Author: Momo Chan

In one week, I’m boarding a flight for a medical mission in the remote Rockies, and then I’ll never have to see Victoria again. I found out about everything a month ago. Including the secret of the child growing inside her. Just now, she went to the restroom and handed me her phone to hold. The screen lit up with a message from her best friend: Hey, prenatal checkup today. Make sure your husband isn’t with you. I scrolled up through the chat history and found something that hit me like a physical blow. Her friend had asked when she planned on telling her husband she was pregnant with some college kid’s baby. Victoria’s reply: I promised him one life, one love, just the two of us. If I break that promise, we’re over. For good. So she had decided never to tell me. To let the secret die with her. She even wrote that she’d have the child call me Dad. Just then, Victoria returned. She guided my hand to my cane and cooed, “I was only gone for three minutes and I missed you like crazy.” She didn’t notice that my sight had returned weeks ago. She didn’t see me watching her, really seeing her, from behind the dark lenses of my sunglasses. 1 I placed the phone back in her hand and urged her to go on home. “I can handle submitting my resignation myself. You should head back.” Victoria’s brow furrowed, ready to insist on staying with me. But then, a voice called out from across the hall. “Vic! Fancy seeing you here. Did you get my text?” A young man with an easy smile strolled over. “Coming to the hospital, and you didn’t bring Henry along to help?” Victoria froze, a wave of panic washing over her face. She leaned in close to the newcomer and whispered harshly, “Can’t you see him standing right here?” The guy, unfazed, simply waved a hand right in front of my face. Then he gave Victoria a playful nudge. “Relax. Henry here wouldn’t know a thing, no matter what you get up to.” He grinned at me. “A smart man knows when to let his woman be, right, Henry?” I just nodded along. “Go with your friend. You don’t have to stay with me.” With that, I turned and walked away. Victoria reached for my hand, but the young man, Liam, intercepted her, his expression a mask of feigned hurt. “Vic,” he whined, “you’re not going to leave me to go to the appointment for our baby all alone, are you?” Her feet stopped moving. Her hand instinctively found his and squeezed it. Her voice, when she spoke, was syrupy sweet, a tone I’d never heard her use before. “Of course not, silly.” When I submitted my resignation, the hospital director was overjoyed to hear my vision had recovered. But then he asked, again and again, if I was absolutely certain about the medical mission in the Rockies. It was a three-year commitment. I just gave him a firm, steady nod. Leaving the director’s office, I walked past the ultrasound room. Through the crack in the door, I saw it all. Liam, his ear pressed gently against Victoria’s stomach, listening. And Victoria, her hand stroking his hair with a tenderness she once reserved for me. Liam planted a soft peck on her belly, and she let out a little gasp of a laugh. A nurse nearby reminded her to avoid any strenuous activity for the time being. Victoria nodded dutifully, but her friends, gathered around, couldn’t contain their giggles. “Oh, how’s our boy here supposed to contain all his… energy!” one of them teased. Liam ducked his head, a shy smile on his face, and mumbled, “Yeah, I mean, we were all over each other on your and your husband’s bed just a few days ago.” It was the first time I had ever seen Victoria blush like that. The others piled on. “This is more like the Vic we know! Seriously, what’s a blind man like Henry Anderson got to offer you anymore?” “Besides, even if he found out, what could he do? No one wants a blind man. He’d never leave you.” The blush vanished from Victoria’s face, replaced by a dark, thunderous expression. “Don’t you dare let a word of this get back to him. Understand?” she warned, her voice low and sharp. Her friends just waved her off dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. You and Liam could do it right in front of his face every day and he’d never know.” “Relax, Vic. It’s fine.” Just then, a nurse behind me called out. “Dr. Anderson? You left this in the director’s office.” The chatter inside the ultrasound room died instantly. Victoria shot up from her seat, her eyes wide with panic as they darted toward me. “Henry,” she stammered, her voice trembling slightly, “you… you didn’t hear anything just now, did you?” A flicker of guilt crossed her face, but she didn’t seem to notice that her hand was still intertwined with Liam’s. “I just got here. Didn’t hear a thing.” She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Then, she quickly added, “I was just here with my friend. For her and her husband’s prenatal checkup.” As she spoke, Liam hooked his pinky around hers, his eyes meeting mine over her shoulder with a look of pure provocation and contempt. I lowered my head. “I’m heading home. You guys carry on. I won’t disturb you.” I turned and walked away, my pace quickening until it felt like I was running. Once in my car, I stared out at the blur of traffic, a knot tightening in my chest. A bitter sting pricked my eyes, and my vision blurred for a different reason now. Even though I had already made my decision to leave, the pain was a physical, crushing weight. Before the accident, my eyes were fine. I once had a patient, a man who had gone blind. His family treated him like a burden, and the woman he loved left him without a second thought. I remember telling Victoria about it, and she’d said with such conviction, “That kind of woman is just trash.” She swore that even if the world ended, she would love me until her last breath. And now, here we were, at a fork in the road. And I was choosing my path first. Back home, I collapsed onto the floor, the stark white light of the ceiling fixture stabbing at my newly healed eyes. I met Victoria in a university club. She was the campus queen—perfect grades, scholarships piling up. I fell for her the moment I saw her. She was gentle even in her rejections. Every day, I’d stand under her dorm window like a fool, bringing her breakfast I’d made myself, even as she politely turned me down. Until the day one of the guys she’d rejected came at her with a knife. I stepped in front of her. And that was how I lost my sight. My future, shattered. The surgeon I was meant to be became a psychologist. In that chaotic moment, she had pressed her trembling hands to my bleeding eyes, her voice choked with tears. “Henry, I’ll be your girlfriend, just please, don’t scare me like this.” And so we were together. She was relentless in my recovery, massaging my eyes every day, buying the best medical equipment. She promised to be my eyes. The sound of the lock turning snapped me back to the present. Victoria stepped inside. Seeing me sitting there in the dark, she chided gently, “Why are you still up? It’s so bad for your eyes.” I didn’t answer. She must have sensed the shift in my mood. She came closer, leaning in to kiss my eyes as she always did. But my gaze fell on the man’s jacket draped over her shoulders, and a wave of revulsion washed over me. I flinched away, pushing her back. A look of stunned surprise crossed her face. The timing of my recovery had been a cruel twist of fate. A month ago, I woke in the middle of the night to a sharp, stabbing pain in my eyes. I blinked them open, and to my astonishment, I could see. The world rushed back in blurry shapes, then sharpened into focus. I turned my head, ecstatic, ready to wake Victoria and share the miracle. But I saw a third person in our bed. Liam and Victoria, tangled together right beside me. At the height of their passion, I heard her whisper, “Keep it down… you’ll wake him.” I choked back a sob, clamping my hand over my mouth to stifle the sound. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. The next day, I applied for the medical mission in the Rockies. “Henry, don’t scare me like this.” Victoria’s voice was laced with a genuine, painful confusion. I brought myself back to the present, closing my eyes. “I’m just tired. That’s all.” But her mind was already racing, connecting dots I hadn’t intended for her to see. “Henry, this morning at the hospital, I swear I was just there with my friend for her checkup.” Suddenly, she wrapped her arms around me, holding me tight. Her voice trembled. “Henry, I love you, as God is my witness. If I didn’t have you, I don’t know who would ever love me.” That night, she clung to me as she slept, her arm a dead weight across my chest. She never let go, as if she was terrified I’d vanish by morning. The next day, she prepared a huge breakfast, a feast laid out just for me. She watched with hopeful eyes as I sat down to eat. It was the middle of summer, but she was wearing a turtleneck. If I hadn’t seen the dark, angry love bites on her neck the night I regained my sight, I might have asked her if she was feeling sick. She noticed my gaze and looked away. “I think I’m coming down with a cold.” My stomach churned. I forced down a few bites before putting my fork down. Victoria watched me with a worried expression, then suggested we go on a date. This time, she didn’t grab my cane. She led me by the hand straight to the car. As I settled into the passenger seat, my eyes landed on a pair of men’s briefs lying on the floor mat. Victoria’s face went pale. She snatched them up, folded them neatly, and stuffed them into her pocket. She drove us to an orphanage on the outskirts of the city. She seemed to know the place well, pulling me by the hand toward a group of children playing in the yard. She passed out candy, encouraging the kids to come and talk to me, to cheer me up. Their laughter was a balm, and for a while, the knot of tension in my shoulders began to ease. Victoria watched me the entire time, rushing to my side if I stumbled while playing with the kids, her hands hovering, ready to catch me. When she finally saw a genuine smile on my face, she visibly relaxed. Then, when the moment felt right, she approached me, her voice soft and gentle. “Henry, you’ve always wanted a child, haven’t you?” “I have some wonderful news. I’m pregnant!” As if on cue, Liam appeared, walking slowly toward us. Victoria pulled the folded briefs from her pocket and discreetly passed them to him. He gave her a knowing look. Then, she took my hand and placed it on her flat stomach. “This is my friend’s husband,” she explained smoothly. “He’s been a great help to her during her pregnancy. Since it’ll be harder for me to take care of you now, I was thinking… maybe he could move in with us for a while? To help you out?” The joy I’d felt playing with the children evaporated. A chill spread through my veins. My voice was colder than I had ever heard it. “Are you sure it’s my child?” Rage, hot and blinding, surged through me. Help me? Or help them carry on their affair under my own roof? Make me a father to her lover’s child? I wasn’t interested. My question made Victoria flinch. “Henry, what are you saying? That’s not a funny joke.” The rage boiled over. In a single, fluid motion, I spun around and drove my fist into Liam’s jaw. He crumpled to the ground. The next thing I knew, Victoria was screaming at me. “Henry Anderson, you’ve gone too far this time!” It was the first time she’d ever used my full name. The first time she’d ever raised her voice to me in anger. I let out a bitter laugh, playing right into Liam’s hands. “So what if I have?” For a second, her hand rose, ready to slap me. But it hung there, trembling in the air, for what felt like an eternity. Finally, she lowered it, her jaw tight. “I’m taking Liam to get some ice for his face,” she said, her voice strained. “You can find your own way home.” She helped Liam to his feet and wrapped her arm around his, leading him away without a backward glance. After she left, the sky opened up. A cold, driving rain began to fall. It seemed she had forgotten she hadn’t brought my cane. She had forgotten what it was like for a blind man to be abandoned in an unfamiliar place, with no one to guide him. But I wasn’t blind anymore. I walked over to a nearby trash can, pulled the dark glasses from my face, and dropped them inside. With my own eyes, clear and sharp, I looked down the road and walked out of that place for good. In the final days before my flight to the Rockies, Victoria was rarely home. When she was, a message would pop up on her phone, and she would leave in a hurry. Believing I couldn’t see, she made no effort to hide the screen. That’s how I discovered her second account, a private one she used to message only one person: Liam. Three days before I left, Liam posted a picture of an ultrasound on his social media. Friends commented on how much the baby already looked like Victoria. That day, I took everything Victoria had ever bought me on our dates and donated it to the orphanage. Two days to go. Victoria’s private account posted a photo of a heart-shaped breakfast she’d made for Liam. I listed the wedding suit she’d bought me on a second-hand website. The final day. Liam used Victoria’s main account to post a picture of her sleeping peacefully. The comments were flooded with congratulations. My flight was boarding soon. I picked up my suitcase, ready to walk out the door. And then she appeared. She stood in the doorway, phone in hand, her eyes red and swollen. “Henry,” she demanded, her voice shaking with rage, “why is your name on the list for the Rockies medical mission?!” Her words barely registered. Of course. As the Head of Surgery, she would have to approve the list of volunteers. Her agitation was a stark contrast to my own profound calm. “I wanted to go, so I went. What’s the problem?” “The problem? It’s a three-year post, Henry! Three years! Not three hours, not three minutes! If you’re not here, what am I supposed to do all by myself?” she shrieked, all composure gone. I gave a small, careless shrug. “Oh, but you’re not alone. You have Liam. And, of course, your baby.”

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In the heat of our intimacy, Mary felt entirely different from my memories. The overwhelming intensity of it made me lose control, a muffled groan escaping my lips. Right at that moment, Mary let out a sudden, chilling laugh. It made my stomach drop. She tapped her manicured fingernails against the mattress beneath us, her tone dripping with dark amusement. “How does it feel? I just finished taking care of your stepbrother. He said he really loves how I am right now.” “He was in this exact bed yesterday.” She paused, making no effort to hide the absolute contempt in her eyes. “He moaned so beautifully. I figured it would have the same effect on you.” I froze instantly. The blood in my veins turned to ice. My mind went entirely blank, stripping away my ability to form a single rational thought. Seeing my paralyzed state, Mary rolled her eyes, looking bored. she pushed herself off the bed. “William, Bruno has such a gorgeous body. Not a single blemish.” She looked me up and down, her voice sharp enough to draw blood. “You two brothers are worlds apart. Looking at you covered in those hideous burns… it makes me sick to my stomach.” “Just now, I had to keep my eyes squeezed shut. I had to pretend you were him just to force myself to finish.” 1 I opened my mouth, but my vocal cords refused to work. I still remembered every agonizing detail of the fire five years ago. The Sinclair family estate had caught fire in the dead of night. Mary was trapped on the third floor. I charged into the inferno, desperate to find her. When a burning ceiling beam collapsed, I shoved her out of the way, taking the full brunt of the collapse myself. Sixty percent of my body was burned. I lay in the ICU for three months, enduring seventeen grueling skin graft surgeries. They managed to drag me back from the brink of death, but they couldn’t take away the monstrous scars. They crawled over my flesh like ugly, thick centipedes, creeping from my chest down to my waist, wrapping around my arms and thighs. The trauma plunged me into severe depression. Countless times, I stood by the window, ready to jump and end it all. And every single time, it was Mary who pulled me back from the ledge. She would hold me, her eyes red with tears, swearing to the heavens that she would never betray me. “William, I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you.” My voice came out as a broken rasp as I clenched my fists. “Mary… you promised me. You swore you would cherish me forever.” Mary lazily tossed a silk robe in my direction. “William, you wouldn’t even buy secondhand clothes. What gives you the right to demand that I cherish someone whose body is a ruined, charred mess?” My knuckles turned white. “Then why the hell did you propose to me in the first place!” I roared. She slipped into her custom tailored blazer, a flash of irritation crossing her features. “Back then, I honestly thought I could handle it. But every time we get physical, seeing those scars just grosses me out.” “You are just too ugly now, William. I can’t stomach it anymore.” My jaw locked. My chest heaved with ragged breaths. Mary habitually held out a handkerchief for me, but I jerked my head away, refusing it. “But I do love you, William. I will always be grateful to you,” she said, smoothing her lapels. “I just needed to blow off some steam. Give me some time to get used to it.” I smacked her hand away violently. “No. That is twisted. Mary, I sacrificed myself to save your life… and you stabbed me in the back!” Her phone screen lit up on the nightstand. I caught a glimpse of Bruno’s text message. “I put on those wolf ears you like. Are you seriously not coming over?” Mary buttoned her jacket and casually waved the phone in my direction. “If I keep him waiting, he is going to throw a tantrum.” I vaulted off the bed, my eyes burning with rage, and slapped her hard across the face. “You are disgusting. This is sick. We are getting a divorce!” Mary touched her stinging cheek, the temperature in the room plummeting as her expression turned lethal. “I am disgusting? William, I did not call you disgusting when you were nothing but rotting, burnt meat.” “And a divorce? Look at yourself. Who else would ever be desperate enough to marry a freak like you?” The bedroom door slammed shut. Inside my chest, something vital shattered completely. Through the haze of my own devastation, memories bled into my mind. I remembered my mother cheating, bringing some random guy into our home, which pushed my father to suicide. After that, I was trapped, endlessly bullied by my new stepdad and his golden boy, Bruno. It was Mary who pulled me out of that hellhole. She helped me reclaim my dad’s belongings. She stood like a shield between me and the cruel world. She gave me the fierce, unconditional love that my father had meant to give me. A house, cars, custom watches, even cooking my favorite meals. She told me she was nothing like my mother. She swore she would only ever look at me. Right up until I turned twenty-four, when she planned a beautiful beachside proposal. I was wearing a perfectly tailored suit. But on my way to meet her, the Sinclair estate went up in flames. I ran in to save her and got crushed beneath the burning wood. When the fire crews finally dug me out of the ashes, the only things left to keep me company were the burns and the scars. Mary had dropped to her knees in the soot, her tears splashing onto my ruined face. “William, I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you.” The nightmare ended there. I was jolted awake by a phone call. It was Bruno. “Bro, Mary and I are going at it right now. Wanna listen? It is the prize I won.” 2 The obscene, wet sounds echoing through the speaker felt like icepicks in my eardrums. Mary’s breathless, erratic voice drifted through the line. “I made a bet with Bruno. We wanted to see what you would do when you found out about us.” “I bet you would swallow your pride and take it. He bet you would ask for a divorce.” “I won, so he had to wear the outfit I like. But he also won… because now you know.” “Sorry about that. I guess I just did not expect you to actually bring up the D-word.” My grip on the phone tightened until the plastic creaked. I hung up. But the notifications didn’t stop. They kept pinging, one after another. A relentless stream of highly explicit photos flooded my screen. “During those two years when your depression was at its worst, when you wanted to die every day?” Bruno texted. “She was sleeping with me the whole time she was playing nurse with you.” “She said the only way she could forget your grotesque scars was by letting me wreck her.” Word by word, the messages butchered my heart. I yanked open the nightstand drawer with trembling hands. I didn’t care if they were my antidepressants or sleeping pills. I grabbed handfuls of them and shoved them into my mouth. When I finally opened my eyes, the harsh fluorescent lights of a hospital room blinded me. They had pumped my stomach. The door pushed open. Mary walked in. I stared at her, totally hollowed out. “Mary, I want a divorce.” She pulled out a slim cigarette, lighting it with utter indifference. “Request denied. I admit I took it too far last night, and I am sorry.” “But you love me so much. Surely… you can understand the pressure I am under?” I stared at her through the haze of medication, and suddenly, the ugly truth clicked into place. She wasn’t looking for an escape. She genuinely believed that staying with me was a grand, tragic sacrifice on her part. She felt wronged by my ugliness, so she decided she had the right to punish me for it. Even though I looked like this because I saved her life. Mary walked out. She stopped visiting. She ignored my texts. Instead, Bruno started messaging me. “Hey bro, Mary let me move into your house while you’re stuck in the hospital.” “We broke your bed. She said she’s never had it this good in this house.” “Oh, by the way, do your gross scars flare up around pets? Mary bought me a puppy…” That final text detonated whatever sanity I had left. I took the explicit photos and chat logs and leaked them to the press. I even dragged myself to the offices of Mary’s top clients, desperately trying to force her hand to sign the divorce papers. But the real world gave me a brutal reality check. The Sinclair family was a titan in the corporate world. No media outlet dared to run the story. Her clients, eager to kiss her feet, immediately pulled their funding from the research lab where I worked. They blacklisted me. My lab director cornered me, demanding I apologize to Mary immediately, or I would be fired and blacklisted from the scientific community forever. My colleagues begged me with tears in their eyes. If I didn’t grovel, the lab would shut down, and they would all lose their livelihoods. I became a walking punchline. Mary was the one who cheated, but I was the one forced to swallow glass and apologize. I dragged my broken body back to the Sinclair mansion. The words “I’m sorry” barely left my lips before Mary shot me a look of freezing disdain. “William, did you really think you could throw a tantrum and force a divorce?” “Divorce hurts my feelings. Don’t throw that word around.” Maybe it was to teach me a lesson. Or maybe she resented how deeply she had once cared for me. But she took the very first gift she ever gave me, and she handed it to Bruno. It was an ancient, black obsidian binding stone. Once Bruno fully infiltrated my life, I lost everything. My father’s life, my mother’s love, my bedroom, my clothes, my career prospects. Bruno stole it all. Years ago, right after I was kicked out of my house, delirious with a fever, I had rested my head on Mary’s shoulder and asked her in a broken whisper: “Why can’t I ever keep the things that belong to me?” Mary had climbed three thousand stone steps at a highland monastery, scraping her knees bloody, just to get that obsidian stone for me. She had told me: “I got this to bind my soul to yours. Even if you lose everything else in the world, I will always belong to you.” I had clenched my jaw back then, fighting back tears, stupidly believing she was mine forever. Now, she had violently ripped her heart in two, feeding half of it to Bruno. And that obsidian stone was currently hanging around Bruno’s neck. 3 “It is just a cheap trinket. What is the big deal if I give it to him?” “After all these years… haven’t I given you enough?” She was doing it on purpose. She knew exactly where to insert the knife to make it hurt the most. No amount of medication could numb the agony ripping through my brain. If I just disappeared, everything would be fine. My hands moved on their own, dragging a blade across my wrist. Five years ago, right after the accident, I used to do this. But back then, for every cut I made on my arm, Mary would take a knife and match it on her own skin. “William, if you don’t want to live in this world, then I am leaving it with you.” She had physically dragged me out of that suicidal pit. But this time, as I lay bleeding out onto the bathroom tiles, she never showed up. A housekeeper found me, screaming in terror as she called Mary. Mary didn’t bother coming home until the sun was up. She crouched beside me, letting out an annoyed sigh as she looked at my heavily bandaged arm. “You didn’t die when you were roasted alive, and you haven’t managed to die after all these pathetic attempts. If you were really going to die, you would be dead by now.” “If you keep throwing these childish tantrums, I am going to have you locked in a psych ward.” With one sentence, the fragile peace I had scraped together shattered again. As soon as she left, I picked up a fresh blade, pressing it right against my carotid artery. But as I raised my hand, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I couldn’t find a single trace of the boy I used to be. The old William was a prodigy, headhunted by a world-renowned lab in his early twenties. He was brilliant, ambitious, and unstoppable. Look at me now. I was gaunt. Hollowed out. A dead, rotting tree. The burn scars practically glowed a sickly, angry pink under the bathroom lights. The uneven, raised tissue looked like a hundred little mouths laughing at me. Hideous. I was a monster. I dropped the blade, my jaw trembling, my throat tight. That wasn’t me in the mirror. It couldn’t be. I wanted to get better. I really did. I forced myself to cooperate with my doctors. I