Author: Momo Chan

On the day our final AP scores and college housing assignments were released, I received a bizarre text message from an unknown number. [Your best friend and your childhood sweetheart have been sleeping together. If you don’t believe me, step out onto the balcony.] I walked out just in time to see a massive wave crash against the Cabo shoreline, completely untying Hailey’s bikini top. With a panicked squeal, she threw her arms around Tristan, pressing her bare chest flush against his torso to hide herself. The surrounding crowd of our high school classmates erupted into a chorus of suggestive whistles and catcalls. The sound made my ears ring with a high-pitched whine. My fingers flew across the screen: [Who is this?] The sender ignored my question. [Keep watching.] Down on the sand, their faces were flushed—not with embarrassment, but with a guilty, heated kind of thrill. They awkwardly shuffled behind a massive jagged boulder, completely disappearing from my line of sight. My phone buzzed three times in rapid succession. [Tomorrow night, Tristan is going to propose that you two finally make it official. Five years of dating, three years of marriage, and that is when you’ll finally discover that Hailey has been his mistress for a decade. And every single one of your mutual friends knew.] [By then, you’ll be pregnant. Knowing they have you trapped, they won’t even bother hiding it anymore. The postpartum depression will shatter you. You’ll nearly jump off your penthouse balcony with your baby in your arms. You will abandon your career in physics and rot away in a gilded cage.] Reading that last message, my knees buckled. I had to grip the balcony railing just to stay standing. The final text appeared: [I am begging you, Serena. Please don’t live my life.] 1 I immediately hit call on the number. A robotic, pre-recorded voice echoed in my ear: “The number you are trying to reach is currently busy.” I froze, pulling the phone away from my ear to look at the screen. The string of digits on the caller ID… it was my own phone number. I fired off half a dozen more texts, my hands shaking. They all vanished into the digital void, swallowed by silence. My mind was a chaotic blur as I took the elevator down to the resort lobby. The heavy glass doors slid open, and I nearly collided with a group of my classmates returning from the beach. Hailey spotted me first. She waved eagerly, a bright, innocent smile plastered on her face. “Serena! Did you check the college portal yet?” Her tone was light, airy. “I got a 5 on my AP Lit exam! I bet your scores are literally perfect.” Tristan was standing right beside her, his broad shoulders tense, a scowl pulling at his handsome features. “Don’t ask stupid questions, Hailey,” he snapped. “My scores were locked for review, which means Serena’s definitely are too. She’s always at the top of the curve.” Hailey instantly shrank into herself, dropping her gaze to the marble floor like a startled quail. She had grown up in a cramped, working-class duplex before my family took her in. Because of it, she possessed this inherent, suffocating timidity. She always spoke softly, always watching people’s faces to gauge their reactions. Tristan, who was born into California old money, was fiery, arrogant, and relentlessly unapologetic. He had always claimed to despise her “pathetic, weak” demeanor. He publicly humiliated Hailey all the time, and I was always the one stepping in to keep the peace. But now, looking at their perfectly composed faces, not a single word was spoken about their intimately compromised position behind the rocks just twenty minutes ago. A cold shiver snaked down my spine. How close must they be behind closed doors to share a secret like that without missing a beat? I was too exhausted to play the mediator today. “I saw what happened in the water.” A flicker of raw panic flashed across Tristan’s dark eyes. But it was gone in a millisecond, replaced seamlessly by a mask of profound annoyance. “I’m sorry, Serena,” he sighed, running a hand through his damp, salt-tousled hair. “She just threw herself at me. I didn’t have time to back away.” He shot a venomous glare at Hailey. “Explain it to her. Don’t let Serena think I actually wanted you touching me.” Hailey’s eyes instantly welled with tears, her lower lip trembling. “I… I panicked! Tristan was the closest person, and I just needed something to hide behind!” Her voice broke into tiny, pathetic sobs. “I was so humiliated, I just cried and begged him to block me. If I had known you’d be upset, Serena, I would have just let everyone see me naked.” “It’s my fault,” she whimpered, wiping her cheeks. “I’ve never been on a luxury vacation before. I didn’t know the waves here were so strong…” “You idiot,” Tristan muttered, his scowl deepening. “Wearing a string bikini like that, who knows if you were trying to swim or just trying to seduce someone.” The sprawling hotel lobby fell dead silent. The only sound was Hailey’s wet, choked gasps. A few affluent guests in the lounge turned their heads to stare. Beside me, I heard a couple of girls from my AP Calculus class whispering. “God, Serena is being so aggressive. It was just a wardrobe malfunction…” “Right? They aren’t even officially dating yet, and she’s already acting like a jealous psycho over her own best friend. Talk about being desperate for male validation.” It was absurd. Utterly, tragically absurd. From beginning to end, I had only spoken a single sentence. Yet everyone was looking at me like I was the villain. If that text message really was from the future… it meant I had been played for a fool by my best friend and the boy I trusted most in the world. For an entire decade. Just the thought of it felt like a giant, invisible hand had reached into my chest and crushed my heart into a bloody pulp. But heartbreak was one thing. My pride would absolutely not allow me to break down in the middle of a Mexican resort lobby in front of an audience. I stared at the two of them for three long, agonizing seconds. Then, I turned on my heel and walked away. 2 When I got back to the suite, I pulled the heavy duvet over my head and let Hailey cry on her bed for the entire night. I didn’t say a word. The next day, we followed the itinerary our senior class president had set up, hitting all the tourist traps in Cabo. There were only three days left of our graduation trip. I wasn’t going to ruin it for the rest of the class. Tristan and Hailey flanked me the entire day, one on my left, one on my right, offering me bottles of water and desperately trying to strike up conversations. I responded with impenetrable silence. After a lavish seafood dinner, the class president suggested we head up to the resort’s rooftop terrace. “There’s a meteor shower tonight! Let’s go make some wishes before college!” After a grueling day of excursions, all I wanted was the quiet of my hotel room, but I was swept up in the current of sixty cheering teenagers and dragged to the roof. The moment the heavy glass doors opened, I froze. Strings of warm, golden fairy lights cascaded from the pergolas, mimicking a shower of falling stars. A thick carpet of red rose petals led to the edge of the terrace, where Tristan stood in the center of a massive heart shaped out of flickering candles. The crowd erupted into cheers, physically shoving me forward until I was standing right in front of him. Tomorrow night, Tristan is going to propose that you two finally make it official. The timeline from the text was dead on. Tristan looked at me, his dark eyes melting into something incredibly tender, and launched into a sweeping, romantic monologue. Half the girls on the roof were wiping tears from their eyes. “Serena… since we were six years old, I knew it was going to be you. Be my girlfriend?” I opened my mouth to reject him, but before the word could form, a terrifying, familiar tightness seized my chest. My airway constricted. An asthma attack. My hand instinctively shot to the pocket of my sundress. My inhaler wasn’t there. I never leave the room without it. My vision blurred at the edges, darkening into static. A flashback from dinner hit me like a physical blow. Hailey had brought me a slice of chocolate lava cake, her eyes red and puffy. “Serena, you always said sugar fixes a bad mood. Please stop being mad at me?” There had been a dusting of dark powder on the cake. I assumed it was cocoa powder. As the class had begun to whisper about how cruel I was being to her, I caved. I took two bites. My chest felt like it was trapped in a vise. Hailey had lived in my house for three years. She knew perfectly well that I had a lethal allergy to hazelnuts. Panic rippled through the crowd as I gasped for air, my knees buckling. Before I could hit the wooden decking, a strong, firm arm wrapped around my waist, hauling me flush against a solid chest. “Don’t panic. The paramedics are on their way,” a low, incredibly steady voice commanded by my ear. “Lean forward. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Slower.” A sharp, clean scent of cedar and lemon washed over me. The sheer authority in his voice grounded me. I stopped thrashing and tried to follow his rhythm. A moment later, a plastic mouthpiece was shoved past my lips. A blast of cold, life-saving medication flooded my burning lungs. As my vision slowly stitched itself back together, I looked up. It wasn’t Tristan holding me. It was Rowan Sinclair. The boy who had spent the last four years ruthlessly battling me for the title of Valedictorian. The notoriously aloof, devastatingly handsome academic rival was half-kneeling on the deck, his usually icy gray eyes tight with genuine concern. “Thank you,” I rasped, my throat raw. I turned my head. Hailey was standing a few feet away, her face streaked with tears. “The cake was dusted with hazelnut powder. You did that on purpose.” All the blood drained from Hailey’s face. “Serena, how could you even say that?! You’re my best friend!” “It was an accident! I thought it was cocoa powder!” She suddenly slapped her own cheek, hard, bursting into fresh, hysterical tears. “If I had just asked the waiter, you wouldn’t be hurt! I’m so stupid!” “Fine. Let’s say the cake was a tragic accident,” I said, my voice hoarse but razor-sharp. “What about the inhaler in my pocket? Did you ‘accidentally’ misplace that too?” Her eyes went wide with theatrical horror. “I didn’t!” “Serena, you left it on your nightstand! I ran all the way back to the room to get it for you…” “Enough.” Tristan pushed his way through the crowd, his brow deeply furrowed. “She literally tripped and busted her head open running to get your meds, Serena.” He gestured to a small scrape on Hailey’s forehead, his tone dripping with protective resentment. “You can’t even say thank you? You have to throw a princess tantrum?” I looked up at him. Slowly. Tristan faltered. It was as if he suddenly remembered I had nearly just died. His voice softened, patronizing and gentle. “You guys are best friends. I just don’t want you saying things you’ll regret when you calm down.” I didn’t have the energy to argue. I had just narrowly escaped death; speaking felt like swallowing glass. I braced my hands on the deck to push myself up, and Rowan immediately slipped his hand under my elbow, pulling me safely to my feet. Tristan stared at the point where Rowan’s hand touched my skin. His jaw ticked. I murmured another quiet thanks to Rowan, then looked at the girl weeping on the floor. “Hailey. Regardless of whether it was intentional or not, I can’t share a room with you anymore. Go book your own.” Her lips parted in shock. We were staying in the resort’s premium oceanfront suite. It was a thousand dollars a night. My mother gave Hailey a generous allowance, but keeping up appearances at our elite private school meant she spent it as fast as she got it. She could barely afford a standard room by the ice machine. Hailey looked like she had just been sentenced to the guillotine, tears brimming on her lower lashes as she looked desperately at Tristan. Tristan pressed his lips into a thin, angry line. But when he met my dead, uncompromising stare, he swallowed his protests. He didn’t say a word. 3 I had a resort staff member escort us to the room. Hailey sobbed the entire time she packed her suitcase. When the door finally clicked shut behind her, the dam inside me broke. I sank to the floor, memories of my twelve years with Tristan flashing behind my eyes like a film reel. We met when we were six. We were inseparable. We held hands walking to the bus stop, ate lunch on the same bench, and refused to play if the other wasn’t invited. Once, Tristan’s mother joked over a glass of wine, “Maybe we should just arrange their marriage now and merge the companies.” Before the adults could laugh, a ten-year-old Tristan had slammed his juice box on the table, his little face dead serious. “Mom, don’t say that. It’s not a joke. I’m waiting until Serena grows up so I can ask her properly.” His mother had teased, “And what if Serena says no?” He blinked, his mouth set in a stubborn pout. “Then… I’ll just wait forever!” I had carried that memory in my heart for years. Just a few months ago, for Tristan’s eighteenth birthday, I spent three months meticulously crafting a scrapbook. It was filled with a decade of our Polaroid photos, theme park wristbands, and movie stubs. When he turned to the final page, his eyelashes were wet. He leaned down, his face inches from mine. I closed my eyes, my heart hammering against my ribs. But at the very last second, he stopped. “Serena. Wait until graduation,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I have something incredibly important to ask you.” Tristan was a wildfire of a boy. Loud, reckless, and fiercely independent. But with me, he was always so painfully careful. So restrained. He cherished me so much that it completely blinded me to reality. Hailey was the daughter of our estate’s head housekeeper. The summer before high school, her mother pushed me out of the way of a speeding drunk driver, dying on impact. She left behind a fourteen-year-old Hailey and an ailing grandmother. Out of a profound sense of debt and gratitude, my family moved Hailey from her crumbling neighborhood into our sprawling Bel Air estate. We transferred her to my elite prep school. She was a frightened rabbit in a den of wolves. So, I took her under my wing. I bought her the right clothes, introduced her to my circle, and spent hours tutoring her. The first time Tristan met her, he sneered. “Why is the maid’s kid following you around? She doesn’t belong with us.” It was the first time Tristan and I ever had a screaming match. We didn’t speak for a week. After that, I forced Hailey to come everywhere with us. Tristan was clearly annoyed, but he didn’t want to lose me, so he forced himself to tolerate her. Eventually, he started bringing her an iced coffee when he brought mine. He bought her a designer scarf for her birthday. I always thought he was just doing it to make me happy. But when did it change? When did the boy who promised to wait for me forever quietly carve out a space in his heart for someone else? My phone screen suddenly lit up the dark room. [The temporal connection is highly unstable. I could lose contact at any second.] [Hailey triggered your asthma on purpose. She knew you’d kick her out. That was the only way Tristan could go to her room tonight.] [Go knock on Rowan Sinclair’s door. Tristan booked Hailey a room right next door to his. I know this is brutal, Serena. But you need to see it with your own eyes to kill the love you have for him, or you will never change your fate.] I stared at the glowing text, the breath trapped in my throat. Rowan Sinclair was the untouchable ice prince of our graduating class. Yes, he had saved my life tonight, but it was 1:00 AM. Why would he let me into his hotel room in the middle of the night? Before I could type out the question, a new message popped up. [He will open the door. In the timeline where you survive… Rowan Sinclair is your husband. He has been hopelessly in love with you for years.] 4 I sucked in a sharp breath. I texted back, but the line was completely dead. Silence. Standing in front of Room 1105, I hesitated for a long moment before pressing the doorbell. Less than a minute later, the door swung open. Rowan stood in the doorway, momentarily stunned. He had clearly just stepped out of the shower. His dark, inky hair was dripping wet. Small beads of water rolled down his broad, sculpted chest, tracing the hard lines of his abs before disappearing into the towel slung low on his hips. A wave of steam rolled off his skin, carrying the scent of rich cedarwood. My face erupted in heat. He lowered his gaze to me. “Is something wrong?” “I…” my throat was completely dry. “Can I just stay in here for ten minutes? Just ten minutes.” Rowan paused, his expression unreadable. Then, he stepped aside. I hadn’t expected him to agree so easily. “Thank you.” I stepped into the suite, feeling entirely out of place. “Can you… turn off the lights?” He didn’t ask a single question. He flicked off the main switch and retreated toward the bathroom. “I’ll go put some clothes on.” I exhaled a shaky breath and slowly walked out onto his balcony. The sound of the ocean waves was immediately eclipsed by the noises drifting over from the balcony next door. “…it hurts, Tristan, slow down…” “You were completely out of line today. If it hurts, take it.” Tristan’s voice was gravelly, heavy with a dark, primal lust I had never heard before. The salty ocean breeze stung my eyes, but I forced myself to keep them open. I gripped the railing. Hailey’s voice was soft, laced with a sickly sweet whine. “Mmm… then why are you still going?” “Serena suffered tonight. I have to take it out on you.” The sickening sound of skin slapping against skin was followed by a breathy, stifled moan. My knuckles turned bone-white against the metal railing. Fat, hot tears fell from my chin, shattering against the back of my hands. “Okay, that’s enough,” Hailey pleaded softly. “Shouldn’t you go coax your little childhood sweetheart?” “Tomorrow,” Tristan chuckled, a low, breathy sound. “We’re not done. You still owe me for yesterday.” It was the middle of July, but I was shivering so violently my teeth chattered. I turned around. Rowan was standing in the shadows just inside the balcony door. He was wearing a black t-shirt and sweatpants. I didn’t know how long he had been standing there. “I… I didn’t know,” Rowan said quietly, his voice laced with heavy regret. “If I had known they were out there, I would have warned you.” I looked up at him. His brows were deeply knit, his jaw clenched tight. I suddenly remembered the text message: And every single one of your mutual friends knew. Rowan wasn’t in our friend group. He genuinely hadn’t known. The moonlight spilled across the balcony, illuminating the sharp, aristocratic lines of his face. “Can you…” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Can you just hold me?” He froze. “Yeah.” He stepped forward and pulled me against his chest. I buried my face in his shirt and sobbed, a quiet, suffocating kind of weeping. His entire body was stiff as a board, his large hands awkwardly but gently stroking my spine. Slowly, the steady, grounding rhythm of his heartbeat calmed the violent trembling in my hands. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was the sickeningly sweet moans still drifting from the next balcony. Or maybe, deep down, I believed the message that this boy was my future husband. My body moved before my brain could stop it. I reached up, gripping his shoulders, and clumsily pushed up on my tiptoes. Rowan went completely still for a fraction of a second. Then, his large hand cupped the back of my neck, tilting my head up as he kissed me back. Hard. His mouth was hot and demanding, a complete contrast to his icy exterior. My heart hammered wildly against my ribs, the sheer intensity of it making my head spin. So this was what a real kiss felt like.

