Author: Momo Chan

On our tenth wedding anniversary, my husband took me to see the ocean. We were caught in a maritime disaster. In my dying moments, he used his last bit of strength to hold my hand. “Thank you. I’m so lucky to have you.” Through tears, I squeezed back the hand of my dying husband. A few breaths later, I followed him into death. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my junior year of high school, studying day and night. All so I could go to Harvard with him and make up for the regrets of my past life. At the post-SAT party, he walked toward me holding roses, just like in my previous life. “I want to tell you—I like you.” My heart swelled with sweetness as I stood up, about to say: I like you too. But he walked past me and handed the roses to Mia, who stood beside me. Suddenly, I understood. He had been reborn too. He had always loved Mia. In this life, he wanted a different future. I decided to grant him that wish. When applying to colleges, I chose Stanford University, three thousand miles away from him, to pursue my own dreams.

Everyone in the private room was looking at me. I forced my voice to sound light and natural. “I was just about to say—you came so late, I almost couldn’t help but tell Mia early.” The atmosphere relaxed instantly. Everyone started cheering. “Kiss! Kiss!” Ethan lowered his head, gazing at Mia with tender seriousness. “May I, Mia?” Mia nodded, her joy overflowing. I turned my face away, retreating to a corner, slowly drinking my iced Coke, trying to keep my breathing steady. Someone from the table in front leaned over. “Don’t you like Ethan? You two walk to and from school together every day. Everyone thought you’d end up together.” I forced a smile, acting as naturally as possible. “We’re neighbors, of course we walk together. He’s like my brother.” Even though this “brother” had hooked pinkies with me just yesterday, promising to go to Crystal Lake together. He wanted to make eternal vows under the witness of snow-capped mountains and sacred lakes—promises for this life and the next. I could feel an oppressive gaze falling on me. He wasn’t the eighteen-year-old Ethan whose eyes held only me. He was the forty-eight-year-old Ethan, also reborn. So I instinctively applied the social rules of forty-eight-year-old Rebecca Lynn. As the wife of the CEO of Wright Corporation, no matter how humiliating the situation, I had to maintain dignity first and not affect the company’s stock price. My hand gripping the cup suddenly tightened. I snapped back to reality. Damn it. I’m broke right now. What Wright Corporation stock price? The person in front was about to say more when Ethan walked over with his arm around Mia. He smiled brightly, but his eyes held no warmth when he looked at me. “Becca, from now on, when you see Mia, remember to call her Mia.” “Mia wants to go to Alaska for her graduation trip. I have to go with her. You’ll have to go to the plateau by yourself.” I stared at the rose pinned in Mia’s hair, saying nothing. Mia playfully swatted him, her eyes full of disdain and triumph as she looked at me. “Aren’t you worried about Becca going so far alone?” “How about I introduce her to some of my childhood friends as boyfriends? They’re all rich kids.” Of course she was triumphant. A year ago, she cornered Ethan to confess, but he publicly rejected her, citing his studies. She could see that he and I were always together. She’d planned to come tonight to ruin Ethan’s confession to me. She never expected the confession would suddenly be directed at her instead. What she didn’t know was that in my past life, tonight, she had burned the roses Ethan gave me. If I hadn’t stopped him, the furious Ethan would have nearly slapped her across the face. Later, she pursued Ethan for eight years, only to be coldly rejected each time. I once nestled in his arms and asked: “Mia is so beautiful, and her dad is a major shareholder in your company. Aren’t you even a little tempted?” He snorted. “I can’t afford to mess with that kind of princess.”

Later, he went to Germany on a business trip. The next day, Mia followed him there and was caught in a plane crash. When I heard the news, my heart tightened. I instinctively looked at Ethan. His face was pale. He said nothing. But that night, he cried in his sleep. “If I had said yes to you, you would have flown with me and wouldn’t have died. It’s my fault…” After waking, he never mentioned it again. I thought it was just guilt. Until now. Looking at the pain and tenderness he couldn’t hide in his eyes, I finally realized belatedly that it wasn’t guilt that night—it was love. Ethan tucked a strand of hair behind Mia’s ear, not even glancing at me. “What’s there to worry about? She’s an adult. She won’t get lost.” “If your friends like her, Mia, that’s her good fortune. Just send them her Snapchat.” He turned to me, his tone commanding as if it were obvious. “Mia and I are going to Harvard together. With your grades, just apply to a community college nearby.” Mia and the others looked at him in surprise, but he remained oblivious, still arrogant. “You’re a good cook and attentive. Help me take care of Mia, and later she’ll introduce you to a good boyfriend.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted to tell him things had changed. Then I heard him add casually: “Come to think of it, you took good care of your dad’s health. You do have experience in that area.” I looked at him in disbelief. In my past life, my dad was diagnosed with idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis five years later, surviving each day on expensive imported medication. All my salary went to medical bills. He accompanied me between home and the hospital, never complaining even when important clients were stolen by colleagues. Everyone said I was dragging him down. He held me as I cried and broke down, gently patting my back. “He’s my dad too. Without them raising me all those years, there would be no Ethan today.” His parents had gone to work elsewhere and started new families. His grandmother died when he was twelve. My parents raised their neighbor as their own son, always cutting him the biggest piece of steak. But now, he was using my dad’s illness as leverage, forcing me—his wife from a previous life—to care for his new love. My throat tightened. Looking at his familiar yet strange face, I suddenly found it absurd. Was he really the Ethan who had shared my bed for thirty years? Meeting his cold eyes, I took a deep breath. “My mom wants me home early. I’m leaving.” As I passed him, I turned my head slightly to look at him. “By the way, that thing you asked me to hold for you last time—come get it sometime.” There was no such thing. It was just the usual social phrase for “let’s talk privately.” If he really was the forty-eight-year-old Ethan, with years of marital understanding, he would get my meaning. When I got home, Dad frowned seeing only me. “Why didn’t Ethan walk you back?” I stared at him. “Did you go for your physical today?” He waved his hand. “What’s the point? It’s a waste of money. I ranked 48th in the state on the SAT. The school gave me a hundred thousand dollars. I have money.” He was silent for a moment, his rough hand touching my head. “Alright. Our Rebecca has grown up. I’ll go tomorrow.” I leaned against Dad watching TV, so happy I nearly cried. 2 In my past life, he ultimately suffocated to death. His last words were that with Ethan taking care of me, he could rest in peace. Back then, Ethan and I were known as a loving couple. Childhood sweethearts, from school uniforms to wedding dress. In the morning, he needed a hug from me before leaving for work. After work, he always brought me a rose. When it was hot and we took walks, he fanned me. When it was cold and I was weak, he warmed my feet. After his business grew, beauties swarmed around him, but he never gave them a glance. “My wife is waiting for me at home.” He was afraid childbirth would hurt me, so he suggested we not have children. “Just the two of us, living our whole lives together. Is that okay?” But why, after being reborn, did he cast me aside like trash? The more I thought about it, the less I understood. Did Mia say something? Remembering the truth about Mia’s death that I’d uncovered in my past life, I decided to wait for Ethan to return and have it out with him. At midnight, I finally heard the sound of keys turning next door, then my phone vibrated. [Ethan: Come over.] I closed my eyes. He really was the reborn Ethan. I went next door and got straight to the point. “Why?” He was silent for a moment. “I think of you as family.” I laughed through my tears. “You slept with me for thirty years and now you call me a sister? Are you crazy? What are you yelling about? Mom and Dad are sleeping next door.” He released his hand, stepped back, and looked me up and down with disgust. “Let me be honest. I’ve slept with you for thirty years. I’m really sick of it! Kissing you is like kissing myself.” “Look at you. Average intelligence, no ambition, going to community college.” “After I became successful, you did nothing but beauty treatments with the other wives and stayed home like a parasite. You can’t do anything.” His eyes suddenly lit up, filled with ambition and longing. “But Mia is different. You know who her dad is. With her, I can cut ten years off my struggle!” “I’m choosing her not because you’re bad, but because—” He paused, his eyes shifting away for a moment as if he couldn’t bear it, then immediately returning to casual arrogance. “You’re not good enough. You can’t help me. It’s not your fault, but it’s the truth.” He grabbed my hand, his expression sincere. “I know you love me and can’t leave me. I love you too.” “But not right now. Let’s be just friends for now.” “You obediently take care of Mia, and when I succeed, I’ll give you a better life than the last one.” “You help my future now, and I’ll secure yours. Okay, Becca?” Shock, anger, humiliation, disgust… Even though I’d been reborn for a year, I felt like I was suddenly plunged back into the day of the maritime disaster. Countless emotions surged at me. I struggled desperately, but could only let myself be swallowed. His hand gripping mine was as cold as it had been on the day of the disaster. I quietly heard my own heartbeat pounding frantically, then gradually weakening, falling into deathly silence. He didn’t love me anymore, but he didn’t want to let me go either. Those promises of eternal devotion in the next life were just my one-sided joke. Rebecca Lynn, you’re such a fool! I swallowed the truth about Mia’s death and laughed coldly as I slammed the door on my way out. “Fine. I wish you both a hundred years of happiness and good health.” When filling out college applications, I directly chose Stanford University. It had the best game design program—my dream that I’d discovered at age forty-five in my past life. And it was a full three thousand miles away from Ethan. As soon as I finished, Ethan’s message came. [Did you finish filling it out?] [Yeah.] [Good job.] 4 He immediately followed up with several instructions. [Mia said you ignored her friends. Good job.] [But you’re not Mrs. Wright anymore, your grades are mediocre, and your background is ordinary.] [When you meet those rich boys, don’t give them attitude. Be polite to them and don’t make me worry.] I sneered. Seems like his precious Mia never mentioned my grades to him. 48th in the state on the SAT—my phone had just been bombarded with calls from admissions offices, promising scholarships up to five hundred thousand dollars. Where would I have time to deal with those shady friends? Exiting the chat, I opened my friend requests. [Heard from Mia that you’re obedient? I happen to need an obedient follower. Let’s chat.] [Your boyfriend’s sister? What kind of sister?] [You look decent in your photos. Want to have some fun with me? I’ll make it worth your while.] I frowned in disgust. Ethan’s message popped up again. [Mia and I are going to Alaska in a few days. Those cookies you brought back last time were delicious. Where did you buy them? I’ll get you some.] Get them for me, or take Mia to eat them? [Mrs. Lynn’s exclusive recipe. Not for sale.] After a while, he replied: [Okay, I trust you.] I gripped my phone, anger rushing to the top of my head. [Believe whatever you want!] Before sending, I deleted it. Forget it. Talking to a deaf person is just a waste of time. I got up and started packing the things he’d given me over the years. Pens, bookmarks, notebooks, snow globes… Odds and ends filled an entire box—childish and cheap. But it was a box full of what was once sincerity. Ethan, how did you become so unrecognizable? I carried the box next door and threw it in a corner of the storage room, turning to leave. Draft papers on the desk were blown everywhere by the wind. I sighed and picked them up one by one to put back. But on the open notebook, I saw a few words pressed hard into the paper: [Whisper Bay, Sacrifice True Heart, Start Over] All the blood in my body instantly turned cold. Whisper Bay was where we encountered the maritime disaster. Sacrifice—what did that mean? Was our rebirth his arrangement? My hair stood on end. I carefully restored the room to its original state and took the box back, pretending I’d never been there. During the five days of college application submissions, Ethan and I didn’t see each other. He was busy dating Mia, fantasizing about traveling around the country together during their four years of college. I was busy searching online and at the library… looking everywhere for legends about Whisper Bay. Every day he shared dating stories with me, subtly mocking my dullness, and ordered me to plan their travel itinerary. Unwilling to alert him, I did everything he asked. He grew increasingly entitled. July 7, 4:54 PM. I finally saw a post on an obscure forum. [Want to restart your life? Welcome to my hometown. We have a sea called Reincarnation Sea.] [It swallows several people every year, but my grandma says they don’t die—they’re reborn.] [Long ago, there was a fisherwoman whose husband went to sea and never returned. She waited thirty years.] [Then one full moon night, she rowed out alone and never came back.] [After that, people passing by that sea at night heard a woman crying and a man answering.] [My grandma said that as long as you truly love someone and are willing to die for them, Reincarnation Sea will send you both back to the past.] The replies below were all mocking: [I love money above all else. Let me memorize lottery numbers and I’ll find the poster.] [Too cliche. Why not say going there together lets you cycle through ten lives together? Better for tricking people in love to travel, right?] I stared at the screen, trembling uncontrollably.

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After my roommates found out I was the daughter of the richest man in the country, their attitudes toward me changed. Every month when my dad transferred me a hundred thousand dollars for living expenses, my roommate would make snide remarks. “Why does a girl need so much money?” “The company will end up in your brother’s hands anyway. With how recklessly you spend now, don’t be surprised when they kick you out of the family!” As everyone knew, my dad only had one daughter—me. When she demanded I hand over my allowance yet again, I finally snapped: “Are you insane? I’ll spend my money however I want. It’s none of your business!” Who knew my roommate would smirk with contempt. “Of course I can tell you what to do. After all, I’m pregnant with your dad’s child. By family standing, you should obey me!” But my dad had a testicular removal surgery two years ago. How could she possibly be pregnant with his child?! The hundred thousand dollars in living expenses had just hit my account, and I went straight to the boutique to buy their limited edition handbag. I was in a pretty good mood until I got back to the dorm and heard my roommate Yasmin’s sarcastic voice. “Oh, Sophia’s back. What nice things did you buy today?” Ever since finding out I was the daughter of the richest man in the country, Yasmin’s attitude toward me had completely changed. She constantly took the lead in isolating and ostracizing me. When I went to the cafeteria to eat, she would deliberately start trouble. “How can the daughter of the richest man sit and eat with us commoners!” When I returned to the dorm to rest, she would force the other roommates to act like servants. “Don’t you guys have any sense? The princess is back. Everyone better serve her carefully!” At first, I would try to explain, but every time Yasmin would jump out to sabotage me. Over time, everyone avoided me like the plague. Only Yasmin, the instigator of it all, put on the act of being my savior. “See? I’m the only one who can tolerate your bad temper.” But I couldn’t stand her petty behavior. I ignored her and walked straight past. To my surprise, Yasmin snatched the bag from my hand and examined it carefully. “So this is what a designer bag looks like. The texture really is different.” Seeing the greedy look on her face, I said irritably, “Give it back!” “You already have so many bags. You don’t need this one. Why don’t you just give it to me?” Before, I just thought Yasmin had no sense of boundaries. Now I realized she not only had no boundaries, but was also incredibly shameless. “If you want one, buy it yourself. Why should I give you my stuff!” I snatched it back from her hands. Yasmin’s expression darkened frighteningly. She glared at me. “Does having money make you so great? Don’t think that just because you have some money you can insult people however you want!” Her eyes suddenly reddened, and she collapsed on the desk crying. I was completely bewildered when my roommates came back from outside. They must have heard what was just said, because they looked at me disapprovingly. “Sophia, we know your family is rich, but you can’t use your wealth to trample on others’ dignity.” I almost laughed from anger. “She didn’t want to pay a cent and tried to take my bag. What, should I have gotten on my knees to thank her?” I pulled out the recording from earlier and exposed Yasmin’s true face. The roommates realized they’d been deceived and immediately distanced themselves from her. After being set up by her so many times, I’d finally won one back. Seeing her lie exposed, Yasmin dropped the act. “Was I wrong? Can you even use all those bags? I was helping you lighten your load!” “No need to worry about me. If I can’t use them all, I can sell them for charity. Either way, I’m not giving them to you!” Yasmin’s face turned livid with rage. She couldn’t say a word. After suffering in silence for so long, it felt great to finally see her lose. After this incident, I figured she wouldn’t dare provoke me again!

Yasmin seemed frightened by the recording incident. She stopped making sarcastic remarks and even deliberately kept her distance from me. Without her interference, the air felt much fresher. I gradually let my guard down, thinking she had finally learned about boundaries and stopped looking for trouble. The month passed peacefully. Until the day of the holiday, I packed my suitcase and walked out of school to find William’s black Bentley already parked at the school gate. He wore a pressed dark suit, his posture upright. He looked nothing like a driver. “Sophia, let me take that for you.” William smiled as he took the suitcase from my hand and expertly placed it in the trunk. Just as I pulled open the car door to get in, Yasmin’s voice suddenly called from behind. “Sophia, wait!” I turned around to see Yasmin pulling her suitcase, jogging toward me. Her eyes glanced at William and the car, and she was still catching her breath. “My parents are working overtime on a construction project and can’t pick me up. Plus, I bought a lot of study materials this month, so I don’t have enough money for a cab.” “Sophia, could you give me a ride?” She looked at me expectantly, her tone cautious. I frowned. Honestly, I didn’t want any more entanglement with her, but seeing those yellowed canvas shoes on her feet, and considering she really hadn’t bothered me this past month. I couldn’t help but relent. “Get in.” “Thank you so much! Sophia, you’re the best!” Before I could react, she had already walked to the passenger side, opened the door, and got in. Her movements were so natural, as if it were her designated seat. I froze for a moment, frowning. Usually when William picked me up, I put my bag or files in the passenger seat. No one else ever sat there. But then I thought, it was just a seat. No need to make a big deal out of it. So I opened the back door. As soon as the car started moving, Yasmin began chatting with William. “Sir, this car is so comfortable. It must be expensive, right?” Her voice was sickeningly sweet, completely different from her sharp and bitter tone in the dorm. William smiled politely. “It’s alright. Just for transportation.” “You look so young, sir. You must take really good care of yourself, right?” Yasmin rested her chin on one hand, staring straight at William. “Do you focus a lot on health maintenance? My mom always says men need to take care of themselves as they get older, or they’ll age fast…” She babbled on and on, every topic somehow circling back to William, every word dripping with deliberate flattery. One moment she’d praise his suit fabric, the next she’d say his voice was magnetic, and she even meaningfully mentioned: “My dad works construction year-round. His hands are covered in calluses. Not like you, sir. You look like someone who does important things. Even your fingers are so long and elegant.” I got goosebumps listening to her and couldn’t help glancing at her. But she acted as if she didn’t notice my gaze and continued chatting animatedly with William. William clearly sensed something was off and his responses became increasingly perfunctory, mostly just “Mm” and “I suppose” to brush her off. But not only did Yasmin not hold back, she intensified her efforts. As we passed a dessert shop, she suddenly exclaimed, “Oh! This place has such famous mousse cake! I’ve always wanted to try it, but it’s too expensive…” As she spoke, her eyes drifted toward William, her tone taking on a wheedling quality. “Sir, have you tried it? I heard rich people have personal pastry chefs at home. Is that true?” “I’m not rich…” “You’re too modest, sir. If you don’t count as rich, then what are we? Beggars?” Yasmin chattered nonstop the entire way. It was incredibly annoying. I tried to interrupt her several times, telling her to stop. But she’d stay quiet for less than a minute before finding another topic to discuss with William. Thoroughly irritated, I simply put in my Bluetooth earbuds to block out her voice. It was just a short ride anyway. Once we dropped her at the subway station, we’d never cross paths again. No point getting into another conflict over such a small thing. However, when the car approached the subway station, Yasmin suddenly said: “Sir, actually my home isn’t near the subway station. It’s in the suburbs. Could you drive me a bit further?” Then she turned to wink at me. “Sophia, you don’t mind, right?”

