my retreating figure. Then he looked down at Lyra shaking in his arms, and started gently reassuring her.

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Five minutes before I say “I do,” my fiancé’s dead brother’s widow staggers into the chapel with her dress half off, screaming that my “godfather” raped her. “Luca, save me! Nico Sokolov forced himself on me!” Chiara collapses at his feet, mascara running, one strap of her black dress hanging off her shoulder. “He said I was a fake, that I stole the Marchetti name from your real bride, that he could do whatever he wanted to me — I want to die, Luca, I want to die — ” The pews go off like a powder keg. People are on their feet. Someone shouts *animal*. Someone else shouts my name like a curse, like I dragged a wolf into a church. Luca strips off his jacket and wraps it around Chiara like she’s made of glass. Then he looks at me. Cold. The way you look at a stain. “Marchetti.” He doesn’t even use my first name. “Get that piece of shit out here. Now. He’s getting on his knees in front of Chiara, and after that I want him cut. All three legs. Or this wedding’s off.” My parents stand up like they’re about to lynch me. My future father-in-law cracks his knuckles. I almost laugh. Because my “godfather” doesn’t have three legs to cut. — *Smack.* My mother’s palm lands so hard my ear rings. “You think this is funny?” Her hand is shaking. Her nails almost go in my eye. “I should’ve left you in that group home. I knew you were trash the second I brought you back.” I taste blood on my lip. I keep my face flat. “Chiara has class. You? You brought a family of rapists with you.” “Mom.” My voice is calm. I want it calm. “Did anyone call the cops?” “Did anyone get a rape kit done?” “Or do we just take Chiara’s word like it’s the gospel?” My father kicks over a vase of white lilies. “She wouldn’t *lie* about something like this, you stupid bitch!” He points at the back of the church like a general. “I want the muscle on Sokolov. Right now. In front of God and every family in New York. We cut him here. Tonight. For Chiara.” Chiara presses her face into Luca’s chest. Her dress is in ribbons. There are dark red marks all up her neck. “Don’t — don’t blame her, Daddy,” she whispers, just loud enough for the front rows to hear. “Maybe Nico just couldn’t help himself. I’m not a real Marchetti. I shouldn’t have stolen her place — ” “Couldn’t help himself?” Luca’s whole face is red. He’s stroking her hair like she’s a sick dog. “He’s a fucking animal. By the time I’m done, he won’t be helping himself to anything ever again.” He turns to me. The man I was about to marry. “Marchetti. You heard her. She’s still defending him. Still trying to protect *you*.” “A girl raised by a rapist doesn’t walk into a Romano house. I’m giving you three minutes. Get him here. If he runs, *you* go down for it. You’ll do Chiara’s time.” The whispering in the pews is acid. “Real daughter, my ass.” “Letting her own family rape her sister-in-law. Disgusting.” “Luca’s right. Put the dog down.” I pull out my phone. I look right at Chiara. She’s still curled into Luca’s chest. The smallest smile twitches at the corner of her mouth when she thinks no one’s looking. “Chiara.” My voice carries. “You’re sure it was my godfather who raped you.” “It was him.” She looks up, eyes wet, blazing. “I’ll see him in hell. I’ll see him *dead.*” “Good.” I turn to Luca. “And you said you want him cut. All three legs.” “Every fucking one,” he hisses. “Good.” I dial. I hit speaker. “Since you’re all in such a rush to meet the devil — let’s introduce you.” One ring. Two. The line picks up, and the roar of a heavy bike engine blasts through the speaker and ricochets off the stained glass. I speak softly. Politely. Like I’m ordering room service. “Godfather. Come down to the church.” “Somebody here says they want to take your dick off.” —