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1 When I was three years old, a new nanny got tired of my crying and locked me in the dark basement overnight. When the heavy wooden door was finally unlocked the next morning, my voice was gone. Selective trauma-induced mutism, the doctors called it. But no one in the Pierce family ever treated me like I was broken. If anything, they loved me with a fierce, protective obsession. Grandpa Arthur held me on his lap during high-stakes board meetings; Dad cancelled multi-million-dollar dinners just to tuck me in; and my older brother, Harrison, guarded me like I was his entire heart walking around outside his chest. Until the day he brought a girl home. On my tenth birthday, she knew I had a fatal nut allergy. Yet she personally fed me a forkful of cake laced with crushed hazelnuts. As my throat closed up and I suffocated on the floor, she sobbed louder than anyone in the room. But when she bent down to pull the hair from my sweating face, her voice dropped to a razor-thin whisper: “Just die already.” “Once you’re gone, Harrison belongs only to me.” After I died, Harrison knelt in front of my casket for two days without standing up. Grandpa collapsed and never fully recovered, and Dad aged a decade overnight. Meanwhile, she paraded a fake baby bump, walked down the aisle into the Pierce estate, and became the beloved, saintly young Mrs. Pierce in everyone’s eyes. Then I opened my eyes again. I was back. Five years old. Harrison was leading her across the threshold of the Pierce estate once more. Just like in my past life, she presented a gentle, loving face to the world—braiding my hair, spoon-feeding me soup, hugging me close while telling everyone how much she adored little Nora. But behind closed doors, she pressed sewing needles into the palms of my hands, held boiling hot tea cups against my skin, and pinched my thighs beneath the dining table until I shook from pain. I cried until I couldn’t breathe, but I couldn’t scream. She would lean into my ear and smile. “You pathetic little leech. Stay away from your brother.” “A useless mute who can’t even make a sound… what makes you think you deserve their world?” But this time, as the pain seared through me, I reached out and gripped Harrison’s sleeve with everything I had. And through my rusted, broken throat, I forced out a voice I hadn’t heard in two years: “She… pinched… me.” “Called me… a leech.” In an instant, every color drained from the room. When my eyes opened to the sunlight streaming through the stained-glass foyer, I realized I had returned to the exact afternoon Harrison first brought Sienna home to the Pierce ancestral estate. The housekeeper’s voice echoed from the front doors. “Master Harrison is home.” My entire body went rigid. A second later, my brother walked in, hand-in-hand with a woman. She was carrying a plush pink teddy bear, her smile radiant and soft. She knelt in front of my small armchair, her tone dripping with sweet affection. “Nora, sweetie. I’m Sienna. I’m going to take such good care of you from now on.” I stared at her immaculate, beautiful face, and the blood in my veins turned to ice. In my previous life, she had sat by my bed holding that exact teddy bear. The moment the maid stepped out, she pulled a long silver pin from the bear’s embroidered ear and rammed it into the flesh beneath my fingernails. Once. Then again. Who told you to hog all their love? she had whispered. I couldn’t scream then. I could only sit there, warm tears streaming down my face. Remembering the blinding pain, I raised my arm and shoved the teddy bear out of her hands with all the force my five-year-old body could muster. It tumbled across the hardwood floor. The grand living room fell instantly silent. Harrison, standing beside Sienna, creased his forehead. “Nora,” he said, his voice dropping an octave into that stern, big-brother register. “We don’t throw things. That’s rude.” I couldn’t explain. My throat was a sealed room. I could only pull back into the leather chair, shrinking away from them. Sienna immediately bent over to retrieve the doll. Her eyes welled up with practiced ease, but she smoothed her skirt and offered Harrison a forgiving, timid smile. “Harrison, please don’t scold her. She’s so little. It’s her first time meeting me—she’s probably just scared.” She held the bear back out to me, her touch lingering near my hands. “Look, Nora. Teddy isn’t mad.” I stared at the pink plush. No. It hurts. When the needle digs into the skin, it hurts. I scrambled off the armchair and threw myself into my grandfather’s lap. Grandpa Arthur Pierce sat in the high-backed wing chair at the head of the room. In the Pierce empire, no one dared to cross him. I was the only person in the world allowed to climb onto his knees and tug at his silver beard. Grandpa caught me mid-air, his arms solid and warm around my trembling frame. “What’s wrong with my girl?” I pointed a shaking finger at Sienna and shook my head violently. Sienna immediately lowered her gaze, her posture fragile. “Mr. Pierce, it’s my fault. I suppose I’m just not very good with children.” A few servants standing near the corridor exchanged glances. One whispered under her breath, “Miss Sienna seems so sweet. Little Nora is usually so well-behaved—why is she acting up today?” Harrison caught the whisper, and his jaw tightened. “Nora, what did I teach you? Even if you don’t like something, you don’t throw a fit.” I squeezed Grandpa’s cashmere sweater, shaking my head so hard tears flew from my eyes. Dad—David Pierce—came down the winding marble staircase from his study. Seeing me in tears, his face darkened instantly, and he strode across the room, lifting me straight out of Grandpa’s arms and onto his hip. “Who made my little princess cry?” I wrapped my small arms around Dad’s neck, my hand still trembling as I pointed behind him, right at Sienna. Dad turned his sharp gaze toward her. Sienna hugged the teddy bear to her chest, pulling off a tight, pained smile. “Mr. Pierce, I didn’t do anything. I think Nora is just wary of strangers.” She took a slow step toward us. “Here, let me…” My whole body went marble-stiff. Dad caught the sudden, violent tremor running through me and instinctively took a half-step back, putting distance between us and her. Sienna froze. A flash of sharp irritation flickered across the bottom of her eyes—so fast a casual observer would have missed it—before she sank back into her wounded persona. “Right. I’ll keep my distance,” she murmured softly. “I don’t want to frighten her.” To everyone in that room, she looked like the definition of grace and understanding. Only I saw it. As she brushed past Dad’s shoulder, her lips moved, forming three silent, poisonous words just for me: Little useless bitch. A cold chill ran down my spine. Harrison hadn’t seen it. He only saw me suddenly squirming in Dad’s arms, my foot catching the hem of Sienna’s silk dress. “Nora Pierce!” It was the first time in my life he had ever used my full name in anger. I froze, stunned. Sienna stepped quickly in front of him, tears spilling over her cheeks. “Harrison, don’t raise your voice at her! I’m really not upset, I promise.” The more she played the martyr, the more Harrison’s protective instinct flared—for her. He looked at me, suppressing an unfamiliar edge of frustration. “Nora, stop throwing tantrums.” Sienna dabbed her eyes with a lace handkerchief. When no one was looking, she flicked her eyes up at me. Her gaze was pure, triumphant venom. I stared at my brother, numb. In my past life, I had waited until my breathing stopped, and even then, I never got to see the day my brother believed me over her. This life had to be different. I couldn’t let her win again. Sienna was invited to stay for dinner. At the dining table, her performance was flawless. She refilled Grandpa’s tea with exact precision, remembered without asking that Dad never touched cilantro, and even quietly reminded the butler to swap my iced fruit juice for warm water. “Nora’s stomach is delicate,” she explained smoothly. “Cold drinks might give her a chill.” Harrison’s expression softened as he looked at her. “How do you even know all of that?” Sienna blushed faintly. “You mentioned it once. Anything that involves Nora… I want to remember.” I sat between Dad and Grandpa, my small fingernails digging deep into my palms. Of course she remembered. In my past life, to orchestrate my “accidents,” she had memorized my medical history like a holy text. She knew a trace of mango gave me hives. And she knew, above all else, that hazelnut would choke the life out of me. After dinner, Sienna walked over to my drawing nook in the sunroom and knelt down. “Nora, do you want to go see the koi pond in the conservatory?” I shook my head frantically. That was where she had hurt me for the first time in my past life. Behind the tall orchid racks at the far end of the conservatory, there was a blind spot in the security cameras. She had taken a porcelain cup filled with scalding tea and pressed the hot ceramic against the back of my hand until my skin blistered. Then she had carried me out into the hallway, crying hysterically, claiming I had accidentally knocked over her tea. From that day on, the mere mention of the conservatory made my stomach turn to water. I turned to run, but her hand shot out, clamping around my small wrist like a iron vise. She smiled warmly at the passing maid. “I’m taking Nora to look for her hair clip. I think she dropped it near the glass house earlier.” The maid didn’t suspect a thing. “Thank you, Miss Sienna. You’re so attentive.” Panic surged through me like fire. I kicked my feet, trying to call out for Dad, but my vocal cords felt like they were packed with wet sand. Not a sound came out. Sienna carried me down the long, carpeted hallway toward the conservatory doors, leaning down so her lips brushed my ear. “Don’t be scared, sweetheart,” she purred in a low, terrifying hum. “Sister is going to take such good care of you.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. As we neared the turn in the hallway, I saw a heavy blue-and-white porcelain vase sitting on a marble pedestal. I reached out blindly and grabbed the rim with all my strength. Sienna’s tone flattened into something cruel and cold. “Still trying to make a scene? The more you act out, the more everyone realizes what an spoiled, unbearable brat you are.” The heavy oak doors of the conservatory were right in front of us. Driven by pure survival instinct, I turned my head and bit down as hard as I could into her shoulder. Sienna gasped from the sharp pain, her grip slackening for a fraction of a second. I tumbled to the floor, my knees cracking hard against the parquet wood. Pain shot up my leg, but I scrambled up immediately and sprinted back toward the main living room. Behind me, Sienna’s voice rang out, high and worried: “Nora! Stop running, sweetie, the floor is slippery!” I slammed right into Dad’s legs as I rounded the corner. Dad caught me easily, his hands wrapping around my waist as he lifted me up, his forehead creased with worry. “Baby, what’s wrong?” I threw my arms around his neck, shaking violently as tears soaked his shoulder. Sienna rushed into the living room a moment later, out of breath, clutching her left shoulder with tears brimming in her eyes. “Mr. Pierce, I am so, so sorry. I tried to help her find her clip, and she… she suddenly bit me.” Dad looked down at her shoulder. Harrison rushed into the room right behind her. Taking in the scene, his face went dark. “Nora, did you bite her?” I shook my head frantically, clutching Dad tighter. Sienna pulled her cardigan sleeve slightly higher, pretending to hide the bite mark while offering an understanding smile. “It’s okay, really. It doesn’t hurt that much.” The more she claimed it didn’t hurt, the more my brother’s temper flared against me. “Nora. Apologize. Right now.” I went rigid. I opened my mouth, but only empty, dry air passed through my lips. A subtle, dark satisfaction flickered in the back of Sienna’s eyes. She knelt down in front of me again, extending a hand to wipe my tears with infinite gentleness. “It’s alright, Harrison. I don’t need an apology from a child.” As her thumb brushed my cheek, her other hand reached around to the inside of my wrist beneath my long sleeve—and pinched the thin skin with a brutal, twisting force. The sharp, stabbing agony made me jump. She leaned in, her voice a ghost of a whisper against my ear: “You can run once, little girl. You can’t run forever.” That night, a deep purple bruise bloomed around my wrist. While giving me a bath, Martha, my long-time nanny, saw it immediately. “Oh, my sweet girl… how did you get this?” Before I could point or react, a soft knock sounded on the bathroom door. “Martha? Is Nora still awake?” Sienna’s voice drifted in. “I brought her some freshly baked bedtime cookies.” My entire body went rigid. Sienna walked in holding a tiny porcelain plate. Seeing the bruise on my arm, her expression transformed into exaggerated shock. “Oh goodness, Nora! Did you get that when you fell in the hallway earlier?” Martha swallowed the lie instantly. “Ah, of course. Poor little thing was running so fast, she must have knocked against the doorframe.” Sienna picked up a golden cookie and held it out to my mouth. “Consider this an apology from me, okay? I checked with the chef—absolutely no nuts in these.” I stared at the cookie, my breathing growing shallow and fast. In my past life, the very first time she triggered my allergic reaction, it had started with cookies exactly like these. I clamped my mouth shut, turning my head away. Martha coaxed me softly, “Nora, sweetie, Miss Sienna was kind enough to bring them to you. Just take one little bite?” Sienna smiled, her eyes wide and innocent. I suddenly reached out, grabbing the edge of the plate, and slammed it down onto the tile floor. CRASH. Porcelain shattered into dozens of sharp white teeth across the bathroom floor. Sienna took a dramatic step back, her hands flying to her mouth as tears spilled over. “Did… did I do something wrong again?” Martha looked terrified. “Nora! How could you do that?!” I stood in the middle of the bathroom, my wet skin cold, shaking uncontrollably. After that night, Sienna’s visits to the estate became a daily routine. She sat in the tearoom playing chess with Grandpa. She helped Dad organize his law documents in the library. She brought home-cooked lunches to Harrison’s office. And, of course, she brought “special treats” for me. I refused every single one. Every time I turned away, she would look at Harrison with red-rimmed eyes. “Nora still refuses to accept me. I don’t know what else I can do.” Caught in the middle, Harrison grew visibly exhausted. He came into my room late one afternoon, sitting on the edge of my bed. “Nora… why do you hate her so much?” I had no words to offer him. So I picked up my crayons. I drew a picture of a woman standing inside a glass house. I drew a tiny girl collapsed on the floor, her hands clasped around her own throat. I thrust the paper into Dad’s hands when he got home from work. Dad studied the crayon drawing for a long time, his brow furrowed deep into a line. “Nora… are you trying to tell me that Sienna is hurting you?” I nodded with everything I had. Dad didn’t dismiss me. He immediately called Benson, our head of security, and ordered him to review the conservatory footage from that afternoon. But I hadn’t stepped inside the conservatory that day. The cameras only caught Sienna carrying me down the hallway, me biting her shoulder, and me running away. The hot tea cup in the drawing hadn’t happened yet in this timeline. The pink bear had been searched by Martha, but the pin was already gone. Dad didn’t punish me, but without physical evidence, the investigation hit a wall. Sienna found out almost immediately. The next afternoon, while Martha went down to the kitchen to fetch my evening medicine, Sienna pushed open the door to my playroom. The door clicked shut behind her. She leaned her back against the wooden frame, slowly clapping her hands together. “My, my. Aren’t you a clever little thing?” I backed away into the corner of the room, my heel hitting the wainscoting. She walked over, bent down, and grabbed my chin in a grip so tight her manicured nails dug into my skin. “Too bad you’re just a useless, silent freak.” I cried silently as the pain flared in my jaw. “You can draw a hundred pictures,” she sneered, her voice dripping with disgust. “To everyone else, you’re just a spoiled, crazy little monster hallucinating things.” Before releasing me, she grabbed a thick red crayon from my table and drew several jagged, aggressive scribbles directly across the front of my white dress. A moment later, the door opened. Martha walked in with a tray. Sienna was already on her knees in front of me, using a damp napkin to dab at my dress, looking distraught. “Nora, don’t cry, it’s just a little crayon. Sister will help you wash it out.” Seeing my tears and the ruined dress, Martha assumed I had thrown another destructive tantrum. “Oh, Miss Sienna, you shouldn’t have to deal with this.” Sienna offered a weary, sweet smile. “It’s no trouble at all.” As she turned to leave, her lips silently moved again. Little bitch. My shivering intensified. That evening, Grandpa brought me into his private study. He pointed to the picture of the cake I had drawn earlier that day. “Nora… did she try to give you something bad to eat?” I nodded. Grandpa paused, his voice low. “Does she know about your hazelnut allergy?” I nodded again. Grandpa sat in silence for a long moment. Then he reached for the intercom on his desk. “Benson.” “Yes, Mr. Pierce?” “Starting today, every item of food that enters Nora’s room must be logged and tested separately. Change the lock on the medical storage room to a dual-authorization keycard. And clear every single security camera blind spot on this estate by tomorrow morning.” I felt a tiny knot in my chest untie. But Sienna moved faster than anyone expected. The next morning, I saw her standing at the far end of the service corridor, speaking to a newly hired kitchen assistant. The girl was holding a small amber glass bottle labeled Vanilla Extract in English. In my past life, I knew that scent. When hazelnut paste was blended into heavy cream, it produced that exact, sickly-sweet vanilla aroma. I started to move toward them, but Sienna’s eyes flicked over, catching mine. She gave me a tiny, slow smile. There wasn’t a trace of warmth in it. It was the smile of a predator watching its prey step into a cage. The evening before the annual Pierce family banquet, Harrison came to my bedroom. He sat beside my bed, watching me pull my blanket up to my chin in defense. His eyes were heavy with sadness. “Nora,” he said quietly. “Even if I get married someday, no one is ever going to replace you. You’re my sister. Why can’t you just give her a chance?” When the door clicked shut, I sat in the dark, tears falling silently onto my knees. I was running out of time. The night of the grand dinner arrived. The dining room was filled with soft candlelight and classical music. I sat between Grandpa and Dad. Across the table sat Harrison, and beside him sat Sienna, dressed in an ivory lace gown, looking as pure as a porcelain saint. She was extraordinarily modest that evening. Whenever a family friend complimented her, she blushed softly and whispered, “It’s all thanks to Harrison’s guidance.” Halfway through the meal, an older associate raised his glass to Harrison. “First time you’ve brought a young lady to the family dinner, Harrison. Looks like we’ll be hearing wedding bells soon.” Sienna lowered her head, her hand resting gently, purposefully, over her lower abdomen. My heart plummeted into my stomach. In my past life, she had used a fake pregnancy test to force the family’s hand and secure her place in the mansion. She was playing the exact same card tonight. When dessert was served, my hands began to shake. A tray of small artisanal cakes was brought out. Mine was the smallest, topped with a delicate sugar strawberry. Sienna picked up the small plate herself, walked around the long mahogany table, and knelt right beside my chair. She smiled up at me with infinite sweetness. “Nora, I had the chef prepare this specifically for you.” She scooped up a tiny silver spoon filled with cream and brought it toward my lips. “No nuts at all—I checked with the kitchen four times to be completely sure. Will you take one little bite for me?” Then I caught it. Hazelnuts. It was faint—so faint that anyone without a fatal sensitivity would never notice it. I could never forget it. Before I died in my past life, my mouth, my throat, my lungs were filled with that exact, suffocatingly sweet smell. I jerked my head back. Sienna’s free hand immediately reached under the dangling edge of the tablecloth and grabbed my knee. Her fingers pinpointed the exact spot where she had bruised me days ago, digging her manicured nails into the raw flesh. Agony flared behind my eyes, turning my vision white. Dad noticed my sudden rigidity. “Nora?” Sienna immediately looked up, her eyes brimming with sudden tears. “Did… did I scare her again?” She looked back at me, her smile still warm and gentle for the room to see. Her voice dropped into a tiny whisper, so soft it was meant only for my ears: “You can’t dodge this forever, you little leech. Once you’re dead, Harrison is mine.” BOOM. My brain exploded into pure, blinding terror. No. No! I won’t die again. I won’t let Dad hold my cold body until dawn. I won’t watch Grandpa’s hair turn white in a single week. I won’t let my brother spend the rest of his life living in a trap made by this monster. The silver spoon was inches from my lips. Everyone in the room was watching. Harrison frowned, looking at me with that familiar, disappointed plea for me to stop making a scene. I lunged forward and grabbed Harrison’s tuxedo sleeve with both hands, clutching the fabric like a lifeline. He blinked, startled. “Nora?” I opened my mouth. My throat felt as if it were being torn open by a rusty blade. The pain brought instant tears spilling over my lashes. Sienna’s face flickered with a brief split-second of shock, but she quickly recovered, about to pull the spoon back. In that fraction of a second, every ounce of horror, rage, and love I had carried across two lifetimes erupted from the depths of my chest. I tightened my grip on Harrison’s sleeve, straining with every fiber of my soul. And into the silent, grand dining room, a voice rasped out—hoarse, broken, and agonizingly raw: “Her… cake…” I sobbed out the words, screaming through the rust of two silent years: “…has… hazelnuts!” The entire room froze instantly. Every face at the table turned bone-white.

