Author: Momo Chan

I was the unforgettable first love who vanished from a billionaire’s life. Five years later, I flew back to Chicago on Ethan’s birthday, wanting to surprise him. But outside his apartment door, I heard a woman’s soft, breathless gasps. Then came Ethan’s voice. It was raspy, strained, and filled with the intense passion I used to know so well. “Sienna…” The woman’s voice was as sweet as honey. “Didn’t you used to call out for Alana, Mr. Vance?” “Why not today?” Ethan growled, “Because you’ve completely bewitched me. Is that not enough?” The rest of their sounds faded into a blur. A cold dread washed over me. I turned around and walked away. On my way out, Chloe sent me a Snapchat. [Lana, I forgot to tell you. Ethan has a woman named Sienna Hayes around him now.] [But she’s just your stand-in. They have an agreement—the moment you come back, she has to pack her bags and leave. She’s no threat to you.] I thought to myself: Right now, Ethan probably doesn’t want her to leave at all. I had spent over ten hours on a flight, crossing half the globe, returning with a heart full of hope. But I didn’t come back to rekindle things. I came back to confirm that Ethan had already given his heart to someone else.

I checked into a hotel. At 2:00 AM, my phone lit up. It was a FaceTime call from Ethan. I stared at his name flashing on the screen and let it ring. For five years after I left, this name had haunted my dreams countless times. I used to dream that he found me, his eyes red as he demanded to know why I threw him away. And in those dreams, I would tell him the truth. But now, with his call actually coming through, I didn’t know what to say. The ringing stopped. A few seconds later, a Snapchat message popped up from him. [You’re back in town?] It took me a long time to reply. [Yeah.] He answered almost instantly. [Did you come to my place last night?] He had noticed. Maybe it was the wet footprint on the welcome mat, or maybe it was the digital lock’s history. But he didn’t ask if I got caught in the rain. He didn’t ask why I didn’t come in, or where I was staying. He was only trying to confirm if I had seen something I shouldn’t have. I replied: [I did.] There was a long silence on his end. Finally, he text back: [Let’s meet tomorrow.] Outside, the rain was pouring heavily. The hotel room’s harsh white light made everything feel cold and lifeless. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I remembered my first night in London five years ago. The guards my father hired stood outside my door. They had confiscated my passport and my phone. I was burning with a fever so high that my mind was hazy, yet I kept begging them to give my phone back. I wanted to call Ethan. I wanted to tell him that his mother’s medical bills had been paid, and that my father would help sort out his struggling startup. I didn’t leave him on purpose. I just didn’t have a choice. But the next morning, I saw an email my father had sent to Ethan using my account. It was brutally short. [Ethan, I’m tired. I don’t want to struggle with you anymore. Let’s break up.] I had knelt on the carpet, crying until I couldn’t breathe. Later, I tried to contact him. But his number was disconnected, and my emails were blocked. Our mutual friends had been warned by my father; no one dared to help me pass a message. I thought that with time, once my father relented and Ethan got back on his feet, we would finally have a chance to explain things. But five years was too long. It was long enough for a broke boy with nothing to his name to become the powerful CEO of Vance Enterprises. It was long enough for him to hold another woman tightly in his arms. The next afternoon, I went to Vance Enterprises. Ethan didn’t come down to meet me himself. He sent his assistant. When the assistant saw me, his expression was incredibly conflicted. “Ms. Miller, Mr. Vance is waiting for you in his penthouse office.” Years ago, Ethan’s people used to call me “Lana.” Now, they looked at me like I was a ghost from a past that didn’t belong here anymore. When I entered the office, Ethan was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, smoking. Five years had stripped away his old gentleness, leaving only a sharp, cold edge. His black shirt was buttoned to the top, and a luxury watch gleamed on his wrist. Hearing the door open, he turned around. The moment his eyes landed on me, something intense flickered deep within them. But quickly, he masked it with cold indifference. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?” I looked at him. “I wanted to surprise you.” His hand holding the cigarette paused slightly. Ethan walked over and shut the office door. “Last night… how much did you hear?” I met his gaze. “How much did you want me to hear?” His expression darkened. “Lana, don’t play mind games with me.” “Sienna is just…” He paused, stopping himself. I finished the sentence for him. “A stand-in?” Ethan’s face turned incredibly pale. “Alana, you were gone for five years!” “You were the one who betrayed us first. What right do you have to question me now?”

Resentment flared in his eyes. “My mother was in the ICU, fighting for her life, and you didn’t answer my calls.” “I was cornered by reporters outside my office, looking like a desperate dog, and you weren’t there.” “And then I got your email, saying you were tired and didn’t want to waste your life on me.” He took a step closer, crowding my space. “And now you come back, see someone else by my side, and feel wronged?” My fingertips trembled slightly. “I didn’t send that email.” Ethan let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Then who did?” I opened my mouth to explain. But right then, his phone rang. The name “Sienna” flashed on the screen. His finger twitched. It was an instinct—more honest than any word he had ever spoken to me. The phone rang a second time. And a third. Finally, Ethan picked it up, his tone harsh. “What is it?” I couldn’t hear the other side, but his brow furrowed deeply. “Don’t cry.” After a brief pause, Ethan hung up and looked at me. “She’s not feeling well. I need to head back.” I nodded. “Go ahead.” My calm reaction seemed to irritate him. “Alana, what is with this attitude?” I countered: “What attitude should I have?” “You vanished for five years, and the moment you return, you act like the victim. I am under no obligation to wait for you forever.” With that, he slammed the door and left. I stood in the quiet office, remembering how Ethan used to fight with me. No matter how angry he was, he would never leave me alone. He would stand outside my door all night. “Lana, open the door.” “I was wrong.” “I just lost my temper. Please don’t ignore me.” Back then, I thought we would fight and have cold wars, but we would never lose each other. Now I realized there is no such thing as “forever” in this world. The news of my return quickly spread through our old circle. On the third night, Chloe threw a welcome-back party for me. By the time I arrived, there were already a dozen people in the VIP lounge. The moment they saw me, the teasing began. “Lana’s finally back!” “Where’s Ethan? Why didn’t he come with you?” “You two were so crazy about each other back then. Are you getting back together now?” “Ethan has been thinking about you all these years, you know.” Hearing those words, my throat felt dry. Thinking about me? Maybe he did. But he also had someone else in his bed. Chloe pushed me into the center seat and whispered, “Don’t worry about anything tonight. We’ve all got your back.” I forced a small smile. “There’s no need.” “Of course there is.” She lowered her voice, her eyes filled with pain for me. “You suffered in London for five years because of him. Why should you come back and take this kind of disrespect?” Before I could reply, the door swung open. Ethan walked in. He wore a long black coat, his expression cold. The moment he entered, his eyes immediately locked onto me. For a split second, I saw a flash of vulnerability in his eyes. But just as quickly, he went back to being distant. Someone immediately joked: “Late to the party, Mr. Vance!” “Lana’s back, you owe her at least three shots!” “Seriously! You two were the most dramatic couple in our group back then.” “Now that Lana’s back, you better start chasing her again!”

Ethan glanced at me and gave a curt nod. Sensing the tense atmosphere, someone tried to smooth things over. “Look at him, Ethan’s actually shy!” “He was so wild back then, and now he’s acting all polite.” I kept my head down, taking a sip of water. It was ice-cold. It slid down my throat, making my chest ache. After a few rounds of drinks, the mood in the room got lively. Someone suddenly laughed and said: “Hey, since we’re celebrating Lana’s return, shouldn’t we invite his other girl too?” “We’re all friends here. Sienna’s been close with Ethan these past few years. Let’s call her over to hang out.” Before anyone could stop him, he actually dialed the number. Ethan frowned. “Stop messing around.” But the call had already gone through. A few minutes later, we heard the host guiding someone down the hall. The door opened. Sienna stood at the entrance. She wore a soft white knit dress, her eyes slightly red as if she had been crying before she got here. The moment she walked in, the entire room fell dead silent. Everyone’s eyes darted back and forth between her and me. Sienna did look like me. Especially her eyes and brow. Five years ago, I was just as thin, and I loved wearing light colors too. But she looked much more fragile, like she would break at the slightest touch. Jared Stone smirked and waved her over. “Sienna, come on, sit here.” He was pointing to the empty seat right next to me. Ethan slammed his glass onto the table, shattering it. “Jared, don’t push it!” Jared shrugged. “What did I do? Everyone just wants to see what it’s like when the original and the stand-in are in the same room.” At those words, Sienna’s face went completely pale. She clutched her purse, tears instantly spilling over. “I’m sorry… I didn’t know Ms. Miller was here.” She turned to leave. Ethan stood up and grabbed her wrist. “Sienna.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it was enough to silence the room. Sienna froze, keeping her back to him, her shoulders trembling. “I didn’t mean to.” “I really didn’t want to steal anyone’s place…” The air in the room was thick with awkwardness. Everyone was staring at me. Some looked sympathetic, some embarrassed, and others pretended to take drinks. Ethan finally turned his gaze to me. In that look, there was resentment, anger, and a strange kind of blame that I couldn’t quite comprehend. It was as if Sienna’s humiliation was entirely my fault. I slowly stood up. “I wasn’t the one who called her.” Ethan’s voice was ice-cold. “But these are your friends.” I froze. Then, I laughed. So even this was being blamed on me. Sienna cried harder. “Don’t blame Lana. I shouldn’t have come.” As she spoke, her knees buckled. Ethan’s expression changed instantly, and he caught her. “Sienna?” She slumped weakly into his arms. “I can’t… I can’t breathe…” Ignoring everyone else, Ethan scooped Sienna up in his arms. As he passed by me, I instinctively called out to him. “Ethan.” “Today is my welcome party.” Ethan looked down at me. In his arms, Sienna was still sobbing, her fingers tightly clutching his shirt. He remained silent for two seconds. Finally, he said, “She’s sick.” Then, he carried her out without looking back. The door clicked shut quietly. But to me, it felt like a bomb had gone off in my ears. Everyone in the room was frozen. Chloe’s eyes were red. She wanted to run after him, but I held her back. Her voice shook. “Lana…” I shook my head. “Don’t. Let him go.” There was nothing left to chase. He had made his choice. The party ended in awkward silence. Some tried to comfort me, saying Ethan was just confused. Others cursed Sienna for being manipulative and faking a faint. And some said Ethan had actually been miserable these past few years, and he was only using Sienna to hurt me because he was bitter about me leaving without a word. Hearing all of that just made me feel exhausted. Using her to hurt me? What a joke. If this was all just a punishment, it felt way too real.

I went back to the hotel alone. The moment I stepped into my room, my phone buzzed. An unknown number had sent me a video. I tapped it. The background was a hospital hallway. Sienna was sitting on a bench, pale-faced, her eyes swollen from crying. Ethan stood in front of her, holding a bag of prescription medicine. Suddenly, Sienna threw herself into his arms. “Ethan, did I make a fool of myself tonight?” “Everyone says I’m just a stand-in. They say now that Alana is back, I should just get lost.” “But I’m the one who stayed by your side for five years!” “I took care of you when your stomach flared up. I stayed up with you when you couldn’t sleep. Even when you got drunk and called out her name, I swallowed my pride and stayed.” “What am I to you?” Ethan didn’t push her away immediately. His hand hovered in the air for a long time. Finally, he let it rest gently on her back. Sienna sobbed louder. “Do you still love Alana?” In the video, Ethan remained silent for what felt like an eternity. Sienna looked up, tears streaming down her face. “I want the truth.” “If you had to choose between her and me, who would it be?” Ethan closed his eyes. His voice was low and hollow. “Sienna, I don’t love her anymore.” The words were soft. But they felt like a sharp blade, precisely piercing through the last bit of hope I had clung to for five years. Sienna hugged him tightly, weeping. “Then don’t make me a stand-in anymore, okay?” Ethan didn’t say anything. But he leaned down and held her even tighter. The video cut off there. A few seconds later, another text came from the unknown number. [Ms. Miller, coming back was just humilating yourself.] Staring at the screen, I suddenly laughed. And then, the tears started falling. For five years, I had faced temptations. But I never took a single step out of line. Because I knew I was going back to Ethan. So I kept my distance from everyone else. But Ethan didn’t wait. He found someone who looked like me and kept her close. Hugging, kissing, sleeping together. What was the point of my loyalty? I saved the video and didn’t reply. At 4:00 AM, I booked the earliest flight to New York. Chloe called me soon after, her voice full of tears. “Lana, you just got back. Why are you leaving again?” I looked out the window at the dark sky. “Because I realized this place is entirely foreign to me now.” “You can explain things to Ethan.” “There’s no point.” The person he loves is no longer me. Even if he knows the truth now, what difference would it make? I had arrived with a heart full of hope, thinking I was finally coming home. But as I left, I left nothing behind. I deactivated the phone number I had used for years and blocked every contact associated with the Vance family. When the airport intercom announced my flight, I took one last look at the city. This was where my passionate youth had been. This was where the boy I loved with all my heart once lived. And this was where my most humiliating reunion took place. Now, it was all over.

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My family has a strict trust fund rule: regardless of gender, every heir must hide their identity and live a humble life. The first descendant to get pregnant and secure the next generation will be the one to inherit the entire family empire. I was the very first one in my generation to see those two pink lines on the pregnancy test. The moment I got the positive report, I was so ecstatic that I ran all the way home without even putting on a coat. With this baby, I could finally stop hiding my identity and end this miserable, penny-pinching life with him. And his struggling little startup would no longer have to worry about next month’s rent. But when I pushed the front door open, I saw a woman sitting at our dining table, sipping tea that my husband had brewed for her. Without even looking up, Ethan Vance said, “Iris is back. Good. Let’s get the divorce papers signed.” I quietly slipped the pregnancy test back into my pocket. What Ethan didn’t know was that the “poor, penniless wife” who had suffered by his side stood before a world he could never reach in his entire lifetime. Fine. I’ll keep the baby, ditch the father, and never see him again. 0

“The divorce agreement is on the coffee table. The pen is right next to it.” Ethan’s tone was completely flat. Chloe Brooks was sitting in my usual spot. She glanced at me, the corners of her mouth curving into a smug little smirk, but she said nothing. That look of hers instantly reminded me of a parasite occupying a host’s nest. I walked over and picked up the agreement. Three pages, densely packed with text. The house went to Ethan. The company shares went to Ethan. The savings went to Ethan. The car went to Ethan. I got absolutely nothing. “I walk away with nothing?” Ethan finally spared me a glance. “The agreement states you’ll get a lump-sum compensation of thirty thousand dollars. That’s more than fair.” Thirty thousand. I had been married to this man for three years. Ten thousand dollars a year. Chloe set her teacup down. “Iris, thirty thousand is enough for you to rent a decent studio apartment.” She called me Iris, but her tone carried a patronizing pity. I stared at her. “When did you get back?” “Yesterday,” Chloe tilted her head, smiling sweetly. “Ethan picked me up from the airport. He waited for four hours because my flight was delayed.” Yesterday. Yesterday, Ethan told me he had to work late at the office for an emergency. Chloe stood up, walked over to Ethan, and naturally wrapped her arm around his. “Ethan said you’re a good person. He said you wouldn’t make things difficult for us.” Ethan didn’t pull away from her touch. The pregnancy test pressed hard against my thigh through my pocket, leaving a dull ache. I had originally run home to tell him, *Ethan, we’re having a baby.* *You don’t have to lose sleep over the office rent anymore. You don’t have to drink yourself to a stomach bleed just to please clients.* I thought today was going to be the best day of our lives. “Where’s the pen?” I asked. Ethan pointed to the coffee table. I bent down to grab the pen. From this angle, I could see Chloe’s hand resting intimately on Ethan’s lower back. As I uncapped the pen, the pregnancy test almost slid out of my pocket. I quickly pressed it back down. “Sign on the last page. Put today’s date,” Ethan’s voice came from above me. I signed my name. *Iris Miller.* I put the pen down and stood up. “Fine. But we still need to go to the courthouse tomorrow to make the dissolution official.” “Tomorrow at 9:00 AM. I’ll meet you there,” Ethan said, pulling out his phone. Right in front of my face, he unlocked it and opened his contacts. He changed my contact name from “Wife” to “Iris Miller.” Then he locked his phone and slid it back into his pocket. Chloe leaned her head on his shoulder. “Ethan, I want that garlic butter steak and mashed potatoes you promised me.” “Sure. I bought some fresh ribeyes. I’ll make it for you.” Ethan actually turned and walked into the kitchen. We had been married for three years, and he had never cooked a single meal for me. Whenever I asked him if he could cook, he always said he didn’t know how, claiming he would burn the kitchen down even if he just boiled instant ramen. But now, the way he tied his apron was smoother than a pro chef. Chloe shrugged at me. “Iris, don’t just stand there. Pack up your stuff and go. I’m having decorators come in tomorrow to remodel. I saw your clothes in the closet—they’re so old and tacky. Don’t bother taking them. Honestly, they’re too cheap to even use as cleaning rags.” I went into the bedroom, took my ID, and packed a small canvas bag. It held only a few sentimental items I had brought from my family when I married him. None of it had anything to do with Ethan. As I walked past the kitchen on my way out, Ethan was chopping herbs on the cutting board. The knife made a steady, rhythmic sound. He didn’t look up once. I stood at the doorway to change my shoes. Chloe followed me, leaning against the doorframe. “Iris, there’s something I think you should know.” “Go ahead,” I said. “When Ethan was with me, he never sighed. But during these past three years with you, I heard him sigh so many times over the phone.” She lowered her gaze, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Maybe you two were just never meant to be.” I looked at her. Ethan sighed because his cash flow was blocked, because clients canceled orders, and because his startup was constantly on the verge of bankruptcy. And every single time he faced a crisis, I secretly pulled strings to resolve it. He would wake up the next morning finding all his problems magically solved, genuinely believing it was just “good luck.” “You’re right,” I said, bending down to tie my sneakers. “We were never meant to be.” As the door clicked shut behind me, I heard Chloe’s voice drift from inside. “Ethan, let’s change the smart lock passcode. I want to set it to our anniversary.” 0