Before I could answer, she had already turned back to William. “My parents are working overtime today. I’m a girl carrying luggage and walking alone at night—it’s kind of scary…” William didn’t respond this time. He looked at me through the rearview mirror, waiting for my decision. Looking at Yasmin’s entitled expression, that uncomfortable feeling finally crystallized into clear disgust. Give her an inch and she’ll take a mile—that was her true nature! My patience finally ran out. When she emphasized taking her home yet again, I refused sharply. “No! We agreed on the subway station, so it’s only to the subway station.” The smile on Yasmin’s face instantly froze. She hadn’t expected me to reject her so firmly. She paused for two seconds, then her eyes suddenly reddened and her voice became choked with sobs. “Sophia, I shouldn’t be so demanding, but my home really is far away. Even after getting off the subway, I still have to walk for over two hours. By the time I get home, it’ll be dark.” “My parents work so hard to save money. They haul bricks during the day and watch warehouses at night. They won’t even buy themselves decent clothes. I really don’t want to trouble them to pick me up.” She cried while wiping her tears. “I’m not afraid of walking alone at night for any other reason, just afraid of running into bad people… If something happens to me, how will my parents survive…” The atmosphere in the car grew heavy. William glanced at me through the rearview mirror, his eyes showing some sympathy. “The suburbs aren’t that far by car. Maybe we should…” I cut him off. “This isn’t about distance.” But Yasmin grabbed onto it like a lifeline. “Sir, you’re such a good person! Sophia, I know you’re still angry about before. I’ll apologize, okay?” “I promise, this is the last time I’ll trouble you. After this, I’ll stay far away from you!” “She’s just a young girl. It really isn’t easy for her. Let me take her.” Seeing the sincerity in William’s eyes, and glancing at Yasmin’s pitiful tear-streaked face, I finally closed my eyes. “Take me home first, then you can drive her.” Yasmin immediately broke into a smile through her tears. “Thank you, Sophia! Thank you, sir! You’re both such good people!” For the rest of the drive, she was much more subdued, only occasionally glancing at William with a smile she couldn’t quite hide. When we arrived at my villa, William was about to get out to help with my luggage, but Yasmin had already jumped out first and eagerly opened the trunk. “Let me, let me! Sophia, you live here? This house is gorgeous!” Her eyes were filled with undisguised envy, and her attitude became much more fawning. I ignored her and took the bag William handed me. “Drive safely.” “Don’t worry.” As the car started up again, I looked back. Yasmin was sitting in the passenger seat, saying something to William that made her face flush with shyness. I felt an uneasy feeling, but quickly dismissed the thought. I must be overthinking it. After all, William was old enough to be her father. Yasmin had such high standards. How could she possibly be interested in William?

After the holiday ended, Yasmin had visibly changed. She no longer wore faded T-shirts, but had switched to designer clothes. Within a few days, she’d gotten the latest iPhone. Someone who used to be too stingy to even buy a cup of iced latte was now treating the other roommates to upscale Japanese restaurants averaging over a hundred dollars per person every few days. Roommate Lily couldn’t help asking curiously, “Yasmin, did you win the lottery? You’ve been so generous lately.” Yasmin smiled with pursed lips. “It’s nothing. Just my boyfriend’s gifts. He’s worried I won’t eat well at school, so he gave me some spending money.” “Your boyfriend must be rich! He’s so generous.” When asked about her boyfriend’s identity, Yasmin became evasive. “I’ll introduce you to him when there’s a chance.” I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination, but when Yasmin said this, her eyes seemed to deliberately glance at me. I had no interest in other people’s private lives, especially Yasmin’s. Where her money came from, who she was dating—none of it concerned me. My phone suddenly vibrated. It was the hundred thousand dollars in living expenses my dad had transferred. I had just opened my phone to look when Yasmin immediately leaned over. “Did your dad transfer your living expenses? He’s really generous.” I turned my phone face-down on the desk and gave a noncommittal hum. “Sophia, don’t you think it’s unsafe for a girl to keep so much money on hand?” I frowned. “What do you mean?” Yasmin smiled very sincerely. “Look, this hundred thousand dollars—you’ll spend it all in no time. Why don’t you let me hold onto it for you? I’ll save it.” “If you want to buy something, just tell me. I’ll check it for you, so you don’t waste money.” This was absolutely absurd. I couldn’t help but snap. “Yasmin, who do you think you are? My money is none of your business!” The smile on her face froze, and a flash of resentment appeared in her eyes, but she quickly suppressed it. “Sophia, how can you say that? I’m doing this for your own good.” “Do I need you to teach me?” I cut her off. “My dad is happy to give me money to spend. I’ll spend it however I want. You have no right to tell me what to do!” Yasmin’s face turned red and white. Just when I thought she’d explode with anger, she suddenly showed a strange smile. “Sophia, you’re so arrogant now just because you’re the only child of the Sterling family. But have you ever thought about what happens if your dad has a son?” I frowned, completely unable to follow her logic. “What nonsense are you talking about? My dad only has one daughter—me. Where would a son come from!” “Why not?” Yasmin raised an eyebrow. “Men, you know, they always have that old-fashioned thinking. No matter how big the family business, there has to be a son to inherit it. Your dad treats you well now because he has no other choice.” She paused, then continued, “Once your dad has a son, do you think you’ll still get a hundred thousand dollars a month in allowance?” This made me furious. Forget that my dad couldn’t have more children. Even if he could, why shouldn’t I inherit my family’s business? “Yasmin, have you been watching too many TV dramas? My dad’s company will definitely be left to me in the future. Stop worrying about things that don’t concern you!”

I’d said as much, and I thought Yasmin would finally know to back off and stop bothering me. But that evening, I was studying in the dorm when Yasmin suddenly ran up to me and opened with: “Sophia, where’s your living expenses?” I looked up at her. “How is my living expenses any of your business?” Yasmin raised her voice. “Of course it’s my business. Didn’t I tell you last time? From now on, hand all your living expenses to me. When you need to spend money, submit an application. Once it’s approved, I’ll transfer it to you.” “Of course, if you behave well, I’ll give you an extra five hundred dollars each month as a reward.” Watching her get more and more excited, I almost thought there was something wrong with my ears. My fingers tightened slightly around my phone. I looked up at her, my eyes cold enough to freeze: “Yasmin, what did you just say? I didn’t hear you clearly.” “I said, hand over the hundred thousand your dad gave you. I’ll manage it. If you behave well, I’ll reward you with an extra five hundred each month.” I laughed coldly. “Yasmin, who do you think you are to demand my money over and over again!” Yasmin’s voice suddenly rose. “Of course I’m qualified.” She gently caressed her abdomen. “Because I’m pregnant with your dad’s child. Once I marry into the Sterling family on the strength of my child, by family standing, you’ll have to obey me.” At those words, the dorm fell instantly silent. The roommates’ gazes bounced between me and Yasmin, too shocked to speak. Yasmin looked at me triumphantly, as if certain I would break down over this. But I just looked at her calmly. Yasmin pregnant with my dad’s child? That had to be the most ridiculous joke I’d ever heard. Two years ago, Dad was diagnosed with a testicular tumor. For complete treatment, he’d already had testicular removal surgery. The doctor had explicitly stated that he had zero chance of having children after the procedure. This was kept strictly confidential within the family. Almost no one besides Dad and me knew about it. If Yasmin had really investigated my family, she would never have fabricated such a flawed lie. I could guess what Yasmin was thinking. After finding out I was the daughter of the richest man, she’d gotten greedy ideas, even trying to use pregnancy to latch onto a wealthy family, and wanted to manipulate me in the process. How stupid and greedy! “Sophia, be smart and hand over the money.” Yasmin threatened in a low voice. “Otherwise, once I marry into the family, you’ll regret it. By then, forget a hundred thousand in living expenses—whether you can even stay in the Sterling family will be questionable!” Watching her spittle fly everywhere, I suddenly had a new idea. Since she wanted to put on a show, I’d play along!

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My husband’s mistress is pregnant. My mother-in-law Mrs. Gibson urged me to be understanding: “Men will be men. It’s normal for them to stray.” My husband Calvin even ordered me to vacate the master bedroom to welcome his mistress: “If you dare hurt her or my son, I’ll kill you!” I didn’t make a scene. Instead, I smiled gently: “Sure, I even bought her new sheets.” The next day, they came home excitedly after shopping for baby supplies, only to find a pregnant stranger sitting on the sofa. Mrs. Gibson froze: “Who is this woman?” I smiled as I introduced her: “Mom, this is Dad Anderson’s mistress. You might not know this, but she’s the one who’s pregnant.” While cleaning under the master bedroom bed, I swept out a positive pregnancy test. Looking at the two red lines, I fell into deep thought. Calvin and I hadn’t had sex in over half a year. This pregnancy test wasn’t mine. Before I could throw this cursed thing into the trash, Mrs. Gibson pushed the door open. She spotted the pregnancy test immediately. First she froze, then she lunged forward and snatched it from my hand, her presbyopic eyes bulging wider than saucers: “Oh my goodness, someone’s pregnant?” I was about to explain when she shot me a look of utter disdain: “What are you looking at? I know it’s not yours. You’re a hen that hasn’t laid an egg in three years. You’d never be so lucky!” I laughed in anger: “If it’s not mine, then why are you so excited?” “Don’t be stupid! If it’s not yours, then it must belong to Calvin’s mistress!” Mrs. Gibson beamed with joy. “Men will be men. Which one doesn’t stray? As long as she can bear an heir for the Peters family, she’s done us a great service!” Just then, Calvin pushed the door open. Mrs. Gibson immediately rushed to him, holding up the pregnancy test like a treasure: “Calvin, be honest with me. Is your mistress Margaret pregnant?” Calvin glanced at me guiltily. But when he saw I wasn’t making a scene and Mrs. Gibson looked overjoyed, his spine suddenly stiffened. He nodded confidently: “Mom, since you already know, I won’t hide it. Margaret is indeed pregnant. We just found out.” Standing to the side, I almost laughed out loud. “Well done, you make me so proud!” Mrs. Gibson slapped her thigh excitedly. “Since Margaret is carrying a child, we must bring her home to enjoy her rightful status!” Calvin’s eyes reddened with emotion: “Mom, you’re so understanding! Margaret said she doesn’t need a title, she just wants the baby to be healthy.” “The poor girl.” Mrs. Gibson turned to look at me, her expression instantly changing. “Elliot, since you can’t give birth yourself, don’t be jealous of Margaret. Clear out the master bedroom right now. We’re bringing her home tomorrow to rest during her pregnancy!” Calvin chimed in: “That’s right, Elliot. Move to the guest room. The master bedroom gets better sunlight. Let Margaret have it. She’s pregnant and needs the calcium from sunshine.” He paused, then warned me viciously: “You better behave yourself. If you dare lay a finger on Margaret or touch a single hair on my son’s head, I’ll kill you!” I stared expressionlessly at this pair of despicable mother and son, hands in my pockets, quietly pressing the record button on my phone. “So what you’re saying is, as long as a mistress is pregnant with a Peters family child, she must be brought home and taken care of, never left to fend for herself?” Mrs. Gibson lifted her chin: “Naturally!” I continued: “And this child, even if illegitimate, must enjoy exactly the same inheritance rights as a legitimate child?” Calvin stated firmly: “Obviously! He’s Peters family blood. Who dares mistreat him?” “Alright, I understand.” I nodded, the corners of my mouth curving into a gentle smile. “Of course. Since she’s carrying a Peters heir, naturally we must treat her well with good food and drink.”

Mrs. Gibson snorted coldly: “Good that you know your place. Hurry up and pack your things, move all your junk out. Don’t bring us bad luck!” For the next two hours, I leaned against the doorframe like an idle bystander, watching Calvin and Mrs. Gibson gleefully throw my belongings out. “Change these sheets. Margaret likes pink!” “Move this vanity too. Make room for the baby crib!” Calvin was all smiles. “Mom, let’s go to the mall tomorrow and buy Margaret the best bird’s nest soup!” Mrs. Gibson grinned from ear to ear: “Yes, I’ll pay! As long as her belly delivers, I’ll buy her anything!” I watched their busy backs, nearly laughing myself to tears. Oh Calvin, since you’re so happy, I won’t show you the azoospermia diagnosis report I just picked up from the hospital. Let you enjoy yourselves for a couple more days. Early the next morning, Mrs. Gibson and Calvin left the house in high spirits. They said they were going to upscale baby boutiques to stock up, preparing to welcome the “great contributor” Margaret home. Before leaving, Calvin didn’t forget to warn me viciously to clear out the last bits of trash from the master bedroom so it wouldn’t offend Margaret’s eyes. After the door closed, I unhurriedly took out my phone and dialed a number. “Hello? Is this Ms. Hill? Yes, I’m Calvin’s wife, Elliot. I saw the pregnancy test you left under our master bedroom bed yesterday.” There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. I laughed lightly, my tone gentle. “Don’t be afraid. Mrs. Gibson and Calvin have spoken. Since you’re carrying Peters family blood, you absolutely cannot be left to fend for yourself. Pack your bags. I’m sending a car to bring you to the villa to rest during your pregnancy.”

At three in the afternoon, the villa gates opened. Mrs. Gibson and Calvin walked in carrying bags of imported bird’s nest, luxury baby cribs, and a mountain of other baby supplies, their faces beaming. “Margaret said she’s suffering from morning sickness today and needs to wait a couple more days before moving in. I feel so bad for her.” Mrs. Gibson muttered as she changed her shoes. Calvin agreed: “Mom, Margaret is carrying a boy. It’s normal for him to be demanding. Please take extra care of her, and I’ll make sure she treats you well later.” The two were chatting and laughing as they turned into the living room, then the smiles on their faces instantly froze. On the leather sofa sat a woman in her thirties, still attractive and well-maintained. She wore loose maternity clothes and was using a toothpick to eat the strawberries I had just washed. Seeing the mother and son laden with packages, the woman also froze, somewhat awkwardly putting down the fruit plate. “Who, who is this?” Mrs. Gibson’s eyes widened as she looked the woman on the sofa up and down. “Elliot, what are you playing at? Why are strangers coming into the house? Is this some poor relative of yours?” Calvin also frowned: “Elliot, are you sick? I told you to make room for Margaret, and you invite your relatives over? Get her out of here now!” I walked out of the kitchen carrying a glass of warm milk, handed it to the woman on the sofa, then turned around with a beaming smile. “Please don’t be angry. If you get upset, how will you take care of the pregnant woman?” I walked to the woman’s side and patted her shoulder affectionately, introducing her with great ceremony: “This is definitely not my poor relative. What’s in her belly is genuine Peters family blood.” Mrs. Gibson’s mind hadn’t caught up yet. She thought it was another of Calvin’s affairs. “Calvin, besides Margaret you got another woman pregnant? This woman looks well into her thirties. You could actually bring yourself to sleep with her?” Calvin’s face turned green, frantically waving his hands: “Mom, I don’t know her! I swear I’ve never touched even a finger of hers! Why would I have a lover this old?” I pretended to be shocked, covering my mouth. “Calvin, that’s not right. How can you shout at your elders like that?” I looked at the two confused people with a smile. “Oh my, did I forget to tell you? The pregnancy test swept out yesterday really wasn’t mine, but it wasn’t Calvin’s mistress’s either.” “Mrs. Gibson, let me formally introduce you. This is Ms. Hill, the mistress Anderson keeps on the side. Yesterday, while you were out, Anderson brought her home to get something and accidentally dropped the pregnancy test under the bed.” “Originally, I wanted to pretend nothing happened. But yesterday, you swore that Peters family blood couldn’t be left outside, that illegitimate children must also enjoy inheritance rights. So I brought Ms. Hill home.” “You won’t mind, will you?”

The air froze in that instant. Mrs. Gibson’s face, which had been glowing with health just moments ago, visibly turned the color of liver. Her lips trembled as she pointed at the woman on the sofa, unable to squeeze out a word for a long time: “You, what did you say?” I blinked innocently and took out my phone, pressing play on yesterday’s saved recording. Mrs. Gibson and Calvin’s full-throated voices immediately rang out: “As long as she’s carrying Peters seed, she absolutely cannot be left outside!” “Even if it’s an illegitimate child, they must enjoy exactly the same inheritance rights!” “We must bring her home and treat her well! If you dare touch a hair on their head, I’ll kill you!” After the recording finished, I spread my hands, smiling virtuously. “Mom, Calvin, your words yesterday really opened my eyes. Our Peters family values bloodline. Since Ms. Hill is carrying Anderson’s child, that makes it Calvin’s little brother or sister!” “Such precious Peters family offspring, how could they be left outside? So I immediately brought her home to take good care of her.” I pointed at the pile of upscale baby supplies on the floor, full of admiration: “You two were so thoughtful, even buying bird’s nest and maternity clothes. Ms. Hill, see how much they care about you!” Mrs. Gibson stood stunned for a full half minute before suddenly erupting in a piercing shriek. “That’s bullshit! Elliot, you bitch, stop trying to drive a wedge between us!” She pointed at the woman on the sofa, trembling all over. “Her? Anderson is well into his fifties. How could he do something so disgusting outside! Anderson would never be that kind of person!” “That’s such an ugly thing to say.” Ms. Hill, who had been silent until now, timidly put down the cherries in her hand, her eyes watery and full of grievance: “Anderson said he’s most annoyed by the old woman at home nagging about everything. He said I’m gentle and understanding, that I know his heart best. If he hadn’t insisted on dragging me to the bedroom yesterday for some excitement, the pregnancy test wouldn’t have fallen under the bed.”

