Author: Momo Chan

“Serena, sign it.” Outside the courtroom, my husband Julian threw a letter of understanding in front of me, his gaze behind the gold-rimmed glasses as cold as ice. “You don’t want Leo to bear the crime of defamation even after his death, do you?” Chloe had just driven my brother to jump off a building to his death. And my husband was holding her shoulders, gently wiping her tears. “Julian, my heart hurts so much…” Chloe pouted, snuggling into his arms. “Serena, you only have thirty seconds left.” He didn’t even look at me. I stared fiercely at the man and woman in front of me, my voice trembling, “What if I don’t sign?” Julian finally looked up, slowly tapping into the live broadcast on his phone. In the cemetery, several bodyguards holding shovels stood in front of my brother’s unsealed tombstone. “Be good,” he smiled. “Can you bear to let Leo have no peace even after death?” At that moment, I finally understood that the love I once believed in was nothing but a joke. Serena’s POV Just because my brother got in the way of the industry’s little princess on a talent show, he was framed for drug possession. He was bullied across the internet. Finally, he leapt from the rooftop of Starlight Entertainment. The day I took that arrogant Chloe to court, she was released on the spot due to “insufficient evidence.” And standing at the defendant’s desk, protecting Chloe, was the city’s most powerful financial tycoon, the president of Starlight Entertainment. Also my secretly married husband of three years, Julian. After the trial ended, the handsome, noble man walked to the plaintiff’s desk and threw a letter of understanding and apology in front of me. “Serena, sign it. You don’t want Leo to be cursed and slandered by the whole internet for defamation even after his death, do you?” His tone was coaxing, but the gaze hidden behind his gold-rimmed glasses was as sharp as ice. I looked at him, my voice shaking. “Why, Julian?” I couldn’t understand. I was his wife. He had loved me so much. Even if it meant defying his family’s marriage arrangements, even if it meant being put under house arrest by the Sterling family, he still insisted on marrying me. I was just a small-time star with no background. But after my brother died, I begged him crying countless times. Even this morning, I knelt at his feet, threatening him with divorce, begging him not to intervene in this case. But what did he say? “Serena, don’t force me! Chloe got into a car accident trying to save me. Her legs were almost crippled, and she can never dance ballet again. I must protect her, even if… the enemy is my most beloved wife.” As he spoke, he tapped his tablet, showing me a live broadcast feed. “You have two minutes to consider. Even if you aren’t thinking for yourself, you should think of Leo. Sign it, and I’ll have someone return Leo’s ashes to you.” The video showed the cemetery, where several bodyguards in black holding shovels were standing in front of Leo’s unsealed tombstone. With one move… My tears fell instantly. “What are you doing?!” But he didn’t even frown. “Be good, don’t waste time. Can you bear to let Leo have no peace even after death?” “Julian!” I stared fiercely at the man in front of me, biting my lip until it almost bled. “I want a divorce.” But in this cruel confrontation, he remained relentlessly calm. “Serena, you only have thirty seconds left.” At that moment, my heart felt as if pierced by a needle. How ironic; this man had once loved me with all his life. Three years ago, he fell in love with me at first sight in Starlight’s practice room. I was a nobody small star practicing desperately, yet he confessed his love a full hundred times. He would book an entire sea of flowers overnight just because I casually mentioned I liked them; He would also hold me distressed and carry me across three streets when I sprained my ankle during dance practice. It was also then that I learned there was a daughter of the Walker family who grew up with him and had been chasing him for years. But he had no one else in his eyes. “Serena, I only love you; I only have sibling feelings for Chloe!” The turning point happened half a year ago. Chloe was in a car accident abroad, and to save Julian, both her legs were severely injured. Since then, his attitude toward this friend completely changed. He canceled cross-border meetings to accompany her personally, and even to pave the way for her entry into the entertainment industry, he forcibly canceled all my schedules. At first, I believed him. Until the day my brother had the accident. I was blocked by crazy anti-fans downstairs at the company, and Julian’s phone couldn’t get through no matter what. Out of helplessness, my brother Leo went alone to confront Chloe, but this trip led him to fall from the 33rd floor, never to return. Everyone insisted it was an accident, saying Leo committed suicide out of guilt. Even Julian, who happened to be absent from the scene when the incident occurred, believed this statement. But that day, I clearly received my brother’s last voice message. I heard the chaos on the other end of the phone, mixed with Chloe’s cold mockery and my brother’s desperate cries. My brother was driven to his death! Over the past six months, I suffered in pain and self-blame, and finally found a shred of evidence through my breakdown. I begged Julian countless times to help me. But during this trial, he stood on the opposite side without hesitation. He protected the murderer who killed my brother, and to force me to apologize to her, he even used my brother’s ashes as a threat… At this moment, looking at Julian in front of me, I only felt he was so unfamiliar, as if he came from hell. I despaired and accepted my fate, trembling fingers signing crooked handwriting on that statement. “Satisfied? Then tell them to get the hell out of the cemetery…” But as my hoarse voice just fell, a sudden exclamation came from behind. Chloe suddenly clutched her chest and lay on the defendant’s desk. “Julian, help me, my heart hurts so much!” At that second, Julian panicked so much that he directly dropped the tablet and rushed quickly behind him. On the other end of the live broadcast, the countdown had already ended. Without receiving Julian’s order to stop, the bodyguards had already swung their shovels… “No! I’ve already signed! Julian, tell them to stop!” I screamed, but how would those bodyguards listen to my orders. I wanted to pounce and grab Julian, but the man’s heart was entirely focused on Chloe; he even slammed his elbow into me as he rushed out holding her. I fell hard to the ground, my forehead hitting the corner of the desk. Blood slid down my cheek, and tears smashed onto the tablet one after another. It was too late, already too late… I saw the white porcelain jar holding the ashes brutally smashed. Against the cold wind, the ashes scattered bit by bit onto the muddy ground. Heart-wrenching self-blame tore at my heart. My brother loved cleanliness the most when he was alive, but now, not only did he die unjustly, even his ashes were being trampled into the dirt. “Leo, I’m sorry…” My crying broke down completely. Suddenly I regretted it so much, regretted falling in love with Julian, regretted marrying him. Endless regret struck my mind like a dull bell, and my vision suddenly went dizzy. In a world that darkened frame by frame, I only heard Julian’s anxious voice outside the courtroom. “Chloe, hold on, as long as you’re okay, I’ll promise you anything!”

Serena’s POV When I woke up again, I was in the hospital. The young associate lawyer stood helplessly by the bed. “Serena, this case has already been settled. You need to look on the bright side; your health is the most important.” I snapped out of it amidst the lingering pain in my heart, ignoring the IV needle in my hand, and sat up to quickly rummage through my bag. “Could you please check if this agreement is valid?” My voice trembling, I handed over the document I had dug out. The other party quickly gave an affirmative answer. “Serena, your husband has already signed this divorce agreement. You only need to sign and submit it, and you can get your divorce decree in a month.” This morning, I had kneeled in front of Julian with this document. Perhaps he was in too much of a rush to leave, or maybe he didn’t believe I would actually divorce him. He assumed the agreement was fake and actually signed it without even looking. But he would never guess that everything I said was true. I didn’t want to wait another moment. I pulled out the IV needle and rushed to submit the paperwork. After completing the procedures, I made one last trip to the cemetery. In the cool, drizzling rain, I knelt straight in the muddy ground, scooping up the ashes mixed with dirt bit by bit. “Leo, I will avenge you.” I don’t know how long I knelt there before I wiped away my tears and made a phone call. “Hello, I’d like to schedule a faked-death rescue.” “In one month, the cause of death will be ‘accidental fall into the sea.’ I will arrange the location, and you only need to prepare a brand new identity for me, rescue me, and send me abroad.” Yes, I wasn’t just going to get a divorce. In a month, I would also personally claim my justice and leave Julian an unforgettable surprise. By the time I finished all this and returned to the villa, it was already dark. The lights were on in the living room. Julian was holding a bowl, feeding Chloe spoonful by spoonful. “Julian, I posted that apology letter online.” Chloe said, tilting her head to lean on the man’s shoulder. “Serena’s fans have been cursing me all this time. Now that the truth is out, she deserves a lesson. You’re not allowed to interfere.” Julian’s Adam’s apple bobbed, but he still agreed. “Alright, she made a mistake and should be punished.” I suddenly recalled the curses online; they said my brother deserved to die, called me a bitch who climbed up through capital, and said I wasn’t even fit to compare to a single hair on Miss Chloe’s head… A sharp pain hit my heart as I walked into the living room. “Where did you go?” Seeing me, Julian paused, his tone inexplicably softening. “The wound on your forehead… how did that happen?” I ignored him. It was Chloe who squeezed her throat and changed the subject. “You’re back, Serena. Perfect timing. I’m about to debut as a singer soon, and Julian said I should stay here first so it’s convenient to discuss music. Come look at my schedule with me.” Julian cleared his throat lightly, looking a bit hesitant. “Serena, Chloe hasn’t fully recovered yet, so she’ll be staying here for a while. You need to put more effort in normally; her throat is delicate and she can’t drink cold water. You’ll guide her daily vocal practice, and also… pick out a few of your stage outfits that fit her and alter them for her.” Every word was like a knife stabbing into my heart. I was so incredulous that I let out a cold laugh. “What, you want me to be her assistant and vocal coach?” “Be good, Serena. The past is in the past, let’s not pursue it anymore. You’re the main vocalist of the group; I feel at ease leaving it to you…” He consciously stopped the rest of his words. On one side of the dining table, Chloe’s debut proposal was densely written, while on the floor lay some of my most cherished stage outfits, thrown about crookedly and cut into a complete mess. It turned out the so-called guidance was just trampling on everything I worked for. Many years ago, an investor merely called me a “singing girl,” and Julian flew into a rage, pulling all their investments that very night. “Serena is my wife. Whoever dares to belittle or bully her is slapping my face!” But now, he was going back on his word, making me an exclusive assistant for my enemy. What deep love, what vows. They were just that fragile. I would never believe them again. I forced back the wetness in my eyes. For the last thirty days, I had to endure everything… But who would have thought that on the very night she moved in, Chloe would throw a fit about having a nightmare. When she rushed barefoot into the master bedroom, Julian had just finished showering. “Julian, I can’t sleep alone.” She looked fragile and spoiled, getting directly into bed and burying herself into Julian’s bare-chested embrace. “The mattress in the guest room is so hard. I’m scared; I want you to sleep with me.” Hearing this, Julian’s handsome brows slightly furrowed. I knew his heart ached for her. It ached so much that, ignoring my presence, he wrapped his arms around Chloe in a soothing embrace. His gaze looked toward the left side of the double bed. “Serena, Chloe has been through trauma. You see… could you go stay in another room for now.” At that moment, I saw a fleeting provocation on Chloe’s face. I grabbed my pillow and got out of bed. “Since Miss Chloe likes it, I’ll give this bed to you.” Yes, not just this master bedroom, this bed, but also this man. I didn’t want any of them anymore.

Serena’s POV In the following days, with Julian’s company every night, Chloe quickly regained her vitality. When she was occasionally bored, she would invite a few socialite friends over for afternoon tea. “Chloe, Mr. Sterling definitely has you in his heart. During the half-year you were in the car accident, he went to the hospital every few days, and even made a wish that as long as you could stand up again, he would divorce Serena for you!” I happened to pass by and heard this sentence; my heart felt like it had been slit open by a knife. Julian wasn’t around, and Chloe couldn’t be bothered to pretend. She called out to me in a put-on tone. “Serena, why is the cup of tea you brewed so hot? It makes me sick just looking at it.” I was just about to take the cup away when someone grabbed my wrist. “Wait, what’s with your attitude? Our Chloe is about to become the most famous person at Starlight. Is pouring a glass of water too much for you? Stop acting so high and mighty!” Receiving Chloe’s glance, one of her friends scolded me fiercely. Before I could react, the other party grabbed my hair, and a full cup of hot water was instantly splashed over me. “Stop!” But the next second, a suddenly appearing male voice broke the standoff. Julian had just walked through the door and saw this scene. He rushed over with a cold face, shielding me behind him. “Who allowed you to bully her?” As his roar fell, Chloe, who had been watching with a smile, instantly reddened her eyes. She incredibly smoothly covered her throat. “Julian! It’s not like that!” “Don’t blame my friend. She did it for me. She deliberately added peanut powder to my water. My throat hurts so much, I can’t breathe.” Julian’s movements abruptly stopped. He looked at me with scrutiny, his gaze turning completely cold. Peanut powder? “Peanut powder? Serena, I clearly told you that Chloe is severely allergic to peanuts. It will affect her vocal cords!” How ridiculous. From protecting me to pushing me away, it only took one lie from Chloe. “I didn’t!” Water dripped from the tips of my hair, and my eyes ached. “She’s faking it.” But my explanation was drowned out by Chloe’s superb acting, coupled with the lies of her friends… Julian finally lost his temper, violently smashing the cup on the table. He stepped forward and scooped Chloe up in his arms, saying sternly. “Serena, stay at home and reflect on your actions!” But Chloe was clearly unsatisfied, crying pitifully. “I’m not going to the hospital. I’m about to record my debut single soon; what if my voice is ruined? Julian, just let me die in pain.” Chloe threw a tantrum and refused to go to the hospital, until Julian completely hardened his heart and coldly called for the bodyguards. “Take the madam to the underground recording studio!” The underground recording studio was the place Starlight Entertainment used to punish disobedient artists. The soundproofing was excellent, and the air conditioning was kept at the lowest setting year-round. I trembled and struggled under the bodyguards’ grip. “No! I don’t want to go!” But no matter how I cried and screamed, the figure carrying Chloe as he rushed out of the villa never looked back. For a full five hours, I was locked in the recording studio that was like an ice cellar. The bodyguards Julian arranged stood outside the door, coldly relaying orders through the microphone. “Mr. Sterling said that since the madam doesn’t know how to protect a singer’s throat, the madam is to sing Miss Chloe’s debut single a hundred times in here. Not one less, or you’re not allowed out.” That debut single was full of extremely high notes throughout; it was a highly vocal-taxing show-off piece to begin with. I was shivering all over from the cold. I tried pounding on the soundproof glass, but no one paid any attention. I knew that if I didn’t sing, Julian had plenty of ways to torture me, and he might even implicate the sisters in my group. I gripped the microphone tightly, singing over and over again in the sub-zero air conditioning. By the fiftieth time, my throat was already hurting as if it were tearing; By the eightieth time, every vocalization was accompanied by a strong taste of blood. Until the hundredth time ended, a mouthful of blood suddenly surged up in my throat, dyeing the microphone in front of me red. I slid weakly onto the cold floor, so numb I forgot what pain was, with only a single tear sliding past the corner of my eye. I closed my eyes, letting despair overdraw the last bit of love… “Serena, don’t sleep, wake up, okay?” As the familiar male voice pulled my consciousness back, I opened my eyes. What met my eyes was the crystal chandelier of the guest room. Julian, sitting by the bed, finally breathed a sigh of relief when he saw me wake up, his tone softening. “I know you’re angry, Serena, but you really did the wrong thing. No matter what, you shouldn’t joke about Chloe’s throat.” Facing his accusations the moment I woke up, I couldn’t help but sneer, only to find I couldn’t make a sound at all, only able to emit a hoarse, ugly gasp. “Do you believe her that much?” Julian frowned, looking a bit impatient. “Enough. I’ve already had someone handle Leo’s matter again; don’t make a fuss about it anymore. Right now, Chloe’s condition is the real problem.” “She’s been frightened, and her throat isn’t in good condition. The recording hasn’t been going smoothly. The producer said we must have a better original track to make her an instant hit.” I froze. So, he stayed by my side, hoping I’d wake up, just for Chloe?

Serena’s POV My hoarse voice was full of trembling. “Julian, can’t you see how I am?” I pointed to my neck wrapped in gauze. The doctor had applied cold compresses to relieve the torn vocal cords. My throat was ruined. As a main vocalist, my career was practically destroyed by his own hands. But Julian fell silent for a moment, still speaking ruthlessly. “The doctor said you’ll recover as long as you rest for a few months. But Chloe’s debut press conference is next week; she can’t wait!” “What if I say no?” I had no more tears left to shed. “Are you going to lock me in the recording studio again and make me sing until my voice is completely ruined?!” Julian closed his eyes. “Serena, bear with it. Once Chloe successfully debuts, and once I’ve repaid her for saving my life, we’ll be just like before.” He seemed to be making a promise, then placed a “Copyright Transfer Agreement” on the bedside table, his attitude returning to calm. “Remember, if you don’t sign, the resources for those sisters in your group will all be cut off tomorrow. That songbook filled with your original hard work will just be your apology to Chloe.” The guest room door slammed shut with a “bang”. Several bodyguards dutifully stood by the bed. “Madam, don’t delay. Mr. Sterling said you must sign this agreement and hand over the songbook.” That night, I was forced by the bodyguards and didn’t sleep a wink. My fingers trembling, I signed my name on the agreement, watching the bodyguards take away the original songbook I treasured like gold, my heart aching as if cut by a knife. Finally, at dawn, Chloe’s satisfied chuckle came from the master bedroom. “Julian, these songs are written so well. The moment I sang them, I felt they fit my voice perfectly.” Julian responded to her gently. “That’s great, be good, practice a bit more, I’ll stay with you.” I curled up little by little in the corner of the bed, listening to the songs I wrote for my brother being trampled on recklessly by my enemy, my eyes stinging so much I wanted to laugh. Once, when I was stuck writing songs and stayed up late, Julian would feel pained and blame himself for a long time, canceling all work to accompany me in finding inspiration. Now, he could actually use my painstakingly created work to make another woman happy. Julian, oh Julian, you actually said we’d be like before? How could it be the same? My love for you has clearly been used up… The next day, Chloe was in a great mood because she got the excellent songs, pulling Julian out to relax. I only found out they went to Paris to watch a fashion show through her daily updates shared online. The photo showed the night view of the Eiffel Tower, with Chloe being tightly held by the man’s slender fingers. The caption read. “The tenth year of liking you, wishes come true…” I stared at the photo, my heart so empty it felt like wind was blowing through it, yet unexpectedly, I no longer felt pain. I silently took off the wedding ring on my ring finger, then went to the walk-in closet, cut up all the haute couture dresses Julian had ever given me, and threw them into the trash can. After doing this, I turned on the computer, logged into the Ins account full of malicious comments, set a scheduled post for a month later, and wrote. “When this letter is posted, I will probably already be gone…” I wrote that planned “suicide note” for a very, very long time. Just as I typed the final period, the sound of a car parking suddenly rang out in the yard. Julian rushed into the villa with hurried steps. “Why did you destroy those dresses, Serena? Didn’t you like them the most? I personally flew to Milan to have them custom-made for you back then.” For some reason, his face was a bit pale, and a barely noticeable trace of panic showed in the depths of his eyes. I looked at him calmly, didn’t ask anything, and just snapped the laptop shut. “They’re dirty. I’ll wear something else from now on.” Hearing me mention “from now on,” Julian finally suppressed that bout of unease. “Alright, I’ll buy you new ones from now on.” The night Julian returned, there was a top-tier charity gala in our circle that required my attendance with him. In the evening, before the Rolls-Royce headed to the banquet venue, it made a trip to the styling salon first. Julian got out of the car to pick her up personally. Chloe was wearing a current-season haute couture dress worth millions and a rare pink diamond necklace, yet she stood there motionless. The man awkwardly opened the rear door. “Serena, you see…” But before he could finish speaking, I silently got out of the car and directly sat in the passenger seat next to the driver.