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In the circles Declan Cross ran in, I was famous for one thing: being his ultimate, pathetic doormat. Once, someone at a party asked him what he actually thought of me. He clamped a cigarette between his teeth, exhaled a plume of smoke, and drawled, “Harper? She’s like a stray dog nobody wanted. Honestly, I bet she’d take a bullet for me.” Later, I actually did. I stepped in front of a gun for him and nearly bled out on foreign soil. After that, everyone whispered about my blind, desperate devotion. They said my love for Declan was a feral, solitary crusade. Until the day he wrecked his car trying to show off for his first love. I was sitting beside him, quietly dabbing antiseptic onto his bruised skin. He reached up, patted my head like a pet, and let out a sudden, cruel scoff. “Harper, does your mother know how cheap you make yourself look?” I froze. Then, I picked up the entire bottle of iodine and splashed it directly into his face. My eyes were bloodshot. “Don’t you ever,” I snarled, “say a goddamn word about her.” 1 Declan hadn’t expected me to react at all, let alone like that. He sat completely stunned. The dark iodine dripped down his nose, blurring his vision. He wiped blindly at his face, his voice wavering with a rare uncertainty. “Are you… crying?” I didn’t answer. The violent, boiling rage inside my chest was already beginning to cool, hardening into something brittle and smooth. In that single, suspended second, a profound sense of exhaustion washed over me. The whole thing suddenly felt terribly pointless. Him. Me. And that heart beating inside his chest—the one I had been obsessing over for so long. Once the obsession evaporated, what followed was a suffocating, overwhelming wave of relief. I turned my back to him and began pulling my things from the closet. Declan’s brow furrowed. He kicked the glass coffee table, sending it shattering against the hardwood. He had a volatile, explosive temper; the moment the world stopped spinning on his axis, he’d scorch the earth. “Harper, stop throwing a tantrum. Come here,” his voice dropped into that cold, authoritative register he used when he expected to be obeyed. I sped up, shoving cashmere and denim into my suitcase. He crossed the room, grabbed my chin in a bruising grip, and roughly wiped away a stray tear clinging to my eyelashes. When I just stared at him—dead-eyed and unresponsive—he forced his brow to unknot. His tone softened, just a fraction. “I’ve been drinking. I was out of line,” he muttered, his voice tight with the foreign effort of an apology. It was a rare concession from Declan Cross. Yet, even in his apology, he looked down at me from a pedestal, tossing me a scrap of affection like a beggar. I zipped my suitcase, yanked the handle up, and walked straight toward the front door. “We’re done,” I said, my hand wrapping around the cold brass knob. “Throw the rest of my shit away. I don’t care.” Crash! A heavy crystal tumbler slammed into the wall inches from my head. The explosive force sent a shard of glass slicing across my cheek. A bead of warm blood welled up. I turned my head, my face completely devoid of emotion. Declan’s face was thunderous, a sneer twisting his handsome features. “Don’t think you can come crying back in a few days begging for another chance, Harper. Everyone in this city knows you’re my shadow. I’m giving you an out right now to save you the embarrassment.” He pointed a finger at me. “Apologize, and we’ll pretend this didn’t happen.” I looked at him, raised my middle finger, and smiled. “I’ve wanted to say this to you for a really, really long time.” “You’re a fucking psychopath, Declan.” 2 To be fair, I’d thought Declan was out of his mind since the day we met. It was a suffocatingly elegant charity gala in the Hills. The room was packed with tailored tuxedos and polite, synchronized smiles. Declan, sporting bleached-blonde hair that screamed trust-fund rebellion, had just ruthlessly smashed a champagne flute over the host’s head—who happened to be his illegitimate half-brother. As he walked away from the bleeding man, he passed me. I was frozen by a pillar. Misinterpreting my shock, he paused to offer a twisted kind of comfort. “Pretty color, right? His head matches his tie now.” At his words, my eyes welled with tears. I stared intently at his face—a face I had researched endlessly, stared at through a phone screen late into the night—before my gaze slowly, inexorably dropped to his chest. Without thinking, I whispered, “How is your heart doing?” Declan blinked, taken aback, and then let out a sharp laugh. “I’ll give you points for originality, sweetheart. Never been hit on quite like that.” He gave me a lazy, mocking wave. “I’m busy today. But I’ll take you for a drive sometime.” It was just a careless, throwaway line to him. But from that moment on, I glued myself to his side. I shadowed him, catered to his moods, obsessed over his diet, his sleep, his stress. Eventually, he cornered me in his penthouse and said, “You’re in love with me, Harper.” He said it with absolute, unbreakable certainty. I thought about it for a long moment before answering honestly. “If caring about your body and your heart is a form of love, then yes. I love you.” Because taking the shape of a “girlfriend” gave me the access I needed to protect him. To monitor him. So, I was willing to play the part. Naturally, we became a couple. But Declan was a terrible boyfriend, entirely enabled by my relentless compliance. At first, I tried to gently steer him away from the adrenaline-junkie lifestyle he craved. He’d smirk, promise to be careful, and then go cliff diving in Maui or street racing down the winding Malibu canyons anyway. Over time, my nagging annoyed him. So, he dumped me. Just like that, he vanished from my orbit. I couldn’t accept it. I went to every single one of his wealthy, snide friends, begging for his location until I finally tracked him down to a VIP room at a club. Knowing I was outside, his friends brought me up just to watch the show. That was when I heard him say it, cigarette between his lips: “She’s like a stray dog… I bet she’d take a bullet for me.” I pushed the door open. Ignoring the mocking stares of the room, I walked right up to him. I lowered my voice, stripping away my dignity. “Please don’t push me away. I’ll do whatever you want.” Declan stared at me for a long, suffocating minute before letting out a dark chuckle. “Alright. As long as you learn how to behave.” From that night on, in the eyes of his social circle, I ceased to be Harper Hayes. I became a punchline. Declan Cross’s pathetic lapdog. But I didn’t care. As long as I could stay by his side, as long as Declan kept breathing, that was enough. 3 After I walked out of his apartment that night, my phone blew up. His friends called one after another, thoroughly convinced it was a publicity stunt. The idea that his devoted shadow had finally snapped the leash was incomprehensible to them. Some even texted me, warning me not to play hard to get, saying I’d overplay my hand and lose him for good. I blocked every single number associated with Declan’s circle in one clean sweep. The next morning, I requested a temporary transfer to my firm’s Chicago office. By the time I returned to Los Angeles, three months had passed. The moment I landed, an old college friend called, practically vibrating with excitement. “Harper! You back? They’re running the canyon tonight. You in?” A heavy wave of nostalgia washed over me. My voice sounded a little rusty when I replied, “I haven’t been behind a wheel in years. I think I’ll pass.” My friend didn’t know about Declan. She just kept pushing, reminding me of who I used to be. After a long pause, I caved. Three years ago, before I ever knew the name Declan Cross, the underground racing scene was my entire life. But out of all the canyon checkpoints in Southern California, I never expected to run into him at this one. I hadn’t seen him in three months. He looked a little leaner, his hair grown out and—surprisingly—dyed back to his natural jet black. When we were together, I had begged him to ditch the bleach. I told him it drew too much attention. He had smiled, but his eyes were hard. “Do you get off on trying to control me, Harper?” My memory was interrupted by the sound of a bright, musical laugh. Serena Blair slipped her arm through Declan’s, beaming up at him. “I told you my taste is flawless, Dec. The dark hair makes you look so much more dangerous.” The crowd around them hooted in agreement. I watched them for a second, feeling nothing but a dull sense of inevitability. Serena was Declan’s childhood neighbor. His golden girl. The one who got away. Before she returned from Paris, I was constantly measured against her ghost. After she returned, Declan laid the world at her feet. If Serena wanted his hair black, it was done before dinner. Not wanting the drama, I grabbed my friend’s arm to leave. “Harper!” Declan had spotted me. He gritted my name through his teeth. I didn’t even break my stride, turning my back to him. He ripped his arm away from Serena, bridged the distance in seconds, and snatched the fabric of my jacket. His hand was physically shaking. His face was a storm of suppressed fury. He opened his mouth, but Serena’s honeyed voice cut through the exhaust fumes first. “Harper, you finally decided to show your face. Playing hard to get is cute for a week, but three months? You’re pushing it, don’t you think?” She smiled, playing the concerned mediator. The atmosphere shifted. The racers nearby snickered, looking at me with familiar pity. I met Serena’s gaze dead-on. “A breakup is a breakup. Since when does it come with a ninety-day waiting period?” Declan looked at me, then looked at the tuned-up Porsche I was standing near. His dark mood suddenly evaporated, replaced by a triumphant, cocky smirk. He clicked his tongue. “I thought you hated it when I raced. Held out for three months, and you still had to come track me down?” Someone in the back laughed loudly. “Classic Harper! Out of all the canyon routes in LA, she magically finds this one.” Declan’s ego was practically radiating off him. He was absolutely certain I was here to beg for my spot back in his bed, just like I always did. The anxiety that had clearly been gnawing at him for three months vanished. He cleared his throat, playing the benevolent king. “Alright, fine. Sit in the passenger seat and behave. After my run, we’ll swing by your place and get your bags.” I stared at him. The sheer audacity of his narcissism would have been funny if it wasn’t so pathetic. I realized just how deeply sick my own obsession had been to endure this man for three years. My voice was ice. “You love the canyon, right? You think you’re untouchable behind the wheel?” Declan frowned, confused by my tone. I pointed toward the jagged silhouette of the Angeles Crest mountains. “The Devil’s Spine. Deadliest drop in the county. You and me. Right now.” Serena gasped, putting a delicate hand on Declan’s chest. “Dec, don’t. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She’s just throwing a tantrum. Give her an inch so she doesn’t embarrass herself.” Her words fueled him. Declan scoffed, looking at me like I was a child holding a loaded gun. “Harper, you’ve never touched a clutch in your life. What exactly do you think you’re going to do?” I had already walked over to my friend’s car and popped the door. I gestured toward the starting line. “Let’s find out.” Minutes later, our tires were lined up on the asphalt. Declan rolled his window down, his eyes dark and unreadable in the moonlight. “You don’t have to push it this far, Harper. Step out of the car. Now.” I wrapped my fingers around the steering wheel, my eyes locked on the starter. Go. I slammed the pedal to the floor. The engine screamed, and I shot off the line like a bullet. Apexing, drifting, riding the edge of the guardrails—I didn’t let up for a fraction of a second. The G-force threw me against the bucket seat, tires screaming as they kissed the edge of a three-hundred-foot drop. In my rearview mirror, I could see Declan fighting to keep up, his face a mask of absolute shock. He found a brief straightaway and tried to overtake me, aggressively wedging his front bumper into a hairpin turn, grinding metal against my side panel. I was forced to decelerate, my tires kicking up dirt over the sheer cliff edge. Through the glass, I saw that arrogant, victorious smirk return to his face. He mouthed something at me. I shifted gears, pinned the throttle to the floor, and turned my wheel violently into him. The impact sent my car airborne for a terrifying, weightless second. Half of my chassis hung over the abyss of the canyon before gravity slammed the tires back onto the pavement. I let out a massive, unhinged breath, laughing as adrenaline flooded my veins, washing away three years of suppressed misery. This. This was what I had been missing. I crossed the finish line a full ten seconds ahead of him. I threw the car in park and leaned back, letting the beautiful, violent hum of the engine vibrate through my bones. Bang. Bang. Bang. Fists slammed against my window. I rolled it down. Declan stood there, pale as a ghost, his chest heaving, absolute terror in his eyes. “Are you out of your fucking mind?! You could have died!” I looked up at him, studying his face. “Your heart seems to be handling the stress just fine.” Declan stopped panting, utterly derailed. “What the hell are you talking about?” His chest rose and fell rapidly, the pulse in his neck hammering against his skin. The rhythm was so frantic, so loud in the quiet night air. I listened to that familiar, beautiful heartbeat greedily, and without warning, a tear slipped down my cheek. Panic flashed in Declan’s eyes. He reached through the window. “Harper—” “I wasn’t afraid of dying. That’s why I won,” I cut him off smoothly, rolling the window back up an inch. “I’ve loved this mountain a lot longer than you have, Declan. And honestly? Your driving is mediocre.” I dropped the car back into gear. “You spent three years looking down on me,” I said quietly over the idle of the engine. “But I never thought that highly of you, either.” Declan stood frozen in the exhaust smoke as I turned the car around and drove away. 4 Returning to the underground circuit gave me my life back. With no one to babysit, I picked up the obsession I’d buried three years ago. In a single month, I swept through dozens of local bracket races, taking first place in almost all of them. The raw, life-or-death adrenaline scrubbed my mind clean. For the first time in years, the crushing loneliness was gone. Which was why it was so deeply irritating to find Declan Cross leaning against my apartment door on a Tuesday night. Given his towering pride, I thought my stunt at the canyon would have severed his ego beyond repair. I stopped at the end of the hallway and just looked at him. He ran a hand through his hair, looking agitated, before breaking the silence. “My hair is black.” I gave him a weird look. Did he think I was blind? Unable to process the sheer stupidity of the statement, I gave him a flat response. “Yeah. Serena has good taste.” He choked on his next breath. He stood there for a long moment before forcing the words out. “It wasn’t for her. You… you said you wanted it black.” I didn’t understand, and frankly, I didn’t care to. “Why are you here, Declan?” “Let’s get back together.” The moment the words left his mouth, he winced, looking disgusted with himself for actually saying them out loud. But it was a phrase I had offered him a hundred times. “What’s the point?” I asked. Before he could stumble through an answer, I gave him one. “There is no point. You don’t even like me. This is just bruised possession. The fact that your devoted little shadow actually walked away is eating you alive. That’s all this is, right?” Declan’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t speak. I walked past him and reached for the keypad to my door. Suddenly, he moved. He grabbed my shoulders and slammed me hard against the wall, crowding into my space with a dark, bitter sneer. He was too close, his breath hot against the skin of my neck, triggering a violent wave of revulsion in my stomach. “You’re doing all of this, tearing us apart, over one stupid comment?” he growled, the mask of the apologetic boyfriend melting away to reveal the volatile, aggressive boy underneath. “What do you want, Harper? You want me to beg?” He pressed his forearm against the wall beside my head, boxing me in. “Fine. Listen closely. I’m sorry. I misspoke. Are you going to forgive me now?” It was framed as an apology, but he was looking at me the way a predator looks at a trapped rabbit. I met his eyes, unblinking. “Are you off your meds again?” Declan’s pupils blew wide. A tremor ripped through his shoulders. When you spend three years monitoring a man’s every breath, you know exactly where the armor is thinnest. You know where to slide the knife. I shoved him back. “If you’re having an episode, call your doctor. Stop showing up at my door looking for a fight.” Declan stumbled back, staring at me. Then, he let out a harsh, cracked laugh. “You’re gonna regret this.” I looked at him, dead serious. “I hope your health stays stable. I hope you live a long life.” He froze, then laughed louder, the sound echoing down the sterile hallway. “You’re out of your fucking mind, Harper.” “You wanted to break up, remember? What I do now is none of your business.” I punched my code into the door. Without looking back, I said quietly, “When I took that bullet for you in Bogotá, you swore you owed me a favor. Anything I wanted. I’m cashing it in now. Leave me alone.” I locked the door. A second later, a massive kick shuddered against the wood. Declan screamed on the other side, punching the door, cursing my name until his voice went hoarse. I walked away. It had nothing to do with me anymore. I went into my bedroom, sat on the edge of my mattress, and pulled a framed photograph to my chest. I held it tight, anchoring myself to the only person in the world I truly loved.