“Ahh! You shameless slut, I’ll tear you apart!” Mrs. Gibson completely lost it. The woman who had been putting on airs as a wealthy matriarch just moments ago now lunged at the woman with her teeth bared and claws out. I reacted quickly, grabbing her and pushing her back into Calvin’s arms. “Mrs. Gibson, please calm down!” I urged her. “Didn’t you just teach me yesterday that men will be men. Which one doesn’t stray? Anderson is in his prime. It’s perfectly normal for him to have affairs. This shows Anderson has charisma. You should be more understanding!” “Shut your mouth. How is that the same?” Mrs. Gibson’s chest heaved violently, nearly coughing up blood. “How is it different?” I widened my eyes in feigned confusion. “Oh right, you also said yesterday that as long as it’s a Peters child, they absolutely cannot be left outside. Look, I’m just following your orders, bringing Anderson’s true love home to treat her well with good food and drink.” I turned to look at Calvin, who was still in a daze: “Calvin, you personally made a vow yesterday. If anyone dared touch a pregnant woman’s hair, you’d kill me. Now your mom wants to attack her. Are you going to do something about it?” Calvin finally snapped back to reality. But what concerned him wasn’t Anderson’s affair, but something far more critical. “Wait!” Calvin’s face turned deathly pale as he stared at Ms. Hill’s belly, his voice cracking. “The baby in your belly is my dad’s? Then, then won’t he have to split our family fortune?” I nearly laughed out loud. This scumbag’s thought process was truly refreshingly unique, always fixated on money. I clapped my hands in loud praise: “Calvin, you’re so smart! Yesterday you said emphatically that even illegitimate children must enjoy exactly the same inheritance rights!” I walked to Ms. Hill’s side and raised an eyebrow at Calvin: “Since your mistress’s child can split your fortune, naturally Anderson’s mistress’s child should also split Anderson’s fortune. By calculation, whether Ms. Hill’s baby is a boy or girl, they can split away exactly half the family assets!” “No way! Absolutely not!” Calvin completely broke down, stamping his feet and cursing. “My dad’s money is all mine. Why should it go to this bastard child from who knows where! Elliot, get her out of here right now!” I crossed my arms, took a step back, and watched coldly as this mother-son pair jumped around anxiously. “Get her out? Too late.” I spread my hands. “When Ms. Hill came in, I already sent Anderson a message saying I brought his sweetheart home to rest during her pregnancy. By my calculation, he should be arriving home any minute now.” As soon as I finished speaking, the sound of urgent car brakes came from outside the villa. Then the front door was pushed open. Anderson, usually stern and rigid, rushed in breathlessly. As soon as he entered, his gaze fell on the woman on the sofa. His usually stern face instantly softened with tenderness: “How did you end up here? Did anything happen to the baby?” In the living room, Mrs. Gibson’s face finally changed from liver-colored to deathly pale. And Calvin looked like he had swallowed a live fly.

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Caldwell crushed his cigarette butt on my dining table, looking at me with a lecherous grin. “Juliet, rent’s going up 50% starting next month. Unless you don’t want it to go up.” He leaned close to my ear, his hand landing on my shoulder. “Come to my place this weekend. We’ll have a nice little chat.” I pushed him away and grabbed my phone. “What did you just say? I didn’t catch that. Say it again?” He sneered and pointed at my nose. “What are you acting so high and mighty for? I’ve seen plenty of people like you from poor countries.” “Spend one night with me, and I’ll waive a year’s rent. That’s not a bad deal, is it?” I held up my phone. “Mr. Caldwell, say that again.” Caldwell slapped my phone out of my hand. He stepped on my phone. “Record this, bitch.” He grabbed my collar and shoved me against the wall. The back of my head hit the tile, making my ears ring. “Juliet, let me tell you something. I control the rent in this area. You’re just an immigrant working in America, making pennies a month. Without me looking out for you, you would’ve been kicked out of the country ages ago.” I stared hard at him. “Mr. Caldwell, the contract says a one-year lease. It’s only been four months. You can’t unilaterally raise the rent by 50%. That’s illegal.” “Illegal?” Caldwell laughed. He released me and pulled a stack of cash from his bag, throwing it in my face. “Here’s your deposit. Take it and get lost. If you don’t move out by tomorrow, I’ll have people help you move.” Bills scattered across the floor. I crouched down and picked them up one by one. “Fine. I’ll move.” I folded the money and put it in my pocket. Caldwell patted my face. “That’s more like it. Don’t refuse a toast only to drink a forfeit. If you change your mind, come to my place this weekend. I’ll treat you to dinner.” He turned and left. I closed the door and slid down to the floor. There was a knock on the next door. “Juliet, are you okay?” It was my roommate, Mary, who worked as a programmer at an internet company. She saw the red marks on my neck and her eyes went wide. “That old bastard came again?” “Yeah.” “Call the police!” “It won’t help. He didn’t hit me. There are no cameras, and audio recordings can’t directly convict him.” I grabbed her hand. “Mary, how long have you lived in this complex?” “Two years.” “Has Caldwell ever harassed you?” Mary lowered her head and clenched her fists. “Once. He said he wouldn’t raise my rent if I came to his place for dinner on the weekend. I bought pepper spray the next day.” “Anyone else?” “The nurse on the third floor, Niles. She moved out crying last month. I heard Caldwell knocked on her door in the middle of the night saying he was checking the water meter.” I went back to my room, opened my computer, and created a new WhatsApp group chat. Group name: Victims of Caldwell Alliance. I pulled Mary in, then added several other girls who rented from Caldwell. My phone buzzed. It was Caldwell. “Juliet, don’t take what happened earlier to heart. I was just joking with you. Come over for dinner tomorrow. I’ll make you something delicious.” I took a screenshot, then replied: “Okay.” The next evening at seven, I stood outside Caldwell’s door. I took a deep breath and knocked. Caldwell opened the door wearing a robe, reeking of alcohol. “Oh, Juliet’s here. Come in, come in.” His hand went to my waist, guiding me inside. I didn’t dodge. “Mr. Caldwell, I’ve thought it over. About the rent, can we talk about it some more?” “Talk? Of course we can talk.”

He closed the door and locked it. “Let’s eat first. We’ll chat while we eat.” The living room table was set with dinner and an open bottle of red wine. He poured me a glass, then poured one for himself. “Come on, cheers.” I clinked glasses but didn’t drink. He took a big gulp. “Juliet, you’re so pretty. You could’ve married a rich guy back home. Why come to New York to suffer?” “Mr. Caldwell, about the rent increase…” “What’s the rush?” He sat down on the sofa and patted the seat next to him. “Come, sit here. Uncle will have a good talk with you.” I didn’t move. His expression darkened. “What? Not giving me face?” “Mr. Caldwell, I have a boyfriend.” “A boyfriend?” He laughed, stood up, and walked toward me. “How much does your boyfriend make a month? Can he buy you a house? Can he get you a green card?” He reached me and lifted my chin with his finger. “I’m different. If you’re with me, you can live in this house however you want, rent-free. I’ll give you five thousand a month for spending money.” I took a step back. He followed. “Don’t run away. You came all the way to my place just for this, didn’t you? Stop pretending.” I reached into my pocket and pressed the record button on my phone. “Mr. Caldwell, you’ve had too much to drink.” “I haven’t had too much.” He suddenly grabbed me, his mouth coming toward mine. I couldn’t hold back. I slapped him across the face. “Smack…” He froze, then flew into a rage. “How dare you hit me?!” He grabbed my hair and slammed me against the wall. “Ungrateful bitch! You should be honored that I want you!” The back of my head hit the wall. Everything went dark. “Caldwell, let me go.” “No! You’re not leaving this place tonight unless you sleep with me!” He tore at my clothes. Buttons scattered everywhere. Just then, the door was pounded. “Open up! Police!” Caldwell froze. I pushed him away and ran to the door, unlocking it. Two police officers stood outside, along with Mary and the other girls. They held up their phones, recording everything. The officer saw the bruises on my neck and my torn clothes. His expression changed. “What happened here?” I took a deep breath. Finally, tears fell. “He tried to rape me.” Caldwell panicked. “No! She seduced me! She came to my place on her own!” I pulled out my phone and played the recording. After listening, the officer looked at Caldwell. “Come with us.” “No! Let me explain!” “You can explain at the station.” As Caldwell was being taken away, he looked back at me with pure hatred in his eyes. “Juliet, just you wait. When I get out, I’ll kill you.” I leaned against the wall, trembling all over. Mary hugged me. “It’s okay now. It’s okay.” I shook my head. “No. This is just the beginning.” My phone buzzed. It was the “Victims of Caldwell Alliance” group. Someone with the name “Niles” sent a message. “I just saw Caldwell being taken away downstairs. Do you know? This building of his is illegal.” “Every room’s fire safety doesn’t meet code at all. I took photos before.” She sent over a dozen photos. Partition walls, illegally wired electricity, sealed fire exits. Looking at these photos, a thought flashed through my mind. It wasn’t about sending him to jail. It was about bankrupting him.

Caldwell was released from the police station after just one night. The reason: “Insufficient evidence, does not constitute rape.” “Insufficient evidence.” Mary slammed the table in fury. “He almost raped you! And that’s insufficient evidence?!” I said nothing, because I knew this would happen. No surveillance, no witnesses. He insisted it was “consensual.” The police could only classify it as a “civil dispute.” The first thing Caldwell did after getting out was come curse at my door. “Juliet! You bitch! How dare you call the police on me?!” He kicked the door three times. The security door dented inward. “I’m telling you, you can forget about living in this place! Get out tomorrow!” “Deposit? Not refunding a penny! Go ahead and sue me! Let’s see who wins!” A neighbor opened their door, took one look, and quickly shut it again. No one dared speak. I sat inside, listening to his cursing, my hands shaking. My phone rang. My mom was calling. “Juliet, did that Caldwell come after you again?” “Mom, it’s fine.” “What do you mean fine! I saw the bruises on your neck in our video call! Just wait, I’m coming to New York next week.” “Mom, you don’t need to come. I can handle it myself.” “How will you handle it? You’re a twenty-four-year-old girl fighting against a property owner?” I was silent for three seconds. “Mom, didn’t you teach me? When you strike a snake, strike at its vital point.” “Where’s his vital point?” “His building.” My mom’s a lawyer. She’s handled many property dispute cases. She knows these property owners’ weak spots better than anyone. “Juliet, have you checked the property rights for his building?” “I’m checking now.” “After you finish, call me. I’ll help you contact a lawyer.” I hung up and opened my computer, logging into the New York City planning and natural resources website. I searched for records on Caldwell’s building. Ten minutes later, I found it. This building had no rental registration at all. Not only that, its designated use was “commercial,” not “residential.” Converting a commercial building into partitioned rentals was illegal in itself. I screenshotted the page and saved it to a folder. My phone buzzed again. Mary sent a message. “Juliet, I just saw in the tenants’ group that Caldwell’s looking for a renovation crew to tear down all the partitions on the third floor.” “Why?” “Someone said Immigration has been checking illegal immigrants and illegal rentals lately. He might have gotten word.” A lightbulb went off in my head. This meant he knew his building had problems. I opened the “Victims Alliance” group. There were seventeen people now, all tenants screwed over by Caldwell. Girls and guys. Some had their deposits withheld, some had their rent raised, some were harassed. I sent a message in the group. “I found a way to send Caldwell to prison and make him pay up.” “What way?” “Report him for illegal rentals. Fire code violations, no rental registration.” “Then what?” “Then we collectively sue him. Those who didn’t get deposits back, those who were overcharged rent, those who were harassed—everyone can get back what’s rightfully theirs.” The group went silent for ten seconds, then exploded. “Count me in!” “I’m suing him too!” “I have evidence of him taking cash without giving receipts!” “I have chat records of his sexual harassment!” Messages came one after another, flooding the screen.

I typed the last line. “Tomorrow at 2 PM, Starbucks on Highway 1. Let’s meet and talk.” Everyone replied: “Got it.” I shut off my phone and looked out the window. Caldwell’s car was still parked downstairs. He sat in it, staring at my window. I pulled the curtains closed. Tomorrow would be the real beginning. The next day at 2 PM, Starbucks on Highway 1. Seventeen people sat in a corner on the second floor. The entire “Victims of Caldwell Alliance” was present. I stood up and looked at them. Programmers, nurses, delivery drivers, salespeople, receptionists, designers… All immigrants working in America who’d been screwed over by Caldwell. “My name is Juliet. I live in 302…” “I’m Mary, 303…” One by one, they shared their experiences. I opened my computer and projected the evidence of Caldwell’s building violations onto the screen for everyone to see. I held up three fingers. “First, everyone organize your evidence—transfer records, chat screenshots, audio and video recordings. The more detailed, the better.” “Second, collectively report to Immigration and the fire department. The more people, the more seriously they’ll take it.” “Third, find a lawyer and collectively sue Caldwell, demanding deposit refunds and compensation for damages.” Niles raised her hand. “Are lawyer fees expensive?” “My mom’s a lawyer. She helped us contact a firm that does public interest litigation. They don’t charge upfront. If we win, they take fifteen percent of the compensation.” Wallace said, “I agree. Even if we don’t get money back, I want to make him miserable.” Everyone raised their hands in agreement. After the meeting, I returned to the complex. As soon as I entered the hallway, I smelled paint. On the door to 302, someone had spray-painted “BITCH” in red. I took out my phone to photograph it, then went to property management to check the surveillance. The property manager said, “The cameras are broken.” “When did they break?” “Yesterday.” Yesterday, the day Caldwell got out of the police station. I smiled. “Right. The cameras are broken. I’ll fix them myself.” I called Mary. “Mary, do you know how to install cameras?” “Yeah. I took an elective in electronic engineering in college.” “Do me a favor.” Half an hour later, I installed a pinhole camera in the hallway fire exit. The angle was aimed right at my door. That night, Caldwell came again. He stood outside my door and cursed for ten minutes. Then he pulled out a key from his pocket. He opened the door and went inside. I was next door at Mary’s place, watching the surveillance footage on my phone. My hands were shaking, but I didn’t move. Five minutes later, he came out holding my laptop. That was my work computer. It had all my social media accounts, client information, and unpublished articles. I held back. Didn’t go out. Didn’t call the police. After Caldwell left, I returned to my room. Drawers had been rifled through, closets opened, cigarette ash on the bedsheets. My underwear was thrown on the floor. I crouched down and picked them up one by one. Mary stood in the doorway, her eyes red. “Juliet, let’s call the police.” “Not yet.” “What do you mean not yet? He took your computer! Your work is on there!” I looked at Mary and smiled. “That computer—I just replaced the hard drive yesterday. The current hard drive only has one thing on it.” “What?” “Full video footage of Caldwell breaking into my place and stealing things.” I pulled out a USB drive from my pocket. “The pinhole camera is connected to this. Him opening the door, entering, taking the computer—it’s all recorded.”

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The day before my wedding, I was driving a friend to their hotel when I ran into my fiancée and her ex-boyfriend checking into a room together. Just ten minutes earlier, she’d texted me: “Babe, can’t wait for you to make me your wife tomorrow.” I swallowed my rage and recorded a video of them kissing. The next day at the wedding, I played the video for everyone to see. The moment the cheating video started playing, the venue exploded. Michelle’s brother Anthony reacted fastest, pointing at the staff and shouting. “What the hell did you people do! Playing this kind of video at a wedding!” “You dare humiliate the Thompson family—does your event planning company have a death wish!” “Where’s your manager! Get me…” Anthony quickly fell silent, frozen like the other guests, staring at the screen. I nodded with satisfaction. “Everyone, today is Michelle’s and my breakup party. From now on, we’re done. Please, eat and drink your fill.” Michelle realized she was the star of the video and rushed over frantically, trying to grab me and explain. But I’d already dropped the microphone and walked out. The second I left the hotel, my dad called. I let my AI assistant handle him. When I’d first told him I was marrying Michelle, he’d been so thrilled he went on a three-day drinking binge. He’d told everyone he met that I was marrying a rich man’s daughter, bragging about how capable I was. Now that this marriage was falling through, he’d be the first to object. Back home, my dad kept calling non-stop. The more I looked at it, the more irritated I got. I just yanked out the SIM card. After tossing my wedding suit in the trash, I headed to a bar. With a new phone, I couldn’t see whatever chaos they were in. The bar owner spotted me and came over with a teasing smile. “Flying solo today? Where’s your fiancée?” I glanced behind me and smiled. “She’ll be here soon.” The next second, a familiar figure appeared. Michelle was frantically pushing through the crowd. Eyes on her phone, she squeezed her way toward me. A man who’d been watching me suddenly rushed toward her, but Michelle fought him off hard. I couldn’t hear what he said, but it made her face twist with resentment as she shoved him away ruthlessly and kept searching through the crowd. The man watched Michelle from a distance, his expression desolate and pained. In the flickering bar lights, I couldn’t make out his face clearly, but he looked familiar somehow. I assumed he was one of Michelle’s friends who’d spotted me and tipped her off. But thinking back, I couldn’t place him at all. Then the bar owner called out to me. “George, your fiancée’s been calling my phone. What, you two have a fight?” I looked up. The bar owner thought I wanted to answer and just picked up. Very considerately put it on speaker too. The moment he answered, Michelle’s shouts came through. “I know you’re at the bar. Please tell me where. Just give me a chance to explain.” I hung up immediately. The owner looked stunned. “Aren’t you going to find your fiancée? Aren’t you worried she might be in danger?” I glanced at the man from before—he’d already disappeared into the crowd. I muttered distractedly, “She’s not my fiancée. She doesn’t need me.”

When I got back from the bar, it was two or three in the morning. I looked up to find Michelle crouched by my door. This was always what she did after screwing up. “George, I went to the bar but couldn’t find you. Your phone’s off too.” “How much did you drink? You can barely stand.” “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up inside.” Michelle rushed up to me excitedly, acting like nothing had happened as she fussed over me. I shoved her away hard. “Get lost! Don’t touch me!” Michelle froze, her eyes wounded. “George, the event company pranked us. The video was deepfaked.” “I’ve already hired a lawyer to sue them. I’ll definitely find evidence…” “I took the video myself.” I looked at her coldly. “You were so into that kiss outside the room, you didn’t even notice I was nearby.” Michelle’s face went white. She stood there frozen and lost. My stomach was full of alcohol. The slightest stimulation made it churn. I shoved past Michelle blocking my way and dove into the bathroom, hugging the toilet as I vomited until tears streamed down my face. Michelle followed me the whole time. Handing me tissues, finding hangover medicine, cooking noodles—silently taking care of me without a word. But every second, my mind replayed the scene of her passionately kissing her ex. Seeing her meticulous care now just felt jarring and laughable. “Michelle, I don’t want to see you anymore. Leave my house right now.” Suddenly, the sound of a bowl shattering came from the kitchen. She didn’t say anything for a long moment. After a while, she placed the cooked noodles in front of me and cleaned up the broken pieces herself. “George, just calm down for now. I’ll come back in a few days so we can talk properly.” I leaned back on the couch, hand weakly covering my eyes. “Get out.” I didn’t touch anything on the table. I slept on the couch all night with my arms wrapped around myself. Early the next morning, someone pounded on my door. The moment I opened it, my dad charged in without caring if he knocked into me. “George! Did a donkey kick you in the head?” “Michelle’s a daughter of a wealthy family. Of course she has an ex—that’s completely normal. Once you’re married you’ll have everything. You’d ruin the wedding over something so trivial!” “All our friends and family were there—where am I supposed to put my face!” My head was splitting from his ranting. I said weakly: “Dad, did you not see the video from the venue?” “She was checking into a hotel with her ex the day before our wedding…” My dad waved his hand dismissively, refusing to listen. “Don’t give me that!! Michelle’s fourth-generation wealth. Men lining up to marry her. This happened because you couldn’t keep her satisfied. If you had what it takes to make her devoted to you alone, this wouldn’t have happened. You’re about to move up a whole social class. You want to just walk away? You’re 30 years old—where are you going to find another woman who can help you more than Michelle?” I wasn’t surprised at all to hear these words from my dad. He had no bottom line when it came to money, especially rich women. But I couldn’t be like that. “Dad, if you like Michelle so much, why don’t you have her call you daddy.” My dad was so furious his mustache bristled. He raised his hand to slap me. I’d drunk too much last night and hadn’t eaten a thing. With this provocation, my stomach cramped painfully and something started forcing its way up. I shoved my dad aside and rushed to the toilet, retching violently. My dad kept going, saying I didn’t know how to be flexible, had irregular eating habits and loved drinking. But every sentence ended with Michelle. “Michelle’s beautiful and considerate, with an unmatched family background. If you don’t hold onto her, she’ll immediately find someone more handsome, more capable, and more understanding than you. Then you’ll have nowhere to cry.” His words traveled down the hallway and pierced straight into my ears. I suddenly remembered that desolate-looking man from last night. The delayed realization hit me like a sledgehammer pounding my heart. “Such a grown man who can’t even clean up. Why is there blood on the floor?!” “Only Michelle would put up with you. Any other woman would’ve blown the roof off by now.” I slammed the door hard and buried myself under the covers. I curled up into a ball, wrapping myself so tightly in the blanket that no air could get through, and broke down sobbing.