Serena’s POV The charity gala was held at a manor hotel. In the banquet hall on the first floor, light and shadow interlaced under the crystal chandelier. When Chloe appeared on Julian’s arm, she instantly became the center of attention. A group of socialites and artists from the circle consciously gathered around. “Chloe, Mr. Sterling is too good to you! You’re the first in the world to wear this haute couture!” “Yeah, I heard a few days ago abroad, to snatch this pink diamond necklace from a certain European financial tycoon, he stayed up negotiating with them for three nights straight and even got a stomach ulcer?” So, he suffered like that to get the jewelry for Chloe… Chatting about this, Chloe’s eyes even reddened. “Don’t mention it, my heart aches so much. But I just said I liked it, and he…” “He clearly loves you so much he doesn’t even want his life.” The few of them offered compliments all at once, and someone even sneered a glance at me. “Some people, wearing a bunch of out-of-season rags from five years ago, think they’ve changed their status. In reality, they’re not even fit to tie Chloe’s shoes!” I glanced at the dress on my body; it was something Julian had his assistant prepare casually. I pinched my fingers tightly. Halfway through the banquet, Chloe took a fancy to the global spokesperson position for an international top luxury brand. But it just so happened that the president of that brand was a notorious pervert. Holding a wine glass, his eyes roamed unscrupulously over the female artists. Chloe pouted, tugging at Julian’s sleeve. “Julian, I really want that endorsement. If I don’t get it, the momentum for my debut will be weakened by a lot.” With just one sentence, Julian privately sought out that Mr. Wallace himself. “Mr. Wallace, name your price. As long as you can give the endorsement to Chloe, you can pick any of Starlight’s resources.” The man opposite laughed with a pfft. “Mr. Sterling, you should know my rules. I don’t lack resources. It’s just that drinking alone has been too boring lately, and I happen to be short of a beauty to keep me company. How about this…” When I went to the restroom, I accidentally overheard their conversation at the corner. “Your wife is quite pleasing to my eyes. If she can keep me company for a few drinks alone, I’ll sign that endorsement right away.” Julian’s face sank. “I’ll think about it.” At that moment, I felt as if I had fallen into an ice cellar. What did he mean… he’ll think about it? That Mr. Wallace was a notorious playboy in the circle. Rumor had it he had a kink for spiking drinks; none of the female artists he set his sights on could escape unscathed. My body trembled faintly, and I turned to leave quickly. But not long after, in a corner of the banquet hall, I was grabbed by someone. “Serena, there’s something I want to discuss with you.” Julian paused, eagerly handing me a glass of wine he had mixed himself. “You’ve seen it too. Chloe’s condition has been much better lately. As long as we secure this endorsement, she can completely establish her footing, and she won’t bother us anymore in the future. It’s just… Mr. Wallace specifically asked for you to drink with him today.” “He said that as long as you’re willing to go to the VIP room and have a drink with him, the endorsement can be signed to Chloe. You see…” “Impossible!” I suppressed my trembling and shoved him away. “Julian, what do you take me for?!” Immense bitterness washed over my heart. I tried to suppress the surging emotions and drank the fruit wine in my hand in one gulp as if to vent. But just as I walked out of the banquet hall, my brain suddenly felt a hazy dizziness, and my whole body fell backward uncontrollably. There was something wrong with that glass of wine… As my consciousness blurred, I vaguely felt Julian catch me. His murmuring voice was stifled with reluctance. “I’m sorry, Serena, this is the last time. I promise it’s just having a drink, and I’ll be guarding the door for you.” The VIP room door was heavily shut, and I opened my eyes in the overly glaring lights. I was lying on a wide leather sofa. That pot-bellied Mr. Wallace was rubbing his hands, approaching with a face full of lecherous smiles. A chill instantly swept through my whole body. I panicked and curled up my body, but my weak covering was useless, and the feeling of powerlessness all over made me unable to get up. “Miss Serena, you are so beautiful, even more alluring than on the screen.” The man pounced on me with evil intentions, his thick, fleshy hands reaching to tear my skirt. “You pervert! Get away! I’m calling the police!” I screamed in despair. “Oh? Are you going to report me? Or your husband?” The man sneered. “This room was personally booked by Mr. Sterling. It’s nothing more than having you sleep with me in exchange for an endorsement. After all, I promised Julian I wouldn’t hurt you. But if you have other needs, I…” “Get away!” At that moment, I could no longer hold back my tears. I mustered all my strength to grab a bottle of wine on the table, smashed it hard against the corner, and held a sharp piece of glass against my own neck. “Don’t come over! If you come any closer, I’ll die right here! Then Starlight Entertainment and your brand will both be tied up in a wrongful death lawsuit!”

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On our fifth wedding anniversary, Nate Thorne locked me in an industrial freezer, forcing me to chisel out my discarded wedding ring from a one-ton block of solid ice with my bare hands. My hands were frozen purple, blood dripping down the chisel. “Nate, I really can’t chisel anymore…” He stood a few feet away, his expensive coat untouched by the cold. “Can’t chisel? When your parents drove drunk and killed my whole family, why didn’t they say they couldn’t hit the brakes?” Just then, his new girlfriend, Sera Bloom, walked in in high heels and kicked over a bucket of ice water, drenching me. “Nate, she won’t die, will she?” Nate Thorne didn’t even glance at me. “Don’t worry about her. She’s not going anywhere.” Then he wrapped an arm around Sera and turned to leave, his voice as gentle as if he were soothing a child: “Are you cold, Sera?” I lay in the biting ice water, watching him embrace her and walk away. This was the man I had loved for ten years. Five years ago, he knelt and put a ring on my finger, promising to treat me like a princess. Now, he was doting on someone else, and he wanted me dead.

Elara Vance pov On the fifth anniversary of our marriage, Nate Thorne forced me into an industrial freezer, demanding I use my bare hands to chisel out the wedding ring he’d thrown away, from a one-ton block of solid ice. The freezer room was bitterly cold, the white mist stinging my face like needles. I knelt on the freezing, biting floor, clutching a rusty chisel, repeatedly striking the massive ice block before me. My hands were already purple and swollen from the cold, blood streaming down the chisel, staining the pure white ice with shocking red. “Nate, I really… I can’t chisel anymore…” My voice was hoarse, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. Nate Thorne stood a few feet away, dressed in a perfectly tailored black designer coat. “Can’t chisel?” Nate sneered, “When your parents drove drunk, speeding, and smashed my mom, dad, and sister into bloody pieces, why didn’t they say they couldn’t hit the brakes?” “I’m sorry…” Desperate tears welled up, freezing on my eyelashes. I’d uttered those apologies millions of times over the past five years; it had become a habit. “But my parents have already died to atone for that accident. Isn’t that… isn’t that enough?” “Their deaths won’t bring my family back!” Nate Thorne suddenly kicked the ice block, shaking me to the ground. My palm scraped against sharp ice shards, instantly drawing blood. “Elara Vance, it’s only been five years, and you can’t take it anymore? When you begged me to marry you, didn’t you say you’d do anything for me? Now I’m just asking you to find a ring, and you’re feeling wronged?” He abruptly let go, pulling out a handkerchief with disgust to wipe his fingers, then gave a look to the bodyguard behind him: “Watch her. Keep chiseling. She’s not allowed out until she finds the ring.” The freezer door was left ajar, and bitter cold wind continuously poured in. I trembled all over from the pain, my stomach cramping, yet I was powerless to resist. When would this torment finally end…? I didn’t know. “Nate, didn’t we say we’d go to the concert? What’s going on here?” A sweet, delicate female voice suddenly came from the freezer doorway. I looked through my blurry vision and saw Sera Bloom standing there in a pure white down jacket, a soft red scarf wrapped around her neck. She was like the only warm presence in this icy world, her features pure, radiating an innocent charm. My breath hitched, my heart squeezed tight by an invisible hand. Sera did… she looked exactly like my twenty-two-year-old self. No wonder Nate chose to keep her by his side. Upon seeing Sera, the ice in Nate’s eyes instantly melted. He hurried over, naturally adjusted her scarf, his voice so tender it could drip honey: “Sera, can you wait a bit? Today is Elara’s and my wedding anniversary, and I’m giving her a gift.” Hearing this, Sera glanced at me dismissively, then tugged at Nate playfully: “Don’t waste time on someone not worth it, okay? It’s so cold in here, I’m going to catch a cold.” Nate fell silent. Clearly, he couldn’t bear for Sera to suffer the cold. So he took off his coat and draped it over Sera’s shoulders, gently changing the subject: “Good girl, are you hungry? I’ll take you to dinner right now.” With that, he took Sera’s hand, ready to leave. However, as she passed me, Sera deliberately ‘slipped,’ kicking over a bucket of ice water meant for the ice block, sending it pouring directly over me. The ice water splashed down on my head, and I shivered violently. The biting cold instantly pierced my bones, freezing my breath. “Ah!” Sera gasped, hiding in Nate’s arms. “I didn’t mean to! Nate, she won’t be hurt, will she?” Nate didn’t even glance at me: “Don’t worry about her. Evil ones always cling to life; she won’t die.” He took Sera’s hand, frowning slightly. “Your fingers got splashed with water.” Just a tiny bit of water on her fingertip, yet Nate treated it like a fragile object, tenderly blowing on it at his lips: “Cold? Let’s get back to the car and turn on the heat.” Sera leaned into his embrace, tilting her head to kiss his cheek: “Just hold me, and I won’t be cold.” Nate cupped her waist, deepening the kiss. I lay in the biting ice water, listening to the sounds of their lips intertwining, my heart aching as if torn by knives. “Sera…” In a moment of passion, Nate gently whispered Sera’s pet name. After the kiss, Nate half-embraced Sera, and without looking back, told the bodyguard: “Keep an eye on her while she chisels. If she doesn’t finish, keep her in the freezer overnight.” He paused, his voice as cold as ice, “This body of hers is the only thing left worth tormenting.” I watched him embrace Sera and walk away, my heart feeling torn in two.

Elara Vance pov The time when Nate and I were in love felt like a very distant memory now. On this day five years ago, we should have been the happiest newlyweds. Nate held me in his arms, kissing my forehead, saying: “Elara, I’ve finally married you. From now on, my life is yours.” But now, he held another woman in his arms, and he wanted my life. They grew up together, from kindergarten to college, always inseparable. Everyone knew how much Nate loved me. Late at night, I’d casually mention wanting cake from the west side of town, and he’d drive two hours in a snowstorm to buy it; When I had period cramps, he’d stay up all night rubbing my stomach; On the day he proposed, he knelt and put a ring on my finger, saying he’d pamper me like a little princess for the rest of my life. Until the day our wedding was supposed to happen, a car crash changed everything. My parents, rushing to attend the wedding, drove drunk and sped, killing Nate’s entire family. That day, a joyous occasion turned into a tragedy, and lovers became enemies. He lost his father, his mother, and his sister. From then on, he was the only one left of his family. His hatred was boundless. He used his connections to send my parents directly to prison. The last time I visited them, I was informed that my parents had taken their own lives. The two elders had already been tormented and emaciated in prison, clinging to their last breaths. They gently stroked my cheek, sobbing and comforting me: “Elara, your parents did wrong and deserve to atone for their sins, but you did nothing wrong. You must live well…” “Nate hates you, but he once loved you deeply… Please, your parents are begging you, no matter what happens next, you must hold on for five years. If after five years, you still can’t find hope to live, then… then come and join us.” That day, my parents died. And I became the one to continue atoning for Nate’s family. Five years, over 1,800 days and nights, I was tormented by Nate in various ways. Kneeling in the snow in winter, locked in an air-conditioner-less room in the scorching summer, forced to eat foods I was allergic to… Countless times I wanted to die, but because of that five-year promise, I was pulled back from hell again and again. Until three months ago, Sera appeared. She looked like me from back then, her demeanor also similar. She was a carefully chosen replacement for Nate. He gave all his love to this stand-in, and vented all his torment on me, the original. His methods of torture were already bizarre; I should have been used to them. But watching them kiss countless times, hearing him call her “Sera,” witnessing him dote on her just as he used to dote on me, I still felt a suffocating pain. Now, only seven days remained until the five-year mark. In the cold freezer, I touched the family photo hidden in my pocket, my fingertips already numb from the cold. The three people in the photo smiled brightly, a dream now out of reach. “Dad, Mom…” I whispered softly, my body slowly tilting towards the icy surface. “I’ll hold on for seven more days… After seven days… I’ll come find you…” When I woke up again, it was already noon the next day. I lay on the cold, hard bed in the guest room, my wet clothes having been casually changed by a maid. A high fever made my body burning hot, and my bones ached from being soaked in ice water. My hands were covered in chilblains and cracks, and the slightest movement caused piercing pain. I touched the family photo over my heart, remembering the five-year promise with my parents— Six days left. I had to listen to my parents and try to find hope to live.

Elara Vance pov I glanced at the calendar on the nightstand, seeing that special day circled in red. I remembered it was Nate Thorne’s birthday. Just one last try. I forced myself to endure the stinging pain in my hands and the dizziness from the high fever, working in the kitchen for a whole afternoon. My fingers, numb from frostbite, wouldn’t obey, and the whisk dropped to the floor several times. Each time, I picked it up, washed it clean, and continued. The cake batter burned twice, but I patiently started over. By evening, a delicate Black Forest cake was finally complete. It was Nate’s favorite flavor from before. I then dug out old photo albums, selecting a few pictures of us from our youth, and, enduring my trembling hands, made a handmade photo album. Finally, I gathered my courage and sent Nate a message: [Nate, I’m waiting for you at our usual spot. I have something I want to tell you.] After the message sent, I left and went to the riverside restaurant we used to frequent. I arrived half an hour early, placed the cake and gift on the table, and waited nervously. Nate was an hour late. When he pushed open the door, he was dressed in a well-tailored black suit, his eyes stern. Upon seeing the cake on the table, his expression instantly turned extremely grim. “Did you forget I don’t celebrate my birthday after my parents died?” He said coldly, walking forward and mercilessly knocking over the cake. The delicate Black Forest cake crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces, cream splattering onto my skirt, but I didn’t flinch: “I know… but after all these years, my parents have died to atone for their mistakes, and I’ve suffered so much torment…” My voice trembled, and I looked up at him, with a last sliver of hope, “Can we let each other go and start over?” “No!” Nate answered decisively, “The torment you’ve endured is far less than a tenth of what I experienced back then!” He leaned in close, hands braced on the table, his eyes brimming with immense hatred: “Elara Vance, because of your parents’ drunk driving, I watched my mom, dad, and sister die right in front of me. My loving grandfather saw their bodies and died of a brain hemorrhage from grief. Overnight, my family was destroyed!” He suddenly reached out and squeezed my chin, his nails almost digging into my flesh: “You want me to let it go? How can I? Every time I see your face, I remember how my parents died!” My tears rolled down, hitting his hand: “I’m sorry… I really…” “Nate!” A clear voice interrupted her. Sera Bloom, wearing a white sweater, ran in, holding a delicate glass jar filled with colorful paper cranes. “Happy Birthday!” Her smile was bright, and she handed the jar to Nate, seemingly oblivious to my disheveled state. “I folded them myself, a thousand of them. From now on, every time you take one out, you can make a wish to me.” Nate froze, his hand clutching my chin abruptly loosening. My heart felt like it was gripped by an invisible hand, and even my breaths tasted of blood. This scene was too familiar. When I was eighteen, I had also given Nate a jar of paper cranes just like this, saying the exact same words. “Sera…” Nate’s voice was a little hoarse, the hostility in his eyes instantly dissipating. He took the jar, his fingertips gently tracing the glass surface, his gaze distant. The next second, he suddenly pulled Sera into a hug, his voice so tender it could drip honey: “I love this gift. Thank you, Sera.” Sera shot me a triumphant glance, then hugged Nate back: “As long as you like it.” I sat there, my fingers stroking the neglected handmade photo album, my heart feeling like it was being sliced by a dull knife, instantly a bloody mess. I hadn’t expected that it wasn’t someone else who defeated me, but my past self. Nate would always hate the current me, but deeply loved the girl from his memories. Watching the two embrace intimately, I didn’t have the courage to watch anymore. I stood up, stumbled out of the restaurant, and drove into the night. The neon lights outside the car window blurred into a streak, and tears fell uncontrollably. I wiped them away, but new tears welled up, endless. I thought I had long since become numb, but it turned out I still felt pain. Just as the car was about to pass an intersection, a white figure suddenly rushed out from the roadside.

Elara Vance pov With a loud bang, the car slammed to a halt. I trembled all over, my mind blank. I looked up to see a figure thrown from the front of the car, landing heavily on the ground. It was… Sera? I scrambled out of the car, my legs weak, and ran over. Sure enough, I saw Sera lying on the ground, a striking pool of blood spreading beneath her. “Sera!” Nate Thorne’s agonizing shout came from behind. He had clearly followed me out. He rushed forward like a madman, pushing me aside and scooping up the unconscious Sera. “Elara Vance! Wasn’t it enough that your family killed all of mine? Why can’t you leave even her alone now?!” I was pushed to the ground, trembling all over: “It wasn’t me… she just rushed out suddenly…” Nate didn’t listen at all. He got into the bodyguard’s car that had just arrived, carrying Sera, only throwing back one instruction: “Take her to the hospital. Make her kneel outside the emergency room to atone!” Two bodyguards stepped forward, roughly grabbed me, and shoved me into another car. Outside the emergency room, Nate stood at the end of the corridor, his back tense. I was forced to stand on the cold floor, my vision blurring from the high fever, but I dared not move. “If anything happens to her, Elara Vance, I’ll make you pay with your life.” Nate’s voice was as cold as ice, every word like a knife piercing my heart. I lowered my head, tears silently hitting the ground. Time ticked by, minute by minute, until finally, the emergency room light went out. The doctor walked out, removing his mask, his expression grave: “Mr. Thorne, Ms. Bloom’s kidney was severely damaged in the accident, leading to a major hemorrhage. She urgently needs a kidney transplant, otherwise her life is in danger.” Nate’s face changed drastically: “Arrange for matching immediately! No matter the cost, she must be saved!” The doctor nodded: “Ms. Bloom has a rare RH-negative blood type. She needs a compatible donor, and the blood bank is currently short on blood, let alone a suitable kidney source.” Nate’s gaze shifted, fixing on me, kneeling on the ground, his voice chilling to the bone: “She’s RH-negative. Make her get tested for a match.” I looked up, my body trembling as I stared at him. He wanted me… to donate a kidney to Sera? I tried to stand up, trembling, but was instantly held down firmly by the bodyguards. Nate walked over, looking down at me, his eyes devoid of any warmth: “Elara Vance, this is what you owe me, and what you owe her. You have no right to refuse!” I trembled all over, tears blurring my vision. “Nate…” My voice choked, carrying a desperate plea, humble to the bone, “Are you really going to do this to me? Without a kidney, I…” “You won’t die.” Nate coldly cut me off, then turned to the doctor, “Arrange the surgery immediately! Take her blood, use her kidney!” I was forcibly dragged into the examination room. The matching results came quickly—a perfect match. Before I was pushed into the operating room, Nate, as my spouse, signed the surgical consent form without hesitation. I lay on the cold operating table, looking at the dazzling surgical lights above, the cold clinking of instruments echoing in my ears. The anesthesiologist walked over with a syringe. In a daze, I remembered the past. Fifteen-year-old Nate carrying me, feverish, running three blocks to the hospital, sweating profusely but refusing to put me down. Eighteen-year-old Nate, crying with concern because I accidentally cut my hand while chopping vegetables, and from then on, never letting me into the kitchen again. Twenty-year-old Nate, when I broke out in hives from a seafood allergy, stayed by my bedside all night, applying medicine. Once upon a time, if I felt even a tiny bit of discomfort, he would be heartbroken, his eyes red, wishing he could suffer in my place. “Elara, I’ll protect you from now on. I won’t let you suffer any harm.” But now, it was also him who personally sent me to the operating table, brutally stripping me of my organ. Cold liquid was pushed into my veins. I closed my eyes, and a tear slid from the corner of my eye, disappearing into my hair. After the surgery, I was wheeled back to the most secluded general ward. The anesthesia gradually wore off, and the incision in my abdomen hurt so much I trembled all over. I bit my lip hard to keep from crying out, cold sweat soaking my hospital gown. A nurse pushed a cart in to change my dressing, murmuring to her colleague as she worked: “That Mr. Thorne in the VIP room is so good to his fiancée. He stayed outside the operating room the whole time, never leaving. When Ms. Bloom woke up just now, he even personally fed her water.” “Right, such a handsome and rich man, yet so devoted. I really envy their relationship. Ms. Bloom is so fortunate.” Hearing these words, I could no longer hold back my tears. The ward door opened a crack, and Nate stood outside. For the next three days, I lay in the hospital bed. No one came to see me except the nurses. Until the afternoon of the fourth day, the vibration of my phone woke me from a groggy sleep. I struggled to reach my phone. The screen showed a message from an unknown number: [Your kidney is doing great~ From now on, not just your kidney, but everything you have—including Nate—will be mine!] Below was an attached photo: around Sera Bloom’s pale neck, there was a perfectly preserved necklace. That was… the last heirloom my parents left me! My blood instantly froze. I ripped off the IV needle from the back of my hand, not even bothering to wipe away the blood that spurted out. I clutched my bleeding abdomen, stumbling out of the ward and running towards the VIP ward area.