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1 On Valentine’s Day, my fiancé told me he was suffocating under work stress and needed to clear his head, so he dragged me on a wilderness hike. Halfway up the trail, we ran into armed muggers. But the woman they grabbed and held at knife point wasn’t a stranger. She was Sienna Cross—the high school golden girl Marcus had pined over for years, the phantom ex he could never quite get over. Marcus didn’t hesitate for a single second. He shoved me into the muggers’ arms and dragged Sienna to safety. To save myself from something far worse, I was forced to leap off the edge of a cliff. I lay broken at the bottom of the ravine for three agonizing days before a search party spotted me and rushed me to the ICU. I ended up with a shattered leg and a fractured arm. Yet when Marcus finally showed up at my bedside, arm around Sienna, his eyes weren’t filled with relief—they were filled with exasperation. “If you’d just given them your money, none of this would have happened,” he scolded, his voice dripping with condescension. “Why did you have to throw such a dramatic fit and do this to yourself?” In the days that followed, the social chatter was merciless. Everyone whispered that I was nothing more than a placeholder, a discount substitute. Three years of absolute devotion couldn’t compete with a single tearful glance from his high school sweetheart. That was the moment the fog finally cleared. I realized I had never been his partner; I was just a second-best option he settled for when his first choice walked away. Lying in that sterile hospital bed, staring at the white ceiling, I pulled out my phone and typed a message to my parents overseas: I’ll do it. I’ll accept the family match. “They just wanted cash, Paige! If you had handed over your wallet, you’d be fine right now. How could you let yourself get beat up like this?” Marcus stood by my bed, holding Sienna’s small, delicate hand in his. He stared at the traction frame holding my crushed leg in place, his face twisted in what looked like pity, but every word out of his mouth was an accusation. “When did you become so ridiculously cheap? Your life is worth more than a few hundred dollars!” I stared up at him, a cold shiver running down my spine. The man I had loved for three years looked like an absolute stranger. “If it were Sienna lying in this bed with a shattered femur, would you be saying the same thing?” I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat, trying to suppress the hollow ache in my chest. “No… of course you wouldn’t. You’d never let her get hurt in the first place.” Three days ago, when he shoved me toward those men, his eyes had been entirely consumed by Sienna’s safety. And now, standing here, he couldn’t even bring himself to ask me if I was in pain. Sienna leaned against his side, playing the part of a fragile, traumatized victim, but I didn’t miss the faint, triumphant smirk gleaming in her eyes. Marcus let out a long, weary sigh and sat down on the edge of my mattress. “Pai, Sienna has a frail constitution. She isn’t tough like you. Look at you—you fell off a cliff and survived three days out in the elements. If that had been Sienna, she wouldn’t have made it through the night.” “So I deserved to have my bones crushed?” My voice cracked, rising an octave. “Do you honestly think those men were going to take a couple hundred bucks and politely walk away? If cash was all it took, why didn’t you hand over your wallet to buy Sienna’s freedom? Why did you swap me for her?” He hadn’t even come looking for me. I had laid in the dirt beneath that cliff for seventy-two hours, shivering, bleeding, waiting for him. If a group of local trail surveyors hadn’t stumbled upon me, I would have rotted down there. “Marcus, we’re done,” I said quietly, turning my head toward the window. Tears welled up and spilled over my temples, soaking into the thin hospital pillow. “I want a breakup.” Marcus’s face drained of color. He turned quickly, murmuring something soft to Sienna, gently guiding her out into the hallway and closing the door behind her. “Baby, please don’t say that,” he whispered, sinking to his knees beside my bed. He grabbed my uninjured hand, his eyes instantly turning bloodshot and glassy. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have left you behind. But you know how much damage she caused me when she left all those years ago… I just… I had unresolved closure. It was an instinct.” I bit my lip until I tasted copper, refusing to look at him. My mind flashed back three years ago—to the night Sienna dumped him to go abroad. Marcus had spiraled into a self-destructive wreck. I had secretly loved him for two years back then, and when I saw him drowning, I stepped in, pulling him back to the surface until he finally accepted me into his life. “Baby, everyone has a past they can’t quite shake,” Marcus pleaded, his voice trembling like a chastised child. “She’s going back overseas in a week. Just give me seven days. Let me settle things with her properly so I can put the past to rest once and for all. Please?” Looking at his tear-streaked face, the foolish, soft part of my heart gave an involuntary twitch. Against my better judgment, I gave a faint, exhausted nod. A flash of relief washed over his features, and he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead. Then came the blow that shattered whatever was left of me. “Rest up, baby,” he said, pulling away and smoothing down his jacket. “I’m going to step outside to check on Sienna.” The repentant, heartbroken fiancé vanished in an instant. He spun on his heel and practically sprinted toward the door, so fast and careless that his shoulder slammed heavily against the metal pole supporting my IV line and leg traction setup. The sudden, brutal jolt sent a wave of agony screaming through my shattered leg. I bit down on my lip so hard I broke the skin, clutching the bedsheets as silent tears flooded my vision. I wanted to scream, but my throat was entirely constricted. That’s your idea of an unresolved past, Marcus? A past that gives you permission to throw me away anytime, anywhere? Wiping the wet tears from my cheeks, I signaled to the nurse across the room to hand me my phone. I opened the messaging app. The last text from my parents was from three months ago, when they had urged me to move abroad and accept a strategic match with a prominent family friend. I tapped the microphone icon and recorded a brief voice note: I agree to the arrangement. I’ll come home. 2 On the day I was discharged, Marcus didn’t come. I had prepared myself for his absence, but when the hospital taxi dropped me off and I stood alone in front of our apartment building, my heart still ached with a deep, dull throb. Three years of quiet devotion, and I had lost completely to a woman who didn’t even have to try. I limped up the stairs, using my crutches to balance myself, and pushed open the front door. The moment the door swung inward, a suffocating wave of heavy, unfamiliar perfume knocked the breath out of me. The entryway was a disaster. On the floor lay my favorite glass perfume bottles—fragrances I had carefully collected over the years—shattered into sharp, glistening shards, their liquids pooling on the hardwood. Drawers were pulled open, clothes tore off hangers, papers scattered everywhere. It looked as though a burglar had methodically ransacked the place. My hands shook violently as I dialed Marcus’s number. He didn’t answer. I quickly typed out a text: Marcus, what happened to the apartment? Did someone break in? Holding my breath, I dragged my bandaged body toward the bedroom, frantically checking the hidden spots where we kept our emergency cash and documents. The small cash stash was untouched, but the high-yield savings card—the account containing our joint house deposit—was gone. A sudden spell of dizziness hit me. My knees buckled, and I barely caught myself on the edge of the dresser. My phone buzzed in my hand. A notification from Marcus. Sienna’s stomach issues are acting up again. I’m temporarily moving into her place to stay with her and cook her meals. I’ll be back in a week. Be a good girl and wait for me at home, okay? I stared at the screen, my mind going completely blank. I replied with a single punctuation mark: ? Sienna had a sensitive stomach, so my fiancé was moving into her apartment to play private chef for a week. Meanwhile, I was standing in a ruined hallway with a broken arm and a leg held together by steel pins, and he couldn’t care less. His reply came seconds later: Don’t be difficult, baby. I’ll be back in seven days. I promise you, nothing physical is going to happen between us. A harsh, hysterical laugh escaped my throat. I felt like the punchline of an agonizing joke. In a fit of sudden, overwhelming rage, I swept my good arm across the vanity, sending makeup bottles, picture frames, and glass jars crashing to the floor. The loud, sharp noises shattered the silence, then died away, leaving an eerie, suffocating quiet behind. I sat on the edge of the bare mattress for a long time, numb, before grabbing my phone again to ask if he had taken the savings card. It took him fifteen minutes to send back a succinct reply: Yes. That card held over two hundred thousand dollars—savings we had scraped together over eighteen months, denying ourselves small luxuries so we could put a down payment on a place of our own. He had wiped out our entire future without so much as a word. And it didn’t take long for me to figure out where that money went. In the mountains just outside the city, there was an exclusive resort built around a centuries-old “Lover’s Tree.” Over the years, influencers had turned it into a viral phenomenon. The full custom ritual—engraved golden locks, silk ribbons, private ceremony packages—cost upwards of two hundred thousand dollars. Sienna posted a screenshot on her social media feed. It was a cross-post of a picture Marcus had put up on his own private page: the two of them kneeling side by side beneath the majestic canopy of the ancient tree, surrounded by floating red ribbons. Marcus’s caption read: No regrets in the next life. Sienna’s repost caption was short and sweet: May nothing stand in our way next time. The message was crystal clear. I was the obstacle. I was the “this life” mistake standing in their way. Credit where credit was due—Marcus wasn’t entirely brain-dead. He had remembered to block me from viewing his post. But Sienna had made sure the privacy settings on her own profile were open to the public, just so I would see it. I looked around the cavernous, half-empty apartment. It felt hollow, not just because Marcus had packed up his personal belongings, but because we had deliberately avoided buying proper furniture to save money for the wedding. We couldn’t afford a comfortable couch for our living room, but he had two hundred thousand dollars readily available to buy a fairy-tale promise for another woman’s next lifetime. I pulled my legs up to my chest, wrapped my good arm around my knees, and wept quietly in the dark. The sharp ring of my phone broke the quiet. Expecting it to be Marcus coming up with another weak excuse, I snatched it up, only to see an unfamiliar, international number on the caller ID. “Hello?” I rasped, wiping my face. A deep, smooth voice answered on the line, calm and composed. “Paige Miller? Hello. I’m Logan Mercer—your fiancé.” 3 My bags were packed. I was leaving tomorrow. In the thirty-six hours since that phone call, Marcus hadn’t sent a single text to ask how I was doing, whether I had eaten, or if my leg was healing. Dragging my heavy cast across the wooden floor, I limped over to the closet and pulled out a large, black industrial trash bag. Then, I began clearing out every gift Marcus had ever given me over the last three years. Simple silver necklaces, delicate bracelets, synthetic designer dupes, small bottles of drugstore perfume. Because we were supposed to be saving every penny for a house, he had rarely spent more than fifty dollars on any gift. I used to treasure every single piece like it was made of solid gold, keeping them neatly arranged in velvet pouches. Now, looking at them, they felt like a series of cruel, humiliating slaps across the face. I dumped them all into the heavy plastic bag, tied a tight double knot at the top, and prepared to carry it down to the dumpster behind the building. The night air was crisp and chilly, the streetlights casting long, amber shadows across the pavement. I stood in front of the large green trash bins, took a long, stabilizing breath, and tossed the heavy bag inside. Hearing the thud as it hit the bottom felt like severing an infected limb. I turned around to head back inside. Before I could take a step, a thick, coarse burlap sack was slammed violently over my head. A foul stench of dried sweat, metallic blood, and a sharp chemical odor instantly filled my lungs. I panicked, flailing desperately to fight back, but my pinned leg gave out under the weight, and my casted arm was completely useless. A heavy, chemical-soaked rag was pressed hard against my nose and mouth. My vision spun, the world went dark, and I lost consciousness. When I finally drifted back to reality, my head was throbbing with an intense, sickening ache. My wrists were tied tightly behind my back with rough hemp rope, biting into my skin. A stale rag was stuffed into my mouth, making every breath taste like dust and mildew. “Hey, Sienna, the substitute’s awake,” a raspy male voice sneered nearby. Footsteps approached, and a rough hand yanked the gag from my mouth. I gasped, drawing in lungfuls of damp air, my eyes adjusting to the dim, flickering light overhead. We were in an abandoned, cavernous industrial warehouse. Two men stood over me—one bald with a jagged scar across his cheek, the other with greasy, bleached-blonde hair. Behind them, the sharp click-clack of high heels echoed against the concrete floor. Sienna stepped into the light, wearing a tailored cream trench coat, her freshly manicured nails glistening under the fluorescent bulbs. “Sienna?” I coughed, my voice raspy. “You kidnapped me?” “Tsk, tsk. Wrong word, Paige,” Sienna sat down on a folding chair brought over by the blonde guy, leaning forward until her perfectly manicured hand was inches from my eyes. “You didn’t get kidnapped. You hired these men to kidnap me.” I looked around the shadowy space, my pulse racing. “What are you talking about? What do you want?” “I want you to know your place,” Sienna’s voice dropped, turning ice-cold. “A placeholder is supposed to fade into the background the moment the main act comes back. I’m back now, Paige. You should have packed your trash and scurried away like a good little girl.” She suddenly reached out, her fingers locking tightly around the bandaged forearm of my broken arm, and gave it a brutal, vicious twist. A sharp, unbearable spike of pain shot straight through my shoulder. I let out a choked scream, my body contorting away from the pressure, which only ended up twisting my broken leg against the hard floor. “Look at you,” Sienna hissed, her face contorting with ugly pleasure. “Isn’t it pathetic? He swears up and down that he cares about you, yet all it took was one fake phone call from me saying I had a stomachache, and he abandoned you without a second thought. If you had an ounce of self-respect left, you’d have walked away. But no—you had to stay, forcing me to handle this myself.” “I was already leaving!” I panted, tears of intense physical agony streaming down my face. “Take him! Take Marcus! I don’t want him anymore!” “The problem is, he won’t leave with me!” Sienna shrieked, her voice suddenly spiking into a sharp, unhinged pitch. She jumped up, her high heel stomping directly onto my casted knee, grinding her weight down with deliberate malice. I cried out, the pain so intense my vision flickered to total white. “He refuses to sign the marriage papers!” Sienna roared, her face twisted in rage. “He keeps blabbering about how he owes you, how he can’t abandon you, how you’re the only one he loves now! To hell with his sudden conscience! If it weren’t for his promotion and his massive stock options coming up, do you really think I’d waste my time playing sweet and helpless for a middle-management loser?” I curled into a ball on the cold concrete, gasping for breath, unable to move a muscle. “So here’s how this is going to play out,” Sienna continued, smoothing down her coat and regaining her composure. “In a few minutes, he’s going to walk through that door and see you holding a knife over me. He’ll think you were so consumed by jealousy that you tried to have me killed. Once he sees me as the innocent victim again, his guilt will eat him alive. And he’ll marry me.” I stared at her, dazed through the pain. “Sienna… why did you really come back from abroad?” I knew the rumors. Three years ago, her wealthy stepfather had funded her move to Europe to study art. By all accounts, she should have been living a glamorous life. Why come back to claw at Marcus? Sienna’s face darkened, a flick of dark, bitter anger crossing her features, but before she could answer, the blonde man sprinted in from the loading dock door. “Sienna, he’s here! Marcus’s car just pulled up to the trail base!” Sienna smirked. “Good. Tie me up.” 4 When Marcus burst through the heavy metal doors of the warehouse, his eyes wildly searching the dark space, he froze. Near the back of the building, hanging over the edge of an opening that led to a steep cliff drop, two ropes were suspended from a high steel beam. I was tied to one; Sienna was tied to the other. The bandages wrapped around my leg were already soaked in fresh, deep crimson blood. “Paige!” Marcus gasped, his eyes widening in horror. He took a desperate step forward, but before he could move any closer, his gaze shifted to Sienna, who was hanging beside me, sobbing hysterically. “How much money do you want?” Marcus called out, his voice shaking as he edged toward the platform. “I brought cash! Just don’t hurt them!” The bald man stepped out from the shadows, twirling a long hunting knife in his hand. He gestured casually between Sienna and me. “Well now, Mr. Hayes. The cash you brought in that little duffel bag is only enough to buy freedom for one of these pretty ladies. You’re gonna have to pick.” Marcus stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes darted nervously between us, cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. Sienna looked at him with tear-filled eyes, shaking her head violently, muffled wails escaping from behind her gag. I didn’t make a sound. I just stared at him, a tiny, foolish spark of hope lingering deep in my chest. “I…” Marcus squeezed his hands into tight fists, his voice trembling as he took a slow, agonizing step toward my side of the beam. “I choose…” Snap! Without warning, the pulley mechanism holding my rope slipped. My body dropped abruptly by two feet, swinging wildly over the dark abyss behind the warehouse floor. My heart lodged in my throat, a wave of dizziness washing over me as cold sweat drenched my back. “Paige!” Marcus yelled, his face turning pale as he instinctively lunged toward me. Behind the beam, the bald man shoved the blonde guy, muttering under his breath in a low voice: “Careful, idiot! Don’t actually drop the boss’s girl, or we won’t get paid the rest of the fee! Loosen the other bitch’s rope instead!” The warehouse had an echo. The low murmur, though quiet, traveled across the high ceilings and landed straight in Marcus’s ears. Marcus stopped in his tracks. The terror on his face melted away, replaced instantly by an expression of cold, bitter disgust. He slowly pulled his leg back, looking at me as if I were something vile he had stepped on. “Paige… is this entire thing just a pathetic stunt you staged?” He let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Yesterday Sienna told me you were acting paranoid and jealous. I didn’t want to believe her. But today, you actually hired actors to fake a kidnapping?” My heart plummeted straight into an icy void. “N-no…” I struggled against the gag, trying to shake my head, but all that came out were muffled, desperate grunts. Right on cue, Sienna began writhing frantically against her ropes. The pulley above her creaked loudly, making her let out a sharp, terrified squeal as she swayed over the edge. Marcus’s attention snapped back to her instantly. “I choose Sienna!” he blurted out, without a second of hesitation. The bald man let out a boisterous laugh. “A true romantic! Splendid choice, Mr. Hayes!” He motioned for the blonde guy to lower Sienna to safety, while deliberately releasing the tension on my line, letting my rope drop another harrowing foot. I was hanging by a thread, supported only by a frayed cord cutting into my bruised shoulders. Marcus didn’t look at me once. He rushed forward, gathering Sienna into his arms the second her feet hit the ground, gently working to untie the knots around her wrists. “It’s okay, Sienna. You’re safe now,” he murmured softly. He didn’t turn around as he addressed me, his voice dismissive and annoyed. “Enough with the theatrics, Paige. Stop making a fool of yourself. When I get home, we’ll talk about how childish you’ve been.” Snap. The main knot above my head creaked under the strain, a few fibers tearing apart. Sienna collapsed against Marcus’s chest like a delicate glass doll, wrapping her arms around his neck. As he turned her toward the exit, she looked over his shoulder at me. The tears were gone. Her lips curved into a cold, victorious smile. “Let’s go, baby,” Marcus said gently, guiding her toward the doors. “Paige, untie yourself and walk home. Stop playing the victim before someone actually gets hurt.” I lowered my head, staring down at the dark, jagged rocks far below. The very last thread of hope inside my heart snapped cleanly in two. Three years of quiet, devoted love. And he believed a stranger over me without a second thought. The bald man watched them leave, letting out a loud, mocking snort. “Man, your boyfriend really doesn’t give a damn about you, does he?” The blonde guy walked over, grabbing my shoulder with a rough, heavy hand and dragging me back onto the solid concrete floor before slicing the rope with his knife. I hit the floor hard, my knees smashing against the sharp edge of a steel beam. The pain was excruciating, blinding me for a moment. “What do we do with her now?” the blonde guy asked, wiping sweat from his forehead. The bald man squatted down, grabbing my chin forcefully and turning my face toward the flickering overhead light, a sinister grin spreading across his face. “She’s got a pretty face. We can turn a massive profit on her. My contacts over the southern border are always looking for fresh stock.” A cold dread flooded through my veins. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Looking past them toward the open warehouse door, I could still see Marcus’s tall frame walking away into the moonlight, his arm wrapped tightly around Sienna’s waist. My mind suddenly drifted back to a rainy night three years ago. I had found Marcus slouched in a dark alley, plastered out of his mind, sobbing into my shoulder as he clung to me: “Please… don’t leave me too…” I took a deep, agonizing breath. Then, using every ounce of strength left in my broken body, I threw myself backward, rolling straight off the edge of the cliff platform. When the bald man’s terrified scream echoed out over the ravine, Marcus froze and turned around. All he saw were the two men leaning frantically over the edge, staring down into the darkness. I was gone. “PAIGE!”

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1 Brooks Montgomery’s assistant has a penchant for “pranks.” She waited until I was in the shower, then planted a dead rat in the bathroom to send me bolting onto the penthouse balcony in a panic. The moment I stepped out, she slid the glass door shut and engaged the deadbolt. I was trapped out there for three days, wrapped in nothing but a damp bath towel. I screamed until my throat was raw, but the wind off the city skyline swallowed my voice. No one came. By the time the door finally clicked open on the third afternoon, I was delirious with hunger and shivering from the damp cold. I stumbled into the living room, my eyes landing on a half-eaten artisanal cake sitting on the marble coffee table. It was stale, but I didn’t care. I shoved a handful into my mouth, the sugar hit feeling like a lightning bolt to my starved system. Brooks stood by the window, his silhouette sharp against the light. He didn’t offer a blanket. He didn’t offer water. He just looked at me with a gaze so cold it felt like a physical slap. “I want a divorce,” he said. I looked up at him, my eyelids swollen and my vision blurred. “Because… because I took a bite of this cake?” “Yes.” He wasn’t alone. He had brought a small circle of our social peers—the very people who used to envy us—to witness my degradation. He tossed a set of divorce papers onto the table, right next to the crumbs. He demanded I sign them then and there, leaving with absolutely nothing. No alimony. No assets. Just the towel on my back. Even among that cynical crowd, a few murmurs of protest broke out. “Brooks, for God’s sake,” one of our neighbors, Sarah, whispered. “Your assistant locked her out there for seventy-two hours. She’s starving. It’s just a piece of cake.” Brooks’s voice was like dry ice. “It wasn’t hers to touch. She has no right to things that don’t belong to her.” He stepped closer, his shadow falling over me. “Besides, isn’t this exactly how she became Mrs. Montgomery in the first place? By taking things that weren’t hers?” The room went quiet. People looked at me with a sickening mix of pity and judgment. I lowered my head, a ghostly, pathetic laugh escaping my cracked lips. “Fine,” I whispered. “I’ll sign.” I reached for the pen, but my hand was shaking so violently from hypoglycemia that I couldn’t even grip the barrel. “Brooks… please,” I rasped, looking at the remains of the cake. My stomach was cramping so hard it felt like it was folding in on itself. “Let me eat something first. Just a few more bites, so I can hold the pen.” I swallowed hard, my mouth dry. Brooks didn’t even blink. He reached down, picked up the plate, and dumped the cake into the trash can. I felt the last spark of life drain out of me. “Jesus, Brooks,” someone muttered. “What did she do that was so unforgivable? She’s been out there for three days without food.” Brooks looked around the room, his expression terrifyingly serene. “She deserves it. I’ve always said I have zero tolerance for people who don’t understand boundaries. She knew that cake belonged to Sienna. Even if Sienna was going to throw it away, it wasn’t for her to touch.” Sienna Hart. His “assistant.” The girl who had been the ghost in our marriage from day one. The girl he protected with a ferocity he never showed me. He spoke as if he’d forgotten—or simply didn’t care—that Sienna was the one who had orchestrated the “prank.” She was the one who had trapped me. I had called Brooks seventy-two times from the balcony’s emergency intercom. Not once did he pick up. “I’ll sign,” I said, reaching out to clutch his sleeve. “But please… not like this. Not in front of everyone.” I looked down at the pink towel, the only thing shielding me from the eyes of these strangers. “Let me go inside. Let me take a shower and put on a dress. Give me ten minutes of dignity.” I could feel the greasy, leering stares of some of the men in the room. I wanted to crawl into the floorboards and disappear. “No,” Brooks said, his voice a steel trap. “What if you try to run? No, Olivia. You’re signing these now, exactly like this. I want everyone to see. I want the world to know that Sienna isn’t the ‘other woman.’ She’s the victim here.” He shoved my hand away. I stumbled, nearly hitting the floor. My face was the color of ash. I finally understood. This wasn’t a divorce; it was an execution. This was his long-awaited revenge for the day I met Sienna. Sienna had been a charity case Brooks mentored back in college. At his graduation party, I’d caught her on the lawn, standing on her tiptoes to press a kiss against his jaw. I hadn’t played the victim then. I had slapped her across the face and told her, “We gave you a scholarship to learn a career, not to learn how to hunt other women’s husbands. If you have this much energy, use it to get into the Fortune 500.” That moment turned us into bitter enemies. Everyone knew we loathed each other. So, a year later, when Sienna got “accidentally” locked in a supply closet and missed a career-defining interview with a top-tier firm, she told Brooks I had sabotaged her. And Brooks, the man who supposedly loved me, believed every word she said. “She’s just a girl from nothing, Olivia!” he had screamed at me during our first real fight. “She saw me as a brother, a mentor! That kiss was just her being grateful, and you crushed her for it. You ruined her career because you were jealous.” I had been a rising star in the corporate world then, making seven figures, and I refused to let him gaspoint me. “Ruined her career? Brooks, look at her. She’s a mediocre girl with a victim complex. She’s not worth the effort it would take to sabotage her.” He had looked at me then with a hatred I should have recognized. “You think you’re so high and mighty because of your paycheck? Let’s see how long that pride lasts.” The next day, he hired her as his personal assistant. Twenty thousand a month for a “low-stress” job that mostly involved getting him coffee and looking pretty. The office rumors were deafening—everyone assumed they were sleeping together. I fought with him constantly, but he always dismissed me with a “we have nothing to hide” shrug. But I knew. I knew since that kiss on the lawn. The breaking point came when I walked into his office and saw Sienna eating a cupcake with the same spoon Brooks had just used. It was so intimate, so domestic, it broke something in me. I fired her on the spot. I told Brooks if she stayed, I left. He folded. He signed the termination papers. But shortly after, I “voluntarily” stepped down from my company to become a stay-at-home wife—for reasons I couldn’t even admit to myself yet. The moment I was out of the professional loop, he brought her back. Recalling it now, I closed my eyes against the stinging tears. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. When you’re broken and starving, pride is a luxury you can’t afford. “Sorry? It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?” Brooks pushed the papers closer. “Sign. If you’re actually sorry, prove it by letting me go.” The words “Zero Assets” felt like a knife in my eye. I gripped the pen. “Can you… can you just give me something? Just twenty thousand dollars? Just enough to get an apartment and a doctor?” I looked up at him, my voice trembling. “Brooks… I’m pregnant.” His eyes didn’t even flicker. “No.” A man in the back, a former colleague of mine, stood up. “For God’s sake, Brooks! Are you a human being? She said she’s pregnant. That’s your wife. That’s your child.” Brooks leaned back in his chair, his expression mocking. “She’s my wife. But the kid? That’s up for debate.” The room went deathly silent. People traded uncomfortable glances. I felt the blood drain from my head. “What are you saying?” Brooks smirked. “Olivia, when you paid those men to ‘harass’ Sienna last year, what did you use to convince them? Money? Or did you offer them your body? Because I know for a fact you were ‘working late’ an awful lot.” The accusation was so vile, so far from the truth, that my brain short-circuited. My vision went red. I grabbed the heavy crystal ashtray from the table and hurled it at his head with every ounce of strength I had left. “You soulless bastard!” He didn’t move. The crystal caught him right at the temple. Blood began to leak down his forehead, staining his white shirt, but he just sat there, staring at me with a terrifying, triumphant coldness. “You’re a lunatic, Olivia,” he whispered. “And lunatics have to pay the price.” He pulled out his phone and dialed 911. “I’d like to report an assault. My wife just tried to kill me.” He looked me in the eye. “I’m going to make sure you rot in a cell.” I collapsed back into the chair, my head hanging low. The police arrived, and after a long, humiliating hour of being questioned while shivering in a towel, they gave me a “stern warning” because Brooks declined to press charges—provided I signed the papers and left immediately. “Fine,” I said, my voice dead. “You win.” If this marriage was a corpse, there was no point in trying to perform CPR anymore. I reached for the pen to sign my name, but a manicured hand slammed down on the paper. I looked up to see Sienna smiling at me. “Oh, Olivia. You’re giving up so easily? Where’s that ‘titan of industry’ I used to hear about? The woman who used to spend a million dollars on a weekend in Aspen without blinking?” She leaned in, her voice a poisonous honey. “Now you’re begging for twenty grand like a dog. How pathetic. You’re an embarrassment to women everywhere.” I didn’t fight back. I was a shell. “I’m signing, Sienna. You got what you wanted. What else is there?” She wasn’t done. She wanted to play with her food. “I just think it’s too easy. Where’s the fun in a mouse that won’t run?” Brooks waved his hand, dismissing the crowd. Once the room was empty of everyone but the three of us, he put his arm around Sienna’s waist. “What’s on your mind, babe?” he asked, his voice softening only for her. “I thought you wanted the divorce over with.” Sienna traced a finger down Brooks’s cheek. “I just think seeing her walk away with her life intact is… boring. Especially since she’s claiming to be pregnant. She’s trapped, Brooks. She has nowhere to go.” She looked at my stomach with a flash of pure, unadulterated venom. “Let’s increase the difficulty level.” A cold dread settled in my chest. I thought of the dead rat. I thought of the three days on the balcony. I looked at Brooks, praying for a shred of the man I used to know. He just smiled at her. “Whatever you want. How do you want to play it?” I felt like I had been plunged into ice water. Sienna’s gaze moved back to my stomach. “Since she’s so proud of this ‘pregnancy,’ let’s let her watch. Let’s let her watch as she loses it, step by step.” She touched her own flat stomach, her eyes darkening. “Let her feel what it’s like to know you’ll never, ever be a mother.” At the mention of infertility, Brooks’s face hardened into stone. “Done. It’s a debt she owes you.” I tried to beg, but the words died in my throat. I remembered then. The “accident” that happened after I fired Sienna. She had lost her high-paying job and, unable to maintain her lifestyle, had supposedly gone to a “networking dinner” that turned into a nightmare. She claimed she was drugged and assaulted by several men, leaving her with internal injuries that meant she could never conceive. It had nothing to do with me. But Brooks blamed me. He believed that if I hadn’t fired her, she wouldn’t have been at that dinner. Sienna had been waiting for this. For me to be broke, broken, and at her mercy. Brooks tore up the divorce papers. “We’re not divorcing yet,” he sneered. “Sienna says you need to truly ‘understand’ your mistakes first.” “Understanding” meant hell. When I tried to go to a clinic to check on the baby, Sienna forced me to go to a bar and entertain a group of “investors,” telling me that if I didn’t drink with them, I wouldn’t get a cent for rent. He cut off my credit cards. He told me I had to earn my keep by doing “housework” for Sienna. The lowest point came when I had to scrub Sienna’s heels with a toothbrush just to get ten dollars for a breakfast sandwich. Sienna sat in Brooks’s leather office chair, watching me. “If you knew it would end like this, Olivia, would you still have been such a bitch?” She spat out that she had a “great career” before me. I looked up at her, my voice quiet. “Sienna, do you even know why I’m in this position?” She laughed. “Karma. You thought you could lock down a man like Brooks just by getting knocked up? Please.” Everyone thought I chose to be a housewife. No one knew the truth. After the cupcake incident, Brooks had begged for my forgiveness. He had been so sweet. “Olivia, I don’t want you working so hard. Let’s have a baby. Let’s start a real family.” But Brooks had a low sperm count. Conception was nearly impossible. To get pregnant, I went through brutal rounds of hormone injections. The side effects were agonizing—I suffered from severe bladder control issues during the process. I had a humiliating accident during a board meeting. The whispers, the pitying looks… I couldn’t face the office anymore. I crawled into the “safety” of home. I hadn’t realized I was crawling into a trap they had set together. Brooks’s voice echoed in my head, a constant, dull ache: “It’s your fault, Olivia. If you hadn’t fired her, she wouldn’t have been hurt. You owe her your life.” A few days later, Sienna’s kite got stuck in a high branch of a tree on the estate. She insisted I climb up to get it. I was four months pregnant. I practically knelt at her feet. “Please, I’m dizzy, I can’t climb a tree…” She called over the estate security guards. “Watch her. If she doesn’t get the kite, she doesn’t eat today.” Halfway up, my palms were shredded. Two-thirds of the way up, a sharp, stabbing pain erupted in my abdomen. My foot slipped. I hit the ground hard. I felt a warm, terrifying rush of heat between my legs. I grabbed Sienna’s ankle. “Please… call an ambulance… the baby…” “Oh, stop being so dramatic,” Sienna said, kicking my hand away. “Weren’t you the one complaining about how hard it is to be a mom anyway?” My head was spinning. “You did this on purpose… you wanted me to fall…” Sienna laughed. “You think a little fall is what’s doing this? You really are as stupid as you look.” She pulled out her phone and called Brooks, her voice turning into a sweet, chirping trill. “Brooks, honey? I think the game is over. Should we tell your wife our little secret? Should we tell her that the reason she’s losing the baby isn’t the tree, but the ‘special ingredient’ I’ve been grinding into her breakfast every morning for a week? I wonder what her face looks like right now.” Before she could finish, a car door slammed. Brooks appeared, his face pale and sweating. “What’s happening?” he asked, his voice rough. Sienna faltered. “Brooks? What are you doing back so early?” He didn’t answer her. He looked at me, sprawled on the grass, the white fabric of my sundress staining a deep, horrific crimson. Shock and something that looked like genuine grief flashed in his eyes. He ran toward me. “Olivia! Oh god, Olivia!” I looked up at him with bloodshot eyes, my voice a whisper of pure venom. “I have a secret too, Brooks.”