There’s a soft laugh on the other end. Dry. Amused. Almost bored. “Yeah? Tell him to sharpen the knife first.” *Click.* The dial tone is louder than it has any right to be. Five hundred people listen to it together. Luca freezes. Then he picks up a champagne flute and smashes it against the altar. “You put it on speaker on *purpose,*” he says. “You tipped him off.” “Luca — ” Chiara curls smaller against him, shaking. “He took pictures. Of me. With his phone. If those get out — ” “Hey. Hey.” Luca cups her face like she’s about to break. He turns to his crew, eyes black. “Lock down every exit in this city. I want Sokolov dragged in here by his hair. I’m doing the cutting personally.” I watch the man I was supposed to spend my life with rock his dead brother’s wife in his arms, and something inside me freezes solid. Three months ago, Luca’s brother Marco died on the Long Island Expressway. Brake failure, they said. Three months ago, Luca was the boy who sat by my hospital bed the night I got food poisoning and held my hand and swore on his mother’s grave he’d never let anyone hurt me. Now he’s *Chiara’s* good little brother-in-law. Available twenty-four hours a day. “Get over here.” My father grabs me by the hair and forces me down. “You apologize to your sister. On your knees. *Now.*” My knees crack against the marble. I feel skin split. “If Chiara forgives you, I’ll only send Sokolov to the joint. I won’t disown you.” “I didn’t do anything wrong.” I lift my head. Look him in the eye. “I’m not kneeling.” Six months ago they drove four hours upstate to bring me home. Their *real* daughter. Their heart. Six months later, one tear from Chiara and I’m a stray dog they regret feeding. “Still talking back?” My father raises his hand again. “Fine. The Romanos can kill you tonight for all I care. The Marchettis won’t lift a finger.” “Daddy, please don’t — ” Chiara is sobbing. Her eyes glitter. “It’s my fault. I have the wrong face. My sister grew up rough, she can’t help the people she ran with — ” “Chiara. You’re a saint.” Luca raises his head. Every livestream phone in the front row points at him. “But animals get put down.” He turns to the cameras. There must be twenty of them. Society pages. Mob gossip blogs. Some asshole’s TikTok. “Romano family. One million for Sokolov’s right hand.” “The Marchettis match it!” my father shouts. “Two million!” The whole church explodes. Flashbulbs everywhere. They’re going to chase him down like a deer. I push myself off the floor. My knee screams. I grab the mic out of the priest’s hand. “You’re so sure my godfather did this.” My voice goes everywhere — the speakers, the streams, every screen in the city. “Want to put your money where your mouth is?” “A sit-down. Right here. Right now.” My voice cracks but I don’t slow down. “If my godfather raped Chiara — I drag him in myself. I sign over my inheritance. I walk into the precinct tonight and take the charge. I do the time.” My parents go still. “But if he’s clean — ” “Every Romano share. Every Marchetti asset. Mine.” “You — apologize. On a livestream. To him.” “And Luca.” I turn. He’s gone white. “You wanted his three legs. If you lose? You give up yours.” “Are you out of your fucking mind?!” my father howls. “You’d bet the *family* on a rapist?” “Why are you scared?” I push the mic into the closest camera. “You said the evidence is rock solid. Unless this whole thing is a setup my sister cooked up?” Chiara rips her dress further down her shoulder. Bruises. Bite marks. She’s screaming. “Take the bet! *Take it!* He raped me, it’s true, I’m not letting that go! I want her to lose everything! I want him in the ground!” “Done.” Luca slams his fist on the altar. “Get paper. Get a notary. Marchetti, when he gets here, I cut him myself, and then you crawl to Chiara on your hands and knees the rest of your life.” Four minutes later there’s a contract on the red carpet. Cameras everywhere. Bloody thumbprints, both sides, because in our world ink isn’t enough. The doors of the church kick open with a sound like a gunshot. —

My godfather walks in. The helmet comes off. Pink-violet hair, short and wild, catches the chandelier light. Black diamonds in both ears. A leather jacket that fits like sin. The whole church chokes on its own breath. The livestream chat freezes for a full second. Then it loses its mind. “holy shit this is the rapist?? sign me up” “That jawline. That chest. I’d let him.” “Wake up sheeple a hot rapist is still a rapist” My godfather doesn’t look at any of them. Just walks straight to me. Lazy. Easy. Like the room isn’t full of people screaming for blood. “Which one of these dogs,” — a slow look across the pews — “wants to take my dick off?” Chiara’s pupils blow wide. The blood drains out of her face like somebody pulled a plug. Her finger comes up shaking. “Him! *Him!