Elara Vance pov When I pushed the door open, Sera Bloom was leisurely leaning against the headboard, eating imported cherries. Seeing me enter, Sera’s lips curled into a triumphant smile: “Oh, isn’t this our kidney donor hero? What, here to visit your kidney?” I stared intently at the necklace around her neck, my voice trembling: “Give that back to me!” Sera gently stroked the necklace, smiling innocently yet maliciously: “Why should I give it to you? Nate said it looks beautiful on me, and that I look a lot like you used to, so he put it on me himself.” I felt cold all over. That was the only memento left by my parents. I reached out to grab it, but then stopped midway, afraid of damaging the necklace. I swallowed all my pride and pleaded: “This necklace is very important to me. I can trade it for something else, anything you want, anything I can give…” Sera tilted her head, feigning innocence as she thought: “There’s nothing I really want. The only thing I lack… is the status of Mrs. Thorne.” She chuckled softly, her eyes full of provocation, “How about you give that position to me?” I closed my eyes, my heart filled with despair, my voice hoarse beyond recognition: “Okay, as long as you give me the necklace back, I’ll divorce him immediately and let you become Mrs. Thorne!” The words had barely left my lips when the ward door was violently flung open. Nate Thorne stood at the doorway, holding a thermal container, his face terrifyingly grim: “Elara Vance, in your heart, my wife’s status is worth less than a dead object?!” I froze, my throat tight: “This is my parents’… last heirloom.” “Parents?” Nate sneered, hatred swirling in his eyes. He strode over, snatched the necklace from Sera’s neck, “I almost forgot, everything related to your parents, I want to destroy!” With that, he turned and walked towards the wide-open window, raising his hand to throw the necklace out! We were on the eighteenth floor! “No!” I screamed, throwing myself forward without a second thought. The moment I collided with Nate, the necklace flew from his hand. And I, due to inertia and extreme weakness, couldn’t stop my momentum. Half my body went out the window, and I plunged straight down— “Elara Vance!” Nate’s voice was almost a shriek. He lunged to grab me, but only caught empty air. The feeling of rapid descent lasted only a brief two seconds. Fortunately, I landed on the awning of the seventeenth-floor balcony. The immense impact felt like all my organs had shifted. The necklace shattered beside me, sharp fragments piercing my palm, making it bleed profusely. In a daze, I heard Nate’s frantic roars from upstairs: “Elara Vance! Elara Vance!” Followed by a flurry of footsteps. Not long after, Nate rushed to the seventeenth-floor balcony. He scrambled over the railing without a care for his appearance, knelt on the awning, and with trembling hands, lifted me into his arms. “Doctor! Call a doctor! Save her!” His voice held a panic and fear I’d never heard before, tears splattering onto my blood-stained face. Just like that fire many years ago, when he rushed into the flames to find me, he had screamed my name just as desperately. My consciousness was blurry. The abdominal wound, from the violent impact, had completely ripped open, and blood soaked Nate’s white shirt. A faint glimmer of hope ignited in my heart. Did he still worry about me? Was it… was it possible he still cared about me a little? When I woke up again, my whole body ached as if it had been crushed and reassembled. In the hospital room, a doctor was quietly conversing with Nate: “Mr. Thorne, your wife has multiple fractures and internal organ damage. Combined with her recent kidney removal surgery, her body has completely broken down. She must rest well, or she’ll suffer severe sequelae, or even…” “Give her the best medication.” Nate coldly cut off the doctor. “No matter what equipment, she must stay alive.” The doctor nodded and left. Nate turned, his eyes meeting mine. Our gazes locked. The concern in his eyes instantly replaced by coldness, as if his earlier panic had been my imagination. “Don’t think that just because I’m giving you the best medication, it means I still care about you.” He approached the bed, looking down at me, his voice as cruel as an ice-tempered blade: “I just want you to live longer so I can torment you better. If you die, who will I find to pay for the lives of my family of three?” “From the moment your parents killed my family, our ending was destined—” “Only endless mutual destruction!” I stared at him blankly, the last spark of light in my heart completely extinguished, tears silently falling. It turned out… I was just fooling myself. I slowly closed my eyes and whispered softly: “Okay, then I’ll die.” He frowned, leaning closer to me: “What did you just say?” I opened my mouth, about to repeat myself, when the ward door was suddenly pushed open. A nurse hurried in: “Mr. Thorne, Ms. Bloom needs to go for her check-up, but she can’t find you and is refusing to cooperate…” Nate’s brows furrowed. He turned and left, not even sparing me a single glance.

Elara Vance pov The moment the ward door closed, I pulled out the IV needle from the back of my hand. I endured the intense pain, ignored the doctor’s dissuasion, and forcibly checked myself out of the hospital. My time was running out. The five-year promise, only three days left. Since I had decided to die, I should take care of some arrangements beforehand. Nate Thorne… wouldn’t help me with my burial. I dragged my broken body to a photo studio and had a portrait taken for my memorial. Then I went to the suburbs, bought a plot in a cemetery, and chose a small urn. When I returned to the villa, I heard the pitter-patter of paws from the living room. A golden retriever joyfully rushed over, its tail wagging like a propeller, its wet nose affectionately nudging my leg. My eyes welled up. I crouched down and hugged it: “Pudding…” This was the dog Nate and I adopted together when we were eighteen. Back then, they had just moved in together. He held this puppy and smiled, saying: “Elara, from now on, we’re a family of three. We’ll grow old together.” But now, with home gone, love gone, growing old has become a luxury. Pudding brought a toy ball, looking at me expectantly. I stroked its head, tears falling onto its fur: “Good boy, Mom will make you something delicious.” I forced myself to cook meat porridge for Pudding. Watching it wolf down the food, my heart ached. In three days, I would leave this world. Pudding was getting old; I needed to find it a good home. After searching all day, I finally found a suitable adopter. A retired couple of teachers, they had a yard, had experience with golden retrievers, and were very experienced. I packed Pudding’s toys and dog food. Just as I was about to take Pudding out, the villa door suddenly opened. Sera Bloom walked in, followed by two bodyguards. Her gaze fell on Pudding, and a cold sneer curled her lips: “Elara Vance, Nate hates you. He’s destroyed almost everything you cherish. Now… there should only be this dog left, right?” I froze, instinctively shielding Pudding behind me: “What do you want?” “Nate hasn’t even said anything. You have no right to touch it!” My voice trembled. “This is our dog, we’ve had it for ten years…” Sera scoffed: “You’re too naive. He hates you, he hates everything connected to you!” With that, she clapped her hands, and the two bodyguards immediately rushed in, roughly grabbing Pudding’s collar! “No!” I lunged to stop them, but a bodyguard pushed me away. Pudding, startled, frantically struggled to protect its owner, but was hit by the bodyguard’s high-voltage stun baton, yelping and collapsing in convulsions. “Pudding!” I screamed hysterically. In the chaos, I accidentally bumped into Sera. Sera took the opportunity to fall backward, tumbling down the steps from the entryway, clutching her stomach and wailing. “What are you doing?!” Nate’s voice came from the doorway. Seeing this scene, he immediately rushed over, helped Sera up, and looked at me with icy eyes: “You pushed her? She just had a kidney transplant, are you trying to kill her?!” My face was covered in blood, and I trembled as I pointed to the dying Pudding: “She had her people kill Pudding first! It didn’t do anything wrong!” Nate froze for a moment, his gaze falling on Pudding’s body, his eyes showing a momentary flicker of distraction and pain. But quickly, he masked his emotions and said coldly: “It’s better dead.” “Any proof of our love shouldn’t remain.” Those words completely crushed me. I looked at him, heartbroken, and tears I could no longer hold back streamed down my face. Yes… it shouldn’t exist anymore. After all, even he himself no longer loved me.

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I signed the application to dissolve our Mate Bond, but Alpha Nathaniel thought it was a gift I wanted. After he signed, he pretended to dotingly pinch my cheek: “For our child, I’d give you anything you want.” He didn’t know our child had died the night he was with his first love. One hundred and one missed calls, met with his excuse: “The Pack has urgent business.” Later, when I received the Silver Moon Order, the highest honor among werewolves, he was gravely wounded, near death. His last wish was to see me. I brought my new Mate with me. Evelyn POV I had just finished watering the white roses on my windowsill when Judge Benjamin Hayes from the Werewolf Arbitration Council called. “Ms. Shaw, the application to dissolve the mate bond has been sent. Please note that both you and your mate need to sign it before the Council can proceed.” “Okay.” I hung up, my fingertips tracing the damp rose leaves. The doorbell rang. The delivery driver handed me a document envelope. I signed for it. Just as I closed the door, I heard footsteps outside again. Nathaniel was back. He walked over to me, stopped, and bent down, pressing his cheek against my flat stomach. “I’m home,” his voice was low, laced with fatigue and apology. “I’ve been so busy these past few days, I didn’t get a chance to reply to your messages.” I felt his warm breath, penetrating my thin loungewear, touching my skin. “How’s the baby? Why does the scent seem so faint?” I lowered my eyes, looking at the crown of his head. “Maybe it’s because I’ve been taking some medication to protect the baby recently. Nathaniel,” I said, using his full name. He looked up, his eyes confused. I hadn’t called him by his full name in a long time. I avoided his gaze. I turned, picked up the document envelope from the console table, tore open the seal, and took out the papers. I flipped to the last page, covering the terms with my palm, revealing only the signature line at the bottom. “This is the gift I want,” I said. “A gift after the baby is born.” Nathaniel paused, then chuckled. He took the pen, didn’t even glance at the content I’d covered, and smoothly signed his name, his movements swift and practiced. After signing, he handed the document and pen back to me, dotingly pinching my cheek. “It’s yours if I give it to you,” he chuckled softly. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll take my entire fortune?” I looked at his name on the paper and found it utterly laughable. I didn’t want his wealth or power. I wanted freedom. Just then, Nathaniel’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and glanced at it, the screen light illuminating his face. Caller ID: Isabella. His expression remained unchanged. He simply turned off the screen and put the phone back in his pocket. But he lost all patience for asking about the baby. “The Pack has some urgent business,” he stood up, adjusting his shirt cuffs. “I need to go handle it.” He headed for the door, then stopped after two steps, as if suddenly remembering something. “Oh, right, why did you call me so many times the other day?” I looked up at him. “It’s nothing.” Nathaniel didn’t ask further, turned, and left. I was left alone in the living room. I looked down at the application to dissolve the mate bond in my hand. Nathaniel’s signature, sharp and decisive, just like him. Nothing? How could it be nothing? Five days ago, I went out to buy some things for the baby. On the way back, a sharp pain suddenly pierced my mind. Then my lower abdomen. Waves of cramping pain racked me, leaving me unable to speak. I was losing the baby. My hands trembling, I dialed Nathaniel’s number. I just wanted him to see our child one last time. First call, unanswered. Second call, unanswered. Tenth call. Fiftieth call. One hundred and first call. On the other end, there was always only the automated voicemail prompt. Finally, his phone was off. I eventually reached the Pack’s physician, but she just glanced at me when she arrived and declared the baby was gone. Then, she looked at me with pity. I looked into her eyes and suddenly understood. That sudden, excruciating pain wasn’t for any other reason – it was because my mate had betrayed me. While he was ignoring all my calls, he was with Isabella, who had just returned from abroad, on a mountaintop outside the city, having sex under a rare supermoon. Isabella later posted photos on her TikTok account. In the photo, she leaned on Nathaniel’s shoulder, smiling sweetly. The caption read: “May the Moongoddess bless us forever.” Four years of marriage, I had always believed that even if Nathaniel didn’t love me, he at least respected me as his Luna. Only then did I see the truth. I was just Isabella’s substitute. A shadow used to maintain the Pack alliance and superficial stability after his fated mate left the country. Now, the real person was back. It was time for this substitute to leave the stage. I picked up the signed application and gently traced the still-damp ink on the paper.

Evelyn POV Nathaniel left, probably to find Isabella. I picked up my phone and called Judge Benjamin Hayes back. “He signed it.” The judge on the other end was visibly surprised before regaining his professional composure. “That fast?” He paused. “Without expedited processing, it usually takes two months to complete all arbitration procedures and receive a final ruling. Regarding the division of joint assets and related compensation, we can begin drafting the detailed plan whenever you’re ready.” “No need,” I said. “I’m giving up all property. I just want to dissolve the mate bond and leave the Silver Crest Pack.” “Ms. Shaw, are you sure? According to the laws set by the Moongoddess, the unfaithful mate is required to compensate the other. Therefore, after dissolving the mate bond, you are entitled to at least…” “I’m sure,” I interrupted him. “Just follow the process, Judge Hayes.” “Alright.” That night, Nathaniel came home very late. The next morning, he rushed back early. “There’s an urgent Pack meeting today, so I can’t go with you to your prenatal check-up,” his voice was apologetic. “I brought you breakfast. I’ll bring you your favorite honey-glazed ribs tonight.” I almost laughed out loud. Prenatal check-up? The baby was gone; what check-ups did I need? The day I miscarried, the Pack physician had advised bed rest, but I only stayed at the infirmary for less than twenty-four hours before leaving. Nathaniel still didn’t know about it. Had he truly not noticed, or did he simply not care about me? I no longer cared. I just nodded. Nathaniel changed into a suit, tied his tie, and examined himself in the mirror. Once satisfied with his appearance, he habitually pointed to his cheek, signaling for me to come over. For four years of marriage, I had kissed his cheek every day before he left. I didn’t move. “You’re going to be late,” I said. Nathaniel’s movements stilled. He turned to look at me, shaking his head with a small, knowing smile, assuming I was still angry about him not coming home last night. “Then I’m off.” I also went back to my room, changed, and drove to the Werewolf Academy in the state capital. It was my alma mater, a place I had left for four years. Everything was just as I remembered, yet somehow different. When I arrived, a combat demonstration had just finished in the main training field. I walked against the flow of people, hearing the excited and admiring discussions of the cadets around me. “Instructor Reed is truly amazing, no wonder he’s the youngest chief instructor at the academy.” “Yeah, he’s even stronger in person than in rumors. His aura is incredible, that powerful demeanor is so captivating.” “During the Q&A, he demonstrated a counter-technique I’d never seen. I need to go practice it right away.” I walked into the gradually emptying training field and immediately spotted the man surrounded by cadets and assistant instructors in the center of the arena. Jonathan. The Alpha of the Moonclaw Pack, an elite instructor at the Werewolf Academy. And my senior. He wore a simple training uniform, patiently answering the last cadet’s question. Compared to his student days, he had shed some of his youthful awkwardness, gaining the calm and composure of a mature, strong Alpha. I had intended to leave and contact him later. As I turned, Jonathan looked up, his gaze piercing through the crowd, finding me precisely. The surprise in his eyes was unmistakable. He apologized to the surrounding cadets and colleagues, squeezed through the crowd, and quickly walked toward me. “Evelyn? Is that really you?” “Jonathan,” I smiled. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, I got straight to the point. “Jonathan, I’d like to return to the academy as an instructor.” Jonathan froze, immense joy flooding his eyes. “Of course, you can! The Principal will be overjoyed to know you’re willing to come back.” He looked at me, his eyes filled with undisguised regret and concern. “You were the most talented cadet the academy had ever seen. Everyone thought you’d become a top-tier elite warrior. Who knew your family would force you to give up the offer to stay on staff for a Pack alliance marriage, making you abandon your passion for combat and training?” His tone was indignant, feeling indignant on my behalf. “And now?” he asked, a hint of worry in his voice. “Your mate… will he agree?” “I’ve applied to the Arbitration Council to dissolve the mate bond,” I said. “The initial application has been approved. But it will take another two months to complete the arbitration process before I can officially report to the academy.” “Good,” Jonathan smiled. “I’ll wait for you.”

Evelyn POV A soft chuckle interrupted us. Nathaniel had appeared at the training field entrance, I hadn’t even noticed. He walked slowly toward us, still in his expensive suit, but the warmth from this morning was gone from his face. His expression was grim, his gaze fixed on Jonathan. It was the first time I’d seen such unconcealed jealousy and possessiveness in his eyes. I was puzzled. His true bond was with Isabella, so why bother pretending to care in front of me? “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Nathaniel walked over and stood beside me, subtly shifting his body to stand between me and Jonathan. “This is my senior, Jonathan, the chief instructor at the Werewolf Academy,” I introduced. Then, I gestured to Nathaniel, my voice flat, “And this is my mate, Alpha Nathaniel Lawson of the Silver Crest Pack.” The two men shook hands, their expressions outwardly normal. But I saw the distinct red marks left on the back of their hands when they released their grip. “So, Instructor Reed, it’s an honor,” Nathaniel said with a tight-lipped smile. “I never realized my Luna and Instructor Reed were such good friends, making a special visit to her alma mater.” “Alpha Lawson, you’re too kind. Evelyn is a once-in-a-century talent at our academy. We are friends,” Jonathan replied, neither servile nor arrogant, his gaze open and direct. “Jonathan, I should go now. I’ll contact you later.” The atmosphere felt off, so I proactively bid Jonathan farewell. Nathaniel and I walked side by side, not looking back. I didn’t want to cause him trouble, so I didn’t see the look of disappointment and concern in Jonathan’s eyes as he turned away. As we walked out of the training field, Nathaniel’s figure was bathed in sunlight, yet the coldness emanating from him hadn’t dissipated. “What are you doing here?” Nathaniel demanded coldly. “Just came back to the academy to look around,” I replied dismissively, then countered, “What about you? Was your urgent meeting held at the Werewolf Academy?” Nathaniel didn’t answer, his face growing even darker. Reaching the parking lot, I instinctively headed for the passenger seat. Nathaniel pressed the unlock button, and I was about to open the car door— The window slowly lowered, revealing a delicate and striking face. It was Isabella. She was sitting in the passenger seat of that very car. My hand froze on the door handle. “Just met a friend, catching up on old times,” Nathaniel said, his expression unchanged. My gaze fell on the paper bag in his hand. It was from a famous red velvet cake shop behind the academy. I remembered, Isabella loved that cake. His so-called urgent meeting, it turned out, was a four-hour drive to revisit old haunts with his ex-girlfriend and reminisce about their college romance. Isabella, from the passenger seat, greeted me familiarly, her tone intimate, yet her posture subtly superior. “Evelyn, what a coincidence, are you here to visit the academy too?” She showed no intention of moving, instead watching me with an amused expression, a hint of undetectable challenge in her eyes. I silently withdrew my hand, opened the back door, and got in. Throughout the drive, Isabella chattered and laughed with Nathaniel as if I weren’t there, reminiscing about their college days. She even took a piece of cake from the bag and offered it to Nathaniel’s mouth. “Ah—” she cooed sweetly. Nathaniel instinctively opened his mouth and took a bite. “Oops, you bit my hand,” Isabella feigned annoyance, pulling her hand back, but her eyes were full of flirtatious charm. Nathaniel glanced in the rearview mirror, seeing my expressionless face in the back seat. I sat quietly leaning against the window, my gaze fixed on the rapidly receding street outside, my thoughts miles away. I was even wondering which direction the first training session after my return should be set. My lack of reaction frustrated Isabella’s provocation, leaving her to grudgingly give up. She said to Nathaniel, with thinly veiled sarcasm, “Your mate has such a good temperament, so sensible.” Nathaniel let out a soft chuckle, but his grip on the steering wheel tightened. “She’s very obedient.”