How Michelle and I got together wasn’t what my dad described. It wasn’t about me wanting to climb the social ladder while she happened to be a non-assertive rich girl. We’d been together ten years. We fell in love during the craziest period when my dad controlled my life. In our tenth year together, through my own efforts, I bought a condo and a car in the district where her family lived. I teased her on purpose. “Paid off the condo and car in full, got the wedding gift ready, even bought the diamond ring in your favorite style. How much longer do we need to date before you’ll marry me?” She cupped my face and kissed me, her love consuming. When we separated, her eyes sparkled as she looked at me. “This year. Let’s get married.” “George, do you still want to marry me?” I didn’t. I should have said I didn’t want to earlier. Michelle, you said now and forever you’d only love me. I was the one who soothed your past. I was your peaceful present. I was supposed to be the one walking into marriage with you. So why, when I was closest to happiness, did you maintain this ambiguous connection with your ex? My dad clung to me, threatening and persuading by turns. All to make me reconcile with Michelle. When all his efforts got no reaction from me, he slammed the door and left in anger. I locked myself at home. Nobody came looking for me. I turned off my phone too. Couldn’t hear anything. I lay in bed like a corpse, completely lifeless. Monday, I went to the office. The moment my coworkers saw me, they congratulated me. “The wedding didn’t happen. Sorry about that.” My coworker’s face showed shock and embarrassment. “So sudden. Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” “Let me buy you coffee. Sorry…” I cut off their apologies with a forced smile. “No need. It’s all in the past.” The busy morning helped me temporarily forget those troubles. I grabbed my mug and headed to the break room, where I found several people huddled together whispering. “Why didn’t George get married?” “His fiancée’s gorgeous and from a great family. Did she look down on him?” “Don’t talk nonsense. His fiancée treated him so well. She made him stomach-soothing soups, different ones every day of the week. Last time he worked himself into a perforated ulcer and ended up in the hospital, his fiancée never left his side. After he was discharged, she drove him to and from work for a while. She loved him to the bone—you can’t just make things up.” “Then what could it be? Don’t tell me George was cheating on his fiancée.” “There you go making things up again! We’ve been coworkers this long—don’t you know him? Capable and responsible, easygoing with a good sense of humor, very reliable. That kind of man.” I didn’t keep listening. I bought coffee from the vending machine and went back to work. As soon as I sat down, my dad called again. I didn’t answer, but his messages kept coming. 「How could you block Michelle? Are you a child?」 「Can’t you two just sit down and talk things through calmly?」 I looked at these words with detachment. I didn’t know how to respond. I felt completely empty inside. By the time I snapped out of it, my dad was already in my blocked list too.

Thunder rumbled and rain poured down. Wind howled. Watching my coworkers leave one by one, I finally headed downstairs. When I opened my bag, I remembered—I’d never been in the habit of carrying an umbrella. For the past ten years, Michelle had always reminded me. Before leaving, her eyes would hint at me repeatedly, playfully watching until I grabbed an umbrella. I’d gotten used to following her lead. As long as it was her, I’d trust unconditionally. This kind of habitual trust was truly terrifying. I held my bag over my head and ran through the rain into the parking garage, only to find my car wouldn’t start. I punched the steering wheel in frustration. It had been fine. When did it break? In the end, I had to run through the rain to the subway station. Just as I left the garage, I saw Michelle standing in the rain. The moment she spotted me, she ran over with concern. “George, why are you soaked? Let’s go home first…” “Let go!” I struggled free of her hand and kept walking without looking back. She called after me while chasing me, constantly reaching out to try to shield me from the rain. “George, I drove here. Let me give you a ride!” “You have stomach problems—catching a cold will make you miserable!” “If you won’t get in my car, at least take the umbrella. I’ll worry if you get sick…” “Get lost! Stop following me!” I stopped abruptly and broke down screaming at her. “Get away from me! Get lost!” “I don’t want to see you! I don’t want to hear another word from you! Do you hear me!” “I’ll never trust you again in this lifetime! Get lost! Get far away!” I shouted until my whole body shook. I couldn’t tell tears from rain on my face anymore. My throat felt like it was bleeding from screaming. Why? Today had been so normal. I’d finalized a project with clients and eaten properly. I’d even decided to get my long-delayed stomach issues checked out. I thought I’d moved on. Why did seeing Michelle make me fall apart again? Our only umbrella got knocked out of my hand and was immediately swept away by the wind. Michelle in her elegant dress was completely destroyed by the wind and rain. We both stood there looking absolutely wretched. Despite my harsh rejection, she stood motionless like a statue. She stared at me blankly, her mouth opening and closing as if calling my name. Seeing her so confused and dazed didn’t give me any relief. My heart only felt heavier. The scattered people nearby all turned to look at us. I didn’t want to stay locked in this standoff. After wiping the water from my face, I left with determination. After getting home and showering, I felt congested with stomach pain. After taking medicine, just as I was about to lie down, my phone lit up with an unfamiliar number. “George, you bastard! You even blocked your own father!” “I’ve been going crazy! Michelle tried to kill herself—she slit her wrists!” “Downtown First Hospital, third floor emergency room. Get here right now!”

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I will never forget the day that was supposed to be the happiest of my life. Standing there in my pristine white wedding dress, my heart brimming with anticipation, I waited for my groom. Instead, what arrived was the news that he had been taken away by the police, accused of sexually assaulting a college student. My mind went completely blank. Driven by pure instinct, I chased after the squad cars, desperate to defend him, to prove his innocence to the world. But reality delivered a crushing, suffocating blow—he had turned himself in. Faced with my absolute shock and confusion, he looked at me with eyes full of apologies and explained. He said the girl’s name was Daisy. Her family had found out she had been taken advantage of, and now, they were forcing her to marry the scumbag who had assaulted her. He couldn’t bear to watch Daisy be condemned to such a tragic fate, so he stepped up and took the fall for the crime himself. He told me Daisy’s family had agreed to drop the charges on one condition: he had to marry her. As for the inevitable fallout at his job, the investigations, and the vicious rumors that would tear through our social circles—he hoped I could handle all of that for him. He and Daisy had already worked it out. It would just be a fake marriage. A three-year arrangement. After three years, he promised, he would come back to me. He would give me another wedding. He begged me to wait. Listening to this absurd, martyr-like confession, a strange, chilling calmness washed over me. I turned my back on him and walked away without a word. Passing a stray dog on the sidewalk, I casually pulled the delicate tulle veil from my hair and draped it over the animal’s head. Donovan, did you really think I’d be stupid enough to wait? …… 1. I took another heavy pull from my glass. Honestly, my friends hadn’t cursed him out nearly enough. They went too easy on him. Maybe the liquor was finally hitting my bloodstream. A different kind of regret started bubbling up in my chest—the regret that I hadn’t slapped Joseph across the face when I had the chance three years ago. I lost track of how many drinks I’d downed. I pushed my chair back, swaying slightly as I stood up to find the restroom. The moment I was on my feet, the room tilted. The ground felt like a sponge beneath my shoes. A coworker grabbed my arm, eyes laced with concern. I waved her off with exaggerated confidence and stumbled out of the booth. It wasn’t until I hit the hallway that I realized exactly how far gone I was. The recessed lighting seemed to pulse and sway. But I brushed it off, humming a tuneless melody as I made my way to the bathroom, and was still humming when I emerged. And then. I saw a painfully familiar silhouette standing at the end of the corridor. The slope of the nose, the sharp line of the jaw, the profile… Why… why did he look exactly like my ex-boyfriend? I narrowed my eyes, squinting through the alcohol haze for a few long seconds. The longer I looked, the more certain I became. It was Joseph. The arrogant, manipulative sociopath who had cosplayed as a starving artist to trick me, the guy who had looked down his nose and told me I’d hit the jackpot just by breathing his air. “Dead man walking,” I muttered under my breath. 2. Before my brain could process the command, my body was already launching forward. Smack— My palm connected with his cheek. The sound cracked like a whip in the narrow hallway. The man clutched his face, his eyes blown wide in absolute, horrified disbelief. I leaned in close, glaring at him, but something felt… off. This skin… wasn’t it a little smoother than I remembered? Then it clicked. I crossed my arms over my chest, a mocking smirk twisting my lips. “Well, well. Haven’t seen you in three years and you’ve somehow aged backwards. What, did you finally discover Botox?” But I had the wrong guy. The consequences of my impulsive, drunken rage were far more severe than I could have anticipated. The man called the cops. During the fifteen agonizing minutes it took for the police to arrive, the cold draft cutting through the hallway sobered me up entirely. My coworker came sprinting out of the bar, staring at me in sheer horror. “Nicola… did you actually hit someone?” I nodded, a sickening wave of remorse washing over me. Liquid courage really does make fools out of cowards. I couldn’t believe I had actually struck someone. The police arrived shortly after. We were ushered into a bleak mediation room at the precinct. The moment the door clicked shut, the officer turned a stern, unforgiving gaze on me. “Alright. Let’s hear it. What exactly happened here?” I let out a dry, nervous laugh, entirely resigned to my fate. “Officer, I was completely out of line. I hit him, and I’m wrong for that. I’m more than willing to apologize and pay for any medical expenses, as long as… well, as long as he doesn’t try to ruin my life over this.” The officer sighed, looking exasperated. “You look like a perfectly normal, quiet young woman. Why on earth are you going around slapping people?” The corner of my mouth twitched. I swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “I’m so sorry. It’s just… he looks exactly like my ex-boyfriend. I had way too much to drink, and I just lost it. I thought he was the guy who ruined my life, and I… I just swung.” The cop took a deep breath, his expression a mix of pity and exhaustion. “Even if it was your ex, you can’t just assault people in public. If he presses charges, you’re looking at assault and battery. Do you understand that?” I was drowning in shame, nodding frantically. “Yes, yes, I know. It’s my fault entirely. The alcohol clouded my judgment. I’ll apologize, I’ll pay, I’ll—” Before I could finish, the man sitting across the table let out a sharp, incredulous scoff. “Looks like your ex?” He dragged his eyes up and down my body, his gaze scraping over my messy hair down to my scuffed boots. A blatant, cruel sneer settled on his face. “You?” “Someone wearing head-to-toe clearance rack polyester, looking like a thrift store tragedy… and you think you dated someone who looks like me?” He paused, as if savoring the insult, before delivering the final blow. “Honestly, with eyesight like yours, you should just donate your corneas to someone who actually needs them.” I buried my face in my hands, completely incapable of formulating a defense. Who could have possibly predicted this? That there was someone out there walking the earth with Joseph’s exact face. Drinking really ruins lives. I had just wanted one night to numb the pain of a ruined wedding. And now, I might not even get to sleep in my own bed tonight. 3. Stripped of any right to defend myself, I kept my head down, staring blankly at the tips of my shoes. Seeing my silence, the man leaned into his arrogance, completely unleashed. “Officer, look at her. You see how insane this is, right? The woman is genuinely delusional!” “She belongs in a psychiatric hold! What kind of nonsense is she spouting about me looking like her ex?” “Any man who shares even three percent of my DNA would never be caught dead with someone of her… caliber.” I snapped my head up, unable to hold my tongue any longer. “Not three percent. You look ninety-nine percent like him! I literally thought he just got a chemical peel.” The man looked at me with unbridled disgust. “That makes it even more impossible. The only person on this planet who looks that much like me is my older brother.” He rolled his eyes, his tone dripping with mockery. “And my brother? You definitely don’t know him. He’s operating in a completely different stratosphere than you. There are millions of miles of tax brackets between you two. You’d have to get down on your knees and thank God just to be in the same room as him. Date him? You couldn’t even afford to dream about it.” I froze. My breath caught in my throat, and the words died on my tongue. Seeing me stunned into silence, the man threw his hands up in a dramatic, ‘I told you so’ gesture. But it wasn’t that I didn’t want to fight back. It was that my brain had short-circuited. His words… they sounded so familiar. “A girl from your tax bracket is lucky to even be breathing my air. You hit the jackpot with me. You should be down on your knees thanking God.” The exact same cadence. The exact same arrogance. The exact same suffocating condescension. This brother he was talking about… Maybe I really did know him. Maybe… Before my racing thoughts could land, the heavy door of the mediation room swung open. The man, who had been aggressively running his mouth just a second ago, shot up from his chair. The haughty cruelty vanished from his face, instantly replaced by the exaggerated whine of a victimized child. “Joseph! You’re here! This crazy woman literally assaulted me! You have to destroy her for this!” I slowly lifted my head. My entire body went rigid against the hard plastic chair. He looked at me. His dark, fathomless eyes locked onto my face, and time completely stopped. In the fraction of a second our eyes met, my palms began to burn. For three years, I had fantasized about this exact moment. I had replayed our inevitable reunion a thousand times in my head. I thought I would slap him. I thought I would scream at him. I imagined standing tall, shoulders back, radiating success, letting him see exactly how brilliantly I had survived without him. But three years hadn’t diminished him. He was still the man who commanded the summit of the world. Dressed in an impeccably tailored, charcoal Brioni suit, the sheer, crushing weight of his authority was even more suffocating than I remembered. He was lightyears away from the man who used to cram into my tiny, drafty apartment wearing pilled sweaters. And me? I was wearing a cheap, oversized hoodie I’d bought on sale. My hair was a tangled mess, and I reeked of cheap tequila. Beside him, the younger brother was practically vibrating with excitement. “Joseph, seriously, you have to handle this. Call the legal team. Let’s lock this psycho in an asylum!” As soon as the words left his mouth, Joseph slowly turned his head and looked at him. Just one look. The younger brother snapped his mouth shut, visibly shrinking back, terrified to make another sound. When Joseph spoke, his voice wasn’t loud, but it carried an absolute, terrifying finality. “Apologize.” I swallowed thickly, my heart hammering against my ribs. I cursed my own cowardice. Where was all that fire I had when I slapped his brother? Hand up, strike down, clean and brutal. Now, with the actual villain standing right in front of me, I couldn’t even summon a single word. My palm still tingled. But I was stone-cold sober now. I knew the reality of the situation. The man standing before me had the power, the money, and the absolute ruthlessness to completely ruin my life with a snap of his fingers. I folded. I lowered my gaze. Even though every fiber of my being screamed in protest, I forced the words past the lump in my throat. “I’m sor—” “Not you,” Joseph interrupted, his voice slicing through the thick air. “Wyatt. Apologize to her.” 4. I sat there, dumbfounded. Wyatt looked equally paralyzed. The color drained from his face as he choked out, “Joseph… what did you just say?” Joseph’s expression dropped by several degrees, the air around him turning arctic. “Wyatt, I said apologize. What gives you the right to speak to a woman like that? What kind of garbage were you spewing? Who taught you to behave that way?” Wyatt’s jaw tightened in defiance. His lips parted to argue, but the sheer terror in his eyes forced him to swallow the rebellion. Joseph’s dark eyes narrowed slightly. “And another thing. Didn’t you swear to me you’d be back in your dorm by ten every night? Not only are you out past curfew, but you reek of alcohol. So, you’re lying to me now?” Wyatt physically flinched. He had completely forgotten about the leverage. To get Joseph to buy him a new Porsche 911, he had sworn up and down: “I’ll study hard, I’ll stay out of trouble, back in the dorms by ten, I promise.” Now, his entire facade had crumbled. Wyatt nervously rubbed the back of his neck. Though his face was flushed with humiliated reluctance, he muttered, “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have insulted you.” But he couldn’t let it go entirely. He added a petulant, “But she shouldn’t have slapped me either… she needs to—” “Enough. The matter is settled,” Joseph cut him off effortlessly. “It’s late. Go home.” Wyatt’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He looked at his older brother, then at me, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. His face contorted with suppressed rage. He was the one who got hit. He was the victim here. How the hell did it end up with him getting chewed out, forced to apologize, and sent away like a scolded dog? But he didn’t dare say a word. He knew exactly how ruthless his brother was. Joseph held absolute, terrifying control over the family empire. Their father deferred to him, their mother feared him, and even the ancient, cutthroat board members of the company wouldn’t dare cross him. If Wyatt talked back, that Porsche was gone, and his trust fund allowance would be frozen by morning. Defeated, Wyatt shot me a venomous, secretive glare, before dropping his head and trailing miserably toward the exit. I sat there, completely dazed. The police officer, clearly eager to be done with the drama, sighed. “Well, since the aggrieved party considers the matter settled, we’re done here. You’re free to go, miss.” It took me a long moment to gather my bearings before I slowly walked out of the precinct. The night wind hit me instantly, biting and cold, making me shiver in my thin hoodie. I stood on the concrete steps, tilting my head to look at the sky. There were no stars tonight. Just a solitary, crescent moon hanging in the dark, looking incredibly lonely. A few feet away, I heard Wyatt dramatically whining by the curb. “Come on, Joseph! You’re already here, just give me a ride!” He tried to play the pathetic card. “Joseph, please. My dorm locked its gates an hour ago. I can’t get back in! Just let me crash at your penthouse tonight, please! I can’t go back to our parents’ house looking like this. Your driver can just drop me at campus in the morning!” Joseph’s face remained carved from stone. “You can stay at the penthouse. Call an Uber.” Wyatt stared at him like he had lost his mind. “I am your blood brother! Why do I have to get an Uber? You’re getting in a car right now!” Joseph ignored him entirely. His peripheral vision caught me standing on the steps. He bypassed his brother and walked straight toward me. When he spoke, the ice in his voice melted into something almost agonizingly gentle. “Nicola. It’s late, and it’s hard to get a cab in this area. Let me take you home.” Behind him, Wyatt looked like he was about to have an aneurysm, his eyes darting frantically between his untouchable brother and the girl in the cheap hoodie. I looked up at Joseph. A chaotic storm of emotions raged in my chest, a bitter, tangled knot I couldn’t even begin to unravel. Right now, less than three feet separated us. The amber glow of the streetlamp spilled across his face, casting deep, cinematic shadows over the sharp angles of his jaw and the intense, searching look in his eyes. Every survival instinct I possessed screamed at me to maintain the boundary. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Leonard,” I said, my voice deliberately flat. “My best friend is on her way.” As if on cue, the high-pitched beep of a moped horn pierced the quiet night. Gemma pulled up to the curb on her battered vintage Vespa, the engine sputtering as she hit the brakes in front of the precinct. She spotted me instantly, kicked the stand down, and pulled a spare helmet from the storage box. She marched up the steps, shoved the helmet onto my head, and loudly clicked the chin strap into place. Gemma didn’t spare Joseph an ounce of politeness. She knew exactly what he had done to me. As she walked past him to get back to the bike, she dragged out her words, her tone dripping with venomous sarcasm. “Well, well. Look at the Wall Street royalty gracing us with his presence. Careful, you might catch something from us peasants.” She turned to me, making sure he could hear every word. “Come on, Nat. We need to stay far away from people like this. They might look like gentlemen in their custom suits, but underneath, they’re nothing but rot.” She punctuated the insult with a massive, exaggerated eye roll aimed directly at Joseph. She yanked me onto the back of the Vespa. The second I was settled, she gunned the throttle, and the little engine roared as we shot down the empty street. I could hear Wyatt screaming obscenities in our wake. “Are you kidding me?! Who the hell does that trashy bitch think she is talking to us like that?! This is the worst night of my entire life!” …… The cold wind whipped violently against my ears. Wyatt’s screeching faded into the distance until there was nothing but the hum of the tires on the asphalt. I didn’t speak. I just gripped the grab rails of the seat so tightly my knuckles ached. There was a heavy, stinging pressure building behind my eyes. I sniffled softly against the chill. Gemma felt the shift in my posture. She called over her shoulder, her voice softening. “Nat, don’t tell me you’re crying over that piece of garbage. Hey… if it hurts that much—just lean on me.” I hesitated for a second, then slowly pressed my forehead against her back. I wasn’t crying. I just told myself the wind was blowing a little too hard tonight. 5. It was nearly midnight by the time I walked through my front door. I turned the key as quietly as possible, but when I stepped inside, my mother was sitting rigid on the living room sofa. She had clearly been waiting up for me. Still rattled by the collision of my past and present, I forced a casual tone. “Mom, why are you still awake?” The deep worry lines etched into her forehead relaxed slightly the moment she saw me safe. Her gaze swept over me, lingering on my face. “Nicola, why are you home so late? Your eyes are red. Have you been crying?” I waved my hand dismissively, forcing a bright, easy smile as I dropped onto the couch beside her. “I was just in a really good mood tonight. Went out with the girls from work and had a few too many.” I leaned in closer to her, exaggerating a sloppy grin. “Smell me. Don’t I reek of tequila?” A shadow of doubt crossed my mother’s eyes. She spoke quietly. “But you only ever drink like that when you’re heartbroken or stressed. Did something happen tonight? Did you… run into someone?” My stomach plummeted, but I kept my expression perfectly neutral. “Run into someone? Who would I possibly run into in a city this big?” “I never said a name,” she replied softly. I was completely trapped. I couldn’t find the words to spin a lie. She sighed, her voice frail and tender. “Nicola, honey… I don’t interfere in your love life. You know that. But as long as it’s not him… As long as it’s not Joseph. Not after what he did to—” She stopped herself, swallowing the rest of the sentence as if it were poison. “Never mind. Let’s not talk about him. I just… I never want to see you broken like that again.” A painful lump formed in my throat, burning all the way down to my chest. I forced the corners of my mouth up. “Mom, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. The only thing on my mind right now is making rent and keeping my head down at work. I don’t have the luxury for anything else.” My mother looked at me, a deep, complicated sorrow in her eyes. Her lips parted, clearly wanting to say more, to dig into the old wounds. But in the end, she just sighed and let the silence take over. I knew exactly what she wanted to ask. She wanted to talk about three years ago. And what exactly happened three years ago?