I moved into a tiny, eight-hundred-dollar studio near the university campus. The window faced a busy burger joint downstairs, and the smell of grease constantly seeped through the cracks. I sat on the hard mattress, staring at the pregnancy test for a long time. The two pink lines were blindingly clear. My phone rang. It was Ethan. “Iris, you haven’t canceled the corporate credit card yet.” “I’ll handle it tomorrow when we go to the courthouse.” “Fine.” Just as I was about to hang up, I heard Chloe’s voice in the background: “Ethan, ask her about the office keycard. I saw it in her bag last time.” Ethan hesitated for a second. “Bring the keycard with you tomorrow too.” “Anything else?” I asked. “That’s all for now.” He hung up. My screen was still lit, displaying our three years of chat history. The very first message he had ever sent me was: *Miss Miller, thank you so much for saving my skin today.* That day, he was negotiating with a difficult client who suddenly hiked up the price, leaving Ethan sweating in panic. I happened to be there. Quietly, I rewrote the contract terms for him, and the client signed on the spot. Ethan had no idea that the client was actually a close business associate of my family. He only knew me as a grocery store cashier who made fifteen dollars an hour. For three years of marriage, I had played that role perfectly. The next morning, Ethan’s mother called. “Iris, have you finished packing your junk?” “Almost.” “Leave those cheap clothes of yours behind. They’re trash anyway. Also, Chloe said she really liked that secret marinara sauce you used to make. Leave the recipe on the counter.” I had made that marinara sauce for three years. Ethan ate it every single morning, and his mother had never once complimented me. “No,” I replied flatly. “Excuse me?” Helen’s voice instantly turned sharp. “You’re already divorced, and you’re still being this petty? Do you have any idea who Chloe is? Her family asking for your recipe is a compliment!” “Oh? And who is she?” “Chloe’s family runs a major import-export business in the capital! Do you honestly think everyone is a low-life cashier like you?” Helen sneered over the phone. “Iris, let me be honest with you. I was never happy when Ethan married you. Sure, you were obedient these past three years, but a man needs to climb. Ethan’s company is taking off now, and you’re just dead weight.” “Chloe and Ethan were college sweethearts. They belong together. Now that she’s back, stop blocking their way.” Last year, when Ethan’s company was about to go bankrupt due to a massive bad debt, and he couldn’t even pay his employees’ salaries, I was the one who secretly cleared the debt through my family’s channels. Ethan thought the debtor had suddenly found their conscience and paid him back. He had come home ecstatic that night, hugging me and saying, *Babe, we have the best luck in the world.* “Mrs. Vance, I am not giving you the recipe. Is there anything else?” Helen slammed the phone down in fury. Half an hour later, a text from Ethan popped up on my Snapchat: *My mom said you were rude to her. We’re already divorced, Iris. Don’t make this uglier than it needs to be.* I didn’t reply. I flipped my phone face down on the bed and gently stroked my stomach. In three months, I would start showing. By then, I would return to the Sterling family as the sole heir who successfully secured the next generation, taking over everything. Ethan’s hard-earned company was worth maybe three million dollars. To the Sterling family, that wasn’t even pocket change. That afternoon, I went to the hospital to set up my prenatal files. While waiting in line, my phone rang again. It was Chloe, calling from Ethan’s phone. “Hi Iris, sorry to bother you. But I found a bottle of prenatal folic acid in our bedroom. I wanted to ask if it’s yours, or if it was left by the previous owner?” Folic acid. I had been taking it while trying to conceive. My grip tightened on the phone. “Throw it away. It’s expired.” “Great. Oh, and Ethan wanted me to double-check—are you definitely canceling that credit card tomorrow?” “Yes.” “Awesome. Bye, Iris!” After hanging up, my hands were shaking. Not out of anger, but out of fear. Chloe had found the prenatal vitamins. “Will she figure it out?” I stared at the phone, whispering to myself. No one answered. 0

The day my prenatal report came out, I sat on the hospital corridor bench, lost in thought. The doctor said everything was perfect. The baby was healthy. I just needed to eat well and get plenty of rest. *The baby is healthy.* I repeated those words in my head three times. “Iris?” I looked up. Chloe was standing at the end of the hallway, holding a bag of fruit. She smiled and walked over. “What a coincidence. You’re at this hospital too?” “What are you doing here?” I asked coldly. “Visiting a friend.” She sat down next to me, her eyes casually scanning my hands. I quickly flipped my medical report over, but her sharp eyes had already caught the header. “OB-GYN department?” Chloe’s tone instantly shifted. The sweet, fake warmth vanished. She stared intently at my face. “Iris, don’t tell me you’re…” “It’s none of your business.” “You’re pregnant?” I stood up. “Chloe, this is none of your concern.” “Of course it’s my concern,” she sneered, standing up to face me. “If that’s Ethan’s baby, it is absolutely my business.” People were walking past us in the hallway. She leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a harsh whisper. “Iris, were you planning on hiding this and raising the kid secretly? And then what? Use the child to blackmail Ethan?” “I don’t need to blackmail anyone.” “But Ethan won’t want this baby anyway,” Chloe said, her voice dripping with malice. “He told me himself—he wants his child to be born into a complete, loving family. And the family he chose has no room for you.” “He told you that?” “He tells me everything.” Chloe pulled out her phone and played a voice memo. Ethan’s voice came through the speaker: *Chloe, once this busy season is over, we’ll have a beautiful wedding. Don’t worry about anything else right now. Just focus on settling into our home.* “Hear that? He’s already planning our wedding. If you crawl back now with a baby bump, everyone will just see you as a desperate ex-wife who refuses to let go.” I took a deep, steady breath. Chloe watched my reaction, seemingly confirming her suspicions. “Iris, let me give you some advice. Get an abortion and let’s go our separate ways. I won’t tell Ethan, and no one else has to know.” “And if I refuse?” “Then I’ll tell him myself. How do you think he’ll react?” She reached into her designer bag and handed me a white envelope. “What’s this?” “Open it and see.” Inside the envelope was an ultrasound scan. The name printed at the top was Chloe Brooks. The date was from two weeks ago. It clearly stated: *Intrauterine pregnancy, 7 weeks.* “I’m pregnant too,” Chloe said, her fake smile completely gone, replaced by a cold, arrogant stare. “Ethan already knows. He’s ecstatic. He already bought a ton of baby gear.” “So, do you get it now? His firstborn can only be mine.” I stared at the ultrasound. Seven weeks. But Chloe only returned to the country yesterday. Seven weeks ago, she was still in Europe. Yet, the stamp on this ultrasound was from our local city hospital. The timeline was physically impossible. But I kept my mouth shut. Now wasn’t the time to expose her. “Think about it,” Chloe said, patting my shoulder patronizingly. “Before things get messy.” She turned and sauntered away. I clutched the fake ultrasound in my hand. *You claim you’re pregnant too. Seven weeks ago, you were across the ocean, but your scan is stamped by our local clinic.* “Chloe Brooks, what kind of game are you playing?”

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Three years of marriage. I quit my job, became a full-time mom, and hadn’t visited my parents out of state once. My mother-in-law, Eleanor, said she felt bad for me. So, she gifted us a $12,000 high-end, fully automated smart home system. I was incredibly touched. Until one morning, I woke up ten minutes late. The smart speaker in the hallway suddenly blasted her voice: “Get out of bed and make breakfast! Don’t let my son starve!” That was when I realized. The cameras, our spending logs, and my call history—everything was being synced directly to her phone. I bought a $38 hand cream, and she called ten minutes later, screaming at me. She asked who I was trying to seduce by dressing up now that I was married. I tried to take a nap, and she texted me, demanding I get up to supervise our son Leo’s homework. I had a mental breakdown and confronted Brandon. He just shrugged. “If you’re so smart, go out, make your own money, and buy a house. Stop complaining while living in my mom’s property.” That night, Eleanor sent me a text: “Why were you crying in the living room at 1 AM? Trying to make me look bad?” I stared at that text for a very long time. Then, I opened my phone and texted a number I had kept hidden: “Mr. Vance, I’ve made up my mind. I want a divorce.” 0

“Who were you texting last night?” Brandon blocked the bedroom door, shoving his phone screen in my face. It was a screenshot. A motion-trigger capture from the living room camera. The timestamp read 1:03 AM. In the picture, I was curled up on the sofa, the blue light from my phone reflecting on half of my face. “My mom forwarded this to me at 3 AM,” Brandon sneered. “Why do you have to stress her out like this? She didn’t sleep a wink last night because of you.” “I was messaging a lawyer,” I said quietly. “A lawyer?” He let out a harsh laugh through his nose. “You’re a stay-at-home mom. What do you need a lawyer for? Do you even have the money to pay one?” “Divorce doesn’t cost as much as you think.” His face froze. It wasn’t anger; it was a look of pure, offended shock. It was as if the mop in the corner had suddenly opened its mouth and announced it was on strike. The blue light on the smart speaker flashed. Eleanor’s voice echoed through the speaker in the living room, crystal clear. “Brandon, did you check her phone yet? I’m telling you, decent women don’t text men in the middle of the night. Are you going to handle her, or am I?” Brandon looked at me and held out his hand. “Give me your phone.” “No.” “Who bought that phone, Chloe? Whose name is on the family plan?” He said those words so smoothly, like he had rehearsed them a thousand times. The phone was a gift from Eleanor, and the line was registered under her name. My contacts, my call logs, my apple pay receipts—every single detail was synced to that woman’s screen two states away. I handed the phone over. Not because I was afraid of him, but because there was nothing left on it. I had already memorized Mr. Vance’s number. He spent twenty minutes digging through it. He scrolled through my Snapchat chats, went through my call history, searched my browser logs, and even checked my keyboard pasteboard history. “Don’t ever contact this Vance guy again,” Brandon warned. “Okay.” “You’re never leaving this house, Chloe. This apartment belongs to my mom, the car is in my name, and you know exactly how pathetic your bank account is.” The speaker chimed again. “Brandon, has she made breakfast yet? It’s already 8:00 AM. What about Leo? What is Leo eating? Don’t give him cereal and milk again. It has no nutrition. Did she follow the recipe I sent yesterday?” Brandon shot me a look. It meant one thing: *You heard her. Get to work.* I walked into the kitchen. I opened the fridge, and the small touchscreen built into the smart fridge lit up. It tracked what ingredients were inside, how much we used, and every single time the door was opened. Last month, I took out an extra block of butter to make cookies for Leo. Eleanor called that very afternoon. “Why are you eating so much butter? Look at your weight. The smart scale showed you gained another pound and a half this morning.” Even the bathroom scale was connected to her network. I cracked an egg into a bowl and picked up the salt shaker. I shook in two pinches. I hesitated, then added a third. Less than five minutes later, the speaker crackled. “Three pinches of salt? You did that last time, too. I’ve been keeping track. Two is more than enough. Too much sodium is bad for your kidneys.” She could see me seasoning the food. There was a camera hidden in the kitchen. From cooking to cutting vegetables to washing dishes, every second I spent standing at the sink was under her watchful eye. If I searched for job openings on Google, she’d call five minutes later to ask if I thought Brandon didn’t make enough money. If I drank too much water at night and went to the bathroom frequently, she’d text me to go get my gut health checked. This $12,000 smart system wasn’t a gift. It was a digital prison. After breakfast, Brandon got ready to leave. Before closing the door, he threw over his shoulder, “I have a business dinner tonight, don’t wait up. Watch Leo. My mom wants to FaceTime him later to check if he’s memorized his preschool vocabulary.” The door clicked shut. The living room was dead silent, save for the faint blue light of the smart speaker, staring at me like an unblinking eye. I walked into the bathroom and locked the door. I turned the sink faucet on to full blast. From behind the lid of the toilet tank, I fished out a cheap, old burner phone. I bought it for $50 on eBay. I registered the SIM card under a fake name using a pre-paid plan, paying cash. It wasn’t connected to the home Wi-Fi, and it didn’t have any smart apps installed. I opened Snapchat. There was a new message from David Vance: “Mrs. Miller, I’ve reviewed your situation. Installing surveillance equipment without your consent, syncing your personal communications, and tracking your spending constitutes a severe invasion of privacy. It borders on unlawful surveillance. However, we need a solid paper trail to file. From now on, you have one job—document everything. The more detail, the better.” I typed back: “She put a camera in the kitchen. She knows exactly how many pinches of salt I put in my food.” The reply came in less than thirty seconds. “The more cameras she installs, the more pieces of evidence we have for court.” 0

“This week’s score is out. Listen carefully.” It wasn’t the speaker this time. It was a voice memo on Snapchat. Eleanor sent a file every Sunday night at exactly 8:00 PM. It was an Excel spreadsheet titled: *Weekly Household Performance Report – Week 17.* Three months ago, when I first started receiving it, there were only three columns: Housekeeping, Meals, and Childcare. Now, it had expanded to nine. Housekeeping Completion, Meal Compliance, Childcare Hours, Personal Spending Audit, Weight Fluctuation, Sleep Duration, Location Logs, Call Duration, and Screen Time. Each column had a letter grade next to it. From A to D. “Housekeeping: B-minus. On Wednesday afternoon, you only mopped the living room and master bedroom. You skipped the guest bathroom. The camera caught it perfectly.” “Meals: C. You used three pinches of salt on Tuesday, and the chicken on Thursday was slightly overcooked. Go watch the replay yourself.” “Childcare: B. Leo wasn’t asleep by 8:30 PM on Thursday. What were you doing? Sitting on the couch scrolling through your phone.” “Personal Spending: D. You spent $38 at the local pharmacy on Saturday for a hand cream. Household allowance is for survival, not for wasting on luxury.” Thirty-eight dollars. My hands were cracking from the dry winter air. Every time I washed the dishes, the pain was so bad I could barely hold the plates. “Weight: B. You gained 0.3 pounds compared to last week. Watch your intake.” “Overall Grade: C-plus. I expect to see improvement next week.” Her tone when she said “I expect to see improvement” sounded exactly like an HR director delivering a performance review. And this spreadsheet wasn’t just sent to me. She dropped it directly into the “Miller Family Group” on Snapchat. There were twelve people in that group. Brandon, Eleanor, Arthur (who never spoke), Brittany, Brittany’s husband Dan, Uncle Robert, Aunt Sarah, Cousin Ryan, Cousin Lily, Aunt Clara, Uncle John, and a distant cousin whose name I couldn’t even remember. Every Sunday night, the spreadsheet was tossed into the group chat like a report card pinned to the classroom wall. Brittany was always the first to reply: “Chloe went over budget again? A $38 hand cream? I use a $3 tub of Vaseline, and my hands are fine.” Aunt Sarah chimed in right after: “Honestly. Brandon works so hard to support the family on his own.” Aunt Clara sighed: “I told you from the start, Brandon. You should have married a girl who knows how to budget.” Cousin Lily sent a gif of a cat rolling its eyes. In a group chat of twelve people, not a single person thought this spreadsheet was insane. No one asked: *By what right are you grading an adult’s life?* No one questioned the new column that had appeared on the sheet last week. It was labeled: “Bathroom Logs.” *Tuesday morning: Entered at 10:17 AM, exited at 10:29 AM. Duration: 12 minutes.* *Wednesday night: Entered at 11:42 PM, exited at 11:58 PM. Duration: 16 minutes.* *Friday morning: Entered at 3:01 AM, exited at 3:19 AM. Duration: 18 minutes.* There was a note next to it: *Excessive time. Strongly suspect screen-time abuse in the restroom.* She was tracking my toilet visits. When Brandon got home that night, I shoved the spreadsheet in front of him. “Look at this. Do you honestly think this is normal?” He glanced at it. “My mom is just helping you organize your life so you can improve. Why are you being so ungrateful?” “She is tracking how long I use the bathroom, Brandon!” “Well, aren’t you just hiding in there to play on your phone? You wouldn’t take that long otherwise.” “I had my period that week! My stomach was hurting!” “Then tell my mom! How is she supposed to know if you don’t tell her?” “You want me to report my menstrual cycle to your mother?!” “Why do you have to sound so hostile?” Brandon snapped. “Stop being so paranoid. My mom cares about you. Go ask around—how many mothers-in-law spend $12,000 to upgrade their daughter-in-law’s home with smart technology?” A $12,000 system of “care.” The kind of care that reduced a living human being into a set of data points. That night, after Leo fell asleep, I went into the bathroom. I turned on the faucet and pulled out my burner phone. I took screenshots of all seven pages of this week’s spreadsheet, recorded Eleanor’s voice memos, and saved the family group chat logs. I sent everything to David Vance. He replied almost instantly: “This spreadsheet is a form of degrading, psychological micromanagement. Distributing it to a family group chat constitutes collective mental abuse. These are powerful pieces of evidence. Do not alert them. Keep recording.” I hid the phone back behind the toilet tank and turned off the water. When I walked out, the smart speaker’s blue light blinked. A text from Eleanor popped up on my iPad. “You were in the bathroom for eleven minutes. Playing on your phone again?” 0