swallowed my pills. I even contacted a lawyer to quietly draft divorce papers. For a little while, my mood genuinely stabilized. The suicidal urges faded to a dull hum. Until Bruno’s birthday rolled around. Mary insisted on taking me out to “clear my head.” “Your depression is acting up because you rot in that room all day. You need fresh air.” But when we arrived, I realized Mary had rented out an entire seaside amusement park just for Bruno. Exactly like she had done for me when she proposed. She brought me here purely to rub my face in it. And her birthday gift to Bruno was a very familiar ring. I didn’t even realize she had taken my custom blue diamond engagement ring off my dresser. My stomach cramped so violently I doubled over in physical pain. When Mary proposed to me, it was during the darkest year of my depression. I used to push her away, telling her with dead eyes that I was a freak and she should leave me. She had flown across the globe. She spent a fortune tracking down the purest blue diamond in existence, and she dropped to one knee right in front of me. “No matter what you look like, to me, you are just like this diamond. Flawless.” Now, she had taken that diamond and resized the band to fit Bruno’s finger. Right in front of my eyes, she slid the ring onto his hand. “A diamond this pure belongs on the finger of the most pristine person I know.” The mental dam I had built over the last few weeks violently collapsed. A strange, whispering voice slithered into my ear. “You are so filthy. You don’t deserve to breathe.” “Go find that blade. Put it against your throat. Do it.” My hands started shaking uncontrollably. After putting the ring on Bruno, Mary walked over and grabbed my arm. “Does it hurt? Is it eating you alive?” she whispered dangerously. “Because every time I look at what that fire did to you, every time I see the monster you became, it eats me alive.” So this was her twisted logic. She had to lavish someone else with love, just to watch me suffer the exact same pain she felt. But I couldn’t hear her anymore. All I wanted was to find a knife. Just one quick thrust, and all this noise would stop. Right as the panic attack peaked, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was my lawyer. “Mr. Bennett, the divorce agreement is finalized.” “I wish you the best of luck. Here is to your new life.” 4 Divorce. New life. Those words hit me like a bucket of ice water. I violently yanked my arm out of Mary’s grip. I ignored her shouting my name as I bolted. I ran so fast my shoe flew off, but I didn’t stop. I drove through the night to pick up the printed papers, and I slammed them onto the table right in front of Mary. “We are getting a divorce. You can keep the assets.” Staring at the legal document, Mary finally realized this wasn’t a bluff. Her eyes locked onto mine, dark and searching. “You seriously want a divorce?” I nodded, my posture rigid. Surprisingly, she didn’t tear the papers up. She looked down and let out a soft, mocking chuckle. “Fine. We can divorce. But you will come crawling back.” “Because you have absolutely no one else in this world… but me.” I acted like I didn’t hear her. I packed my bags at lightning speed and walked out of that mansion. I thought the nightmare was finally over. Until a few days later, walking home from a job interview. My phone blew up with a trending notification. #WilliamBennettScars A high-pitched ringing echoed in my ears. With trembling fingers, I clicked the hashtag. It was a flood of photos and videos from the immediate aftermath of the fire. Photos of me lying in the sterile hospital bed, my skin charred black, my body covered in raw, bloody skin grafts. It was grotesque. When I arrived at the research lab to clear out my desk, the entrance was swarming with reporters. They used to interview me about my breakthroughs in biochemistry. Now, they shoved microphones into my face, their eyes gleaming with morbid curiosity. “Dr. Bennett, are the rumors about your severe burns true?” “We heard you have sixty percent burn coverage. Are the scars as terrifying as people say?” “Your wife allegedly cheated on you because she was repulsed by your body. Care to comment?” I felt like someone was strangling me. Black spots danced in my vision. Security had to physically drag me inside. My phone vibrated violently. I was the victim of that fire, yet the top comments online were pure venom. “You can’t even tell from his face! He dresses so sharp. Bet he set the fire himself for insurance money and failed.” “A grown man covered in scars like a horror movie monster? No wonder his wife cheated. Gross!” “He always acts so arrogant in his interviews. Doesn’t act like a trauma victim to me.” “Nine out of ten burn victims did it to themselves by being stupid, and then they blame their wives for leaving them. Pathetic!” My mother, who hadn’t spoken to me in years, called me just to verbally sever our ties. “William, you are an absolute embarrassment. Don’t you ever tell anyone you are my son!” The final email was from the lab’s board of directors. “Dr. Bennett, the current media circus surrounding your personal life is damaging the lab’s reputation. Your employment is terminated immediately.” My nails dug into my palms until they bled. The endless stream of hatred dragged me right back into the inferno. I could feel the crushing weight of the burning beams on my chest again. The blistering heat. The absolute agony. I hid in the lab until nightfall, waiting for the vultures to leave. But when I finally hailed a cab, the driver took one look at my face and the name on his app, and stopped the car. “Wait… are you that burnt freak from the news?” “Get the hell out! Don’t infect my car with your ugly ass!” He shoved me out onto the pavement and threw his half-empty glass bottle at me. It struck my forehead, shattering. I collapsed onto the concrete, warm blood trailing down the side of my face. I don’t even remember how I ended up back at Mary’s mansion. She was sitting on the living room sofa, swirling a glass of wine, as if she had been waiting for me. I stared at her, my eyes dead. “You did this?” Mary smiled. “William, look at reality. I told you, I am the only person who can tolerate you.” “If we actually divorce, the rest of the world will eat you alive.” A wave of pure, suffocating despair crashed over me. I opened my mouth, but my vocal cords were paralyzed. From the upstairs bathroom, Bruno’s voice echoed loudly. “I’m all clean! You can do whatever you want to me tonight.” He leaned over the balcony railing, a towel draped loosely around his waist, his chest covered in fresh hickeys. I grabbed the wall, hunching over as my stomach violently rejected everything in it, dry-heaving until my ribs cracked. Mary watched me vomit, her fists clenching momentarily before she forced a cruel laugh. “After the amusement park, I was actually going to call it even. But now… I think you need another reminder of your place.” She stood up, walking upstairs and wrapping her arms possessively around Bruno’s waist. The sprawling, empty mansion amplified the sounds of wet kissing and heavy moans. “You’re being so loud. Do you want your brother to hear us? You’re so bad…” Bruno teased. “Let him hear. It is not his first time.” The grotesque sounds clawed their way into my brain. I clamped my hands over my ears, pressing until it hurt. But the room started to spin. The voices melted together into a demonic choir. “You are so filthy…” “Nobody will ever want you…” Nobody. I couldn’t save myself. Through the blur of my tears, I saw my father. He had been dead for over a decade, but he was standing there, waving at me. “William, come here… Daddy loves you. Daddy will protect you…” I reached out to take his hand. I followed him, walking like a ghost. He led me all the way up to the third-floor balcony, right to the edge. “Come to me, William. There is no more pain here…” I didn’t hesitate. I threw myself forward into his embrace. As gravity pulled me over the railing, I saw Mary burst out onto the second-floor balcony. Her eyes were wide with primal terror. “William! NO!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “441003”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The late-night training room glowed cold. I entered, notebook in hand, just to tell Jackson to rest. The scene stopped me cold. Daisy, the new support, was on his lap, their hands over the keyboard. “Relax. With me here, Sierra won’t take your spot,” Jackson’s voice was honey-sweet. She kissed his cheek. “You’re the best!” My phone dug into my palm, knuckles white. A text from my brother lit the screen: “Dream over, princess? I’m waiting at home.” It stung, throwing me back to that day’s review. Our ninth straight loss. My first outburst, aimed at Daisy, the rookie support. I’d barely listed her mistakes when she teared up. Jackson stood, shielding her. “That harsh? The loss isn’t all on her.” Stunned, I asked what he meant. Handing her a tissue, he stared coldly. “Your tactics are outdated.” “When did you last play? That old championship won’t feed us now.” “Clearly, this losing streak is your fault.” Rage shook me. As my boyfriend—as a pro—he shouldn’t have crushed me publicly. Yet after, he sneaked to my office, apologizing. Alone, he turned sweet again. “She’s a rookie. Needs time. Didn’t mean to upset you.” “Forgive me?” He tried to kiss my cheek. I turned away. “No. Go train.” Now I see: his gentle words were just sick, careful lies. 1 I didn’t close my eyes all night. When I bumped into Jackson in the hallway early the next morning, I treated him like air, not sparing him a single syllable. In just a few hours, a new round of the regular season would begin. Our record was a shameful nine-game losing streak. If we lost again today, our ticket to the playoffs would be completely torn up. Worse still, just yesterday, I had signed a performance guarantee agreement with the team manager. Jackson’s words at the meeting had precisely hit the management’s weak spot. Last year, our team was on top of the world, winning championships left and right. Jackson, with his flawless on-stage performance and handsome face, skyrocketed to become the most commercially valuable star player in the entire esports league. It was no exaggeration to say that half the tickets sold for offline matches were paid for by his fans. So, after his merciless public accusation against me yesterday, the management reacted immediately, dumping all the pressure squarely onto my shoulders. “If we keep losing like this, the sponsors are going to pull their funding!” the manager had roared, slamming his hand on the desk. I didn’t hesitate for a second. I signed the agreement directly. If the team was eliminated, I would pack my bags and leave immediately, no questions asked. Ever since I was forced to retire three years ago due to severe hand injuries, I had poured my blood and soul into this team. Even if I was pushed to the edge of a cliff, I would bet all my pride on one last desperate fight. After finalizing the tactical deployment in the breakroom, I stood by the tunnel entrance, watching the players step onto that dazzling stage one by one. Jackson was the last in line. Before stepping onto the stage, he looked back and gave me an incredibly confident look, as if saying, “Leave everything to me.” But I didn’t return his look with a gentle smile, as I had done countless times before. A flash of surprise crossed his eyes, but the urgent arena announcements didn’t give him time to linger. Halfway through the match, as I stared at the real-time first-person POV on the monitor, my heart sank lower and lower. Not only did Daisy completely ignore the stable macro strategy I had repeatedly emphasized in the pre-match meeting, but she also began to frequently make amateur mistakes. Every single one of her positional errors was frantically destroying the team’s tempo, forcing her teammates into desperate situations. In the final, decisive team fight around the objective pit, she actually walked straight into the face of the enemy’s core damage dealer and died—like a complete noob who didn’t understand the game at all—completely destroying our only sliver of hope for a comeback. She did it on purpose. She was using a professional match to throw the game as revenge for my criticism yesterday. My fingertips trembled uncontrollably. Watching the players trudge back into the breakroom, the entire room descended into a deathly silence. “Oops, sorry Sierra, my hands were a bit cold that game,” Daisy even playfully stuck her tongue out. Before I could explode, Jackson had already spoken up. “It’s fine, you did your best. I think your initiation idea in that last fight was actually pretty good.” I lifted my eyelids coldly, my gaze scraping across his face like a knife. “You can’t see the problems with her mechanics?” “She was blatantly feeding the entire match! Did you all just treat this morning’s tactical briefing as background noise?” I ignored them and turned directly to the substitute player sitting in the corner, trembling with nerves. “You’re starting the next game. Daisy, you are permanently glued to the bench.” Jackson’s brows shot up, his face full of hostility. “On what grounds? I already said Daisy’s playstyle is completely fine. Do you think I can’t carry this team?” “Benching her like this is completely unfair to her.” I found it utterly absurd and couldn’t help but laugh coldly. “She treats a professional match like playing house, and you’re talking to me about unfairness? Do either of you have even the slightest shred of esports integrity left in your brains?” “Shut up. This is the final decision of the coaching staff.” Seeing my uncompromising, iron-clad stance, Daisy immediately panicked, tears falling thick and fast. “I know I was wrong, Sierra! Please give me one more chance! Next game, I swear I’ll follow your shotcalling to the letter!” Jackson’s heart broke for her. He quickly pulled her into his arms to comfort her. “Why are you crying? Didn’t I promise you on stage just now that you’d play the whole series?” He looked up, and those eyes—which had once spoken countless vows to me—were now filled with cold hostility. “You insist on going against me today, is that it?” “Sierra, have you still not faced reality? You’re long past being that legendary prodigy mid-laner. Waving the coaching staff’s authority around like a weapon, do you really think you represent everyone?” I stared at him, feeling that the person in front of me was terrifyingly unfamiliar. We had walked together from eating instant noodles in the dampest, coldest basement to standing under the spotlight. I couldn’t fathom how such cruel words could come out of his mouth. Seeing me stay silent, Jackson redirected his fire toward the team’s head coach, Greg, who had been playing deaf and dumb on the sidelines. “Greg, you’re the official head coach of this team. You tell me, did Daisy’s performance really warrant being benched?” Greg was nothing but a figurehead collecting a paycheck; the real tactical core and training responsibilities of the team had always been on my shoulders. But now, his cloudy eyes darted between me and Jackson a couple of times before he broke into a sycophantic smile. “I think Jackson makes a very good point. Daisy, you keep playing. Adjust your mindset, and don’t let us down!” A bucket of ice water poured straight over my head. As Daisy walked past me toward the tunnel, she deliberately lowered her voice and flashed me an incredibly malicious, provocative smile. “I fed on purpose. Too bad, isn’t it? Jackson is just willing to protect me. Lose two more games, and you can pack your bags and get the hell out!” No one cared about my statue-like, rigid posture. My nails had long since dug deep into the soft flesh of my palms, drawing blood. The phone in my pocket vibrated frantically. My brother had called several times, but I hadn’t answered a single one. 2 There were no miracles in this match. We were swept by our opponents, returning in devastating defeat. As soon as we returned to the training room, Jackson violently slammed his gear bag onto the desk, pointing at my nose and cursing, “What’s the use of you staying up all night writing those trash analysis reports?! We’d be better off just playing however we want!” “With your garbage game understanding, it’s no wonder your hands are ruined and you had to retire!” Those words were like a massive sledgehammer, smashing precisely into my spine. My eyes instantly welled up with tears. Seeing the tears in my eyes, his expression stiffened, a flash of remorse crossing his face. “I… I didn’t mean it like that.” I turned my head away, forcefully wiping the moisture from the corners of my eyes, my voice unimaginably hoarse. “You think I’m a useless piece of trash, don’t you?” Jackson was instantly silenced, biting his lip hard and saying nothing. Back when this team couldn’t even afford a decent computer, it was me who let him sit safely in the base to train. I was the one who wore high heels, running from company to company, talking until my throat bled and drinking until my stomach gave out just to secure our first sponsorship. When the championship honors that once belonged to me were wantonly mocked and trampled by others, I could casually pick them up, dust them off, and keep walking forward. In the past, whenever I came back to the base dead drunk from trying to secure sponsorships, it was Jackson who took care of me without a single word of complaint. He would carefully wipe my face with a warm towel, then hold me tightly with red-rimmed eyes. “Baby, just wait for me a little longer, okay?” “Once I lift that championship trophy, I want to see who in this scene still dares to look down on you!” Now, the display cabinet was so full of championship trophies that the light could barely pass through. But Jackson and I seemed to be separated by an uncrossable abyss; we could never go back to that cramped but warm basement. The humiliating ten-game losing streak completely detonated the internet. Major forums and social media platforms were flooded with angry curses and questions from fans. “What the hell is that new support doing? I could play better with my feet!” “Is the coaching staff’s brain filled with sewer water? Tell Sierra to get out here and apologize!” “Jackson, do you even care about the money we spent on tickets?!” Team management immediately issued a gag order, strictly forbidding all starting players from checking online comments to prevent it from affecting their mindset for the upcoming relegation matches. Having struggled in the esports scene for so many years, I had long since developed an impenetrable heart. Back then, I had walked up to the altar to lift the trophy amidst a sky full of boos and insults. I scrolled through my phone screen expressionlessly, scanning the vicious remarks. However, my finger suddenly stopped. I saw a reply from Jackson’s verified account, which had millions of followers, under a top comment. “Daisy is still a rookie. I hope everyone can give her a little time and tolerance to grow.” “I’ve already won five championships. From my perspective, there are no problems with Daisy’s mechanics. She is just strictly executing the tactics assigned to her by the coaching staff.” The direction of public opinion instantly underwent a terrifying reversal. The spears originally aimed at Daisy all simultaneously changed direction, pointing entirely at me—the behind-the-scenes staff member who formulated the tactics. “Even our five-time champion says so! It looks like the players are really being dragged down by disgusting tactics! The person who let us down is Sierra!” “Did Sierra buy illegal bets and take a bribe? These tactics are literally just feeding the enemy!” “I actually cried sincerely for her when she retired due to her hand injury back then. Looking at it now, she doesn’t deserve to touch this game at all! Kick this cancer out of the team!” The screen scrolled wildly with nothing but personal attacks against me. The language grew increasingly obscene, and some even started spreading rumors that the only way I got into the coaching staff was by spreading my legs for management. And amidst this foul atmosphere, the few posts that lacked aggression were actually shipping Jackson and Daisy. “Dominant Jungler x Wronged Rookie Support. The whole team is targeting the support girl, and only the captain is bearing all the pressure to protect her! Omg, what kind of god-tier plot is this, I’m going crazy shipping them!” “So when is that old witch Sierra going to get lost? I just want to see our Daisy get carried onto the podium by Jackson and lift the championship trophy together!” This malicious comment was actually liked by Jackson’s personal account. This action was like pouring a ladle of water into a boiling vat of oil; the fans instantly went into a frenzy. I looked up at Jackson, who was sitting on the sofa. He was still looking down, casually scrolling through his phone screen. But from beginning to end, he hadn’t typed a single word on his keyboard to defend me. Because of the tsunami of public opinion he had single-handedly caused, management didn’t hesitate to push me out as the scapegoat. That afternoon, the club’s official account published a red-headed document announcement, declaring that due to severe problems with my work attitude, I was immediately suspended for a month of reflection. They even forced me to record a deeply humiliating apology video. The entire fandom popped champagne to celebrate, as if clearing out a “cancer” like me would guarantee them a sweeping victory in the next match. But I knew better than anyone else that, given their current state, they couldn’t possibly win. When I packed my things and walked out of the meeting room, exhausted, Jackson was leaning against the doorframe waiting for me. “If you hadn’t been plotting behind my back to sell me off, I would have stood up and spoken for you today.” I looked up in shock, only to receive a remarkably mocking, cold sneer in return. “Even now, are you still planning to play dumb? This time last year, I had just fought to win that season’s grand championship for you. I had even bought a celebration gift and happily walked up to the meeting room door. And what happened? What did I hear?” 3 “I heard with my own ears that you guys were discussing taking advantage of the fact that my brand is at its most valuable right now to quickly list me and sell me to another club for cash! Because in your heart, you simply don’t believe in my future career longevity!” “I did not!” I desperately wanted to explain, reaching out to grab his arm, only for him to swat my hand away violently in disgust. A sharp slap echoed in the hallway, and four bright red finger marks instantly bloomed on the back of my hand. Because the spot he struck was exactly where I had undergone surgery years ago, a piercing pain instantly surged through me. I couldn’t help but gasp, curling my fingers in agony. “I’ll get the team doctor!” Jackson clearly hadn’t expected to hit me so hard, a flash of panic crossing his face. I endured the pain and stopped him, staring dead into his eyes and shaking my head. “I have never, in any meeting, proposed selling you. Jackson, why refuse to believe me?” Jackson violently shook off my hand, pulling a harsh, tragic smile that was uglier than crying. “That year, my grandmother was diagnosed with a severe illness and was burning through money every day in the ICU. I was desperately taking on those disgusting commercial endorsements like a dog while staying up late to maintain high-intensity training. I fought like hell to win, just because I was terrified of disappointing you.” “Sierra, my greatest wish in this life was to become the foundation of your pride, to be your strongest backing. But as I stood outside that door, I realized that in your heart, I was nothing more than a commodity waiting to be priced and sold.” I opened my mouth, wanting to carve open the truth of that year piece by piece to show him, but he no longer wanted to listen. Watching his resolute back as he turned away, I suddenly heard a distinct shattering sound in my chest. It was as if a glass castle I had painstakingly supported for years had finally, completely collapsed at this moment. I slumped weakly against the cold wall, sliding down to the floor. With a voice only I could hear, I softly called his name. “Jackson, I’m leaving.” His footsteps paused for a mere half-second; he clearly thought I was just playing hard to get. “Let’s break up.” I had once naively believed that even if my hands were ruined and I could never touch that familiar keyboard again, at least I could stand in the shadows of the stage, using my brain to continue shining for this team. We won the championship last year, and I thought that glory could continue forever. But now I realized how ridiculously wrong I was. Perhaps, just as my parents had said when they tried to stop me back then, I simply didn’t have the ability to control the situation. The scheming and infighting of these past few days had left me feeling unprecedentedly exhausted. It was a bone-deep weariness that even made me start to miss the home I had sworn I would rather die than step foot in again. Jackson whipped his head around, staring fixedly at me for a long time, before finally letting out an incredibly stiff, almost teeth-grittingly cold laugh. “Fine! Break up then! You think I care? There are plenty of younger, more sensible women lining up for me in this world!” “Sierra, you will absolutely regret your decision today. Don’t blame me for not warning you.” I looked at him without saying a word, only feeling a violent soreness rising from deep within my eye sockets. Even though I had been officially suspended, a few days later, Coach Greg still swallowed his pride and called me, practically begging on his hands and knees for me to return to the training room. “Those little brats are completely unmanageable! Without you there, we can’t even schedule normal scrims. You need to come back and lay down the law!” I pushed open the door to the training room and scanned the area. Daisy’s seat had been deliberately moved to be as close to Jackson as possible, their gaming chairs practically touching. Sensing my gaze, Daisy didn’t show an ounce of guilt. Instead, she slipped her hand directly into Jackson’s palm and, like a victor, proudly raised their tightly clasped hands to flaunt them at me. On their wrists glinted a pair of matching couples’ bracelets. It was a style