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The ice rattled in my glass, a sharp, rhythmic sound that matched the thrumming of my heart. I’d lost the round of Truth or Dare, and my friends didn’t waste a second. “What was the exact moment,” my best friend asked, a predatory glint in her eye, “that you knew Thomas was ‘the one’?” I let the silence stretch, my gaze drifting lazily toward the dark corner of the lounge where he sat. “Probably the moment after we broke up,” I said, my voice carrying just enough of a sting. “When he saw someone else trying to move in on me and finally grew a spine. He came back crawling, literally in tears, begging for a second chance. That’s when I knew.” The room erupted in a chorus of whistles and laughter. But in the shadows, a young woman—a graduate student of Thomas’s—sat frozen. Her face was a violent shade of crimson, and I could see the liquid shimmer of unshed tears in her eyes. I didn’t look away. I leaned back, letting my shoulder press firmly against Thomas’s chest, claiming him. He stiffened for a heartbeat, a micro-tension in his muscles, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he slid an arm around my waist, pulling me closer. The girl couldn’t take it. She stood abruptly, her chair screeching against the hardwood, and bolted out the door. Only then did Thomas lean into my ear, his voice a jagged whisper. “Lydia, for God’s sake. Enough is enough.” … Thomas had told me to get back to the venue immediately. He wanted me to “smooth things over” with the university board members and quell the whispers that were already spreading like wildfire through the faculty. I didn’t do that. I did two things instead. First, I called the university’s endowment office. I informed them that I was pulling my family foundation’s funding for his research project and effectively shuttering his lab. Second, I walked out of my own wedding. I drove back to the house we shared, my vision blurred by tears I refused to let fall. Once inside, I began to scrub him out of my life. I packed the couple’s mugs we’d fired ourselves during a weekend in Vermont. I grabbed the matching silk pajamas we wore every Sunday. Finally, I reached for the wedding portrait we’d picked up just yesterday—the one I’d spent a fortune framing. I threw it all into the oversized soaking tub in the master bath. I flicked a lighter and watched the edges of our “happily ever after” curl into black ash. As the smoke began to rise, I called the hotel. “The wedding is off,” I told the manager, my voice eerily steady. “Don’t look to me for the balance. Send the bill to the groom. And please, have the concierge pack up my personal belongings and deliver them to my new address.” There was a stunned silence on the other end. “But, Ms. Whitlock… the groom just called. He said the wedding is still on, just postponed by twenty-four hours? He said we’d made a mistake with the signage and the programs. He’s asked us to change the bride’s name to Piper Sampson.” A cold, sharp needle pierced my heart. That wedding was ten years in the making. Every peony, every hand-calligraphed place card, every inch of the lighting design had been curated by me over the last six months. It was the physical manifestation of a decade of devotion. Thomas knew that. He knew this was my dream. And he was going to hand it to his student like a second-hand gift? I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. “Do whatever you want with the party. Just send my things back. Especially the contents of the suite’s safe. The gold cuff. Make sure it’s there.” The manager sounded even more confused now. “But… the groom took the cuff an hour ago. He said it was part of the ‘traditional dowry’ for the bride.” My head spun. I hung up and began dialing Thomas’s number with shaking fingers. He declined the first seventeen calls. On the eighteenth, he finally picked up, his voice dripping with exhausted irritation. “Lydia, I told you! Stop calling me. I’m trying to help Piper through this. We’re essentially performing a ‘mercy marriage’ to save her reputation. I’m with her parents right now, and if they suspect this isn’t real, everything is ruined.” “Thomas,” I choked out, my voice thin. “Did you take my mother’s cuff?” He paused. Then came a small, dismissive huff of a laugh. “Yes. Piper’s mother insisted on a significant piece of jewelry as a gesture of good faith. I remembered that gold cuff of yours—it’s heavy, it looks the part. It’s just a prop for the ceremony, Lydia. You’ll get it back.” The pain was so sudden it felt like my chest had been cleaved open. “Thomas!” I screamed, the sound tearing my throat. “That was the last thing my mother left me! It’s an heirloom! You have no right to give it to that… that little home-wrecker!” “Give it back! Now! Or I swear to God, I will call the police. I’ll make sure you both spend your honeymoon in a cell!” I was shaking so violently I had to lean against the wall. Thomas’s voice turned icy. “Watch your mouth. I told you, it’s a performance. I’m borrowing it. I was going to buy you a replacement tomorrow anyway—something newer, something you’d actually like. I didn’t realize you’d be so petty.” I couldn’t listen to another word. I slammed the phone down, grabbed his suitcases from the hallway, and hailed an Uber. I gave the driver Piper’s address. On the way, my phone buzzed incessantly. A text from Thomas: “I’m sorry I snapped. I’m under a lot of pressure, Lydia. Let’s be adults about this. I’ll return the cuff tomorrow, but you need to show up at the ceremony as Piper’s maid of honor. If you’re there, people won’t think she stole me. If anyone asks, just tell them you were the one who moved on first… tell them you had an affair. Just don’t let this ruin Piper’s future.” I stared at the screen, a hysterical laugh bubbling up in my chest until it turned into a sob. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror and silently handed me a tissue. I thanked him, wiped my face, and hauled the suitcases out of the car. I didn’t take the elevator. I ran up the stairs and began pounding on Piper’s door with everything I had. The door flew open. “Who the hell is it at this—” Thomas stood there, wearing a pink floral apron, his forehead dusted with flour. My eyes stung. We had been together for ten years. I had watched him climb from a struggling PhD student to a tenured professor. I knew his deepest scars. I knew that in grad school, he’d worked a brutal shift as a line cook to pay rent, and a group of wealthy frat boys had cornered him, mocked his “servant” status, and dumped a bucket of kitchen scraps over his head. He had loathed the kitchen ever since. When we got engaged, and I brought him home to meet my dying mother, I had asked him to help me carry a tray of food into her room. He had turned cold, slammed the door, and left me there to explain his “shame” to a woman who just wanted to see her daughter loved. I had spent years protecting him. I had learned to cook—burned my hands, spent hours over a hot stove—just so he would never have to touch a pan again. And here he was, wearing an apron for her. Thomas froze when he saw me, his hand instinctively twitching toward the apron strings. “Lydia… what are you doing here?” Piper appeared behind him, her small face pale and wide-eyed. “Professor… I mean, Lydia… why are you here?” She stepped in front of him, her eyes welling up instantly. “If you’re going to be angry, take it out on me. He’s only doing this to save me.” Thomas looked at her with such visceral tenderness it made me nauseous. He turned his fury on me. “How can you be so heartless, Lydia? Piper was going to be forced into a marriage with a literal predator by her family. I’m just providing her a shield. Can’t you find an ounce of empathy?” “No!” I shouted, my voice trembling. “Her family problems are her business! She can go to the police! She doesn’t get to take my wedding, my husband, and my mother’s jewelry!” “Or maybe…” My voice cracked. “Maybe she was never ‘forced’ into anything. Maybe you two have been screwing around behind my back and this is just a convenient—” Crack. The slap echoed in the narrow hallway. My head jerked to the side, the sting blooming across my cheek. Thomas stood there, his hand still raised, his face a mask of righteous indignation. “I won’t let you slander her! I told you, it’s a legal arrangement! How can you be so malicious?” The noise had drawn the neighbors out. People were peering over the banister, whispering. “Piper, honey? Is everything okay? Who is this woman?” an older woman from the floor above asked. Piper sniffled, looking down at the floor. “She’s his… his ex.” The neighbor’s expression shifted to pure disgust. She stepped toward me, shoving my shoulder. “The man is getting married. Have some dignity and stop harrassing him! You’re acting like a obsessed mistress. Get out before we call the cops.” “Yeah, film her! Put her on TikTok!” someone else shouted. I laughed, a jagged, broken sound. I kicked Thomas’s suitcases toward them. “Tell them, Thomas. Tell them who the ‘mistress’ is here.” As the suitcases slid across the floor, Piper let out a sharp cry and collapsed to her knees. Thomas looked at her leg—there was a tiny, nail-sized red mark. His face went livid. “Lydia! Are you finished? I am legally married to Piper as of this morning! Who the hell do you think you’re calling a mistress?” I went still. “You actually signed the papers? This morning?” Thomas realized his slip, his eyes darting away. “It’s a shitty bracelet, Lydia! You came here to assault a girl over a piece of gold? I never realized how selfish and cold you truly were.” My eyes went wide as Thomas stormed back into the apartment. He returned a second later, holding my mother’s cuff. He didn’t hand it to me. He hurled it against the tiled floor of the landing with all his might. “You want your precious junk? There! Take it and get out!” “No!” I screamed, lunging for it, but I was too late. The gold hit the hard tile and the delicate filigree snapped, the jade inlay shattering into a dozen pieces. I looked up at him, and for the first time in a decade, there was no love in my eyes. Just a cold, dead hatred. Even Thomas seemed to flinch at the look in my gaze. But then Piper whimpered. “Thomas… my leg hurts so much. I think it’s broken.” Thomas snapped back into her orbit instantly. He scooped her up, stepping right over the shattered remains of my mother’s legacy. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ve got you. I’m taking you to the ER.” He moved so fast, with such reckless intent, that he slammed into me as I was still kneeling on the floor. I lost my balance and tumbled backward, down the steep, narrow flight of stairs. I hit the landing with a sickening thud. Through the blur of pain and the gasps of the neighbors, I looked up. Thomas didn’t even turn around. The last thing I saw before the world went black was Piper, her head resting on his shoulder, looking down at me with a slow, triumphant smile. In that moment, the sound of my heart breaking was as clear and sharp as the shattering of that jade. There was a time when Thomas would have fought the world for me. Back in college, when those frat boys were following me, whistling and making me feel small and hunted, he had appeared out of nowhere. He’d stood between me and them, his jaw set, refusing to budge until they backed off. He’d taken my hand and led me to safety. Later, when I found out they’d targeted him because of it, I had gone to him in tears. He’d just smiled, tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, and said, “It’s okay, Lydia. I just can’t stand to see you cry.” The man who once couldn’t bear a single tear of mine was now the reason for my agony. When did Piper start living in the spaces between us? Maybe it was the day she became his research assistant. He’d talk about her constantly, saying she reminded him of his younger self. But the look in his eyes wasn’t nostalgic—it was proprietary. Or maybe it was the night she called him, sobbing, saying a group of guys were cornering her at a campus bar. Thomas, usually the most rational man I knew, had sprinted out the door and ended up in a fistfight. When I went to bail him out, looking at his bruised lip, I felt the first real pang of bitterness. “I heard what was happening to her,” he’d explained, “and I just thought of you, back then. I lost my head.” But back then… he had just led me away. He hadn’t tried to be a martyr. I woke up in the hospital with a dull, throbbing ache behind my eyes. The doctor told me I was lucky—I’d suffered a concussion and a small brain bleed. If I’d stayed on that landing any longer, I might not have woken up at all. I discharged myself as soon as I could. I needed to breathe. But as I reached the entrance to my new apartment building, three men stepped out of the shadows. “You the bitch from the internet?” one of them sneered. “Look at her, acting all high and mighty,” another said. “Spends her daddy’s money to hire goons to harass a poor student? You like men so much, let’s see how you like us.” They lunged. I screamed, trying to fight them off, but they were stronger. They tore at my clothes, leaving bruises like dark thumbprints on my skin. Only the arrival of the building’s security guard and the sound of a police siren sent them running. I collapsed on the pavement, sobbing, my body wracked with tremors. The security guard looked down at me, his lip curled in a sneer. “Honestly, you probably had it coming,” he muttered. “Who does that to a young girl?” I looked up, my voice a broken rasp. “What did you say?” He just shook his head and walked away. My phone buzzed. I pulled it out, my hands shaking so hard I nearly dropped it. And there it was. A public post from Thomas Beckett. “I hate to bring private matters into the public eye, but I have to clear the air. My ex-fiancée, Lydia Whitlock, has been orchestrating a campaign of harassment against my student, Piper. Out of jealousy, she hired local thugs to intimidate this girl. I stepped in to protect Piper, but Lydia’s behavior has only escalated. I cannot remain silent while an innocent woman is terrorized. I will be standing by Piper, and I will be taking her as my wife to ensure she is protected for the rest of her life.” Piper had commented below it: “With you, I’m not afraid of anything.” The blood roared in my ears. Below the post, there were thousands of comments. Strangers calling for my head. My photo had been photoshopped into horrific, degrading images. People were leaking my address, promising to “teach me a lesson.” I tried to reply, to explain that I had done nothing, that Thomas was lying. But no one cared. “Your own boyfriend called you out! You’re a monster!” “Where’s your proof? Oh, wait, you don’t have any. Burn in hell, bitch.” I forwarded the post to Thomas. “Why are you doing this to me?” His reply was instantaneous: “I told you to handle the board members yesterday. You walked out and left me to drown. I had to protect my career, Lydia. Everyone was calling Piper a slut; she was suicidal last night. I did what I had to do to save her reputation.” “What about mine?!” I typed back. “What about my life?” “Lydia, they’re just words on a screen. Don’t look at them. People have short memories. By the way, the ceremony starts in an hour. You need to come. Be the maid of honor, apologize to Piper in front of everyone. We need to complete the narrative.” Then, his final sting: “Be a good girl. If you keep acting out, I can’t promise I’ll come back to you in a few years. Remember, your mother is gone. I’m the only family you have left in this world.” I sat there, the phone cold against my palm. Years ago, at my mother’s bedside, he had held my hand and sworn to be my rock, my family, my forever. And now, he was using my loneliness as a weapon to keep me under his thumb. As the tears started to fall, a notification popped up from an unknown number. “Ms. Whitlock, I have something you should see. I have the security footage from the night of the ‘incident’ at the university. I think you deserve to know what actually happened in that equipment room.” I clicked the file. I froze. A month ago, during the graduation gala, Piper and Thomas had vanished. As the primary donor for the lab, I’d gone backstage with some faculty members to find them. We’d seen Thomas carrying a semi-conscious Piper to his car. At the hospital, the doctor’s report had been “heat exhaustion and dehydration.” They’d been locked in a storage room for three hours with high-intensity stage lights. Piper claimed someone had trapped her there, and Thomas had “found” her. The school was ready to expel her for the scandal, but Thomas had threatened to pull my funding if they didn’t drop it. I had tried to help her find “the attacker,” but Thomas had screamed at me to drop it, saying I was “retraumatizing” her. Now, watching the video, I saw the truth. I saw Piper and Thomas practically tearing each other’s clothes off as they ducked into that room. I saw them accidentally kick the door shut, engaging the heavy-duty latch from the inside. They weren’t victims. They were caught in the act of their own betrayal. But as I scrubbed through the footage, I saw something else. My eyes widened. I stared at the screen for a long time, a bitter, hollow laugh escaping my lips. Oh, Thomas. You think you’re her savior. You have no idea you’re just her fall guy. My phone buzzed again with another demand from Thomas. I wiped my eyes and typed back a simple response. “Fine. I’ll be there.” I wasn’t going there to save them. I was going to bury them. When I arrived at the venue, the air turned cold. Guests looked at me with open sneers. Piper’s mother saw me and immediately spat at my feet. “You disgusting woman! How dare you show your face here after what you did to my daughter!” She and a few other relatives began pulling at my dress, calling me every name in the book until security finally pulled them away. I didn’t say a word. I straightened my silk blazer and walked into the ballroom. The room was packed. Thomas had invited the press, the university board—everyone. He wanted a public sanctification of his “noble” choice. When he saw me, he looked relieved. He walked over, his gait confident, and tried to take my hand. “See? I knew you’d come around. It’s better this way, Lydia.” “I’ve already sent the cuff to a jeweler. They’ll fix it. It’ll be like it never broke.” He handed me a piece of paper. “Read this when the officiant calls you up. It’s a confession and an apology. Once this is over, I’ll come home to you tonight, okay? I’ll even buy you a ticket to Europe. Stay there for a year or two, and when the dust settles, I’ll come find you. We’ll get married then.” I looked down at the paper. It was a detailed script of how I had “hunted” Piper out of “unstable jealousy.” If I read this, I would be socially and professionally dead. I looked at him, then slowly, deliberately, tore the paper into shreds and let them flutter onto his polished shoes. I walked up to the podium, signaled the technician I’d paid off earlier, and turned to the crowd. “Everyone!” I said, my voice echoing through the speakers. “I’m here to clarify the record.” “I’m here to show you exactly who targeted Piper Sampson.”