“Chloe, can you please stop stressing Mom out?” Brittany’s face filled up half of my iPad screen. On Wednesday afternoon, Eleanor had sent a notification in the group chat: *8:00 PM tonight. Mandatory family video conference. Quarterly household review.* It wasn’t an “invitation.” It wasn’t a “family chat.” It was a “conference.” At exactly 8:00 PM, the Group FaceTime connected. Eleanor sat front and center. Behind her was the living room of Brittany’s house. She had traveled over to her daughter’s place specifically to use their large-screen TV as her backdrop. The screen was split into six squares. Eleanor and Brittany squeezed into one. Uncle Robert and Aunt Sarah in another. Aunt Clara and Uncle John in the third. Cousin Ryan in his room. Brandon in his office at work. And I was in the last slot. “Everyone is here. Let’s begin.” Eleanor adjusted her reading glasses and opened a leather-bound notebook. “First, let’s review the quarterly household report. I have compiled the data from the last twelve weeks.” She never called me by my name. She kept referring to me as “this wife.” “This wife’s average housekeeping score for this quarter is a C-plus. Meal compliance is at sixty-one percent. Her daily average for childcare is 4.3 hours, which is well below our target of six hours.” “As for personal spending—” She flipped the page. “Her total spending this quarter was $2,140. Out of that, $1,750 was spent on household groceries, and $390 was spent on personal items. Note: Personal items include a $38 hand cream, a $59 face wash, two hair clips totaling $12, and a $198 lipstick.” “One hundred and ninety-eight dollars,” she repeated, enunciating every syllable. Brittany immediately cut in. “$198? Chloe, why on earth do you need such an expensive lipstick? I buy drugstore dupes for $8.” Aunt Sarah muttered, “Exactly. Brandon only makes so much a month.” Aunt Clara sighed. “Young people these days just don’t know how to run a home.” “Now, moving on to weight,” Eleanor continued. “Her weight fluctuated by 2.4 pounds this quarter. Given her height, her target weight should be 115 pounds. She is currently 126.” Brittany gasped. “126? Chloe, you need to get a grip! My brother does not like chubby women!” I looked at Brandon’s square on the screen. He was looking down, playing a game on his phone. He occasionally hummed in agreement to show he was listening. Eleanor cleared her throat. “And now, the key focus: the restroom log summary.” Twelve weeks. Every single day. Every entry and exit from the bathroom, recorded down to the exact minute, was read aloud to the entire family. “Her average bathroom time is 9.7 minutes. She exceeded fifteen minutes eleven times. I have reasonable grounds to suspect she is using her phone in there to do who-knows-what.” Uncle John spoke up. “Is she texting other men behind Brandon’s back?” “That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” Eleanor nodded solemnly. I couldn’t take it anymore. “Are you seriously reading my bathroom logs to the entire family?!” I snapped. Everyone stared at me through their screens. Brittany laughed. “Chloe, if you have nothing to hide, why are you getting so defensive?” “I have digestive issues! Is it a crime to use the bathroom?” “Look at your attitude,” Eleanor said, removing her glasses. “I am trying to monitor your health, and this is how you react?” “If you cared about my health, you’d take me to a doctor. You wouldn’t broadcast my bathroom data to twelve people.” Brandon finally looked up from his game. “Chloe, can you stop causing a scene? My mom is doing this out of the goodness of her heart, and you’re being incredibly rude. You know exactly what you do all day.” “Do you know what *you* do all day, Brandon?” “What is that supposed to mean?” “You came home at 11:00 PM last Wednesday smelling like expensive perfume and whiskey. You don’t drink whiskey.” “It was a client dinner. You wouldn’t understand.” “You took a half-day off work last Friday and didn’t come home. Where were you?” “Stop tracking me!” Brandon yelled. “I’m the one who brings home the paycheck. You have no right to question me.” Eleanor slammed her hand on her desk. “Stop shouting! Brandon works himself to the bone for this family, and you’re sitting at home living a life of luxury, completely ungrateful!” “Starting next week, I am adding a daily task list for you. I will email it to you every morning at 7:00 AM. By 9:00 PM, you must upload photos and videos of your completed chores. If you fail, your weekly allowance will be cut in half.” A daily task list. Mandatory photo submissions. Cutting my allowance. This wasn’t a home. Brittany clapped happily on screen. “Mom, with your management skills, you should be a CEO.” “I was forced into this,” Eleanor sighed. “If she were more responsible, would I have to resort to this?” After the Group FaceTime disconnected, a direct message from Brandon popped up on my phone. “You embarrassed me in front of my entire family tonight. Just you wait. If you make my mom angry one more time, I’m sending Leo to live with her. And you can pack your bags and get out.” I screenshotted his message. The timestamp was perfectly clear. Then, I walked into the bathroom, retrieved my burner phone, and sent it to David Vance. He replied with two words: “Got it.” 0

“Why won’t the door open?” I turned the door handle three times. It wouldn’t budge. The digital screen on the smart lock displayed two words: *LOCKED.* Below it, in small font: *Remote Lock Active.* Eleanor, from two states away, had locked me inside my own home. It was Tuesday morning. I was planning to take Leo to the grocery store down the street to buy some yogurt. He was already standing by the door in his sneakers, his little backpack on. “Mommy, what’s wrong with the door?” “Give me a second, sweetie.” I called Brandon. “The front door is locked.” “I know. Mom locked it.” “Why?!” “You went grocery shopping last week and sat by the park benches for forty minutes. Mom requested the community surveillance footage. You were talking to a man.” “That was the organic market owner! I was buying oranges, and he didn’t have change, so he had to run next door to get cash!” “Talking for forty minutes just to get change?” Brandon scoffed. “Don’t explain it to me. Explain it to my mom.” He hung up. The smart speaker lit up. “You heard him,” Eleanor’s calm, slow voice drifted down from the ceiling. “What is your relationship with that man?” “He’s a grocery store owner! It was a twelve-dollar transaction. I paid with Apple Pay.” “What does an Apple Pay receipt prove? I can’t see what you two were whispering about.” “You went through the trouble of pulling community camera footage and you still couldn’t see?” The speaker was silent for a few seconds. “Starting today, you must request permission from Brandon before leaving the house. You will provide the location, the person you are meeting, and the exact duration. Send me your live location. Otherwise, the door stays locked.” “You can’t keep me locked in here. This is false imprisonment. It’s illegal.” “Illegal? This is my property. I can lock it whenever I want. If you don’t like it, you can leave. But Leo stays.” Hearing his name, Leo looked up at me. “Mommy?” I knelt down and adjusted his backpack straps. “It’s okay, baby. We’re not going out today. Let’s stay inside and do some crafts, okay?” He smiled and ran back to his playroom. I stood in the entryway, staring at the locked door. The smart speaker’s blue light kept blinking. From that day on, the smart lock became my physical shackles. The door would automatically unlock at 7:00 AM, allowing me exactly one hour to get groceries. The rest of the day, it was locked down. Once Brandon went to work, control was handed entirely to Eleanor. I had to keep my location sharing on whenever I went out for groceries. If I veered more than three hundred yards away from the supermarket, the speaker would instantly scream at me. Once, I walked a little further to a pharmacy to buy Band-Aids. Eleanor called Brandon immediately. When Brandon came home that night, he threw the box of Band-Aids into the trash. “Why did you go to the pharmacy? Who are you buying medicine for?” “I cut my finger while chopping vegetables.” “Then you should have requested permission first!” Cutting my finger required permission. My days grew completely silent. I stopped crying, I stopped arguing, and I stopped saying unnecessary words. Eleanor thought she had broken me. Brandon thought I had finally accepted my fate. What they didn’t know was that the cheap burner phone hidden behind the toilet tank now contained ninety-three days of data. 147 voice recordings. 322 screenshots. 26 weekly Excel reports. 14 archived audio clips from the smart speaker. 7 smart lock restriction logs. And one more piece of evidence they never could have anticipated. Three nights ago, Brandon came home drunk. He took a call in the living room. The smart security camera recorded the entire thing. He told the person on the other end: “She’s driving me crazy, always looking like a walking corpse… Don’t worry, she can’t do anything. She doesn’t have a single dime…” Then, he dropped the most crucial detail. “The house is only in my name. She won’t get a single penny of it.” He was wrong. Over our three years of marriage, we had paid thirty-six months of mortgage. For eleven of those months, I had secretly paid the mortgage using my pre-marital savings. That was the year his business venture failed, and he couldn’t make the payments. He had literally knelt on the floor, begging me not to tell his mother. So I paid it. And every single bank transfer record was saved. My money was in this house. He didn’t know that Mr. Vance had already subpoenaed all the bank statements. He didn’t know that three days ago, I had contacted an investigative reporter. He didn’t know that during my one-hour grocery window last week, I had slipped into the local Women’s Crisis Center and submitted a thick folder of evidence. He knew nothing. To him, I was just a broke, jobless, helpless stay-at-home mother with nowhere to go. But every recording, every screenshot, and every spreadsheet I had collected over those ninety-three days was a brick. Now, I had enough bricks. It was time to build my fortress. That night, I crouched in the bathroom one last time and turned on the burner phone. I zipped all the files—87 megabytes in total—and sent them to Mr. Vance’s encrypted email address. *Upload complete.* I typed out: “Mr. Vance, everything is sent. I’m ready.” The reply came in under a minute. “Mrs. Miller, I’ve spent the night reviewing the 147 recordings, 322 screenshots, and 26 spreadsheets. This is enough to shock any judge. Tell me, when do we start?” “Tomorrow.” “Great. I’ll see you at my office tomorrow morning at 10:00 AM. What about the reporter you mentioned? Can you reach her?” “Yes.” “Then bring her along. Mrs. Miller, starting tomorrow, you won’t have to hide in the bathroom anymore.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “469222”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I found a line of text in Julian’s phone notes. “Wait for her to bring up the breakup. That way, I won’t have to be the bad guy.” The date was from three months ago. Three months ago was exactly when he started working late, forgetting our anniversary, and taking days to reply to my texts. I scrolled down. Day 15: She didn’t bring it up. I made a terrible dinner on purpose, but she ate it and said it was delicious. Day 38: I picked her up two hours late. She just said, “It’s fine.” Day 67: I forgot her birthday. She ordered her own cake and even saved a slice for me. Day 90: I’ve gone this far. Why hasn’t she left yet? The last entry was written just this afternoon: “Forget it. I’m too tired. I’ll just lay it all out tonight.” I put his phone down. In the living room, Julian was sitting on the couch, looking like he was trying to find the right words. “Chloe, I have something—” “You don’t need to say it,” I said, grabbing my purse. “Your notes app said it all.” “These ninety days, you were tired.” “Do you think I wasn’t?” “The difference is, you were pretending to lose feelings. But I was fighting with everything I had to keep us going.”

“You went through my phone?” Julian’s face darkened instantly. His jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with the anger of someone caught red-handed. I looked at him. His face suddenly felt so unfamiliar. “I didn’t ‘go through’ it.” I turned the screen toward him. The bright display reflected off his eyes. “You didn’t put a passcode on your notes. It was open right on this page.” “Julian, for ninety days, you’ve been calculating how to force me out.” Julian took a deep breath and lunged to grab the phone. I didn’t block him. I let him snatch it away. “Chloe, it’s not what you think.” He threw the phone face down on the coffee table. “Then what is it?” I asked, my voice calm. “I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. He put on his usual exhausted act. “The company is preparing for the IPO. The performance milestone deadline is almost here.” “I can’t sleep at night. You don’t get it.” I laughed. “I don’t get it?” “Who warms up milk for you every single night?” “Who helped you pitch to investors, drinking until my stomach literally bled just to cover for you?” Julian’s eyes flickered with guilt. But his tone only grew harsher. “That’s exactly why I’m tired!” “You’re too domineering, Chloe.” “You make me feel like I’m not a man. I feel like a machine being pushed around by you.” He pointed at the phone on the table. “My therapist told me to write those notes.” “She said I needed an outlet to vent my emotions.” “It’s called ‘externalizing negative energy.’” *Therapist.* I let the word sink in. “Your therapist… her name is Celeste, right?” Julian’s pupils contracted. “Are you tracking me?” “If I didn’t, how would I know that every weekend afternoon you disappear, you’re at her studio ‘venting your emotions’?” “You even spent our anniversary venting your emotions with her.” Julian stood up. He looked down at me, cold and aloof. “Celeste is a professional consultant. She understands what I’m going through right now.” “She doesn’t just push me to climb higher and talk about company KPIs like you do.” “Chloe, I don’t want to break up. I just want some room to breathe.” “Can you just give me some space?” What a beautiful way to twist the truth. He took his emotional abuse and packaged it as a cry for help under stress. He took his emotional cheating and called it “professional therapy.” I stared at the patterns on the carpet, feeling a wave of nausea hit my stomach. “So, the space you wanted was watching me make a fool of myself trying to please you?” “Watching me cook terrible meals, and cutting my birthday cake all alone?” “While you mocked me in your notes, refusing to just walk away?” Julian pulled at his tie in frustration. “I told you, that was part of the therapy!” “I needed to test my codependency on this relationship!” “Why can’t you just understand plain English?” He sank heavily back onto the couch. “Fine. If you feel so wronged, let’s take some time apart.” “Move out for a few days. We both need to cool off.” He was actually telling me to move out. We bought this apartment together. We split the down payment. And I was paying half of the mortgage. I looked up at him. “Julian, you’re kicking me out?” “I’m not kicking you out. It’s physical boundary-setting,” he said, using Celeste’s terms. “Our current dynamic is toxic. We need boundaries.” *Boundaries.* I repeated the word in my mind. “Fine. I get it.” I turned and walked into the bedroom. I pulled out my suitcase. Julian stood at the doorway, watching me pack. “Don’t do this out of spite,” his voice softened slightly. He seemed to think he was back in control. “Just pack a few outfits. I’ll pick you up in a couple of days.” I ignored him. I packed my skincare and a few of my blazers. I wasn’t doing this out of spite. The core code of our company’s new software was still in my hands. The final signing for our milestone funding agreement was next week. He wanted me gone now because he wanted to mess with my equity distribution. This woman, Celeste, had probably already helped him draft a plan to transfer all our assets. I zipped my suitcase shut. I dragged it to the front door. He didn’t stop me. But just as the door was closing, I heard him mutter: “If you had just cooperated earlier, we wouldn’t have had to make such a scene.”

I checked into a budget hotel three blocks away from the office. As soon as I set up my laptop, my phone screen lit up. It was a friend request on SnapChat. The profile picture was an abstract line drawing. The username was “Celeste Therapy.” The request message read: *Hi Chloe, I’m Julian’s psychological advisor. I’d like to discuss his mental health with you.* I accepted the request. She immediately sent a long voice message. I converted it to text. *Chloe, sorry to bother you. Julian’s depression index is incredibly high right now. This is directly linked to your long-term, high-pressure control over him. As his partner, I hope you can cooperate with my treatment plan and stay away from him for now.* I stared at the words “high-pressure control.” My fingers flew across the keyboard. *If you’re a professional, Celeste, you should know that leaking a patient’s private info is a major HIPAA violation.* She replied instantly. *Julian signed a waiver. He authorized me to intervene in your relationship crisis.* *Chloe, you lack “chill vibes.”* *A man needs a safe harbor, not another boss.* I actually laughed out loud. To dress up being a homewrecker in such professional jargon—she really was something. I didn’t bother replying. Arguing with people like her was a waste of time. I opened WhatsApp and messaged Marcus, our Legal Director. *Marcus, look up a firm called “Celeste Therapy.”* *Specifically, check if this Celeste woman actually has a valid state therapy license.* Marcus replied with a quick, “On it.” I closed my phone and opened the project spreadsheet on my laptop. Julian thought my moving out meant I was surrendering. He had no idea that I was the only person in the entire company who knew how to run the backend architecture for our next-generation software. The next morning, I went to the office. As soon as I stepped out of the elevator, I saw Julian’s assistant, Liam, looking around anxiously. Seeing me, Liam rushed over. “Chloe, Julian said you don’t need to attend the morning meeting today.” I stopped in my tracks. “Why?” “Julian said you’ve been emotionally unstable lately and need some rest.” Liam looked down, unable to meet my eyes. *Emotionally unstable.* Another term Celeste must have taught him. I bypassed Liam and walked straight to the conference room. I pushed the door open. The room was packed with department heads. Julian sat at the head of the table. And right next to him sat a woman in a crisp white shirt and rimless glasses. Celeste. The room fell dead silent the moment I walked in. Julian frowned. “Chloe? What are you doing here?” “I’m the Chief Technology Officer. Why wouldn’t I be here?” I pulled out a chair opposite him and sat down. “And who is this?” I looked at Celeste. Julian cleared his throat. “Everyone, let me introduce our new corporate wellness consultant, Celeste.” “To help ease the team’s stress during this product launch sprint, Celeste will be hosting regular counseling sessions.” The department heads exchanged uneasy glances. Celeste stood up and smiled warmly at me. “Hi Chloe. I’ve heard so much about you.” “Julian mentioned that the turnover rate in the dev department has been incredibly high.” “In psychology, we find that this is often caused by the negative emotional projection of the manager.” With her very first sentence, she threw me under the bus. I leaned back in my chair. “Are you suggesting I’m the reason the devs are leaving?” “I’m merely presenting a hypothesis based on behavioral science,” Celeste said, pushing up her glasses. “Often, an excessive obsession with perfection stems from inner insecurity.” “Perhaps you need to heal yourself first, Chloe, before you can lead a team effectively.” Julian nodded in agreement. “Celeste is right, Chloe. You’ve been way too uptight lately.” “Hand over your current projects to your deputy. Take a month of paid leave.” Hand over my projects. And there it was. The real trap. I looked at Julian. “We are at a critical stage of development, and you want me to hand over my projects?” “Chloe, don’t always value work over your own life,” Julian sighed, looking grand and noble. “You’re hurting yourself, and you’re hurting everyone around you.” “This is Celeste’s professional recommendation.” I didn’t look at Celeste. I kept my eyes locked on Julian. “Are you sure you want to bench your CTO right now, Julian?” “I’m doing this for your own good.” He looked righteous. “Fine,” I said, standing up. “Since the CEO and our ‘wellness consultant’ think so, I’ll take my leave.” I closed my laptop and walked out of the conference room. Behind me, Celeste’s soft voice echoed through the room: “See, everyone? This is a classic case of defensive resistance. We just need to give her some time.”