* He’s the one, Luca — he tore my clothes off, he held me down, he said a fake Marchetti deserved to get passed around like a party favor — ” The crowd goes nuclear. “Showing his face after what he did?” “Animal!” “Somebody do the world a favor!” My godfather flicks a glance at Luca. Then looks down at me. The hardness drops out of those eyes for a half-second when they land on my mouth. On the blood there. “So this is the fiancé.” Soft. Almost gentle. “He’s even uglier in person.” A thumb skims the corner of my lip. Wipes the blood off. The whole room sees it. The streams see it. I don’t move. Luca *roars.* “Sokolov, you filth! You wear a man’s face but you’re not human — Boys! On him! I don’t care if he leaves in pieces!” A dozen of Luca’s soldiers move in. Bats. Brass. One pipe. “Easy.” I step in front of my godfather. “Luca. Even a court lets the accused open his mouth.” “You in a hurry to convict? Or are you scared of what’ll come out?” “You — ” Luca doesn’t get the rest out. Chiara shoves him off her and *runs.* Straight for the balcony stairs. Heels stabbing the marble. “Then I’ll prove it the only way left!” she screams down at us. “If none of you will believe me, I’ll *make* you believe me!” She vaults the rail. “CHIARA!” “NO — !” She drops. The sound her body makes when it hits the marble is wet and final. Her left leg bends the wrong way. Blood spreads under her like a halo. The flashbulbs stop for one whole heartbeat. Then the church *detonates.* “She killed herself! She killed herself because no one believed her!” “Sokolov is dead. He’s dead tonight.” “Beat him to death, somebody beat him to death!” Luca crashes down the stairs and scoops her up. She’s chalk-white. Her lips are blue. But her eyes — her eyes are still tracking. Still locked on my godfather. “Now.” A whisper that carries somehow. “Do you believe me. Nico Sokolov raped me. He *raped* me.” “I want him bleeding out, Luca. I want him in a fucking *box.*” Luca is crying. Crying. My mother is on me. Another slap. My head whips sideways. “You demon — I gave birth to a *demon* — ” My father aims a boot at my stomach. My godfather hooks an arm around my waist and pulls me back. Light. Easy. My father’s foot finds air; he goes down on his ass on the marble. “This is — this is mutiny,” he babbles. “She raised her hand against me. Mutiny — ” The cameras eat it up. “That’s the real daughter? Cold as ice.” “The fake one had to break her own leg to be believed and the real one’s still defending the rapist.” And in the middle of it, broken on the floor, bleeding from a leg she just snapped on purpose — Chiara catches my eye. And smiles. A small, sharp, very private smile. That’s when I understand. She just bought herself a victim’s badge with one leg. She is going to die before she lets me take it off her. —

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The night before the wedding, my fiancé Ryan brought his sick first love, Chloe, home. “Evelyn, I’m only staying with her for three days. Three days, and then I’ll be your groom—yours and no one else’s.” He told me it was a “farewell tradition” where he was from—that before a man got married, he had to live with his first love for three days. And I was expected to accept it. I let out a short, derisive laugh. No screaming, no tears. Just one calm word. “Fine.” Over those three days, I watched every intimate moment play out on Chloe’s social media. When the three days were up and the wedding was about to begin, Ryan showed up with Chloe on his arm. “You’ve already put up with these three days—so just let Chloe have the ceremony. It’s only a formality.” “After it’s over, you’ll still be my wife.” Then came the wedding night. Ryan strode into the bridal suite surrounded by his friends, only to find a stranger lying on the marriage bed. As every jaw in the room hit the floor, I settled myself in the man’s arms and smiled faintly. “Oh, I forgot to mention—my family has a tradition too. On the wedding night, the bride sleeps with her first love right in front of her husband.” . . . . . . Eight years ago, I’d turned my back on my family for Ryan. I’d made him my entire world. We’d been together eight years, and we were finally talking about marriage. The day we traveled to his hometown to discuss the wedding details, his mother brought a woman to meet me. She wore a champagne-colored gown, red hair spilling over her shoulders, and when she smiled, she looked like a rose cultivated with painstaking care in a greenhouse. Ryan’s