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I’d lost the round of Truth or Dare, and my friend, perfectly on cue, leaned in with a glint in her eye. “Out of all the years you’ve been with Holden,” she asked, her voice carrying over the low hum of the lounge, “what was the exact moment that made your heart skip the hardest?” I knew exactly what she was doing. I offered a serene, practiced smile. “When we broke up a few years ago,” I said, my voice steady, “and he realized he couldn’t live without me just because some other girl threw herself at him. When he came crawling back, begging for a second chance.” The room erupted into a chorus of overly enthusiastic awws and raised glasses. But my eyes were fixed on the girl sitting in the far corner of the velvet booth. Her face was flushed with humiliation, her eyes red-rimmed, sticking out like a raw, bleeding thumb. A surge of cold satisfaction washed over me. I held her gaze straight on, deliberately leaning my body closer to Holden. He stiffened. But he let me pull him in, even wrapping his arms around my waist to complete the picture. It was too much for her. Unable to bear it a second longer, she grabbed her purse and fled the room, the heavy door slamming shut behind her. As soon as she was gone, Holden leaned down, his lips brushing my ear. “Daphne,” he whispered, his tone laced with gentle reprimand. “Don’t you think that was taking it a bit too far?” 1 I froze. Slowly, I pulled back, putting an inch of cool air between us, and really looked at him. He was wearing a bespoke charcoal suit I had meticulously picked out for him. The navy silk tie resting against his throat was the one I had knotted myself before we left the apartment. Every single detail of him aligned perfectly with my aesthetic. But I hated the words coming out of his mouth. It felt like looking at a masterpiece I had spent years curating, only to notice a jagged, ugly crack running right down the center. A flicker of profound regret passed through my eyes. I was annoyed, and when I’m annoyed, the filter comes off. “Was it taking it further than when you were fucking Jocelyn?” Holden choked on his next breath. The sheer shock paralyzing his handsome features was almost boring to look at. I glanced around the table. The music was still playing, but the silence among our friends was deafening. They were exchanging wide-eyed, terrified looks. I let out a soft, airy laugh and picked up the deck of cards from the table. “Come on, keep playing. Whose turn was it?” I was a good host; I knew how to warm up a dead room. Following my lead, they awkwardly picked up the pieces of the conversation, tossing out jokes until the tension thinned. We were here to have a good time. If Jocelyn hadn’t crashed the party just to be an eyesore, I wouldn’t have ruined the vibe. A while later, when the game was in full swing, I looked over my shoulder. Holden was gone. When he finally reappeared at the entrance of the VIP room, the guy who had brought Jocelyn as his plus-one was trailing behind him like a kicked dog. I couldn’t hear what the guy was saying—he was nodding and bowing in apology—but Holden’s brow was deeply furrowed in blatant irritation. After dismissing the guy, Holden kept checking his watch. The second the hour hand hit ten, his voice cut through the noise. “Daphne. It’s time to go home.” I looked down at the cards in my hand, feeling a fleeting sense of disappointment, but I nodded anyway. “Alright. Let’s go.” Everyone in our circle knew I had a fragile constitution; I wasn’t built for late nights, and Holden was notoriously strict about my curfew. No one tried to stop us. Just before I walked out the door, I caught Maeve’s eye—the friend who had asked the question. I gave her a subtle wink and mouthed, Thank you. Maeve gave me a tiny, knowing salute. She had lobbed that question perfectly to help me vent. If Jocelyn hadn’t been so desperate as to show up where she didn’t belong, I wouldn’t have gone out of my way to humiliate her. After all, I had a massive heart. I had even forgiven my cheating fiancé. The drive home was suffocatingly silent. When we walked through our front door, Holden didn’t kneel to help me off with my heels like he usually did. Instead, his face dark as a storm front, he headed straight for his study. It took me a second to realize he was actually furious. “Are you mad? Why?” I tilted my head, genuinely baffled. “Just because I made Jocelyn a little uncomfortable?” Holden stopped dead in his tracks. He didn’t turn around. “You didn’t have to target her like that. I really don’t have any contact with her anymore.” “No contact? Then how did she magically track us down tonight?” I dropped onto the sofa, kicking my feet up onto the coffee table, arguing just for the sake of it. Holden whipped around, his eyes locking onto mine. For several agonizing seconds, he just stared at me. Then, he closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. When he opened them again, his gaze was resolute. “Daphne, when I say I’m not in contact with her, I mean I will never initiate contact with her again. The guy who brought her tonight was a connection I gave her back in the day. I promise you, she will never appear in front of you again.” I almost laughed. Six months ago, when I caught him in bed with Jocelyn, he had sworn the exact same thing. “Saying things like that… it doesn’t just humiliate her, Daphne. It hurts you, too.” Holden softened his approach. He walked over to the sofa, dropping to one knee beside me, his voice melting into that warm, tender register I used to love. “Don’t say things like that anymore.” I looked down at him, the silence stretching between us. I reached out, my fingertips lightly tracing the line of his jaw. “But it was the truth.” That moment—when he had come back to me, desperate and devoted—had been his get-out-of-jail-free card. It was the only reason I had allowed him back into my life after the ultimate betrayal. Holden hadn’t expected me to say that. He looked utterly lost. I pulled my hand back, a sudden wave of profound apathy washing over me. 2 Holden left for work early the next morning. As if she had set a timer the moment his car pulled out of the driveway, Jocelyn started texting me. I ignored her. But she was waiting for me outside my art gallery. “I need to talk to you,” she said, blocking the glass doors. “Unless you want this perfect, curated life you’ve built to come crashing down…” I didn’t even know I was supposedly curating a “perfect life.” I had some time before my first appointment, and a morbid curiosity to hear whatever delusional script she had prepared, so I didn’t tell her to screw off. I regretted it almost immediately. It was entirely pointless garbage. “Do you have any idea how much funding and resources Holden has been funneling to me behind your back?” Jocelyn asked, her chin tilted up in triumph, finally catching my attention. “Every single one of my academic proposals—whether they have merit or not—gets pushed through without a hitch. I know he’s pulling the strings.” Seeing my expression shift, Jocelyn grew bolder. “I’m about to get tenure. Once I reach a status where I can actually stand as an equal beside Holden, you’ll have no choice but to bow out.” In the second half of her speech, I actually detected a note of condescending pity. “I suggest you do the smart thing and leave him on your own terms. Don’t wait until he dumps you. You don’t want the illusion of your happy life to shatter. Save yourself the embarrassment.” Looking at her beaming, unearned confidence, I let out a soft laugh. My voice was eerily calm. “I don’t know if I’ll be embarrassed in the future. But I can absolutely ensure you’re embarrassed right now. Care to test that theory?” Jocelyn rolled her eyes. “You’re just a painter. What could you possibly do to make me—” “I kept the photos of you and Holden in bed,” I interrupted, my tone conversational. Jocelyn’s face drained of all color. “You said you deleted them!” “Did Holden tell you that? I did delete them. But deleting a copy is technically deleting it, isn’t it?” I tapped my chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “I wonder… if those photos ended up on the university’s faculty forum, would that affect your tenure review?” … Watching her stumble away in a panicked frenzy didn’t bring me any joy. I looked down at my hands resting in my lap; I had clenched my fists so tightly that crescent moon-shaped cuts were bleeding into my palms. Using cold logic to smother my fury, I pulled up the faculty roster for her university. If she wanted to bring the war to my doorstep, she had to pay the toll. She might be shameless, but I wasn’t morally bankrupt enough to post revenge porn on a public forum and subject innocent people to that filth. Instead, I casually zipped the folder of photos and emailed them directly to Nadine, Jocelyn’s fiercest competitor for the tenure track position. I didn’t need to lift another finger. Her rival would gladly bury her. My fleetingly good mood died the second I walked through my front door that evening. I stood in the entryway. From the living room, I could hear Holden on the phone. Jocelyn was sobbing through the speaker. Holden was silent for a long time. Finally, he spoke, his voice a soothing balm. “Jocelyn, I’ll take care of this. I told you I’d protect your career. I will always be your safety net.” What a breathtakingly charming thing to say. I didn’t wait for him to hang up. I couldn’t help myself. I started clapping. Clap. Clap. Clap. Holden whipped around. The sound of my applause echoed through the room, bleeding right through the phone for Jocelyn to hear. I didn’t have to wonder. I knew exactly how pathetic I looked. 3 Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over my chest, I watched Holden. It took him only a fraction of a second to compose himself. “When did you get home?” he asked, abruptly ending the call. His voice was devastatingly normal. I tilted my head, pretending to think. “‘Holden, it’s all Daphne’s fault, what are we going to do?’—right about then.” Just mimicking her whining tone sent a physical shiver down my spine. Holden’s expression didn’t so much as twitch. He walked over to the shoe cabinet, pulled out my house slippers, and knelt on the floor in front of me. “Put your shoes on first. The floor is cold.” I rested my hand lightly on his shoulder to steady myself and slipped my feet into the slippers. A few minutes later, I was sitting on the sofa, taking tiny sips of the warm water he had poured for me. Holden was in the kitchen, bustling around, preparing dinner. This used to be the sight that brought me the most profound peace. Now, it just made me bone-tired. I set the glass down and walked to the kitchen threshold. “So. Is this what ‘no contact’ looks like?” Holden went rigid. The knife hovered over the cutting board. “You’ve been secretly feeding her resources, keeping a direct line wide open.” I couldn’t suppress a dry, hollow laugh. “‘I will always be your safety net.’ Truly, a touching sentiment.” I stared fiercely at his back. The emotions violently thrashing against my ribcage felt like they were going to tear me apart from the inside. After a suffocating standoff, Holden finally moved. He turned around, his eyes brimming with earnest desperation. “She was with me for a while, Daphne. I can’t just leave her to drown. But I swear to you, I will never do anything to betray you again.” Looking at him, I felt a toxic wave of irony wash over me. His promises were cheaper than dirt. Like a bucket of ice water to the face, clarity finally struck me. My mind flashed back to the day he had shown up at my door, bags in hand, begging to get back together. Three years ago, like so many ordinary couples, the distance had broken us. It wasn’t a lack of love; it was just the grinding friction of life eroding what we had. But shortly after we split, my parents were killed in a head-on collision. The grief shattered my psychological floor. On a completely unremarkable Tuesday, I had planned to end my life. But Holden showed up. After Jocelyn had confessed her feelings to him, he realized I was the only one he wanted. So, he abandoned his perfectly stable, successful life in his hometown and moved across the country to my city, starting over from scratch. He showed me through his actions that there was still one person in this world who would fiercely, unconditionally choose me. He sat in the waiting room during my therapy sessions. He whispered into my hair, night after night, promising he would never leave me. But six months ago, right as we were planning our wedding, I found him naked in our bed with Jocelyn. And now, he was telling me he would always be her safety net. How long, exactly, was his forever? Perhaps the absolute devastation on my face broke through his defenses. Holden dropped the knife, wiped his hands, and closed the distance between us. Holden had these incredible, expressive eyes. When he looked at you, it was so easy to drown in them. I reached up and gently covered his eyes with my hand. “One story last night. A completely different story tonight,” I whispered. “Holden, which lie am I supposed to believe?” He let me cover his eyes. His lips parted, but he couldn’t form a single syllable of defense. He was the one giving another woman the ammunition to humiliate me. And here I was, still trying to put a fresh coat of paint over a rotting house. All because he had once run to me when I was dying. But gratitude has an expiration date, and today, mine had finally run out. I pulled my hand away. Blinking against the sudden light, Holden looked disoriented. A second later, panic flared in his chest, and he reached out to grab my arm. I stepped back, dodging his touch. His hand hung in the dead air between us. I turned my back to him. “Just make dinner,” I said quietly. Once we finished this final supper, I was done. 4 Over the next few days, Holden was frantic, using every connection he had to salvage Jocelyn’s imploding career. He was so distracted he completely missed the fact that I had sold the art gallery my parents left me. I planned to take the money and relocate to my parents’ hometown—a small, rainy island in the Pacific Northwest. To keep it off Holden’s radar, I only told a few close friends about the sale. The day after the paperwork was signed, Maeve showed up at my apartment. “Are you seriously retiring to be a full-time housewife?” Maeve asked, leaning against the counter. “You’re not even going to keep the gallery running?” She sighed, her tone shifting into something maternal and urgent. “Listen to me. Holden is practically parading Jocelyn around town right now. You need to keep a safety net for yourself.” I frowned, genuinely confused. “Who said anything about me getting married?” Maeve’s brow furrowed. “Holden did. I was in the private room next to theirs last night. He took Jocelyn out to dinner with the dean of her faculty.” A cold laugh bubbled in my throat. Brilliant. To kill the rumors about Jocelyn sleeping with a taken man, he simply fabricated an impending wedding for himself. “Stop being foolish, Daphne,” Maeve pleaded. “Holden is not worth destroying your life over.” We weren’t best friends, and she was stepping over a boundary, but looking into her worried eyes, a genuine warmth spread through my chest. “Don’t worry,” I said softly. “I’m never marrying him.” When I got home that night, Holden was slumped on the living room sofa. My heart seized. In the corner of the room, several large, packed suitcases were sitting in plain sight. But seeing him leaning his head back, eyes closed in utter exhaustion, I quietly let out a breath. “Everything okay?” I asked. Holden opened his eyes. They were bloodshot. His voice was a raspy whisper. “You’re doing the seasonal closet swap again? Sorry, baby. I’ve been so swamped, I haven’t had time to help you.” Right. Jocelyn’s mess was proving difficult. Holden had power, but the university had its own politics. It was the perfect time to throw a little gasoline on the fire. “Daphne? Daph?” I snapped out of my thoughts. “Hmm?” “Why don’t you leave the boxes for a few days? I’ll help you organize when things quiet down.” I rejected the offer instantly. I was praying he wouldn’t have a free second to spare. Thank God for my well-documented, neurotic habit of overhauling my entire wardrobe every time the seasons changed. For the next few days, Holden left before sunrise and came back after midnight. It gave me the perfect window to log onto his home computer and dig up the hard evidence of Jocelyn’s academic fraud. On my final day in the city, I shipped my suitcases via overnight freight, then headed to a café to meet Nadine. A moral failing might be swept under the rug by an influential man, but plagiarized data? Fabricated peer reviews? Let’s see Holden try to bury that. After handing Nadine the flash drive, I walked out. As I passed a high-end hotel lobby, a familiar voice drifted from one of the private alcoves. I stopped. Through the partially open sliding door, I saw a man’s wrist resting on the table. The custom watch face—an engraving of my first award-winning painting—caught the light. Then, an older man’s voice drifted into the hallway. “Look, why make this so complicated? If you and little Jocelyn just announce you’re officially together, this whole scandal disappears.” Jocelyn, tucked perfectly into Holden’s side, flushed a deep, beautiful red. They looked like a Renaissance painting of young, tragic lovers. I glanced at my phone. I was going to miss my flight. Whatever answer Holden gave them, I didn’t care to stick around to hear it. The mountains are high and the rivers are long. May we never cross paths again. 5 By the time the tiny puddle-jumper landed near Orcas Island, the sky had bruised into a deep, stormy purple. I found myself wondering, just for a second, if Holden had realized I was gone yet. Probably not. He probably took the older man’s advice, reignited the flame with Jocelyn, and they were currently tangled up in hotel sheets, entirely dead to the world. The fact that my breakup text still read Delivered and not Read only solidified my theory. It never occurred to me that Holden’s phone had simply died. When Holden walked into the apartment, it was suffocatingly quiet. He pulled his phone from his pocket—the screen was black. Dead. He walked into the master bedroom. Daphne wasn’t there. He didn’t think much of it. Lately, she had taken to sleeping in the guest room. He assumed his erratic hours and the smell of whiskey and stress clinging to him were disturbing her peace. After a scalding shower, driven by a gnawing, nameless anxiety in his gut, Holden stood outside the guest room door. He raised his hand to knock, but smelling the faint trace of alcohol that the soap hadn’t washed away, he hesitated. Daphne had been so cold to him these past few days. He knew she was punishing him for running himself ragged over Jocelyn’s mess. But Jocelyn had carried the weight of his darkest impulses when he had nothing left to give, and he couldn’t just watch her drown. The timeline he had given Daphne wasn’t the truth. Jocelyn had been in his life long before he confessed to it. Back then, Daphne was drowning in clinical depression. Holden was trying to build a corporate empire from the ground up while simultaneously keeping the woman he loved from jumping off a balcony. A man made of iron would have broken under that pressure. He needed a release valve. And Jocelyn had simply offered herself up. Even now, Holden couldn’t rationalize it. There were a million ways to vent stress, but his mind had short-circuited, and he had taken Jocelyn to bed. What was done was done. Agonizing over it now was pointless. Holden let out a breath so faint it wouldn’t have disturbed a feather. He was terrified of waking Daphne, terrified of dragging them back to the apocalyptic screaming matches of six months ago. So he let her hide from him. Even now, he just stood outside her door in the dark, silent and bowed, like a sinner at an empty altar. He didn’t know how long he stood there before the sharp creak of a floorboard from inside the room startled him. Panicking like a teenager caught out after curfew, he scrambled back to the master bedroom, completely forgetting his dead phone sitting on the coffee table. He stared at the ceiling all night. Just as the sky outside the window began to turn a bruised gray, sleep finally started to pull him under. Then, the frantic buzzing of the doorbell shattered the quiet. Holden threw on a shirt, grabbed his phone, and plugged it into the kitchen wall. Massaging his throbbing temples, he walked to the door. The video monitor showed Jocelyn’s tear-stained face. It was like a shot of adrenaline straight to Holden’s heart. He ripped the door open and stepped out, physically blocking her from seeing inside the apartment. “What are you doing here? Why are you here? Who told you where I live?” Faced with the machine-gun fire of his anger, Jocelyn’s bottom lip trembled. “Holden…” Whatever she was about to say was cut off as Holden grabbed her elbow and practically shoved her down the hallway toward the elevators. After finally getting rid of her, Holden slipped back inside the apartment. He crept to the guest room door and pressed his ear against the wood. Silence. His racing heart finally slowed. Any trace of sleep was gone now. He went to the kitchen, unplugged his phone, and walked into his study to start the day’s emails. As the screen booted up, a flood of notifications battered the screen. But Holden only saw one. A single text from Daphne, sent yesterday afternoon. [Holden, we’re done.]