On my first day of leave, I slept in until noon. For the first time in three years of building this startup, I had nothing to do. My phone was dead silent. Julian hadn’t sent a single text. In the past, if I replied ten minutes late, he would call me three times. Now that he had his new “emotional outlet,” I was completely disposable. In the afternoon, Marcus sent over his findings. *Chloe, I got her.* *That Celeste woman doesn’t have a state license at all.* *She used to be a relationship influencer on Twitter under the handle ‘Goddess Coach.’ She literally wrote threads on how to manipulate wealthy men.* *She rebranded herself recently and opened this wellness studio.* *Her business license is only registered for ‘general consulting.’ She has zero clinical credentials.* I looked at the screenshots Marcus sent. Celeste’s old Twitter pinned post read: *How to get a millionaire to pay for your lifestyle willingly.* I sneered. Julian always thought he was the smartest guy in the room. He would analyze every line of a business contract to the letter. Yet, he had been completely brainwashed by this cheap pop-psychology scammer. Or maybe he wasn’t brainwashed. Maybe he just wanted an excuse. An excuse to get rid of me without looking like the bad guy. Celeste simply gave him exactly what he wanted. She used fancy-sounding words to package his selfishness as “post-traumatic self-preservation.” She painted my hard work and sacrifice as “suffocating control.” I saved all the screenshots into an encrypted cloud drive. For the next few days, I stayed completely away from company matters. The deputy head of development messaged me every day to complain. *Chloe, that Celeste lady is walking around the office every day.* *She’s making us put plants on our desks and do ten minutes of group meditation.* *We have deadlines to meet! Who has time for this spiritual nonsense?* I replied: *Just cooperate with Julian’s orders. Keep a paper trail of everything.* By Friday night, Julian finally called. “Chloe, there’s an investor gala tomorrow night.” His voice sounded exhausted. “Get ready. You’re coming with me.” I looked out at the city skyline from my hotel window. “I’m on leave. Shouldn’t your wellness consultant go with you?” “Stop acting like a child,” Julian said, his voice sharp with irritation. “This is about our next round of funding.” “Mr. Harrison specifically asked to see you. He wants to hear your explanation of the backend architecture.” “Celeste doesn’t know tech. How is she supposed to explain that?” Ah. So he needed his tool back. “Fine. Send me the address.” The next evening, I showed up at the hotel ballroom wearing a sharp, tailored black pantsuit. When Julian saw me, his brow furrowed. “Why are you wearing that? Didn’t I buy you that red evening gown?” “You bought that for Celeste. You only left it at home because you got her size wrong,” I said flatly. Julian stiffened and didn’t reply. The dinner went smoothly. Mr. Harrison was highly impressed with my technical presentation. Just as we were about to shake hands on the term sheet, Julian’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen, and his face turned pale. “Pardon me, Mr. Harrison. I have an urgent matter to attend to.” He hurried to a corner to take the call. A few minutes later, he rushed back, looking panicked. “Chloe, Celeste’s claustrophobia kicked in. She’s trapped in her studio’s elevator.” “I have to go right now.” My wine glass froze halfway to my mouth. “Mr. Harrison is waiting to sign the letter of intent.” “You can sign it. You’re the tech lead anyway,” Julian said, grabbing his coat. “She’s in danger. Panic attacks can cause hyperventilation. She could die!” “Does her building not have maintenance? Can she not call 911?” I stared at him. “You don’t understand! I’m the only one she trusts!” Julian raised his voice. Mr. Harrison was watching us from a distance, his eyes curious. But Julian didn’t care. He didn’t even say goodbye to our lead investor. He just bolted out of the ballroom. I stood there alone. Watching him abandon three years of our shared hard work, all for another woman. Mr. Harrison walked over. “Chloe, where did Julian go?” “He had an urgent personal issue to handle,” I said, raising my glass. “Mr. Harrison, about the data concurrency solution we discussed… shall we go over the details?” That night, I handled all the investment details alone. When I got back to the hotel, it was 2 AM. I opened Instagram. Celeste had posted an update an hour ago. In the photo, a man’s hand was holding hers. On his wrist was the Patek Philippe watch I had given Julian for his birthday last year. The caption read: *In my darkest hour, thank God for your light.* I liked the post. Then I shut off my phone and fell fast asleep.

The final meeting for the milestone agreement was set for Wednesday morning. I arrived ten minutes early. Julian was already there. And to my surprise, Celeste was too. She was wearing a soft beige knit sweater today, sitting next to Julian like she owned the place. “Good morning, Chloe,” Celeste greeted me. I ignored her and sat down. “Let’s begin,” I said to Julian. Julian slid a thick folder toward me. “Chloe, this is the final version of the agreement.” “Take a look. If everything’s fine, sign on the last page.” I flipped through the document. The first few pages were standard. But I flipped straight to the final page where the equity structure was listed. Just as I thought. My share of the company had been diluted from forty percent to fifteen percent. And Julian now had a new holding company under his name called “Starry Ventures,” which held twenty-five percent. I looked up. “What is this?” I pointed at the line. Julian cleared his throat, avoiding my gaze. “Chloe, for the company to grow, we need to bring in new strategic partners.” “Starry Ventures will bring in massive PR resources and connections in the wellness market.” “Celeste set this up for us.” I looked at Celeste. She looked entirely earnest. “Chloe, in today’s market, hard tech isn’t enough anymore.” “Emotional value is the real currency.” “My resources will help build a completely new brand identity for the company.” “Diluting your shares is just to make the overall pie bigger. It benefits everyone.” I stared at her coldly. “You’re a fake therapist without a license. And you’re talking to me about making the pie bigger?” Celeste’s face fell. Julian slammed his hand on the table. “Chloe! Watch your mouth!” “Celeste is trying to help us! Don’t bring your personal drama into business!” “Personal drama?” I slammed the document back onto the table. “You’re taking the equity we built together to please your new mistress.” “And you call that business?” Julian stood up. “Chloe, stop being unreasonable!” “You haven’t contributed a thing to this company for the past two weeks. I’ve been carrying the whole weight!” “Your mental state right now makes you unfit to be a major shareholder!” “You’re signing this agreement, whether you like it or not!” He pulled another document from his drawer. “If you don’t sign, this ‘Mental Health Medical Leave Consent’ will be sent to the entire company.” “The board will vote to remove you from your position.” “Celeste has drafted a professional psychological evaluation proving you suffer from severe paranoia and obsessive-control tendencies.” I looked at the so-called evaluation report. It was stamped with the “Celeste Therapy” logo. So this was their trump card. Using a fake diagnosis of mental illness to strip me of my power. Celeste slid a pen toward me. “Chloe, let go of your obsession.” “Admitting you’re sick is nothing to be ashamed of.” “Julian is doing this to protect you. He just wants you to rest.” She looked at me, her eyes filled with the smug pity of a victor. Julian stood with his arms crossed. “Sign it, Chloe.” “Fifteen percent is more than enough for you to live comfortably for the rest of your life.” “Let’s end this with some dignity.” The conference room was dead silent. I looked at the Parker pen lying in front of me. Its metallic tip gleamed under the fluorescent lights. They thought they had me cornered. They thought that to save whatever dignity I had left, I would have no choice but to comply. I slowly reached out and picked up the pen. Julian’s shoulders visibly relaxed. A tiny, triumphant smirk appeared on Celeste’s lips. I uncapped the pen. I pointed the tip at the signature line. “Once you sign, you can move back to our old apartment,” Julian said, his tone sounding like a charitable donation. “I’ll have someone clean it up for you.” I stopped writing. I looked up at Julian. “Do you really think you’ve won?”

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My husband brought home his distant cousin’s wife, who had just lost her husband. He said she was all alone and helpless, so she would spend the New Year with us in our home. During dinner, my husband asked me to find her a job. Thinking she was just a distant relative, I used all my connections and resources to help her out. Who knew they would be so greedy and scheming that they would eventually kill me. Just before I died, I found out that the cousin’s wife I had been helping all along was actually my husband’s first love. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day my husband brought his cousin’s wife home for the New Year. This time, I would get there first: “Honey, this is my cousin!” ### The moment I opened my eyes and saw the overly familiar bedroom, my mind went completely blank. A sharp, urgent voice from the phone abruptly cut through my chaotic thoughts. “Babe? Are you there? Why aren’t you saying anything?” Hearing Tyler’s voice made my entire body freeze. The agonizing pain from my death in my past life seemed to still linger, screaming through every single nerve in my body. In my past life, Tyler introduced me to a supposedly naive country woman. He said she was his distant cousin, Amber. He claimed she lost her parents young, had just lost her husband, and had no one else to turn to in Seattle. Because I loved my husband and thought he was just a good, caring man, I stupidly did everything I could to help her. But I never expected that while I was busy planning a career for his “cousin,” they were secretly plotting to murder me and steal my family’s fortune. It was only right before I died that I found out the truth. The woman I had poured my resources into helping wasn’t his cousin at all. She was Amber Brooks—his first love. They planned a house fire. I was trapped in the roaring flames. Even after a fallen wooden beam crushed my leg, I dragged myself toward the exit, desperately trying to survive. But Amber, covered in a wet blanket, ran back inside. She picked up a kitchen knife and plunged it straight into my chest. Seeing that I was still breathing, she called Tyler over. The two of them stabbed me over a dozen times before they finally stopped, satisfied. Even after my heart stopped, my soul didn’t leave immediately. I watched, as a ghost, as Tyler pulled Amber into a passionate kiss right next to my burning corpse. “Baby, the bitch is finally dead. If it weren’t for her money, I would never have married her. You’ve suffered so much lately. You’re my only love.” I laughed bitterly at my own stupidity. My entire marriage had been a carefully calculated trap. I watched them fake the crime scene to look like an accidental fire, completely escaping justice. After my funeral, they squandered my wealth, living a life of sickening luxury. Meanwhile, my parents fell into deep depression over my sudden death and passed away shortly after. The voice from the phone dragged me back to the brutal reality. “Babe, I’ll be home around noon. I have someone I want you to meet.” I curled my lips into a cold smile. My heart was practically dripping with venom. “Sure. Coincidentally, I have someone I want to introduce to you, too.” The moment I hung up, I called my secretary. “Mia, find me a handsome guy right now. His job is to play my family member. The pay is fifty thousand dollars.” ###

“Chloe, let me introduce you. This is my distant cousin, Amber.” There was an odd, eager edge in Tyler’s voice. “Amber, this is my wife.” I looked Amber up and down. She wore no makeup, but she couldn’t hide her naturally sly, fox-like look. She gave me a reluctant, challenging glare. “Nice to meet you, Chloe.” She stepped forward, pretending to want a hug. I stood there, looking at her coldly. Nausea surged in my chest. I didn’t move an inch. Her arms hung awkwardly in mid-air. Tyler saw this and frowned, nudging my shoulder. “Chloe, don’t be rude. She’s my cousin.” Seeing Tyler again made my blood boil. It took every ounce of my willpower not to grab a knife and stab them both to death right then and there. But for the sake of my plan, I had to play along. I wanted these two to pay in blood. I forced a warm smile and wrapped my arms around Amber. “Great to meet you, Amber. We’re family now.” Before Tyler could say another word, I turned toward the kitchen and called out. “Devin! Come out here. I want you to meet my husband.” The next second, a handsome man wearing an apron and a chef’s hat walked out of the kitchen. He wiped his hands on his apron and smiled warmly at us. “Hey there! You must be Tyler. Man, you’re handsome! Chloe talks about you all the time. Sorry, I’m a bit of a country bumpkin, just got to the city. Don’t mind me.” He reached out to grab Tyler’s hand. I had to admit, fifty grand could buy some incredible acting skills. Tyler looked at Devin’s slightly greasy hand and took a step back, disgust written all over his face. “Who the hell are you? Get out of my face!” I looked at Tyler with a mocking smile. “Babe, we really are soulmates, aren’t we?” Tyler’s face turned pale. He grabbed my sleeve and pulled me aside, his eyes practically spitting fire. “What is this, Chloe? Where did this dirty guy come from? You didn’t tell me you were inviting a stranger into our house!” I brushed his hand off my sleeve and gave him a half-smile. “I thought we had an unspoken agreement. You brought your cousin from the countryside without telling me, didn’t you?” Tyler froze. He clearly didn’t expect me—the usually sweet, submissive wife—to bite back. “Babe, don’t get me wrong. I just wanted to introduce my family to you, too.” I tilted my head. “Why? Is my cousin not good enough to be seen compared to yours?” I glanced at Amber, who had remained quiet. “Amber, I’m a direct person, so don’t take this the wrong way. You’re young and pretty. Why aren’t you looking for a job? Were you planning to just live off Tyler here?” Amber’s face flushed red, then turned pale. She was holding back her anger. I chuckled secretly. While Tyler was still in shock, I turned to our maid. “Maria, get the guest room on the first floor ready. My cousin Devin will be staying there. Also, he’s here to enjoy the city, so no one is allowed to make him do chores or cook. Got it?” I stared directly at Tyler as I said those last words. He shivered under my gaze. Even though he was furious, he had to nod. “But where is Amber going to sleep? You can’t be biased, Chloe,” Tyler protested. I replied carelessly, “Why do I care? Maybe she can share a room with Devin?” ###

Tyler’s face went completely black. “That… absolutely not!” Of course. He wasn’t about to cuckold himself. In the end, just like in my past life, Tyler arranged for Amber to stay in the guest room right next to our master bedroom on the second floor. He claimed it was because that room was already clean and she didn’t want to cause any trouble. What a beautiful excuse. How pathetic that in my past life, I actually believed his lies. I thought she was just an innocent girl from a small town. But reality had slapped me hard. I had been completely blind. That night, Tyler handed me a glass of warm milk. I stared at it. “Honey, I don’t usually drink warm milk before bed.” I remembered that in my past life, right after Amber arrived, Tyler started giving me warm milk every night, claiming it helped with sleep. Back then, I thought he was being sweet. Now, I knew there was poison or a sedative in it. Tyler looked extremely guilty under my stare. His eyes darted around, refusing to look me in the eye. I didn’t let it go. “Why the sudden interest in my sleep?” He awkwardly shoved the glass into my hand and quickly pulled out his phone, pretending to be busy with work emails. “I just read an article saying it’s good for your health, babe. I’m just looking out for you.” His acting was so pathetic I didn’t even want to call him out. I smiled, thanked him, and poured the milk down the bathroom drain the second his back was turned. In the middle of the night, I stayed awake. Just when I thought maybe I was being paranoid, Tyler whispered my name. “Chloe? Chloe…” When I didn’t move, he quietly slipped out of bed and crept out of the room. A moment later, I heard the guest room door next door open. After some rustling sounds, the hallway fell into a dead silence. I pulled out my phone and opened the camera app linked to the hidden camera I had installed in the guest room earlier that day. Sure enough, the moment Tyler walked in, he threw himself onto Amber. They were kissing passionately while tearing each other’s clothes off. What a disgusting couple. I saved the video with a smirk, then sent a quick text to Devin. Soon, there was a noise in the hallway. I perked up my ears to listen. Tyler was trying to sneak back into our bedroom. But before his hand could touch the doorknob, Devin’s loud voice echoed from the stairs. “Whoa! Tyler! I just got up to use the bathroom and thought I saw a ghost. What are you doing sneaking out of Amber’s room at this hour?” Devin’s sharp voice shattered the silence of the night. I buried my face in the blanket to muffle my laughter. His acting was top-tier. I was definitely going to recommend him to some acting agencies after this. Furious at being caught, Tyler hissed, “I was just checking if Amber was comfortable! Why the hell are you on the second floor? Go back downstairs, you idiot! If you wake up Chloe, you’re dead!” Devin shrugged, raise his voice on purpose. “Wow, Chloe, your husband is so caring toward his cousin. I wonder why nobody came to check if I was comfortable in my bed tonight?” Tyler’s face turned white. He opened our bedroom door and saw me sitting up. “Chl-Chloe… you’re awake?” ###