Jackson and I had eyed while shopping a few months ago. At the time, because the price was too exorbitant, we couldn’t bear to buy them in order to save the team’s budget. I didn’t expect him to turn around and buy them for Daisy. I had originally been saving up money, planning to give him a surprise for his birthday this year. Looking at it now, I could save that money. “Long time no see, Sierra. How was your reflection at home these past few days?” Daisy’s sickly-sweet voice couldn’t hide its underlying malice. Jackson leaned back in his gaming chair, mocking me from the side. “Don’t waste your breath. Someone as self-righteous as her could never recognize her own mistakes.” I completely tuned out their words, pulled out my chair, and sat down, my voice hard and cold. “Didn’t you say we were playing a scrim? Cut the crap and open the lobby.” The first-string starting lineup and the second-string composed of substitutes began alternating practice games. Jackson forcefully demanded to be paired with Daisy. I didn’t even bat an eyelid and let him do whatever he wanted. However, upon entering the game, Daisy’s disastrous performance repeated itself. Her positioning was fragmented, she wasted her skills, and the slight advantages Jackson fought tooth and nail to secure in the early game were all thrown away by her repeatedly stupid feeding. In the final, crucial team fight, she even used her skills to push a low-health enemy assassin directly onto the face of our fragile marksman. Driven by the professional instinct of a tactical analyst, I hit the pause button and started flaming her without mercy. “If you really lack the talent for esports, then retire early and do something else. With your mechanics—which are so rotten they’re festering—even if you went back to being a borderline cam girl, your viewers would find your gameplay offensive to the eyes. It was Greg who practically risked his life to recommend you to me, and combined with the fact that our former championship support chose to leave due to age and declining form, I made an exception and gave you this tryout opportunity.” “Now open your eyes wide and look at the replay. Does your gameplay do justice to your teammates who stay up late every night reviewing VODs with you?!” Daisy’s eyes turned red, and tears smashed onto the keyboard like broken beads. Jackson immediately took off his headset in heartache and pulled her into his arms. “She’s just having an off day! At worst, we just don’t play this game, okay? Why do you always have to target her alone!” My temples throbbed with anger. In this team, I treated every player with absolute fairness. Even Jackson, who was incredibly talented back then, had been scolded by me so badly after a match loss that he couldn’t lift his head to eat for a whole day. That was when he was at his purest. In the middle of the night, he would sneak over to knock on my door, his eyes red-rimmed as he apologized to me: “Coach, let me load up the practice tool and show you again. I swear I will never make the same mistakes I made today twice.” But now, this Jackson, whose eyes were filled only with a woman, roared at me. “Stop being an armchair general here! Since you think you know best, if you’re so good, you play!” I slowly lowered my eyes, my gaze falling on the hand that bore a hideous scar from surgery. I let out a soft laugh. “Alright.” “I’ll play.” 4 When my hand once again rested on that cold keyboard, for a fleeting moment, I felt as if I had traveled back in time to the golden age three years ago. The blinding spotlight pierced through the darkness of the arena like a sharp sword, shining straight onto my arm holding the trophy high. In that moment, the sky full of golden rain froze us into an eternal legend. Not having touched the game in years, the DPI of the mouse and the tactile feedback of the keys felt a bit unfamiliar. After entering the game, Jackson and Daisy, like rabid dogs, utilized their long-standing synergy to relentlessly target me in the mid-lane, killing me over and over again. They were taking revenge on me. I took a deep breath, my fingertips turning slightly white, my ears filled with Daisy’s unrestrained mockery. “Oh my, did we make Sierra cry? What ‘ancient era’ championship veteran? I think it’s purely because the region’s skill level was so low back then, and she got lucky and picked up a championship. It’s so watered down!” “With gameplay that gets slaughtered like a pig, what right do you have to sit in the coach’s seat and lecture us? What a useless old auntie.” Jackson shot me a contemptuous glance and threw down a casual remark: “Enough, just hit surrender. Don’t waste everyone’s time, it’s pretty boring.” “No need.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The outside noise and the faint ache in my wrist were completely shut out at this moment. The few substitute players sitting next to me seemed to sense the shift in atmosphere as well. They dropped their spectator expressions and sat up straight. Under my precise shotcalling, they no longer fought isolated battles but acted like a seamless killing machine, slowly encroaching on the enemy’s vision, steadily clawing back a massive gold deficit bit by bit. The final team fight that would decide the game broke out. Like a venomous snake lurking in the deep sea, I locked onto the fatal flaw Daisy exposed out of panic. Jackson was pinned down by our frontline, completely unable to peel. My fingers became a blur on the keyboard, successively bursting down the enemy’s two core damage dealers. As the enemy base crystal shattered into brilliant fragments on the screen, I led the second-string team they looked down upon to secure this impossible victory. Jackson’s eyes were nailed to the gray screen, unable to recover for a long time. As for the previously arrogant Daisy, she was now like a duck grabbed by the neck, her face pale, unable to utter half a word. I took off my headset, slowly stood up, and looked down at them condescendingly. “Three years ago, the ace position Jackson is sitting in right now was mine.” “That championship trophy you guys use to show off was also won by my own hands.” I casually tossed my staff ID badge onto the desk, my tone as calm as if I were discussing today’s weather: “The first string’s performance today was a literal pile of dog shit, and it makes me feel incredibly nauseous.” “Today, all training volume for the first string is doubled. No one sleeps until it’s finished!” That night, I directly knocked on the club owner’s office door, voluntarily submitted my resignation letter, and prematurely terminated the performance guarantee agreement that had almost cost me half my life. The pot-bellied owner puffed on a cigar and put on a fake sigh. “Sierra, the board has seen the blood and sweat you’ve poured into the team over these years. But you have to understand our difficulties. In this circle, a star player who can sell sky-high merch and tickets is far more valuable than an excellent behind-the-scenes coach.” Jackson could earn them tens of millions in profit, while I, a washed-up analyst with crippled hands, could not. Reality was just that cold and simple. I forced a smile and said nothing. I still remember back then, Jackson knocked on my door clutching a crumpled train ticket and a heart full of passion, his eyes shining with starlight, solemnly swearing to build a new esports dynasty with me. I promised him everything, and I fought like hell to deliver. But the original promises about dreams he made to me had long been thrown into the sewer like garbage. Jackson had changed, completely changed. In him, I could no longer find the stubborn boy who, in the pouring rain, soaked to the bone, still clung tightly to my legs, begging me with red eyes to give him a chance to try out. Returning to my dorm, I silently stuffed my clothes into my suitcase and booked an early morning flight for the next day. Right then, Daisy sent a message saying she wanted to talk to me alone before I left. I packed my last jacket and pushed the door open to walk out. In the dim light of the fire escape stairwell at the base, she stood with her head down, looking pitiful as she apologized to me. “Sierra, actually, I was just too jealous of how devoted Jackson was to you, so I deliberately messed around in the game to force you to leave quickly. But now that you’re really leaving, I actually feel pretty bad about it in my heart.” I quietly watched her clumsy acting, my tone completely flat. “How you walk your path in the future is your own business. Focus your mind on your mechanics, and don’t treat the fans who support you like idiots.” She kept her head down and didn’t reply. I felt it was somewhat inexplicable, and was just about to turn and leave this damp, cold place. The moment I turned around, a highly malicious and violent shove suddenly came from behind! I didn’t have time to react at all. I lost my center of gravity entirely and fell straight down the steep stairs like a broken ragdoll. My elbows and knees smashed heavily against the hard concrete steps, and a bone-shattering agony instantly swept through my whole body. Just as I was seeing stars, the corner of my eye caught Jackson rushing out from the corridor corner, looking panicked. He sprinted over, but he didn’t even cast a single glance at me lying in a pool of blood. Instead, he bypassed me entirely and anxiously lunged toward Daisy, who was standing at the top of the stairs. “Daisy! You sprained your wrist?! Oh my god, tomorrow is the relegation match that decides our fate! If you get a chronic injury, your entire career will be ruined!” I lay sprawled on the cold concrete floor, staring blankly as Jackson carefully scooped up the completely unharmed Daisy into his arms and sprinted frantically toward the infirmary. I don’t know how long I lay on the floor before I finally gritted my teeth, fought through the piercing pain, and used my trembling arms to prop myself against the wall, pulling myself up from the ground little by little. When I limped and clumsily hopped up to the stair landing like a comical clown, I saw Jackson returning, standing with a dark expression in front of my door. His gaze finally landed on my continuously bleeding lower leg. He looked at me coldly and asked, “Are you regretting it now?” I looked straight into his eyes, which held not a trace of warmth, and answered, enunciating every word. “I haven’t done anything wrong, so I absolutely do not regret it.” I pushed the door open, shutting the boy whose eyes used to be filled only with me out. I turned around, biting my lip hard, pretending that the tears in my eyes had never broken the dam. At the break of dawn, the plane pierced through the thick clouds and landed smoothly. My brother, Arthur, had canceled an extremely important transnational meeting to personally drive his flashy Maybach to pick me up at the airport. When he clearly saw the shocking patch of gauze on my leg, a look of absolute fury appeared on his usually cynical face. “Who did this? I’ll break his legs!” “I accidentally tripped and fell.” He gave me a deep look, sighed heavily, and his large palm reassuringly rubbed the top of my head. “You’ve suffered a lot out there.” “I’ve already had someone investigate that mess on the internet. Don’t worry, your brother will vent this anger for you.” Seeing my surprised look, the corners of Arthur’s mouth curled into a dangerous arc. “I just casually bought out that garbage club of yours entirely. Is our princess satisfied with this little welcome-home gift?” “That ungrateful bastard named Jackson or whatever, I’ll have him listed and sold off like trash tomorrow, what do you think?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “441002”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I have decided to get a divorce. Love—this fragile thing—probably really does vanish in complete silence. That day, while I was having lunch with a business partner at an upscale steakhouse, I unexpectedly ran into my wife. She and her young male assistant were sitting in a booth reserved for couples, heads bent close together as they ate. You have to understand, she used to be a strict vegetarian. She wouldn’t touch meat under any circumstances. Yet right then, her assistant was using a fork to spear a piece of steak, carefully bringing it right to her lips. She opened her mouth slightly, took the bite, and after chewing, a remarkably radiant smile blossomed across her face. I suddenly remembered how, in the past, whenever I urged her to occasionally eat a little meat for her health, she would always reject the idea with an awful attitude. Maybe… she really doesn’t love me anymore. 1 I kept a polite smile on my face, chatting with Mr. Henderson about recent gossip in the city’s business circle, acting as if I hadn’t seen Madeline and Antoine at all. But their behavior really made it hard to look away. Antoine cut the steak into small pieces and, catching any drips with his other hand, offered a piece to Madeline. He said very gently, “Please have some meat, Princess.” Madeline’s eyes crinkled into crescents as she smiled. After taking the bite, she chewed it slowly and deliberately. Antoine picked up a napkin and intimately wiped the corner of her mouth. Madeline didn’t dodge; her smile only deepened. Then, Antoine picked up a spoon, blew on the hot soup, and fed it to her. Madeline, who had always claimed to be a germaphobe, actually opened her mouth and drank the soup. What kind of intimate relationship allows someone to happily drink soup that someone else just blew on? I smiled like some sort of cuckold-voyeur, completely ignoring their existence, and continued my conversation with Mr. Henderson. After all, I am a mature businessman; I couldn’t lose my composure in front of a partner. Furthermore, if a wife gets dirty, you just replace her with a clean one. Getting angry only ruins your own health. When we finished discussing business and were about to leave, I stopped by her table. I smiled and asked, “Miss, what cut of steak is this? My wife loves steak, so I’m asking for her.” Madeline’s face turned dead pale in an instant. The hand holding her knife gave a violent tremor, and the knife clattered onto the porcelain plate, making a harsh, piercing sound. Her eyes darted around in panic; she didn’t dare meet my gaze. Her lips trembled as if she wanted to say something, but not a single word came out. Beside her, Antoine immediately frowned. He reached out to shield Madeline behind him, glaring at me fiercely. His tone dripped with impatience and disdain. “Where did this stray dog come from? Can’t you see she has a boyfriend? You still have the nerve to hit on her? Be smart and get the hell out of here.” Watching him act like a protective guard dog, I couldn’t help but chuckle. I nodded, my tone perfectly flat. “You two make a great couple.” With that, I straightened up, ignoring the sheer terror written in Madeline’s eyes, and turned to walk out of the steakhouse. I hadn’t taken many steps before I heard Madeline’s frantic footsteps behind me. She grabbed my wrist. Her fingertips were freezing. Her voice trembled, thick with unshed tears. “Honey, it’s not what you think. Please, listen to me explain…” I violently threw off her hand with enough force to make her stumble. I turned my face slightly to look at her. There wasn’t a trace of warmth in my eyes; my tone was as distant as if speaking to a complete stranger. “Ma’am, I have a wife. Please have some self-respect.” Madeline’s tears instantly spilled over, her eyes turning bloodshot. She wanted to step forward and say something else. I raised my eyes and shot her an icy glare. The sheer coldness in that look silenced her instantly. Her lips quivered, and she didn’t dare say another word. I walked to my car, opened the door, and said my goodbyes to Mr. Henderson before getting in. The moment the car door closed, I took out my phone, opened my chat with Madeline, and tapped out a few words. Then, without a second of hesitation, I blocked her on iMessage, along with her phone number, Instagram, Twitter—every possible method of contact. Blocked with a single tap. The message I sent remained crystal clear on the screen: “Get ready. We are getting a divorce.” After sending it, I texted my executive assistant, Chloe: “Reject all calls and messages from Madeline. I don’t care what number she uses, ignore them all.” 2 Chloe’s reply came swiftly: “Understood, Mr. Kreiling.” The car drove smoothly, dropping Mr. Henderson off at the airport. Only after watching him go through security did I tell the driver to turn around and head back to the villa in the hills. That was the house Madeline and I bought when we got married. She picked the decor herself—European style, everything exactly the way she liked it. I used to think of this place as home. But now, it just felt a bit sickening. The first thing I did upon arriving was call the property management’s locksmith to change the passcode on the front door. I was the only one who knew the new code. Next, I logged into the community’s security system and deleted all of Madeline’s facial recognition and fingerprint data. She would never be able to enter this neighborhood again, let alone this former home. After doing that, I called a moving company. I watched as the movers went into every room, boxing up everything that belonged to Madeline—clothes, bags, makeup, plush toys. Those things she treated like treasures were now nothing but garbage in my eyes. I stood in the living room, watching the workers carry box after box out the door. The rooms that were once filled with her things gradually became empty. Yet, my heart felt inexplicably light, as if a thousand-pound weight had been lifted off my shoulders. When a person goes bad, they become garbage. If I kept her in my heart, holding onto everything about her, then I would just become a trash can. And I, Julian Kreiling, have never been the type of man to live his life guarding a pile of trash. The best choice is to throw it away immediately and make a clean break. By the time the packing was done, it was late into the night. The villa was dead silent. I brewed a cup of tea and sat in the wicker chair on the balcony. I didn’t feel an ounce of sadness, only the liberating relief of letting go. Early the next morning, I drove to the Kreiling Group headquarters. Today was the annual corporate assembly. The heads of all subsidiaries and top executives had to attend. It concerned the planning for the entire year, so there was no room for error. I wore a custom black suit paired with a navy blue tie, walking with a steady pace toward the grand auditorium in the corporate tower. Just as I reached the entrance, a figure suddenly blocked my path. It was Antoine. He was wearing an ill-fitting casual blazer, his hair slicked back with too much pomade. With an arrogant look on his face, he pointed a finger right at my nose and yelled at the top of his lungs, “What are you doing here? I already told you Madeline has a boyfriend. You failed at hitting on her, and now you have the guts to stalk her here? Do you really think I don’t exist? Are you treating me like a joke?” His voice was loud, drawing sideways glances from quite a few employees nearby. Everyone stopped walking, looking over curiously and whispering among themselves. Looking at Antoine acting like a jumping clown, a faint smile touched the corners of my lips. My tone was casual. “Actually, I work here.” In front of outsiders, I rarely do anything undignified, and I certainly wasn’t willing to waste emotional energy on someone like Antoine. Antoine looked as if he had heard the funniest joke in the world. He sneered, looking me up and down, the contempt in his eyes practically overflowing. “You? Fit to work at Kreiling Group? Do you even know what this place is? This is the most powerful corporation in the city. They don’t just let any random stray dog walk in!” A few veteran employees nearby couldn’t stand it anymore and wanted to step forward to intervene. I gently shook my head, signaling them to step back. I really wanted to see what other absurd things this arrogant, ignorant kid would say. I kept smiling, my tone unhurried. “First, I really do work at Kreiling Group. Second, the Madeline you claim has a boyfriend… is actually my wife.” Antoine froze, clearly not expecting me to say that. He stood stunned for a few seconds, then, as if hearing something hilarious, let out a disdainful sneer, his voice growing even louder. 3 “Oh, so you’re CEO Madeline’s little toyboy husband?” “I heard from CEO Madeline a long time ago. You’re just a kept man who married into her family. You don’t even have your own last name; you took her last name?” Antoine laughed mockingly. “You’re a grown man, yet you can’t even carry on your own family line, so you had to marry into a woman’s family. You really are a piece of work!” This was the first time I had ever heard such a rumor. After all, I’m very well-known in the city’s business circles. Nobody could possibly invent a rumor this absurd and surreal about me. I smiled and shook my head. “Then you heard wrong. My last name is Kreiling. Julian Kreiling. Chairman of the Kreiling Group.” Upon hearing this, Antoine fell silent for a moment. Then he suddenly burst into uproarious laughter, bending over backward, laughing so hard tears almost came to his eyes. “Are you trying to kill me with laughter?” “Stop bragging that your name is Julian Kreiling. Why don’t you just say your name is Superman? Flying around saving the world—how badass would that be! Chairman of the Kreiling Group? I think you’ve gone crazy dreaming about being the Chairman!” Antoine was laughing so hard he was slapping his own thigh. His laughter was incredibly grating. The surrounding employees all frowned, looking at him as if he were a complete idiot. I shook my head, amused, and pointed to the people around us. “You can ask anyone else here.” Antoine’s laughter stopped abruptly. He turned to look at the surrounding employees, a provocative look in his eyes, seemingly thinking everyone would agree with him. But the next second, a cold, authoritative female voice cut through the silence. “I can prove it.” A woman walked over, dressed in an impeccably tailored white business suit. She was tall, with refined features, and carried an aura of absolute competence. It was my Executive Assistant, Chloe. She walked up to stand beside me, looking at Antoine with icy eyes, her tone unwavering. “I am Chloe, Executive Assistant to the Chairman of the Kreiling Group. I can prove that he is indeed the Chairman of the Kreiling Group, Julian Kreiling.” Chloe’s words struck Antoine’s ears like a thunderbolt. The smile on his face froze instantly. The contempt and arrogance in his eyes vanished without a trace, replaced by shock and sheer disbelief. He opened his mouth to say something, but found his throat blocked, unable to utter a single syllable. It took him a few seconds to recover, though he remained stubborn, his face full of suspicion. “Do you really think I can’t see through this? You all work for the same company; of course you’d cover for him. You’re ganging up to trick me, right?” I smiled helplessly, looking at him with a hint of mockery in my tone. “So, even when I tell the truth, you just won’t believe it, will you?” “Why should I believe it? I’m not afraid to tell you, even though you’re Madeline’s husband, my relationship with her is way better than yours!” Antoine sneered, stiffening his neck. “She tells me everything. Including the fact that you’re just a kept man—she told me every single detail!” “You’re just a freeloader! You don’t make your own money, but you spend CEO Madeline’s money like water!” “You married into her family and have zero male dignity, so you’re always going out to find female escorts to show off your ego!” To make his words sound more convincing, Antoine started fabricating all sorts of rumors about me. He pointed at me, spit flying from his mouth. “And you don’t care about CEO Madeline at all. Every time you see her, you force her to do that. Do you have any idea how much she suffers being with you?” The things he was making up were both absurd and disgusting. The surrounding employees showed expressions of utter contempt, looking at him with even more disdain. Antoine didn’t notice at all, still lost in his own web of lies, getting more excited as he spoke. “You better get out of here right now. Otherwise, when Madeline gets here, with her status as the CEO of a subsidiary, firing a piece of trash like you at the head office is just a matter of one word from her!” 4 I raised an eyebrow, looking at him with keen interest. “Why would she fire me?” Antoine smiled confidently, a smug look on his face as if victory was already in his grasp. “Because I don’t like you, and she treats me well! She listens to whatever I say! So all I have to do is say the word, and she will definitely fire you!” The moment his words fell, the sound of frantic footsteps came from outside the crowd. Madeline pushed her way through the onlookers and walked over quickly. She still had wet tear tracks on her face, and her hair was slightly disheveled. It was obvious she had rushed over in a panic. When she saw me, she immediately walked quickly to my side, grabbing my hand. Her eyes were full of panic and urgency as she said to me, “Honey, please listen to me explain. It’s not what he said, and it’s not what you saw yesterday. Things are not what you think they are.” “Madeline, why are you explaining things to him?” “He’s just a kept man; why are you begging him?” When Antoine saw Madeline, he immediately frowned, took a step forward, and grabbed her arm, his tone laced with exasperation. “You should just throw trash like this away. Wouldn’t it be better to find a superior man? I’m right here. Look at me—am I not better than him?” Madeline violently yanked her arm out of Antoine’s grasp. She turned, glaring at him with a piercing look, and sharply scolded, “Shut your mouth! In this entire city, I have never met a man more outstanding than my husband, Julian Kreiling!” Her voice was loud and carried an unquestionable firmness, leaving Antoine stunned in place, unable to react for a long time. Antoine was completely dumbfounded. He looked at Madeline, his eyes full of confusion and disbelief, his lips trembling. “But you said… you said your husband was garbage, a freeloader who married into your family…” “Shut up! I just… I only imagined those scenarios to relieve pressure because having a husband as outstanding as Julian puts a lot of pressure on me!” Madeline immediately cut him off, scolding him again, a trace of panic on her face as she spoke rapidly. “In reality, I love my husband very much. I even respect him from the bottom of my heart!” She was starting to become incoherent, and I didn’t believe a word she was saying anyway. Actually, whether I believed it or not didn’t matter. Whether she was under pressure or whatever else, why didn’t she talk to me about it? Why talk to a young assistant instead? “Honey, I really know I was wrong. I’ve just been under too much pressure lately. Because you’re so outstanding, and there are so many women around you who want you, I felt insecure.” Madeline held my hand, her fingertips trembling slightly, her eyes full of pleading, her voice softening. “That’s why I imagined you as a kept man and all that… just to relieve my own stress. I really didn’t mean anything else by it.” I shook off her hand, smiling faintly. My tone was casual, yet it carried an unquestionable command. “Then fire him. I don’t like him.” Madeline froze, clearly not expecting me to say that. She quickly shook her head, the pleading in her eyes intensifying. “Honey, no. The reason Antoine said those things is because of the nonsense I told him before. This is all my fault; it has nothing to do with him. Can we please not fire him? I’m begging you.” Her words made me feel ridiculous. Even at a point like this, she was still defending this man. It seemed the relationship between them was indeed not simple. I nodded, my tone flat. “Fine.” A look of joy instantly appeared on Madeline’s face. She hurriedly thanked me. “Thank you, honey. Thank you so much.” I didn’t look at her. I turned to look at Chloe, who was standing to the side. My tone was ice-cold, devoid of any emotion. “Sell off the subsidiary that Madeline manages. It’s fine if we take a loss on the sale, but do it fast. I don’t like dirty things.