mother held the woman’s hand, her tone as warm and familiar as if she were introducing her own daughter. “Evelyn, this is Chloe Bennett. She and Ryan were inseparable growing up. She was his first love.” I froze. Then his mother continued: “We have an old tradition here. Before a man gets married, he spends three days alone with his first love. A proper farewell to the past.” I thought I’d misheard. “I’m sorry—what?” Ryan’s mother’s smile didn’t waver. “Don’t be nervous. It’s just tradition. After three days, Ryan will come back to you with a clean slate.” It was so absurd it was almost funny. I looked at Ryan, waiting for him to object. But all he did was frown slightly, as though I were being difficult. “Evelyn, we’re just living under the same roof for three days. Don’t make it into something dirty. Chloe came back from overseas specifically to see me get married. She’s not well. I don’t want her to leave with regrets.” “So?” I asked. Ryan stepped closer and lowered his voice. “You’re always telling me you love me. Then respect my family. Respect how things are done here.” On cue, Chloe let out a delicate cough, her eyes reddening at the corners. “Evelyn, if it bothers you, I can leave right now. I probably shouldn’t have come back anyway.” Ryan’s head snapped toward her instantly. “Don’t be ridiculous. This will always be your home.” Then he turned back to me. The tenderness he’d shown Chloe vanished in an instant, replaced by impatience and warning. “Evelyn, you’ve been with me for eight years. This is a small thing. You can handle it, right?” A small thing. He called this a small thing. I stood in that living room draped with white tulle and floral garlands, my gaze sweeping over the engagement photo on the mantelpiece and the wedding invitations scattered across the coffee table, and suddenly the whole thing felt like a fever dream. In that moment, I understood. This wasn’t tradition. This was a humiliation they’d designed just for me. Everyone was watching. Ryan’s relatives, his friends—and Chloe. She tilted her head slightly, studying me with something close to pity, a faint smile playing at the corner of her lips. They were all waiting for me to break down. Waiting for the tears, the hysterics, waiting for me to lose my mind and demand answers like some unhinged woman. But I just smiled. “Fine.” Ryan looked genuinely stunned. “You’re agreeing to this?” “You said it’s tradition.” I held his gaze. “Of course I should respect that.” Ryan let out a breath of relief. He even reached up and stroked my hair. “I knew you’d be the reasonable one.” Reasonable. For eight years, that word had been a collar around my neck. Because I was reasonable, I’d cut ties with my family for him. I’d stood by him through the worst days of building his company. Because I was reasonable, he’d pushed me to give ground again and again. And now he wanted me to hand my fiancé over to another woman’s bed with my own two hands. That night, Ryan didn’t come back to the hotel with me. He took his luggage and went to Chloe’s villa. Before he left, he kissed my forehead. “I’ll be there on time for the wedding. Don’t overthink things.” I nodded, still smiling. “Okay.” What he didn’t know was that I had a phone call to make too. When the line connected, a low, deep voice came through the receiver. “Evelyn?” I gazed at the darkening sky in the distance. “Sebastian, you once told me that if I ever needed you, you’d be there.” Two seconds of silence on the other end. Then he said: “I always have been.” I closed my eyes. “Then come to my wedding.” Over the next three days, Ryan didn’t call once. Didn’t send a single text. Not one. We’d been together eight years—more than two thousand nine hundred days and nights. There was a time when even a single day on a business trip meant three phone calls home, terrified I wasn’t eating well or sleeping enough. Now he was living in another woman’s house, and he couldn’t spare me so much as a goodnight. For three full days, I didn’t exist. The night before the wedding, I tracked them down at a private bar. Before I even pushed open the door to the private room, the noise spilled through the cracks. “Ryan, you’ve really got it made, don’t you? Reliving the glory days with your first love before the wedding, then going home to the wife afterward—best of both worlds!” “Chloe’s been back three days and Ryan looks ten years younger!”