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “436742”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When I opened my eyes again, I was right back on the day the wealthiest man in the city stood with red-rimmed eyes, begging my mother to come home. This time, I was not going to let history repeat itself. My mother was just about to deliver her signature line from my past life—something tragically poetic about how an apology this late is worth less than dirt—when I lunged forward and wrapped my arms around the billionaire’s leg like a vise. “Daddy! Take me back to the mansion! I want to sleep in a giant bed, and I want to eat Maine lobster!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. The billionaire froze, utterly stunned. My mother’s face instantly drained of color, turning a sickly shade of gray. In my previous life, she had played the role of the proud, wounded heroine to perfection. To “punish” the male lead, she refused every cent of his help, going so far as to force me to steal and scavenge for food, which ultimately led to my miserable death on a freezing street corner. And then, she used my ashes to bring the billionaire to his knees. She traded my dead body for a tearful public apology and the wedding of the century. The internet worshipped her as the fiercely independent single mother who had survived against all odds. But I was the only one who knew the truth: she was clinically unhinged. She had slapped a billionaire across the face on a live stream, dragged her “illegitimate” daughter away into the slums, and rocketed to viral fame. But here was the thing: she might not have wanted the life of a billionaire’s heiress, but I did. I smiled against the fabric of his tailored suit. In this life, I was going to hold onto everything that belonged to me with a death grip. 01 My name is Mia. I am five years old. And I have already died once. In my last life, I died on a sidewalk in the dead of winter. I had been starving for three days and burning with a fever for two. I took my last breath huddled next to a frozen dumpster. My mother, Caroline Frost, stood in front of my grave and wept until her voice gave out. Her makeup didn’t run at all. Because she had set it with setting spray right before the cameras arrived. That performance of grief shot straight to the number one trending topic online. “Heartbroken Single Mother Suffers Unimaginable Loss. Billionaire Father Leaves Five-Year-Old to Die on the Streets.” The comment sections were a bloodbath. Jonathan Garrison was harassed until he stepped down from his company’s board of directors. He was publicly shamed until he dropped to his knees right there on the pavement in front of my urn. The moment his knees hit the concrete, my mother smiled. Just a tiny twitch of her lips, hidden behind the crowd. But I saw it clearly. Because my soul hadn’t dissipated yet. I watched with my own ghost eyes as she traded my ashes for a thirty-million-dollar post-nuptial agreement, a fairy-tale wedding, and the internet’s collective blessing for the “tragic heroine who finally got her happy ending.” I died, and she won. That was my past life. So, when I opened my eyes again and found myself holding my mother’s hand, standing at the intersection of a high-end shopping district—I knew exactly what was happening. Across the street, Jonathan Garrison stood with bloodshot eyes in front of three black Maybachs, flanked by a dozen bodyguards in dark suits. The wind was howling, snapping the hem of his wool overcoat. He looked at me with eyes hollowed out by guilt. His voice was gravelly and low. “Caroline, come back with me. Mia needs a home.” My mother’s chin instantly tilted upward. I knew this angle by heart. A perfect forty-five-degree tilt, eyes glistening but not spilling over, bottom lip trembling just enough. Backlit by the streetlamp, she looked devastatingly beautiful. She took a deep breath—no, she elegantly curated her emotions—and opened her mouth: “Jonathan, your money can’t buy my forgiveness. An apology this late is worth—” She had practiced this line in the mirror no less than a hundred times in my past life. I remembered the follow-up line, too: “Keep your billions. Caroline Frost doesn’t need your charity.” Then, she would yank me by the arm, turn on her heel, and walk right into the pouring rain, giving the paparazzi hiding in the bushes the perfect, cinematic shot of her tragic departure. And then we would go back to that mold-infested, basement apartment in the worst part of town. No heat. No hot water. Dinner would be half a packet of expired instant noodles. In my last life, I was a good girl. I followed her into the rain. This life? She was only halfway through her monologue. I moved. I ripped my hand out of hers, pumped my tiny little legs, and sprinted straight across the pavement. With a heavy thud, I threw my entire body weight onto Jonathan Garrison’s leg. The fabric of his suit trousers was slick, and I almost slid off, so I scrambled up a few inches and clamped my arms and legs around his thigh like a koala. “Daddy!!” I pushed the volume of my vocal cords to the absolute maximum. The entire street heard it. Jonathan looked down, his entire body going rigid. He probably hadn’t expected a five-year-old to possess the lung capacity of a siren. “Daddy, I want to go home! Take me to the mansion! I want a big bed! The kind you can jump on! And I want Maine lobster! Ten of them!” I stood there and demanded every single thing I had been denied in my previous life in one breathless rush. Behind me, my mother’s voice stuttered. Her monologue had completely derailed. “Mia… what… what are you doing?” I twisted my neck to look back at her. Under the glow of the streetlamps, the meticulously crafted mask of the ‘beautiful, suffering martyr’ was cracking. Beneath it was a very specific shade of green. It was the look of an actress who had just gathered her tears for the climax of the play, only to have the stage crew accidentally drop a sandbag on the set. I smiled. A bright, gap-toothed, genuinely sweet smile. “Mommy, this is my daddy.” I turned my face back up toward Jonathan. He slowly knelt down on the damp pavement, his eyes still red. But I noticed something shift in his gaze. In my last life, his eyes had held nothing but guilt and desperation. This time, mixed into the guilt, was shock. And… a fragile, terrified kind of joy. His voice was hoarse. “Mia… you want to come home with Daddy?” “Yes! More than anything!” I reached out my two short arms and wrapped them around his neck. He smelled like expensive pine and cedarwood. I had never smelled that in my past life. I buried my face into the crook of his shoulder and whispered something so softly that only he could hear: “Daddy, can I stay with you forever?” His shoulders jerked, muscles locking tight. Then, a large, warm hand cupped the back of my head. The touch was incredibly gentle, but his fingers were trembling. “Yes.” Just one word. But the restraint in his voice was breaking. I rested my chin on his shoulder and looked past him. Five yards away, Caroline stood frozen. The wind whipped her skirt around her legs as her expression cycled through shock, fury, calculation, and finally settled into a tight, jaw-clenching mask of endurance. She forced a smile. She was smiling directly at a bystander diagonally behind her who was secretly filming on a phone. “The poor dear… she’s just missed her father so much…” Her voice was dripping with sickening sweetness. But I knew the truth. She was going to be staring at the ceiling all night tonight. Because I had just ripped the first page right out of her script. 02 Jonathan’s estate was located in The Palisades. It was an ultra-exclusive enclave with only twelve properties, each sitting on acres of private land. As the convoy of SUVs rolled through the gates, I pressed my face against the tinted glass. Perfectly manicured sycamore trees lined the driveway, and a massive stone fountain was lit up with a warm, golden glow in the dark. At the end of the drive, a sprawling, modern white estate came into view. Two lines of uniformed staff were waiting by the grand entrance. The car glided to a stop, and a butler opened the door. “Mr. Garrison. The house is prepared.” Jonathan stepped out first, then turned around and lifted me out of the seat. He was incredibly awkward at holding a child. One hand hovered tentatively under my bottom, while the other seemed to have no idea where to go. He finally settled for placing it flat against my back. I played along, keeping my arms looped around his neck while I took in the house. Italian marble steps. A sweeping spiral staircase. A chandelier that looked like frozen rain. In my last life, I gnawed on stale, moldy bread in a damp basement. In this life, I was the little princess of a multi-million-dollar estate. The disparity between human lives was wider than the gap between a human and a dog. “Are you hungry, Mia?” Jonathan set me down on an oversized velvet sofa and crouched down to my eye level. He really had no idea how to talk to kids. His face was as deadly serious as if he were negotiating a corporate merger. “Starving.” I was being brutally honest. In my last life, I was hungry every single day. When you get used to starving, you eventually stop feeling the hunger. And then you die. “What do you want to eat?” “Lobster.” I held up my little hand, fingers splayed. “Five of them.” I had downgraded from ten to five. I was learning to be a reasonable heiress. Ten minutes later, the private chef didn’t bring out five lobsters. He brought out a feast that covered the entire dining table. Whole Maine lobsters, Alaskan king crab legs, Wagyu beef sashimi, and truffle shavings over foie gras. I sat in a dining chair that swallowed me whole, staring at the mountain of food. The silverware was too heavy; my little hands couldn’t grip the fork properly. Jonathan sat across from me. He watched me struggle for exactly three seconds before he stood up and walked over. He picked up a small silver fork and began clumsily extracting the lobster meat from the shell, placing it piece by piece into my bowl. He moved slowly. His hands were elegant, with long, distinct knuckles—hands meant for signing billion-dollar contracts. And right now, they were meticulously dissecting a crustacean for a five-year-old. “Is it good?” he asked. My mouth was so full of butter-soaked lobster that my cheeks bulged out. I nodded violently. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. It wasn’t me being dramatic. It was the phantom memory of how badly it hurt to starve to death. I swallowed hard and looked up at him. He was intensely focused on shelling the second lobster tail for me. This man. In my last life, my mother tortured him until he broke. He ended up on his knees in the freezing rain, clutching my ashes. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried to save me. It was that my mother wouldn’t let him. Every time he sent people with money, food, or winter coats, my mother would shove it back into their hands while the cameras rolled. “I don’t need your pity, Jonathan Garrison!” Then she would slam the door in their faces, turn around, and hand me a cup of tap water and a piece of stale bread. It wasn’t pride. She was cultivating a tragedy. She needed me to suffer. She needed me to die to complete her masterpiece. “Mia.” Jonathan’s voice pulled me out of my dark thoughts. “Yeah?” “Eat slower. You’ll choke.” He slid a glass of warm milk toward me. I took it with both hands and took a sip. It was sweetened. “When you’re done, I’ll show you your room.” “Okay.” I shoved another piece of crab meat into my mouth. Right at that moment, his phone buzzed on the table. The screen lit up. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the caller ID: “Caroline”. Jonathan glanced at it. He didn’t answer. The phone kept vibrating against the wood. He reached over, switched it to silent, and flipped it face down. I paused my chewing for half a second, then went right back to my crab. She was starting. According to the script of my past life, this unanswered call would be followed by twenty-seven massive text messages, every word dripping with manufactured blood and tears. The core message would be: You stole my child. You are a monster. And tomorrow, screenshots of those texts would conveniently leak to the press. But it was fine. I was the one writing the script for this life. After dinner, Jonathan carried me up to the third floor. He pushed open a heavy white door. The room was absurdly large. Soft blush-pink walls, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline, and a four-poster canopy bed that was larger than the entire apartment I had lived in last year. The walk-in closet was already lined with rows of expensive little dresses, the designer tags still dangling from the sleeves. A massive, pristine stuffed rabbit sat propped against the pillows. I stopped in my tracks. “When… when did you get all this?” Jonathan stood in the doorway, suddenly looking very unsure of himself. “I had it prepared a while ago.” “A while ago?” “It’s always been ready.” I knew what he meant. He meant he had been waiting for me to come home. This room hadn’t been thrown together this afternoon by an interior designer on a panic deadline. He had prepared it the day he found out I existed. A sharp ache hit the bridge of my nose. In my last life, this room sat empty for five years, waiting for a little girl who never came. In the end, all it held was a wooden box of ashes. I walked over to the bed, clambered up the mattress, and let myself sink into the absurdly soft duvet. It smelled like lavender and clean cotton. It was so warm. I rolled over, wrapping myself up like a burrito. “Daddy.” “Yes?” “Goodnight.” When he reached out to turn off the light, his movements were incredibly gentle. Just before the door clicked shut, I heard his phone buzz again out in the hallway. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble, but my ears were sharp. “She is staying here. This is not up for debate.” Then the line went dead. I squeezed the stuffed rabbit against my chest, lying in the center of the massive canopy bed, and fell asleep with a smile on my face. 03 When I woke up the next morning, sunlight was pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I laid in the cloud-like bedding for a full ten minutes, just letting myself exist. In my last life, the thing that woke me up every morning was the gnawing pain in my stomach. In this life, I was woken by a maid carrying in a silver breakfast tray. French toast, freshly squeezed orange juice, and a bowl of perfectly tempered oatmeal. Next to the plate was a heavy cardstock note with jagged, messy handwriting: “Good morning, Mia. Daddy had to go to the office. I will be back to have lunch with you.” The pen strokes were heavy, indenting the paper. Some letters had been crossed out and rewritten. It was hilarious that a billionaire CEO wrote like a third grader. No, it wasn’t that. He just wasn’t used to writing something so soft and emotional. I folded the card carefully and tucked it under my pillow. After breakfast, I started wandering around the mansion. There was a heated indoor pool on the first floor. A private home theater on the second. On the third floor, down the hall from my bedroom, was an art studio and an indoor playroom. The toys in the playroom were immaculate. A wooden slide, a sprawling block set, a rocking horse—none of the safety seals had even been broken. Mr. Carson, the butler, shadowed me silently, offering polite explanations when I paused. “Miss Mia, Mr. Garrison had his assistants purchase all of these last year. Please let me know which ones you prefer, and we can have anything you don’t like replaced.” Last year. Last year I was digging through the trash behind a convenience store. I bit my lower lip and didn’t say a word. Just then, a commotion echoed from the grand entrance downstairs. The crunch of tires on gravel, the heavy thud of car doors, and the frantic, hushed footsteps of the staff. “The Dowager Mrs. Garrison has arrived!” Mr. Carson’s face instantly paled. I knew exactly who this was. Evelyn Garrison. Jonathan’s mother, and the iron-fisted matriarch who still pulled the strings of the Garrison empire behind the scenes. In my last life, she was the loudest voice opposing Jonathan bringing me home. Her reasoning was brutally pragmatic: Caroline Frost was a manipulative social climber from the gutter, and there was no guarantee the child was even Garrison blood. Later, after I died and the internet tore the family apart, she had sat in front of the news cameras and squeezed out two tears. Whether those tears were for me or for the plunging stock prices, only God knew. From downstairs came the sharp, rapid clicking of high heels against marble. It was the rhythm of a woman marching in to declare war. I peeked over the mahogany banister. A woman in her late fifties swept into the foyer, wearing a structured, deep emerald dress. Her hair was pulled back into a severe, flawless chignon, and her diamond earrings caught the cold morning light. She radiated an aura of terrifying authority. Trailing half a step behind her was a younger woman. Early twenties, wearing a soft, pastel-colored day dress. Her hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, and she had a perfectly practiced, demure smile. My eyes lingered on the younger woman. She hadn’t been in my previous life. But my gut told me she wasn’t here to play nice. “Where is she?” Evelyn’s voice carried up the stairs, sharp and commanding. “Where is the child? Bring her down here so I can look at her.” Mr. Carson glanced up at me, panic in his eyes. I didn’t wait for him to fetch me. I put my hand on the banister and started walking down the sweeping staircase. I didn’t walk fast. Short legs require careful balance. But every step I took was deliberate and heavy. When Evelyn Garrison saw me, her eyes narrowed to slits. She was assessing me. I was assessing her right back. We locked eyes for three full seconds in absolute silence. “So. You are Mia.” “I am Mia Garrison.” I made sure to emphasize the last name. One of her perfectly arched eyebrows twitched upward. “You certainly have his features.” Coming from her, it wasn’t a grandmotherly compliment. It was a forensic observation. “However,” she continued, moving to sit on the central sofa and accepting a teacup from a trembling maid, “looking like him proves nothing. We will be doing a DNA test.” “Okay.” I agreed instantly, without missing a beat. Evelyn clearly didn’t expect that. She probably anticipated a five-year-old to burst into tears, run away, or stare blankly, not knowing what DNA was. But I had already died once. Did she think I was scared of a needle? “I’ll cooperate. You can draw blood, or you can pull my hair.” My voice was deadpan. Calm. Evelyn’s hand paused halfway to her mouth. The teacup hovered in the air as she gave me a second, much harder look. Standing behind her, the younger woman was watching me, too. The smile on her face was magazine-cover perfect. The look in her eyes was ice-cold. “Mrs. Garrison, I can handle the arrangements for the clinic,” the younger woman offered, her voice light and musical. “Go ahead, Camilla.” Camilla Dupont. I filed that name away in the back of my mind. 04 The DNA results came back in three days. Probability of Paternity: 99.99%. There was zero suspense. I was Jonathan Garrison’s biological daughter. Evelyn Garrison stared at the medical report in absolute silence for a long time. She sat in the armchair by the window, her thumb slowly rubbing the edge of the thick paper. The butler, the maids, the security detail—the entire room was holding its breath. Jonathan stood nearby. His face was blank, but I caught the subtle, rapid tapping of his ring finger against his thigh. He was anxious. This piece of paper was the only thing that gave him the absolute, legal right to keep me in this house. “Mother. You have the results,” he finally said. Evelyn lifted her eyes. She looked at him, and then she looked over at me, curled up in the corner of the velvet sofa, quietly eating a bowl of green grapes. “That child cannot go back to that woman.” Her tone was still sharp and unyielding, but the sentence itself was a massive shift. It was a decree of protection. Half of the heavy weight in my chest finally dissipated. The other half, however, stayed right where it was. Because Camilla Dupont was currently walking toward me, holding a glass of juice. “Mia, are you thirsty? I had the chef squeeze some fresh oranges for you.” She knelt down in front of me, her smile dripping with maternal warmth. I took the glass. I sniffed it subtly. It smelled like regular orange juice. No poison. I took a sip. “Thank you, Miss Camilla.” “Call her Auntie,” Evelyn suddenly corrected from across the room. I looked at Camilla, then over at Evelyn. The older woman’s intentions were glaringly obvious. Camilla Dupont wasn’t just a friendly guest. She was the woman Evelyn had handpicked to be Jonathan’s wife. “Auntie Camilla is perfectly fine,” Camilla laughed, trying to smooth over the tension. She reached out and placed a hand on my back. It wasn’t a heavy touch, but her manicured fingers pressed just slightly into my spine. It felt like a territorial claim. Like she was establishing ownership. I didn’t say a word. I just quietly finished my juice. When Camilla stood up and walked back to Evelyn’s side, I tugged on the butler’s sleeve. “Mr. Carson,” I whispered. “Who is that lady?” Mr. Carson leaned down, lowering his voice. “She is the heiress to the Dupont family. They are old family friends of the Garrisons. The Dowager Mrs. Garrison has been trying to arrange a match between her and your father for some time.” Ah. It all made sense now. No wonder she wasn’t in my past life. In my past life, I died in the slums. I never crossed the threshold of the Garrison estate, so I never became a factor in Jonathan’s personal life. But her presence here now was a massive red flag. In the cutthroat world of the ultra-rich, she had all the right cards: family pedigree, the matriarch’s approval, the gentle, accommodating persona. Any of those individually was fine. Put them together, and she was a direct threat to my survival. I didn’t care if she married Jonathan. I cared if she tried to mess with my safety. Jonathan came home for lunch that afternoon. The table was set for four: Jonathan, me, Evelyn, and Camilla. Camilla naturally took the seat directly to Jonathan’s right. She seamlessly anticipated his needs, sliding the salt shaker toward him, offering him a linen napkin before he asked. It was practiced. Routine. Intimate. I sat across from them, eating my food in silence. “Mia.” Camilla smiled across the table at me. “How about Auntie takes you shopping at the mall this afternoon? We can buy you some pretty new dresses.” “I would love that.” I gave her my brightest, most innocent smile. That afternoon, Camilla took me to the most exclusive luxury department store in the city. She picked out six dresses, three pairs of shoes, and two designer backpacks. When we were standing at the register, I noticed something. She positioned herself at a very specific angle. Just beyond the perfume counter, a man in a baseball cap was holding a camera with a telephoto lens, firing off rapid shots. I saw him. And Camilla knew that I saw him. She just smiled down at me. “Which color do you like best, sweetie?” She wasn’t buying me clothes because she cared. She was managing her PR. She was feeding the press a narrative: The graceful socialite stepping in to lovingly care for the billionaire’s newly discovered, traumatized daughter. It was a brilliant chess move. If her engagement to Jonathan went through, she would already be branded as the perfect, angelic stepmother. The media, the public, and Evelyn Garrison would all be entirely on her side. I took the pastel pink dress from her hands and looked up with wide eyes. “Thank you so much, Auntie Camilla.” On the ride back to the estate, I slumped against the leather seats and pretended to fall asleep. Camilla’s phone buzzed. She answered it. She kept her voice low, but the interior of the Maybach was only so big. “…Don’t worry, the kid is easy to manage. She’s five. A few designer dresses and she thinks I’m her best friend. Once I have the ring on my finger, I’ll be the one deciding which wing of the house she sleeps in.” She let out a soft, mocking laugh. “Ignore Caroline Frost. That trashy woman from the gutter isn’t going to make a dent. Honestly, I hope she keeps making a scene. The crazier she acts, the more Jonathan will realize he needs a stable woman like me.” She hung up. I kept my eyes shut tight, but the corners of my mouth curled up into a cold little smirk in the dark. Well played, Camilla. You really think because I’m in a five-year-old’s body, I have a five-year-old’s brain? Don’t worry. I took your dresses. And I just took note of exactly how to destroy you.