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As the only Alpha female in the werewolf world, my mate had always looked down on me. He even had the audacity to bring his pregnant mistress into my estate. He barked threats about throwing me out of my own home while letting his mother steal my specially formulated potion, which ended up ruining her face and leaving her completely bald. His sister even had the audacity to tell me to keep a low profile and pack my bags to make room for the mistress. Looking at this ridiculous family, I laughed. They seemed to have forgotten that I didn’t become the Alpha just because of my bloodline. Those who looked down on me and tried to install someone else as Alpha? They are all dead. Since they wanted to act so high and mighty while living off my money, they could go join the corpses! After watching Margaret sneak into my master bedroom on my security camera for the hundredth time, I finally lost my patience. On my phone screen, she was sitting at my vanity, her eyes locked on the unlabeled white ceramic jar on the table. She scooped out a huge dollop of the white cream with her rough fingers, ready to smear it all over her face. I took a deep breath and sent a voice note. “Mom, do not touch that white jar on my vanity. That’s an experimental formula from the Pack’s research department. It’s highly corrosive and will cause severe chemical burns if it touches skin.” Not even thirty seconds later, Emily’s voice note popped up on Snapchat. Her voice was shrill and annoying. “Ellie, who are you trying to scare? It’s just a jar of face cream! What’s wrong with my mom using a little bit of your stuff? Do you really have to make up such disgusting lies just to curse her with disfigurement?” Right after, James jumped into the chat with a text message. [Ellie, you’re going too far. As a female Alpha, you should learn how to keep the Pack in harmony. My mom uses a little bit of your stuff, and you curse her? How do you expect to lead anyone like this?] Looking at the screen, I literally laughed out loud. This downtown Sterling Estate was a Pack asset, but as the Alpha, I had absolute authority over it. James was nothing but a parasite living off me. He only had a place in this city because of my status. The cars he drove, the designer clothes he wore—which of those didn’t come from my pocket and my position as Alpha? My kindness didn’t earn their gratitude. It only made these leeches greedier. Fine. Since I had already warned them, and they chose not to listen, I wasn’t going to waste my breath. I calmly typed out a reply: [I’ve warned you. Enjoy the consequences.] Emily replied instantly: [Ugh, save it! Mom just told me the cream has a nice, light scent and feels cool on her skin. It’s definitely high-end stuff! You’re just jealous because you’re stuck at the office. Just wait till my brother gets back—he’s going to teach you a lesson, you cheap, classless woman! A female Alpha… you really think you’re something special, don’t you?] I locked my phone, took a sip of my iced Americano, and let my eyes grow cold. Teach me a lesson? Let’s see who teaches whom a lesson today.

At six in the evening, I pushed the front door open. Before I could even change my shoes, a blood-curdling shriek echoed from the living room. “Ahhhh! My face! It burns! Help me! Somebody help me!” I changed into my slippers and strolled into the living room. The scene before me was ten times more entertaining than I had imagined. Margaret was rolling on the floor, clawing at her face, screaming at the top of her lungs. Her already thin hair was falling out in massive clumps, scattering across the wool rug like dead grass. Her face was even worse. The areas where she had applied the white cream were now swollen like a purple balloon, her skin glowing with a sickening red rash, and yellow fluid was beginning to ooze out. “Mom! What’s wrong, Mom!” James and Emily rushed out of the kitchen. Seeing Margaret on the floor, they gasped in horror. “Jamie! Mom’s hair is completely gone! Her face is ruined!” Emily screamed, her voice shaking violently. James whipped his head around, his eyes red as he glared at me like a rabid beast. “Ellie! You evil bitch! What kind of poison did you put in that jar?!” He marched up to me, raising his hand to slap me across the face. I stood my ground, not even blinking, and met his gaze with an icy stare. “Touch me, and see what happens.” My voice wasn’t loud, but it carried absolute dominance. “If that hand lands on me, I guarantee your corpse will be hanging from the estate gates by tomorrow morning.” James’s hand froze in mid-air. The muscles in his face twitched. He was clearly intimidated by my Alpha aura. “You dare threaten my brother?!” Emily barked from the side. “You did this on purpose! You left poison on the table to hurt our mom! I’m taking this to the Elders!” I let out a cold laugh, walked over to the sofa, and sat down, crossing my legs. “Take it to the Elders? Go ahead. I’d love to see how they react when they find out who stole and used the Alpha’s personal property after being explicitly warned.” I pulled out my phone and flashed the Snapchat chat history in front of their faces. “The records are right here, clear as day. I told you exactly what that experimental formula would do. You insisted on using it as high-end skincare. Now that her face is melting and she’s bald, you’re blaming me?” Margaret was rolling in pain on the floor, her eyes rolling back as she neared unconsciousness. “Stop talking! Call a Healer!” James panicked, screaming at Emily. The Pack medical van arrived with sirens blaring. When the Healer saw Margaret’s condition, even he couldn’t help but grimace. “The chemical burns are severe. We need to get her to the clinic for emergency treatment immediately!” As the stretcher carried Margaret out, James pointed a trembling finger at my nose, spitting out a final ultimatum. “Ellie, you’re going to pay for this! If anything happens to my mom, I’m done with you! Once I’m back from the clinic, you’re packing your bags and getting the hell out of this house!” The front door slammed shut. I looked around the empty living room, the smirk on my lips deepening. Get the hell out of this house? James, you must be dreaming.

At ten in the evening, the front door opened again. I was sitting on the sofa, using my iPad to reply to Pack emails. James walked in first. There wasn’t a single trace of worry or sadness on his face. Instead, he looked smug. Following behind him, besides Emily, was a young woman in a tight-fitting dress, her baby bump slightly showing. “Lily, careful. Watch your step, babe.” James held her hand gently, his voice so sweet it made me sick. The woman, Lily, leaned into James’s chest, her eyes scanning the living room with a critical look. “Oh, Jamie, is this the twenty-million-dollar villa you talked about? The location is great, but the decor is so cold. It doesn’t feel like a home at all. Tomorrow, let’s throw all this black and gray furniture away and replace it with something warmer, okay?” “Of course, babe. Whatever you want. You’re carrying the heir to the Miller family. Your word is law.” James smiled like a loyal dog. Emily rushed over, eager to please, and took Lily’s designer bag. “Don’t worry, Lily. This awful decor was done by that sterile woman. Once she gets kicked out tonight, this house is all yours!” Lily? I arched an eyebrow, put down my iPad, and watched the drama unfold with amusement. James helped Lily sit down on the other end of the sofa, then turned to face me, his gentle expression instantly turning hostile. “Ellie, how do you still have the face to sit here?” He pulled a medical report from his pocket and slammed it onto the coffee table. “My mom has severe chemical burns on her scalp. Her hair follicles are completely dead. Even her wolf form is bald now! Her face is ruined! You’re going to answer for this today!” I glanced at the report, not even looking up at him. “And? What do you want to do about it?” “I don’t need to play nice with you anymore!” James stood tall, pointing proudly at Lily. “Lily is pregnant with my son. She’s already three months along! You’ve been married to me for three years and couldn’t even give me a child, and now you’ve ruined my mother’s face!” “This estate will be your payment for my mom’s medical bills, and compensation for Lily to raise our baby! Now, pack your things and get out of here with nothing!” Looking at his shameless face, I was amazed by how thick-skinned a person could be. A man who lived off my Alpha status, who used my wealth to find a mistress and get her pregnant, actually had the nerve to bring his mistress into my Pack’s estate and try to give away my property. “Jamie, why is she still here?” Lily covered her nose, looking at me with disgust. “I don’t even want to sit on the couch she used. What if she passes some bad luck to my son?” “Exactly! Get lost! Stop ruining our view!” Emily chimed in, hands on her hips. “A woman playing Alpha… you really thought you were a queen. My brother staying with you was a blessing you didn’t deserve. Don’t be ungrateful!” I glanced quietly at the security camera blinking red near the TV console. “Fine.” I stood up and brushed the creases out of my pants. “Since you guys are such a loving family, I won’t interrupt your sweet reunion.” James blinked, clearly not expecting me to agree so easily without a fight. “Smart move,” he said, barely hiding the greed in his eyes while trying to sound generous. “Take your cheap clothes and get out. Don’t even think about touching anything valuable in this house!” I ignored him, walked into my walk-in closet, grabbed a small suitcase, and packed a few changes of clothes and my important documents. At the foyer, I paused and looked back at the couple cuddling on the sofa. “Jamie, I hope you remember what you said tonight. You guys better enjoy living in this estate.” With that, I pushed the door open and walked out without looking back. As the door clicked shut, I heard Lily’s high-pitched giggling. “Jamie, you’re amazing! You got rid of that old woman in just a few words! This big house is ours now!” “Of course, babe. I run this house!” James bragged loudly. I walked toward the guest house on the other side of the estate, pulled out my phone, and smiled coldly. The real show was about to begin.

I walked straight into the guest house. This guest house was part of my private Alpha quarters. I had converted it into a personal studio and lounge, and James’s family had no idea it existed. I poured myself a glass of red wine, walked to my computer, and pulled up the security feeds for the main mansion. On the screen, the squatters were already celebrating their new life. Lily was bossing Emily around, throwing my belongings out of the house. “That vase is too dark, looks like a funeral urn. Throw it out!” “What is this ugly painting? It’s bad luck. Throw it in the trash!” Emily, acting like a loyal maid, threw my antique porcelain vase—which I had bought at an auction for over a million dollars—straight into the trash. “Lily, how’s this?” Emily smiled eagerly. “Not bad,” Lily said, rubbing her stomach. “Jamie, I want to host a party tomorrow. I want to invite all my friends to show off our new mansion.” “Sure, babe! Whatever you want! I’ll transfer some cash to you tomorrow. Spend as much as you want!” James said, puffing out his chest. Watching him play the rich guy on screen, I sneered and opened my financial management system. Step one: I canceled all automatic payments linked to the estate, including electricity, water, gas, and the massive estate maintenance fees. Step two: I immediately froze the black card with a one-million-dollar limit that I had given James. Back then, despite the Elders’ objections, I had quietly given James a mid-level management position in the Pack. Even that black card was just something I gave him to save his pathetic pride when he hung out with his friends. I didn’t expect him to actually believe my charity was his own success. Using my money to feed his mistress and trying to steal my Pack’s estate? He was delusional. After doing that, I sent a text to the Pack Treasurer. [Tomorrow morning, start a full financial audit on James’s department. Investigate every single cent he handled. Not a single penny should be missed.] The Treasurer replied instantly: [Understood, Alpha Sterling.] I swirled the wine in my glass, watching the cheating couple fall asleep on screen. Enjoy your last night of luxury.

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Isabella was marrying Alpha Henry, and she insisted that I be her maid of honor. But on the day I tried on my dress, my wolf—who had never shown herself before—suddenly sent me a warning through our telepathic bond. “Be careful. Your stepmother and Isabella are trying to steal your destiny!” The next second, I intercepted Linda’s wicked thoughts through our Mind Link: “The waistline of this maid of honor dress is perfect for covering up the curse marks. Once the ritual is done next week, Emma’s destiny will belong to Isabella. Isabella will marry Alpha Henry in glory. As for whether Emma survives the ritual… well, that’s up to her luck.” At that moment, a chill ran down my spine. I was never their beloved younger daughter. I was just a destiny vessel they had raised for twenty-two years, waiting to be sacrificed for Isabella! Since you chose to be ruthless, don’t blame me for tearing this hypocritical family apart! The fitting room had a massive full-length mirror, lit by bright, harsh lights. I stood on the pedestal, wearing a pure white maid of honor gown. My stepmother, Linda, knelt at my feet. With pins held between her lips, her hands deftly tightened the fabric around my waist. She looked up, her eyes filled with warmth and motherly affection. “Our Emma is so beautiful. On your sister’s wedding day, you’ll definitely be the most stunning maid of honor.” She reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear, her fingertips warm against my skin. Looking at the reflection in the mirror—a face that shared some resemblance with hers—I was about to offer a happy smile. But then, a cold, sharp voice echoed abruptly in my mind through our Mind Link. *This waistline is perfect. Once the ritual is done next week and the cursed seal is covered with lace, no one will notice a thing under this dress.* *As long as she doesn’t survive the ritual, Isabella can take her destiny. Then, her bond with Alpha Henry will be completely secure.* *Trading one worthless life for our family’s lifelong wealth is an honor for this brat.* My smile instantly froze on my face. I felt the blood drain from my body. My hands and feet went completely numb. I stared blankly at Linda. Her lips hadn’t moved at all. She was still wearing that same sweet, maternal smile. But that voice was unmistakably hers, filled with a chilling, calculated malice. “Mom…” I heard my own voice trembling. Linda immediately stood up, grabbing my hands with deep concern. “What’s wrong? Is the dress too tight? Why are you so pale?” *Did this brat notice something? No, I need to keep a close eye on her these next few days. Nothing can go wrong at the final moment.* I bit the tip of my tongue hard until I tasted copper, using the pain to suppress my terror. “I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep well last night,” I forced a weak smile. Linda let out a sigh of relief and patted the back of my hand. “That’s good. The big day is just around the corner, so you must take care of yourself. Isabella is counting on you to walk her down the aisle.” I lowered my eyes to hide the cold anger in them. Walk her down the aisle? More like delivering my destiny—and my life—on a silver platter. This would be the last day I played the role of their obedient daughter. On the drive home, my father, David, was behind the wheel. Usually a man of few words, he uncharacteristically glanced at me several times through the rearview mirror today. “Emma, I’m taking you to see a witch tomorrow. You’re twenty-two and still haven’t shifted. Maybe she can find out why.” His tone was flat, as if he were talking about a trivial errand. I leaned against the car window, watching the city lights blur past, and said nothing. Linda immediately chimed in. “Yes, if you had even half of Isabella’s talent, I wouldn’t have to worry so much.” *The witch tomorrow is already paid off. Once we bring her there, we can complete the final preparation for the ritual. David even has the wolfsbane ready to suppress her wolf. She won’t be able to resist.* I gripped my seatbelt so hard my knuckles turned white. Twenty-two years. I was finally seeing this so-called family for what they truly were. The living room walls were covered with portraits of Isabella from childhood to present. She wore designer dresses and tiaras, treated like the family’s most precious treasure. Meanwhile, I didn’t have a single solo photo on the wall. Growing up, if Isabella coughed, Linda would cry with worry. If Isabella got sick, David would drive across the city in the middle of the night just to get her favorite strawberries. And me? I was always physically weak, barely showing any werewolf traits. When I ran high fevers, Linda would simply toss two pills onto my nightstand. “Be good, Emma. Mommy has to go take care of Isabella. Take the medicine and sleep it off.” I used to think they favored her because she was more talented. I tried so hard to be perfect. I did all the chores and pushed myself in training, desperately hoping for just one nod of approval. Now, I finally understood. I wasn’t their daughter. I was just a “destiny vessel”—carefully raised and ready to be slaughtered for Isabella. ***

At dinner, the table was filled with a lavish feast. Linda set a steaming bowl of meat soup directly in front of me. “Emma, drink more of this. You need to build up your strength.” She smiled warmly, the wrinkles around her eyes softening. *The heavy sedative is already mixed in. Once she falls asleep, we’ll drag her to the witch tomorrow morning. It saves us the trouble of dealing with a struggle.* Looking at the greasy soup, my stomach churned. “Thanks, Mom.” I picked up my spoon and gently stirred the liquid. Linda sat across from me, her eyes locked onto my every move without blinking. “Drink it while it’s hot. It won’t taste good once it cools down,” she urged. I lifted a spoonful to my lips, pretended to get burned, and coughed violently. “Cough, cough… It’s too hot!” I bent over, spitting the soup into a thick napkin I had prepared in advance, then quickly stuffed it up my sleeve. “How can you be so clumsy?” Linda frowned, a flash of impatience crossing her face. *What a useless brat, choking on a spoonful of soup. Just drink it and go to sleep. Don’t ruin tomorrow’s plans.* I looked up, my eyes red from coughing. “Mom, I really can’t drink any more. I’m going to my room to sleep.” Linda looked at the half-full bowl, her expression darkening. “No! You have to finish it! I spent the whole afternoon brewing this for you!” She abruptly stood up, grabbing the bowl and trying to force it down my throat. I jerked back, causing the soup to splash all over the tablecloth. “Mom! I said I don’t want any more!” I raised my voice. Beside her, David slammed his forks down onto the table. “Is that how you speak to your mother? Drink it when you’re told!” Looking at their mask-slipping faces, the coldness in my heart deepened. I couldn’t have a direct confrontation right now. I inhaled deeply, pretending to submit. I picked up the bowl and drank it down in large gulps. But with every gulp, I held the soup in my mouth, using the napkin to wipe my lips while spitting the liquid into a dry sponge hidden in my sleeve. After the last gulp, I slammed the empty bowl onto the table. “I’m done. Can I go to sleep now?” Linda’s expression finally softened, and she smiled with satisfaction. “Good girl. Go on, get some rest.” *The sedative will kick in within thirty minutes. Tonight is secure.* Once inside my room, I locked the door. I rushed to the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and shoved my fingers down my throat to force myself to throw up. I retched until nothing but stomach acid came out. Weak and exhausted, I leaned against the sink. In the mirror, my face was ghostly pale and my eyes were bloodshot. I looked like a monster. But I didn’t cry. My tears had dried up the moment I realized the truth. I pulled a small glass vial from the bottom of my backpack. I carefully squeezed the remaining soup from the sponge in my sleeve into the vial. This was my evidence. Next, I pulled out an old, deactivated phone, connected it to a power bank, and hid it under my bed inside a pile of junk, turning on the voice recorder. With everything set, I lay on the bed, closed my eyes, and waited. At midnight. Faint footsteps approached my door. With a soft click, the door was unlocked from the outside with a spare key. I slowed my breathing, lying completely still. Linda and David crept to the side of my bed. “Is she completely out?” David whispered. Linda waved her hand in front of my face and shook my shoulder. “She’s dead to the world. That sedative is strong.” She sneered, showing no pity for her daughter, only the triumph of a successful plot. “Hurry up, stop wasting time and get the contract,” David urged. The sound of rustling paper echoed in the quiet room. “Grab her thumb. Press it right here,” Linda directed. I felt a rough hand grab my right thumb, pushing it toward a cold ink pad. *Once she signs this blood contract, she’s ours forever.* Just as my fingertip was about to touch the “Destiny Swap Contract,” I snapped my eyes open. In the darkness, my gaze was piercing. “Dad, Mom, what are you doing?” ***