My face was completely dark, and my voice was icy. “Tyler, do you want to explain what’s going on?” Amber walked out of her room, her face still flushed. I almost laughed out loud. “It’s a misunderstanding!” Amber stammered. “I wasn’t used to the bed, so I texted Tyler to ask if he could help me find another blanket.” I let out a cold laugh. “Is that so? I’m so sorry our hospitality isn’t up to your standards, Amber. Maybe we should book you a five-star hotel tomorrow. You’ll be much more comfortable there.” Hearing this, Tyler panicked. “No need, babe! We’ve already sorted it out. She won’t need any more help.” I didn’t argue. I just waved my hand. “Fine. Everyone go back to sleep.” Back in bed, Tyler kept trying to explain himself. I patted his chest reassuringly, though I felt disgusted to my stomach. “Don’t worry, honey. I trust you.” The next morning, Tyler didn’t offer me any milk. Instead, he wrapped his arms around my waist in a fawning way. In my past life, every time he wanted me to do a favor for Amber, he would be extra affectionate in bed. Sure enough, he began to whisper. “Babe, Amber has had a hard life. Since she’s in Seattle now, we should help her out. Can we?” I kept my back to him, smiling coldly. “Really? How do you want to help her?” Seeing that I was open to it, Tyler sat up excitedly. “She might be from a small town, but she’s really good with math. Why don’t you let her manage one of your smaller subsidiary companies? It would take some pressure off you, and we’d have more time to try for a baby.” His eyes gleamed with greed. It was sickening. I rubbed my temples and didn’t give him a direct answer. “Come on, babe. Do it for me. Once she gets on her feet, she can move out, and we can have our privacy back. Don’t you want that?” He made it sound like if I said no, I was the one ruining our marriage. I turned around and looked into his eyes. “Our current companies don’t have any suitable openings. But if she wants to prove herself…” I got out of bed, walked over to the sofa, and poured myself a glass of red wine. “She needs to start from the bottom, Tyler. I don’t know her. You wouldn’t want me to risk the business I built from scratch, would you? Or is your cousin more important than me?” Tyler’s face tightened. He quickly forced a laugh. “Of course not, babe. You know you’re my priority.” I took a sip of wine. He looked at me anxiously. “So… what do you have in mind for her?” I said casually, “She can start by cleaning the office bathrooms.” “No way!” Tyler blurted out. Without warning, I threw my wine glass right at his feet. The glass shattered. A small shard cut his leg, and a red line of blood appeared. Tyler jumped back in terror. “Chloe! What is wrong with you?!” He looked at me, completely terrified. At that moment, the door burst open. Devin rushed in, shouting, “What’s going on?! Are you guys fighting? Oh my god, there’s blood! Is someone trying to commit murder?!” Amber, who had been eavesdropping in the hallway, couldn’t control herself when she heard Devin’s screams. She rushed in. Seeing Tyler bleeding on the floor in nothing but his boxers, she threw herself onto him, completely forgetting her role as a distant cousin. “Tyler! Oh my god, Tyler, are you okay?!” I watched them with a cold stare. Amber glared up at me, her eyes red. “How could you do this to your own husband?!” I sneered. “Husband? Tyler, I called your hometown registry office in Oregon today. They told me you don’t have any cousin named Amber Brooks.” “So, is she your mistress?”

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On my birthday, my parents hosted a “College Wish Mystery Box” game for Stella and me. Inside the mystery boxes were paper slips with things like a deed to a condo, a black card, a week-long luxury trip to Hawaii. The rules were simple: the further away your college was from home, the more mystery boxes you got to draw. Two days ago, my parents forced me to enroll in a local community college. Meanwhile, Stella’s college was in New York, over a thousand miles away. My heart sank. I expected nothing from this game. My sister, Stella, casually tossed one box to me and swept the remaining ones into her arms. She eagerly ripped open her first box and waved the slip of paper in the air, grinning from ear to ear. The next moment, Mom placed a real estate deed into her hands. “Since Stella is going so far, we bought you a condo in New York. If you don’t like the dorms, your dad and I can fly over and stay with you anytime.” Then, Mom tossed a debit card onto my lap. “Since you’re staying local, we’re moving to New York. We’ll wire your allowance to this card from now on.” I took the card and opened my mouth to speak, but Trevor pulled out four plane tickets with a dazzling smile. “Off to Hawaii. Stella wanted to see the ocean. Let’s have some fun before college starts.” The tickets had already been booked. There was none for me. I gripped the debit card tightly, comforting myself. At least I still had money to pay for my tuition. But three days later, my tuition payment failed. The number flashing on the screen made me freeze instantly. Balance: $1. It wasn’t even enough to cover the bank’s processing fee. A sudden chill rushed down my spine. It turned out that in this “mystery box game,” Stella got the mystery. But for me, from beginning to end, everything had been rigged.

Laughter drifted in from the living room. “Mom, how does this dress look for the beach?” Stella twirled in front of the mirror. My brother, Trevor, stood nearby with five or six dresses draped over his arm. Mom stood at the kitchen door, her face creasing with a warm smile. “Beautiful! Stella, you’re a natural-born model. You look stunning in everything.” The edges of the debit card pressed hard into my palm. I forced the words out of my tight throat. “Mom… there’s only $1 on this card.” Before I could finish, the atmosphere in the living room shifted instantly. The smiles vanished from everyone’s faces. Mom grabbed a spatula from the kitchen and whacked me hard on the head. She acted as if she hadn’t heard a word. “All you do is laze around in your room! Get in here and help with dinner!” I couldn’t hold back my grievance and anger any longer. “Mom! I said there’s only $1 on this card! The tuition deadline is tomorrow!” In eighteen years, this was the only card I had ever received from my parents. That was why I had clutched it so desperately in my hand. For an entire night. The room fell into a dead silence. Stella’s eyes welled up with tears, and they began to roll down her cheeks on cue. “Serena, I was short on cash when I bought my new phone yesterday… so I used that card.” A wave of fury rushed to my head. I forgot how to breathe for a second. “That was my card! It was my mystery box! How could you…” Mom practically flew across the room and slapped me hard across the face. “You’re the older sister! Isn’t it only natural for you to let Stella have things?” “How could she? Because you’re the older sister, that’s why!” The stinging pain on my cheek radiated to the back of my head. My face was forced to the side. Because I was the older sister, all the family resources belonged to her. The love of my parents and Trevor belonged to her, too. The night before my SATs, Mom drugged my water with sleeping pills. Everyone in the house knew about it. Because I missed a crucial section of the exam, I ran to the test center crying. But Mom only stood there with her hands on her hips, speaking coldly. “If you score too high, Stella will be sad. You need to let her shine.” Yet, when the results came out, my score was still higher than hers. I was still better than her. I wanted to apply to colleges in New York, but Mom snatched my laptop and locked me in my room. No one cared about my ruined future. On the day the application closed, she walked into my room with a cup of coffee and casually said: “Stella can only get into a mediocre university in New York, and it costs a fortune. You have to make a sacrifice for her.” “You’ll attend the local state college. It’s close to home and costs very little.” I covered my face, a deep, hollow sadness carving through my heart. “What about me? How am I supposed to pay my tuition?” Mom didn’t answer. She turned and went back to the kitchen. Trevor went back to holding up dresses against Stella. The living room buzzed with laughter again. My words were like a tiny pebble dropped into the ocean, leaving no ripple. My spine went stiff. I stood there, feeling utterly helpless and humiliated. Dad, who was sitting on the sofa, turned around and frowned at me. “Serena, didn’t your mom tell you to help out? Why are you still standing there? Are you just waiting to be fed?” One accusation after another was thrown at me. Like a mindless puppet, I walked into the kitchen. Every dish on the dinner table was covered in heavy hot sauce. Stella took a spoonful of the spicy chicken, and the entire plate was immediately moved right in front of her. Mom smiled warmly. “Eat up if you like it.” I took small bites of my plain salad, my stomach throbbing with a dull pain. Ever since I developed a stomach ulcer, Stella suddenly claimed she loved spicy food. The dishes on the table became heavier and spicier. Even when I made my own salad, they would pour hot sauce all over it the moment I set it on the table. My throat felt like it was filled with broken glass. I gripped my fork tightly, my vision blurring. I didn’t reach for any of the main dishes, and no one asked why. I put down my fork, and no one noticed. The cracked screen of my phone on the desk buzzed. It was a message from Mrs. Vance, my high school advisor. “Serena, it’s such a shame. With your academic record, you could have easily gotten into an Ivy League. I suggest you retake the SATs next year. I can get you a full tuition waiver.” I looked over at the dining table. All the food was piled up in front of Stella. They didn’t plan to leave. They just sat there, chatting and laughing while watching her eat. I shoved the debit card back into my desk drawer and typed a reply. “Thank you, Mrs. Vance. I want to retake the exam.”

The birthday dinner that night was booked by Trevor half a month in advance. When we were born, Stella let me come out one minute earlier. In return, I had yielded to her for eighteen years. An eight-tier cake stood in the center of the room. Stella wore a stunning emerald-green dress. Mom, Dad, and Trevor held up their phones and cameras. Flashlights blinked across Stella’s face one after another. She shone like a precious gem. I stood a few yards away, wearing a wrinkled, faded white shirt. I clutched the hem of my shirt, my chest feeling incredibly tight. Stella had dozens of photo albums and hard drives full of videos from her childhood. Her first steps, her first meal… Everything was perfectly recorded. My only photo was from when I was ten years old. I had swiped a tiny bit of frosting from Stella’s cake with my finger. Furious, she slammed the entire cake onto my face. She screamed and shoved the whipped cream into my eyes, rubbing it into my hair. “This is my cake! You thief! Eat it then! Eat it!” Mom grabbed me by the collar, spitting in my face as she yelled. “Serena! Why must you always steal from Stella?” The overly sweet cream slid into my mouth, but only bitterness spread in my heart. I lifted my head from the cream. Stella was laughing so hard she was in tears. That was the exact moment Trevor snapped the photo. Even in that photo, I only occupied a tiny corner. Later, even that corner was covered up by a cute sticker. Mom had said: “You looked too ugly crying. It ruins the aesthetic of the album.” Their laughter kept ringing in my ears. I just wanted to run away. But as I turned to leave, a waiter carrying a tray of hot soup bumped into me, and the boiling broth poured right over my shoulder. A searing pain erupted across my back. I let out a sharp scream. The waitress quickly helped me to the side, apologizing frantically. “I’m so sorry, sweetie! Are you okay? Do we need to go to the hospital?” She was so panicked that tears were already pooling in her eyes. I forced a weak smile and bit my lip. “I’m fine. It’s okay.” Suddenly, Mom rushed over, her face turning dark and hostile. “Serena Davis! Do you not have eyes? Look at all this wasted food!” “Get out of here and change your clothes. Stop embarrassing us!” Looking at the annoyance and impatience in Mom’s eyes, tears welled up, but I couldn’t say a single word. Her mouth kept moving, spitting out endless complaints. “You always look so miserable, like the whole world owes you something.” “You’ve never been able to handle public settings. All you do is embarrass us. You aren’t even half as good as Stella.” The waitress gently patted my shoulder, her eyes filled with pity. My mind went completely numb. I didn’t know how to react. On my fourteenth birthday, I got my first period. My pants were stained with a large patch of blood, and I didn’t even realize it. Mom dragged me to the center of the living room in front of all our relatives, her voice dripping with mockery. “Look at this shameless, embarrassing girl.” I was pointed at and whispered about by our relatives for half an hour. That day, the last shred of warmth I had for this family died. But when Stella got her first period, Mom prepared everything for her in advance. She even called her school to get her a three-day leave. Dad bought her giant plushies to cheer her up. Trevor made her warm heating pads and pain relief teas one cup after another. Mom finally grew tired of yelling. She pointed at me and gave a final order. “Go change and get back here in thirty minutes. It’s your birthday too.” “Don’t go hiding in your room. I don’t want people talking behind our backs, calling us partial parents.” I looked up. Mom had already taken the camera back to take pictures of Stella.

The waitress lent me a spare set of restaurant staff uniform to wear. When the fabric touched my skin, it felt like a thousand needles pricking my raw flesh. I took a sharp breath of cold air. Just then, my phone buzzed with a text from Trevor. “Serena, did you get burned? Are you okay?” I stared at the screen, dazed for a second. I typed in the reply box: “I’m fine. Thanks, Trevor.” Before I could hit send, another text popped up. “Since you’re fine, run over to the East District and buy a smoothie. Stella wants one.” The East District was twenty-five miles away. A taxi ride would take at least forty minutes. I looked down, a self-deprecating smile forming on my lips. How could I ever expect anyone in this family to actually care about me? Three months ago, during class, a burning pain shot through my stomach, as if a red-hot iron had been dropped inside. The next second, I was rolling on the floor. A metallic taste rushed up my throat, and the ground was instantly stained with blood. Mrs. Vance rushed me to the emergency room. The doctor said it was a perforated stomach ulcer. The doctor asked for my family’s contact info eight times. Mrs. Vance called every number, but they were all disconnected. It wasn’t until the day I was discharged that I ran into them at the hospital lobby. Mom was holding Stella’s arm, looking highly annoyed. “Where on earth have you been hiding these past few days? Stella sprained her ankle during gym class, and you weren’t even there to help. What kind of sister are you?” My lips were pale, and I could barely stand. But I still held onto a tiny shred of hope as I explained. “Mom, I had a ruptured ulcer. I threw up a lot of blood.” Her expression didn’t change at all. I continued: “Why were all the emergency numbers you gave the school disconnected?” Mom’s brows knitted into a tight, angry knot. “Stop making things up. Aren’t you standing here perfectly fine? What disconnected numbers? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. Trevor’s texts kept spamming my screen. “Serena Davis, why aren’t you here yet? Forget it, I’ll go buy it myself. You’re utterly useless.” At the VIP dining table, Dad was red-faced from drinking. He had his arm around Stella, laughing so hard his shoulders shook. “Our Stella is going to New York!” Uncle Mike, who was sitting next to him, asked, “Which school?” Dad’s eyes flashed with a hint of guilt. He laughed it off. “She chose a great major. New York has so many opportunities. We bought a condo there, so the whole family is moving to keep her company.” Uncle Mike casually asked, “What about Serena? Did she get into a college in New York too?” Before Dad could speak, Mom let out a disdainful sneer. “With her grades and attitude? She’s meant to stay in a small town forever.” “We enrolled her in the local community college. It’s a realistic path for someone like her.” “As parents, we have to think long-term. Serena just isn’t cut out for the big city.” Uncle Mike lowered his head and didn’t say another word. On the day the SAT scores were released, my parents spent three hours worrying over Stella’s low score. They stayed up for three nights straight to help her find a mediocre college in New York. They called it “doing everything to give her a head start in life.” But for me, they only took three seconds to lock me out of my future. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. The future they chose for me? I didn’t want it! Uncle Mike stood up and waved at me. “Serena, why are you so late?” I forced a smile, but before I could take a few steps, Mom violently pushed me away. I stumbled backward. My burned back slammed hard against the edge of a table. A sharp, agonizing pain ripped through my skin. Mom’s eyes were bloodshot, the veins on her temples throbbing with rage. “Serena Davis! I told you to change your clothes, and you show up wearing a waitress uniform?” “Are you doing this to spite us?” “If people see this, they’ll think we’re abusing you!” My ears rang, and tears blurred my eyes. “Aren’t you?” I whispered. Mom froze for a fraction of a second, and then an even wilder fury erupted from her. “Serena Davis! You ungrateful brat! I went through painful labor to give birth to you, and I raised you for eighteen years. And in the end, you think I’m abusing you?”