Evelyn POV Back at the main residence in the Pack territory. “Isabella and I have a get-together tonight,” Nathaniel said, rolling down the car window as I walked away. “You’re pregnant, so that kind of event isn’t suitable for you. Get some rest early.” I didn’t turn around, just waved my hand and walked into the house. In the middle of the night, an unknown number called. “Nathaniel is drunk, come pick him up.” It was Isabella’s voice. She hung up immediately, then sent an address: an exclusive private club downtown. I decided to go. I also wanted to see what other tricks Isabella had up her sleeve. I changed my clothes, didn’t put on any makeup, and drove there with a bare face. When I arrived, several servers were gathered outside the private booth, seemingly hesitant about going in. Through the half-open door, I saw the booth was a blaze of neon lights, filled with loud chatter. Nathaniel and Isabella sat on a sofa in the center of the crowd, with everyone around them cheering them on. They were playing a mouth-to-mouth card game, the atmosphere intimate and exhilarating. Soon, the card reached Isabella and Nathaniel. The crowd began to whistle and cheer loudly. Isabella held the card between her lips, looking at Nathaniel with a hazy gaze, slowly leaning in. Closer, even closer. The card fluttered to the ground. Their lips met. The cheers grew even louder, threatening to lift the roof off the place. Nathaniel didn’t push her away. Under the influence of alcohol, he even reached out, cupping the back of Isabella’s head, deepening the kiss. His eyes were closed, his expression lost in a wild intoxication I had never witnessed before. Watching him from outside the door, my heart turned utterly cold. I was about to leave silently when Isabella suddenly rushed out, as if she had known I was there all along. “Did you see?” Isabella stood before me, a triumphant smile on her face. “Nathaniel has always loved me. He only married you because your face somewhat resembled mine, and your personality was more docile and easier to control.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a low, venomous whisper. “I advise you to get rid of the baby and get out early. Otherwise, when he tires of you, you’ll just be thrown out, left with nothing.” I asked, my face devoid of emotion, “Does Nathaniel know that his ‘fated mate,’ whom he’s held in his heart for years, is such a two-faced person?” With that, I ignored Isabella’s stunned and furious expression, walked past her, and entered the private booth. The booth instantly fell silent. Everyone looked at me, the sudden intruder, with varying expressions. I walked straight to Nathaniel, oblivious to the stares, and helped up the man who was utterly drunk and unconscious. His body was heavy, most of his weight pressing against me. I supported him, turned to leave, and didn’t spare anyone another glance. Back in the car, I dumped Nathaniel into the passenger seat. He leaned against the seat back, mumbling Isabella’s name incoherently. “Isabella… don’t go…” I gripped the steering wheel, started the car, and looked at the dark road ahead. “Just a little longer.” Just a little longer, and I’d be free. When Nathaniel woke up, his head was splitting, with only a vague memory of last night. He only remembered drinking a lot, and then I seemed to have picked him up. “I didn’t do anything out of line yesterday, did I?” he asked, rubbing his temples, a hint of nervousness in his voice. I was changing in the walk-in closet and simply shook my head calmly. “No, you just fell asleep after getting drunk.” I finished changing, ready to leave. “Where are you going?” Nathaniel grabbed my hand. My coldness seemed to irritate him. “To see Jonathan.” Nathaniel’s face immediately darkened. “Stay away from him,” he warned. “Men understand men best; the way he looks at you isn’t right.” I found it laughable and retorted, “You look at Isabella the same way.” Nathaniel was choked by my words, momentarily speechless. He impatiently let go of my hand, but his tone remained firm. “I didn’t bring you honey-glazed ribs yesterday, but I prepared something else for you…” He didn’t finish his sentence. A document slid out from a crack in the drawer he had just opened, fluttering down to his feet. It was the acknowledgment of receipt for the mate bond dissolution application from the Werewolf Arbitration Council.

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It was the company’s annual gala, and Ethan poured red wine over my head. “Dressed like that, are you here for work or to pick up clients?” I froze, the wine dripping down my face. The inner thoughts of my colleagues buzzed in my mind— 【Ethan spent two hours at the upscale mall last night, just to pick out that dress for her.】 【He’s just jealous, afraid other guys will stare at her. He actually thinks she looks stunning.】 【He’s so stubborn, deeply in love but won’t say it. It’s driving me crazy.】 But then Ethan slapped me across the face. “What’s with that expression? If you don’t like it, get lost.” That slap shattered all my illusions. Later, I really did get lost. I deleted all his contacts. So how did he end up in the hospital, drunk? When the red wine poured down, my first reaction was to close my eyes. Ethan stood in front of me, his wine glass empty. “Lily, I’m talking to you.” His voice was low, but icy. Hundreds of people were at the gala, and no one dared to make a sound. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. The wine stung, making my eyes red and painful. The voices in my head started again. 【Ethan walked around Nordstrom twice last night, just to pick out that dress for you. Of course he’s mad you didn’t wear it, but he loves you!】 That was Mark, Ethan’s assistant. 【Lily, just calm him down! Ethan totally loves you—!】Chloe from Marketing. 【They’re perfect together, isn’t that how it always goes in novels? The heroine just endures a little and gets her happy ending.】Mia from reception. I had listened to these voices for three years, and believed them for three years. Ethan slammed his glass on the table. “Are you mute?” I looked up at him. “Nothing to say.” He narrowed his eyes, not used to me talking back. “You dressed like that, isn’t it just for show?” His voice rose. “I sent a dress to your desk, and you didn’t wear it. You had to wear your own. Are you intentionally trying to defy me?” “I didn’t like it.” It was a white backless dress with a neckline plunging to the chest. I didn’t like it. He wouldn’t ask me why. He’d just think I was challenging him. He raised his hand, and smack. My left cheek burned with pain. The air froze. 【Holy crap… he actually hit her?】 【He’s probably shocked himself. His hand is shaking.】 I looked up. Ethan’s face paled for a second, then he sneered. “You brought this on yourself. If you don’t like it, get lost.” He turned and left. The door closed. I stood there, my mind blank. All my colleagues were staring at me. No one dared to speak. But they were so loud. 【Even though it landed on the heroine’s face, Ethan’s heart is aching. You should see how scared he looks.】 【Lily, do something! Go after Ethan, tell him you’re sorry, and he’ll soften up!】 I ignored everyone, took off my heels, and stepped into the elevator. I leaned against the wall, looking at my disheveled reflection in the mirror. Lily, it’s been three years. What are you still holding on to? After a moment of thought, I pulled out my phone, opened my contacts, and found “Ethan Miller.” My finger hovered over the delete button. Three seconds later, I pressed it. “Confirm delete.” The elevator reached the first floor. I walked out and pushed open the building’s glass doors. It was an early March rain. My stockings were soaked, making my toes numb with cold. My heart slowly turned cold too.

That night, I checked into a hotel room. The next morning, I started looking for a new place to live. I couldn’t stay in my old rental anymore; he had found it for me. My resignation process was quick. I had minored in psychology in college and later got my counseling license. I originally joined Ethan’s company in an administrative role because he said, “I just need you close by.” I submitted a few resumes on job sites and received an interview invitation from a place called “Harbor Wellness Clinic.” At the same time, I rented a new apartment on the east side of the city, signing a one-year lease. I still had some things left in the old apartment. Three days later, I went to my old place. Pushing open the hallway door, I saw someone standing by the stairs. It was Ethan. He wore a black hoodie, his hair messy, and he was holding a paper bag. The dark circles under his eyes were prominent, as if he hadn’t slept for days. He froze when he saw me, then hurried over. “Where the hell have you been?” I leaned against the door, unmoving. What he thought and what he said were completely different. 【I’ve been waiting here for three days… You didn’t answer my calls, didn’t reply to my messages… What do you want… I was really worried about you…】 “You’ve been waiting here for three days?” I asked. “Mind your business,” he snapped. “Excuse me, I need to go in and get my things,” I said. “You moved out?” “Yeah.” His face paled for a moment, and his inner thoughts exploded: 【She moved out… When did that happen… How did I not know…】 “Lily.” His voice softened. “I was drunk that day.” Always the same excuse. “Here.” He handed me the paper bag. I didn’t take it, so he shoved it into my hand. Inside the bag was a small box. It held a thin silver bracelet with a tiny star charm. But the craftsmanship was crude. “It’s a cheap trinket, only thirty bucks,” Ethan said, stuffing his hands into his pockets and turning his head away from me. “Just your style.” His inner thoughts: 【I went to seven stores all over the city to find this star design. You said you liked stars last time. Please take it… Don’t refuse me…】 “I don’t want it.” I put the box back in the paper bag and handed it back. Ethan’s face stiffened. “What do you mean?” “I don’t want your stuff.” “Lily!” His voice rose. “I personally brought it to you. What more do you want?” 【Would it kill you to say something nice? Don’t look at me like that…】 I looked at him. “Ethan, we’re done.” He stared at me for five seconds, then scoffed. “Fine.” He pulled out his phone and showed me a picture. It was from Sophia’s Ins feed. Sophia, the daughter of a long-time family friend, was staying at his place. In the picture, she was holding a Hermès bag, with the caption, “Ethan got this for me, I love it so much!” “Look at her,” Ethan said. “I buy Sophia a bag, and she says thank you. I run all over town for you to buy a bracelet, and you say you don’t want it. Lily, are you sick in the head?” I smiled. “Yes, I am. So don’t come looking for me anymore.” I turned to open the door. “Lily!” The door closed. I leaned against the door. He’d shoved the paper bag onto the doorknob, and he hadn’t taken it with him. After gathering the last few items, I locked the door and went downstairs. The paper bag lay on the ground. I didn’t even glance at it. I left the keys with the landlord and didn’t look back.

On Monday, I reported to Harbor Wellness Clinic. Daniel arranged for me to greet clients, organize files, and help out at the community outreach counseling center every Wednesday afternoon. “It’s a busy, sometimes chaotic environment there. Will you be okay?” He handed me a glass of warm water. “I’ll be fine.” “Call me anytime if you can’t handle a situation. Conveniently, I have a lecture in the next classroom on Wednesday afternoon, so we can leave together afterward.” I nodded. Wednesday afternoon, I went to the community activity center on the east side of the city. The counseling center was set up in a large classroom with four tables. I arrived early and took the innermost one. At four in the afternoon, the door opened. Ethan and Sophia walked in. My pen paused. Ethan saw me too. His steps faltered for half a second, and he frowned. Sophia was arm-in-arm with him, wearing a floral dress. She looked surprised to see me. “Lily? What are you doing here?” “I work here.” “You quit?” Ethan asked, his tone stiff. “Yes.” “You’re working as a therapist?” He scanned the classroom. “Does your family really need you to make such a small amount of money?” I looked at him. “What I do is none of your business.” “None of my business?” Ethan took a step forward, lowering his voice. “Lily, who hired you to the company in the first place? Now you’re out here embarrassing yourself. You’re dragging my family’s name through the mud.” 【I was clearly heartbroken to see you working here… Why don’t you understand…】 I heard his inner thoughts. Sophia released Ethan’s arm and pulled a small box from her bag. “Lily, this is for you.” Sophia opened the box, revealing a star bracelet—the one Ethan had given me that I hadn’t taken. He’d picked it up again for some reason. “Ethan said he bought this for me, but I know he spent a long time finding it, and it was originally meant for you. I’m returning it.” She extended the bracelet to me, but I didn’t move. Sophia’s hand froze in mid-air, a flicker of awkwardness on her face. She bit her lip and extended it another inch. I took a step back. Just then, her fingers loosened— The bracelet slipped from her palm and hit the floor. Clink. The star charm cracked, the chain broke, and tiny loose diamonds scattered everywhere. Sophia gasped, her eyes instantly welling up. “Lily… I just wanted to return your stuff… You could have just said you didn’t want it. Why did you push my hand…” I didn’t even bother to explain. Ethan rushed over, looked down at the broken bracelet on the floor, then looked up at me. “Lily, what are you doing? She was kind enough to return your things, and you treat her like this?” His inner thoughts: 【How did she become like this… Does she really hate me so much that she’d smash the bracelet…?】 Sophia knelt to pick up the pieces, tears splashing onto the floor. Ethan bent down to help her. After picking them up, he stood, clutching the few fragments, his knuckles white. “Lily, you’ve gone too far.” He looked at me. “Apologize to her.” “I didn’t do anything. Why should I apologize?” “Are you still going to deny it?” His voice suddenly rose. “Apologize!” “I won’t apologize.” A crowd had gathered around us. Seeing I wouldn’t budge, Ethan walked up to me and violently flipped over the table. Crash! Files scattered everywhere. “I told you to apologize, didn’t you hear me?” I knelt to pick up the files. He grabbed my wrist, his grip so strong my bones creaked. “Lily, if you keep being so unreasonable, do you believe I’ll…” He paused. I looked up, meeting his eyes. “Believe you’ll what?” “Believe I’ll leave you.” His inner thoughts suddenly exploded at that moment: 【I didn’t mean it like that… I didn’t want to say that… Don’t go…】 I looked at him and suddenly laughed. “Ethan, do you think I can’t live without you? Well, I’m telling you now: I’m the one who doesn’t want you anymore.”

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The bridal shop called, saying my fiancé had settled the full payment for the dress. But the consultant brought out a maternity gown. The bride on the order wasn’t me, and the wedding date wasn’t ours. Yet, the signature on the payment? My fiancé’s name, Alex Caldwell. I followed the address the consultant gave me and found a photography studio. Pushing aside the curtain, I saw a young woman, cradling her back, changing her shoes. She looked at me, frowned, and asked, “Who are you?” I handed her the bridal shop receipt, asking softly, “The groom’s number for final payment confirmation? Can you give it to me?” She smiled sweetly and rattled off my husband’s phone number. The woman cradled her back, her face still covered in bridal makeup, her lips a shimmering pink. “Are you new here?” She swept her eyes over me, her gaze lingering on the ring on my left hand. That ring? Alex gave it to me on our fifth wedding anniversary, putting it on my finger himself. He swore I was the only woman he’d ever give it to. The consultant stood by the door, too awkward to speak. The woman suddenly laughed. “Oh, excuse me. My fiancé is very thoughtful; he handles all the wedding dress arrangements.” I crumpled the receipt, then slowly smoothed it out. “What’s your fiancé’s name?” She raised an eyebrow, as if I’d said something offensive. “Alex Caldwell.” The photographer beside them coughed. “Cheryl, take it easy. Stress isn’t good for the baby.” Cheryl. Cheryl Greene. She held a pair of satin white shoes, her feet slightly swollen, her belly visibly protruding. She wasn’t newly pregnant. I stared at her stomach, a metallic taste burning in my throat. Just three months ago, Alex held me, promising that once his company project stabilized, we’d have the wedding ceremony we never had. He said he’d make up for the one he owed me. Turns out, he gave that ceremony to someone else. Cheryl lifted a hand to protect her belly, her tone turning cold. “Who exactly are you? If you don’t tell me, I’ll call my fiancé over.” “Call him.” I pushed the receipt back towards her. “Call him now.” An impatient flicker crossed her eyes, and she dialed a number right in front of me. The phone rang twice. A familiar voice came through the receiver. “Cheryl, my love, what’s wrong? Doesn’t the dress fit?” That ‘Cheryl, my love’ shattered the last sliver of hope I clung to. Cheryl looked at me triumphantly. “Some woman came with a receipt asking for your number. She’s being weird.” There was a pause on the other end. “What does she look like?” Cheryl’s smile deepened. “Thin, wearing a wedding ring, looks pretty rude.” Alex’s breathing hitched. “Tell her not to leave. I’m on my way.” After hanging up, Cheryl put her phone back in her bag, leaning back in her chair like a victor. “My fiancé will be here any minute. If you’re trying to con money out of us, you might as well give up now.” The photographer echoed her. “People these days, they see a pregnant woman dressed nicely and think they can pull a scam.” “A pregnant woman dressed nicely” – that phrase made me look at her wedding dress. The hem was embroidered with delicate pearls, and the waistline was very loose. I’d seen the regular version in the same store once. The price tag read eighty-eight thousand. Back then, Alex frowned, saying there was no rush for a wedding, as the company needed to circulate funds. I smiled and said it was fine. But now, he’s used our joint savings to buy a maternity wedding dress for another woman. Cheryl suddenly touched her belly. “Don’t worry, baby, Daddy’s coming soon.” Urgent footsteps sounded at the door. When Alex pushed through, his tie was crooked, and sweat beaded on his forehead. His face went white the moment his gaze met mine. Cheryl immediately stood up, sounding wronged. “Alex, she scared me.” Alex didn’t look at her. Nor did he walk towards me. He stood frozen in the middle, as if pinned by two pairs of eyes. I held up the receipt, my voice hoarse. “Alex Caldwell, explain yourself.” Cheryl froze. “You two know each other?” Alex reached out to grab me. “Southbrook, let’s talk outside.” Cheryl’s face changed. She clutched Alex’s sleeve, her voice trembling. “Who is Southbrook?” Alex hadn’t answered when another person walked into the photography studio. My mother-in-law, Brenda Caldwell, held a food container, her smile freezing on her face. “Cheryl, honey, Mom made you some soup…” The food container hit the doorframe with a dull thud.

That one word, ‘Mom,’ ripped the fragile peace of the studio wide open. Cheryl looked from Brenda to me, her sweet smile slowly crumbling. “Mom?” She repeated the word, her eyes hardening. “You call her Southbrook, so who am I?” Brenda reacted fastest. She placed the food container on the table and quickly walked to Cheryl’s side. “Cheryl, honey, don’t get upset. You’re carrying a Caldwell baby.” Hearing “baby,” Alex closed his eyes. I heard myself let out a laugh. It was soft, but it made everyone stiffen. Brenda glared at me. “What’s so funny? You’ve been married five years and haven’t had a single child! Are you going to stop Alex from having a family now?” She used to only say such things indirectly at the dinner table. Now, with a pregnant woman to back her up, she finally dropped the pretense of decency. Cheryl’s expression softened slightly, and she placed her hand back on her belly. “So, you’re his ex-wife?” Ex-wife. I looked at Alex. “Did you tell her we were divorced?” Alex’s lips moved. “Southbrook, I can explain.” “Explain what?” Brenda cut in. “Explain that you’re clinging to the position of Mrs. Caldwell? Explain that you have no family backing you up, and we Caldwells have been generous enough?” The photographer and makeup artist exchanged glances, and someone at the door subtly raised a phone. Alex finally said in a low voice: “No pictures.” Cheryl, hearing that “ex-wife” hadn’t been denied, regained her confidence. She lifted her chin. “Ms. Southbrook, since you two have no feelings left, don’t keep bothering Alex.” “I’m pregnant with his child, and the wedding is set.” “One should always have some decency.” Decency. Alex and I started from nothing, living in a cramped apartment. The deposit for his first office? I scraped it together by selling the jade bracelet my mother left me. He drank himself to a stomach ulcer during business dinners, and I spent three nights sleeping in the hospital hallway. When the Caldwells needed a down payment for a house, Brenda cried about wanting a place with an elevator. I transferred my pre-marital savings to him. Now they stood before me, lecturing me on decency. The edge of the receipt cut into my palm. I asked Alex: “Are we divorced?” Alex was silent. Brenda impatiently waved her hand. “It’s going to happen eventually. Do you have to make a scene and embarrass everyone?” “Southbrook, a woman over thirty shouldn’t make herself look pathetic.” Cheryl gently touched the hem of her wedding dress. “This dress is Alex’s promise to me and our baby.” She looked at me, her voice soft as a blade. “If you like it, once I’ve worn it, I can give it to you as a souvenir.” Someone around us gasped softly. Alex reprimanded her: “Cheryl!” But the reprimand was too soft, without any real weight. My phone suddenly vibrated. The bridal shop manager sent a message, saying the order information needed final confirmation and had sent me the last four digits of the payment card and a photo of the signed receipt. On the photo, the signature was Alex Caldwell. But the payment card? It was our joint family card, under my name. The money in that card was compensation from my father’s property sale, left to me. Alex had said it was better to put it together for investment, for higher returns. I turned my phone screen towards him. “You used my money to buy her a wedding dress?” Cheryl’s face darkened. “What do you mean, ‘your money’? Alex’s money is Caldwell family money.” Brenda immediately chimed in. “It’s marital assets! Why be so nitpicky?” Alex reached out and pressed down on my phone. “Southbrook, let’s go home first.” His palm felt hot. I pulled my hand away. “Which home? The one you prepared for her, or the one I put the down payment on?” As soon as I spoke, a flicker of panic crossed Cheryl’s face. Brenda suddenly stepped forward, raising her hand to slap my face. “Are you trying to humiliate my grandchild or not?!” The air of her palm brushed past my ear. Alex grabbed her wrist. But his other hand, clutched my arm. “Southbrook, stop making a scene.” He lowered his voice. “She’s pregnant.” That single sentence became his ultimate excuse, his reason for siding with her. Cheryl’s eyes welled up, and she leaned into Brenda’s embrace. “Alex, my stomach hurts.” Alex immediately released me, turning to support her. He threw me back half a step, and the receipt fluttered from my fingers, landing beneath the hem of the wedding dress.