Linda shrieked in terror, dropping the ink pad. It shattered on the floor, splashing red ink like a pool of fresh blood. David stumbled back, crashing into the wardrobe. “You… how are you awake?!” Linda pointed at me, her voice trembling. I slowly sat up, my cold gaze sweeping over their panicked faces before landing on the paper with the partial thumbprint. “A Destiny Swap Contract?” I read the words aloud, a mocking smile playing on my lips. “You sneaked into my room in the middle of the night just to make me sign this?” Linda recovered quickly. She snatched the paper, trying to hide it behind her back. “Emma, let me explain. You know Isabella’s situation. She needs a stronger destiny to match Alpha Henry. I had no choice. Can’t you just do this for your sister?” She fell to her knees by my bed, tears streaming down her face. “I raised you myself. How could I want to force you? But Isabella… she can’t lose everything!” *Calm her down first. Once she softens, we’ll bind her and take her to the witch tomorrow.* Watching her Oscar-worthy performance, I felt sick to my stomach. “Do this for her? By giving up my own destiny?” I asked coldly. David’s face darkened, and he took a harsh tone. “What do you mean ‘your destiny’? A destiny swap won’t kill you! We’ve raised you for twenty-two years, fed you, and clothed you. Now that the family needs you, what’s wrong with making a small sacrifice?” “A small sacrifice?” I scoffed. “Your idea of a sacrifice is drugging me and trying to force my thumbprint while I’m unconscious?” I threw off the covers, walked to my desk, and picked up the glass vial containing the soup. “This vial contains the soup you fed me tonight. If I take this to the Werewolf Council for testing, guess what will happen? Drugging, coercion, and conspiring with dark witches to swap destinies… how many packs do you think will banish you for these crimes?” Linda and David’s faces drained of color. “You… you dare threaten us?!” David snarled, his finger shaking as he pointed at me. “Try me.” I met his gaze without a hint of fear, refusing to back down. The air in the room froze. Seeing that force wouldn’t work, Linda tried to play the emotional card again. “Emma, don’t be so heartless! We are your parents! If you report us, where will you go? No pack will ever accept an outcast like you!” *This little bitch dares to threaten me! Once this is over, I’ll make her pay!* Staring at her fake, pleading face, the last shred of familial affection in my heart shattered. “Parents? The moment you decided to use me as a destiny vessel for Isabella, we ceased to be family.” I pointed at the door. “Now, get out.” David exploded in rage. He lunged forward, raising his hand to strike me. “You ungrateful brat! I’ll beat some respect into you tonight!” I didn’t flinch. I just stared at him coldly. “Go ahead. Hit me. But I promise you, if you touch me tonight, this recording and this vial of evidence will be on the Elders’ desks by tomorrow morning.” I pointed toward the bed. I knew he wouldn’t dare kill me. He still needed me alive to swap destinies with his golden daughter. David’s hand froze in mid-air, unable to come down. Linda grabbed David’s arm, glaring at me with venomous eyes. “Fine. You think you’re so smart. You think these cheap tricks can threaten us? Let me tell you, Isabella’s marriage is set. Alpha Henry has already agreed to the alliance. If you ruin this, I will make your life a living hell!” “We’ll see about that.” I walked over and flung the door open. “Get out.” Linda and David slunk out of the room like scolded dogs. The moment the door slammed shut, all my strength vanished. I slid down against the door, collapsing onto the floor. I hugged my knees tightly, burying my face in my arms. I didn’t cry. I just felt cold. Bone-chillingly cold. ***

The next morning, I got up and washed my face as usual. Linda and David were sitting on the living room sofa, their faces incredibly grim. Seeing me walk out, Linda sneered. “Pack your things. We’re going to the witch.” I ignored her and walked straight to the foyer to put on my shoes. “I have errands to run.” “What errands?! Your sister’s entire future depends on today!” David leaped to his feet, blocking the door. I looked at him calmly. “I said, I’m going out. If you want a scene that the entire pack will talk about, I don’t mind screaming for help right now.” David grit his teeth, but eventually stepped aside. They didn’t dare risk it. They had too much to hide. Leaving the house, my first stop was to see Susan Wilson, a retired member of the Werewolf Council. Susan was a highly respected and righteous Elder Luna. We had met by chance, and after learning about my situation at home, she had been quietly looking out for me. I handed her the recording, the vial of drugged soup, and the photo of the “Destiny Swap Contract” I had taken on my phone. “Ms. Wilson, I need your help.” I explained everything that had happened from start to finish. Hearing the story, Susan trembled with rage. “This is monstrous! How can parents do this to their own flesh and blood!” She slammed her hand on the table and stood up. “Emma, don’t worry. I’ll take you to the Council right now! This cannot be tolerated!” I caught Susan’s hand and shook my head. “Ms. Wilson, if we go to the Council now, they will just deny everything. Once we go back, they’ll only find more vicious ways to retaliate.” “Then what do you want to do?” Susan frowned. I took a deep breath, determination shining in my eyes. “I want to ruin their reputation completely. I want them to lose everything they care about.” I looked at Susan. “Ms. Wilson, I need you to help me find a certified witch to analyze the chemicals in this soup. Also, I need you to look into Isabella’s birth records. I suspect she isn’t my father’s biological daughter.” Susan stared at me for a moment before nodding firmly. “Alright, I’ll help you. Rest assured, as long as I’m here, no one will hurt you.” Over the next few days, I didn’t go home. I stayed in a safe house Susan arranged for me. Linda and David searched everywhere for me. They even confiscated my old ID and phone that I left at home, but I kept my actual phone with me. By the weekend, Isabella’s fiancé, Henry, came to visit the family. Henry was the Alpha of the Shadowfang Pack, a powerful and arrogant man. Linda and David treated him like royalty, serving him tea and flattery. Isabella wore an elegant, expensive dress, leaning softly against Henry’s chest, letting out sweet, delicate giggles from time to time. “Henry, do you think our wedding will be the grandest of the year?” Isabella asked, her eyes sparkling. Henry wrapped his arm around her, kissing her forehead. “Of course. You’re the most beautiful she-wolf I’ve ever seen. Our wedding will be the talk of the entire territory.” “But… I feel like someone is jealous of me…” Isabella sighed, her eyes drifting toward me standing in the corner. Linda instantly got the hint. She marched over, grabbed my hand, and dragged me forcefully in front of Henry. “Alpha Henry, don’t worry. Everything is going according to plan. Emma is very obedient. She will cooperate fully.” *Once we seal the deal in front of Alpha Henry, this brat won’t dare back out. And if Alpha Henry is pleased, we can demand twenty percent more in the dowry alliance.* I stared coldly at Linda’s pathetic, flattering face, and violently shook off her grip. “When did I ever say I would cooperate?” The living room went dead silent.

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In my family, we were all supporting characters. My oldest brother, Donovan, was the polished heir to a New York dynasty, the kind of man who’d drop a million dollars on a whim for the story’s heroine. My second brother, Emmett, was the brilliant, aloof surgeon who would drop everything to be by her side at a moment’s notice. And my third brother, Flynn, was her childhood friend, the hot-headed protector who’d ruin anyone who dared to upset her. According to the script, I was supposed to be the heroine’s loyal sidekick, her faithful lackey. But I was born a hellion. I didn’t bow to anyone. At four, I was climbing onto the roof. At five, I was trying to build a pipe bomb in the garage. By six, I’d conquered the kindergarten playground. My three brothers spent their days cleaning up my messes, so exhausted they never had a spare moment to even meet their supposed leading lady. Then I went to college and found myself sharing a room with her. She looked down her nose at me, a smirk playing on her lips. “Well, well. You’re the little sister of my fan club, aren’t you?” “Everything your brothers have is mine for the taking. Which means you can start by being my new gopher.” “First, go wash my clothes.” My temper, that old familiar beast, flared. I saw red. I hit her. The second it was over, regret washed over me. What if my brothers chose her over me? A moment later, the three of them burst into the room, their faces like thunderclouds. I hung my head, suddenly as quiet as a mouse, my mind racing for an excuse. But Donovan pulled me behind him protectively. Emmett’s face was a mask of cold fury. Flynn’s eyes were blazing as he stared down my new roommate. “Who the hell do you think you are?” he snarled. “You don’t get to touch my sister.” … It was the first day of school. I had just stepped into my dorm room. A girl in the bed by the door looked up. Her eyes widened in recognition. “You’re Audra Conrad, right?” “You used to live in Eastgate, didn’t you? We were neighbors.” Running into an old neighbor as a college roommate. What are the odds? “Yeah, that was me,” I said, thinking it was a nice coincidence. Once she had her confirmation, she lifted her chin, her tone shifting. “It’s so hot today, I’m dying of thirst. Get me a bottle of water.” I blinked, taking a second to realize she was talking to me. But it was the first day. I didn’t want to start a war. I grabbed a bottle of water from my bag and tossed it to her. Irene Bishop glanced at it and pushed it away with a look of disgust. “I don’t drink this.” “It has no taste. Who can even swallow this stuff?” She spoke as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Go get me a boba tea. Less ice, thirty percent sugar.” I was stunned. Was this girl insane? I snatched the water bottle back and rolled my eyes. “Did you leave your legs at home? If you want it, go buy it yourself.” Irene’s expression soured. “You’re just like your brothers said you were. A real pain in the ass, even as a kid.” “You know, if I wanted something to drink, they’d be fighting over who could buy it for me before I even had to ask.” Her voice was full of unshakeable confidence. “Your brothers have been wrapped around my finger since we were kids. Always trying to find new ways to impress me.” “Too bad for them,” she added with a sigh, “I wasn’t interested in any of them.” It was so absurd I could only stare. “Are you delusional?” My brothers knew her? Were “wrapped around her finger”? Irene wasn’t flustered. She pulled out her phone, found a photo, and shoved it in my face. It was a picture of my three brothers as teenagers. Standing next to them was a young girl. It was her. My lips tightened. “What’s one picture supposed to prove?” Irene scoffed. “You don’t believe me?” “Fine. I know your oldest brother, Donovan, has a birthmark just below his shoulder.” My eyes shot wide open. “Your second brother, Emmett, is lactose intolerant.” “And Flynn, your third brother, isn’t afraid of anything in the world… except thunder. Right?” My heart sank into my stomach. These were things no outsider could possibly know. Could what she was saying be… true? Irene sighed, her voice slow and patronizing. “I know a lot about you, too, actually.” “Your brothers used to complain about you all the time.” “They said you were always getting into fights, causing trouble, turning the whole house upside down.” “Honestly, they were sick of you. They thought of you as this dead weight they couldn’t get rid of.” I froze. Because it was true. I was a hellion. I caused trouble everywhere I went. My parents were always overseas for business when I was a kid, so it was always my three brothers trailing behind me, cleaning up my messes. Irene twisted the knife. “They told me they hated having a sister like you. They wished you’d never been born.” My fists clenched, a tight band squeezing my chest. “My brothers would never say that!” Impossible. The brothers who were so gentle with me, who took the blame for everything I did—how could they hate me? “Hah.” She laughed, her eyes full of a lofty pity. “Of course they wouldn’t say it “to your face”.” “For men, a sister isn’t that important. Not really.” One of my other roommates, who had been watching the drama unfold, decided to chime in. “She’s right. What guy doesn’t put his girlfriend first? A sister is nothing.” “I can’t stand sisters who don’t have boundaries. Always hanging on their brothers. They’re just jealous of the girlfriend’s attention. So pathetic, like some kind of wannabe mistress.” A hot rage flared inside me. “Then why have I never heard my brothers mention you once?” I shot back. “And I have three brothers. Which one are you supposedly involved with?” “Or are you just that charming? You have something going on with all three of them?” Irene’s expression flickered for a second. “Of course they wouldn’t mention me to you. They were afraid you’d get jealous.” “They know how petty you are. Just look at you now, throwing a tantrum.” The other roommates started whispering. “Oh my god, what if she’s one of “those” sisters? The psycho, possessive kind?” “Terrifying. I feel sorry for whoever has to deal with her as a sister-in-law.” My head was spinning. I didn’t want to believe it. But how did she know so much about my family? And it was true that recently, my brothers had been out of the house a lot, acting… secretive. Was there really something going on that I didn’t know about? My patience evaporated. I pulled out my phone and opened the group chat with my three brothers. I needed to ask them. Right now. But I typed and deleted, deleted and retyped. I had no idea how to even phrase the question. As I was agonizing over it, a new message popped up in the group. Donovan: [Little sister, you all settled in? Let’s take you out for dinner.] Emmett: [I booked a table at your favorite place.] Flynn: [We’re roasting alive out here at the school gate. You’re always so slow! I told you we should have just sent the housekeeper in to help you unpack, you dummy.] I stared at the screen. When I didn’t reply, they started spamming the chat. Meanwhile, Irene was holding court with the other roommates, her voice animated. “I’m telling you, those Conrad boys might look cold on the surface, but they’re actually sweethearts.” “Anything I ask for, they’d give it to me, no questions asked.” The roommates oohed and aahed. “Wow, Irene, you’re so lucky!” “It’s like you’re the main character in one of those romance novels!” I felt sick to my stomach. I’d lost all interest in arguing with her. I turned and walked out the door. “Audra, where are you going?” Irene called out from behind me. I didn’t even turn around. “None of your damn business!” Her voice rose, thick with entitlement. “Well, bring me back some dinner when you come back! No onions or cilantro!” I let out a cold laugh but didn’t say a word. “SLAM!” I yanked the door shut behind me. When I got to the front gate, a Rolls-Royce was parked by the curb. Three tall, lean figures were leaning against it. They stood out. Flynn, with his sharp eyes, spotted me first. He raised an eyebrow, his voice lazy and teasing. “What took you so long, kid? Did you demolish the dorm room already?” I was already simmering with anger, and his words made me snap. “Who demolishes a dorm room?!” Seeing me bristle, Flynn’s tone immediately softened. “Okay, okay, you didn’t. My bad. Hop in, we’re taking you somewhere good.” Donovan was in the driver’s seat. He glanced at me. “How are the dorms?” “I told you we could get you an apartment off-campus, but you insisted on the ‘college experience.’ I bet you regret it now, don’t you?” My mind was a mess of unanswered questions. I just nodded vaguely. “It’s fine.” Emmett passed me an iced tea from the back. “‘Fine’ means it’s not fine. You shouldn’t stay there. What’s so great about some rundown dorm anyway?” I chewed on my straw, silent. My thoughts were consumed by what Irene had said. Was she really that close with my brothers? We got to the restaurant. As soon as the food arrived, my brothers started piling food onto my plate out of habit. The table was filled with all my favorite dishes. I took a deep breath. I was done guessing. I had to test the waters. “Hey, guys… back when we lived in Eastgate, did we have a neighbor who was a girl?” Donovan’s hand, which was peeling a shrimp for me, paused. “I think so. Why the sudden interest?” I felt it instantly. The air shifted. And then, bizarrely, all three of them picked up their phones. They never, ever used their phones at the dinner table. I pressed on. “Did you guys ever… keep in touch with her?” Their answers were evasive, dismissive. “Don’t think so. I don’t remember…” As I watched them give their vague replies, a sudden realization hit me— They were hiding something from me. The fire in my chest roared to life. Irene’s words echoed in my ears. “—They were sick of you.” “—They wished you’d never been born.” The more I thought about it, the more wronged I felt, and the angrier I became. I shoved my chair back and stormed out of the restaurant without a backward glance. “I’m not hungry. I’m going back to school!” Long after I was gone, the three of them stared at my empty seat, looking at each other. Flynn spoke first, his voice laced with regret. “Damn it. She’s pissed.” “Are we sure hiding this from her is a good idea?” Donovan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why would she suddenly ask about the old neighborhood, though?” “Do you think she found out we’ve been secretly buying up all the property around the old villa?” Emmett leaned back in his seat, loosening his tie. “No way. The plan to build an entire estate for her birthday was top secret.” “Who could have leaked it?” Flynn was getting agitated. “I didn’t even dare to look her in the eye just now! I was afraid she’d see right through me!” Donovan sounded weary. “Look, her birthday is just a few days away.” “Just keep her happy for now. But don’t let her find out about the gift.” On the day of my birthday, I got permission to leave school early. The house had already been meticulously decorated. Though I’d been mad at my brothers for a few days, their constant barrage of gifts and apologies had melted my anger away. I was in high spirits, directing the house manager, Mr. Lowell, on where to set up the dessert table. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. My eyes lit up, thinking my brothers were home early. But when I opened the door, I was met with a crowd of uninvited guests. Leading the pack was Irene Bishop. Behind her stood a boy I’d never seen before, and behind them, a chattering mob of at least a few dozen classmates. The smile on my face vanished. “Who let you in?” “How do you even know where I live?” Irene smoothed her hair, not even bothering to look at me directly. “It’s your birthday. We’re here to celebrate with you, of course.” She gave a coy little smile. “As for how I found out… I have my ways.” With that, she turned to the crowd behind her. “Come on in, everyone! Make yourselves at home!” Dozens of people surged into our living room. I frowned, looking at the strange boy behind her. “Classmates are one thing, but who is he?” Irene waved a dismissive hand, introducing him as if she owned the place. “Oh, silly me. This is my brother, Corbin.” Corbin shot me a look, his eyes raking over my body. I was on the verge of laughing from sheer rage. If it had just been Irene and a couple of friends, I would have had security throw them out already. But with a whole crowd of clueless classmates, I couldn’t just kick them all to the curb. Irene surveyed the room. She casually picked up a macaron, took one bite, and tossed it back onto the plate in disgust. “This is too sweet. Get rid of it.” Even Mr. Lowell looked uncomfortable. I had reached my limit. “Irene, are you out of your mind? Who said you could touch anything in my house?” Irene rolled her eyes and had the audacity to turn it back on me. “Why are you acting like you’ve never seen a party before? So petty and possessive over food.” “I’m here to help you.” “Look at this pathetic little birthday. You didn’t even invite anyone. How embarrassing for you.” I didn’t mince words. “How I celebrate my birthday is none of your business, especially since you weren’t even invited.” The moment I said it, a hush fell over the room. The classmates froze. “What does she mean? Didn’t Irene invite us?” “Yeah, she said Audra was too shy to ask people herself, so she was helping her organize it.” “Oh god, no way. This is… so awkward.” Hearing the murmurs, Irene’s face stiffened. But she quickly composed herself, adopting a generous, forgiving expression. “Alright, alright. It’s your birthday, I won’t argue with you.” “But all our classmates are here. You can’t just let them stand around, can you?” My two roommates, acting like her personal lapdogs, started ushering people toward my family’s leather sofas. They tried to smooth things over. “It’s fine, it’s fine! Since Irene invited everyone, let’s just get comfortable!” I looked at the sea of people filling my home. Irene stood in the center of it all, acting like the lady of the manor, barking orders. I took a deep breath and addressed the crowd directly. “Thank you all for coming.” “But today was planned as a private family dinner, with only relatives.” “I didn’t extend any invitations to anyone else.” The hall fell silent. Everyone looked at each other, then scrambled to their feet, their faces burning with embarrassment. Irene’s expression turned thunderous. I ignored her and turned to our house manager. “Mr. Lowell, please book the largest private room at the restaurant down the street.” “Since my classmates are already here, I don’t want them to have made the trip for nothing.” “I’ll treat everyone to a meal there. It’s all on me.” Irene’s smile was strained. “Audra. You’re making this difficult.” I gave a cold laugh, offering her no quarter. “This is my house. My birthday party. You can get out.” I thought after that, if she had any shame, she would leave. But instead, she turned to the classmates, her voice trembling with manufactured emotion. “You all see this? From the moment I walked in, I’ve been trying to help her host, and she tells me to get out.” “Well, I guess I have no choice but to say it.” I was losing my patience. “What bullshit are you going to spew now?” “Why do you think your brothers aren’t here?” Irene’s chin lifted. “It’s your birthday, and they haven’t even shown their faces.” “Don’t you have any idea why?” “It’s because they can’t stand you. They can’t even be bothered to look at you!” I was speechless with fury. “Who said my brothers aren’t coming today?” Irene shook her head, her eyes filled with pity. “You really think your brothers care about you?” She suddenly stepped closer, lowering her voice so only I could hear. “Audra, do you have any idea what your family is?” “Your entire family—you, your brother Donovan, your brother Emmett, your brother Flynn—you are all just supporting characters in my story.” Then she stood up straight, turned to the house manager, and switched her tone to one of familiar authority. “You’re Mr. Lowell, right? You may not know me now, but soon, everything in this house, inside and out, will go through me.” “Your eldest young master will one day buy out an entire auction for me, just for a smile. Your second young master, so cold to everyone else, will drop everything for me with a single phone call if I’m sick. And your third young master will fight the world for me…” Absurd. I felt a wave of nausea. Did this woman have some kind of delusion disorder? My three brothers, with their impossibly high standards, would all fall for… this? But even Mr. Lowell was hesitating. He was stunned by Irene’s unwavering confidence, suddenly afraid to offend a potential future mistress of the house. The classmates started whispering again. “She sounds so sure of herself. It must be true!” “No wonder she dared to bring us all here. Turns out she’s the real one in charge.” Irene grew more smug by the second. She pulled her brother forward. “Audra, it’s your birthday. I came here in good faith.” “My brother, you’ve met him. Corbin has very high standards; he doesn’t just notice any girl. The fact that he’s here today is, frankly, an honor for you.” Corbin tilted his chin up, sizing me up. Irene continued, her tone matter-of-fact. “Out of respect for your brothers, I’ll let your attitude slide.” “As for my brother, I think you two would be a good match. Having someone to keep you in line would be good for you.” She really thought my brothers liked her, so she was trying to set me up with her useless brother as some kind of twisted peace offering? I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Have you been kicked in the head by a donkey?!” Irene frowned, scolding me like a child. “Audra, don’t be ungrateful.” “Do you really think you’ll have a say in this family in the future? Me introducing you to my brother is me doing you a favor!” My temper finally snapped. I spun towards the house manager and yelled, “Call my brothers! Tell them to get back here now!” Mr. Lowell stood frozen, his face a mask of conflict, his eyes flickering nervously toward Irene. Irene sneered. “It won’t do you any good to call them. They’ll just make you apologize to me.” My inner hellion broke free. To hell with her nonsense about supporting characters and main characters. To hell with her favors! I lunged forward, grabbing a fistful of Irene’s designer collar with one hand and yanking her hair with the other. “Ah!” Irene shrieked, struggling wildly. I’d been in enough fights to know what I was doing. She didn’t stand a chance. But one of the roommates suddenly jumped in, grabbing my arm and digging her nails into my skin. I winced in pain but didn’t let go, my focus entirely on Irene. In the chaos, a sharp slap echoed through the room, striking my face. “SLAP!” My head whipped to the side, my ear ringing. Irene stood over me, a triumphant smile on her face. “You ungrateful little thing. I’m just teaching you a lesson on your brothers’ behalf.” Just as the words left her mouth, the entire living room fell silent. The front door swung open. Three towering figures stepped inside, their presence instantly commanding the room. Irene’s eyes lit up. Her expression morphed into one of a wronged, fragile victim as she rushed to meet them. “Donovan, Emmett, Flynn! You’re finally back.”