The air in the dining hall became suffocatingly tense. Mom’s screeching voice echoed off the walls. My chest heaved uncontrollably. “I wish you had never given birth to me!” Hearing this, Dad rushed over and kicked me hard behind my knee. I collapsed, my knees slamming heavily onto the hard floor. He looked down at me, his voice cold and sharp. “Serena Davis, you are completely out of line.” He shook his head, his words dripping with venom. “Today is your eighteenth birthday. We have raised you for eighteen years. Since you want to cut ties with this family, let’s make things clear in front of everyone today. From this moment on, we are no longer your parents, and you are no longer our daughter.” “We will act as if we never had you. Whatever happens to you in the future has nothing to do with us!” Uncle Mike hurriedly grabbed Dad’s arm. “Andrew! You can’t just say things like that!” Then he ran over to me, his eyes full of panic. “Serena, sweetie, just apologize to your parents.” But neither side moved. Uncle Mike let out a heavy sigh. I looked at Mom. She looked like she was heartbroken, leaning on Stella’s shoulder and sobbing dramatically. Seconds ticked by. The silent standoff between my family and me continued. Finally, I let out a slow breath. My voice was eerily calm. “Fine.” I stood up. I didn’t bow my head. I didn’t apologize. The entire room fell dead silent. Dad didn’t give me another look. He put his arm around Mom and walked out of the hall. Stella, who was walking behind them, suddenly turned back. She grabbed a pile of dirty table rags and threw them right at my face. “Serena, since you love being a waitress so much, clean all these tables! Have fun!” I sat on the floor in silence until all the guests had left. When I got home at eight that night, Trevor was already tossing my suitcases out of the front door. “Serena, you can’t blame Dad for this. You went too far. We’ve already sold this house.” “We’re going to Hawaii for vacation tomorrow, and then we’re flying straight to New York to move in with Stella. We’re leaving tomorrow morning.” He gave me a cold, distant look. “Good luck to you.” The door slammed shut. Through the window, I could see Mom and Stella sitting on the couch watching TV, laughing. There wasn’t a trace of sadness on their faces. The wheels on my old suitcase were broken, and the zipper was busted. I only dragged it a few feet before my clothes spilled onto the dirty pavement. The hot summer breeze blew from the end of the hallway, but I felt entirely frozen. A few minutes later, Mom’s voice drifted through the thin window. “Now that we’ve finally gotten rid of that burden, we can focus on Stella in New York.” “Andrew, your plan was brilliant. Forcing her to cut ties in public was perfect.” Dad laughed in agreement. “Exactly. We raised her to eighteen. We’ve done our duty.” My chest felt like it was crushed under a heavy weight. My throat was tight, and I couldn’t even let out a sound. Something was gnawing at my heart, cutting away the very last piece of affection I had for them. It turned out that in the eyes of the people I called family for eighteen years, I was nothing but a burden. I didn’t bother picking up the broken suitcase. I left it there, along with my past, in that suffocating house. In September, I went back to high school and sat in my familiar classroom. Stella’s Snapchat and Instagram stories were filled with updates. “My first time seeing the ocean, and it’s with my amazing family.” “Being my parents’ daughter is the best thing ever. The whole family moved to New York just to stay with me. I’m crying tears of joy.” The attached picture showed the deed to the New York condo. Only her name was on it. Their dinner table was still covered with all the dishes she loved. I scrolled down quickly, my phone lagging. Maybe it was a sign telling me to stop looking back. I closed my eyes, tossed the phone into the trash can, and gripped my pen tightly. My future was mine to write, and mine alone.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “469218”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

The day I found out Ethan Sterling had a new mistress, I slapped her until her face was raw. I stripped her and threw her onto the street. In return, he personally broke my right hand, the hand I used to play the piano, and threw the divorce papers in my face. For the next two years, he protected her with his life, while I refused to let either of them go. Even when he promised to sign away every single penny of his fortune to get a clean divorce, I refused to swallow my pride. Until I caught them in bed together once again. He casually buckled his belt. And right in front of me, he shattered his own right hand with a heavy brass statue. He held his bloody hand up to my face. “Is this enough? If not, I can break the other one too.” He lit a cigarette and continued in a cold, detached voice. “Chloe is pregnant.” “She’s in fragile health. This might be our only chance to have a child.” “Your mother was a lunatic who committed murder the very day your stepmother got pregnant and replaced her.” “You carry her blood, Scarlett. I’m not risking my child’s life.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Scarlett Vance, if you refuse to sign the divorce papers, fine. I’ll stay tied to you. But you must promise me one thing: never hurt Chloe again. Deal?” I stood there, feeling like a pathetic clown frozen in place. Suddenly, the scar on my chest, the one I got from taking a knife for him years ago, began to ache violently, as if the wound had been ripped wide open. I clutched my chest. “I promise you.” You want a divorce so badly? Fine. I’ll give it to you.

“Since you’ve agreed, you should head back first. I want to stay and keep her company for a while.” I froze. “What is it?” He turned back to look at me. “I’m going to be tied to you for the rest of my life anyway. Are you still not satisfied?” On the bed, Chloe Thorne looked at me with tear-filled, red eyes. “Scarlett, I’ll never win against you in this lifetime.” “Can’t you just let us have this one tiny moment of peace?” Both of them stared at me. Their eyes were filled with sadness, longing, helplessness, and resentment. “Sure,” I smiled. “Do whatever you want.” Ethan froze, visibly caught off guard. I turned around and walked away without looking back. Ethan was a man of his word. He returned to our penthouse before midnight that night. His right hand was wrapped tightly in thick white gauze. He didn’t look at me. But I was the one who stopped him. “Sign this.” I placed the divorce papers on the table in front of him. He paused right before entering the bathroom. He looked at me, a flicker of shock crossing his face. “This is the first draft you sent me.” “I only modified the property division clause.” “I’m leaving with absolutely nothing.” I placed the pen on top of the documents. He frowned. “Do you think throwing a tantrum like this will make me feel sorry for you?” I smiled. I flipped to the last page of the agreement. Right above his name. My signature was already written in clear, bold ink. “You don’t have to worry. I’ve done everything required on my end.” “The moment you sign, we can go to the lawyer’s office first thing in the morning and finalize this.” He stared at me, completely stunned. In the past, he was always the one who signed the papers, pressed his ink-stained thumbprints, and forced me to sign. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Are you sure about this?” I nodded. This time, a strange look of unease flashed in his eyes. “Can you really let me go?” I paused for a brief second. “Yes.” He gripped the pen so tightly his knuckles turned white. A five-year marriage. And it was ending in such an ordinary, quiet way. “I’ll split the assets fifty-fifty with you,” he said. I shook my head. “Let’s just leave it like this.” “But…” “I don’t want any connection with you anymore. Not even financial.” He went stiff. He stared into my eyes for a long time, searching for something. But he never got the look he wanted. Using his left hand, he signed his name on the divorce papers. The moment he set the pen down, I snatched the papers back. “Thank you.” “I wish you and Chloe a happy life together.” My suitcase had been packed hours ago. I dragged it out of the bedroom. “Are you leaving right now?” “Yes.” He glanced at the heavy rain pouring down the windowpane. “It’s storming outside. You can stay one last night.” “No need.” I opened the front door. He opened his mouth, hesitating. “Scarlett.” I stopped. “I’ll drive you.” Without waiting for my answer, he grabbed his car keys and walked out. I stood there holding my suitcase. I opened my mouth to refuse, but he had already disappeared into the elevator toward the garage. Whatever. A free ride wouldn’t hurt. Our marriage had been ugly for so many years. Let’s just consider this a final speck of dignity we could give each other. The driver arrived quickly. Ethan and I sat side by side in the back seat. I sat on his left. In the quiet cabin of the car, his uninjured left hand brushed against my right hand. I pulled away instantly. But he grabbed my wrist, tightening his grip. “Scarlett.” He kept his eyes on the road ahead. “Do you really loathe me so much that you won’t even let me touch you?” “We signed the papers, Ethan.” I struggled to pull my hand back. But his grip only grew tighter. His throat cleared. “We don’t have to get a divorce.” I looked at him in sheer disbelief. Suddenly, the driver slammed on the brakes. “Mr. Sterling, look ahead…”

At the right front of the car. Chloe was standing in the middle of a puddle, wearing a white dress. She had no umbrella. She wasn’t even wearing shoes. Her eyes were red as she stared at our car. The hand gripping my wrist let go instantly. Ethan threw the car door open. I watched him wrap his coat around Chloe’s shivering shoulders. His lips moved, but his voice was completely swallowed by the sound of the torrential rain. Chloe sobbed and threw herself into his arms, her shoulders shaking violently. Then, Ethan helped her over to my side of the car. He opened the door. He looked down at me coldly. “Scarlett, get out.” Chloe’s eyes were rimmed with red. She leaned softly against his chest, looking at me. As if to assert her dominance, she snuggled deeper into his warmth. “Didn’t you hear me?” Ethan repeated, his voice dropping to a freezing temperature. “I said, get out of the car.” The driver helped me take my suitcase out of the trunk. I stood in the pouring rain, holding the handle of my bag. The driver turned around. “Mr. Sterling, should we leave Miss Vance an umbre…” Before he could finish the word “umbrella,” Ethan had already climbed into the back seat, holding Chloe in his arms. “Drive.” He carefully wiped the rain off Chloe’s face. I didn’t know if he even heard the driver’s question. The car sped away. The muddy water splashed by the tires soaked the hem of my dress. It was sticky. It clung to my calves, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. Whenever Chloe appeared, his eyes would only ever be on her. I had learned this lesson the hard way two years ago. He was no longer the Ethan Sterling who once fought side-by-side with me, the man who was willing to die for me. I looked up, letting the cold rain pelt my face. And I laughed. The divorce was finalized the next morning at the lawyer’s office. Ethan was in a rush the entire time. The moment we got the stamped papers, he couldn’t wait to leave. “Chloe is sick. I won’t be able to drive you back.” He didn’t look back. And he didn’t wait for my response. He just vanished. But it didn’t matter. Where I was going next had nothing to do with him anyway. At 3:00 PM. I stood punctually at the entrance of the clinic. The doctor sighed repeatedly as she looked at my chart. “Are you absolutely sure you want to abort this baby?” “You’ve suffered so many physical traumas over the years, leaving you with severe complications. It will be incredibly difficult for you to get pregnant again in the future.” “I am sure,” I replied quietly. “Does Mr. Sterling know about this?” “He doesn’t.” The doctor glanced at me, giving another long sigh. She turned to prepare for the procedure. “You shouldn’t be too angry with Mr. Sterling.” “Five years ago, if Miss Thorne hadn’t taken that knife for him, Mr. Sterling would have died long ago.” I raised my head, my heart stopping. “Chloe Thorne took a knife for Ethan?” “Yes.” The doctor wrote on her clipboard without looking up. “It happened across the ocean. The hitmen sent by his rivals wanted him dead. Mr. Sterling was already unconscious. Thank god Miss Thorne was there.” “Mr. Sterling is only doing all this to repay his debt of gratitude.” I slowly placed my hand over my chest. “What’s wrong, Miss Vance? Is your chest hurting?” I smiled and shook my head. “During your physical exam, I noticed a massive, through-and-through scar right over your heart. Are you sure you’re okay?” I shook my head again. “I’m fine.” “It’s an old wound.” A day ago, I might have rushed to Ethan to tell him the truth. I would have forced him to kick Chloe out of his life. But now? I no longer had the energy to fight him over love or hate. In three days. I would board a flight out of the country. For the rest of my life, I would never have anything to do with Ethan Sterling again. As I was packing all my travel documents, I realized Ethan’s passport was still in my bag. Back then, to keep him bound to me, I had forced him to hand over his passport. I kept it right next to mine. Wherever he went, I had to follow. Now, it was time to give it back.

Sterling Group Headquarters. The security code to Ethan’s private office floor hadn’t been changed yet. I entered the code and pushed the door open. The first person I saw was Chloe. She was holding a freshly brewed cup of coffee for Ethan. The moment she saw me, she let out a sharp shriek. The hot coffee spilled all over her designer dress. The massive mahogany desk was right behind her. She backed up until she had nowhere to go, staring at me with sheer terror. “Scarlett… Miss Vance, what are you doing here?” It was always like this. Every single time she ran into me, she would put on this terrified, innocent act. In the past, I would have grabbed her arm and snarled at her to stop acting. But now, I just wanted to leave as quickly as possible. “Give this to him.” I reached into my bag and walked toward her. Suddenly, she grabbed her head and crouched down, screaming. “No! Please don’t hurt me!” “Don’t pull my hair! Don’t rip my clothes off! Don’t throw me onto the street again!” “I won’t try to steal Ethan from you anymore!” “I beg you, Miss Vance!” Before I could even react, hurried footsteps rushed in from behind. A hand grabbed my arm and shoved me violently. My knees slammed hard against the marble floor. For a moment, the pain was so sharp I couldn’t even stand up. Ethan stood tall, shielding Chloe behind his back like a protective wall. “What do you think you’re doing!” Chloe sobbed behind him, weakly clutching the fabric of his suit jacket. “Haven’t you traumatized Chloe enough? Are you trying to hurt her in my office now!” Ethan glared at me. His eyes looked as if he were staring at a deadly enemy. Chloe began to tremble right on cue. “Don’t… please don’t let her hurt me…” I let out a soft laugh. “Stop acting, Miss Thorne. True PTSD doesn’t look like this.” Chloe froze. Ethan’s brows furrowed deeply. “What right do you have to say that?” “Oh, I have every right.” I smiled up at him. After taking a blade straight through my chest to save him, I was dragged away by his rivals and tortured for three days and three nights. I was the one who developed severe PTSD. I didn’t have the energy to scream. I couldn’t even cry. I could only curl up in a dark corner. I was terrified of the light, terrified of people, and terrified of any sound. Even the mere sound of a doctor opening the door would make me shake uncontrollably. Whenever I thought of what they did to me, I would lose my mind. True trauma didn’t look like a pretty, fragile girl crying beautifully for sympathy. But to this day, I never had the courage to tell Ethan any of this. “Enough!” Ethan interrupted me coldly. “You’ve never experienced trauma in your life. What gives you the right to say Chloe is faking it!” “Scarlett, I promised to stay with you for the rest of my life!” “You were the one who demanded a divorce!” “Why are you stalking us now? What do you want!” My hand reached back into my purse. “What are you doing!” In a flash, Ethan pulled a sleek black gun from his holster and pointed it directly at the space between my eyebrows. I held up his passport, extending it toward him. He froze. The gun slowly lowered. He snatched the passport from my hand. “You’re free now.” I turned around to leave. Suddenly, my vision went pitch black, and my body swayed. A strong hand firmly grabbed my arm, keeping me steady. Ethan stared at me, his eyes dark. “Why is your face so pale?” I shoved his hand away. “It’s nothing.” I walked down to the lobby of the Sterling building. As I was waiting for my ride, I heard hurried footsteps behind me. “Scarlett!” Ethan was slightly out of breath. I turned around. “Are you leaving the country?” “Yes.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Have a safe flight.” I nodded. “About today… I’m sorry.” “Okay.” “If you ever need help in the future… I’m still here.” “Thank you.” A cab pulled up in front of me. I got in and didn’t look back. My flight was scheduled for that very night. But just as I was about to leave my apartment, the front door was violently kicked open. Before I could breathe, Ethan’s hand clamped around my throat, slamming me hard against the wall. “Chloe’s baby is dead.”

His eyes were bloodshot. The hand clutching my throat was shaking with rage. “Didn’t you say you wanted a divorce? Didn’t you want to be free?” “I told you I would stay with you forever if you wanted! I compromised, didn’t I?” “Why did you lie to me while secretly hiring someone to push Chloe down the stairs!” My fingernails dug into his left hand, scratching him until he bled. But he didn’t loosen his grip even a fraction. “That was her only chance to have a baby!” “That was our only child, Scarlett!” “Why… why did you do it?!” His hand tightened brutally. My lips instantly turned blue from the lack of oxygen. “I… I didn’t…” With a violent swing, he threw me to the side. I crashed heavily onto the floor. Suddenly, a wave of intense heat washed over me. I scrambled up and looked out the window. “Ethan! What are you doing!” Outside the villa, towering flames were devouring the building. I instinctively tried to run toward the exit. But he grabbed my wrist, pulling me back with terrifying strength. “Scarlett, you destroyed her only hope of living.” “So don’t even think about living either.” A pair of heavy steel handcuffs clicked. One loop bound my right wrist; the other bound his left. He smiled at me, his eyes wild and empty. “Let’s go down to hell together to beg for her forgiveness.” “Ethan!” I thrashed against the handcuffs, the metal slicing into my skin and leaving bloody trails. “Let me go! Chloe is lying to you!” “I was the one who took that knife for you!” I ripped my collar open, forcing him to look at the thick, jagged scar over my heart. Amidst the flickering flames, he only laughed. “Even now, you’re trying to steal Chloe’s credit?” “Scarlett, I never realized you were such a cowardly, deceitful liar.” The tongue of fire licked into the room, burning my arm. I tried to pull him toward the door like a madwoman, trying to drag both of us out of this deathtrap. But he held me back with dead weight. “Let go! Ethan! Let me go! Ahhh!” A sickening crack echoed in the room. Ethan had twisted my right wrist past its limit, dislocating it completely. My entire body went limp, and I collapsed against the window sill. In the ten years we had known each other, we had been pushed into dead ends before. But back then, we always did everything we could to make sure the other survived. Now, for another woman, he wanted me to burn to ash in this dead zone. I couldn’t breathe. My lungs felt like they were on fire. “Ethan… I… I really can’t breathe…” My body slid down the wall. Suddenly, Ethan’s phone vibrated in his pocket. The call was automatically connected to his Bluetooth earpiece. A panicked voice rushed through: “Mr. Sterling! We just ran the background check on the overseas attack. The person who took the knife for you wasn’t Miss Thorne! She was still in the country at that time!” Ethan’s breath hitched. He yanked the handcuffs, trying to pull me up. But I used the last bit of my strength to push him away. I stood on the edge of the window, my right hand covered in blood. I had forced my dislocated hand through the steel cuff, ripping my own flesh and skin to pieces. “Scarlett!” Ethan’s eyes widened in sheer horror. The window shattered. Sparks clinging to my clothes, I plunged straight down into the deep, dark ocean beneath the villa cliff. Splash. “Scarlett.”