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “441001”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The memories of that exam day in my past life returned with terrifying clarity. Standing outside the hall, my eyes fixed on that familiar car in the distance. Everything came rushing back. Last time, he’d sped like a madman after his first love and crashed horribly. To pull him from the wreck, I missed two critical exams. Later, to help him through therapy, I gave up aerospace engineering for nursing. I’d foolishly thought years of devotion would earn his love. But on his deathbed, he coldly left everything to his first love. He called me just a live-in maid, while she was an elegant ballerina who needed comfort. He even accused me of causing the crash to come between them, saying I’d guilted him into staying and ruined his life. He said if he could do it over, he’d rather rot disabled than be with me. All those years of sacrifice—he erased them without a thought. I’d signed away my rights to his estate, whispered “Okay,” and closed my eyes. When I opened them, I was back at our final exams. This time, I’d play dumb. His life, his choices, his mistakes—none of it concerned me anymore. In this life, I’d live only for myself. 1 The final bell had just rung when my dad grabbed my arm, practically dragging me into the passenger seat of our car. He started the engine while my mom filled me in on the panic. “Did you know Ziad was secretly dating someone? Well, she dumped him right before the exams today, and Ziad…” I didn’t need to hear the rest. I already knew it by heart. Just like in my previous life, Ziad took off in his dad’s car to chase after his girlfriend, crashed, and permanently destroyed his legs. The only difference was that this time, I stood by and watched him drive off to his doom, then calmly walked back inside to finish my afternoon exams. By the time we rushed to the hospital, two surgeons were just stepping out of the operating room, looking absolutely exhausted. “The crash was catastrophic, and there was a delay in getting the rescue teams to the site. We managed to save his life, but there is a very high probability he will never walk again. If the post-op recovery goes poorly, we might be looking at a double amputation.” The moment those words left the doctor’s mouth, Ziad’s mother, Valerie, broke down into agonizing sobs. Mr. Prescott held his wife up, his own face contorted in devastating grief. My parents stood frozen in shock, completely speechless. “It’s just such a shame. Ziad worked so hard in school all these years, only for this to happen on the most important day of his life,” my mom whispered. My dad shot her a warning look, silently telling her to shut her mouth. When they finally wheeled Ziad out, all four parents swarmed the gurney. I was the only one hanging back, staring blankly at my own hands. They were slender and smooth. There were no thick calluses. My knuckles weren’t swollen and deformed from years of washing his dirty bedsheets in freezing water. I really had been reborn. And I had actually finished my exams this afternoon. In my past life, Ziad’s first love, Stella, had coldly dumped him on the morning of our finals. Desperate to win her back, Ziad stole his dad’s car and sped after her without a second thought. I had seen him speed off. Terrified for his safety, I hopped in a cab and followed him, which meant I witnessed the gruesome crash with my own eyes. To get him to the hospital as fast as possible, I missed my two afternoon exams. I was a straight-A student who regularly scored near the absolute top of the state, but my final score was completely ruined. I originally planned to take a gap year and retake the exams, but Ziad suddenly dropped to his knees and confessed his love to me. He told me, “The doctors said if you hadn’t risked your life to pull me out of that burning car, they would have had to amputate both my legs.” “You gave up your exams for me. You sacrificed your dream of aerospace engineering. I want to spend the rest of my life taking care of you. That is… if you don’t mind being with a cripple.” My years of secret, unrequited love for him had suddenly blossomed into reality. At that moment, my brain totally short-circuited. “But… what about Stella?” I had stammered. Ziad’s eyes had filled with pure venom. “If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be in this wheelchair! I hate her guts!” After hesitating for a day, and listening to Ziad swear up and down that he couldn’t survive without me, my stupidly romantic heart gave in. I gave up the major I was born for. To help him walk again, I enrolled in a nursing program. For the next couple of decades, my entire existence revolved around his physical therapy. He claimed he hated having strangers in the house, so I was the only one who cooked his meals, washed his clothes, and massaged his atrophied muscles every single day. I waited on him hand and foot until he finally managed to stand on his own two feet again. When he refused to wallow in self-pity and decided to start his own tech company, I was the one running around behind the scenes, handling all the grunt work. But on the night his company finally went public, during the lavish celebration banquet… I overheard him talking to his executive assistant. “Did you manage to hire Stella as my plus-one for tonight?” The assistant nodded, hesitating. “Yes, Mr. Prescott. But… what about your wife?” Ziad looked at his own impeccably tailored reflection in the mirror and let out a cold sneer. “My wife? Please. She’s just the hired help.” I had stood frozen behind the heavy oak doors, my fingers turning white as I gripped the fabric of my evening gown in utter humiliation. Maybe God finally took pity on me, because not long after, Ziad suffered massive complications from his old injuries and ended up back in the ICU. But right before he flatlined, he transferred every single penny of his massive estate to Stella. He even had his lawyers drain our joint accounts, giving the meager savings I had built up to her as well. “Harper, you and her are fundamentally different,” he had gasped out. “You’re a maid. But she is an artist. She has lived an elegant life, and she needs this money to keep her comfortable.” “Besides, if you hadn’t staged that entire car crash back then to play the hero, she and I would never have broken up in the first place.” “You used a fake life debt to chain me down. You ruined my entire life.” “If I had the chance to do it all over again, I would rather rot in a wheelchair than ever let you touch me.” After serving him like a slave for half my life, I was left absolutely penniless, with nothing to my name but the calluses on my hands. In my past life, I paid the ultimate price for being blindingly, foolishly in love. 2 This time, I stood in complete silence, watching Mr. and Mrs. Prescott cry their eyes out. “He’s our only son. Christophe and I poured everything we had into him. Ziad was always such a brilliant, perfect kid. Why did he have to go and fall for some girl?” “I already asked around. That girl is just some performing arts student with terrible grades. The final exams didn’t even matter to her! But she had no right to destroy Ziad’s life on the most important day of the year!” Valerie sobbed hysterically. My mom sighed in sympathy. “That girl really is something else. Ziad nearly died for her, and she hasn’t even bothered to show up at the hospital.” A flash of pure hatred crossed Valerie’s face as she abruptly stood up. “We are reasonable people, but that little tramp ruined my son! The least she can do is get her ass down here and apologize!” Valerie was about to storm out to hunt Stella down, but before she could take two steps, agonizing screams erupted from inside the hospital room. “Stella! Stella!” I followed the panicked parents into the room, lingering near the back. Ziad’s head was heavily bandaged, and both of his legs were locked into thick braces. He was thrashing wildly, desperately trying to sit up but failing miserably. Because I hadn’t chased after him this time, rumor had it that Ziad was trapped unconscious in the crushed car for over an hour before a passing teacher finally spotted the wreck and called 911. The delay in medical attention meant his spinal injuries were far more severe. The surgeons had warned that the odds of amputation were terrifyingly high. Valerie rushed to the bedside, choking back her tears. “Don’t move, sweetie! The doctors said you absolutely cannot move. Your incisions haven’t even begun to heal!” Ziad stared down at his legs, blinking in confusion before forcing a weak, nonchalant smile. “It’s fine, Mom. It’s just a couple of broken bones, right? It’s not a big deal.” “Look, I can still move them.” Ziad tried to shift his legs. Nothing happened. The forced smile on his face slowly froze. As he tried again and again, sheer panic began to bleed into his features. “Why can’t I move my legs? It’s just the anesthesia, right? It just hasn’t worn off yet, right?!” His parents stood there with tears streaming down their faces, completely unable to form the words. “Say something! Tell me what’s wrong!” Ziad frantically slammed his fist onto the nurse call button. The moment a nurse rushed in, he cornered her with panicked demands. “What happened to my legs?!” “Tell me right now! What is wrong with my legs!” The young nurse recoiled in shock. Just as she opened her mouth to explain, Ziad suddenly started violently punching his own thighs. “Why can’t I feel anything?!” He was completely hysterical. It took three people to physically pin him down to the mattress. Watching him thrash around like a pathetic worm, a dark, twisted sense of satisfaction blossomed in my chest. I stepped up to the edge of the bed and looked down at him, enunciating every single word. “Keep punching them. Right now, your legs are just paralyzed. But if you keep smashing your own crushed bones, they’ll just amputate them entirely.” Ziad stiffened instantly, as if the word “paralyzed” was a bullet that had just struck him in the chest. “P-paralyzed?” Valerie finally broke down, wailing in absolute despair. Mr. Prescott rubbed his face tiredly. “Your mother and I know exactly what happened today. Now that you’re in this state, that Stella girl…” Before his dad could even finish the sentence, Ziad snapped. “This has nothing to do with Stella!” “It was my fault. I was driving too fast.” I lowered my eyes to hide my smirk. So this is what blind devotion looks like? She literally caused you to become a paraplegic, yet you still defend her honor in front of everyone? No matter how you looked at it, this car crash had absolutely zero to do with me. Yet in my past life, Ziad had ruthlessly pinned the entire blame on my shoulders without a shred of guilt. The difference between who he loved and who he used was glaringly obvious. In my past life, he said he’d rather rot as a cripple than have anything to do with me. Well, in this life, he gets to be a cripple, and I get to go to my dream college. Everybody wins. 3 This time around, I didn’t volunteer to stay overnight at the hospital. I sat in the plastic chair for twenty minutes, then quietly went home. But the very next day, the stress and trauma caused Valerie to physically collapse. She was admitted to the hospital herself. To make matters worse, the media caught wind of the fact that a high school senior had caused a massive pile-up while driving without a valid license. The internet was tearing Ziad to shreds. Mr. Prescott couldn’t handle the fallout alone. Out of desperation, my mom forced me to go to the hospital to help out, since my exams were officially over. When I walked into his room, the flicker of hope in Ziad’s eyes instantly died when he realized it was me. I ignored him entirely. I just pulled up a chair in the corner and played on my phone, strictly treating my presence as a required chore. But when it was time to change his dressings, Ziad turned into an absolute nightmare. “Bed 18, time to change your bandages,” the nurse said gently. Ziad whipped his head around, his eyes completely bloodshot. “Get out.” The nurse sighed, clearly exhausted but completely unsurprised. She looked like she had dealt with a hundred patients exactly like him. “If we don’t clean the wounds, the necrotic tissue will spread. It’s going to get much worse.” She stepped forward and reached out to unwrap the gauze around his shattered knee. “I said get out!” Ziad violently swatted his arm out, knocking the metal medical tray right out of her hands. Bottles of iodine and sterilized tools crashed onto the linoleum floor with a deafening clatter. I frowned and stood up. In my past life, Ziad had struggled to accept his paralysis too, but he was never this much of a violent bastard about it. I quickly replayed the memories in my head and realized the difference. In my previous life, after the crash, I had personally hunted Stella down and begged her to visit him. Thanks to my pleading, she showed up the very next day. But this time, the news of his horrific accident had spread like wildfire through the entire school, yet Stella hadn’t so much as sent him a text. He wasn’t angry at the nurse. He was throwing a tantrum because he was heartbroken. The young nurse looked like she was on the verge of tears, but she bent down to pick up the supplies, trying to do her job. Before she could even touch him, Ziad actually shoved her hard in the shoulder. “Are you deaf?! I said I don’t need you! Are all you hospital workers this pathetic? Do you just not understand English…” My patience snapped. I marched up to the bed and slapped him squarely across the face. The sharp crack echoed in the room. “If you want to rot and die, sign yourself out against medical advice. Don’t take your psychotic breakdown out on the staff.” The nurse wiped her eyes, took a deep, shaky breath, and hurried out to grab a fresh tray of supplies. “Bed 18…” she started softly when she returned. I snatched the iodine and bandages from her hands and tossed them directly onto Ziad’s chest. “If you want to die, do it faster. If you don’t want to die, change it yourself.” The nurse shot me a look of profound gratitude before practically fleeing the room. I felt genuinely sorry for her. Having to deal with a piece of trash like Ziad was far above her pay grade. Ziad was panting heavily like a rabid dog, glaring at me with pure venom. “Harper Bennett, who the hell gave you the right to hit me?!” Looking at the angry red handprint blooming on his cheek, I felt a deep sense of catharsis. “Before you act like a spoiled brat, take a look at your parents. Your mom is hospitalized from a panic attack. Your dad aged ten years overnight. What right do you have to act like a victim here?” “Just because Stella didn’t visit you? If you’re so mad, why don’t you go throw a fit at her?” My words struck a nerve. Ziad instantly fell silent. After a long pause, his voice cracked as he mumbled, “Stella is probably just at her dance camp… She probably just hasn’t heard the news yet. That’s why she hasn’t come.” I brutally popped his delusional little bubble. “Exams are over. She was literally at the senior class party last night.” Ziad’s jaw clenched tight. He turned his head away, staring at the blank wall, violently refusing to accept reality. When I came back from the bathroom ten minutes later, I noticed he had quietly changed his own bandages. In my past life, I was so heartbroken by his condition that I waited on him hand and foot. I spoon-fed him. I bathed him. I basically babied him until he turned into a helpless man-child who wouldn’t even swallow his painkillers unless I placed them directly into his palm. Look at him now. Left to his own devices, he’s perfectly capable of wrapping his own wounds. When I got home that night, I checked Stella’s Instagram. She was living her absolute best life. Parties, shopping, beach trips. After thinking it over, I opened my DMs and clicked on her name. I wanted to see exactly how she would treat him without me constantly playing the peacemaker in the background. 4 The next morning, Stella and I arrived at the hospital ward just a few minutes apart. When I walked in, Ziad looked like a corpse. The moment Stella walked in, he suddenly came back to life. His eyes lit up like Christmas morning. “Stella! You finally came.” “How did you know I was here? It’s so hot out today, thank you for making the trip. Harper, hurry up and go buy Stella an iced latte.” Even though I had completely purged this man from my heart, the sheer audacity of his request still made me laugh out loud. In my past life, I sacrificed my college education, dedicated my life to nursing, and dragged him out of his wheelchair. Instead of showing an ounce of gratitude, he treated me like the hired help and accused me of orchestrating his accident just to trap him. I guess it really is true. The one who is truly loved doesn’t have to lift a finger—they just have to exist, and they win. I didn’t move an inch. Stella crossed her arms over her chest and coldly told him not to bother. She stood as close to the door as possible, keeping a massive distance between them. “I’m not here for coffee.” “Ziad, what exactly is your game here? You drove like an idiot, crashed your car, and now you’re trying to tie yourself to me so I’m forced to take care of you?” “Are you out of your mind? You crashed your car after I dumped you. We have absolutely nothing to do with each other anymore, do you understand?” It was the first time I had ever seen Ziad make that specific face. It was a mix of shock, profound embarrassment, and a desperate, fragile smile that looked utterly pathetic. He stammered, “Stella, no… I never expected you to take care of me, I just…” Stella ruthlessly cut him off. “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t find out you had your friends spread the news of your accident all over school? You’re just trying to guilt-trip me into staying!” “The harder you try, the more disgusting I find you! You’re the one who refused to let me go. Are you seriously trying to drag me down with you for the rest of my life?” “Don’t ever contact me again. I’m telling you for the absolute last time—we are done!” Stella spun on her heel and stormed out. Ziad actually shed a couple of tears. In his past life, he didn’t shed a single tear on his deathbed. In this life, he didn’t cry when he found out he was permanently paralyzed. But a few harsh words from Stella broke him completely. A vindictive smirk touched my lips. “College applications are opening up soon. I need to go home and finalize my university choices.” “Mr. Prescott needs to take care of your mom, so you guys should probably just hire a professional nurse.” I rattled off my exit speech, completely unbothered by the fact that Ziad didn’t hear a single word of it. It didn’t matter. I had fulfilled my mom’s mandatory hospital visit quota. Though I did hear through the grapevine that Ziad spiked a massive stress fever that night and had to be rushed into emergency care again. 5 I stopped visiting the hospital entirely. Instead, I buried myself in textbooks on orbital mechanics and astrophysics. In my past life, Ziad degraded me as a maid because I threw away my degree for him. This time, I was going to conquer the stars. I signed up for a highly competitive aerospace engineering summer intensive, scheduled to leave in three days. But the very next morning, while my mom was helping me pack my duffel bag, her phone started ringing frantically. It was Valerie. She was sobbing so hard she could barely breathe, and the wail of police sirens echoed loudly in the background. “Get to the hospital, please, right now! That girl Ziad likes just posted a picture with a new boyfriend. Ziad lost his mind—he’s trying to kill himself!” “Ziad, please, step down from there!” Valerie screamed into the phone. My parents locked eyes in absolute terror. My dad, who had been chopping vegetables, sliced right into his own thumb. “Suicide?! Let’s go, let’s go, get in the car!” During the chaotic drive, my parents were beside themselves. “Such a brilliant kid, totally destroyed just like that. He had such a bright future! Harper, promise me you will never get involved in high school drama. No, promise me you’ll never become one of those girls who throws her life away for a boy!” My mom glared at my dad. “Don’t be ridiculous! Our daughter would never be that stupid!” I sat in the backseat, silent, a bitter taste in my mouth. Actually, in my past life, I never regretted pulling him out of that burning car. But I certainly paid the price for being blindly, stupidly in love with him afterward. My mistakes in my past life forced my parents to spend their golden years worrying themselves to death over me. “Don’t worry, Mom, Dad. I promise I’ll never be like that.” No matter who the guy is, it’s never going to happen again. Instead of playing the martyr, in this life, I was going to do right by myself. 6 The streets around the hospital were gridlocked with traffic, so my mom dragged me out of the car and we sprinted the last few blocks. Police cruisers and fire trucks had swarmed the plaza. Inflatable rescue cushions were already being deployed on the pavement. The hospital room was on the 15th floor. Up there, a tiny figure in a hospital gown was dangling out of an open window. It was Ziad. Honestly, I didn’t feel a shred of panic. I calmly pulled out my phone, recorded a quick video of him on the ledge, and texted it directly to Stella. Whether he genuinely wanted to die or was just putting on a psychotic show to emotionally blackmail her, that was their toxic problem to sort out. It had nothing to do with me. I just didn’t want to see him die so easily. Because compared to dying, living the rest of his life like this was going to be pure agony. By the time we fought our way up to the 15th floor, Ziad was sitting precariously on the windowsill, the glass pushed wide open. All it would take was a slight lean backward, and gravity would do the rest. My mom leaned in and whispered the question everyone was thinking. “Wait… aren’t his legs paralyzed? How the hell did he drag himself up there!?” My dad nudged her hard with his elbow. “Is this really the time for logistics?!” He stepped forward, raising his hands pacifyingly. “Ziad, listen to me. Come down from there. You’re so young, there’s nothing in this world you can’t overcome.” Ziad looked like a shattered porcelain doll. He pointed a shaking finger at his lifeless legs. “Look at me. What is the point of being alive?” I sent another video clip to Stella. I added a quick text: “If you don’t want the guilt of a dead body hanging over your head for the rest of your life, you better get your ass down here.” Valerie was slapping her own thighs in hysterics. “Come down, sweetie, please! Your life is just starting! So what if your legs don’t work? We have money! Your dad and I can take care of you forever!” “Please, just come back inside!” Ziad screamed back, totally unhinged. “How?! How are you going to take care of me?! I’m never going to stand up again!” “Harper gets to go to her dream college. Everyone else gets to have a future! I have to rot in a wheelchair until the day I die!” “Mom, Dad, I really don’t want to do this anymore. Just let me go.” “You guys aren’t that old. You can have another kid. Just make sure the next one doesn’t end up a pathetic loser like me.” Ziad closed his eyes and began to lean backward into the open air. Just as the entire room shrieked in horror, Stella finally burst through the doors. “Ziad Prescott, don’t you dare!!!” Ziad froze on the ledge. Stella was doubled over, her hands on her knees, gasping for air. “Don’t jump. I’m begging you, don’t jump.” “I know what you want. I agree. I’ll stay with you.” A flicker of pure, unadulterated joy sparked in Ziad’s eyes, but he quickly forced it down, replacing it with a look of tragic martyrdom. He shook his head slowly. “I know you already moved on… I don’t want to be a burden to you.” Stella took a slow, cautious step toward the window. “I only did that because I was too scared to face you, but I couldn’t forget you. That’s why I tried to date someone else.” “Ziad, I want to be with you.” The moment the firefighters hauled Ziad safely back inside, Valerie collapsed onto the floor, sobbing uncontrollably in relief. My mom knelt beside her, rubbing her back soothingly. “It’s okay, it’s okay now. Everything is going to be fine.” Is it? Because the look of pure, homicidal rage burning in Stella’s eyes didn’t look “fine” at all.