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At twenty-two, I received a job offer from a prestigious architecture firm in Boston. When my mother heard I was planning to leave, she had a heart attack that very night. She lay on the living room floor, clutching her chest, her words coming in ragged, shallow gasps. “You’re my only daughter… your brother is away at school, I can’t rely on him…” “If you leave… I could die in this house and no one would even know.” Terrified, I tore up the offer letter that same evening. For the next eight years, whenever I so much as mentioned looking for work outside our town, her chest pains would return. I took her to the clinic for seven different evaluations, but every specialist told me her heart was perfectly fine. Still, I didn’t dare risk it. From twenty-two to thirty, for eight long years, I never left the limits of this town. Last year, my brother Lance announced he wanted to study at a university in London. The tuition and living expenses came out to sixty thousand dollars. My mother smiled warmly as she handed him my savings card. “This is the nest egg your sister saved up. She’s staying here to look after me anyway and isn’t planning on getting married, so you take it first.” I stood just a few feet away, but she didn’t look at me once. Last month, my mother suffered a real myocardial infarction and was rushed to the emergency room. I called Lance thirty-seven times. He didn’t answer once. Instead, his social media feed updated with a photo of him and his classmates clinking glasses at a pub in Soho. The caption read: “A new chapter begins.” I sat in the cold hospital corridor all night. When dawn broke, I deleted his number and unlinked my mother’s contacts from my phone. At thirty years old, I finally have nothing left but myself. … My mother woke up just as the morning light began to filter through the blinds. “Did your brother text back?” I kept my eyes on my phone screen. “No.” Her brow furrowed, her voice weak but carrying its familiar, sharp authority. “Did you keep calling him last night? He’s in a different time zone over there. Don’t go worrying him over my minor issues.” I looked down at the outstanding hospital bill in my lap. Twelve thousand dollars. She called a major cardiac event a “minor issue.” Yet eight years ago, her fabricated chest pain felt like the sky was falling. The nurse pushed the door open, casting a brief glance at the chart at the foot of the bed. “Family of bed 32, please settle the outstanding balance as soon as possible. We need to clear it before we can order the next round of medication.” My mother turned her head to look at me. “Did you hear that? Go take care of it.” I opened my banking app and held the screen in front of her face. “I don’t have the money.” She propped herself up on her elbows, the oxygen tubes trembling against her cheeks. “What do you mean? You have a full-time job. How could you not have money? Are you seriously trying to withhold care from your own mother?” “Every cent I saved went to Lance last month. My own mortgage is overdue, and my checking account has exactly fifty dollars left.” Her mouth opened slightly, stunned into silence for a second, but she recovered quickly. “What about your credit cards? Max them out. Or borrow from your coworkers! There are quick loans online, aren’t there? Take one out first. It’s not like I won’t pay you back.” I looked at her, my expression flat. “With what money?” Her eyes welled with tears instantly. “I just came back from the edge of death, and you’re here auditing me? Delia, do you actually just want me to die?” The patient behind the curtain in the next bed shifted uncomfortably. I lowered my voice. “I’m not auditing you. The doctor says the recovery costs will be high. Tell Lance to send back a portion of that sixty thousand.” She surged forward, pulling at the IV line so hard the heart monitor began to beep in rapid protest. “Absolutely not! That is your brother’s tuition! He is all alone in a foreign country. It’s hard enough for him as it is. Don’t you dare go ruining his future.” Hearing the alarm, the nurse rushed back in to stabilize her. “Please, calm down. The patient must not get worked up.” My mother seized the moment, letting out a loud sob. “What a miserable life I have. I raised a daughter for thirty years, and she won’t even pay to save her own mother’s life. Your brother is a young man; he has to make a name for himself out there. Why must you always compete with him?” Standing at the foot of the bed, my mind drifted back to eight years ago. I remembered standing by the door with my suitcase packed, my train ticket tucked into the folder with my Boston acceptance letter. My mother had collapsed onto the living room floor, her fingers clawing at the hem of my jeans, begging me not to leave. Back then, I was terrified she would die right in front of me, terrified of being the ungrateful daughter who abandoned her family. Only now did I realize she wasn’t holding my jeans; she was holding my entire life captive. When she finally cried herself out, she pointed toward the nightstand. “Where is my phone? Send your brother a message. Tell him I’m perfectly fine, just a little bump in the road. Tell him not to worry.” I didn’t move. My hands were clenched so tightly in my pockets that my knuckles ached. “He was at a pub last night.” She blinked, then scoffed. “He’s young, he’s in London. It’s normal to socialize. Don’t try to impose your narrow-minded rules on him.” “Mom, you almost died.” Her lips trembled, her expression suddenly hardening into a cold mask. “Whether I die or not, it’s not your excuse to ruin your brother’s prospects.” The nurse handed me the paper invoice. It was thin. The twelve thousand dollar figure printed on it looked so light, yet it felt crushing. My mother turned her face away, refusing to look at me. “Go pay it. Don’t make me beg you.” As I reached the door, she spoke again. “And call your Uncle Richard. A young woman like you can’t make major decisions without a man in the family to advise you.” Just as I stepped into the hallway, the elevator at the end of the corridor chimed. Uncle Richard and Aunt Beatrice stepped out, carrying a basket of fruit, but their expressions looked as though they were arriving to preside over a trial. Seeing the paper bill in my hand, Beatrice opened with, “Your mother is this sick and you’re just standing here? Sell that little studio of yours. Save her life.” My studio. Three hundred square feet. It was in a run-down brick building in the old part of town, where the hallway lights were permanently broken and the radiator pipes banged constantly in the winter. But it was the only thing I had managed to build for myself in eight long years. I paid the down payment by drafting countless construction plans overnight. During the renovations, I painted the walls myself until my wrists were swollen for days. I had hoped that once things settled, I could bring my mother there to stay with me for a few days. And now, they wanted me to liquidate it. Richard snatched the bill from my hand, his face darkening. “You don’t even have twelve grand? Delia, where has your salary been going all these years?” “To Lance’s tuition.” Beatrice frowned. “Your brother’s education is an investment. A young man getting a degree in London? When he gets a prestigious job over there, it elevates our entire family. Why does a single woman need property anyway? You’ll get married sooner or later. Besides, you’re thirty. Who knows if you’ll even find anyone at this point.” Her words triggered a memory from when I was twenty-five. I had a boyfriend who worked in Boston back then. He had asked me to move in with him. The night I brought it up at home, my mother’s chest pains were so severe we had to call an ambulance. The next day, she told the neighbors, “Once a girl grows up, a man whispers a few sweet words and she throws her own mother away.” The day I finally broke up with him, she made me a bowl of hot soup with two poached eggs. She stroked my hair and said, “I knew my sweet girl would never abandon me.” I thought that was love. Now I know it was just her tightening the leash. Richard set the fruit basket down on a waiting room chair. “Where is the deed? Your ID? We’ll take out a home equity loan or put it up for a quick sale. Saving her life comes first.” “I bought that apartment with my own money.” “Your own money?” Richard let out a dry laugh. “Who bought your food growing up? Your mother put you through school. You think your house has nothing to do with her?” My knuckles turned white as I gripped the strap of my purse. “Why doesn’t Lance pay?” The corridor went dead silent. Richard looked at me as if I were a petulant child. “He’s a student.” “He’s twenty-six.” “So what? Do you have any idea how much pressure he’s under studying abroad? Don’t measure his future with your narrow mind.” The ward door wasn’t fully closed. My mother’s voice drifted out, sounding perfectly frail. “Stop pressuring her. If she doesn’t want to, just let me die. I brought her into this world, but I never expected her to show any gratitude.” Beatrice immediately rushed in. “Oh, Margaret, don’t say that!” Richard glared at me. “Hear that? Your mother is on her deathbed, and you’re trying to kill her with stress?” I leaned against the wall, my palms cold. When I was a child, Uncle Richard came to our house to borrow money. My mother emptied my piggy bank, saying family doesn’t keep score. Later, when I won a three-hundred-dollar prize in an art contest, she took that too, saying Lance needed private tutoring. Back then, she would pat my head and say, “Delia is so mature. You’re the one I never have to worry about.” I used to think being “mature” was a compliment. It was just a pre-written IOU. Richard reached out to snatch my purse. “Stop wasting time. Give me the documents. I know a broker who can list the place today.” I stepped back. “Don’t touch me.” His face fell. “I’m your uncle. I can touch your bag if I need to.” Beatrice stepped out of the room, whispering fiercely, “You’re shielding a purse while your mother is dying? Is that piece-of-crap apartment worth more than her life?” An older man waiting outside the opposite room spoke up. “It’s the young lady’s house. You can’t just steal her papers.” Beatrice snapped, “Mind your own business. This is family.” Inside, my mother’s weeping grew louder. “Stop the treatment. Just let me go. Let Delia live her life in peace, so she doesn’t have to hate me.” At those words, Richard lost his temper and grabbed my bag’s strap. I held onto it with everything I had. During the struggle, the bag zipped open, and its contents spilled onto the floor. Keys, debit cards, and a faded, creased photograph. In the photo, I am twenty-two, standing outside the Boston architecture firm, wearing a canvas backpack, smiling so hard my eyes are curved. A classmate took it for me on my interview day. Beatrice picked it up, letting out a mocking scoff. “You still keep this trash? How many years has it been? Still dreaming?” She shoved the photo back into my hands. “Wake up. This is your life. Being able to care for your mother and support your brother is the only blessing you’ll ever get.” Just then, my phone vibrated. An international number. Richard’s eyes lit up. He snatched the phone from my hand and hit speakerphone. “It must be Lance! Quick, let your mother hear her son’s voice!” The line crackled. Loud music thumped in the background. Then Lance’s irritated voice cut through. “Delia, what is your problem? You called me so many times last night my phone died. It’s incredibly annoying.” Richard froze, holding the phone aloft. Over the line, someone shouted in English, “Hey Lance, grab another pint!” He yelled back a quick agreement, then turned back to the call. “Well? Why aren’t you speaking? You called thirty-seven times and now you’re mute?” My mother heard his voice and called out weakly, “Lance? It’s Mom.” Lance hesitated. “Mom? Why are you actually in the hospital?” Richard chimed in quickly, “Your mother had a heart attack. We barely saved her last night. Lance, talk some sense into your sister. Tell her to sell her studio so we can pay the medical bills.” There was a brief silence. Then Lance let out a sigh. “Delia, what drama are you stirring up now? If Mom is sick, get her treated. What am I supposed to do about it from London? Fly back and hold her oxygen mask?” My mother defended him instantly. “He doesn’t mean it like that. He’s all alone over there, he must be terrified.” Lance continued, ignoring her. “By the way, Delia, I need you to wire me another twenty thousand. I want to buy a watch, and I’m a bit short.” Beatrice’s expression soured. Richard cleared his throat. “Lance, your mother is in a hospital bed. Let’s not talk about watches right now.” “Well, that’s why you should sell the apartment. Just send me twenty grand first, and use the rest for Mom’s hospital bill.” He said it so naturally, as if my apartment belonged to him. I finally spoke. “What happened to the sixty thousand?” He chuckled. “I spent it. Do you have any idea how expensive London is? You think I’m living on cheap takeout back home?” “Did you even pay your tuition?” “Are you auditing me now?” he snapped. “Mom gave me that money, not you. And even if it was yours, it’s none of your business. Mom said you’re not getting married anyway, so everything you have belongs to the family. Don’t be cheap. Wire the twenty grand today, I need it urgently.” My mother lay on the bed, tears streaming down her face. She wiped them quickly, pleading into the phone. “Lance, don’t worry, Mom will figure something out. Your sister is just being stubborn, she won’t leave you stranded.” My throat tightened. I looked at her, horrified. “Even now, you expect me to give him money?” She avoided my gaze. “He is in a strange country. How is he supposed to survive without money? Sell the apartment and wire him the cash. I have basic insurance; I can wait a bit for my treatment.” Lance cut in, sounding bored. “Mom, didn’t you always tell me your chest pains were fake anyway? Just to keep Delia from leaving you. It was always a false alarm, how was I supposed to know you were actually sick this time?” A quiet snap echoed in my head. Richard looked toward the room in shock. Beatrice went completely silent. My mother’s face drained of color. Her lips trembled. “Lance, you’ve had too much to drink. Stop talking nonsense.” Lance laughed. “Nonsense? Mom, I know your tricks. When Delia wanted to go to Boston, you threw yourself on the floor to scare her. She’s always been a coward—so easy to control.” A woman’s laughter rippled through the receiver. “Anyway, I’ve got to go. Delia, don’t forget the twenty grand today.” The line went dead. The hallway was so quiet that only the steady beep of the heart monitor remained. Richard handed the phone back to me, his voice tight with forced casualness. “He’s just a kid who had too much to drink. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.” I took the phone, seeing my pale reflection in the black screen. “Is it true? Eight years ago, you faked it?” Margaret’s eyes darted away. “He’s drunk. He’s making things up.” “I was just worried about you going to a big city alone. Boston is dangerous for a young girl. What if you got taken advantage of? Having you close to me was for your own safety.” I let out a soft, hollow laugh. “My safety?” She clutched the bedsheet, but her chin lifted defensively. “Yes, your safety! You lived under my roof, ate my food—did I ever let you go hungry? When you were sick, did I not care for you? When you came home late from work, did I not leave the porch light on?” Her words rushed out, a desperate shield. “Delia, yes, I had my selfish reasons, but I did it for this family. When your brother succeeds, we all succeed. What was so bad about staying here where it’s safe and stable?” Richard chimed in immediately. “Exactly. Your mother might not be highly educated and she speaks bluntly, but her heart is in the right place.” Beatrice sighed, patting my hand. “Old people get lonely. Delia, holding a grudge over something from eight years ago is just petty.” Margaret reached under her pillow and pulled out a folded piece of paper. The corners were creased, as if it had been hidden there for a long time. She handed it to Richard. “This is already signed. Take it to the broker and see if we can use Delia’s apartment as collateral for a loan.” I stared at the paper. “Power of Attorney for Property Refinancing and Sale.” Under the grantor line, my name was signed in neat, forged handwriting. “Delia Cornell.” Richard reached for it, but I snatched it first. Margaret panicked. “What are you doing? Give that to your uncle!” I stared at the forged signature. Eight years. Sixty thousand dollars. An apartment. They even wanted to write my own name for me. I slipped the document into my purse. Margaret sat up, her voice shrill. “That’s to save your brother! What are you doing?” I zipped my purse. “Keeping evidence.” Richard’s face changed. “Evidence? We’re family. Who are you trying to threaten?” I ignored him and looked directly at my mother. “One last time, Mom. Eight years ago, did you actually have a heart condition?” Her chest heaved with anger. “Fine! You want the ugly truth? Yes, I faked it! But if I hadn’t, you would have run off. If you left, would this even be a home anymore?” She sounded increasingly self-righteous. “Your brother was in high school, your father passed away early, and I was a single mother trying to hold everything together. Was I wrong to keep you here? You’re my daughter. Why shouldn’t I rely on you?” I nodded slowly. “You weren’t wrong. But from now on, you don’t have a daughter.” She froze. I slid my phone into my pocket and turned toward the exit. Richard chased after me. “Where are you going? The bill isn’t paid!” From the room, Margaret’s voice screeched, “Delia! If you walk out that door today, I will act as if I never gave birth to you!” The elevator doors slid open. Before they closed, I heard the nurse yelling, “Bed 32! The patient’s heart rate is spiking! You need to calm down!” The hospital lobby was crowded. People were standing in lines, clutching X-ray films and crying, or sitting against the wall eating cheap sandwiches. Everyone was being pushed forward by the sheer weight of survival. I weaved through them, stepping out the glass doors. The cold wind hit my face, drying the tears on my cheeks and blowing away the very last traces of my hesitation. I opened my banking app. Authorized users, linked accounts, automatic transfers—I unlinked and revoked every single one. Eight years ago, when I tore up that offer, my mother held me and cried, telling me we only had each other. Only now did I realize that “having each other” didn’t mean standing side by side. It meant she stood tall while I remained on my knees to serve as her footstool. I returned to my studio apartment. It was small, the window facing the brick wall of the adjacent building. I opened the closet and packed all my documents into my bag. Tucked inside the folder with the property deed was a faded business card from the Boston architecture firm. The senior partner who interviewed me was named Robert Mitchell. He had called me once after I declined the offer. “Delia, your portfolio is exceptional. If you ever decide to return to this field, please reach out to me.” I had stood in the stairwell back then, crying as I apologized. He had told me it was alright, that life is long. I kept that card for eight years. The edges are worn white. I don’t even know if the number still works. My phone vibrated with a voice message from Beatrice. I tapped play. “Delia, your mother’s blood pressure is spiking again. Don’t be a monster. Get back here and sign the papers. If anything happens to her, you’ll have to live with that guilt for the rest of your life.” Then came a text from Richard. “Let me tell you, taking that paper won’t stop us. She’s your mother, she has the legal right to act on your behalf. If you call the police, you’ll only embarrass yourself.” The family group chat was exploding. “Delia, don’t do anything rash out of anger.” “This is a family matter. No need to make a scene in public.” “Don’t be so heartless, your mother is seriously ill.” Aunts, uncles, cousins—all taking turns to pull at the threads of the net, trying to drag me back. I took out a piece of paper and write a formal statement: “I do not authorize anyone to transaction, lease, or pledge my property under my name. I bear no responsibility for Lance’s personal debts or expenses. I will contribute only the legally mandated portion of my mother’s essential medical expenses; any excess must be shared equally by her and other family members. Effective immediately, I reject all forms of emotional coercion, financial demands, and unauthorized signatures.” I signed it, took a photo, and uploaded it to an online legal consultation app. At two in the afternoon, a female attorney called me back. Her voice was crisp and professional. “Forging signatures carries severe legal consequences. Keep the original document safe. If your relatives try to take your deed or ID by force, call the police immediately. Even with your mother, you must establish clear boundaries. Family relationship is not a blanket authorization.” I held the phone, unable to speak for a long moment. At three, I visited a local real estate agency and listed my studio for rent. The agent asked, “Are you in a hurry?” “As fast as possible.” At five, I bought a train ticket to Boston. The earliest departure was at 7:40 PM. While waiting in the station lobby, I composed a text to Robert Mitchell’s number. “Mr. Mitchell, this is Delia Cornell. I was offered a position at your firm eight years ago but was unable to accept. I am looking to return to the industry and would love to send you my updated portfolio if you are still accepting submissions.”