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The air over the dining table felt suffocatingly thin, pulled taut like a wire about to snap. Sitting across from us were Warren and Daphne. Daphne was in her early thirties, with a distinct, striking beauty mark resting right at the outer corner of her left eye. The way she looked at my husband, Colin, carried a possessive weight that was impossible to misread. Her husband, Warren, spent the entire evening staring down at his plate, pushing his roasted vegetables around with his fork in utter silence. Colin swirled the cabernet in his glass, his tone casual, almost playful as he shattered the quiet. “Come on, honey. We swap with them for a month. Just a little lifestyle experiment.” When I didn’t immediately respond, he leaned in, adding, “Relax, Paige. It’s just a game. Warren and Daph have already agreed.” I set my fork down, a cold, sharp laugh echoing only in my head. Four people at this table, and three of them were holding their breath, waiting for me to nod. “I’ll think about it,” I said, keeping my voice as level as glass. It wasn’t that I was being open-minded. It was the quiet, gnawing intuition twisting in my gut. A few minutes ago, when Daphne was serving herself from the shared plates, her tongs had bypassed the cilantro with surgical precision. How does a “college buddy’s wife” know my husband’s obscure hatred for cilantro so intimately? The question circled in my mind, dark and heavy, but I kept my mouth shut. Instead, I looked at the three of them and offered a slow, deliberate smile. 01 Dinner dragged on for two excruciating hours. Daphne refilled Colin’s water glass three times. Each time, she filled it exactly to the three-quarter mark. No ice, just room temperature. That was Colin’s quirk. It had taken me a year of marriage to memorize his bizarre little preferences. She seemed to know them in her bones. Warren remained a ghost at the table, occasionally glancing up at his wife with eyes clouded by something complicated and defeated. After dinner, Colin walked them down to the lobby. I stood on our apartment balcony, looking down at the street. Right before getting into the passenger seat, Daphne turned back and murmured something to Colin. Colin laughed and nodded. His posture was entirely loose. It wasn’t the polite relaxation of a man chatting with his friend’s wife. It was the unspoken, gravity-free comfort that only exists between two people who know each other’s bodies. I closed the balcony door and loaded the wine glasses into the dishwasher. When Colin walked back in, he was practically glowing. “So? Daphne’s great, right?” “She’s lovely,” I echoed, keeping my back to him. “So, what do you think? Have you considered it?” “I told you. I’m thinking about it.” He stepped up behind me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders, pressing a kiss to my temple. I could feel him smiling against my skin. “Don’t overthink it, Paige. Everyone’s doing this kind of stuff now. It’s modern.” “What does Warren do for a living again?” I asked, slipping out of his embrace. “Construction materials. Runs a small firm.” “And he was the one who brought this up?” Colin hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second. “I brought it up first. Warren wasn’t super into it at the beginning, but Daph talked him into it.” I nodded, asking nothing more. Later, after a shower, I lay in the dark next to him. I picked up my phone and scrolled through Colin’s Instagram and Facebook. He had zero interaction with Daphne. Not a single tag, not a single like. I opened his contacts. There was no “Daphne” saved in his phone. It was clean. Too clean. Clinically sterile. You don’t meticulously erase the digital footprint of a completely platonic friend. I placed my phone face-down on the nightstand. Beside me, Colin was already asleep, his breathing a steady, even rhythm. I stared at the ceiling for a long time. In three years of marriage, he had never once mentioned a college friend named Daphne. Not once. The next morning, I took a half-day off work and drove to the County Clerk’s Office. I wasn’t there to file for divorce. I was there to pull our marriage records. I needed to know one thing: whether I was the only woman in Colin’s marital history. 02 The records department was quiet. I pulled a ticket and sat in the waiting area, mindlessly swiping on my phone. There were three people ahead of me. The second person finished at the counter and turned to leave. It was a woman in a beige trench coat. She had just been whispering to the clerk, who slid a thick stack of manila folders across the glass. As she shoved the papers into her leather tote, her eyes swept over the waiting area. When she walked past me, she suddenly stopped dead in her tracks. She looked down at the numbered ticket crushed in my fist. Then, she looked at my face. “Are you Paige?” I froze. “Who are you?” She didn’t answer directly. Instead, she asked a question that made the blood drain from my face. “Is your husband’s name Colin?” A chill crawled up the base of my spine. “How do you know that?” She sat down in the empty plastic chair right next to me, her bag resting on her lap. “Because three years ago, I was his wife.” Her name was Jill. She was thirty-two, four years older than me. Colin’s ex-wife. “How did you recognize me?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. Jill pointed to my hand. “The ring on your left finger.” I looked down at the plain platinum band. Colin had slipped it onto my finger the night he proposed. The wedding date was engraved on the inside. “It’s the exact same one,” Jill said softly. “Same designer, same minimalist cut. He even had my date engraved in the exact same spot.” My throat tightened. It felt like I was swallowing glass. “Why are you here today?” Jill met my eyes. Her gaze was steady, heavy with a grief I was only just beginning to understand. “I came to pull the archived copies of our divorce settlement. I left in such a rush back then, I didn’t keep all my paperwork. And I need it now.” “Why?” “Because I’m filing an appeal,” she said, her voice dropping an octave. “I am going to overturn the settlement that left me with absolutely nothing three years ago.” The heavy glass doors of the courthouse opened, letting in a biting draft of city wind. I pulled my jacket tighter around myself. “Do you have time right now?” Jill asked. “I do.” “Let’s go somewhere and sit down. There are things you need to hear, and you need to hear them today.” 03 We ended up at a small, dimly lit café across the street from the courthouse. Jill ordered a black coffee. I asked for hot water. She unlocked her phone and slid it across the wooden table. On the screen was a screenshot of a text thread. The date was five years ago. It was a text from Colin: Jill, I had a crazy thought. What if we swapped with Warren and his wife for a month? Just a lifestyle experiment. It could really spice things up for us. Word for word. The exact same pitch he had fed me last night. My hand began to shake around the warm ceramic mug. “He said this to you, five years ago.” “The exact same words. The exact same playbook,” Jill said. She swiped to the next screenshot. Another text from Colin: Daphne is incredibly sweet. You two should get drinks first, just to vibe. Daphne. It was Daphne, even five years ago. “What about Warren? Was he there too?” Jill nodded. “Warren is Daphne’s ex-boyfriend from college. They weren’t even married yet. Colin practically orchestrated their courthouse wedding just so he could propose this ‘swap’ idea to me.” “Did Warren and Daphne ever divorce?” “No. They maintain the legal marriage.” “Why?” Jill offered a fractured, bitter smile. “Because she needs a legal husband as a shield. As long as Daphne’s status is ‘married,’ Colin’s proposition is just a ‘harmless game between two married couples.’ It’s not an affair.” A loud ringing started in my ears, drowning out the ambient jazz playing in the café. “And? Did you agree to it?” Jill looked down at her coffee. “I did. God, I loved him so much back then. I believed every word out of his mouth.” “He told me it would bring us closer, told me it was a sophisticated thing European couples did to keep the spark alive.” She stirred her black coffee, though there was nothing in it to mix. “The second that month was over, Colin flipped a switch.” “He started looking at me with absolute disgust. He told me that if I was capable of sleeping with another man, it meant I was inherently dirty. That I had no self-respect.” “Every single time we argued, he used it against me.” “‘You let another man touch you. You’re filthy, and you know it.’ That’s what he’d say.” “For an entire year.” Jill’s voice remained incredibly steady, but the spoon was clinking against the inside of her mug faster and faster. “A year later, he filed for divorce. He told me that if I didn’t sign an uncontested divorce walking away with zero assets, he would tell my deeply religious parents exactly what I had done that month.” “I signed.” “Our house, the cars, our joint savings—he took it all. I walked away with the clothes in my suitcase.” I stared unblinkingly at my mug of hot water. The steam rising from it was starting to blur my vision. “So, what you’re saying is—” “Yes. It’s not a game, Paige,” Jill said, leaning across the table to hold my gaze. “It is a script.” “He uses the ‘swap’ to manufacture a moral failing.” “Then he uses that ‘stain’ on your character to emotionally break you until you surrender everything.” “He used this exact playbook to take everything I owned five years ago.” “And now, he’s setting the stage to do it to you.” The café hummed with normalcy. People laughing over lattes, laptops clicking. It was so profoundly normal that the reality of what I was hearing felt absurd. “What is his actual relationship with Daphne?” Jill set her spoon down. “They’ve been together since college. They supposedly broke up after graduation, but they never actually cut ties.” “She is the ghost haunting every single one of his marriages.” “You’re just wife number two.” “If you hadn’t run into me today—” She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to. If I hadn’t run into her today, I would have been the next Jill. 04 When we stepped out of the café, a light drizzle had started to fall over the city. Jill gave me her number and told me to call her the second I needed anything. I took an Uber back to our apartment. The entire ride, I scrolled frantically through the transaction history of my banking app. Colin and I shared a joint account. We each deposited four thousand dollars a month into it to cover the mortgage, utilities, and daily expenses. I had never scrutinized this account. I trusted him. Now, I was looking at every single line item. January. Outgoing: $4,500. Memo: Contractor balance. We hadn’t renovated a thing in the last two years. March. Outgoing: $2,800. Memo: Auto insurance. Our premium was barely twelve hundred a year. June. Outgoing: $5,200. Memo: Out-of-pocket medical. What kind of routine check-up costs five grand? Over the last six months alone, I found nearly twenty thousand dollars in unexplained hemorrhaging from our joint account. Every single transaction had a plausible-sounding memo. Not a single one held up to basic logic. When I unlocked the apartment, Colin wasn’t home from the office yet. I walked straight into his home office and went to the bottom drawer of his desk. He kept it locked. The passcode was his mother’s birthdate. Six digits. I had known it for years. Inside was a thick manila envelope. I pulled it out and slid out the stack of papers. It was a property deed and mortgage agreement. A newly built condo in the West Loop. 1,200 square feet. Total purchase price: $750,000. Buyer: Daphne. Payment method: Financed. Down payment: $150,000. Escrow transfer account— I stared at the routing and account numbers for a full ten seconds. It was an obscure secondary account linked directly to our joint checking. Colin had used our marital money to buy Daphne a house. A hundred and fifty thousand dollars. I meticulously slid the papers back into the envelope, placed it exactly where I found it in the drawer, closed it, and locked it. I left the room exactly as it was. Stepping out of the office, I paused in the hallway. Our framed wedding photo hung on the wall. In the picture, Colin had his arm wrapped tightly around my waist, flashing a brilliant, boyish smile. Now I knew exactly what was hiding underneath that smile. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Colin: Hey beautiful, what are you craving for dinner? I’ll pick it up on my way home. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard. I typed: Whatever you’re in the mood for. Then I opened a new chat thread and texted Jill. Jill. He bought Daphne a condo. Put $150k down using an account linked to our joint. Jill replied instantly. Exact same thing he did to me. Back then, it was $100k. Paige, whatever you do, do not spook him right now. I know, I replied. I locked my phone and went into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. When Colin walked through the door, I was casually wiping down the kitchen island. He walked in carrying two boxes of high-end sushi and a massive bouquet of stargaze lilies. “Early celebration. Our anniversary is next week,” he said, offering me the flowers with a charming grin. I took them, burying my nose in the petals. The scent of the lilies was overpowering. So strong it was almost suffocating. “Thank you.” Over dinner, he casually brought up the partner swap again. “Have you given it any more thought? Seriously, babe, it’s nothing crazy. It’s just like taking a little vacation.” “I’m still thinking about it.” “Don’t think too long, alright? Warren’s getting antsy on his end.” “Okay.” I picked up a piece of salmon sashimi and put it in my mouth. The raw, metallic taste of fish flooded my tongue, and my stomach violently lurched. I almost gagged. But I forced myself to swallow it. Starting today, there were going to be a lot of things I had to force myself to stomach. 05 Over the next week, I executed two tasks. First: The audit. I called my old college roommate, Brooke. She was a CPA at a major accounting firm, specializing in forensic audits. I exported the last three years of our joint account statements and emailed them to her. I didn’t give her the dramatic backstory; I just told her I needed to know exactly where my household money was bleeding out. Brooke called me the very next evening. “Paige, your husband is playing games.” “What kind of games?” “Over the last three years, a total of two hundred and forty thousand dollars has been siphoned from your joint account into an external account ending in 3379.” “Every transaction has a memo that looks innocent enough on the surface.” “But I cross-referenced the spending patterns. The actual costs don’t match his memos.” “For example, he claims $6,000 for ‘HOA fees.’ I pulled up your building’s records. Your annual HOA is only $2,400.” “Where did the other $3,600 go?” I gripped my phone, my nails biting into my palm. Two hundred and forty thousand dollars. Three years. “Can you find out who owns the 3379 account?” “Not without a subpoena. But if you can get me any breadcrumbs on the other side, I can draft a bulletproof forensic flow-of-funds report.” “Do it.” The second task: Meeting Jill. This time, we met at her apartment. Jill lived in a faded brick walk-up in Rogers Park. One bedroom, maybe five hundred square feet. There was a single pair of house slippers by the door. The walls were completely bare. On the small thrifted coffee table sat a neat stack of manila folders, clipped perfectly together. “This is everything I’ve managed to gather over the last three years,” Jill said, sliding the stack toward me. The top document was a copy of her divorce decree. “Look at this,” she said, pointing to a clause on page three. Party A waives all rights to marital property, including but not limited to the primary residence, vehicles, and joint savings. “The date of the signature is April 14th.” “Do you know where my head was at on that day?” Jill pulled out a second piece of paper. It was a psychiatric evaluation. “Severe clinical depression, accompanied by acute panic attacks. The attending physician recommended inpatient care.” “Date of diagnosis: April 12th.” “Two days before I signed.” “He deliberately waited until I was having a complete mental breakdown to put the pen in my hand.” I flipped to the next page. It was a transcribed log of an audio recording. Jill tapped her finger against a specific line. “This was him on the phone with his mother. She was on speaker, and I was lying in the next room.” The transcript read: Mom, relax. In the state she’s in right now, she’ll sign anything I put in front of her. If we push it, I can get the house transferred entirely to my name by Friday. I carefully set the paper down. “Jill… why did you sit on this evidence for so long?” Jill looked down at her hands. “Because it took me three years to remember how to breathe.” “For the first two years, I couldn’t even leave this apartment. I just locked myself in here and wasted away.” “It wasn’t until I started intensive trauma therapy last year that the fog started to lift.” “Once my head was clear, I started pulling the records. That’s when I saw the absolute precision of what he had done to me.” She looked up at me. Her eyes were rimmed red, but there were no tears. “Paige, I refuse to let him do to another woman what he did to me.” I carefully aligned the edges of her documents and slid them into my canvas tote bag. “He won’t.” “This time, his script ends here.”

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