I pushed the door open. The laughter cut off like someone had flipped a switch. Ryan was half-reclined on a leather banquette, Chloe nestled in his arms, her finger hooked around his tie—the easy intimacy of lovers drunk on each other. When she saw me appear, Chloe didn’t so much as flinch. She just lifted her eyelids lazily. Ryan sat up a little straighter, though his expression held less alarm than annoyance—the look of a man whose evening had been interrupted. “Evelyn? What are you doing here?” His brow creased almost imperceptibly. I stood in the doorway, my voice flat. “Did I kill the mood?” Chloe immediately straightened up, her eyes reddening with perfect precision. “Evelyn, I’m sorry—are we making you uncomfortable?” One of Ryan’s friends jumped in to smooth things over. “Evelyn, don’t get the wrong idea. Ryan and Chloe are just catching up—it’s the tradition here. A formal goodbye to the past so he can fully commit to the new marriage.” Another one chimed in with a grin. “Besides, this pre-wedding farewell thing is actually pretty romantic. Once you’re married, Ryan’s all yours!” I looked at Ryan. “Is that how you see it too?” Ryan took a sip of his drink. “Evelyn, don’t embarrass me here.” I smiled. So the one who’d humiliated me was afraid I’d embarrass him. Chloe spoke up softly. “Ryan, is tonight the last time we’ll get to relax like this?” Someone immediately started egging them on. “Last night together—come on, one kiss! When you two broke up eight years ago, we all thought it was such a shame.” The whole room erupted. Ryan glanced at me. I stood there, expressionless, making no move to stop anything. So he smiled, turned his head. Chloe leaned in and wrapped her arms around his neck. The two of them kissed right in front of me. Tongues intertwining, breath mingling, as if I simply didn’t exist. The room exploded with whistles and cheers. I cut through the spectacle. “Ryan, I came to remind you—the wedding is tomorrow. Be there on time.” I turned and walked toward the door. Behind me, one of Ryan’s friends shouted loud enough for the whole building to hear: “Ryan, Evelyn’s got to be the most easygoing woman alive! She watched you kiss another girl and didn’t even make a scene?” Then I heard Ryan’s voice—dripping with the kind of smug, careless satisfaction that turned my stomach. “Well, obviously. Evelyn’s been with me all these years. She was even willing to go through a sterilization procedure for me. A little scene like this? She can handle it.” I stopped in the doorway, my spine rigid. The deepest, most painful scar of my life—reduced to a boast over drinks. In eight years, I’d lost too much for Ryan. I was once the only daughter of the Carter family. My father had already chosen the most suitable match for me. But I’d torn my family apart for Ryan. Back then, he’d held me and said: “Evelyn, I’ll make sure you never regret choosing me.” Later, I got pregnant three times. The first time, we were still in college. Ryan said the timing was wrong. I gritted my teeth through the pain and went to the clinic. The second time, his company was on the verge of bankruptcy. I spent every waking hour helping him court investors, and the baby slipped away during my most exhausted days. The third time, it was ectopic. Massive hemorrhaging. I was rushed to the ER and lost a fallopian tube permanently. The doctor said my chances of conceiving again were slim. Ryan had wept by my hospital bed, nearly inconsolable. He’d said: “Evelyn, I just need you to be alive.” But now, he was using my scars as proof of how devoted I was. A woman who could no longer bear children—what choice did she have but to stay by his side? What other man would want her? He was certain of this. His friends’ laughter still echoed behind me as I walked out of the bar. Back at the hotel, I got a call from Ryan. “You’re not actually mad about what happened at the bar, are you?” His tone was breezy, almost teasing. “No.” “Evelyn, this sudden obedience of yours—I’m almost not used to it.” He laughed, then shifted gears. “Relax. Chloe is the past for me—” His words were cut short by a breathy moan. “Ryan—” It was Chloe’s voice, the final syllable stretching out, soft and lingering. “You promised tonight was the last indulgence. Don’t get distracted.” Ryan quickly lowered his voice. “All right, Evelyn, I have to go. Be a good girl and wait for me tomorrow. I promise I’ll be on time.” The line went dead. I didn’t cry that night. I didn’t even lose sleep. When I picked up my phone the next morning, I saw that Chloe had posted a Story. “Eight years apart, and he says my body still drives him crazy. We didn’t stop all night.” The photos left nothing to the imagination—tangled legs, sheets twisted into a thousand wrinkles. I looked at it, then calmly locked the screen. Then I got up, did my makeup, and put on my wedding dress. As I was about to leave for the venue, my phone lit up again. A text message. [I’m here.] I replied: [See you in the bridal suite.]