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I was at the local farmer’s market, buying some fresh fish. Just as I was about to pay, I realized my phone was gone. Stolen. I was sweating bullets, panic rising in my chest, when I saw Tyler walking over. His arm was wrapped tightly around his girlfriend, Jessica. Relieved, I quickly ran up to him and asked if he could lend me $11 to pay for the fish. But before Tyler could even open his mouth, Jessica scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Wow, your little childhood friend sure knows how to play the system. She treats your wallet like her personal ATM, doesn’t she?” Tyler scratched his head, looking put-out. “She’s always been a freeloader, babe. Honestly, it’s exhausting for me too.” Then he turned to Jessica with a reassuring smile. “Don’t get the wrong idea, honey. I’m definitely not letting her take advantage of me this time.” Jessica’s chest puffed up with pride. She stepped forward, jabbing her fake-nailed finger right at my forehead. “Take a look in the mirror, you cheap tramp. You want my boyfriend to be your sugar daddy? In your dreams.”

I was furious at the sudden, baseless accusation, but I tried to keep my cool and explain. “Tyler, my phone was just stolen, and I don’t have any cash on me. Old Hank already gutted and cleaned the fish for me. I can’t just walk away and leave him with it.” Hank, the fish vendor, looked at the three of us anxiously, terrified of losing a sale. Tyler looked at Hank, then back at me. Seeing that I wasn’t lying, he let out a dry laugh. “Oh, so that’s how it is.” He turned and squeezed Jessica’s waist, whispering in a baby voice, “Babe, look how pathetic and miserable she is. Let’s just help her out this once. Lend her the $11, and I’ll make sure she pays you back double with interest later.” But Jessica shoved him away, her face twisting with sudden rage. “Oh, so you feel sorry for her, Tyler?” “Tell me, how much money have you spent on her? Are you keeping her as your side piece behind my back?” “No wonder you’re always telling me to copy her makeup. You two are screwing around, aren’t you?!” Her loud, hysterical accusations immediately drew a crowd. People started stopping, pointing, and whispering at us. Tyler threw his hands up in panic, desperate to defend himself. “Babe, I swear! How could I ever like her? She’s been a leech since we were kids. I’ve suffered enough because of her.” “I swear, I only love you. Every other woman is trash to me, including Chloe.” Hearing this, Jessica let out a nasty laugh, intentionally raising her voice so everyone could hear. “Once you get stepped on by trash, it’s hard to shake off.” “Sweetheart, I feel so bad for you. Just walking through a market and you step right into a pile of garbage.” She was clearly calling me garbage. The crowd got the hint, and several people pulled out their phones to record. My head was throbbing. I must have had terrible luck today. All this drama over eleven dollars. Hank, the vendor, was getting impatient. “Young lady, I’m just trying to make a living. I already prepped the fish. You can’t just leave without paying!” I quickly assured him, “Don’t worry, Hank. You will get your money.” Then I turned to the onlookers. “Can anyone lend me $11? I’ll pay you back immediately.” The crowd quickly dispersed, stepping back to avoid getting involved. I rummaged through my purse and pulled out a brand new, unused YSL lipstick. I held it out to a young guy, Zach. “Hey, this is a brand new YSL lipstick. It retails for $40. You can keep it as collateral…” Before I could finish, Jessica snatched it from my hand and slammed it onto the concrete floor. “What a shameless bitch! First you treat my boyfriend like an ATM, and now you’re trying to scam some other guy to pay your bills? You have no dignity.” She pointed her finger at my forehead again, trying to humiliate me. “You dream about finding a sugar daddy every day, but look at yourself. You’re cheap. No man wants a gold digger like you. As long as I’m here, you won’t get a dime.” Tyler chimed in, adding fuel to the fire. “She’s always been like this. Flirting with any guy she sees. Look at all the people here, and she specifically targets the cute young guys to beg for money.” Then he glared at me. “Chloe, apologize to my girlfriend right now. Promise you’ll never touch my money again, and maybe we’ll pay the $11 for you.” The crowd started whispering nastily about me, throwing dirty looks. I was so angry I could feel my blood boiling. But after a few seconds, a cold calm washed over me. I smiled at the crowd, waving them closer. “Everyone, come closer! Today, you’re going to see exactly how this guy has been ‘sponsoring’ me all these years.” I looked at Jessica, my smile turning icy. “It’s a rare show, babe. Make sure you watch closely.”

“Sponsoring you?” Jessica’s smirk froze. She stomped her foot. “You little homewrecker! Stop trying to ruin our relationship. He’d have to be blind to sponsor you!” Her tone was filled with absolute confidence in their relationship. Meanwhile, Tyler stood there shaking his leg, looking smug. “My girl is so smart. Chloe has been a liar since we were kids. She practically lived at my house, eating our food, and she’s been badmouthing me for years. Babe, you need to teach her a lesson.” A guy holding up his phone to live stream, Brad, shouted to the crowd, “My stream just hit fifty thousand viewers! Everyone’s siding with the cute couple and calling this girl a shameless gold digger!” Brad’s words gave Jessica a massive ego boost. She sneered at me. “Go ahead, speak! If you can’t prove my boyfriend sponsored you, I’ll sue you for defamation and ruin your life.” Tyler gave her a thumbs-up. “Go get her, babe. Put her in her place.” He was so incredibly punchable. I wanted to slap him, but doing that in public would make me look guilty. I forced myself to stay calm and speak clearly. “Let’s start with freshman year of college,” I said, my voice steady. “Tyler used to blow through his monthly allowance before the 10th of every month. After that, he survived by eating with me at the dining hall every single day. Let’s do the math. At least $15 a meal, 20 days a month, 8 months a school year. Over four years, how much is that?” “During summer and winter breaks, he had no money and refused to get a job. Instead, he hung out at the bistro I co-owned, eating and drinking for free. By bistro prices, that’s at least $80 a day. Four months a year, for four years. How much is that?” “And his clothes? His laptop? He begged me to buy them for him. At least two new outfits every season, $500 a set. For four years, how much is that?” Before I could finish, Martha, the vegetable vendor, chimed in. “That’s at least sixty-four thousand dollars!” I gave Martha a thumbs-up. “And our college was an art school. Tuition was $40,000 a year. Tyler didn’t want to take out student loans, so he begged me to pay it upfront. That’s $160,000 over four years.” The crowd gasped. “Holy crap, so she was basically raising him?” “This is insane! A grown man lying like this and calling her a gold digger? How shameless!” The tide turned instantly. Tyler became the target of everyone’s glares. His face paled, and his voice shook. “Chloe, stop making things up in public! Don’t drag my name through the mud!” Jessica, who had been clinging to his arm, looked shaken. But she tried to sound tough. “You have no proof! Where’s your evidence?” I checked my pockets. My phone was stolen, so I couldn’t show them the records right away. I had to think of something else. Just then, Brad, the live-streamer, yelled, “My stream just hit a hundred and fifty thousand! A viewer named Marcus says he was your college class president. He says Chloe is telling the truth and Tyler is a dirty liar!” “And another viewer named Hailey says she was Chloe’s business partner at the bistro! She says Tyler ate there for free every break, never paid a dime, and told them to put it on Chloe’s tab—at least $100 a day!” Hearing those two names, Tyler’s face turned completely green. He stammered, unable to find a single word to defend himself. Jessica stepped away from him, looking utterly humiliated. But the look she gave me was filled with pure jealousy and hatred. I smiled coldly. “See that? I was the one sponsoring your boyfriend.”

Jessica’s face was bright red, but she refused to back down. “My boyfriend isn’t broke! Who knows if you paid off those people to lie? You’re just good at seducing men.” Even now, she was trying to paint me as a homewrecker. My face darkened. “Jessica, woman to woman, let me remind you—defamation is a crime.” Brad, the live streamer, quickly waved his hands. “Hey, don’t look at me! I have a wife. I didn’t even know Chloe before today.” Seeing the crowd grow larger, Old Hank tugged at my sleeve. “Miss, I don’t care about your drama. Just pay me for the fish.” I had no choice but to whisper, “Hank, please give me a second. Or let me borrow your phone to make a call. I swear I’m not trying to dodge the bill, my phone was literally just stolen.” Hank hesitated, then shook his head, refusing to hand over his phone. Just then, Martha, the vegetable vendor, walked over. “I’ll dial the number for you, but you can’t touch my phone.” It was smart to be cautious, and I was incredibly grateful. I pulled her aside and whispered the number. Tyler’s eyes darted around, and he suddenly spoke up with a self-righteous tone. “It’s normal for college kids from poor families to borrow money! It’s not a crime as long as you pay it back. There’s a saying: Everyone struggles when they’re young, don’t look down on a guy just because he started poor.” “Chloe, you’re just clinging to the four years when I was at my lowest. What about after graduation? You borrowed tons of money from me and never paid it back. Why don’t you talk about that?” Hearing this, Jessica instantly revived. She glared at me. “Yeah, Chloe! What are you acting so shady for? Come over here and let’s settle the score!” “Tyler has sent you transfers of five thousand, ten thousand, even thirty or fifty thousand dollars! Especially over the last two years. You called it ‘borrowing,’ but you never had any intention of paying it back.” Tyler yelled, “Exactly! I never said no to you, and now you’re stabbing me in the back? Where is your conscience?” Looking at these two delusional liars, I laughed out of sheer disbelief. “He sent me money? Do you have proof?” “Because I distinctly remember on February 17th of this year, Tyler begged me for $100,000. He said his girlfriend had been in a horrible car accident and needed the money for emergency surgery. I transferred it without a second thought. Snapchat and bank records don’t lie. Do you have the guts to open your phone and check right now?” Martha immediately chimed in. “She even remembers the exact date. That sounds like the truth to me.” She stepped forward and patted Jessica’s shoulder. “Girl, you better check your boyfriend’s phone. Some men are pathological liars. They lie like it’s breathing.” Jessica’s face flushed. “He wouldn’t dare lie to me!” “Then check his phone! Stop wasting time, we want to see who the real liar is!” the crowd cheered. Tyler didn’t look scared at all. Instead, he threw his head back and laughed. “Check it then! Who’s afraid of who? Chloe, you’re dead!”

Jessica grit her teeth and demanded Tyler’s phone. Tyler handed it over with a smirk, throwing me a dirty look. Jessica opened his Snapchat and demanded, “Is this you?” I looked at the profile picture. “Yes, that’s me.” She triumphantly showed the chat history to the crowd. “Look at this, everyone! Look at how much money this leech dragged out of my boyfriend!” “April 2nd: ‘Tyler, sweetie, my appendix is acting up. I need ten thousand for surgery.’ And my boyfriend sent it immediately!” “June 8th: ‘Hey Tyler, emergency! My landlord is threatening to evict me. Can you send your favorite girl five thousand?’” “And just last month, on the 9th: ‘Hey Tyler, can I borrow fifty thousand? I need it for tuition to further my studies.’” The disgusting pet names made my stomach turn. I almost threw up on the spot. But I had absolutely no memory of any of these messages. The crowd erupted in disgust. “Ugh, that’s vile. ‘Sweetie’? ‘Your favorite girl’? She’s a professional leech.” Jessica shoved the screenshots right in front of Brad’s camera lens. “See this? She’s been using my boyfriend as her personal bank!” She grew more and more furious. “Just two days ago, I told him to make her pay it back. You know what she said? She said she would ‘pay him back with her body.’ You hear that? She was literally begging to be his kept woman!” “If I’m lying about a single word, let lightning strike me down!” Her sheer confidence made Martha, the vegetable vendor, change her tune. She snatched the phone, looked at it, and glared at me with pure rage. “And here I was, standing up for you! I can’t believe you’re actually a cheap gold digger! The screenshots and chat logs are right here. What do you have to say for yourself?” She looked like she wanted to tear me apart. Old Hank looked devastated. “My stand is ruined. Get out of here! I don’t want your dirty money!” The crowd’s anger boiled over. They began shouting insults at me, and someone even threw a rotten cabbage leaf. I was completely bewildered. I tried to step closer to get a better look at the screen, but Tyler suddenly kicked me right in the stomach, knocking me to the ground. “Chloe! Since you want to play dirty, don’t blame me for being ruthless. Pay me back my money right now!” Martha led the chant: “Pay it back! Pay it back!” Jessica clapped gleefully, crossing her arms in triumph. “How could a person like her have any money? We’ve known her long enough to know she’s a broke loser.” She looked down at me with absolute contempt. “Tell you what. I did the math, and you owe Tyler about two hundred thousand dollars. We’ll be generous. Just write a promissory note, leave a thumbprint, and promise to pay it back within six months.” Tyler kissed her on the cheek in front of everyone. “My girl is so sweet and understanding. She always knows when to be merciful.” Then he turned to me with a wicked glint in his eyes. “Chloe, for lying about me, you need to get on your knees and apologize. Only then will we call it even. Don’t say I’m being too harsh. A man’s reputation is everything.” Brad, the live streamer, started chanting, “Kneel! Kneel! Kneel!” Looking at Tyler’s smug, punchable face, a sudden realization hit me. I clutched my stomach and struggled to my feet. “I can prove I’m innocent. And I can prove you are the lying fraud here.” Jessica scoffed. “Oh yeah? Show us the proof then. Stop bluffing.” Just then, a voice called out from the crowd. “Here’s your proof.” Tyler looked toward the voice, and the smug grin on his face instantly froze. He turned white as a sheet.

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My wife, Chloe, had another man’s scent on her. It wasn’t sweat, and it certainly wasn’t alcohol or cigarettes. It was a bold, aggressive woody fragrance. Expensive, sophisticated, with an underlying, seductive warmth. I don’t wear cologne. As an interior designer who spends his days surrounded by drywall dust and paint fumes, I usually smell like sweat and construction materials. To me, cologne is an unnecessary luxury. My wife never used it either. “You’re back?” Chloe walked out of the bathroom, wrapped in a plush bath towel. Water droplets slid down the smooth curve of her calf. She dried her wet hair with a towel, but her eyes didn’t linger on me for a second. She walked straight to her vanity. She had been like this for the past two months. Cold, distant, as if an invisible wall had sprung up between us. The woman who used to cling to me every single night had completely vanished. I swallowed hard, walked up behind her, and wrapped my arms around her waist. My hand slipped slightly beneath the edge of the towel. Her skin was still as smooth and captivating as ever. “Stop it.” She grabbed my hand, her voice laced with irritation. “I’m exhausted. I’ve been running around with clients all day.” My nose brushed against her neck, and I caught that familiar yet foreign scent again. My eyes darkened. I decided to test her. “What shampoo did you use today? The scent is pretty unique.” Chloe’s body stiffened for a fraction of a second before she forced herself to relax. She replied casually, “Oh, I got my hair washed at the spa. It must be whatever they used.” The spa? I scoffed inwardly. We had been married for five years. I could find her favorite day spa with my eyes closed. They only used sweet, floral products that smelled like cheap candy. They definitely didn’t use this crisp, heavy, masculine scent. “Really? It smells expensive. Take me with you next time,” I said half-jokingly. “Why would a grown man go to a spa? Don’t be ridiculous.” She pushed my hand away, a flash of panic and disgust crossing her face. “I said I’m tired. Do you not understand English? If you’re that desperate, go handle it yourself!” With that, she switched on the hairdryer. The loud hum cut off any further conversation between us. I quietly walked back to the living room and sat on the couch. The seed of suspicion in my heart was growing into a thorny vine. I had smelled that scent somewhere earlier today. I pulled out my phone, opened Amazon Luxury, and searched the fragrance section based on my memory. Finally, a familiar bottle popped up on the screen. *Creed Aventus.* The description read: *An exceptional fragrance that pays homage to strength, power, and success. Rich, hand-selected ingredients make this a masterpiece for the modern, successful man.* The price? $450 for a 3.4 oz bottle. My heart sank into a cold abyss. Chloe worked as an administrative assistant at a mid-sized firm, making barely $3,000 a month. There was no way she could afford this level of luxury. More importantly, this was a cologne purely for men. So, the scent didn’t come from a spa. It came from a man who could easily drop $450 on a bottle of cologne. And for the scent to linger so clearly on Chloe even after she showered, there was only one logical explanation. My chest tightened, and my hands clenched into tight fists. They had just shared an extremely “intimate” encounter.