In the hospital hallway, the smell of disinfectant choked me. Alex rushed into the emergency room with Cheryl in his arms, Brenda trailing behind, yelling for a doctor. I stood at the payment window, looking at the name on the screen. Cheryl Greene. Companion: Alex Caldwell. Relationship: Spouse. The nurse handed out a form. “Family signature.” Brenda snatched it, signing quickly. “I’m her mother-in-law.” The pen tip scratched the paper. I stared at that sentence, a cold numbness spreading through my chest. Alex emerged from the consultation room, his first words not an explanation to me. “Southbrook, you scared her just now.” “If anything happens to the baby, you won’t be able to bear the responsibility.” I stared at his shirt cuff. A smudge of foundation was on it, from Cheryl leaning against him. “How many months along is the baby?” Alex’s eyes darted away. “Over four months.” Over four months ago, it was my birthday. That day, he was on a business trip, claiming an emergency meeting for his project. I lit a cake alone, waiting until midnight, and received a red envelope from him. The note read, “Happy Birthday, honey. I’ll make it up to you when I get home.” — ‘Made it up to me’ right into someone else’s bed, apparently. Brenda came out of the consultation room door, pointing and scolding me. “The doctor said the pregnant woman was stressed and needs bed rest!” “Southbrook, are you happy now?” I was about to speak when Cheryl’s cries came from inside. “Mom, I don’t want the baby to be without a father.” Brenda rushed in to comfort her. Alex stood before me, his face etched with the familiar weariness. Whenever he came home late from work, I’d have a warm meal ready for him. Now, that face held only annoyance for me. “Southbrook, it’s already happened.” “Her getting pregnant wasn’t planned.” “I was going to tell you when the time was right.” I asked: “The ‘right time,’ was it when she was marrying you in that wedding dress?” Alex’s lips tightened. “Don’t use those words to needle me.” “I don’t not love you.” It was so absurd it made me want to throw up. “Alex Caldwell, you love me, so you got someone else pregnant?” “You love me, so you lied to her, saying I was your ex-wife?” “You love me, so you used my money to buy her a wedding dress?” His brows furrowed. “I’ll pay you back for the money.” His tone was like discussing a regular debt. My phone vibrated again. My best friend, Ashley Dawson, sent a message. “Southbrook, your mother-in-law is telling everyone in the family SnapChat group that you can’t have kids, and that you’re holding onto the Caldwell family for dear life.” Immediately after, a screenshot popped up. Brenda had posted Cheryl’s prenatal check-up photo. The caption read: “The Caldwell family finally has an heir. Some people cling to their position, but even heaven can’t stand it.” Someone in the group replied: “Alex should have replaced her sooner. A man can’t be without an heir.” Another said: “Southbrook always seemed so virtuous, but she’s really selfish.” I handed the screenshot to Alex. “Is this also ‘the right time’?” Alex’s face changed, and he immediately called Brenda. As soon as the call connected, Brenda’s voice echoed from the consultation room. “Did I say something wrong? Her inability to have children is a fact!” The door wasn’t fully closed. Everyone in the hallway heard it. The nurse looked up at me, her eyes filled with pity. That pity felt sharper, more cutting than any insult. I pulled out my phone, scrolling to a health report from five years ago. It clearly stated: “Fertility function normal.” The person who had issues that year? Alex Caldwell. Low sperm count, requiring long-term treatment. I had never told anyone. Because he said, a man’s pride shouldn’t be shattered. I drank all the fertility medications for him, endured all the judging stares from relatives for him. Now, he lets his mother call me infertile. Alex saw the report, his face instantly turning ashen. “Southbrook, don’t bring this up.” His voice was tight. “Please.” I looked at him, feeling for the first time that this man was as strange as a stranger. The consultation room door suddenly burst open. Cheryl stood, supported by the doorframe, tears clinging to her lashes. “Alex, are you still trying to protect her?” She bit her lip. “Then the baby and I will leave.” Alex immediately turned to support her. The report paper rustled in my hand, caught by the breeze. Cheryl glimpsed the words on it, her eyes flickering. The next second, she grabbed Alex’s hand, pressing it against her belly. “The baby moved.” Alex looked down, his palm touching her swollen abdomen.

That hand, which countless nights had rested on my stomach, saying he wanted a daughter just like me. Now it was pressed against another woman’s belly, his expression tense yet tender. I put away the report. The nurse reminded them to pay the bill. Brenda shoved the form into my arms. “You pay it.” “This whole mess started because of you. It’s only right that you cover the medical expenses.” Cheryl lowered her head, her voice timid. “Never mind, Mom. Don’t make trouble for Ms. Southbrook.” The more she said that, the more Brenda got worked up. “Hasn’t she caused you enough trouble already?” “Being someone else’s wife for so many years and not even laying an egg, and now she dares to bully a pregnant woman.” Alex’s face was grim. “Mom, ease up.” But he didn’t take the payment form. I placed the form back in Brenda’s hand. “Whoever’s responsible for the baby in her belly pays the bill.” Brenda’s voice rose. “You’re still a Caldwell, and a Caldwell’s child is your responsibility too!” The patients’ families in the hallway all looked over. Ashley called. “Southbrook, where are you? I’m coming over now.” Her hurried breathing came through the phone. Before I could answer, Alex snatched my phone and hung up. “Don’t make a scene.” My phone was clutched in his hand. “Give it back.” Alex lowered his voice. “Southbrook, calm down.” “Cheryl can’t be stressed today. I’ll take her home first, and then I’ll come talk to you tonight.” “Come home tonight.” As if I would still be waiting, leaving the living room light on for him, just like in the past. Cheryl suddenly leaned against the wall, bending at the waist. “Alex, I’m dizzy.” Alex shoved my phone back into my bag and turned to pick her up. His movements were so practiced, reminding me of the time he carried me to the hospital. I had acute appendicitis then; he called my name all the way, his hands shaking so much he couldn’t sign me in. I thought that was love. Brenda followed, clutching the prescription, bumping my shoulder as she left. “Don’t stand there looking pathetic. Go home and sign the divorce papers.” I stumbled backward from the impact. My phone fell out of my bag, the screen cracking. A little girl nearby picked it up and handed it to me. “Ma’am, your phone.” As I bent to take it, tears almost spilled onto her hand. Ashley called again. This time, I answered. “Ashley.” My voice was hoarse, unrecognizable. “Come pick me up.” Half an hour later, Ashley rushed into the hospital. Seeing my face, she raised a hand to go confront Alex. I pulled her back. “Take me home first. I need to get my things.” When the car stopped downstairs at our apartment complex, it was already dark. Two hallway lights were out, and a notice from the property management about overdue fees was taped to the elevator door. I’d paid most of the down payment for this apartment, but the deed was only in Alex’s name. The key slid into the lock, but wouldn’t turn. Ashley frowned. “Did they change the locks?” The door opened from the inside. Brenda stood behind it, holding my pajamas. Two suitcases sat on the floor. They were stuffed with my clothes, even my underwear was haphazardly thrown on top. She looked at me coldly. “You’re back just in time.” “Alex said you should move out for a few days. Don’t upset Cheryl.” In the living room, Cheryl leaned against a cushion, wrapped in my cashmere blanket. Alex sat beside her, pouring her a glass of warm water. On the table sat our wedding photo. It was turned facedown. Cheryl looked up at me, slowly placing her hand on her belly. “Ms. Southbrook, I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling well today, so I have to stay here temporarily.” I walked into the living room, my hand touching the facedown photo frame. Alex immediately stood up. “Southbrook, don’t touch that.” The edge of the frame was half-lifted by my hand. Underneath, a copy of a new property deed. The owner’s section read: Alex Caldwell and Cheryl Greene.

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Thirty years ago, on a night that tasted of rain and copper, I stood at the edge of my life and watched it fracture. Maxwell approached me, a glass of warm water in his hand. The tenderness in his eyes was like honey laced with arsenic—sweet enough to swallow, lethal enough to still a heart. “Drink it, Lucy,” he whispered, his voice a practiced caress. “It’ll help the noise stop. You won’t have to worry about your ‘writing’ anymore. The doctors said these dreams are just a symptom of your exhaustion.” I took the glass. My fingertips brushed the cool condensation, but all I could feel was the bone-chilling memory of the truth. For years, I had been a ghost in my own home, fed a steady diet of neuroleptics that blurred the world into a gray smear. He hadn’t been treating my “nervous breakdown”; he had been harvesting my mind, stealing every word I bled onto paper and feeding it to another woman. As he watched me, waiting for the familiar submission, I didn’t drink. Instead, I threw the entire glass of water directly into the chest of his three-thousand-dollar bespoke suit. The splash was loud in the quiet room. Maxwell froze, his face a mask of stunned disbelief. This time, I wouldn’t let him extinguish me. I remembered the secret I’d found in the false bottom of his urn after he died in my previous life—the original manuscript that had won Sasha the International Booker Prize. Tucked into the margin of the final page was my own signature, a microscopic scratch of ink I’d hidden there decades ago. And the suicide note he’d left behind, confessing that since Sasha had “sacrificed her right hand” to save him from a fire, he felt he owed her a legacy. He’d turned his wife into a mindless, medicated printing press to pay a debt I never owed. The world had spent thirty years praising his devotion, calling him a saint for staying with a “simple-minded” wife who could barely remember her own name. No one knew that my cognitive decline was a carefully manufactured crime. But I was back. I was back before the tragedy became permanent. And this time, I was coming for everything. … 1 The water soaked into Maxwell’s charcoal wool blazer, blooming like a dark, ugly bruise over his heart. He stood there, the empty glass still held out as if he were a statue of a man who had forgotten his purpose. Slowly, that “Golden Boy” mask of his—the one the media called gentle and soulful—reformed. A sigh escaped him, heavy with a condescending pity that made my skin crawl. “Lucy,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “Your episodes are getting worse. You can’t even hold a glass steady anymore.” He looked at me with that charitable warmth, the kind you give to a stray dog you’re about to put down. “The doctors were right. You’re overstimulating yourself with these delusions of being a novelist. It’s making you sick.” I looked at that handsome, lying face and dug my nails into my palms until I felt the skin break. I didn’t scream. I didn’t reach for his throat, though every cell in my body demanded it. I knew that if I acted “sane,” he would only increase the dosage. I let my eyes go wide and watery. My shoulders slumped, and I began to tremble, my hands fluttering uselessly in the air like wounded birds. “I’m sorry… Max, I’m so sorry…” My voice came out as a fragile, jagged whisper. “Everything just went dizzy. My hands… they went numb. Am I getting worse? Please don’t be mad at me.” A flicker of satisfaction crossed his eyes. It was subtle, but I caught it. He liked me broken. Broken was safe. “I’m not angry, honey. How could I be? It’s my fault for letting you get so worked up.” He patted my head, a patronizing gesture that felt like slime. “Stay right here. Don’t touch anything on the desk. I’ll change my suit and have the housekeeper bring you a fresh cup of ‘calming’ tea.” “Okay,” I whispered, nodding like a dutiful child. “I’ll wait for you.” As soon as his back turned and his footsteps receded toward the master suite, the tremors stopped. The fog in my eyes cleared into a cold, hard diamond of focus. I stood up and moved to his mahogany desk. In the center sat a heavy Fedex envelope, sealed and addressed to the country’s most prestigious literary agent. Inside was the manuscript—my manuscript. The one that, in my previous life, had launched Sasha’s career and cemented her as the “Voice of a Generation.” I didn’t hesitate. I tore open the seal, pulled out the three hundred pages of my soul, and fed them directly into the heavy-duty paper shredder beside the desk. The mechanical whir was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard. Three years of my life turned into white confetti in seconds. Then, I pulled a second manuscript from the hidden pocket of my robe. To a casual observer, it looked identical—same font, same weight, same title. I slid it into a new envelope, sealed it, and placed it exactly where the old one had been. You like to steal, Maxwell? I thought, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. Then steal this. It’s going to be the cross I nail you to. The sound of footsteps on the stairs echoed. Maxwell returned, carrying a steaming mug of tea. “Here, Lucy. Drink it all.” He held the mug to my lips. “Okay,” I said. As I tilted my head back, I let the bitter, chemically-tainted liquid enter my mouth, then immediately let it soak into the thick makeup sponge I’d tucked into the fold of my sleeve. “Good girl,” he murmured. He picked up the envelope from the desk. “Get some rest. I have to run this over to the courier. It’s for Sasha. She’s finally ready to submit her masterpiece.” “Sasha… she’s so talented,” I mimicked, my voice dazed. Maxwell paused at the door, glancing back at me. “She is a genius, Lucy. You just worry about staying quiet and getting better. I’ll take care of you forever.” He stepped out into the night, the door clicking shut like a casket. Thirty years of love died in that moment. The game was finally afoot. 2 Three days later. Sasha was draped across the leather sofa in our living room, her right wrist encased in a delicate, decorative silk brace—the eternal reminder of her “sacrifice.” “Max, it’s aching again today,” she sighed, her eyes welling with calculated tears. “I think finishing those final edits on the manuscript was too much for the nerves. The doctors did say I’d never truly recover after the fire.” Maxwell was at her side in an instant, his face a portrait of agonized guilt. He took her hand as if it were made of spun glass. “Sasha, you shouldn’t have pushed yourself. You’re the future of American letters. We can’t afford to lose your gift.” I watched them from the armchair, a tray of hors d’oeuvres in my lap. The sheer theater of it made my stomach turn. “But Max, the publishers are already breathing down my neck,” Sasha whimpered, biting her lip. “The debut is coming out soon, and they want a full outline and character bios for the sequel within the month. But my hand… I can’t even hold a pen today.” Maxwell’s gaze shifted to me. The warmth he had for Sasha vanished, replaced by the cold, utilitarian look of a foreman checking a piece of machinery. “Lucy can do it,” he said firmly. I blinked, playing the part of the confused invalid. “Do what, Max?” “Sasha shouldn’t overwork herself. You’ll put together the outline and the world-building for her next project. She’s my savior, Lucy. Without her, I wouldn’t be here. It’s the least you can do as my wife—consider it your rehabilitation. The doctors said you need to practice your cognitive skills anyway.” Rehabilitation. He wanted me to build the throne for the woman who stole my life and call it “therapy.” “If Maxwell says so,” I said, looking at Sasha with a shy, fearful smile. “She’s been so good to us. I’d be honored. But… Sasha, I’d love to hear your vision for the subtext. Are we going for a Post-Modernist deconstruction of the nuclear family, or something more lyrical, like something out of the Southern Gothic tradition?” Sasha blinked. Her mouth opened and closed like a landed fish. A flicker of panic crossed her face as she tried to parse the terms. “I… well, you know… the ‘soul’ of the book is what matters,” she stammered. “Just… just write a basic plot. I’ll inject the ‘brilliance’ later.” “Oh, but you’re the master,” I said, leaning in, my voice dropping into a professional register she couldn’t hope to match. “Are we utilizing a non-linear narrative to reflect the protagonist’s fractured psyche, or are we sticking to a Hemingway-esque minimalism?” Her breathing grew shallow. She was drowning in a conversation she didn’t have the vocabulary for. Does the crown feel heavy yet, you fraud? I thought. “Lucy!” Maxwell barked, his face darkening. “Stop talking nonsense! You read a few textbooks in college and think you can lecture a pro? You’re confusing her with your academic rambling.” He turned back to Sasha, his voice softening. “Ignore her, honey. She’s having a ‘clear’ moment, but her logic is always frayed. I’ll make sure she has a simple, easy-to-read outline on your desk by morning.” Sasha exhaled, leaning back with a frail, victimized look. “It’s okay, Max. I know Lucy’s condition makes her… erratic. I don’t hold it against her. As long as the outline is functional, I’ll do the heavy lifting of the ‘literary’ work myself.” “You’re so patient with her,” Maxwell whispered. I looked down at my lap, hiding the cold, predatory grin that was threatening to break through. You want an outline? I thought. I’ll give you an outline you’ll never forget. 3 The book was published two months later. Just as it had in my previous life, it exploded. It wasn’t just a bestseller; it was a cultural phenomenon. Sasha was the new “it-girl” of the literary world, the tragic genius who wrote a masterpiece with a crippled hand. She wore Dior to the galas and accepted the adulation of critics who called her the next Joan Didion. During a live-streamed interview that pulled in millions of viewers, she looked into the camera, her eyes shimmering. “This book is my heart,” she said, glancing at Maxwell in the front row. “I found the inspiration in the ashes of the fire that took my mobility. I dedicate it to my soulmate—Maxwell Hawthorne—the man who gave me light when I was in the dark.” The applause was deafening. Maxwell had already parlayed the film rights into a nine-figure production deal. He was the king of New York. And I? I was the “sick” wife, locked away in our upstate estate under the guise of “recovery.” But while they were chasing spotlights, I was chasing shadows. One night, while they were at a premiere in the city, I used a copied key to open the floor safe in Maxwell’s study—a room I was strictly forbidden from entering. Inside, there were no gold bars. There were only stacks of paper. I put on latex gloves and used a penlight to flip through them. My heart hammered against my ribs. They were invoices—dozens of them—for black-market prescriptions of Thorazine, Haldol, and liquid sedatives, all bought through a “consultant” in Jersey. Maxwell wasn’t just “treating” me; he was chemically lobotomizing me. He wanted to ensure that even if I had a moment of lucidity, I wouldn’t have the cognitive function to articulate my own name, let alone my betrayal. I took photos of every single document with a burner phone. Then, I replaced them perfectly. I didn’t stop there. I’d spent months planting micro-bugs in his study and the living room. A few days later, the recording I’d been waiting for finally hit the drive. It was Maxwell and Sasha, their voices sharp with the stress of their own lies. “Max, Lucy is acting weird,” Sasha’s voice came through the speaker, frantic. “What if she remembers? What if she talks to someone at the estate?” Maxwell’s voice was like dry ice—cold and burning. “She’s not going anywhere. I just got a new shipment from the Jersey contact. A few weeks on this dosage and she won’t remember how to use a fork, let alone how to tell a story. You’re the genius, Sasha. No one is taking that away from you.” I sat on the floor of my bedroom, listening to the man who once promised to cherish me discuss the murder of my soul. I didn’t cry. I laughed until tears streamed down my face. You think pills can stop the truth, Maxwell? I uploaded the audio and the photos to an encrypted cloud drive. Then, I logged into an old laptop and accessed a private literary forum. I found the contact info for Professor Halloway, the most feared and respected critic in the country—a man known for his scorched-earth reviews and his obsession with “literary purity.” I attached a file. Click. Send. I walked to the window. Outside, a storm was rolling in over the Hudson Valley. Sasha, Maxwell… the stage is set. Time for the curtain to fall. 4 The Lincoln Center. The night of the film adaptation’s premiere. The red carpet was a sea of flashbulbs. Every major news outlet was there. Millions were watching the live stream. On the main stage, Maxwell and Sasha sat in velvet armchairs. Sasha held a microphone, looking radiant. She had been asked to give a “deep dive” into the hidden metaphors of her book—the very analysis I had “helped” her write. “I’d like to explain the subtext of the final chapter,” Sasha said, her voice brimming with unearned confidence. “It’s about the silence of the oppressed…” Maxwell sat beside her, finally relaxing. Once tonight was over, the brand would be untouchable. But in the front row, Professor Halloway was looking at a tablet, his brow furrowed. As Sasha read the “analysis” I had prepared for her, his face turned a sickly shade of gray, then bright red. As Sasha reached what she thought was a profound conclusion, Halloway stood up. He didn’t wait for a Q&A. “Stop!” he roared. The room went silent. Maxwell stood up, his professional smile flickering. “Professor Halloway? Is there a problem? I’m sure Sasha’s insights are complex, but—” “Complex?” Halloway’s voice shook with rage. “It’s a confession! Do you even know what she just read?” He turned to the audience, his voice booming. “This ‘analysis’ she just recited? It’s a coded acrostic. If you take the first letter of every sentence in the final paragraph she just delivered, it spells out: THIS BOOK WAS STOLEN FROM LUCY HAWTHORNE. I AM A FRAUD.” The silence that followed was visceral. Then, the murmurs began. “No… I didn’t write that! Lucy gave me those notes! That crazy bitch set me up!” Sasha shrieked, the mask finally shattering. Maxwell turned white. He lunged for the microphone. “Cut the feed! Cut the live stream! Security, get the Professor out of here!” But the screens behind them—the massive LEDs meant to show movie clips—glitched. The movie poster vanished. In its place appeared three giant documents. On the left: A copyright registration for the manuscript, dated three years ago, under the name Lucy Hawthorne. In the center: High-resolution photos of the black-market invoices for illegal neuroleptics, with Maxwell’s signature on the delivery receipts. The room was a vacuum of shock. I stepped out from behind the curtain into the spotlight. I wasn’t wearing the baggy clothes of an invalid. I was in a sharp, blood-red silk gown, my hair polished, my eyes bright with a terrifying clarity. “Lucy? You… you’re supposed to be in bed,” Maxwell stammered, backing away. “Security! Get this woman! She’s having a psychotic break!” I didn’t stop. I walked right up to the microphone. “Pills are a funny thing, Maxwell,” I said, my voice echoing through the hall. “If you take too many, you get sluggish. But if you stop taking them and replace them with sugar pills for six months… you get very, very sharp.” Maxwell’s jaw dropped. “You… you didn’t take the meds?” “Everyone listen to her!” he screamed at the cameras. “She’s a paranoid schizophrenic! She’s delusional!” I looked at him, my expression one of pure, frigid pity. “Maxwell, you’ve spent ten years telling everyone Sasha ‘sacrificed’ her hand for you. You used that lie to justify turning me into a ghost.” “It’s the truth!” he yelled. “She saved my life!” “Sasha didn’t save you,” I said, turning to the audience. “Ten years ago, Sasha signed a three-book deal she couldn’t fulfill. She was facing a five-million-dollar breach of contract. She didn’t burn her hand saving Maxwell from a fire. She intentionally set a small kitchen fire and held her own hand in the heat to cause just enough nerve damage to avoid her deadlines and guilt Maxwell into ghostwriting for her.” The room erupted. I walked up to Maxwell. I reached into my clutch and pulled out a piece of paper. Our marriage certificate. In front of the world, in front of the flashing cameras of a hundred journalists, I tore it in half. “The ‘Masterpiece’ is over, Maxwell,” I whispered. I turned and walked out of the Lincoln Center, into the cool New York rain. Thirty years of chains fell away with every step.