On the day of the wedding, Ryan didn’t show up until twenty minutes before the ceremony. And when he arrived, Chloe was right behind him. My maid of honor, Mia, stood beside me, trembling with rage. “Evelyn, has he lost his mind? He brought that woman to your wedding?” I said nothing. His pack of friends immediately swarmed him—hugs, backslaps, catcalls. “Ryan, word is you went all night… Think you’ve got any energy left for Evelyn tonight?” The knowing looks and suggestive tones of men speaking in code sent a flush across Chloe’s face, and she ducked behind Ryan. Ryan laughed right away. “All right, that’s enough.” The group erupted again, loud enough to shake the rafters. Ryan and Chloe exchanged a smile, and only then did his gaze drift past the crowd to find me. He paused, just slightly. “Evelyn, you look beautiful today.” He walked toward me and reached up to brush a stray hair from my temple. I stepped back half a pace. His hand hung in the air for a moment, then dropped naturally to his side, as though nothing had happened. “Ignore them—nothing happened last night.” He lowered his voice. “Chloe had a stomach thing this morning, it took a while to sort out. That’s why I’m late.” I didn’t respond. Chloe followed him over. Only then did I see that she’d done herself up with meticulous makeup and a tailored white dress—she looked more like the bride than I did. She came toward me smiling, looping her arm through Ryan’s, her tone so familiar she might as well have been the star of the show. “Congratulations, you two! I came specially to witness your happy moment.” When I said nothing, Ryan stepped in to explain. “Chloe insisted on coming to see the venue this morning. Don’t worry—the three days are done. From now on, we’ll keep our distance.” Keep our distance. He actually had the nerve to use those words. That was when Chloe turned her attention to my wedding dress. “That gown really suits you. Very… simple.” She paused, as if the thought had only just occurred to her. “Although… I remember Ryan used to say that if he ever got married, he’d give his bride the most extravagant wedding the whole city had ever seen.” She looked at Ryan with a smile. “I guess people really do change.” The air around us went quiet. Ryan cleared his throat awkwardly. “That was just talk. We were young.” I didn’t call him out. This entire wedding had been arranged by Ryan’s family. They said the budget was tight. They said there was no need for extravagance. They said if I really loved Ryan, I shouldn’t care about appearances. But I knew money wasn’t the problem. They just didn’t want to spend it on me. Before the ceremony, a slideshow began playing on the big screen—photos of Ryan and me. From college to now, eight years laid out like a long-overdue reckoning. Chloe watched the screen for a while, then her eyes reddened right on schedule, her voice trembling with practiced precision. “Ryan, I’m so envious of Evelyn.” She wasn’t looking at him. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but pitched just loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. “The doctors say I have lupus. I might not have much time left. The biggest regret of my life is that I never got to wear a wedding dress. Never got to marry the man I loved most.” Ryan whipped around to look at her, his eyes overflowing with heartache. “Chloe…” She shook her head. “I’m fine. Today belongs to you and Evelyn. I shouldn’t have said anything.” Ryan was silent for a few seconds. Then he turned to me abruptly. “Evelyn.” He gripped my hand, his voice edging toward a plea. “Chloe might never get the chance to be married. Why don’t we… let her take your place for the ceremony today?” Mia couldn’t hold back any longer. She shot to her feet. “Ryan, are you out of your mind? This is your wedding to Evelyn! You can’t just hand it to someone else! Are you marrying Chloe or are you marrying Evelyn?” Ryan frowned. “It’s just the ceremony. Legally, the woman I’m marrying is still Evelyn.” He looked at me with the certainty of a man who’d never been told no. “Evelyn, Chloe is seriously ill. I just want to help her fulfill a wish.” I held his gaze, and in that moment I wanted so badly to ask him— What about my wish? I wanted to marry a man who respected me. A man who loved me. Had he fulfilled that wish? Ryan grew more and more uneasy under my stare. Then Chloe spoke up. “Forget it, Ryan.” She hung her head, showing only the tear-streaked curve of her profile. “Don’t make Evelyn upset because of me.” “After all… I’m dying anyway…” Ryan caved instantly. He squeezed my hand, practically swearing an oath. “She’ll just walk through the motions, but I promise—tonight, on our wedding night, it’ll be you. Evelyn, you made it through these three days. What’s one more hour?” Ryan’s voice was coaxing, but in those eyes I saw no remorse, no unease—only certainty. He was certain I’d say yes, just as I had every single time over the past eight years. The guests were already murmuring among themselves, watching me with a mix of pity and amusement. I looked down and smoothed my skirt. Then I smiled. “Fine.” Ryan exhaled with relief, and something that might have been genuine guilt flickered in his eyes. “Good girl. Thank you. You’re the best wife I could ask for.” “Go wait in the room for me. I’ll come find you as soon as the ceremony’s over.” He leaned in to embrace me. I kept my smile and pushed him away. “Don’t mention it.” Because from this moment on, this wedding had nothing to do with me. If he wanted so badly to complete the ceremony with Chloe, then I’d give them the whole stage. I turned and walked into the bridal suite, the train of my gown trailing behind me, and shut the door. I picked up my phone and sent one message: “You can come now.”