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1 The day after I secured the company’s most lucrative account of the year, I stood at the finance desk, a stack of business expense receipts clenched in my hand. The finance clerk didn’t even bother to look up. Her fingertips tapped lazily against her keyboard. “Wow, that client director must really have a thing for female sales reps. You girls always get the royal treatment, huh?” “He’s the one who asked you out, and he couldn’t even foot the bill for a meal?” “They’ve got money to burn anyway. Why make our company pay for it?” So, let me get this straight. I work myself to the bone to secure a massive deal for the company, and suddenly, claiming legitimate business expenses turns into me trying to rip the company off? Brittany didn’t even bat an eyelash. She just jabbed at her keyboard with her obnoxiously long acrylic nails. “Claim denied.” I froze in my tracks. “The digital approval went through days ago. We still have nearly half the project budget left for this month. On what grounds are you denying it?” She finally looked up, rolling her oversized, color-contact-lensed eyes. Her gaudy nails clicked against the laminate desk as she let out a sharp scoff. “Do you think you birthed this project yourself? You think you can just write off whatever you want? Did your family write the company policy?” She pinched a single piece of paper from the stack, pulling out the theme park admission ticket. “You’ve got some nerve trying to pass off a personal joyride as a corporate expense. You went to a theme park to goof off, and you want us to foot the bill?” I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. “Director Carter said he was hitting a creative wall at the office. He asked me to accompany him to the theme park to study the interior layouts.” “Our target demographic for this project is mothers and their young children. He brought his seven-year-old son along to get a genuine user perspective. It was absolutely essential field research.” “Stop, stop, stop…” Brittany cut me off, her voice dripping with impatience and mockery. “You spin a good yarn, but let’s call a spade a spade. You used company funds to play house with the director and hook a sugar daddy. You’re treating a corporate expense account like your personal dating fund to entertain a wealthy bachelor.” “You’re quite the full-service account manager, aren’t you? Even managing his private life.” My ears started ringing. My chest tightened, feeling like it was being twisted into a knot. All the blood, sweat, and tears I had poured into this company boiled down to me being labeled a slut in the office. I stared dead at her nails, which looked like a messy painter’s palette, and kept my voice dangerously calm. “Fine. Let’s take this ‘personal joyride’ over to the Head of Sales and let him be the judge.” Brittany blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but my icy tone quickly infuriated her. “Fine! Go ahead. Play dirty outside the office and run crying to your boss to cover for you. You really are something else.” I walked straight to the office of Richard, our Head of Sales. Approving sales budgets was the joint responsibility of his department and the finance head. To my surprise, Richard was completely kicked back in his ergonomic chair. He listened to my report with a glazed look in his eyes. “Marylin, listen. Brittany is the big boss’s new piece of arm candy. She’s just sitting in the finance department to collect a paycheck and kill time. We can’t exactly afford to ruffle her feathers, can we?” “She’ll be here for three months, tops. Once the boss gets bored, she’ll be gone.” “Why are you, a grown professional, picking fights with a pampered princess?” He took a slow sip of his herbal detox tea and added as an afterthought. “Look, you did good bringing in this account. Tell you what, I’ll approve a little afternoon tea budget for you later. Let’s call it compensation.” The massive annual contract I had bled from my eyes to secure meant absolutely nothing to them. It wasn’t even worth upsetting the boss’s girlfriend over while she was “experiencing the working class.” And my so-called compensation? A budget for cheap, instant office coffee. I clenched my fists. A chilling wave of isolation washed over me. When I first graduated, I was awkward. I didn’t know how to play the corporate game. It was Richard who slammed his hand on the interview table and said, “We’re taking this girl in the sales department.” Back then, I genuinely thought he was my career mentor. I swore I would repay that debt of gratitude for the rest of my life. A sharp ping from my phone shattered my thoughts. It was a text from Sophie. [Marylin! I just saw Oliver sitting at the same table as Brittany for lunch in the cafeteria.] [That girl’s acrylic nails were practically dipped in Oliver’s soup!] I stared at the screen for two full seconds. Who he ate lunch with had absolutely nothing to do with me. 2 [Isn’t Oliver the guy you’ve been dating for three years?] A vein throbbed violently in my forehead. It felt like someone was dragging a needle across my brain. Oliver was the golden boy of the HR department, the resident eye candy, and the subject of every female coworker’s breakroom gossip. But I didn’t even have his phone number saved. I had no earthly idea where this ridiculous rumor had started. Walking back to my cubicle, I quickly texted Sophie back. [That’s completely false. He is not my boyfriend.] [Right, exactly! A two-faced jerk like him doesn’t deserve you anyway!] I rubbed my temples, completely exhausted. I wasn’t sure if she actually understood what I meant. Just as my headache was peaking, Brittany strutted over, carrying her designer lunchbox. She looked at me, a smirk plastered across her face. “Marylin, you are absolutely ruthless. You actually dumped the HR golden boy you’ve been with for three years just to kiss up to a client.” “You skip work to go on dates with Director Carter, and you think we’re all blind? If you’re going to use the honey trap, at least own it. The sleaze is practically dripping off of you.” She pinched her voice, adopting a sickly sweet, victimized tone. “Ugh, I’m just too straightforward, you know? I could never learn your little under-the-table tricks. I guess I’m just not charming enough. Guys just treat me like one of the bros. I could never compete with a woman who knows how to work her angles.” A well-meaning coworker chimed in to defend me. “Marylin was just maintaining a relationship with the client. Entertaining them is totally normal.” “Besides, Brittany, you might not know this, but Director Carter is a massive influencer with hundreds of thousands of followers. Partnering with him is free advertising for us. Marylin is bringing real value to the company by staying on his good side.” “Yeah, exactly! Who goes on a date driving the company’s beat-up sedan anyway? Marylin is practically running on fumes with her company tabs. If that was a date, it was a pretty pathetic one, haha!” Brittany’s face turned a violent shade of green. She slammed her hand down on my desk, the smack echoing through the room. “Who runs this company? Marylin, or the boss? As an employee, I have every right to monitor where the company’s money goes. We are here to run a business, not to act as background extras for her little workplace soap opera!” Her screech was loud enough to bring Richard scrambling out of his office. He didn’t even frown. He just instantly slipped into his peacekeeper persona. “Come on, ladies, we’re all colleagues here. Is this really necessary? We’re all working toward the same goal. Let’s just take a step back.” With a wave of his hand, he shooed the crowd away. As everyone scurried back to their desks with their fresh office gossip, Richard patted Brittany on the shoulder. “You’ve got fire, Brittany. The company needs people with your sense of ownership. Keep up the good work, and you’ll definitely see a cut of the project bonuses.” Brittany flushed with pride, lifting her chin. “Don’t worry, Richard. As long as I’m here, I won’t let the parasites drain this company.” 3 I took a deep breath, sat down at my desk, and woke up my computer. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a second before I clicked open my chat with Director Carter. [Carter, I am incredibly sorry, but our company is experiencing some internal management issues that might affect the project’s timeline.] [To ensure your progress isn’t delayed, I highly recommend you directly liaise with Engineer Davis from our tech department. I will compile and transfer all the necessary files to him.] His reply was instantaneous. [What’s going on? We just signed the contract and you’re already swapping reps?] I weighed my words carefully. [The company’s new finance clerk has raised objections regarding my business expenses. She believes our collaborative methods are ‘inappropriate.’ To avoid any negative impact on your reputation, it is best we switch your point of contact.] The chat showed ‘typing…’ for a long, heavy silence. [I have a meeting tomorrow morning. I’ll be at your office at 3:00 PM.] I didn’t reply. Instead, I opened LinkedIn. The network I had painstakingly built over three years stretched out like a vast web. A few elite headhunters’ names practically glowed on the screen. I clicked on Emma, the highest-rated recruiter in my contacts. [Hi Emma. I’m currently looking at new opportunities. Do you have time to chat?] My phone rang in less than a minute. “Marylin!” Emma’s voice was pitching up with pure excitement. “You finally saw the light? I have been waiting for this call for two years!” I let out a soft laugh. “Don’t get too excited just yet. I just want to test the waters and see what the market looks like.” “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Emma fired back, speaking a mile a minute. “Last month, the HR Director at Apex Corp asked me if there was any chance of poaching you. They’re offering triple your current base.” “Then there’s Nova Media. Their new retail division is desperate for a VP of Sales. They asked for you by name, someone who bridges the gap between traditional networking and modern digital presence.” I leaned back in my chair, watching Brittany and Richard laughing together across the office. “Set up the meetings. I’m free all weekend.” After hanging up, I opened the project group folder and started organizing every single file. User demographics, market analyses, competitor research, promotional strategies… Everything was meticulously labeled, complete with hyperlinks to the raw data sources. Then, I created a new master folder: [Project Handover]. Sophie rolled her chair over, whispering. “Marylin, are you…” I looked up at her. “Sophie, do you want to learn how to handle the massive accounts?” Her eyes lit up. “Yes!” “Then starting today, you shadow me. I’m going to teach you how to build your own untouchable client roster.” Just then, Engineer Davis walked over. “Hey Marylin, Director Carter just called me. He said he’s coming to the office tomorrow and told me to make absolutely sure you’re in the room.” I offered a faint smile. “Got it.” Davis scratched his head. “He said something kind of weird, too. Something about how some companies don’t know what they have, but the rest of the industry does.” A sudden hush fell over the office. I looked down and kept organizing my files, the ghost of a smirk playing on my lips. It was true. Some companies genuinely believed the wheels would keep turning no matter who they tossed out. Let them test that theory. Let’s see if the biggest project of the year could survive without Marylin. 4 The next afternoon at 2:30 PM, I was sitting in the conference room adjusting the projector. Sophie sprinted in, out of breath. “Marylin, Richard told Brittany to join the meeting with Director Carter. He said finance needs to understand the project budget.” I didn’t even look up from my laptop. “Let her come.” “But earlier she was saying…” “It’s fine.” I opened the master spreadsheet, the screen instantly filling with a dense, color-coded Gantt chart. At ten minutes to three, Richard swaggered in, Brittany right on his heels. Brittany twirled a strand of her curled hair. “Finance needs to know exactly where the money is bleeding. We can’t have certain people treating the company vault like a personal piggy bank.” I ignored her completely, flipping open a two-hundred-page client relationship dossier. This was the web I had woven over three years of relentless legwork. Carter’s secretary, Jenny? She collected limited-edition figurines. I had helped her score rare drops three separate times. Brenda in their procurement department? Her daughter was prepping for high school entrance exams. I hooked her up with the best math tutor in the city. Even their receptionist knew I’d bring her ginger tea when her cramps were acting up. At three o’clock on the dot, the heavy glass doors swung open. Carter walked in. Behind him were his Director of Procurement, his Marketing Director, and a guy from Legal. Richard froze. “Carter! I thought this was just a casual touch-base. What’s with the cavalry?” Carter swept his gaze across the room, letting his eyes rest on Brittany’s absurd acrylics for two heavy seconds. “I was informed that Marylin’s operational expenses are being denied. I was concerned about the execution of the project, so I brought the team to assess the situation firsthand.” Richard immediately broke into a sweaty, sycophantic smile. “It’s just a tiny misunderstanding. Just a little mix-up!” “Is it?” Carter took his seat. “Then let’s begin.” I pulled up the slide deck. “Everyone, let’s start with the current status.” “The rollout covers twenty-three store renovations across seven districts. I’ve mapped out hyper-specific user demographics for every single location.” “The Upper East Side branch has four elementary schools within a two-mile radius. The core demographic is highly educated mothers in their thirties. Their purchasing decisions are logic-driven and research-heavy.” “The Downtown location sits right near the financial district. The crowd is younger working parents wanting efficiency and premium aesthetics.” “For the suburban branches, we have to factor in multi-child households. Traffic flow design must prioritize double-stroller accessibility…” Brittany let out an exaggerated sigh, cutting me off. “Why are you getting into the weeds? It’s just a renovation project, isn’t it?” The Marketing Director furrowed his brow. “And you are?” “Brittany. Finance. I oversee the project funds.” She flashed a sickly sweet smile. “I just think Marylin is overcomplicating things. Literally anyone could handle this—” “Literally anyone?” Carter interrupted, his voice dropping an octave. “Then tell me, Brittany. Why is foot traffic at the Upper East Side location dead on Tuesday afternoons?” Brittany froze, her mouth slightly open. I smoothly picked up the slack. “Because the two premium daycares in that zip code hold their parent-toddler integration events on Tuesday afternoons. The mothers are all off-site.” “Which is exactly why I scheduled our deep-cleaning and staff retraining modules for Tuesday afternoons. Zero impact on revenue.” Carter nodded, turning his crosshairs back to Brittany. “And what price tier should we push for our core products in the suburban branches?” Brittany stammered. “Uh… well, I mean…” I clicked to the data slide. “The $159 to $199 range. Multi-child households make up forty-seven percent of the suburban base. They’re buying two of everything. Higher than that breaks the bank; lower than that makes them question the safety standards.” “That specific tier hits their psychological sweet spot for value-to-quality ratio.” I clicked to the next slide. “Now, onto the exclusive community network.” “I have an active, verified base of thirty-two thousand moms. Among them are a hundred and twenty-seven key opinion consumers. On average, each of them influences the purchasing habits of over two hundred other parents.” The Procurement Director raised a hand. “Hold on. Is this private network a corporate asset?” I looked him dead in the eye. “It is my personal asset. I added every single one of those women on my personal phone. I maintain those relationships on my own time.” “That includes your wife, by the way. She’s currently active in my VIP group, sharing sleep-training tips.” The Procurement Director blinked, stunned. “No wonder my wife keeps talking about this ‘Marylin’ girl who’s an absolute lifesaver.” The conference room fell deathly silent. I wasn’t done. “Then there’s the vendor network.” “The children’s play equipment? I locked in a rate fifteen percent below market value because I did pro-bono layout consulting for the vendor owner’s daughter’s preschool.” “Our soft furnishings supplier gave us a net-90 payment term. Everyone else gets net-30. Why? Because I’ve sent personal holiday gifts to his entire warehouse crew for three years straight.” “The construction foremen don’t even ask for a deposit when they hear it’s my project. They break ground instantly because they know I have never let an invoice slip past a deadline.” Carter slowly turned his head toward Richard. “Richard. If Marylin is removed from this project, are any of these resources still available to us?” Sweat was literally beading on Richard’s forehead. “Of course they are! These are company assets…” “Are they?” I asked softly. “Then why don’t you call Mr. Miller, the play equipment vendor, right now. Put him on speaker. Ask him if he’ll honor that fifteen percent discount without my name on the PO.” All the color drained from Richard’s face. Carter stood up, buttoning his suit jacket. “Crystal clear.” “Richard. If your company makes a habit of stonewalling core employees over standard operational expenses, if you treat the people driving your revenue like thieves, then I need to severely reevaluate the risk of this partnership.” “If Marylin leaves, per our contract stipulations, any project delays caused by a change in vendor personnel will trigger the penalty clause.” The guy from Legal leaned forward. “The penalty is twenty percent of the total contract value. That comes out to 4.8 million dollars.” Brittany looked like she was going to throw up. I calmly began stacking my papers. “Gentlemen, I have fifteen days of accrued PTO. As it happens, I have a few final-round interviews lined up this week.” “Marylin!” Richard panicked, his voice cracking. “Are you threatening the company?!” I stopped packing and looked at him with absolute serenity. “Richard, I’m just a sales rep who slept her way to the top, right? Doesn’t this company have plenty of real talent?” “For instance—” I gestured toward Brittany. “Miss Brittany here, with her flawless manicure, just said anyone could do my job.” “Perfect timing. Let her take the reins. Let’s see if Miss Brittany can handle a project that brings in sixty percent of the company’s annual revenue, or if it rots into a pile of shit with no one to clean it up.” 5 Richard’s face shifted from pale white to a sickly green. He took a deep breath and suddenly plastered on a mask of authoritative outrage. “Marylin, do not forget you signed a non-compete! If you try to jump ship to a rival firm, you are barred from this industry for two years!” “Furthermore, the client list you built was acquired using company platforms! Taking them is intellectual property theft!” I slowly zipped my laptop bag closed. “Richard, the severance for enforcing a non-compete requires you to pay thirty percent of my base salary for the duration. Is the company prepared to cut that check?” “As for the client list—” I pulled out my phone. “How about I post a farewell message to my community right now? Let’s see how many of those moms decide to follow me out the door.” Carter twisted the knife. “I’ll go on record. Marylin’s network is entirely self-built and personally maintained. Our firm signed this contract specifically for her professional expertise, not your company’s logo.” Richard’s face went from green to red, finally settling on the color of bruised plum. In a split second, his demeanor completely shattered. He forced out a smile that looked more like a grimace of pain. “Marylin! This is all a huge misunderstanding. I’ll have finance process your expenses immediately!” He snapped his head toward Brittany, his eyes bulging. “What the hell are you sitting there for?! Go process the damn wire!” Brittany bit her lip, her eyes shining with humiliated tears as she practically bolted from the room. Ten minutes later, she returned, sliding a receipt across the table. “The transfer is processing. Five thousand, three hundred dollars. It’ll hit your account tomorrow.” I didn’t even glance at the slip of paper. “Is that it?” Richard chuckled nervously. “Come on, Marylin. Let’s not make a mountain out of a molehill. We’re all on the same team here.” “Brittany is just green. She doesn’t know the ropes yet. Be the bigger person.” I let out a harsh laugh. “Green? Her little learning curve almost cost the company 4.8 million dollars in breach-of-contract penalties.” “Apologize.” I locked eyes with Brittany. “Right here, in front of everyone. Apologize for the malicious slander and the workplace bullying.” Brittany’s face flushed a violent crimson. “I… I…” She gritted her teeth and suddenly reached out, grabbing my sleeve. “Marylin, can we step outside for a second?” Out in the hallway, Brittany dropped her voice to a desperate whisper. “Marylin, I’ll say I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have said those things.” “But please, don’t make me do it in front of the clients. Just leave me a shred of dignity…” Her eyes were bloodshot. “I worked so hard to get this job. If you humiliate me in front of everyone, how am I supposed to show my face around here?” “Can’t a private apology be enough? Please…” I looked at her, my expression made of stone. “When you were spreading rumors about me sleeping around, did you care about my dignity?” Just as the standoff hit a boiling point, the elevator doors chimed open. A middle-aged man in a bespoke suit stepped out. It was the big boss, Arthur Harrison. “Well, well, quite the gathering.” He glanced into the glass-walled conference room, immediately spotting Carter, and switched on his megawatt CEO smile. “Carter! An absolute pleasure. I didn’t know you were dropping by!” Richard scrambled out of the room like a beaten dog. “Mr. Harrison! What brings you down here?” Harrison waved him off. “I heard we had a little friction on the floor. Thought I’d see it for myself.” He turned to me, laughing heartily. “Marylin! I just got the full brief. The company absolutely owes you an apology on this one!” “I genuinely had no idea my people were acting so out of line. If I had known, I would have shut it down immediately!” He thumped his chest. “Don’t you worry. I’m going to make this right.” “From now on, any expense reports you have, you bring them straight to me for a signature. And as for your quarterly bonus? We’re doubling it!” He then turned a severe glare onto Brittany. “Brittany, you’ve completely overstepped. You’re new, but that’s no excuse. I want a formal write-up on my desk, and I’m docking half your bonus next month.” He pivoted back to me, his face practically glowing with manufactured sincerity. “Marylin, how does that sound? We’re a family here. We need to keep the peace.” “You are the backbone of this company, and I value top-tier talent above all else. Tell you what. Come year-end reviews, I’m bumping you up. The VP of Sales position has your name on it!” Gasps echoed from the cubicles nearby. VP of Sales. It was the holy grail for everyone on the floor. Sophie pinched my arm from behind, whispering frantically. “Marylin! VP!” But I saw through the matrix with absolute clarity. Harrison was putting on a masterclass in theater. Dock his girlfriend’s bonus? She was sleeping with a millionaire; what did she care about a clerical bonus? Promote me to VP? It wasn’t even the end of Q3. The corporate org chart for next year hadn’t even been drafted. How could he guarantee a board-level promotion right now? The old fox was trying to buy me off with a bounced check. Fixing million-dollar problems with zero-dollar promises—that was Harrison’s entire playbook. Three years ago, he promised me a Department Manager title. I was still waiting. I gave him a half-smile, my eyes dead. “Mr. Harrison, that sounds lovely. Can we get those terms drafted into a binding contract today?” I let my eyes drift over to Brittany’s tear-streaked face. “And really? Docking Brittany’s bonus? Considering she’s your girlfriend, I’m surprised you’re so cheap you’re making the company pay for her iced coffees.” The jovial smile instantly froze on Harrison’s face. The meeting adjourned in suffocating silence.