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My husband told me he was dying, and that he was twenty thousand dollars short for the surgery that could save his life. To get him that money, I started singing at a high-end lounge downtown, performing until two in the morning every single night. I sang song after song, note after note, watching my savings crawl upward. Until the night I was requested for a private set in a penthouse suite. When I pushed open the heavy oak doors, the room was thick with the scent of expensive cigars and aged scotch. A group of men were laughing, and there, in the center of it all, was Joshua. He had his arm wrapped tightly around a woman’s waist, his head thrown back in a jagged, carefree laugh. The moment the laughter died, he saw me standing in the doorway. He let go of Tamsin, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers, but he didn’t move. He just stared. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice rough. “I’m working,” I said, my voice sounding like it belonged to someone else. “I’m earning the money for your treatment. The money to keep you alive.” Joshua’s jaw tightened. He didn’t say a word. It was Tamsin who spoke up first, her voice a polished blade. “Oh, so you’re the one? Joshua told me you two had been over for months.” She stood up, smoothing her silk dress. “He said his ex was a nightmare—expensive, suffocating, and completely tone-deaf. He said he didn’t know how you had the nerve to show your face in public, let alone try to sing for a living.” A ripple of cruel laughter went around the room. Joshua didn’t stop them. Tamsin walked over to me, leaning in close so only I could hear the venom. “Every cent you’ve earned singing in this dump? Half of it ended up in my account. Joshua told you it was for medical bills, but it’s actually my ‘lifestyle allowance.’” She touched her stomach with a triumphant smile. “I’m carrying his child. Consider that money your early gift to the baby.” I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just looked at her, then at him, and picked up the microphone. “What would you like to hear first?” … “A hundred dollars a song. Cash upfront.” My voice was so steady it frightened me. Someone in the back shouted for a heartbreak ballad, and I started singing. I didn’t miss a beat; I didn’t let a single note tremble. Joshua held his glass to his lips but never drank. He sat there frozen, watching me. Tamsin leaned her head on his shoulder, her eyes mocking. “Not bad,” she chimed in after the first chorus. “But singing love songs in a place like this? It’s a bit pathetic, isn’t it?” When I finished my set, I set the mic down and turned for the door without a glance back. In the hallway, Anita, the floor manager, pressed six hundred dollars into my hand. “The guy in the penthouse… he hasn’t settled the tab for the music yet.” I counted the bills and slid them into my pocket. Anita looked at me, her expression softening with concern. “Monica, honey, if you can’t do this tonight, just go home.” I unscrewed a bottle of water and took a sip, the coldness hitting the back of my raw throat. “I can do it.” Joshua caught up to me in the corridor, his hand clamping down on my wrist like a shackle. “You don’t need to work in a place like this,” he said, his tone dripping with that familiar, suffocating condescension. I looked down at his hand. “You told me your hospital stay was three thousand a day, Joshua. I’m not there yet.” His pupils contracted. I was too calm, and it was clearly ruining the script he had written in his head. “I’m not sick,” he bit out through clenched teeth. “You know that now.” I met his eyes. “Yes. I know.” The calmness seemed to infuriate him. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Tamsin is pregnant. You either accept her into the house, or you sign the divorce papers. You have a week to give me an answer.” I slowly pulled my wrist out of his grip. My movements were deliberate, almost gentle. “Okay. I’ll think about it.” I walked away, my pace neither fast nor slow. But when I got to the dressing room to change, my hands began to shake. I shoved them into my coat pockets, clenching them into fists to hide the tremors. I remembered the day I gave him my grandmother’s emerald bracelet. I had slid it off my wrist and placed it in his palm, my hands shaking then, too. Not because I didn’t want to give it to him, but because I was terrified he’d see how much it meant to me and feel guilty for taking it. He told me the pawn shop only gave him eight thousand for it. Now I knew where that money went. It went to the woman carrying his child. I got home at 2:00 AM. I sat on the edge of the bed eating a bowl of instant noodles, staring at the silver band on my ring finger. It was stuck at the knuckle. I twisted it, pulled it, but it wouldn’t budge. I went to the bathroom and ran cold water over my hand. Finally, the ring slid off, hitting the porcelain sink with a sharp, lonely clink. I dried it off and put it in a drawer. I didn’t look back at it. My phone lit up. A text from Joshua: Stop working at the lounge. I stared at the screen for a long time. He wasn’t worried about me. He was embarrassed that I was “lowering” myself in public. I locked the screen and didn’t reply. The next day, I went to the community center to teach my piano students. A five-year-old girl hit a wrong note and looked up at me, terrified. I knelt beside her and smiled. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Take it slow.” I kept that smile plastered on my face until the final bell rang and the last parent left. The moment the door closed, the mask crumbled. Tamsin was standing by the entrance of the center, holding a bag of expensive fruit. “Monica, Joshua said you’ve been working so hard lately. I thought I’d check in on you.” Her eyes swept over my thrifted coat, a tiny, satisfied smirk playing on her lips. I didn’t take the fruit. Her eyes instantly welled up with practiced tears. “Don’t be mad at me. He’s the one who pursued me. I tried to say no, but…” She stroked her belly. “The baby is innocent in all this.” I didn’t look at her stomach. My eyes were locked on her right wrist. An emerald bracelet. The deep, forest-green stones caught the light. It was my grandmother’s—the one Joshua said he’d pawned for his “surgery.” Tamsin noticed my gaze and adjusted the bracelet, her movements slow and cat-like. “Oh, this? Joshua gave it to me. He said it was a family heirloom and told me to be very careful with it.” I stared at it for three seconds. “He’s right. It’s an old piece. Make sure you don’t break it.” I turned and walked away. I rented a small, cramped apartment and moved out of our house that night. As I sat on the edge of my new bed, I scrolled through my photos. There was one from our wedding day—Joshua, smiling, sliding that very bracelet onto my wrist. I traced his smile with my thumb, then turned the phone face down. Something inside my chest cracked open, a slow, jagged fissure. I pressed my hand against my ribs, forcing the air back into my lungs, refusing to let a single sound escape my throat. On the third day, Joshua asked to meet at a coffee shop. When he walked in, I was already there, tucked into a corner booth. My black coffee was untouched. He sat down and pushed a folder across the table. “Sign this. You’ll get fifty thousand. That’s more than enough.” His tone was flat, business-like, as if he were settling a minor contract dispute. I didn’t touch the paper. “I sold sixty thousand dollars’ worth of my inheritance for you,” I said. “And you’re trying to pay me off with fifty?” He frowned. “Those old things weren’t worth nearly what you thought—” “My grandmother’s emeralds. You gave them to Tamsin.” “The vintage watch? How much did you get for that?” “My grandfather’s handcrafted desk? I signed it over without a second thought because I thought you were dying.” His fingers drummed on the table. For a split second, he looked away, staring out the window before snapping back. “The past is the past, Monica. Sign the papers. I’m being generous.” I didn’t sign. I stood up, leaving the cold coffee behind. “I’ll think about it.” “Monica,” he called out behind me. “Are you holding onto this marriage out of love, or just pride? People already know you’re singing in that dive bar. The parents at your school will find out eventually. You’ll lose your teaching job. Think about your reputation.” I stopped, my back to him. “Are you threatening me?” Silence followed. I pushed the door open and left. That night, Anita booked me for five private rooms. By the third set, my voice was beginning to fray. I drank some honey water and kept going. Anita leaned against the doorframe of the dressing room. “You keep this up, you’re going to blow out your vocal cords. You won’t even be able to speak, let alone sing.” “How many more tonight, Anita?” The fourth room was full of Joshua’s friends. One of them recognized me immediately. He stopped mid-drink, whispering to the guy next to him. Then came the snickering—that knowing, cruel laughter. I gripped the microphone a little tighter and finished the set. When I stepped out into the hallway, my knees buckled, and I had to lean against the wall for support. Anita caught up to me, touching the prominent veins on the back of my hand. “When was the last time you ate a real meal?” “Lunch.” “Instant noodles don’t count.” She shoved two warm rolls into my hand. When I got back to my apartment at 3:00 AM, there was a thermal bag sitting by my door. It was ribs and two side dishes from the place Joshua and I used to order from. It was still warm. I reached to the bottom of the bag and saw the receipt. It was Joshua’s regular order. I took a sip of the broth. The warmth hit my stomach, spreading a dull sense of comfort through my frozen body. Suddenly, my eyes burned. I slammed the bowl down and pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, holding them there for ten long seconds until the heat receded. Then I picked up the spoon and finished every drop. That was the cruelest thing about him. He could be cold and calculated when he was hurting you, but then he’d offer these tiny, effortless crumbs of warmth that made you forget which version of him was real. On the fourth day, I went to the bank. The ATM screen showed a balance of $347.00. That was all I had left in the world. As I walked out, I got a call from an unknown number. It was Tamsin’s best friend, a woman named Bridget. “There are some things you should hear, Monica,” she said. We met at a quiet tea house. Bridget was draped in designer labels, looking at me with a mix of pity and boredom. “Monica, do you really think Joshua just made a mistake?” She pulled out her phone and slid a screenshot across the table. It was a text from Joshua to Tamsin: Give me a little more time. I’ll handle her. The date was three months ago. Weeks before he told me he was sick. I looked at the text and said nothing. Bridget tucked her phone away. “Tamsin told me Joshua checked out of your marriage a long time ago. He said marrying you was just an impulse, and he didn’t realize what real love was until he met her.” She leaned in, her manicured nail tapping the table. “Stop dragging this out. It’s better for everyone.” I stood up and left enough cash to cover the tea. “Thank you for telling me.” I stood under a streetlamp for a long time. Three months ago, he told me he was going to buy me a real diamond for my birthday to replace the silver band. I didn’t go to the lounge that night. I sat at my electric keyboard, but my fingers felt like lead. I looked at them—the tips were calloused and hard. The hands that used to play Chopin were now stiff and clumsy. I closed the lid. I sat on the floor, pulling my knees to my chest. The fifty thousand in that agreement couldn’t buy back my family heirlooms, it couldn’t fix my ruined voice, and it couldn’t erase the humiliation of those penthouse rooms. Nothing could. On the fifth day, I went to see Ben. He was helping out in the kitchen of his new bistro. When he saw me, he froze. “Monica? You… you’ve lost so much weight.” I didn’t waste time with small talk. “How much did you know about Joshua faking the illness?” The rag in Ben’s hand hit the floor. He avoided my eyes as he bent down to pick it up. “…Who told you?” I just watched him. He didn’t want to say more, but Ben’s mouth always moved faster than his brain. “Joshua… it wasn’t his idea originally. Tamsin, that woman…” Before he could finish, his phone buzzed. Joshua’s name popped up. Ben took the call, his expression shifting. He glanced at me and hung up quickly. “Monica, you should go home. Don’t get caught up in this.” It wasn’t his idea. If he was being manipulated, why didn’t he just tell me? Did I not even deserve the truth? On the sixth day, the deadline arrived. Joshua sent a text: 7:00 PM. Our spot. Bring your answer. “Our spot” was a small neighborhood bistro we used to frequent. When I arrived, he was already there. Two plates were on the table—one was the cedar-plank salmon I used to love. I didn’t sit. I stood by the table, watching the steam rise from the fish. “You remembered I liked this.” “Sit down. Eat first.” His voice was neutral, unreadable. This was his move—the knife in one hand, the candy in the other. I sat. I took a bite of the salmon, and the sharp seasoning sent a spasm through my stomach. My body, sustained on bread and noodles for days, couldn’t handle real food. I put the fork down. My voice was quiet, but it didn’t waver. “I’m not signing.” Joshua’s fork stopped mid-air. “I’m not divorcing you, and I’m not letting her into the house,” I said. “You lied to me for three months. You drained my life savings. What you owe me isn’t settled by a piece of paper and fifty grand.” His face darkened, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. “You think dragging this out helps you? The word is already out about the lounge, Monica. The parents at the community center will know any day now. Have you thought about the consequences?” That hit me where it hurt. Those kids, their small hands awkwardly pressing the keys—they were the only light left in the ruins of my life. I stayed silent. The door opened, and Tamsin walked in with two of Joshua’s friends. Her surprise was perfectly choreographed. “Oh! Joshua? We saw your car outside.” She looked at me, instantly shifting into a display of insecurity and fragility. She turned to Joshua, her eyes brimming. “I thought you were working late tonight? I brought you dinner at the office…” The two friends looked between Joshua and me, their eyes filled with judgment. Joshua was silent for a heartbeat. He looked at me, then at Tamsin. He stood up, walked over to Tamsin, and draped his jacket over her shoulders. “It’s cold. Go back to the car.” He protected her in front of everyone, then turned back to me. “I’ve said what I needed to say. Let me know when you’ve thought it through.” Then he led her out. Through the closing door, I heard her whisper, “Joshua, I didn’t mean to interrupt, please don’t be mad…” His reply was just two words. “It’s fine.” I was left alone with the cooling salmon. Nothing had shattered, yet everything was in pieces. On the seventh day, I went to the community center. When I opened the door to the music room, the director was already waiting. “Monica, three parents called to complain yesterday. They heard about your… evening work. This is a children’s center, and they have concerns. I think it’s best if you take some time off.” My fingers gripped the edge of my lesson book. I nodded. I pulled my sheet music from under the piano bench and grabbed a small box of chocolates a student had given me. As I walked down the hall, a parent pulling their child into a classroom saw me and steered the kid in the other direction. I knew where the complaints came from. But there were too many knives at my back now to bother counting them. My last source of income was gone. I spent the afternoon looking for work. The supermarket wasn’t hiring. A diner let me trial in the kitchen—I washed dishes for five hours until my hands were so pruney I could barely see my fingerprints. A cleaning agency said they could train me, but I needed to pay a three-hundred-dollar deposit. My total net worth was $347.00. It was raining when I left the diner. I didn’t have an umbrella, so I stood under the eaves. A black sedan pulled up to the curb, the window rolling down halfway. Joshua stared at my red, water-logged hands and my damp hair. His brow furrowed. “Get in.” I didn’t move. He got out of the car and held an umbrella over me. “Monica, why are you doing this to yourself? Sign the papers, take the money, and you don’t have to live like this.” He wasn’t worried about my suffering. He was just tired of looking at it. I stepped out from under the umbrella and into the rain. “Joshua, you faked an illness for three months to take my money. I sold everything I owned, and you gave it to another woman. And now you’re telling me I don’t have to live like this?” Rain dripped from my eyelashes. I couldn’t tell if it was just rain. But my voice made him take a half-step back. “The rules of this game aren’t mine,” I said. “If you want this to end, fine. But I’m the one who sets the terms now.” He reached out to pull me back, but I pivoted away. His hand hung in the air for a second before dropping. That night, Mrs. Whitaker, my old mentor, called. “Monica, check the internet. Someone posted a video of you singing at the lounge.” I opened the link. A covertly filmed video with a viral caption: Award-winning piano teacher reduced to singing in dive bars. The tragic truth. The comments were a bloodbath. People called me desperate; they mocked a “fallen artist” for turning into a bar girl. Someone had even found my old headshots and put them side-by-side with the grainy video. I closed my phone. My body was shaking, but my face was a mask of stone. Anita sent a text: Monica, no one on my staff posted that. I’m looking into it. Stay home for a while, let the storm blow over. My last lifeline was severed. The next morning, Tamsin sent a message: Monica, the things people are saying online are awful. I’ve asked Joshua to handle it. Don’t take it to heart. Why don’t you come stay at the house? I’ve cleared out the guest room for you. The house. Our home. The guest room. I was being invited as a guest in my own life. I walked into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. I had lost nearly twenty pounds. I barely recognized the woman staring back. Joshua called, his voice sounding uncharacteristically urgent. “I’m having the videos taken down. Are you okay?” “Joshua,” I said. “Did you have someone post them?” Silence for three seconds. I waited. “Whether it was you or not, thank you for deleting them.” I hung up. The three seconds of silence was the answer. He might not have posted it, but he hadn’t stopped it either. That night, I opened my photo album. I scrolled from the very first picture to the last. Every photo of Joshua. Us together, him catching me playing the piano, me watching him sleep, selfies in our favorite bistro. Over two hundred photos. I hit Select All. Delete. One by one, they vanished. When it was done, the screen was blank. I opened my messages and sent him one last text. Four words. I agree to divorce. I took the silver ring from the drawer, wrapped it in a piece of white paper, and wrote: Returning to the original owner. I turned off the light and lay in bed. I stared into the darkness all night. It wasn’t about missing him. It was about etching this pain into my bones, inch by inch. A reminder: This is where it ends. Never look back.