From that day on, I began to watch Chloe quietly. She started coming home late more and more often. Her excuses were always the same. Overtime, corporate training, or dinner with important clients. Her phone never left her hand. She even took it into the shower and the restroom. We used to know each other’s phone passcodes—they were set to our wedding anniversary. But recently, she had secretly changed hers. Any physical intimacy between us had dropped to zero. Whenever I tried to get close, she would snap like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, throwing bitter words at my face. “Carter, is sex the only thing inside your head? Why can’t you put some of that energy into your career?” “Look at Mr. Vance. He’s so young, yet he already owns his own development firm. And you? You’ve been a low-level designer for nearly ten years!” “I don’t want a man who only knows how to hover around the kitchen and the bedroom. I want a real provider, a winner!” *Mr. Vance.* The name felt like a needle piercing my eardrums. The “Mr. Vance” she kept bringing up was Jackson Vance, a major client her company had recently signed. He was a young, wealthy entrepreneur who threw money around like water. The contract to design his new office headquarters alone was worth a fortune. Chloe had gushed about him more than once, talking about how powerful and charismatic he was. She didn’t even try to hide her admiration. Meanwhile, I—a designer who made around $10,000 a month and handed most of my paycheck over to her—had become a useless loser in her eyes. I didn’t lose my temper. Without hard evidence, arguing was pointless. It would only tip her off. But my chance came sooner than expected. One night, Chloe came home dead drunk. She collapsed onto the sofa and passed out instantly. The scent of Creed Aventus was stronger than ever. She was practically marinated in it. I picked up her phone. Because she was completely out cold, the Face ID failed. Taking a deep breath, I tried the passcode we used to share—our wedding anniversary. *Click.* The screen unlocked. She probably thought I had forgotten the date, or she assumed I would never dare to check. In this day and age, a person’s deepest secrets are always locked inside their phone. I didn’t bother checking Snapchat or iMessage. Cheaters are always careful; she would have wiped those chat histories clean. Instead, I opened her Amazon app. Sure enough, the recent order history was completely blank. But that wasn’t going to stop me. I tapped into her account settings and found the “Archived Orders” section. It asked for a passcode again. I tried Chloe’s birthday. *Incorrect.* I tried the last six digits of her social security number. *Incorrect.* My heart started pounding. A wild, horrifying thought crossed my mind.

With trembling fingers, I entered the initials of Jackson Vance followed by Chloe’s birth date. *Incorrect.* Could it be…? I entered Jackson Vance’s birthday. I had subtly pried this information out of Chloe a few days ago under the guise of “updating client profile records.” *Click.* The archived orders list flashed on the screen! My heart felt like it was being crushed by a giant boulder as I stared at the screen. The purchase was made two months ago. I tapped on the order details. The shipping address read: *188 Spring Road, Bella Vita Spa, Attention: Chloe Miller.* So, she was the one who bought the cologne. She bought it to give to her wealthy client. And then, that man wore it, returning the scent, his warmth, and his touch to her through the most intimate acts. I stared blankly at the screen. The blood in my veins ran ice-cold before roaring back with a fiery rage. Humiliation and disgust washed over me like a tidal wave. I had always been a devoted husband. From chasing her passionately in college to pampering her through five years of marriage, I had treated her like a queen. I did all the chores, handed over my earnings, and cared for her family more than her own brother did. I thought I had given her my everything. But to her, I was just a stepping stone to crawl into high society. I could see it so clearly now—her using the money I worked so hard to earn to buy gifts for another man, acting like a cheap, desperate schoolgirl to win his favor. I ran into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, forcing myself to calm down. Divorce! We had to get divorced! But letting this toxic couple off that easily? No way. I was going to make them pay. I was going to take back everything that belonged to me. I screenshotted the order details and sent it to my burner email, then noted down all of Chloe’s recent strange behaviors in my digital diary. After wiping all traces of my search from her phone, I slipped it back into her purse. Let the game begin.

The fire of revenge burned hot in my chest, but I had to keep up appearances. My daily life had to go on, especially since I was managing a major project—the complete interior design of a luxury villa in the suburbs. The client was incredibly demanding. Every detail of the construction had to be perfect. One of the most important material suppliers for this project was Victoria Brooks. Victoria was a heavy hitter in the local construction scene. In her early thirties, she had taken over her family’s supply business and turned it into an empire. She was sharp, efficient, and had an impeccable reputation. I highly respected her as a partner. “Carter, you seem off today,” Victoria called out to me at the construction site. She was wearing a neat jumpsuit and a hard hat. Her sharp eyes scanned my face. “When I was explaining the marble vein matching patterns for the foyer, you spaced out twice.” I forced a tight smile. “Sorry, Victoria. Just didn’t sleep well last night.” “Really?” Victoria took off her hard hat, revealing a striking, makeup-free face. “You don’t look tired. You look like you have something heavy on your mind. Come on, let me buy you a coffee. We can go over the material delivery schedule while we’re at it.” I couldn’t decline. At a quiet coffee shop near the site, Victoria ordered two espressos. “Alright, what’s bothering you?” she asked, sliding a cup toward me. “We’ve worked together for a long time, Carter. You’re always meticulous. You don’t make mistakes like this. If a personal matter is affecting your work, the villa client won’t accept any excuses.” Her directness actually made me want to open up. Maybe I had bottle things up for too long, or maybe her sharp, professional understanding made me feel safe. I found myself talking. I didn’t give away too many details. I simply mentioned that my wife had been acting strange lately, and that I suspected… she was seeing someone else. I took a sip of my bitter espresso, but the taste couldn’t match the bitterness in my heart. “Ha,” Victoria let out a cold, cynical laugh. “Whether it’s a man or a woman, do they all turn into the same garbage after marriage?” I froze, looking at her in confusion. “My husband spent over a hundred thousand dollars on a watch for some ‘important client,’ and invested hundreds of thousands into shady projects. Whenever I ask where the money went, he says it’s just for business and networking,” Victoria said, looking out the window, her voice dripping with ice. “His schedule has become erratic, and every word out of his mouth is a lie.” My heart skipped a beat. A bizarre, terrifying intuition gripped me. “Victoria, you mean…” “My husband is Jackson Vance,” Victoria said slowly, turning her sharp gaze back to me. “And for the past two months, he’s been acting exactly like that.” *Jackson Vance!* A bomb went off in my brain. How could the world be this absurdly small? My wife’s lover was none other than Victoria’s husband! Seeing my stunned, speechless expression, Victoria put the pieces together instantly. Her face turned pale, but her eyes grew incredibly cold and sharp. “The woman your wife is sleeping with… is it him?” I nodded slowly, spitting out the words through clenched teeth. “Jackson Vance.” The coffee shop fell into a dead silence. Two betrayed spouses sitting across from each other, discovering their partners were sleeping together in the most disgusting way possible. It was the ultimate joke. “Good. Very good,” Victoria broke the silence. She didn’t cry or break down. Instead, she smirked, a dangerous, ruthless glint in her eyes. “Carter, looks like we’re in the same boat.” She leaned in, staring into my eyes. “Since they love playing games so much, why don’t we team up?” I stared back at her, seeing the exact same hunger for revenge in her eyes. “What do you have in mind?” “Simple.” Victoria put her coffee cup down with a heavy thud. “We gather the evidence, uncover everything, and then… we strip them of every single penny and ruin their lives.” She locked eyes with me. “I need you.” “You’re the lead designer for Jackson’s luxury villa. He’s been using the excuse of ‘inspecting the site’ to take your wife there. That villa is the perfect stage for us.” “And as for me…” Her lips curled into a chilling smile. “I know his company’s accounts and his personal cash flow better than anyone. If he thinks he can use our marital assets to fund his little mistress, he’s got another thing coming.”

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Ten years of marriage. I sent my best friend, Ashley, a link on SnapChat. “I’m planning a huge party for our tenth anniversary. Help me plan it. I want to give him a surprise!” She replied with a quick thumbs-up emoji. But the next second, she went straight to Twitter to complain about me on her spam account: “People who show off their marriages always get divorced the fastest. Cringe.” That was the exact moment I realized my best friend of ten years was actually the anonymous online stranger I had been following for a decade. I had spent ten years reading about her secret love affair with my husband. And I finally realized my own marriage had been a rotting corpse for a long time. When I first saw the tweet, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Ashley had posted a screenshot of our chat. She was trying to complain about me, but she forgot to blur out my profile picture. With trembling hands, I scrolled through her entire account. Every single post matched my life perfectly. “He’s on a business trip, so I’m going to surprise him! Flying to his city tonight!” “It’s my birthday. We had dinner with his annoying ‘third wheel’ wife. He kept rubbing my leg under the table with his foot. We went back to his place and had sex four times!” “I have a fever. He left immediately after one call and spent the whole night with me at the ER.” … So, when Ethan was supposedly on business trips, someone else was in his bed. On Ashley’s birthday, Ethan told me he had to work overtime and couldn’t come home. I actually felt bad for him and made him chicken soup. And those three days he spent “working late” at the office? He was actually playing the caring boyfriend at the hospital for Ashley. Holding back my nausea, I read through every single one of her tweets. I matched the dates with my text history with Ethan. It was undeniable. Me, my husband, and Ashley. The three of us had been tangled in this mess for ten years. We had been married for ten years. He had been cheating on me for ten years. And the woman was my best friend. The double betrayal of friendship and love hit me like a truck. I couldn’t breathe. My chest ached so badly. I sat on the couch for a long time, trying to force myself to calm down. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Ethan on WhatsApp: “Working late tonight. Don’t wait up!” Instinctively, I went back to Ashley’s Twitter and refreshed the page. Sure enough, she had just posted. “The third wheel annoyed me today. Making him come over to pamper me now!” I let out a bitter laugh. It turned out *I* was the third wheel all along. I screenshotted everything and saved it. I acted like I knew nothing. Then, I texted Ashley back on SnapChat: “Make sure this anniversary is unforgettable. Oh, and I want a massive LED screen at the venue!” Ashley took five minutes to reply with a simple “Sure.” I knew she was burning with jealousy inside. But there was nothing she could do. On paper, I was still Mrs. Carter. I remembered when Ethan proposed to me ten years ago. Ashley had planned that event, too. She was just a rookie at a wedding planning agency back then. When Ethan got down on one knee, Ashley’s knuckles turned white. Her eyes were filled with pure hatred. At the time, I thought she just didn’t like Ethan. After all, best friends are often protective. Now I knew. That look was pure, unadulterated hatred for me. She hated me for taking Ethan, yet she was willing to degrade herself to be his secret side chick for ten years. I cried, then I laughed. Then I cried again. This piece of trash was playing two women at the same time, enjoying the best of both worlds. Did he really think it would be that easy? I wiped my tears. I pretended everything was fine and sent Ashley all the details and requirements for the anniversary party. If I was going to feel disgusted, I was going to make sure she felt it tenfold. Ashley and I had known each other for almost twenty years. We had been friends since elementary school and went to the same college. We were inseparable. Our parents became close friends because of us. My dad’s company even threw a lot of business to her family’s business because of our friendship. Now, all of that was over. I took some time to visit my parents. I laid all the cards on the table. I told them I wanted a divorce. When my dad heard what Ethan did, he was furious. “That piece of garbage! How dare he do this to you? I’ll break his legs!” “Dad, calm down. Let’s cut off his escape routes first. We do this slowly.” I wanted them to go back to exactly where they started. Back when Ethan was just a broke kid from a poor family. If Ashley still loved him then, I would gladly let her have him. I left my daughter, Emma, with my parents and went home. When I got back, Ethan was already home. His phone was on the coffee table, and he was in the shower. I didn’t touch his phone. A man who had hidden a secret for ten years was incredibly cautious. Besides, I didn’t need to look at their love texts anymore. I wanted to deliver a fatal blow.

Ethan worked at a firm owned by my dad’s old army buddy. His base salary was $10,000 a month, with a year-end bonus of around $30,000. An annual income of $150,000 made him upper-middle class. But that was only because we had no mortgage, no car payments, our daughter was smart enough not to need expensive private tutoring, and I had my own high-paying job. All of his $150,000 went entirely to his own comfort. I pulled my thoughts back as Ethan walked out of the bathroom. I smiled at him. “You’re home?” “Yeah. I visited my parents today. They told me there’s a luxury brownstone in the West Village up for sale. You know how rare it is for properties to open up there.” “I want to buy it and put it under Emma’s name. What do you think?” “Emma is only in elementary school. Isn’t it too early to buy her a house?” I handed him the property portfolio I had prepared. “It’s a 1,500-square-foot place. Move-in ready and beautifully maintained. Even if Emma doesn’t want it later, we can use it for retirement.” “More importantly, Mr. Sterling’s father-in-law lives right next door. If we move there, you can get closer to him. It’ll help your career.” Hearing this, his eyes lit up instantly. “Honey, you’ve worked so hard!” “It’s fine. We’re family. It’s just that I’m a bit short on cash, and taking out a loan isn’t smart right now.” “I’ll find a way to get the money,” Ethan said quickly. See? He wasn’t stingy. He was just transactional. Mr. Sterling was the boss he had been trying to suck up to for years. The bait I threw was too good for him to refuse. Ethan had been at the firm for eight years, relying on my family’s connections to climb the ladder. He had always wanted to shed the label of “the guy who married into money.” He was trying to find his own way out. Before, I thought he was just ambitious. Now I realized he was preparing to cut ties with me completely. So, he didn’t doubt my suggestion for a second. But what Ethan didn’t know was that Mr. Sterling and his wife had been separated for years. Mr. Sterling despised men who cheated. He had built his wealth through his wife’s family but still wanted to keep a mistress on the side, which made him a hypocrite. If Ethan tried to use this to get closer to him, he was playing with fire. The next day, Ethan handed me a black card. “This has all my bonuses from the past few years. There’s about $300,000 in it. It’s all yours.” I was slightly surprised. Ethan was generous, and he was richer than I thought. But something felt off. I took the card, bought the condo, and used the remaining cash for renovations. At the same time, I started digging into Ethan’s actual income. When I got the detailed reports, I was shocked. Ethan’s annual package had already reached $400,000. Yet, he was still playing poor with me. Over the years, he had secretly amassed over $1.5 million in savings that I knew absolutely nothing about. Then I remembered that Ashley had bought a $40,000 Hermès Birkin bag last month. She told me she bought it as a treat for herself. But with her salary, there was no way she could afford it. Ethan must have bought it for her. What a joke. On the day she showed it off to me, Ethan had come back from a “business trip” and gifted me a $1,000 designer wallet. He used gifts to define our status in his life. Ethan, don’t blame me. You brought this on yourself. I hired a lawyer and began gathering evidence of his asset hiding. Once everything was ready, I posted the house contract on my Instagram. “A little gift for my daughter’s future!” My friends instantly flooded the comment section with congratulations. These comments drove Ashley insane with jealousy. “Stop bragging! Ethan is so generous to you!” she texted me. I replied: “Of course he is. Otherwise, some outsider might try to steal it!” She didn’t reply. I smiled. She couldn’t even handle this?

Ashley couldn’t take it anymore. During dinner, Ethan’s phone kept buzzing. He looked anxious but kept declining the calls. “Who is it? Just answer it,” I said. “Just some urgent work stuff. I need to go check on it!” As he rushed out, I texted my private investigator to follow him. Within twenty minutes, I received photos of them kissing passionately in his car. I looked at the cold soup on the table and dumped the entire bowl into the trash. At 10 PM, I called Ethan. He didn’t pick up. I called four more times before he finally answered. “Is everything okay?” his voice was tense. “I saw you weren’t back yet. I made some late-night snacks. Should I bring them over to your office?” He panicked over the phone. I heard a faint, sharp gasp in the background. I knew it was Ashley. “What was that noise?” I asked. “Nothing! We’re almost wrapped up here. I’m heading home now. Don’t wait up, go to sleep!” “Okay.” The moment I hung up, I drove to his office building. It was pitch black. I took a photo of the dark building and sent it to him on WhatsApp. “Are you off work? I’m downstairs.” Ethan called me immediately. “Vivian, why are you there? I just drove a colleague home. Wait there, I’ll drive back and pick you up!” “No need. I’m going home.” I hung up and let out a cold laugh. I had tried to give him—and myself—one last chance. But he threw it away. When he got home, I pretended to be asleep. He crept into bed and tried to hug me. It made my skin crawl. I rolled over, breaking his embrace. Ethan seemed to realize something. He sighed and eventually fell asleep beside me. Soon, his steady breathing filled the room, but I couldn’t sleep. I opened Twitter and checked Ashley’s spam account. “When can you stay with me for the whole night? The baby misses you too!” There was a photo of her hand resting on her flat stomach. My heart stopped. No one was going to steal my daughter Emma’s inheritance. Under Ashley’s post, some internet sleuths had already started pointing things out. “Are you a side chick? The dad can’t stay the night because he has another family, right?” “I can’t believe I followed this account for so long. You’re a homewrecker. Gross.” “Unfollowed. I hope the wife finds out!” “Ten years? You’ve been messing with a married man for ten years? The wife must be devastated.” Ashley argued with people in the comments before finally deleting the post. But I had already screenshotted everything. It seemed the internet still had a moral compass. I was relieved. Ashley, the deeper your love for Ethan, the harder you’re going to fall when this is exposed. I couldn’t wait. A few days later, Ashley sent me the venue layout for the anniversary. I looked at it. It was filled with Ashley’s personal favorites. She had snuck in so many of her own touches. Ethan’s photos were blown up so large that it looked more like his solo photography exhibition than our wedding anniversary. I didn’t say anything. I just told her she had full control. Finally, the anniversary arrived. I invited many friends, family members, and Ethan’s business partners. It was Ashley’s masterpiece. Gardenias and white lilies filled the hall. When I walked in and saw the venue, a cold smirk played on my lips. But I kept my face neutral. As the guests entered the hall, I stood backstage in a stunning red dress with flawless makeup. I looked at Ethan in the crowd and smiled. Ethan met my gaze, his eyes full of tenderness. I had to hand it to him. His acting was top-tier. I walked up to the stage and turned on the microphone. “Thank you all for taking the time to join us today. Welcome to my divorce announcement party.”

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