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1 To celebrate Stephen’s city-shaking merger, I booked out his favorite Michelin restaurant. Waiting, I scrolled and found a trending post—a thank-you from a foster-care alum. “Thank you, my anonymous sponsor. You called me a resilient wildflower, told me to grow toward the sun. You said you missed college, so you wanted me to live that life for you. You said you only knew how to make money, and your gift was that I’d never fear a price tag again.” Each line felt raw, tender. Comments called her lucky, blessed by a guardian angel. I almost scrolled on. Saints don’t exist. Then I froze. The letter was signed: S. A faint laugh escaped me. It couldn’t be Stephen. He was a high-school dropout who built a fortune from nothing—ruthless, money-obsessed, famously cold. He’d mocked my empathy, called charity a hypocrite’s tax trick. The one thing he ever did without calculating returns was marry me. That made me believe in his love. Compelled, I opened her profile. Her pinned photo drained the color from my face. She stood on tiptoe, smiling, placing a graduation cap on a man’s head. His back was to the camera—tall, posture stiff, unmistakably familiar. One look told me everything. I knew the watch on his wrist. I’d given it to Stephen for our anniversary. It felt like an invisible hand had reached into my chest and crushed my heart. I couldn’t breathe. I zoomed in on the photo until the pixels blurred. The details on his wrist were unmistakable. I knew that watch intimately. On the back of the dial, hidden against the skin, I had requested an engraving of our initials: S&S. I had designed the monogram myself. My brain flatlined. A high-pitched ringing echoed in my ears. I forced myself to inhale. Maybe it was just a coincidence. But the upload date on the photo was from last month. It was the exact day of our wedding anniversary. Stephen had told me there was an emergency board meeting. He hadn’t come home that night. So his “emergency board meeting” was actually taking place hundreds of miles away in a college town, celebrating another woman’s graduation. The harsh blue light of the phone screen reflected off my pale face. The soft, elegant jazz playing in the restaurant suddenly sounded like a mocking funeral dirge. “Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Stephen’s cold, baritone voice echoed from above me. I jerked my head up. He was already standing by the table, dressed in a flawless charcoal suit. A faint trace of exhaustion lingered in his eyes. He loosened his silk tie out of habit, his gaze dropping to my untouched plate. His brow furrowed slightly. “Food isn’t to your liking?” I instinctively flipped my phone face down on the tablecloth, forcing a smile that felt like shattered glass. “No. I was just waiting for you.” He pulled out his chair and sat down. As his arm moved, his bare wrist caught the ambient light. Empty. My stomach plummeted into an abyss. “Where is your watch?” I heard my own voice ask, sounding hollow and dry. Stephen didn’t even pause as he reached for his water glass. He didn’t look at me. “Took it off during the meeting. Left it at the office.” The office. Again. I stared unblinkingly at him, desperately searching his perpetually calm, statuesque face for a single crack, a single micro-expression of guilt. Nothing. He was a perfectly calibrated machine. Flawless. “The acquisition went through. Aren’t you going to congratulate me?” He finally lifted his eyes to meet mine. They were dark and unreadable. I took a deep, shuddering breath and slid my phone across the table toward him. “Stephen. This ‘Mr. S.’ Is it you?” 2 Stephen picked up the phone. He gave the screen a cursory, half-second glance before tossing it back onto the table, completely unbothered. “Yeah.” He admitted it so easily. So casually. As if he were confirming that it might rain tomorrow. My heart felt like it had been struck by a sledgehammer. A dull, suffocating pain radiated through my ribs. “Why?” I asked. “Why what?” He picked up his knife and fork, slicing into his steak with slow, deliberate precision. He didn’t look up. “Didn’t you say charity was a game for hypocrites?” I couldn’t stop my voice from trembling. His knife stopped scraping against the porcelain. He finally deemed me worthy of his attention. His eyes held a flicker of impatience and mockery. It was a look I was painfully familiar with. “I threw some pocket change at a problem to buy some peace and quiet. Is that a crime?” “Serena, since when did you become an interrogator?” “Snooping through my phone, questioning my whereabouts. Is this your grand idea of celebrating my corporate victory?” His words were laced with ice, stabbing directly into my chest. I looked at him and suddenly felt like I was sitting across from a total stranger. “And the photo?” I enunciated every word slowly. “The graduation ceremony. The cap. And my watch. Did you leave all of those at the office, too?” Stephen dropped his cutlery with a clatter. He leaned back against his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked at me with eyes as cold as a frozen lake. “Serena, my patience has a limit.” “Sponsoring a student is like buying a bespoke suit or throwing capital at a startup. I don’t need a profound reason to do it.” “As for your watch,” he paused, his tone dripping with disdain, “it’s just a watch. I can give it to a homeless guy on the street if I feel like it. Do I need to submit an expense report to my wife?” “Or did you already calculate the exact return on investment when you bought it for me?” He choked the life out of my argument. I was left shivering, utterly voiceless. Of course. This was Stephen. The man who squeezed every last drop of profit out of every transaction. In his eyes, maybe our marriage was just another merger. And my anniversary gift was just a depreciating asset he could write off. “Who is she?” I clenched my fists under the table, my nails digging half-moons into my palms. “Just a student,” he replied smoothly. “A student important enough to make you ditch your own wedding anniversary and fly across the country?” I practically screamed the words. The few other patrons in the VIP dining room turned their heads to stare at us. Stephen’s face darkened instantly. A storm brewed in his eyes. He abruptly stood up and snatched his suit jacket from the back of the chair. “You are being completely irrational.” He spat those words out and turned on his heel. He walked out without a single glance backward. I watched his broad shoulders disappear through the mahogany doors, feeling like the oxygen had been vacuumed out of the room. The gourmet food on the table still looked immaculate, but to me, it smelled like rot. I picked up my phone and clicked back to the girl’s profile. Her banner image was a sprawling, vibrant field of sunflowers. Stephen used to tell me he despised sunflowers. He called them stupid, desperate weeds that blindly chased the light. He said they were fake. But in the girl’s most recent post, a man was standing right in the middle of that very field. It was just a shot of his back, but I knew the slope of his shoulders better than I knew myself. The caption read: “Mr. S says he loves sunflowers. He says they always look toward the light, just like me.” A comment underneath asked: “Is that your boyfriend?” The girl replied with a blushing emoji. “He’s someone way more important than a boyfriend.” Way more important than a boyfriend. Then what was I? I was his legally wedded wife. Where did I fit on that hierarchy? A memory pierced my skull. Right after we got married, I dragged him to a botanical garden. We stood in front of a sunflower patch. He had stood on the gravel path, looking at his phone, a scowl etched onto his face. He refused to even take a selfie with me. He had said, “Serena, stop wasting my time on this pointless garbage.” It wasn’t that the sunflowers were pointless. It was just that the woman standing next to him wasn’t her. I locked my phone screen. The dam broke, and the tears finally fell. All these years of fiercely defending our love. It was nothing but a pathetic, one-sided joke. 3 Stephen didn’t come home that night. I sat alone in the cavernous, empty mansion until the sun bled through the sheer curtains. I couldn’t just roll over and take this. I refused to be the bitter, passive housewife crying into her silk pillows. I called Stephen’s executive assistant. I lied, saying I needed to cross-reference his allergy medication with a new prescription, and manipulated him into sending me the full background file on the sponsored girl. Her name was Willow. A senior at a state university. Stellar GPA. Legitimate foster care background. Attached to the file was her student ID photo. The girl in the picture had eyes that curved into crescents when she smiled, framing two deep, faint dimples. She looked pure. Untouched. Like a blank canvas. But the detail that felt like a knife twisting in my gut was her bone structure. Her eyes and the shape of her jaw were an exact replica of how I looked in my early twenties. I stared at my reflection in the vanity mirror. I looked at the sharp, tired angles of my face, worn down by years of managing a high-society marriage. Suddenly, all the puzzle pieces snapped together. He didn’t fall in love with someone else. He fell in love with the ghost of my youth. And the current version of me? I was just an outdated model. A liability waiting to be liquidated. My chest felt like it had been ripped open. I was bleeding out on the hardwood floor. Swallowing the nausea, I scrolled further down the file. The dossier meticulously tracked every dollar of Stephen’s “sponsorship.” It wasn’t just tuition and meal plans. There were receipts for limited-edition Chanel bags, haute couture dresses, and the deed to a luxury penthouse in the arts district. The total expenditure was ten times the amount he had given me for our household budget over our entire five-year marriage. He made me account for every single dollar I spent on groceries. He audited my life. But he was bleeding millions for another girl without batting an eye. A laugh bubbled up in my throat. I laughed until I was gasping for air, the tears hot and heavy on my cheeks. I closed the file, grabbed my car keys, and drove straight to Stephen’s corporate headquarters. Inside his private executive suite, there was a locked drawer in his mahogany desk. I had known about it for years, but I never once tried to open it. I thought it was his boundary. The last shred of privacy a ruthless businessman needed to stay sane. Looking back, my respect for his boundaries was just pure delusion. I called a discreet locksmith and had the drawer popped open in minutes. There were no classified merger documents inside. No corporate espionage files. There was just a smartphone. The exact same model I had bought for his birthday. My heart hammered against my ribs. I typed in his birthdate. The phone unlocked. The wallpaper hit me like a physical blow. It was Willow, smiling brightly in that damn sunflower field. There was only one contact saved in the messaging app. The name was just “My Willow.” The chat history dated back four years. It was a daily, unbroken stream of consciousness. “Mr. S, I got the Dean’s List! Let me buy you dinner?” “Keep your money. If you want something, just put it on the black card.” “Mr. S, I miss you.” “I know.” “Mr. S, all my roommates went home with their boyfriends for the holidays. I feel so alone.” “Send me your live location.” I scrolled down. My eyes locked onto a screenshot of a digital boarding pass. Departure: Our city. Destination: The college town. Date: Our wedding anniversary. Every single one of his curt, stingy text replies was backed up by immediate, overwhelming financial and physical devotion. But when it came to me? His vocabulary was limited to “No time,” “In a meeting,” and “Stop nagging.” I tapped into the photo gallery. It was a shrine to Willow. Candid shots, coffee shop dates, late-night study sessions. Every image was saturated with the glow of youth. The most recent photo was taken yesterday. Willow was standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror, draped in a breathtaking, custom white wedding gown. She looked deliriously happy. The caption read: “Mr. S says the second I get my diploma, he’s putting a ring on it.” Yesterday. While I was agonizing over the floral arrangements for his victory dinner, he was playing groom at a bridal boutique. The blood in my veins turned to ice. This wasn’t just an affair. He was plotting a complete hostile takeover of my life. He was going to replace me. My fingers violently trembling, I backed out of the gallery and clicked on a hidden, password-protected folder. I bypassed it using the anniversary date he supposedly forgot. Inside was a perfectly drafted, legally binding divorce agreement. The asset division was crystal clear. I would be walking away with absolutely nothing. An ironclad, scorched-earth expulsion. Every single one of his assets, including the very mansion I was currently living in, was scheduled to be transferred into a trust under the name “Willow.” At the bottom of the last page, Stephen’s signature was slashed across the screen in bold, arrogant ink. The sight of it burned my retinas. The execution date on the contract was exactly one month from today. Our upcoming sixth anniversary. 4 I sat frozen in his leather chair like a marble statue for hours. I didn’t move until the city skyline outside the floor-to-ceiling windows faded from gold to pitch black. Finally, feeling returned to my stiff fingers. I took out my own phone, snapped high-resolution photos of the drafted divorce agreement, and then meticulously locked the drawer back exactly as I found it. I didn’t cry. I didn’t smash his monitors. My chest was a hollowed-out cavern. A dead sea. There is a specific kind of numbness that comes when your heart completely stops fighting. That was where I was. Since he had already paved the road to my ruin, throwing a hysterical fit would only make me look pathetic. But I wasn’t going to let him execute his little exit strategy without a fight. Stephen Croft, you owe me a debt, and I am going to collect it in blood. I didn’t drive back to the empty mansion. Instead, I merged onto the interstate and drove three hours straight to the college town. I needed to see this Willow in the flesh. I needed to see what kind of dark magic she possessed. According to the file, she lived in the luxury penthouse Stephen had bought her. I parked my car across the street from her high-rise and waited in the dark. I sat there from sunset until midnight. Finally, the sleek silhouette of a familiar Bentley pulled up to the curb. Stephen stepped out of the driver’s side. He walked around the hood and opened the passenger door with a gentlemanly grace I hadn’t seen in years. Willow stepped out. She was wearing a stunning white sundress and carrying the latest season Chanel flap bag. She looked radiant. She naturally looped her arm through Stephen’s, stood on her tiptoes, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for today, Mr. S.” Stephen hated being touched in public. He despised PDA. Yet, he didn’t flinch. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he lifted his hand and gently, almost reverently, tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “Get some sleep,” he murmured. His voice carried a warmth I hadn’t heard since our honeymoon. In that split second, a primal urge told me to slam my foot on the gas, T-bone the Bentley, and watch the world burn. But my rational brain slammed the emergency brakes. I watched Stephen get back into his car and drive away. Willow turned and skipped into the lobby of the luxury building. I didn’t follow her. I picked up my phone and dialed a private investigator I kept on retainer for my own business ventures. “Run a deep background check on a man named Victor Blackwood. Real estate magnate operating out of this county.” I hung up, slunk lower into my leather seat, and kept my eyes glued to the lobby entrance. My intuition was screaming at me. Something was profoundly wrong. If Willow was just some poor college student he was keeping on the side, Stephen wouldn’t go to these extremes. Drafting a scorched-earth divorce? Liquidating and transferring his entire portfolio? The risk exposure was astronomical. It defied every fundamental rule of his ruthless business logic. Unless Willow was holding the keys to something much, much bigger. Half an hour later, the headlights of a black Mercedes G-Wagon swept across my windshield. It parked exactly where Stephen’s Bentley had been. A middle-aged man in a tailored suit stepped out and walked directly into the penthouse lobby, swiping his own keycard. My phone buzzed. A secure file dropped into my inbox. It was the dossier on Victor Blackwood. Fifty years old. Real estate titan. Attached was a surveillance photo. It was the exact same man who had just walked into the building. I scrolled down to the family registry section at the bottom of the file. Only child: Daughter. Uses mother’s maiden name. Name: Willow. The inside of my car suddenly felt like a sensory deprivation tank. A bomb detonated in my skull. Willow wasn’t a foster kid! She was the heiress of Stephen’s biggest corporate rival in his latest mega-merger! The viral thank-you letter. The graduation photo. The watch intentionally flashed for the camera… It wasn’t a fairytale romance. It was a meticulously engineered psychological trap! A trap designed exclusively for me. They had studied my marriage. They knew how deeply I craved Stephen’s affection, and how starved I was for his validation. They dropped breadcrumbs, knowing I would follow them, knowing I would completely unravel and initiate a catastrophic fallout with my husband. If we entered a vicious, highly publicized divorce, Stephen’s assets would be frozen in litigation. His cash flow would hemorrhage. Victor Blackwood would swoop in and steal the multi-billion-dollar merger right out from under him. It was a textbook corporate assassination. Cold sweat drenched my spine. My hands were shaking against the steering wheel. I had spent the last twenty-four hours drowning in the agony of a betrayed wife, only to realize I was nothing but a pawn on a billionaire’s chessboard. It was pathetic. It was brilliantly, horrifically pathetic. I slammed the car into drive and ripped the steering wheel hard to the left.

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In my past life, my cousin was brutally bullying an old woman. I stepped in and saved her. As a token of her gratitude, the old woman gave me a seemingly ordinary trinket known as the Siren’s Tear. Riding on the breathtaking, supernatural beauty that pearl granted me, I blew up on social media, became an A-list influencer, and eventually married into one of the country’s wealthiest legacy families. But in this life, my cousin beat me to it. She snatched the Siren’s Tear right out from under me. She smirked, triumphantly declaring that everything that was supposed to be mine would now belong to her. What she didn’t know was that the so-called Siren’s Tear was actually a magnet for pure nightmare. Becoming the flawless, adored darling of the world wasn’t her ticket to paradise. It was the beginning of a very short, very tragic life. 1 When my consciousness slammed back into my eighteen-year-old body, my cousin Jessie was just driving her designer boot into a janitor’s frail ribs. “Are you completely blind? You splashed dirty mop water all over my new skirt! Do you have any idea how much this costs? You couldn’t pay for it if you worked for a hundred years!” It was the exact same scene from my past life. The janitor was a silver-haired older woman. The sharp tip of Jessie’s shoe had caught her shin, and dark blood was welling up from the cut. Terrified of losing her minimum-wage job, the old woman didn’t dare fight back. She just kept her head bowed, muttering apologies in a thick, raspy accent. Jessie let out a disgusted scoff and spun on her heel to leave. In my previous life, I couldn’t stand watching it. I ran to a nearby drugstore, bought antiseptic wipes and bandages, and even grabbed a hot coffee for the old woman. After I handed those over, she wiped her teary eyes, called me a sweet girl, and dug into her faded uniform pocket to pull out a single bead. It was a mesmerizing, iridescent thing, but the material felt cheap. It looked like glass or resin, something you could buy a handful of for a few bucks at a flea market. “This is the Siren’s Tear,” the old woman had whispered. “Once it claims you as its master, you will become the most beautiful woman to ever walk this earth.” Back then, I thought she was just an eccentric lady telling fairy tales. But after that day, I began to bloom. It wasn’t a sudden, drastic plastic-surgery change. My bone structure stayed the same, but my features grew impossibly refined. My skin turned to flawless porcelain, my hair thickened into a cascade of midnight silk. Everyone who looked at me said I possessed an ethereal, intoxicating aura. Soon after, a few casual selfies went viral, and I skyrocketed to the top of the influencer food chain. Luxury brands begged me to be their ambassador, big-shot directors offered me leading roles, and trust-fund billionaires threw mansions and sports cars at my feet just to win a single smile from me. I never expected to open my eyes and find myself back at the exact moment the janitor was bleeding on the mall floor. Only this time, after kicking the old woman, Jessie froze. She whipped her head around, her eyes wide with a mix of utter shock and manic ecstasy. My stomach dropped. She had been reborn, too. Suddenly, Jessie swallowed her arrogant sneer. She practically scrambled to help the old woman up, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered on her face. “Oh my god, ma’am, I am so, so sorry! It was a total accident,” she cooed. “Are you thirsty? Are you hungry? I have a fresh artisanal pastry right here in my bag, please take it!” The old woman kept her head down, completely ignoring Jessie’s frantic brown-nosing, and tried to limp away. Seeing that the nice act wasn’t working, Jessie immediately dropped the facade. She snapped her fingers. The two high school boys who had been carrying her shopping bags instantly stepped up, grabbing the old woman by both arms and pinning her in place. I watched as Jessie aggressively dug her manicured hands into the janitor’s pockets until she found that iridescent bead. I took a step forward to stop her, but the two boys immediately blocked my path, puffing out their chests. With a wicked grin, Jessie slipped the pearl onto her wrist using a piece of string. The glass bead emitted a brief, blinding pulse of light before dimming back to normal. It had bonded with its new master. Jessie strutted over to me, her face flushed with the ultimate victory. “Well, Sydney, looks like the golden ticket is mine this time. Let’s see how you compete with me now.” 2 Jessie and I were technically cousins, but we grew up under the same roof. After my parents passed away in a car crash, my Uncle Robert and Aunt Martha only took me in because they didn’t want the rest of the family gossiping about them. Growing up, Jessie hated my guts. I always got higher grades, I was better at piano and art, and during parent-teacher conferences, the teachers praised my intelligence while subtly hinting at Jessie’s lack of focus. Jessie’s only weapon was her looks. I was aggressively average. I hid my face behind thick, heavy black frames and wore baggy hoodies. Jessie, on the other hand, was the undisputed queen bee of our grade. She obsessed over makeup and fashion, shining like a diamond among the drab, exhausted student body. Whenever the extended family got together for Thanksgiving, the nosy aunts would always point at us and laugh. “Our Sydney is going to be a hard worker, but our Jessie? Jessie is going to marry rich.” Every time she heard that, a smug little smile would tug at the corners of Jessie’s lips. To her, busting your ass for a paycheck was for losers. Marrying into billions was the real flex. So when I, the ugly duckling, stumbled upon the Siren’s Tear and transformed into a world-class beauty who could print money just by looking at a camera, Jessie absolutely lost her mind. I had become an untouchable goddess, existing in a realm a regular pretty girl like her could never even dream of reaching. I don’t know if she made a deal with the devil or found some dark glitch in the universe, but she managed to drag us both back to our senior year of high school. This time, with the pearl on her wrist, Jessie’s transformation began almost immediately. When we returned to school after the winter break, every eye in the hallway tracked her every move. Her skin was luminous. Her dark hair flowed like spun silk, and her eyes held a misty, seductive depth. When the sunlight hit her just right, she looked like a masterpiece painted by a Renaissance master. You could practically hear the hearts of every boy in school flatlining. They swarmed her like bees to honey. Some offered to carry her books, others ran to buy her iced lattes, begging to save her a seat in the cafeteria. Jessie soaked up the attention with soft, teasing laughs. Then, she parted the sea of boys and walked right up to my locker. She slung an arm over my shoulder, leaning in close so only I could hear. “I remember every single one of these guys begging for your number in our past life. How does it feel, Syd? Break’s over, you don’t have your little magic pearl, and you’re right back to being the pathetic, unloved ugly duckling.” I adjusted my thick, black-rimmed glasses and looked at her with a deadpan expression. “Having a horde of desperate stalkers isn’t exactly the flex you think it is, Jessie.” Jessie had been waiting to see me cry, to see me crushed. When my words hit her, her smile vanished. She took a step back, her eyes narrowing as she studied me. A second later, a malicious spark ignited in her gaze. Without warning, she threw herself backward. She tumbled down the short flight of stairs behind her, hitting the linoleum floor with a loud thud. Before anyone could process what happened, Jessie grabbed her ankle, tears streaming down her flawless cheeks. “Sydney, I’m so sorry! I know you’re mad that the choir teacher gave me the solo instead of you, but I swear I didn’t ask for it! You didn’t have to push me!” It took me a second to realize what she was talking about. I had been the lead soloist for the winter concert, but when the principal found out local politicians were attending, the choir director quietly replaced me with Jessie. He had pulled me aside, looking genuinely guilty. “Sydney, your voice is miles better, but we need stage presence. Jessie just… looks the part for the front row.” I hadn’t cared. Honestly, less rehearsal time for me. But Jessie had logged it into her mental ledger as a massive victory over me. Right now, she was sitting in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs, looking fragile, delicate, and devastatingly beautiful. A crowd was already forming. With her slender hands clutching her ankle, her brows knitted in pain, and a single tear clinging perfectly to her long lashes, she looked like a fallen angel. The murmurs in the crowd quickly turned into daggers aimed at me. “What the hell, Sydney? If you’re bitter about the solo, go cry to the teacher. Why assault Jessie?” “Did you think breaking her ankle would magically put you back on stage?” “She’s always been an arrogant know-it-all. God forbid someone gets something instead of her.” The venomous whispers echoed in the stairwell. Jessie looked up at me with those big, tear-filled eyes. If beautiful people were the main characters of the universe, then these bystanders were just mindless NPCs programmed to defend her. Suddenly, the crowd parted. Danny, the star quarterback, stepped through. Danny was the boy Jessie had been obsessively crushing on since freshman year. But he was notorious for being cold and unattainable. Jessie had slipped love letters into his locker three times, and he had thrown every single one in the trash. Yet, in my past life, after the Siren’s Tear changed me, this exact same icy untouchable boy had shown up at my door with a birthday cake, nervously asking if I would wear his jersey to the Friday night game. It was the ultimate humiliation that had driven Jessie insane with jealousy. But right now, the boy who once swore he’d love me forever shot me a look of pure, unadulterated disgust. He knelt down, scooped Jessie up into his arms in a bridal carry, and held her tight against his chest. “I’m taking you to the nurse,” he said softly. The entire hallway erupted in dramatic swoons and cheers, eating up the high-school movie moment. Jessie’s face flushed a deep, pretty pink. The blush made her look even more radiant. She buried her face into Danny’s chest, throwing a triumphant, mocking glance at me over his shoulder. As Danny carried her away and the crowd dispersed, I stood alone in the hallway. Honestly, I had considered warning her about the pearl. I wanted to tell her that the Siren’s Tear wasn’t a blessing. It was a curse wrapped in a pretty bow. Whatever worldly benefits it gave you through beauty, it demanded back a tenfold price in blood and terror. If Jessie hadn’t dragged us back in time, there was a very real chance my past life would have ended with me brutally murdered on a private island. But watching her giggle in Danny’s arms, I swallowed my warning. Karma had set the table. Let her eat what she served. 