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The year I turned six, my mother started fading. It began with a persistent cough, the kind that sounded like dry leaves rattling in a storm, and ended with her spitting copper-tasting blood into tattered tissues. The adults always whispered the same story: Mom was the “Lost Daughter,” the true blood heir of the Kensington-style estate we lived on the edge of. But before she could be officially welcomed back—before she could finally marry my father and reclaim her life—my Uncle Ted had to go to the family’s ancestral chapel and draw Three White Stones. It was a tradition, a superstitious ritual passed down through generations of the wealthy and the cruel. I had been alive for six years, and I hadn’t seen a single white stone. They always played the part of the grieving, guilty family. They showered us with just enough kindness to keep us from leaving, swearing that next year, the ritual would finally go our way. That day, wanting more than anything to see Mom smile, I crawled under the heavy oak altar in the chapel, hoping to help Uncle Ted find those three stones. Instead, I watched through the shadows as my father, Pete, reached into the ceremonial urn and swapped the white stones for black ones. Uncle Ted stood beside him, nodding slowly. “Just like the last six times,” he murmured. “Tell her the heavens aren’t ready. Tell her the draw was black.” Pete let out a cold, self-deprecating laugh. “If we let her back into the family, Lorraine would have to leave.” His voice turned dangerously soft. “I can’t have Lorraine suffering. She’s too fragile for the world outside these gates.” Lorraine. The “Adopted Jewel.” The girl who was living the life that belonged to my mother. My mother saw it all. She had come looking for me and was standing in the doorway, a ghost in the shadows. First, she cried. Then, a terrible, haunting laugh escaped her lips. Finally, she knelt down and stroked my cheek with a trembling hand. “Willa,” she whispered, her eyes shining with a clarity that terrified me. “Are you ready to leave this place with me?” … 1 I wrapped my arms around her neck and forced a smile. “Wherever you go, Mom, I go.” She didn’t say another word. She just squeezed my hand until it hurt, her knuckles white. She wiped her face, composed her features into a mask of exhaustion, and led me back to our “home.” It wasn’t a house. It was a converted gardener’s shed in the far corner of the estate. A tin-roofed box that felt like a furnace in the summer and an icebox in the winter. Because Mom hadn’t been “purified” by the ritual yet, Ted insisted we couldn’t live in the main house. I had just sat down on the edge of our creaky cot when the knock came. Pete and Ted stood in the doorway, their faces mirrors of practiced regret. Ted held three black stones in his palm. “I’m so sorry, Isabel,” Ted said, his voice thick with fake emotion. “I failed you again.” I couldn’t help it. The anger boiled up, hot and sharp. “You’re liars! Both of you!” I screamed. “I saw you! I saw Daddy—” Before I could finish, Mom’s hand clamped over my mouth. She forced a thin, brittle smile. “It’s okay, Ted. I’ve grown used to it.” But I felt the tremor in her body. I saw the way her eyes rimmed with red. Ted exhaled, a visible wave of relief washing over him. Pete stepped forward, patting Mom’s shoulder with a condescending pity that made my skin crawl. “Isabel, I promise. Next year, the stones will be white. I’ll make sure of it.” Their promises were as hollow as the wind, a script they had memorized years ago. Suddenly, a figure appeared behind them. Lorraine leaned against the doorframe, her silk dress shimmering in the moonlight, her arm sliding casually through Pete’s. “Pete, honey, the gala is starting,” she chirped. “The guests are asking for you.” Pete’s brow furrowed as he looked at her. “Lorraine, you’re so delicate. You shouldn’t be out here in the damp air.” Ted immediately took off his designer blazer and draped it over Lorraine’s shoulders. “You’ll catch a cold. Go back inside, now.” Lorraine stuck her tongue out playfully. “I just wanted to check on my ‘sister.’ I’m going, I’m going.” Mom’s face went even paler. This shed—this place they treated like a biohazard—was the only home we’d known for six years. Yet they acted as if Lorraine would shatter just by standing on the threshold. Ted turned, guiding Lorraine away. Pete followed, pausing only to offer Mom one last, sickening smile. “Don’t lose hope, Isabel. Next year.” I stood at the door of the shed, watching the three of them walk back toward the glowing warmth of the mansion. Lorraine was tucked between them like a precious princess, shielded from the night. Music and laughter began to drift across the lawn. I swallowed hard, my stomach grumbling at the thought of the catering I knew was being served inside. Mom knelt down and brushed a stray hair from my forehead. “Willa… do you want to go with your father?” I froze. “There’s heat there,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Beautiful rooms. Warm food. You don’t have to stay here in the cold with me.” I shook my head violently, throwing my arms around her neck. “No! I want to be with you! I don’t care about the big house. Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be!” Mom smiled, leaning her cheek against mine. Then, she jerked away. A violent spasm racked her body, and a spray of bright, crimson blood hit the dirt floor. 2 Mom collapsed into the red puddle, her body convulsing. I lunged for her, shaking her arm. “Mom! Mommy, wake up!” But her eyes remained closed, her breathing coming in ragged, wet gasps. I scrambled to my feet and ran. I ran until I lost a shoe, the gravel of the driveway cutting into my feet. “Daddy! Uncle Ted! Help! Mom’s bleeding!” The security guards at the mansion’s side entrance looked down at me with bored indifference. “You need an invitation to be here, kid.” Tears blurred my vision. “My uncle is Ted Kensington! My dad is Pete Reynold! Please, she’s dying!” One of the guards went to push me back, but the side door swung open. Lorraine stood there, looking down at me with a sneer. “You’re making a scene,” she hissed. “Don’t you have any manners?” I didn’t care about her insults. “Please, Lorraine! Get my dad! Mom is coughing up blood!” Lorraine’s lips curled into a cold, sharp smile. “Why should I care if she’s bleeding? She’s been a parasite on this estate for years. If she dies, she dies. It’s what she deserves for trying to steal a life that isn’t hers.” The blood rushed to my head. I screamed at her, “You’re the thief! You took her place! You’re a liar and a fake!” Lorraine’s expression shifted instantly. She reached out and slapped me so hard I spun around, my head cracking against the stone pillar. I felt a warm trickle of blood run down my temple. “What is going on here?” Pete’s voice boomed. Lorraine immediately began to cough, her hand fluttering to her chest. Pete rushed to her side, catching her before looking at me with pure disgust. “Willa! What is wrong with you?” “Daddy, Mom is—” Lorraine cut me off, her voice a weak whisper. “Don’t be mad at her, Pete. She’s just a child. She was just… calling me a squatter. Saying I stole her mother’s life. I’m fine, really.” She coughed again, leaning heavily into his chest. Pete’s face hardened. “You’re just like your mother. Jealous, manipulative, bitter. If anything happens to Lorraine’s health because of your tantrums, I’ll never forgive you.” I swallowed my sobs, forcing the tears back. I turned and saw Ted standing in the foyer. He was my last hope. “Uncle Ted, please. Mom is on the floor. She won’t wake up.” Ted’s eyes flickered with a momentary flash of panic. “What? What happened to Isabel?” Lorraine peeked out from Pete’s arms, her eyes welling with fake tears. “Ted, she’s lying to get out of trouble. I already told her I wasn’t mad, but she shouldn’t use her mother’s illness as a cover for being cruel.” “I’m not lying!” I shrieked. “Please, just look!” Ted’s face turned to stone. “Enough. Willa, I know you and your mother feel slighted. But for six years, the stones have been black. That’s not our fault—it’s fate. Rules are rules. Until she’s cleared, she doesn’t set foot in this house.” He looked at me with cold disappointment. “But this? This constant drama? You’re turning into a monster just like her.” He waved over a servant. “Take her to the cellar. Lock the door. She stays there until I say otherwise.” I backed away, tripping over my own feet. “No! Please! She’s dying! Just look once! Just one look!” Two guards grabbed my arms, lifting me off the ground. I kicked and screamed, but their grip was like iron. “Daddy! Look at her! Please!” Pete looked away. He put his arm around Lorraine, rubbing her back. “It’s okay, darling. I’m here. You’re safe.” Ted waved his hand impatiently. “Cover her mouth. Don’t let her disturb the guests.” 3 They tossed me into the cellar like a bag of trash. My knees hit the concrete floor, the pain radiating up my spine. The heavy wooden door slammed shut, and darkness swallowed me whole. Outside, I could hear the muffled voices of the house staff. “Those two are so pathetic,” one woman laughed. “Always trying to claw their way in. They’ll never be like Miss Lorraine. She was born for this.” “Exactly. Blood doesn’t mean a thing if the Master doesn’t want you. And with the news of the pregnancy? Miss Lorraine is carrying the heir to the Reynold and Kensington fortunes. That little brat in the cellar is yesterday’s news.” My heart stopped. Dad didn’t want to marry Mom because he was going to marry Lorraine. Because she was pregnant. What were we, then? Just a secret they kept in a shed? I scrambled to the door, pounding until my fists were raw. “Please! Help my mom! Someone, please!” A scoff came from the other side. “We’re just the help, kid. We know better than to touch the Master’s business. Stay quiet.” Then, silence. The cellar was small and smelled of damp rot. I curled into a ball, shaking. My mother had been locked in here before. Years ago, when she first tried to fight for her place. She had screamed and cried then, too. But eventually, she stopped fighting. She just started smiling—a sad, empty smile. She’d cook our meager meals and tell me everything was fine. I buried my face in my knees, the image of her lying in that pool of blood burned into my retinas. I don’t know when I fell asleep, but a sharp, stinging pain on my ear jolted me awake. I reached up and felt something wet and furry. A rat. I screamed, a primal sound of pure terror, and threw myself at the door. “Help! Let me out! Help me!” Heavy footsteps approached, full of irritation. The door was wrenched open, and Ted stood there, looking haggard and annoyed. “For god’s sake, Willa! Stop that racket!” He grabbed my arm, hoisting me up. “It’s the middle of the night. Lorraine needs her rest. She’s pregnant, and your screaming is stressing her out.” I was trembling so hard I could barely stand. Blood was dripping from my ear. Ted frowned, finally noticing the jagged bite mark. He reached out, his voice softening just a fraction. “Alright, come out—” I didn’t let him finish. I sank my teeth into his hand with every ounce of strength I had. He let out a yelp and recoiled. I dove under his arm and bolted. I ran through the darkness, across the manicured lawn, to the tin shed. Mom was exactly where I had left her. She hadn’t moved an inch. I fell to my knees beside her. “Mom? I’m back. Willa’s here.” She didn’t answer. Her skin was the color of wet ash. The blood on her lips had dried into a dark, crusty seal. Her chest was still. “Mom… wake up. The floor is cold.” 4 I wiped my eyes and forced a smile. Mom hated it when I cried. She told me I had to be a brave girl. The smile pulled at my swollen cheek where Lorraine had hit me, but I didn’t let the tears fall. I found a basin of water and a rag. I knelt beside her and gently wiped the blood from her face. Once she was clean, I tried to move her to the bed. I pulled at her arm, bracing my feet against the floor, but I was too small. She was a dead weight. I tried three times before I slumped against her, my chest aching. Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry. I dragged the blanket off the cot and draped it over her, tucking it in around her shoulders. Then, I crawled in beside her. I pulled her cold arm over my shoulder, pretending she was holding me the way she always did. “You’re just sleeping,” I whispered into her neck. “You’ll wake up tomorrow.” The morning sun woke me, streaming through the holes in the tin roof. I sat up and looked at her. “Mom, it’s morning.” I found a bowl of leftover porridge and brought it to her. I held a spoonful to her lips. “Are you hungry? I’ll feed you.” The porridge just dribbled down her chin, staining the blanket. “Mom… please. Just one bite.” The bowl shattered on the floor as the reality finally broke through. I remembered what she told me weeks ago, her voice calm as if she were discussing the weather. “Willa, if there ever comes a day where I fall asleep and you can’t wake me up… call this number.” She had given me a scrap of paper with a series of digits. “He’s my brother. Not the one in the big house. A real brother. He’s very, very powerful. He’ll come for you. You have to memorize it. Do you hear me?” I had repeated it until I could say it in my sleep. I found her old flip phone, but it was locked with a passcode. I tried her birthday, my birthday… nothing. I sat on the floor, my face smeared with tears. I stood up, tucked the blanket around her one last time, and kissed her cheek. Then I ran to the mansion. Ted was the one who opened the door. His face darkened the moment he saw me. “You again? You bite me like a rabid dog and then show your face here? Didn’t your mother teach you any better?” I flinched as Pete walked up behind him. “Daddy,” I whispered. “I need to use a phone.” Pete looked at me coldly. “Has your mother finally decided to apologize for her behavior?” I twisted my fingers together, silent. “Using a child to play mind games,” Pete sighed, shaking his head. “She hasn’t changed in six years.” He looked at my pathetic, tear-stained face and seemed to soften for a fleeting second. He handed me his smartphone. I took it with trembling hands and dialed the number burned into my brain. The line rang twice. A man’s voice, deep and resonant, answered. “Hello?” I took a shuddering breath. “Are you my mom’s brother?” I whispered. “My mom is dead. Can you come get me?” The world went deathly quiet.

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It wasn’t until I was shivering under a thin, threadbare duvet that I truly understood what it meant to have nothing. The afternoon before, my father had sent a crew to strip my room bare. They took the designer rugs, the custom mahogany desk, even the curtains. By sunset, I was left with a cold floor and the echo of my own breathing. In a cruel twist of timing, word broke the very next day: he had bought my younger brother a private helicopter. “You’ve dragged our family name through the dirt!” The memory of him screaming in my face, veins bulging in his neck, still makes my chest tighten with a sharp, reflexive fear. The “crime” that sparked his latest rage? I was starving. I had taken a part-time shift in the campus dining hall to afford a meal. A classmate snapped a photo and posted it to the university’s anonymous forum with a caption that went viral: Trust fund brat pretends to be ‘working class’ for clout. How pathetic. “I give you fifteen thousand dollars a month in living expenses! Every cent, accounted for!” my father roared, refusing to hear a single word of my defense. “You squander it all on God knows what, and then you have the audacity to lie to the world?” The irony was a bitter pill to swallow. To the rest of the campus, I was the heir to a real estate empire, a boy who bled gold. In reality, I couldn’t find a spare nickel in my pockets. The luxury SUVs I was forced to drive, the tailored suits I had to wear to galas—they weren’t gifts. They were props. I was a mannequin for his brand, a walking billboard for his success. “Dad,” I had whispered, gathering the tattered remains of my courage. “You’ve never actually given me an allowance. I just… I just wanted to eat.” His eyes had turned stone-cold. He told me that if he didn’t “discipline” me now, I would end up a total failure. 1 A draft whistled through the gap in the window, biting at my skin. I pulled the duvet tighter, but the chill had already settled into my bones. My phone vibrated. A notification from Instagram. It was my brother, Hudson. He’d posted a photo. There he was, flanked by our parents, their arms draped over his shoulders in a way they had never touched me. They were beaming in front of a sleek, black Airbus helicopter. The caption read: Best early birthday gift ever. Thanks, Mom and Dad. Love you guys. I scrolled down to the comments. You’ve grown into such a fine young man, my mother had replied. You deserve the world. A small token for a son who knows the meaning of gratitude, my father added. A dull, aching heaviness spread through my chest. We were both their children. They could drop millions on a whim for Hudson’s toys, yet I was left without a coat to keep out the November frost. “Elliot, for the love of God, stop shaking,” a voice snapped from below. “The bed frame is rattling. I’m trying to study.” I looked down at Tyler, my roommate. He was currently wearing the heavy North Face parka he’d “borrowed” from me last week. “Tyler,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Can I have my jacket back? It’s freezing.” He paused, then let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “So that’s what the theatrical shivering is about? A passive-aggressive hint to get your coat back?” He stood up, his face reddening with a performative sort of anger. “If you wanted it, just say so. Don’t sit up there acting like a martyr. It’s weird, man.” He ripped the jacket off and threw it onto my bunk. “Take it! God, imagine being a billionaire’s son and being this petty over a jacket. Get a life.” The coat was mine. I was cold. And yet, somehow, asking for it made me the villain. I opened my mouth to snap back, but my phone rang. The caller ID simply read: Father. I answered. To my surprise, his voice was uncharacteristically warm. “Elliot, son. I just wired your fifteen thousand for the month. Don’t be stingy with yourself. Buy whatever you need. If it’s not enough, just let me know.” I didn’t say anything. I opened my banking app with trembling fingers. Balance: $29.73. Not a penny more. “Dad,” I said, my voice small and cautious. “Could you… could you maybe send a little more? Just as a one-time thing?” The line went silent for two beats. I realized my mistake instantly. “Fifteen thousand isn’t enough?” His voice exploded through the speaker. “What are you doing? Gambling? Drugs? Are you throwing it away on those low-life friends of yours?” “Dad, I didn’t get the money,” I tried to explain, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I haven’t received anything. The heat is off in the dorms, and I just need to buy a heavier comforter. I don’t need much. Just… two hundred dollars would help.” “You didn’t get the money? Elliot, there is a limit to how much you can lie to my face!” he bellowed. “Fifteen thousand is a fortune for a student! You’re ungrateful, and you’re treating your mother and me like an ATM. You want two hundred more? Fine. You get nothing. Not a cent!” The line went dead. Tyler, who had heard every word, let out a snicker. “Tried to play the ‘poor me’ card for more cash and got shut down, huh? Tough break, Richie Rich.” I didn’t answer. I just pulled my jacket on and curled into a ball, the $29.73 mocking me from the screen. In this town, everyone thought I was the prince of the city. Nobody knew that the prince was starving, living on the scraps of part-time jobs just to survive the night. 2 I woke up the next morning with a gnawing, acidic pain in my stomach. It was the kind of hunger that turned into a physical cramp, making my vision swim. But I couldn’t miss my shift. It was my first day at the local coffee shop, and I needed the paycheck. I swallowed a generic aspirin, splashed cold water on my face, and headed out. The manager, a stressed-out guy named Mike, pointed me toward the storeroom. “Start hauling those crates of oat milk to the back. Move fast.” I nodded and hoisted a heavy box. But as I turned, a sharp, white-hot flash of pain lanced through my abdomen. My knees buckled. I stumbled, knocking into a stack of glass syrup bottles. The sound of shattering glass was deafening. Gallons of sticky, expensive syrup pooled across the floor. Mike came running. His face went from pale to a livid purple. “What the hell are you doing?” “I’m sorry,” I gasped, clutching my stomach. “I just… I lost my balance.” “Sorry doesn’t pay the bills!” he yelled. “That’s four cases of artisanal syrup. That’s three hundred and fifty dollars out of my pocket. Pay for it and get out. You’re done.” Three hundred and fifty dollars. I didn’t even have thirty-five. “Mike, please,” I begged. “Can I pay you back in installments? Just give me a few days…” “Not a chance,” he snapped. “Three hundred and fifty. Right now. Or I’m calling the cops and reporting you for property damage.” Cornered and desperate, I called my father again. “Dad,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I was working a shift… I broke some things. I need to pay the shop three hundred and fifty dollars. Please, can you just transfer—” “Deal with your own messes, Elliot,” he said, his voice flat and bored. “I’m busy. Don’t call me for pocket change.” “Dad, I’m begging you. It’s three hundred and fifty. The owner is standing right here.” That was the trigger. He lost it. “Elliot! Are you kidding me? I just gave you fifteen thousand yesterday! Do you think your mother and I are printing money in the basement? You’re obsessed with greed!” I had the phone on speaker because my hands were shaking too hard to hold it to my ear. Everyone in the shop—the customers, the baristas, Mike—was staring at me. A year’s worth of suppressed, suffocating rage finally boiled over. “You keep saying that!” I screamed into the phone. “You tell everyone you give me fifteen thousand a month, but look at me! Look at my bank account! Have you ever actually looked at the transaction history? Have you ever once sent the money to my card?” “For a year, I’ve been living on nothing! I’ve been eating leftovers from the dining hall bins! I’ve been working three jobs while my stomach twists in knots from hunger! You’re out there playing the ‘perfect father’ for the cameras, but who are you really doing this for? Because it’s not for me!” The line was silent. For a moment, I thought I’d finally reached him. Then, his voice came back, cold and venomous. “I’m ‘acting,’ am I? We give you everything, and you turn into a parasitic brat. If the money isn’t there, maybe you should check who you’ve been hanging out with. If you starve, you starve. It’s your own damn fault.” My mother’s voice chirped in the background. “Elliot, honey, don’t upset your father. I’ll send you something in a bit—” “Don’t you dare send him a dime!” my father barked. “He’s probably spending it on something illicit. We have a reputation to protect. I won’t have my son becoming a degenerate on my dime.” I hung up. My eyes were stinging, and the pain in my stomach was so sharp I had to double over. Mike, who had been watching the whole spectacle, suddenly looked a lot less angry. He sighed, his expression softening into something like pity. “Look… the three hundred and fifty. Forget it for now. Just go home. You look like you’re about to collapse.” I thanked him, my voice barely a whisper, and walked out into the cold. I started doing the math in my head. I had one job left—the late-night cleanup crew at the campus cafeteria. Fifteen dollars an hour. I’d have to work twenty-four hours straight just to break even. I was so lost in the numbers that I didn’t see the car pull up. A silver Rolls Royce Ghost idling at the curb. “Elliot? What are you doing in this part of town?” It was Hudson. He was behind the wheel, looking like he’d stepped out of a luxury catalog. Three of his friends were in the back, laughing. “Nothing,” I said, not looking at him. “Where are you headed?” “The Maldives,” he said, grinning. “Dad and Mom said I should take the guys for a week. All expenses paid. They said I deserved a break after midterms.” He revved the engine. “See ya, bro. Don’t want to miss the jet!” He sped off, leaving a cloud of expensive exhaust in my face. I watched the taillights disappear. My parents were willing to pay for a dozen strangers to fly to the Maldives, yet I had to beg for three hundred and fifty dollars to stay out of jail. It was a joke. A sick, twisted joke. 3 I spent the last of my money at a cheap clinic for some generic stomach meds. After that, I went straight to the campus cafeteria for my cleanup shift. It was the only job I had left that provided a free meal, which was the only reason I hadn’t fainted yet. I was in the back, peeling potatoes, when I heard familiar voices. “Ugh, is this really all they have? This place smells like grease and despair,” a voice complained. “Just eat something, Chad. We have that seminar in twenty minutes.” I looked up. My heart sank. It was Tyler and his friend Chad, another guy from my floor who took great pleasure in mocking my “fake” lifestyle. Chad spotted me and a slow, cruel smirk spread across his face. “Well, well. If it isn’t the Crown Prince of Real Estate.” I kept my head down, the knife moving rhythmically against the potato skin. He walked over to the counter, leaning over the partition. “Fifteen thousand a month, and you’re back here peeling spuds? What is this, some kind of ‘Undercover Boss’ fantasy? Or are you just that desperate for attention?” Tyler joined in. “First he’s freezing to death in the dorms, now he’s a man of the people. You’re really committed to the bit, Elliot.” Chad pulled out his phone, the camera lens pointed directly at me. “I’m putting this on the University snap-story. Everyone needs to see the great Elliot Norton—sorry, the great Elliot—hard at work.” I stood up, my hand tightening around the peeler. “Put the phone away, Chad.” “Or what?” Tyler rolled his eyes. “You’re going to sue me with your imaginary lawyers? You’re a fraud, man. You love the ‘rich kid’ title, but you’re too cheap to even buy your own beer.” I tried to grab the phone, but Tyler shoved me back. I watched, helpless, as Chad typed out a caption: Caught the ‘Billionaire’ faking it again. Guess the allowance ran out? #Fraud #WorkHardPlayHard. By the next morning, I was a pariah. I showed up for my shift, but the supervisor, Joe, stopped me at the door. “Hey, Joe. Am I late?” Joe looked uncomfortable. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Elliot… look, I can’t have you here anymore.” “What? Why? I’ve never missed a shift.” “It’s not your work, kid,” Joe sighed, looking genuinely sorry. “Your father called the University Board yesterday. He told them if they kept you on staff, he’d pull his annual donation and make sure the cafeteria contract was ‘reviewed.’ He said you were embarrassing him.” He handed me an envelope. “This is your pay for the week. Two hundred and eighty dollars. I’m sorry, Elliot. You’re a good kid, but I can’t fight a guy like that.” I stood on the sidewalk, clutching the two hundred and eighty dollars. My bank balance was barely three hundred. I still owed Mike fifty bucks, and I had no way to buy food for the rest of the month. My father wouldn’t give me a dime, but he’d go out of his way to make sure I couldn’t earn one either. He wanted me broken. He wanted me to crawl back and beg. I didn’t crawl. I hailed a cab to the city. I was going home. By the time I reached the estate, the sun had set. I walked into the living room and found my parents on a FaceTime call with Hudson, who was clearly enjoying a sunset dinner on a beach in the Maldives. When they saw me, their faces dropped. “What are you doing here?” my father snapped. 4 I didn’t bother with a greeting. “Why did you get me fired, Dad?” He leaned back on the velvet sofa, a glass of scotch in his hand. “Because you’re a disgrace. Rolling around in a cafeteria kitchen like a common laborer? Do you have any idea how that looks to our investors? You were making a scene.” “I was working!” I shouted. “I was working because I have no money! How is that a disgrace?” “Bullshit!” his voice thundered. “The fifteen thousand is in your account every month! What did you do with it? Flush it down the toilet?” On the screen, Hudson piped up, his voice dripping with fake concern. “Dad, honestly? Elliot probably spent it all at the clubs. I heard some guys talking about how he’s always trying to buy bottles for girls to impress them.” “Hudson, shut the hell up!” I yelled. “I can’t even afford a sandwich, let alone a club!” My father stood up, his face reddening. “Don’t you talk to your brother like that! Hudson is right. You’ve always been the impulsive one. You’re probably blowing through that cash on God knows what, and then you come here to play the victim.” This was the pattern. Hudson was the saint; I was the screw-up. When we were kids, Hudson stole five thousand dollars from my mother’s purse to buy a high-end gaming rig. When he got caught, he pointed the finger at me. Elliot told me to do it. He said you’d never notice. I didn’t even play video games. I spent my time in the library. But my father didn’t ask questions. He yelled at me for two hours, and my mother cut off my social life for a semester. Hudson didn’t even get a slap on the wrist. “He’s lying!” I screamed, my voice cracking. “Dad, if you don’t believe me, let’s look at the records. Let’s look at the bank statements right now. Let’s see where that fifteen thousand actually goes!” My parents froze. The air in the room shifted. My father’s expression turned from rage to something darker—a cold, defensive calculation. “Are you interrogating us, Elliot? In our own home?” “I’m asking for the truth.” “We provide you with a life people would kill for,” my mother hissed, her eyes narrowing. “And you come back here with this… this attitude? We should have listened to your father years ago. You’re ungrateful.” “Provide me with what?” The tears were finally falling, hot and stinging. “You provide me with a reputation that makes people hate me. You provide Hudson with jets and vacations, and you provide me with a punch in the gut every time I ask for help. You’ve made me a target for everyone’s mockery while you use me to look like ‘generous parents’ in the tabloids!” My father was shaking with fury. “You…” “Enough!” my mother barked. “Elliot, do you honestly think you’re in a position to demand anything? You’re lucky we haven’t disowned you already.” “You already have!” I yelled. “In every way that matters!” A sharp, stinging blow landed across my cheek. The force of it sent me stumbling back against a side table. My father stood over me, his chest heaving. He pulled out his phone and shoved it an inch from my face. “You want to see the statements? You want to play auditor? Fine. Look! Look at the transfers!” I wiped the blood from my lip and took the phone. I opened the banking app. There it was. Every month, on the 10th, a transfer of fifteen thousand dollars. Recipient: Elliot Norton. Account ending in 4492. The date for this month was two days ago. I stared at the screen, my heart stopping. It was true. The money was being sent. But I had never seen a single cent of it.