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After I was diagnosed with Affective Decay Syndrome, my ability to feel anything began to slip away, quiet and slow. When Colby prioritized Selena—the one who got away, his forever golden girl—I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I simply accepted it with a calm, flat resignation. Even when I saw him slide the diamond ring—the one meant to mark our tenth anniversary—onto Selena’s finger, not a single tear fell. Lately, his excuses had worn paper-thin. “Selena is afraid of the dark,” he’d say, leaving our bed cold as he spent his nights elsewhere. On the day I finally decided to tell him about my diagnosis, I called his personal line. “Ida?” Selena’s voice drifted through the receiver, soft and dripping with mock sympathy. “Colby’s in the shower. You should probably call back later…” I hung up without a word. That evening, I stood by and watched as he escorted Selena into our anniversary gala, side by side. “I’ll be honest,” Colby murmured to me later, his eyes reflecting the glitter of the ballroom. “Marrying you was just a penalty for losing a bet with my parents.” “Selena has always been the only woman I’ve ever loved. You’ve played the role of my wife for ten years, Ida. You should be satisfied with that.” Selena leaned into his chest with a soft, triumphant laugh, her eyes shining with victory. I offered them a faint, hollow smile, then quietly dropped the hand-crafted photo album I’d spent months making into a nearby champagne bucket. Inside my mind, the memories of Colby were already starting to dissolve, like salt in water. It wouldn’t be long before I forgot him entirely—before the decade of silent heartbreak we shared was erased from my heart. … On the drive home, I voluntarily took the backseat, leaving the passenger side for Selena. Colby was used to my hypersensitivity, my frantic outbursts, the bitter jealousy that used to consume me whenever Selena was near. My sudden, tranquil compliance only seemed to irritate him. When we finally pulled up to the house and got out, I spoke up before he could start. “I’m not angry,” I said. “And I’m not jealous.” Selena’s voice immediately took on a fragile, trembling tone. “Colby, did I do something wrong? Ida seems to really hate me. Maybe I should just leave.” Colby caught her by the wrist, his voice sharp with cold impatience as he looked at me. “Why would you leave? You belong here just as much as anyone else.” He took a few strides forward and grabbed my arm, forcing me to stop. “Ida, don’t think you can play hard to get with this silent treatment. Marrying you was my parents’ idea. Now that Selena is back, you need to grow up and accept it.” I looked at him, my gaze entirely flat. “I understand,” I replied softly. “Let her move in. She can have the master bedroom, too.” A flicker of deep suspicion crossed his features. “I’ll say it one more time: playing the martyr won’t work with me. If you’re upset, then scream, cry, throw a tantrum. I can buy you a new car or a designer bag to make up for it.” Selena glided over, wrapping her arm snugly around Colby’s. “Oh, Ida, how could I possibly take the master bedroom? That wouldn’t be right.” Colby let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Since you’re so incredibly generous, Selena and I will sleep in the master suite tonight.” He pulled her along, sweeping past me into the house. Deep in my mind, another fragment of my memory of him dissolved into gray mist. I pulled out my phone, booked a moving company for tomorrow morning, and bought a one-way ticket to Europe departing in a week. When I walked into the hallway, I found a large cardboard box sitting by Selena’s feet. It was overflowing with gifts Colby had given me over the years. “Ida, this throw pillow is so soft,” Selena smiled, clutching a hand-woven decorative cushion. “Colby said I could have it.” I stared at the cushion. Three years ago, Colby and I had spent an hour bartering for it at a flea market. He had haggled with the vendor, laughing, before pressing it into my arms and promising he’d hold me like that forever. Now, as I looked at the music box he had hand-assembled and the small wooden figurines he had carved for me, the memories attached to them detached like dry autumn leaves. “Keep whatever you like,” I said. “They’re just old things anyway.” I picked up my spare keys and turned toward the guest room. Colby strode after me, blocking the doorway. “Ida, this isn’t you. Before, if Selena so much as looked my way, you would have screamed at me for three days straight. Now I bring her into our home, and you don’t even have a single question?” I looked up at his handsome face, finding the situation almost absurd. “Colby, isn’t this exactly what you always wanted? A quiet wife who doesn’t make a scene. Isn’t that better?” He froze, the words dying on his lips. I shut the guest room door behind me, cutting off his gaze. The next morning, the moving truck pulled up to the driveway right on schedule. My entire life in this house was packed into just two small cardboard boxes waiting by my feet. Colby stepped out of the master bedroom, his face darkening instantly when he saw the boxes. “Ida, when is this performance going to end? Unpack your things. Don’t force me to make you.” The bright, earnest boy I had fallen in love with was already a blur in my mind. I knelt down and packed a stray sweater back into the box. “Let’s get a divorce, Colby. I’ll have my lawyer send over the papers in a few days.” Selena gasped from the hallway, though she couldn’t hide the sudden spark of triumph in her eyes. Colby’s face turned white, then a furious red. “What did you say?” “I said, I want a divorce. You’ll have the papers soon.” I kept my focus downward, folding my clothes with steady hands. “Ida, you’ve really outdone yourself this time. You’re threatening me with divorce now? It was just a ring. I told you I’d replace it. What are you throwing a fit for?” My absolute silence was the final straw. His patience broke. The front door slammed shut behind him, shaking the walls of the foyer. With that sound, the details of Colby’s face faded further into the fog. I realized, with a strange sense of detachment, that I couldn’t quite remember what his smile looked like. “We can go now,” I told the mover. The truck rolled slowly down the driveway. I didn’t look back. My phone vibrated in my coat pocket. It was a text from Colby. “8:00 PM tonight. The Grand Bellevue. Selena’s birthday party. If you still want to hold onto your title as my wife, you’ll be there on time.” I stared at the screen for a brief second, then quietly blocked his number. “Goodbye, Colby. From now on, you are just a stranger.” I ended up seeing the party on Instagram later that night, posted by a mutual friend. It was a lavish affair—something he had never once arranged for me. In one video, Colby went down on one knee, presenting Selena with a massive bouquet of white roses. My best friend called me, crying on my behalf, furious at how easily he had cast me aside. The next afternoon, the housekeeper from the family estate called. His voice was frantic, bordering on tears. “Ida, please, you have to come over right away! Grandmother Helen collapsed, and she keeps calling out your name!” The image of Grandmother Helen’s warm, wrinkled face flashed in my mind. She was the only person in that family who had ever truly loved me. Whenever Colby hurt me, she would hold my hands and tell me I didn’t have to carry the burden alone. “I’m on my way,” I said. I grabbed my coat and rushed out the door. The moment I stepped into the estate’s living room, Selena’s melodic laughter reached my ears. “Helen, try some of this wild New Zealand honey. Colby imported it specially for you.” Colby sat nearby, casually scrolling through his phone. When he looked up and saw me, his expression hardened, and he let out a scoff. “So you decided to show up after all. I thought you were too proud to care whether my grandmother lived or died.” Grandmother Helen’s eyes lit up when she saw me. “Ida, sweetheart, come here. Come sit with me. I’m fine, just a little spike in my blood pressure. Colby made a mountain out of a molehill just to drag you here.” Selena chimed in smoothly. “That’s true, Ida. Colby was just worried about Helen. Though, you do seem so busy lately. It’s a shame you haven’t had any time to visit.” The underlying jab was clear: she was painting me as the neglectful, ungrateful granddaughter-in-law. Months ago, I would have scrambled to defend myself, throat tight with tears, desperate to clear my name in Colby’s eyes. But now, I merely offered her a mild, pleasant smile. “Since you have so much free time on your hands, Selena, feel free to do my part for me.” Selena froze, her delicate mask slipping for a fraction of a second before she cast a pleading look at Colby. “Colby…” she murmured. Colby set his phone down, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. “Ida, what is wrong with you? Selena is only trying to help, and you treat her like this?” I looked him straight in the eye. “My attitude is perfectly fine.” Grandmother Helen looked between us, her brow furrowing with concern. “Colby, Ida… are you two arguing?” “No, Helen,” Colby lied quickly. He reached out, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me out of the living room and into the quiet garden. “You canceled your credit card, blocked my number, and now you can’t even act civilized in front of my family? Are you actually convinced that I won’t go through with a divorce?” His voice trembled with tightly controlled anger. I gently rotated my wrist, waiting for the red marks to fade, before looking up. “I’m not playing games with you, Colby. You never wanted this legacy marriage in the first place. We’ve dragged each other through ten years of misery. I’m simply letting you go so you can be with Selena.” He let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Ida, don’t forget about your brother in the hospital. Who do you think pays his medical bills every month? My family. Without my money, he wouldn’t last three days.” He was entirely smug, convinced he held the ultimate leverage. At the mention of my brother, a phantom ache pierced through the emotional numbness in my chest. I looked up at him, a soft, dry laugh escaping my lips. “Colby, my brother died six months ago.” The smirk on his face shattered instantly, replaced by a look of sheer, panicked confusion. “What? Why… why didn’t I know about this?” My gaze remained empty as I answered him, letting each word fall heavy and cold between us. “Because when his heart stopped, you were in Antarctica, taking Selena to see the penguins. I don’t need your money anymore, Colby. We are completely finished.” A rare flush of embarrassment crept up his neck. “Ida, I… I’m sorry. I really didn’t know about your brother.” I let out a soft breath of laughter. “Your mind was always occupied with Selena. It’s only natural you knew nothing about my life.” His jaw clenched, his eyes searching mine before his tone turned sharp again. “Are you so desperate for a divorce because you found someone else?” The sheer insult of the accusation snapped the thin thread of my restraint. I raised my hand and slapped him, putting every ounce of my strength into it. The sound cracked like lightning through the quiet garden. “I simply stopped loving you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Colby touched his reddening cheek, his eyes wide with utter shock. “How… how is that possible? You used to love me more than anything.” He was right. I had loved him fiercely. In the early years of our marriage, encouraged by Helen, we had shared a fragile sort of happiness. He would come back from business trips with the lemon tarts I’d casually mentioned loving. And I would stay up all night brewing herbal tea whenever his stomach flared up. We had been clumsy, but we had been real. But then, once a year, Selena would reappear. The subtle shifts in his attention, the blatant favoritism he showed her, the constant reminders that his heart belonged to another woman—it took its toll. Ten years of slow, agonizing disappointment had finally ground my love down to dust. The red imprint of my hand was stark against his pale skin. He stood frozen, unable to tear his eyes away from mine. I looked past him. “That was a long time ago,” I said. I didn’t stay for dinner. After offering a quiet, apologetic goodbye to Helen, I left. “Sir, Ida has listed the downtown apartment for sale,” his secretary’s voice said over the line, cautious and quiet. Colby sat at his desk, a half-burned cigarette resting between his fingers. His brow furrowed. “What else is she selling?” “All the jewelry you purchased for her over the years. She brought them to a high-end consignor to liquidate them.” Colby crushed the cigarette into the glass tray, his face darkening with a sudden, sharp panic. At that exact moment, I was stepping out of the shower at my hotel room. My phone rang from the nightstand—an unfamiliar number. “Ida. You’ve gotten remarkably bold, blocking my actual number.” I held the phone a few inches away from my ear, keeping my voice entirely even. “Is there something you need, Colby?” Hearing me use his first name so formally made his breath hitch sharply on the other end. “What did you just call me? We’re not divorced yet. I am still your husband.” “Not for long,” I murmured, pinching my brow before hanging up. We were effectively over; there was no reason to entertain his temper anymore. The silence lasted only a few seconds before another notification buzzed. An unknown number had sent a text. “Give up the act, Ida. Colby is exhausted by these cheap little games of yours.” Below the text was an image. It was Selena, wearing a silk slip, resting her head comfortably against Colby’s shoulder in a plush hotel bed. She was smiling sweetly at the camera. Colby’s eyes were closed, seemingly asleep, though his brow was drawn tight in discomfort. Before I could even process the image, a heavy knock sounded at my door. Expecting room service, I pulled it open, only to be shoved backward. Colby stepped inside, catching me by the waist and pushing me onto the mattress. Before I could yell, he grabbed my left hand. He took several diamond bands and forced them onto my fingers, cold and heavy. “Ida, tell me what you want. What is it going to take to make you happy again?” He was trying to buy his way out of giving my anniversary ring to Selena. When I remained entirely unresponsive, his frustration turned into a desperate, furious desire. He leaned down, pressing his lips toward mine. With a sudden burst of energy, I wrenched my arm free and struck him across the face. He sat back, stunned, a look of profound defeat creeping into his eyes. “Selena and I… our history is complicated,” he rasped, his voice cracking. “I can’t just cut her out of my life overnight. Why must you obsess over this? She isn’t a threat to your marriage. You’re my wife.” Before I could reply, his phone began to vibrate. Selena’s name lit up the screen. “Colby? Where are you? My stomach… it hurts so bad…” her voice whimpered through the speaker. Colby looked at me, caught in a visible, painful hesitation. Finally, he exhaled. “I’m on my way back,” he said. He stood up, gave me one last lingering look, and left, the sound of his tires squealing in the parking lot below. I slowly took the rings off my fingers and listed them on a luxury consignment app for half their value. The next afternoon, my doctor sat across from me in his quiet clinic, looking over my latest brain scans with a heavy sigh. “If the decay continues at this rate, Ida, you won’t just lose your emotional register. Your cognitive recall will begin to deteriorate. It isn’t fatal, but carrying out a normal life will become incredibly difficult.” I tried to smile to reassure him, but I realized the muscles in my face felt heavy, unresponsive. “That’s alright,” I whispered. “Actually, it sounds quite peaceful.” I gathered my prescription and walked out of the office, only to collide with someone at the corner of the corridor. “Ida? What are you doing here?” Colby’s voice sounded from above, sharp with suspicion. Selena was beside him, wearing a light blue hospital gown, her face pale and fragile. “Colby… is Ida sick?” she asked softly, leaning down to reach for the small pill bottle that had slipped from my bag. “It’s none of your concern,” I said, snatching it up before she could touch it. Colby’s eyes narrowed. “Are you tracking me now, Ida?” I looked up at him, my expression blank. “I am seeing a doctor. I have neither the time nor the interest to follow you.” He let out a harsh laugh and snatched the paper bag out of my hands. “Faking an illness just to get my attention? You’ve really hit a new low. I gave you those rings to make things right. Stop acting so desperate. It’s pathetic.” “Give me my medicine, Colby,” I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. Instead, he tossed the bag carelessly into a nearby waste bin. “I’m tired of your drama. You’re pathetic, Ida.” Deep in my mind, the very last fragments of Colby began to dissolve. They became translucent, floating away like ash in the wind. I closed my eyes and took a long, slow breath. When my lawyer called, I was sitting in a quiet clinic with an IV drip in the back of my hand. “Ida, Colby is refusing to sign the divorce papers.” “I understand,” I replied. I hung up, staring blankly at the clear fluid trickling through the tube into my vein. I went back to the clinic twice over the next few days. The doctor confirmed that my cognitive decline was accelerating far quicker than they had anticipated. I started to forget things. Where I had left my keys. What I had eaten for lunch. The specific geometry of a familiar face. Sitting at a small sidewalk café, the latte beside me grew cold. I couldn’t quite recall when I had ordered it. Suddenly, the loud screech of tires broke my reverie. Colby grabbed my arm and practically dragged me into his passenger seat. “We’re going to Helen’s birthday gala,” he said, shifting into drive. “Her health is fragile. You wouldn’t want to break her heart by telling her we’re splitting up, would you?” The car was already speeding down the highway. I didn’t bother to fight him. The estate was glowing with fairy lights when we arrived. Valets rushed around sleek luxury sedans, and the garden was filled with the city’s high society gathered to celebrate Grandmother Helen. As I walked in behind Colby, a hundred eyes turned toward us. “Ah, look, Colby’s wife actually showed up.” “I heard he’s practically living with that Selena girl. I thought the wife was already out of the picture.” “Keep your voice down. It’s a mess.” The whispers swirled around us like a cold draft. My expression remained serene, as if the gossip had nothing to do with me. But Colby’s face hardened. He reached out and pulled me flush against his side, his grip tight around my waist. “Ida, darling! Come sit by me,” Grandmother Helen called from her armchair at the center of the room. I walked over and handed her the beautifully wrapped box Colby’s assistant had prepared. “Happy birthday, Helen. I hope this year brings you peace.” She squeezed my hand, her eyes crinkling with genuine joy. Then, a soft murmur rippled through the front entrance. Selena walked in, carrying an ornate wooden box, gliding straight toward Helen. “Happy birthday, Helen,” she said softly. “I had this blessing charm custom-made for you in Italy. I wanted to make sure you stay in good health.” Helen’s warm smile dimmed a fraction. She gave a polite, measured nod. “Thank you, Selena. That was very thoughtful.” Selena tightened her jaw slightly, then turned her focus to me. “Ida, you look beautiful tonight. Did Colby pick out that dress for you?” Her voice held a subtle edge. I was wearing a simple, unadorned black silk slip dress, while Selena was wearing a breathtaking, custom-made designer gown that caught every light. The guests watched us closely, their gazes shifting between the three of us. “Selena, you shouldn’t have traveled in your condition. Why are you here?” Colby stepped forward, instinctively taking her arm, his voice thick with concern. As Selena moved past me, her heel caught on the edge of the rug. She stumbled, falling directly toward me. “Oh!” she cried out. We collided with the nearby champagne tower, and the towering glass structure collapsed in a deafening crash. In that split second, Colby lunged forward—and pulled Selena protectively into his arms. I, on the other hand, was showered in cold alcohol and falling shards of glass. A sharp pain bloomed along my forearm as the broken glass sliced my skin. “Ida! Why did you push her?” Colby bellowed, staring down at Selena in his arms, his face flushed with protective fury. But as he looked over at me and saw the dark stains of champagne on my dress and the blood dripping from my arm, his voice died. He frowned, calling out for the housekeeper to fetch the medical kit. When the housekeeper rushed over with the first-aid box, I shook my head, declining gently. I turned to look at Helen. “Happy birthday, Helen. I’m not feeling very well, so I’ll take my leave now.” Helen looked at my ruined dress and the blood blooming on my skin, her eyes filled with sorrow. “Go home, sweetheart. Take care of those cuts. Let the driver take you.” “No, thank you. I’ll call an Uber,” I said. Colby stepped toward me, trying to block my path. I simply reached into my purse, pressed a heavy manila envelope into his chest, and walked past him into the night. Sitting in the quiet airport lounge an hour later, I realized with a wave of mild indifference that I had accidentally left my medical diagnosis inside that envelope along with the divorce papers. Oh well. It didn’t matter now. The plane began its slow rumble down the runway, the roar of the engines filling my ears. This was the end. Colby and I would likely never see each other again. And I wouldn’t be around to witness the moment he finally understood.

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