3 Truthfully, I loved my life without the magic pearl. In my past life, the intoxicating rush of sudden fame completely derailed me. I drowned in the glitz and glamour of being a mega-influencer, and my grades flatlined. Uncle Robert and Aunt Martha, smelling the cash, pressured me to monetize my face immediately. They signed me up for endless brand deals, forcing me to hustle from one exhausting photo shoot to another. Billionaires invited me to their exclusive private dinners, treating me like a shiny new hood ornament to show off to their business partners. Looking back, the nights I spent draped in couture, stepping out of limos into VIP lounges, must have made Jessie want to claw her own skin off. She used to stay up until 3 AM reading the millions of comments worshipping my “god-tier genetics,” wishing she had been the one to help that dirty old janitor. But she didn’t know the reality of that life. I bombed my SATs. Uncle Robert told me college was a waste of time when I was already making millions. The grueling schedules and the internet trolls spreading vicious, fabricated rumors about my sex life destroyed my mental health. I relied on heavier and heavier prescription pills just to sleep for four hours. At those exclusive dinners, middle-aged CEOs made a game out of getting me blackout drunk, waiting until I was too dizzy to push their sweaty hands off my thighs. An Oscar-winning director sent me a script for a blockbuster movie, but folded inside the pages was the keycard to his hotel room. My aunt and uncle knew exactly what it meant, yet they pushed me to go. They even considered slipping something into my drink to make me compliant. Jessie knew none of this. She was too busy swiping my credit card, living like a royal in the Beverly Hills mansion I bought, whining about how unfair it was that I was the famous one. This time, I refused to let history repeat itself. I realized the hard way that beauty without power is just bait in shark-infested waters. But real knowledge? A degree? Skills? That was armor no one could strip away. So, I buried myself in my textbooks. Without photo shoots and stalkers distracting me, my intellect sharpened into a weapon. A week later, at the winter concert, Jessie stood center stage in a stunning white tulle dress. Under the soft blue spotlights, she looked like a pristine white swan gliding over a lake. She couldn’t hit a high note to save her life, so the choir director had secretly pre-recorded my voice and let her lip-sync. She had even wrapped a thick, dramatic bandage around her perfectly fine ankle, making sure to limp tragically when she bowed. What’s more captivating than a beautiful swan? A beautiful, wounded swan. The school was completely under her spell, which meant the hostility toward me reached a fever pitch. Jessie struck while the iron was hot. She began leaking little sob stories to her orbiters. She claimed I was pathologically jealous of her looks, constantly lying to our aunt and uncle to get her grounded. She blamed her failing grades on me, telling people I deliberately gave her the wrong study guides. After her tearful confessions, she would always add, “But please don’t be mean to Sydney. She’s my cousin. I forgive her.” It was a masterclass in manipulation. The boys’ protective instincts went into overdrive. They became crusaders for their fragile, innocent goddess, determined to punish the wicked witch. Thumbtacks and dead insects started appearing in my locker. I came back from the bathroom to find my backpack thrown out a third-story window. Someone spray-painted “SYDNEY IS A DIRTY TRAMP” in neon red letters on the brick wall by the gym. Whoever bullied me the most got the ultimate reward: a soft, teary-eyed smile from Jessie and a whispered, “Thank you for protecting me. You’re so brave.” When no one was looking, she’d turn to me with a wicked smirk. “Look at that, Syd. I don’t even have to lift a finger to ruin your life.” Of all my tormentors, Danny was the most vicious. In my past life, I had asked him what he liked about me. He had looked me dead in the eye and said, “I love everything about you, Sydney. Your brain, your humor, your kindness. Everything.” He never mentioned my looks. Now, my brain, humor, and kindness were exactly the same. Yet Danny ordered his football buddies to shove me onto the wet tiles of the locker room. He stepped on my hand with his heavy cleats, grinding down hard. “If I hear you even look at Jessie the wrong way,” he growled, “I’ll snap your fingers.” Through the blinding pain, a dark, cynical laugh forced its way out of my throat. “Do you really love her, Danny?” He blinked, thrown off by the question, before sneering. “Obviously.” “What do you love about her?” He paused, then echoed his words from another lifetime. “I love everything about her.” I laughed so hard tears pricked my eyes. Oh, Jessie. Beauty is the ultimate blindfold. Whoever wears it can never see the world for what it truly is. When I got home that day, Jessie noticed my bruised, swollen hand. She sipped her green juice and smiled. “How does it feel? You were so in love with Danny in the last life. Getting stabbed in the back by your soulmate… hurts, doesn’t it? Tell me all about it.” She was starving for my misery to validate her choices. I didn’t say a word. I just dropped my gaze to the pearl resting on her wrist. She noticed my stare and yanked her arm back. “Don’t even think about stealing it. You know damn well it won’t work.” I knew. Once the Siren’s Tear bonded, it was locked to the host’s soul. I knew this because Jessie had tried to steal it from me in the past life. She had drugged me, cut the string, and taken it, but the moment she walked out the door, the pearl materialized right back on my wrist. But I didn’t want it back. I was looking at the mesmerizing, swirling colors inside the glass. A faint, jagged black vein had appeared in the center of the bead. It was the mark of the curse, the physical manifestation of impending doom. And it was getting darker by the day. Jessie followed me up the stairs, still taunting me, right up until I pulled an envelope out of my battered backpack. It bore the crest of Columbia University. In my past life, I never made it to college. This time, my early acceptance letter was in my hands. “Oh, look at that,” Jessie scoffed, though a flicker of annoyance crossed her eyes. “Going to an Ivy League. I guess without your magic cheat code, you have to grind yourself to the bone just to end up as some corporate drone making a flat salary. I’ll make your yearly income in one sponsored post.” Jessie was desperate to be famous. Her big break came sooner than expected. The school was filming a promotional video, and the principal, still mesmerized by her concert performance, personally selected her as the lead. In the video, Jessie wore a simple varsity jacket, her hair tied back in a messy ponytail. But her devastating, unearthly beauty pierced right through the screen. She looked like the purest, most unattainable fantasy of youth. The video hit TikTok and YouTube. It exploded. Overnight, she was crowned the internet’s newest “It Girl,” gaining millions of followers in a matter of days. Agents, talent scouts, Hollywood producers, and luxury brands flooded her DMs. Jessie eagerly dove headfirst into the life I had lived. But she quickly hit a brick wall: the reality of the work. To shoot a high-end commercial, she had to stand in six-inch stilettos for fourteen hours straight under blistering studio lights, holding a frozen smile while a director yelled at her. Movie sets were worse. Being forced into freezing water tanks while on her period was the baseline. Creepy producers cornered her in trailers, heavily implying that her career would disappear if she didn’t sleep with them. For someone determined to build an empire, this was just the price of admission. But Jessie refused to suffer. In her mind, a true beauty was meant to be pampered, kept in a velvet box, and fed peeled grapes. She broke down crying to Aunt Martha and Uncle Robert. “Working hard is for losers. I don’t want to do this anymore! Why should I kill myself working when I can use this fame to catch a billionaire?” Since Jessie was their biological daughter, they didn’t treat her like the cash cow they had turned me into. They stroked her hair and fully supported her plan. Jessie began meticulously filtering through her wealthy suitors. A high school star like Danny was practically a peasant to her now. She was fending off advances from platinum-selling artists, tech CEOs, and old-money aristocrats. I already knew exactly who she was going to pick. Sure enough, weeks later, the tabloids exploded with leaked paparazzi footage of Jessie dining with Preston Kensington, the second son of the notoriously powerful Kensington empire. In the video, Preston—usually known for his icy, ruthless corporate persona—was practically a golden retriever around her. He opened her car door, draped his bespoke suit jacket over her shoulders, and held her hand as they walked into a Michelin-starred restaurant, gazing at her like she was the only woman on earth. At that exact moment, I was sitting in a quiet, sunlit library at Columbia University, scrolling through the article on my laptop. A group of girls at the next table were whispering excitedly. “Oh my god, Preston Kensington. He’s literally American royalty. Yale grad, trust fund baby. Jessie is living the dream.” One girl rolled her eyes. “She’s just an Instagram model with a pretty face. No way a Kensington actually puts a ring on that.” Another quickly shot back, “Are you blind? Look at her! Men would start wars for a face like that.” I closed my laptop. People were so delightfully naive. In my past life, I was the one holding Preston Kensington’s hand. The day our relationship went public, Jessie locked herself in her room and smashed every mirror, perfume bottle, and piece of electronics she owned. She felt she had definitively lost. No matter what she did, she could never marry a man more powerful than Preston. The old family prophecy—that she would marry rich while I worked hard—felt like a cruel joke. It was during my romantic “getaway” with Preston that Jessie somehow found the loophole to rewind time. … Even though Jessie had been nothing but a nightmare to me, I genuinely owed her a massive thank you. Because if she hadn’t reset the timeline, I would have died a horrific, bloody death at Preston’s hands on a private island in the Caribbean. … Because of that unintentional rescue, I decided to give her one final warning. During the summer break, as Jessie was excitedly packing her Louis Vuitton trunks to move into Preston’s cliffside mansion, I leaned against her doorframe. “Rich people don’t get rich by being stupid, Jessie,” I said quietly. “At their level of power, beauty isn’t a scarce resource. They can buy any model on earth. Think about it for a second—why would Preston Kensington actually marry you?” The words barely left my mouth before—smack! Jessie slapped me so hard my glasses flew off my face. “Who the hell do you think you are, Sydney?” she shrieked, her face twisted in ugly rage. “Are you implying I’m not good enough for him? You’re just sick to your stomach because I’m getting the billionaire and you’re getting a student loan!” I rubbed my stinging cheek. I wanted to tell her that Preston never planned on marrying me, either. In my past life, I always had a gut feeling something was off about him. But his family’s conglomerate owned the parent companies of half my brand deals. If I dumped him, my career was over. So, when he asked me to fly to his private island in the Caribbean for a “romantic vacation and exclusive photoshoot,” I went. By the time the alarm bells in my head got loud enough for me to try and run, it was too late. A needle plunged into my neck. I woke up strapped to an altar in a damp, stone cellar under the island estate. I was stripped bare, surrounded by chanting figures in robes. …

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A notification suddenly popped up in the class group chat. It was a photo. It was a shot of me bending over to tie my shoelaces in the girls’ locker room. My collar hung loose, exposing my chest. The camera angle was deliberate, predatory, and impossible to mistake. The sender was my cousin, Sophie. Her caption was a single word. “Guess.” Every phone in the classroom vibrated in unison. Forty-something heads snapped up, their eyes locking onto me. I looked down at my own screen just as Sophie sent a follow-up message beneath the photo. “Oops, my hand slipped~” That little tilde felt like a twisted blade sliding straight into my ribs. I would soon find out that my sweet little cousin had created five separate group chats. There were 187 people in them. She had distributed over five hundred invasive photos of me. She lived in the apartment building directly across from mine. Her balcony faced my bedroom window perfectly. It took me exactly three months to send all of those people straight to a jail cell or a courtroom. That included my childhood best friend, a boy I had known for fifteen years. I did it because my grandpa, a tough-as-nails combat veteran, taught me a golden rule when I was a kid. He told me that taking a hit in life was fine, but you never, ever swallow their garbage in silence. 1 The photo sat there on the screen. I took a bite of my breakfast sandwich, looking down at the display. It was me. Last week, in the gym locker room. The angle was perfectly calculated to show as much skin as possible without showing my face. The caption read. “Guess who this is :)” That little smiley face was dripping with venom. Every phone in the room buzzed. Forty-something teenagers looked at their screens, then slowly looked up at me. It was like a synchronized military drill. Everyone was staring. Before I could even react, the second message popped up. “Riley, I’m so sorry, my hand slipped~” She actually used the tilde. Sophie. I chewed the rest of my bacon and egg sandwich and swallowed. It was from Mrs. Gable’s bakery down on Main Street, perfectly toasted on the outside and soft on the inside, the savory grease melting beautifully on my tongue. My mom always said this was my fatal flaw. Even if the sky was falling, I had to finish my food first. I set down my napkin and picked up the unopened bottle of spring water from my desk. “Sophie.” She was sitting in the third row. She tilted her head, her eyes curving into sweet little crescents. She looked innocent enough to win an Oscar. “Riley, I swear I didn’t mean to…” The entire classroom went dead silent the second the water crashed down over her head. The silence was absolute. It was like an abandoned alleyway in Old Town at two in the morning. You couldn’t even hear a pin drop. The water washed away the makeup she had spent half an hour applying, turning her face into a muddy watercolor palette. Black eyeliner streamed down her cheeks, her foundation patched and peeled, and one of her fake eyelashes hung precariously off her eyelid, trembling. Her “sweet peach” persona completely dissolved into the puddle on the floor. “Ahhhhh!” she shrieked, her voice pitching high enough to shatter the classroom windows. “Riley, are you insane?!” “Not insane.” I slammed the empty plastic bottle onto the desk. “Just helping you wash your mouth out.” “You… you…” “I’m not great with words,” I said, wiping my hands on my jeans. “But I have great aim.” A few guys in the back row erupted into laughter. Someone yelled out to Sophie to calm down, another whistled, and a few kids were literally slapping their desks in hysterics. Sophie’s eyes went red. Her lips trembled. “I was just playing a joke! If you had a problem, you could have just talked to me! Did you really have to humiliate me in front of the whole class?!” I knew this routine by heart. Provoke, play the victim, and then flip the blame. The desperate influencers hawking cheap detox teas down by the historic botanical gardens had worse acting skills than her. “A joke?” I took a step forward. She instinctively flinched backward. “Sophie, we’ve known each other for exactly three days since you transferred here, and we’ve spoken maybe ten sentences. What part of my personality made you think I’m the kind of person who enjoys being the punchline of a joke?” She opened her mouth but nothing came out. I shifted my gaze to the window seat in the front row. Tyler. I had known him for fifteen years. We practically grew up in the dirt behind the Old Town apartments. We tested into Westside High together and ended up in the same homeroom. He was athletic, possessed a sharp jawline, and half the girls in our grade worshipped him as the untouchable varsity star. Whenever anyone picked on me, he was always the first to stand up. Back in freshman year, a guy threw my backpack into the girls’ bathroom. Tyler chased him down three blocks, pinned him against the brick wall outside the downtown promenade, and forced him to apologize to my face. But this time, he didn’t move. He just sat there, his back to me, his shoulders rigid like a stone statue. I stared at the back of his head for five long seconds. He didn’t turn around. Fine. What was that internet quote? Rely on a man, and you’ll be miserable for a lifetime. I pulled my gaze away and turned to head back to my desk. That was when Tyler finally stood up. He walked over to me. His lips parted, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Riley.” His voice was low, almost a whisper. “She just transferred here. She doesn’t know any better. Just… let it go. For my sake.” I blinked. And then I laughed. “For your sake?” I looked dead into his eyes. “Tyler, what exactly is your pride worth? Ground beef is five bucks a pound down at the local butcher. Can I trade your pride in for a couple of steaks?” The classroom roared with laughter. Tyler’s face cycled through shades of red and white, changing colors faster than a traffic light. I ignored him, bent down, and picked up a printed copy of the photo someone had dropped. I folded it neatly and shoved it into my pocket. Then I looked up and addressed the entire room. “If anyone took a picture or recorded a video of what just happened, do me a favor and send it to me. I want to keep it for my memoirs.” Harper, my desk mate since freshman year, was the first to start clapping and laughing. The laughter spread until even the guys in the back row couldn’t hold it in. I sat back down and pulled my textbook out of my bag. My palms were slightly damp. Not from the heat. It was the adrenaline. My hands were still shaking from gripping that plastic bottle. I remembered Grandpa’s words. He was the one who taught me how to throw a proper punch. His first lesson was simple. “Riley, taking a hit is fine, but you never swallow their garbage.” I wiped the sweat from my palms onto my jeans. After school, Sophie cornered me in the hallway. She had changed her clothes and redone her makeup, slipping right back into her sweet little “sunshine” routine. But her eyes were totally different. I had seen that look before. It was the look the feral cats in our neighborhood got right before they pounced on a sparrow. “Riley.” She stepped uncomfortably close, her voice sickeningly sweet. “Do you know what happened to the last girl who got a photo of herself sent to a group chat? She cried way harder than you did. She got on her knees and begged me. She begged for three straight days. And do you want to guess what I did? I recorded her begging on her knees and sent it to the entire school.” The corners of her mouth twitched upward as she spoke. It wasn’t a smile. She was actually getting off on the memory. I clenched my fists. My fingernails bit into my palms, sending sharp spikes of pain through my skin. But I didn’t move. She tilted her head, studying me like a fascinating insect pinned to a board. “Aren’t you curious who she was?” “No.” “She was from Seattle. We went to the same school,” Sophie hummed. “I heard she dropped out. They say she’s still in intensive therapy.” She let out a soft sigh, as if she were lamenting a rainy Tuesday. “Honestly, I didn’t want it to go that far. But she insisted on fighting me. When she realized she couldn’t win, she cried. When crying didn’t work, she snitched to the teachers. Tell me, doesn’t someone like that deserve exactly what she gets?” I stared at her. “Sophie, does your mother know you act like a psychopath at school?” She blinked, surprised, and then a genuine laugh bubbled from her throat. “My mom? My mom is the one who taught me. She said, whoever blocks your path, you destroy them.” A cold chill crawled up my spine. It wasn’t fear. It was the sudden, horrifying realization that she wasn’t just naturally cruel. She had been meticulously programmed to be a monster. And that was infinitely more terrifying. She patted my shoulder, playing the role of the loving cousin. “See you tomorrow, Riley.” She spun on her heel and pranced away, her twin ponytails bouncing. I stood rooted to the linoleum floor, watching her disappear around the corner. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Harper. “Riley, check the class chat now!” I opened the app. Sophie had sent another photo. It wasn’t of me. It was a screenshot of a handwritten diary page from some anonymous girl. A single line was circled in bright red digital ink. “I hate her, but I hate myself even more.” The caption read. “Guess whose diary this is :)” That same twisted smiley face. I stared at the glowing screen, my fingers turning ice cold. I closed the chat and immediately texted my cousin, Alex. He was a junior at MIT majoring in computer science. He and his frat brothers were the ones who actually coded our high school’s alumni forum years ago. “Alex, I need you to run a deep background check on someone for me.” “Who?” “Sophie. Aunt Brenda’s daughter.” He sent a string of question marks. “Aunt Brenda’s kid? Isn’t she your cousin?” “Yeah.” “What did she do?” “She set up a group chat specifically to distribute creepshots of me.” He went totally silent for a few seconds. When he replied, it was a voice memo. His usual playful tone was completely gone. “Send me everything you have. IP addresses, group IDs, screenshots. I’m on it.” I forwarded him every single screenshot I had saved from the morning. I stood in the empty hallway, looking out the window. The October sky over the city was burning a brilliant, bruised orange. A commuter train rattled by in the distance, the metallic clatter carrying on the wind. The night market down on Main Street would be setting up right about now. The smell of roasted garlic and grilled skewers was probably drifting down the block. I suddenly really wanted a hot, fresh slice of pizza. The kind right out of the oven, where the cheese burns the roof of your mouth. My phone buzzed again. It wasn’t Alex. It was Harper. “Riley, I did some digging. That group chat has 187 people in it. Tyler is one of them.” I stared at that sentence for ten solid seconds. Then I typed. “Send me the screenshot.” She sent the member list. Member number 34. Tyler. His profile picture was a shot of him playing basketball. I recognized it. I was the one who took it during the championship game last year, right after he hit a three-pointer and flashed a peace sign at my camera. I stared at that tiny circle for a very long time. Outside, the sky faded to black. Another commuter train rolled by, the metallic clatter fading into the dark. I shoved my phone into my pocket and walked out to the bike racks. As I rode down Elm Street, the autumn leaves crunched dryly beneath my tires, sounding like shattered glass. I thought of another thing Grandpa used to say. “Riley, the scariest thing in this world isn’t your enemy. It’s the person you thought would never, ever hurt you.” I didn’t understand it back then. I understood it now. When I got home, Mom was buzzing around the kitchen. The rich smell of beef stew filled the apartment. She took one look at me and paused. “Why are you so pale?” “It’s nothing.” “Nothing? You look like a ghost.” I didn’t answer. I kicked off my sneakers, walked into the kitchen, and stood right behind her. She was chopping onions, not even turning her head. “Hungry?” “Yeah.” “Give it a minute. It’s almost done.” “Mom.” “Yeah?” “If someone was bullying me, what would you do?” She put the chef’s knife down and turned to face me. The exhaust fan hummed overhead. The stew bubbled violently in the pot. “Your Grandpa always said, taking a hit is fine, but you never swallow their garbage.” She looked me dead in the eye. “Did you swallow their garbage?” I blinked, and then a slow smile crept onto my face. “No.” “Good.” She turned back to the cutting board and aggressively chopped an onion. “Now eat.” That night, I laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. I couldn’t sleep. My phone screen lit up the dark room. A text from Alex. “Got the IP trace. The admin’s location is in the Old Town grid. Same neighborhood as you.” I sat up. “Sophie lives near me?” “More than near.” He paused before sending the next text. “She lives in the building directly across from yours. Her balcony has a direct line of sight to your bedroom window.” I slowly turned my head toward the glass. The building across the street. Sixth floor. The light was on. There was a silhouette standing completely still behind the sheer curtains. I stared at that shadow for a long time. She didn’t move. I didn’t move. Then, my phone vibrated in my palm. Class group chat. Sophie. “Good night, Riley~ See you tomorrow :)” The tilde. Always that damn tilde. I placed my phone face down on the mattress and closed my eyes. Grandpa, you taught me that when something is unforgivable, you fight back. Tomorrow, I’m going to show you a war. 2 When I parked my bike at the school gates the next morning, the atmosphere felt toxic. It wasn’t the usual quiet chatter. It was the suffocating silence of a bomb waiting to go off. Harper was waiting for me by the entrance. The second she saw me, she practically tackled me, shoving her phone into my face. “Riley! You need to look at the school forum right now!” The pinned post at the top of the feed read: Riley’s Secret Menu at the Family Diner. I scrolled down. The post was a meticulously crafted fiction, claiming my family’s diner offered “special favors” after hours, and that I was the “star attraction.” It even included a photo of me working the cash register, heavily edited with a sleazy, neon-pink filter to make it look like a cheap escort ad. The comment section was an absolute dumpster fire. “No wonder she always wears tight shirts.” “That side of Old Town is sketchy anyway, I’m not surprised.” “She looks exactly like the kind of trash who’d do that for money.” I scrolled through the comments one by one. My knuckles turned white from gripping the phone. Harper’s eyes were red with fury. “How can they say this?! It’s entirely fabricated!” I didn’t say a word. Because I noticed a very specific detail. The original photo of me at the cash register was from a post I made on Instagram last week. It was locked to close friends only. That meant whoever posted it was on my friends list. I clicked on the original poster’s profile. It was a burner account, zero history. But thanks to the