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It was our one-year anniversary—the “ice queen” junior and the heir to the Whitaker empire. I was sitting across from Samantha Voss in an alcove of the most exclusive restaurant in the city, an unactivated, no-limit Black Amex resting between my thumb and forefinger. I was seconds away from sliding it across the linen tablecloth to her. Then, the air glitched. Translucent lines of text began to scroll across my vision like a high-speed ticker tape. They weren’t physical, yet they burned with a neon intensity. [Watch: The female lead is going to take the card and immediately go confess to the real hero.] [Ugh, I hate this part. But we have to thank the ‘villainous second lead’ for providing the seed money for her empire.] [Exactly. She’s going to use his connections to climb into the 1%, then burn his family’s company to the ground. It’s the classic ‘Boss Babe’ revenge trope. Total satisfaction!] I froze, the card still hovering. I looked up at Samantha. She wasn’t looking at me. She was staring past my shoulder toward the entrance, where a young man stood waiting for a table. Her expression, usually a mask of frigid indifference, had thawed into something soft, almost luminous. Her eyes were shimmering with a tenderness she had never once wasted on me. But the moment her gaze snapped back to mine, the warmth vanished. It was replaced by a flicker of irritation—a look that said I was a necessary, if slightly repulsive, chore. So that was the game. She had been playing the “torn between two worlds” card while effectively using me as a human ATM. I flicked the card against the table, catching her attention. I leaned back, a cold smile spreading across my face. “Samantha,” I said, my voice dropping an octave. “Let’s play a game of choices. Simple A or B.” I gestured with the card toward the boy at the door—Dante Ross, a scholarship student who was currently looking nervous while nursing a glass of water. “Choice A: You take this card. You take the limitlessness, the luxury, the Whitaker name. But you delete his number. You block him. You never speak his name again.” I paused, watching her pupils dilate. “Choice B: You choose him. And we’re over. Right here. Right now.” I tapped the card on the table. One. Two. Three. “Three seconds, Samantha. Make the call.” … 1 [Is the villain crazy? He’s actually making her choose?] [This is disgusting. Forcing her to delete the true love of her life for money? He’s such a prick.] [To be fair… it is a no-limit Black Card. That’s a tough one.] [Let him walk. He’s bluffing. There’s no way he’d actually dump her; he’s obsessed.] Samantha clearly shared the sentiment of the last comment. Her face darkened, her eyes sweeping over the matte black sliver of titanium in my hand. She let out a sharp, mocking puff of laughter. “Are you threatening me, Hudson? Really?” She leaned in, her voice dripping with misplaced confidence. “What if I choose him? You think you can actually walk away from me?” She smirked, that ‘I own you’ look etched into her perfect features. It was a look I used to find intoxicating. Now, it felt like swallowing a mouthful of rusted nails. Sour, sharp, and toxic. The restaurant’s live pianist began a soft, melancholic arrangement. It reminded me of the day I met her: Samantha in a faded thrift-store dress, carrying a battered backpack, looking like a defiant orphan in a world of silk. I had been mesmerized by that “high-glam poverty” aesthetic—the stubborn pride, the icy distance. But in just twelve months, my money had groomed that pride into arrogance. The “defiant orphan” was gone, replaced by a woman draped in designer labels, her eyes no longer fierce with survival, but glazed with greed. Samantha’s eyes followed the card as I toyed with it. Suddenly, the fire in my gut went out. I felt nothing but a profound sense of boredom. As the pianist finished his set and walked by our table to take a bow, I reached out and tucked the Black Card into his vest pocket. “Wrong answer,” I whispered. “Samantha, you’re out of the script.” 2 The smirk on Samantha’s face didn’t just fade; it shattered. Her hand, which had been halfway to the card, remained suspended in the air like a broken claw. The contempt in her eyes was swallowed by a raw, naked disbelief. The Feed in my vision went absolutely haywire. [Wait, did I hear that right? What is the villain doing?] [Why did he give the card to the piano guy?! That was supposed to be Samantha’s start-up capital!] It took Samantha a full ten seconds to find her voice. Her brow furrowed in that practiced command she used whenever I didn’t jump to her beat. “What are you doing? Hudson, stop being dramatic. Get the card back. Now.” I didn’t answer. I just reached for my coat and stood up. “The meal’s on me. Consider it a parting gift. Enjoy the truffle risotto, Samantha. It’s likely the last time you’ll be sitting on this side of the velvet rope.” As I turned to leave, she lunged, grabbing my wrist. Her grip was tight, desperate. “Stop this temper tantrum!” she hissed, her voice low so the other diners wouldn’t hear. “I told you I hate it when you act like a spoiled brat. You’re making a scene over nothing.” I looked down at her hand, then back at her face—that exquisite, heart-shaped face I had spent millions to keep smiling. I reached out and patted her cheek, a light, mocking gesture. “It really is a shame,” I said softly. “You were my favorite investment.” I pulled my arm back, breaking her grip, and walked away without looking back. I could hear the muffled shatter of a wine glass hitting the floor behind me, followed by her voice, shrill and fractured. “Hudson Blackwell! If you walk out that door, we are done! Do you hear me? DONE!” I stepped out into the cool night air, but I didn’t go far. I pulled into the shadows of the valet stand, trying to process the shimmering text still flickering in my periphery. It was almost too absurd to grasp. Me—Hudson Blackwell, the sole heir to a multi-billion dollar shipping and tech empire—was nothing more than a “villainous second lead” in some cosmic romantic drama designed to propel two “star-crossed lovers” to glory. According to the plot, Samantha was supposed to take my card. She was supposed to wait until I left, then run to that scholarship kid, Dante, and confess her undying love. They were supposed to have their secret, passionate affair on my dime. Eventually, I would find out. I would go full “rich-kid psycho,” using my family’s influence to expose Dante’s “shameful” past, getting him expelled and ruined. Samantha would stay with me, harboring a “noble” hatred, quietly building her own empire behind my back using my resources. The story ended with her destroying the Blackwells, finding her “soulmate” again, and leaving me bankrupt and disgraced. I was the cautionary tale. The stepping stone. I leaned against a brick pillar and lit a cigarette. Before I could even take a drag, a hand reached out and plucked it from my fingers, snubbing it out against the wall. I looked up. A tall, striking woman was standing over me. “Your card, sir.” I looked at the Black Amex she was holding out. It was the waitress—no, the girl who had been assisting the pianist earlier. “It’s a Black Card,” I said, leaning back. “Most people would have caught a flight to Paris by now. Why give it back?” She didn’t flinch. She just looked at me with eyes that were unnervingly clear, a stark contrast to the performative drama I’d lived in for a year. “It doesn’t belong to me,” she said simply. A normal person. How refreshing. I took the card and studied her. She had a quiet, grounded beauty—not the sharp, aggressive glamour of Samantha, but something deeper. There was a sense of self-awareness in the way she held herself. “I like you,” I said, and for the first time in months, I meant it. Just then, the valet pulled my car around—a custom, matte-black Porsche. At the same time, the restaurant doors swung open, and out stepped a fuming Samantha, followed closely by Dante Ross. Samantha was mid-rant. “I don’t know what’s gotten into Hudson. That ‘rich boy’ arrogance is finally rotting his brain. I’m exhausted by it.” Dante was hovering at her shoulder, playing the part of the supportive, sensitive boy-next-door. “Well, he is a Blackwell. He probably just expects you to crawl back. He’s probably waiting around the corner right now, planning some grand apology.” Samantha’s face softened slightly at that. She touched Dante’s arm. “You’re so much more mature than he is. He could learn a lot from you.” Then, her eyes landed on me. They didn’t even notice the girl standing next to me at first. Samantha saw the new car, and her eyes lit up with a triumphant spark. She looked at Dante as if to say, See? I told you. She walked toward me, a smug smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Honestly, Hudson. You think a new car is going to make up for that stunt inside?” She held out her hand, her palm up, waiting for the keys. “I’m still incredibly angry. You’re going to apologize, and then you’re going to give me my card back. Now.” 3 She said it with such casual authority it was almost impressive. The Feed agreed. [Here it is! The first Porsche of the female lead’s collection.] [I knew the villain couldn’t let her go. He’s just playing hard to get. Classic move.] [What a poser. Having money doesn’t mean you can treat her like that. She’s too good for him.] [Look at Dante standing in the back. He looks so heartbroken. It’s okay, baby, your time is coming.] I looked past Samantha at Dante. He wasn’t looking “heartbroken.” He was staring at the Porsche with a look of pure, unadulterated envy. The “Poor Girl” and the “Underdog.” Truly, a match made in hell. Samantha’s hand was still out. She was literally vibrating with anticipation. She glanced back at Dante, then back at me, her contempt barely masked. “This is Dante, by the way. He’s a classmate. He’s going to ride with me back to the dorms. You can take a cab or whatever. Just give me the keys.” I started to laugh. It wasn’t a bitter laugh; it was genuine amusement. I didn’t hand over the keys. Instead, I took a deliberate step back, creating a wide berth between us. “Samantha,” I said slowly. “Who told you this car was for you? When did I ever mention a gift?” The excitement on her face turned into a confused scowl. “Hudson, stop playing games. Why else would you have it parked right here if it wasn’t for me?” The logic was staggering. I actually had a momentary lapse where I wondered if I was the crazy one. Was this the “Main Character” aura everyone talked about? I pulled my fob from my pocket and hit the unlock button. The Porsche chirped twice, its LEDs cutting through the dark. “It’s my car. I bought it. I’m parking it here because I’m leaving in it. Do you think every car in the city belongs to you just because you’ve looked at it?” Samantha’s face flushed a deep, ugly crimson. “Look,” I continued, “Instead of worrying about what other people own, maybe focus on your own future. Though, from what I’ve seen of your grades lately, your future isn’t nearly as bright as these headlights.” Since we’d started dating, Samantha had treated her Ivy League education like an optional hobby. She had failed multiple classes, coasting on the assumption that I would simply buy her a degree or a company. I didn’t wait for her retort. I got into the car and pulled away, leaving her and her “soulmate” standing in the exhaust. For the next week, I went dark. Samantha didn’t call—not really. She’d let it ring once and hang up, a classic “chase me” tactic. Meanwhile, my vision was a constant barrage of The Feed. [He’s just sulking. He’ll be on his knees by Friday.] [Without the villain in the way, the leads are so cute together! Did you see them in the library?] [The Alumni Gala is coming up. They’re both co-hosting the ceremony. They’re going to look like royalty. I wish my school had a couple that stunning.] Right. The Gala. I decided I needed a new suit. I went to a high-end boutique downtown, sitting in the VIP lounge while models paraded the latest seasonal couture. “Sir, we have a vintage Oolong, or perhaps a glass of the ’96 Krug?” I paused, my hand frozen on the page of a lookbook. I looked up. Standing there in the boutique’s uniform was the girl from the restaurant. The one who hadn’t kept the card. “You’re everywhere, aren’t you?” 4 She looked as surprised as I was. She stammered for a second before smoothing her apron. “I… I work several jobs, Mr. Blackwell.” I glanced at her name tag. Cora. I caught the manager’s eye and gestured toward her. “Everything I buy today—put it under Cora’s commission.” I thought for a second. “Actually, as long as she works here, every purchase I make goes to her.” Cora stared at me, her eyes wide. When she knelt to help me try on a pair of Italian loafers, her hand brushed my ankle. She flinched, her fingertips retreating instantly. Her ears turned a deep shade of pink, like ripening cherries. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Are you still in school?” I asked. She looked up. “Yes. I’m a senior. Same university as you. Same department, actually. International Relations.” I studied her face again. She was striking—clear skin, intelligent eyes, a groundedness that felt like an anchor. How had I never noticed her on campus? Before I could ask more, The Feed flickered back into existence, obscuring her face. [OMG, the leads are here to pick out their Gala outfits!] [Dante looks like a literal prince in everything he tries on.] [That slate-gray gown is everything on Samantha. It looks so expensive.] The brand they mentioned was the very one I was currently sitting in. I had brought Samantha here a dozen times. She always played the part of the reluctant princess, standing there with a bored expression while I showered her with silk and lace. She accepted it all as her due, while pretending she was too “noble” to care about the price. I stepped out of the VIP lounge and, sure enough, Samantha was standing in front of a three-way mirror. She looked radiant, and she knew it. Dante was standing beside her in a matching slate-gray tuxedo. “Samantha, you look incredible,” he whispered, loud enough for the staff to hear. “I’m losing my mind over you.” She leaned into him, her voice playful. “I think I’m the one losing my mind.” She glanced at the price tag on the sleeve of the gown. “It’s not bad. Reasonable.” Dante’s eyes stayed glued to the tag. I saw his jaw tighten. “Maybe… maybe I shouldn’t get the suit,” he said, his voice trailing off with a practiced hint of “poor boy” pride. Samantha immediately bristled. “Don’t be ridiculous. It fits you perfectly. We’re getting both. Pick out a few more things while we’re at it. I’ll handle the bill.” Dante’s face transformed instantly. He beamed and scurried off to the racks like a kid in a candy store. I remembered that gown from the lookbook. It was a couture piece. Six figures, easily. A disowned scholarship student and a girl whose mother’s gambling debts I had been paying off until last week. How, exactly, were they planning to pay? With “good vibes”? 5 Samantha had picked out three couture gowns. Dante had gone wild, selecting five suits and a dozen casual pieces. The sales associate was practically vibrating with greed. “That will be one hundred and twenty-three thousand dollars, ma’am. How would you like to pay?” Samantha’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. She took a half-step back and pointed at Dante. “He’s paying.” Dante froze. He laughed nervously, looking around the room. “Samantha, stop joking. The man doesn’t pay for the woman’s things in a modern relationship, right?” “What? No, when I go out with Hudson, he always—” She cut herself off, the name “Hudson” hanging in the air like a foul odor. The sales associate’s smile began to turn brittle. She looked between Samantha and Dante, her eyes sharpening with professional judgment. Dante’s face was now a violent shade of red. He tugged at Samantha’s sleeve. “Samantha, stop playing. Just pay for the clothes.” “I thought you were buying these for me!” she hissed. It was a beautiful, slow-motion train wreck. Samantha thought Dante was a “secretly wealthy” heir who was playing poor to find true love. Dante thought Samantha was a “rich socialite” who would be his golden ticket. [Wait, what’s happening? Why hasn’t the villain stepped in to pay yet?] [Don’t worry, he’s coming. He can’t stand to see her embarrassed.] [Look! Here he comes!] I walked toward the register just as the comments predicted. I pulled the Black Amex from my wallet and handed it to the clerk. Samantha let out a massive, audible sigh of relief. She didn’t even try to hide her smugness. She looked at me with that familiar “charity case” expression. “Are you following me now, Hudson? Stalking me?” She sounded so certain. As if my entire existence was a moon orbiting her planet. I looked at her—at the arrogance, the delusion—and felt a wave of secondhand embarrassment for my past self. “Don’t think that paying for these means I’ve forgiven you,” she continued, already reaching for the shopping bags. “But I’ll admit, your timing is better than usual. I almost had to deal with a very awkward situation.” She stacked the bags in front of me, including Dante’s suits. She crossed her arms, reclaiming her “Ice Queen” throne. “If you had just given me the card last week, we could have avoided all this drama. Now, hurry up and sign so we can go.” I didn’t sign. I pushed the card toward the clerk. “I’m buying the items in the VIP lounge,” I said, my voice calm and clear. “Cora, are they ready?” Cora stepped out, carrying several high-end garment bags—things I had picked out for myself and a few choice pieces for her to wear to the Gala as my guest. Samantha’s eyes darted between the bags and Cora. Her face soured. “Do you have any idea how expensive those are? Why are you wasting money on her?” She scowled. “I hate it when people use money to show off. It’s tacky, Hudson.” Dante chimed in, his voice dripping with resentment. “Must be nice to be a trust-fund kid. Real class isn’t bought, Blackwell.” He leaned into Samantha. “You really need to talk to your boyfriend about his spending habits.” Samantha nodded, looking at me with “disappointed” eyes. “Fine. Pay for our things, and I’ll consider letting you take me to dinner tonight. Deal?” I looked at them both. I started to laugh, a low, dark sound that made the manager look over. “Samantha,” I said. “I’m not paying for your clothes.” “If you can’t afford them, don’t pick them out. It’s pathetic.” “And as for the ‘boyfriend’ thing? Get it through your head. We’re done.” “Because I have a new girlfriend now.” Samantha’s triumphant smile didn’t just fade. It died.

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