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My parents foster daughter said I called her bitch, but I was mute since birth. I was the true heir, the one the Sterlings had hunted for eighteen years. But the second I stepped into the house, Evelyn screamed and buried herself in my mother’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably. “Dad. Mom.” Her voice broke. “Please don’t make me call her sister. I can’t.” “She’s the girl from the Academy! The one who started the rumors. She’s the reason I’m like this! The reason for my depression!” Mom held Evelyn tight, stroking her hair. Dad stared at me. His face was pure disappointment. “We lost you for 18 years and this is what you grew up to be?” “Jennings — get her out. No daughter of ours bullies people. The Sterlings don’t raise that kind of girl.” I stood there frozen, my hands flying through signs so fast they barely looked like language. Me? Spread rumors? I’m mute. I literally cannot make a sound. I stood still in the entryway, fingertips cold from outside. Evelyn sobbed into Mom’s neck, her whole body shaking. When she finally lifted her head, her eyes were red-rimmed and raw. “You don’t know what she did.” Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. “Last month, when I made it into the Dean’s list, she told everyone I cheated. That Dad paid off the teachers. That I slept with the department head to protect my scholarship record—” Every sentence landed. Mom’s hand on Evelyn’s back pressed down harder with each one. Dad’s jaw locked tighter. I opened my mouth. Only air came out. I’ve never been able to speak. Damaged vocal cords — doctors said it at birth. I’ve spent my whole life talking with my hands and a notebook. I raised my hands. My fingers had just started to form No when my brother, Julian, shot up from the couch. He crossed the room in three strides and stood over me. “Clara.” His voice was flat. “Stop performing. You drove her to a breakdown. There’s nothing to explain.” I held still, hands frozen mid-sign. Julian was the only son. From the moment I walked in, he’d barely looked away from Evelyn. When he looked at her, he was soft. When he looked at me, he acted as if he saw something filthy. “Julian, don’t.” Evelyn reached for his sleeve. Her voice was small. “Maybe she just wanted attention. She didn’t know how else to reach out. I don’t blame her. I really don’t.” “You’re always too kind.” Mom pulled Evelyn closer and turned to me, her eyes cold. “Clara. We brought you home to be part of this family. Not to torture the girl who’s been living in it. Whatever habits you picked up out there — leave it at the door.” Dad knocked his knuckles against the side table. Once. Hard. “A Sterling girl, raised anywhere on earth, should know how to conduct herself. You’ve been inside five minutes and already embarrassed this family.” The staff had clustered near the hallway. They weren’t even pretending not to stare. “She grew up with the street boys. What did you expect?” “Poor Evelyn. Who could go after someone that sweet?” “Look at her, signing like that. She’s faking it. Milking it for sympathy.” I breathed through it. I reached into my bag for my notebook. I can write it done, I will explain everything to them. My fingers touched the zipper. Julian grabbed my wrist. “What are you pulling out now?” I twisted free and got the notebook out anyway. He snatched it from my hand and tore it in half. Then kept tearing. The pages came apart in the air and drifted down around my feet. I stood there and watched them fall. Evelyn let out a soft sob and turned her face away. “Julian, please. She’s just confused—”Evelyn’s voice was barely audible. Julian cut her off. His eyes were burning. “She drove you to a breakdown and you’re still defending her? Someone this twisted doesn’t belong in this family.” Dad’s face went stone cold. He turned to the door and gestured once. “Jennings. Throw her out. The Sterlings don’t have a daughter like this.”