trick Alex taught me last night, I pulled the IP metadata. It matched the Old Town broadband network. Sophie’s house. “It’s fine,” I said, handing the phone back to Harper. “Let’s go to class.” “Fine?! They’re calling you a literal prostitute, and you say it’s fine?!” “If anyone is going to be in trouble over this, it’s them.” I pushed my bike toward the racks. “I didn’t invent the lies, so why should I panic?” Harper froze, then jogged to catch up with me. “What are you going to do?” “Go to first period. What else?” I didn’t hear a single word the teacher said all morning. I wasn’t panicking. I was just trying to solve a puzzle in my head. Why was Sophie doing this? Why did she harbor this deep, psychotic hatred for me? Was it just because our grandfather left a slightly larger chunk of the inheritance to my dad? I dug through my childhood memories. Sophie used to come to our apartment when we were little. She wore her hair in cute little buns and chased me around calling me her big sister. My mom used to peel shrimp for her at dinner, and she would eat until her face was covered in grease, smiling so hard her eyes vanished. She didn’t look like a psychopath back then. When did the switch flip? Probably the year Grandpa died. At the funeral, Aunt Brenda shattered a glass on the floor in front of the entire family. She pointed a shaking finger at my dad and screamed, “Dad was a biased old fool! Why do you get the lion’s share? Is my daughter not his grandchild too?!” Sophie had stood behind her mother, her head bowed, totally silent. I had tried to hold her hand that day. She violently yanked it away. She never called me her big sister again. During lunch, Brooke walked over to my table. She was in the grade below me, the head of the student council’s disciplinary committee, and notorious for taking zero prisoners. Rumor had it a senior tried to cut the lunch line last semester, and she literally picked up his tray and walked away with it, telling him to learn how a queue worked. “Riley.” She dropped into the plastic chair across from me. “Did you see that trash on the forum?” “I saw it.” “Do you know who posted it?” “Sophie.” She blinked, surprised. “Are you absolutely sure?” “I’m sure.” Brooke pulled her phone from her pocket and pulled up a massive file of screenshots. “My cousin sent me these. She lives in Seattle. She was best friends with Sophie’s last victim.” I took the phone. The screenshots showed a locked cloud drive titled The Collection. Inside were dozens of folders filled with invasive photos of different girls, screenshots of desperate text messages, and photos of stolen diary pages. “Sophie ruined three girls in Seattle,” Brooke said, dropping her voice. “The first one transferred out of state. The second developed severe depression and dropped out entirely. The third is the one who wrote the diary. She’s still a complete wreck.” I scrolled through the terrifying digital trophy room, a cold numbness spreading through my chest. “She keeps this cloud drive to catalog her victims. She scrolls through it late at night, like someone looking at a family photo album,” Brooke said grimly. “My cousin said Sophie isn’t right in the head. She’s a sadist. She physically gets off on destroying people.” I handed the phone back. “Why are you helping me?” Brooke looked me dead in the eye. “Because my cousin told me the girl who dropped out is still in intensive therapy. She wakes up screaming from nightmares about Sophie’s face. I refuse to sit back and watch you become another casualty.” I let the silence hang for a moment. “I won’t be a casualty.” “I know,” she said, standing up. “But when you need an army, you call me.” She took three steps, then turned back around. “Oh, by the way. That forum post dragging your name? I already had my cousin forward the screenshots to the Seattle alumni groups. People over there are going to find out exactly what Sophie has been up to very shortly.” I stared at her in shock. “When did you do that?” “First period.” She walked away without looking back. “Stop trying to carry the world on your shoulders when people are trying to break your spine.” By first period after lunch, a new post had erupted on the school forum. Sophie, Do You Have the Guts to Tell Us What You Did in Seattle? Brooke didn’t post it. I did. I organized all the screenshots Brooke gave me and laid them out like a prosecutor presenting evidence to a jury. The Collection drive, her expulsion records from Seattle, the testimonies of the three victims. I kept the sensitive details redacted, but the message was devastatingly clear. The comment section immediately violently turned against her. “Holy shit, she’s a serial stalker?” “No wonder she transferred. She was chased out of town.” “What the hell is ‘The Collection’? That is actual serial killer behavior.” “I thought she was a sweet girl, turns out she’s a poisoned apple.” But there were still a few cowards defending her. “Riley is probably no angel either. Why would Sophie only target her?” “Do you have proof for any of this? Spreading rumors is a crime, you know.” “Takes two to tango. Riley definitely provoked her.” Harper was so furious she was ready to wage war in the comments, but I grabbed her wrist. “Ignore them.” “But they’re—” “They don’t matter.” I stared at the screen. “Only one person matters right now.” Sophie. Half an hour after the post went live, she texted me. “Riley, are you investigating me?” Followed by a smiley face. “I’m so scared~ But honestly, what you found is just the tip of the iceberg. I have so many more pieces in my Collection. Do you want to see them?” I took a screenshot of the threat. Then I typed my reply. “The master password to your cloud drive. It’s the anniversary of your dad’s fatal car crash, isn’t it?” She didn’t reply. I had bet everything on that guess, and I won. I didn’t actually know her password, but I knew her father had died in a horrific wreck when she was twelve. It was the deepest, most agonizing wound in her life. It was the one thing she refused to let anyone touch. I touched it. I pressed my thumb right into the wound. She panicked. That was all I needed. After the final bell, I marched straight to Mr. Brown’s office. He was the school counselor and head of discipline. A forty-something, balding man with a beer belly that looked like he was six months pregnant. His greatest talent in life was sweeping problems under the rug. If kids got into a fistfight, he blamed both of them. If a girl got harassed, he told her to “dress more modestly.” I blocked the doorway to his office. “Mr. Brown, I need to file a formal report.” He paused mid-sip of his coffee, looking annoyed. “About what?” I shoved my phone in his face, displaying the forum posts and the group chats. “Sophie is spreading malicious sexual rumors about me, distributing unauthorized intimate photos, and operating a cyber-harassment ring involving over a hundred and eighty students.” He set his mug down, frowning heavily. “Students have little disagreements all the time. I’ll pull Sophie in for a chat tomorrow.” “A chat?” “Riley, do not blow this out of proportion. It looks bad for the school’s reputation.” I stared at his shiny, balding forehead. It reminded me of a quote I read online: You can never wake a man who is only pretending to be asleep. “Mr. Brown,” I said, projecting my voice so every single teacher in the faculty lounge could hear me clearly. “I am going to the police station right now. And when the detectives come to this school to investigate a massive digital sex crime, I will tell them that you explicitly instructed me ‘not to blow it out of proportion’.” All the blood drained from his face. A young female teacher sitting at the next desk nervously whispered, “Mr. Brown, this actually sounds incredibly serious…” He shot her a lethal glare, then turned back to me, forcing a plastic, terrified smile. “Riley, you misunderstood me. What I meant was—” “I understood you perfectly.” I spun around and walked out the door. “And the cops will, too.” As I marched down the hallway, I could hear him stammering behind me, “Wait—get back here!” I didn’t stop walking. I left the campus, got on my bike, and rode straight to the local precinct. It was a ten-minute ride. I parked my bike outside and stared at the heavy glass doors for three seconds. The golden badge on the wall gleamed in the late afternoon sun. Grandpa always said, If you’re in real trouble, you find the uniform. The badge hits harder than any fist. Inside the lobby, a young female officer looked up from the front desk, blinking in surprise. “You’re here by yourself?” “Yes.” “What do you need to report?” I slid my phone across the counter. “A student took non-consensual intimate photos of me, built a distribution network of over a hundred and eighty people to share them, and has engaged in severe cyberstalking. She also tracked me to my home address and sent me photos of my mother through my window.” The officer picked up the phone, swiped through a few screenshots, and her entire demeanor shifted. “Wait right here.” She disappeared into the back offices. Five minutes later, a man walked out. He looked to be in his forties, with a square, hardened jawline. He was wearing plainclothes, but he carried himself with the heavy, exhausted authority of a veteran detective. “Riley?” “That’s me.” “Come with me.” I followed him into a cramped interrogation room. He offered me a chair and handed me a paper cup of water. “I’m Higgins. You can call me Officer Higgins.” “Nice to meet you.” He sat across the metal table, studying me. “You came down here alone?” “Yes.” “Do your parents know you’re doing this?” “Yes. My mom told me to come.” He nodded slowly. “Walk me through it. From the beginning.” I laid out the entire timeline. Sophie being my cousin, the bitter family inheritance drama, the three broken girls in Seattle, the twisted Collection drive, the locker room photos in the class chat, the escort rumors on the school forum, and finally, the creepy surveillance photos of my mom in our kitchen. I talked for nearly an hour. Officer Higgins didn’t interrupt once. He just sat there, occasionally scribbling notes on a legal pad. When I finally finished, the room was quiet. He looked up. “Do you have the digital proof for all of this?” “I do.” I unlocked my phone and walked him through the digital graveyard. The IP traces, the server logs, Sophie’s threatening texts, the forum archives, the Seattle chat logs. He looked at every single image meticulously. When he was done, he leaned back. “You’ve got a very smart brother,” he noted. I smiled faintly. “He’s an MIT computer science major.” Higgins nodded approvingly. “You mentioned she had three group chats?” “More than three.” I remembered the data Alex had pulled the night before. “She set up five different encrypted groups across different grade levels. The total member count…” I took a breath. “Is over five hundred people.” Higgins’ pen stopped moving. He slowly looked up at me. The air in the room suddenly felt incredibly heavy. “Over five hundred?” “Yes.” He put the pen down, leaned back in his squeaky chair, and stared at the ceiling for a long time. Then he stood up. “I’m taking this case.” I was stunned. “Just… like that? You’re taking it?” He raised an eyebrow. “What, did you want me to give you the bureaucratic runaround?” “No, no.” I waved my hands quickly. “I just… I didn’t expect it to be this fast.” He let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Kid, do you have any idea what you just dropped on my desk?” “What?” “Cyberstalking, criminal harassment, and the mass distribution of non-consensual intimate imagery involving minors.” He ticked the charges off on his fingers. “With a syndicate of over five hundred participants. This is a severe, high-level privacy violation and digital sex crime.” He looked me dead in the eye. “With a case like this, we should be thanking you for walking through those doors.” Stepping out of the precinct, the late afternoon sun practically blinded me. I stood on the concrete steps, taking a deep breath. The air smelled like exhaust fumes and freedom. My phone buzzed. A text from Harper. “How did it go?” “He took the case.” She replied instantly. “HOLY SHIT! Seriously?!” “Seriously.” She spammed my phone with a dozen firework emojis. Then she sent another text. “Oh, by the way! The video of you verbally destroying Mr. Brown in the faculty lounge got leaked to the forum! The whole school has seen it. The comments are treating you like a god!” I opened the school forum. The pinned post had changed. Riley Destroys Mr. Brown: ‘The Cops Will Hear You Tell Me to Keep Quiet!’ The shaky cell phone video showed me standing in the doorway, while Mr. Brown sat at his desk looking as pale as a ghost. The comment section had done a complete 180. “This girl is an absolute savage!” “Brown finally got checked! So satisfying to watch.” “I stand with Riley. What Sophie did is legitimately evil.” “Where are all the losers who were defending Sophie yesterday? Real quiet now, huh?” I watched the video loop once, then shoved the phone back into my pocket. I unlocked my bike and pedaled toward home. Riding down Elm Street, the autumn wind sent yellow leaves skittering across the pavement. A street vendor was selling hot pretzels on the corner, the smell of warm dough and melted butter filling the street. I pulled over and bought one. I sat on a wooden park bench, tearing off chunks of the steaming pretzel. It was warm. It was perfect. Grandpa was right. Life is like a hot pretzel. It might look twisted and salty on the outside, but if you bite down hard enough, it’s warm and soft on the inside. My phone buzzed. A text from Alex. “I found something else. Sophie didn’t just build five groups. She built a VIP group. Strictly for the most invasive, explicit material.” “How many people?” “Twenty. Handpicked by her. People she trusted to keep their mouths shut.” I chewed a piece of dough slowly. “Tyler is the admin of the VIP group,” Alex’s text read. I stopped chewing. “What did he post?” “Seven messages. The last three were private DMs sent directly to Sophie.” Alex’s digital tone felt heavy. “It was the raw, uncropped photos of you changing in the locker room.” I stared at the empty street in front of me. The commuter train rattled by in the distance. The sunlight reflected off the steel tracks, blindingly bright. A memory flashed in my mind. Tyler, seven years old, grabbing my hand to pull me across this exact street. He had looked back at me and said, Riley, don’t be scared. I’ve got you. His hand had felt so warm back then. Now, there was nothing left but cold, rotten betrayal. “Riley?” Alex called my phone directly, his voice tight. “Are you okay?” “I’m fine.” I tossed the rest of the pretzel into a nearby trash can. “Alex, I need you to do one more thing for me.” “Name it.” “Export every single chat log from that VIP group. Don’t miss a single keystroke.” “Done.” I hung up, got back on my bike, and rode the rest of the way home. The wind whipping past my ears was freezing. But inside my chest, there was a fire burning hot enough to melt steel.

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1 My son had a ceramic piggy bank he had been meticulously filling for almost two years. Ever since he laid eyes on a five-thousand-dollar, limited-edition remote-controlled race car, he refused to spend a single penny of his allowance. To scrounge up extra cash, Darren would even scour the neighborhood after school, collecting discarded aluminum cans to return for the deposit. To support his dedication, I would slip a crisp fifty-dollar bill into the slot every time he brought home straight A’s. As the ceramic bank grew heavier, Darren’s anticipation reached a fever pitch. Finally, on his tenth birthday, the bank was full. Darren threw his arms around my waist, practically vibrating with excitement. “Mom, come on, let’s smash it open together!” But when he happily cracked the ceramic shell with a hammer, the joyful atmosphere instantly evaporated. Instead of five thousand dollars in folded bills, there was nothing but a pathetic pile of nickels and dimes. I immediately reached for my phone to call the police, but my chronically cheap husband stepped right in front of me, grabbing my wrist. “Don’t be embarrassing. You’re going to call the cops over something this stupid?” “It’s a good thing the money is gone anyway! It’ll teach him not to be so greedy and materialistic!” One second, I was completely baffled by his bizarre reaction. The next second, my eyes landed on his childhood friend, Sienna, who was standing by the kitchen island. Wrapped around her wrist was a thick, blindingly new solid gold Cartier bangle. The shattered pieces of the piggy bank were scattered across the hardwood floor. Darren stood frozen in the corner, silent tears streaming down his face. Hearing his own father call him greedy terrified him so much he didn’t even dare to cry out loud. It absolutely shattered my heart. That was his money. He saved it dollar by dollar. He skipped buying ice cream with his friends, dug through recycling bins for two years, and hoarded every cent. I stared at Sienna. She had gotten completely cleaned out in her recent divorce, walking away with zero assets. She was currently living rent-free in a downtown condo I bought before I even met my husband, constantly coming over to our house for free meals. There was no universe where she could afford a solid gold bracelet. “I’m calling the police,” I said, my voice turning to ice. “I don’t want filthy thieves thinking they can walk into my home.” “Five grand is not pocket change, Marcus. Darren bled for that money. I don’t care how much it costs to hire a private investigator, I am getting my son’s money back!” Marcus’s face instantly darkened into a stormy scowl. “Watch your mouth! Who do you think you’re talking to?” “Fine, you want the truth? I took the five grand. Are you happy now?” “Sienna just found out she’s pregnant. I had to get something nice to welcome the baby!” “Instead of blowing that cash on a stupid toy car, Darren can consider it a welcome gift for his new sibling. It builds character. It’ll keep him from growing up into a spoiled brat. I think it’s perfectly fine.” Listening to Marcus justify stealing from his own child made the blood roar in my ears. “You robbed your son’s piggy bank to buy your hometown friend a gold bracelet?” “Do you have any idea how hard he worked for that money? Do you know how many trash cans he dug through to save five thousand dollars?” “Even if you desperately needed to play sugar daddy for your little friend, how dare you steal from your own flesh and blood!” Marcus was a low-level clerk at a logistics firm. He barely cleared four grand a month, yet he had an absolute obsession with playing the big-shot billionaire. When Sienna had nowhere to go after her divorce, Marcus generously waved his hand, evicted my paying tenant without my permission, and moved Sienna into my pre-marital condo. He even paid her monthly utility bills out of his own shallow pockets. When Darren needed fifty bucks for a school field trip, Marcus suddenly had empty pockets. On our wedding anniversary, I was lucky to get a grocery store greeting card. But a luxury gold bangle for another woman? He swiped his card without blinking. If he wanted to play the high roller, fine. But he had absolutely no right to fund his fragile ego with my son’s money! “God, Rachel, why are you being such a tightwad?” Sienna leaned against the counter, inspecting her manicured nails. “Marcus told me you lacked class, but I didn’t want to believe it. Besides, this bracelet isn’t for me. It’s for the baby growing inside me.” “Think of it as Darren buying his future brother or sister a welcome gift. They’ll look out for each other when they grow up. Buying a human sibling for five grand is a way better investment than some cheap plastic race car!” Marcus had looked slightly guilty under my furious glare, but the second Sienna chimed in, his chest puffed out with misplaced pride. “Exactly! I’m doing this for Darren’s own good! You’ve completely spoiled him!” He marched over to the corner, grabbed Darren by the shoulders, and shook him. “Darren, aren’t you being a little too vain?! Wanting a five-thousand-dollar toy! We are a normal, working-class family! Stop acting like you’re some trust fund baby!” Sienna stared Darren down, her heavy black eyeliner making her gaze look venomous. “Darren, you wouldn’t be that selfish, right? This bracelet is for your future sibling. If you act like a selfish little brat, nobody is ever going to love you.” Terrified, my son frantically shook his head, shrinking into himself and staring at the floor. I violently shoved Marcus away and pulled Darren behind me, pointing a shaking finger at my husband. “I don’t care what sick twisted fantasy you have going on with her, but you do not touch my son’s money! I want that exact race car sitting on this dining table by tomorrow evening.” “If it isn’t, I am filing for divorce, and both you and Sienna are getting thrown out of my condo!” Marcus’s face turned purple with rage. He hated that I had humiliated him in front of his precious childhood sweetheart. I grabbed Darren’s hand and dragged him into his bedroom, slamming the door. A perfectly good birthday party, entirely ruined. The next morning, after dropping Darren off at school, I texted Marcus a final warning. If I didn’t see that race car by dinner, we were meeting at the courthouse. By mid-afternoon, I hadn’t received a single text back. Instead, I saw a viral post dominating my social media feed. 2 #DemonChild #HormoneShotSideEffects #SpoiledBratKarma I clicked on the anonymous post. “My hometown guy promised to buy me a solid gold Cartier bangle after my divorce. But his paranoid, lunatic wife threw an absolute fit. She’d rather blow thousands on a remote-controlled car for her brat than let me have the bracelet. She orchestrated a massive screaming match at her kid’s birthday party just to humiliate me.” “I heard that kid was a miracle baby saved by heavy hormone injections. He has zero manners, he’s incredibly stingy, and he cries if you even look at him wrong. He’s honestly acting like a psychopath.” “I woke up with severe stomach cramps at midnight last night. I know that vicious little monster cursed me and my baby. I told my guy I might as well miscarry. The mom pumped herself full of so many stabilization drugs during pregnancy, the kid was born a literal demon.” At the bottom of the screen, the algorithm recommended the author based on my phone contacts. It was Sienna. My entire body started to shake with a blinding, white-hot fury. Anyone in the world could criticize my son, but she was the absolute last person who had the right! When I was eight months pregnant, I woke up with agonizing abdominal pain. I shook Marcus awake, begging him to drive me to the emergency room. Halfway to the hospital, Sienna called him in hysterics. She claimed her husband was beating her and begged Marcus to come save her. “Marcus, please hurry! Rachel just has a little stomach ache, but if you don’t come right now, he’s going to kill me! I’m going to die!” At five in the morning, on a freezing, pitch-black road, Marcus pulled over, forced me out of the car, and told me to call an Uber. By the time the ambulance finally reached me, Darren’s fetal heartbeat had stopped. I fell to my knees in the hospital hallway, sobbing, begging, pressing my forehead against the cold linoleum floor as I pleaded with the doctors to save him. I endured nearly two hundred agonizing progesterone injections and an emergency premature C-section just to bring Darren into the world alive. Marcus didn’t show up until the day after Darren was born. He walked into the maternity ward with a perfectly unharmed Sienna trailing behind him. “Jeez, Rachel, you could have at least texted me that you were going into labor,” Marcus had complained. “Oh my god, why did you take all those hormone shots without asking Marcus first?” Sienna had chimed in. Marcus stared down at Darren in the neonatal incubator, his voice dripping with disgust. “Why did you pump yourself full of those drugs? Sienna said taking too many stabilization shots causes severe brain damage. If he’s defective, we should have just scrapped him and made a new one.” I had lost my mind that day, screaming like a banshee until security dragged them out of my hospital room. If it hadn’t been for Sienna, my Darren would never have been born premature. Thinking about that memory, I quickly swallowed my prescribed blood pressure medication to keep myself from blacking out. I was just about to call Marcus when a video file popped up in our chat. I tapped play. Darren was sitting across from Marcus, his eyes wide with absolute terror. “Darren, I heard you were mad about Auntie Sienna’s bracelet. Did you curse her and her baby to die?!” Tears welled up in Darren’s eyes, but he squeezed them shut, terrified to let them fall. “I didn’t! I didn’t!” “Stop lying! Auntie Sienna heard you whispering yesterday!” “She had to go to the hospital last night because of your evil little curse! What’s next? Are you going to curse me to die too?!” Marcus’s heavy hands clamped down on Darren’s fragile shoulders, digging in hard. Darren sobbed, frantically shaking his head. “Dad, I swear I didn’t.” “So you’re not mad about the bracelet? Do you still want that race car?!” “No, I don’t! I don’t want it! Please, Dad, I don’t want it!” Before the video even finished playing, a text from Marcus chimed through. “Sienna’s stomach was killing her last night. Look at the vicious little monster you raised.” “Consider the toy car his punishment. Besides, he said it out of his own mouth that he doesn’t want it anymore, so you can’t blame me.” He ended the text with a peace-sign emoji. Staring at the pure, unfiltered terror on my son’s face in the video, my grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned white. I was entirely done with this marriage. I immediately contacted a few divorce attorneys. My parents had paid the massive down payment on our primary residence, and I had paid every single mortgage installment. Before I handed him the divorce papers, I was going to liquidate and secure every single asset we owned. I was going to make absolutely sure Marcus walked away with nothing but the lint in his pockets! After finalizing my legal strategy, I drove home. The moment I pushed the front door open, I saw a mountain of fast-food trash piled high on the dining table. Sienna and Marcus were lounging on the sofa, watching a movie. Darren was acting like their personal servant, bringing them water and snacks, not even daring to sit down. He just stood frozen in the corner. “Oh, Rachel, you’re finally home. Hurry up and cook dinner!” Sienna commanded. “Ever since I got pregnant, I’ve been craving sour food. It’s probably a boy. Make me a sour tomato soup, and make sure you peel the tomatoes first!” Marcus casually spat a sunflower seed shell onto the rug. “You take forever to get home from work. We’ve been starving for hours. Don’t think just because you’re some manager at a corporate office that you aren’t still my wife when you walk through that door!” “Hurry up and cook for Sienna. It’s her first pregnancy, she needs to be incredibly careful. She can’t do any heavy lifting!” I let out a dark, cynical laugh, remembering my own pregnancy. When I was six months pregnant, I was drowning in mortgage stress. I worked overtime every single day, and when I got home, I scrubbed the floors and cooked the meals entirely by myself. “When I was pregnant, I don’t remember you being this incredibly considerate.” Marcus rolled his eyes, visibly annoyed. He grabbed a handful of sunflower seeds and threw them at my chest. “Did I force you to do the chores? You chose to do them yourself! It just proves you were born with a maid’s mentality. You literally can’t sit still!” “I ask you to make one simple meal and you give me a lecture. You are so annoying.” So my eight years of grueling sacrifice and endless support were nothing but a “maid’s mentality” to him. There was absolutely zero reason to show this man any mercy. “Sienna,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “You have until tomorrow morning to pack your bags and get out of my condo. I already signed a lease with a new tenant, and they are moving in tomorrow afternoon.”

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