I spent the night on a motel cot, the mattress hard as a board. Morning came. Before first period even started, the Headmaster called me to his office. When I pushed open the door, Evelyn was already sitting across from Mr. Harrison’s desk. Her shoulders were heaving. She had a handkerchief twisted in both hands. Her eyes were swollen almost shut. The second she saw me walk in, she shrank back toward Mr. Harrison’s chair. Just enough. Just the right amount of fear. “Clara.” Mr. Harrison’s voice was flat. “Come in and tell me what you did to Evelyn yesterday.” I stayed in the doorway. Evelyn drew a breath and started talking. “Sir, please don’t be too hard on her.” Her voice was soft. Careful. “Yesterday she cornered me in the hallway. She told me I was an interloper who stole what didn’t belong to me. That she’d make sure I had no place left at this school.” She paused. “I was scared. I’m still scared.” Her voice was soft. But every word landed clean, like a blade finding its mark. Mr. Harrison’s expression darkened. He reached for the phone. “I’ve already called your parents. They’re on their way.” The door opened a few moments later. Mom and Dad walked in together. Mom went straight to Evelyn and took her hand. Dad’s face was iron. “Mr. Harrison. What did she do this time?” Mr. Harrison pushed his glasses up. “According to Evelyn, Clara has repeatedly targeted her — verbal harassment, false accusations, threats to her enrollment. This kind of behavior has no place at St. Jude’s.” Dad turned to look at me. “What kind of person did you turn into out there? Are you determined to drag this family’s name through the dirt?” I tried to explain, but silence was all I had. I raised my hands. My fingers had just started to form ‘No’ when Dad stepped forward and slapped my hands down roughly. I looked at him. Tears came before I could stop them. “Now you’re going to cry?” His voice was quiet. That made it worse. “You do all of this and then you cry? You’re performing again. Playing the victim.” Evelyn made a small sound across the room and pressed herself into Mom’s side. “Dad. Mom. Please stop. I don’t blame her.” Mom looked at me once. Cold. Done. “Some people are just born rotten.” The office door had drifted open. A cluster of students stood in the hallway, not even pretending to walk past. Their voices carried. “So she really has been going after Evelyn this whole time.” “She seemed so quiet. You never know.” “I heard her own parents didn’t want her. That explains it.” I breathed through it. I raised my hands again. Three words: I didn’t do it. Mr. Harrison frowned, his voice filled with impatience. “Clara. Stop using these gestures to deflect. If you have something to say, say it out loud. This isn’t the place for theatrics.” My hands went still in the air. So even this — the only language I have — was just a trick to them. A performance. Then the door opened again quietly, a girl appeared in the gap. She was gripping the hem of her blazer with both hands. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “Sir. She’s not performing. That’s ASL.” Everyone turned. The girl kept her eyes down but held her ground. The girl, Sarah, swallowed. “My brother is deaf. I know what I saw. She signed ‘I didn’t do it.’ And she’s never spoken. Not once. Everyone here knows that.”

The room went silent. “You’re certain about this?” Mr. Harrison asked. “I wouldn’t confuse those shapes, sir. And Clara has never said a single word in class.” The room went quiet. Dad and Mom’s expressions changed. Mom looked at me. Her lips parted. A flicker of guilt crossed her face, so faint it was almost nothing. Then Evelyn let out a sob. She wiped her eyes and spoke softly. “Clara. Even if you don’t want to admit what you did, you don’t have to recruit someone to pretend to be mute.” That single sentence cut straight through whatever guilt Mom had left. Dad’s face hardened. He turned to me, eyes burning. “Clara. You’ve got nerve. You couldn’t just lie, you had to bring someone in to back you up? You are completely beyond help.” My hands were shaking. I reached into my blazer pocket and pulled out the document I always kept there. I unfolded it carefully. The paper was old, the creases worn pale. But the words were clear. Organic damage to the laryngeal structure. Permanent impairment. I held it out. Dad snatched it from my hand and tore it in two without reading a single word. Then in four. Then into pieces too small to put back together. He let them fall. I looked at him. The tears came before I could stop them. “Keep performing.” His voice was raw with disgust. “Go ahead. Since you love it so much, I’ll have you sent to a reform ranch. Let’s see if you keep playing mute when there’s real work in front of you.” Mom’s face had already closed off. She pulled Evelyn close. “We thought we could trust you. We thought you were worth bringing home. We were wrong. You are a disappointment.” Evelyn rested her head against Mom’s shoulder. Against the curve of her cheek — just for a second — her lips arranged themselves into something that was not grief. “Mom, Dad, please.” Her voice was soft. “Maybe she just lost her head for a moment. She didn’t mean it.” “Lost her head?” Dad let out a cold laugh. “This is who she is. Someone like this has no place in this family. I’m calling Miller right now. He’ll come take her away.” Mr. Harrison stood at the edge of the room, his expression unreadable. He glanced at me once, then at Dad and Mom. Then he sighed and turned to Sarah. “Go back to class. We’ll handle this.” Sarah opened her mouth. Mr. Harrison’s look closed it. She held my gaze for a moment, her eyes full of sympathy. Then she turned and walked away. I stood there and looked at the pieces of paper on the floor. Then I almost smiled. Every last thing I had fought to prove — in their eyes, it was nothing but a performance. In this family, I had never existed at all. I crouched down and started picking them up. One fragment at a time. An edge caught my fingertip and opened a thin cut. I didn’t feel it. Compared to everything else that hurt, what was a paper cut?

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