Author: Momo Chan

When I saw my best friend’s luxury jewelry lying on the vanity in the bridal suite, I didn’t help her put it away. Instead, I stepped out and called the groom, Liam Bennett, and his mother, Eleanor. “Vanessa left her diamond necklace on the vanity. Eleanor, could you come and lock it up in person? I just want to make sure everything is accounted for so there’s no misunderstanding later.” In my past life, I was being the “helpful best friend.” I picked up the jewelry box and handed it to her. Who knew that thirty minutes later, Eleanor would throw a massive fit because the inventory didn’t match. Vanessa sobbed and put on a show. “That diamond necklace worth fifty thousand dollars was definitely in there… Clara was the only one who touched the box just now…” “Clara, I know you’ve always been jealous of my marriage, but you can’t play a prank like this!” Eleanor didn’t listen to a single word of my explanation. She slapped me across the face right there and called the police, accusing me of grand larceny. I didn’t just lose my dream job and my boyfriend of three years, Ethan Carter. I was completely blacklisted in our social circle. I couldn’t even step out of my apartment. Ultimately, while trying to escape the online harassment, I was hit by a car on a rainy night and died. It was only after my death that I saw the truth. Vanessa had sold that heirloom necklace long before the wedding to pay off her brother Zach’s gambling debts. She just wanted to use a gullible friend like me as her scapegoat. And by ruining my reputation, she could steal my spot for that high-paying corporate job. This time, I won’t touch a single piece of your jewelry. I want Eleanor to count every item in front of everyone. If a single piece is missing, I’d love to see who you’re going to blame this time, Vanessa. 1. Seeing Vanessa Sterling leave her jewelry box unattended on the vanity, I silently pulled out my phone and started recording. In my past life, I helped her lock the box in the drawer. Half an hour later, the diamond necklace inside went missing. Vanessa wept, saying, “Clara touched the box, but I really don’t want to doubt my best friend.” As a result, Eleanor slapped me in public. Guests took videos and posted them on Snapchat, and netizens branded me a thief. My job offer at the luxury jewelry firm, which I had waited three months for, was rescinded. My boyfriend, Ethan, told me he couldn’t bear the pressure of being with a thief. In the end, driven to a breakdown by cyberbullying, I died in a car crash on a rainy night on my way to the police station to clear my name. Only after my death did I find out Vanessa had already pawned the necklace to cover her brother Zach’s gambling debts. This time, with my phone camera rolling, I directly called the groom, Eleanor, the wedding planner, and the bridesmaids into the room. “Vanessa’s jewelry box is here.” “Nobody touch it.” “Let’s inventory it right now.” The bridal suite still smelled of hairspray and expensive roses. The velvet jewelry box sat right in the middle of the vanity, its lid slightly open, looking like a trap waiting to snap shut. I stood by the door, keeping my phone camera pointed at it. Chloe Miller, the wedding planner, was the first to arrive. Dressed in a sharp black suit with her earpiece clipped to her collar, she paused when she saw me holding up my phone. “Clara? What’s going on?” I didn’t beat around the bush. “The bride’s jewelry was left unattended. I don’t want any trouble, so I need you to witness this.” Chloe’s expression tightened instantly. If expensive jewelry went missing on the wedding day, the venue would be held liable. She immediately spoke into her walkie-talkie to call security and called the groom, Liam Bennett. Three minutes later, Liam and his mother, Eleanor, rushed in. Eleanor was wearing a deep burgundy mother-of-the-groom gown, her hair styled perfectly. The welcoming smile she had for the guests faded the moment she saw the box. “Who left this here?” I kept my phone raised, my voice calm. “I came in to touch up my makeup and saw it. I haven’t touched it. I’ve been recording since the moment I walked in.” Eleanor shot a cold glance at me. She knew I was Vanessa’s college friend, and she also knew I worked as a professional jewelry appraiser. In my past life, that exact credential was what doomed me. Because of my expertise, everyone assumed I was the perfect thief who knew exactly how to steal and sell it. Liam frowned and looked at Chloe. “Did anyone notify Vanessa?” Chloe nodded. “I sent a bridesmaid to get her.” Eleanor took a deep breath. “Let’s do the inventory first.” Chloe put on disposable white gloves and opened the registry list. “One gold chain.” “One pair of diamond earrings.” “Two diamond rings.” “One diamond brooch.” With each item read, a bridesmaid picked it up and placed it on a black velvet cloth spread on the table. When she reached the last line, Chloe paused. “And… one heirloom diamond necklace.” The space on the velvet cloth remained empty. Eleanor’s face darkened completely. Liam reached over and searched the hidden compartments of the box. Nothing. He shook out all the small velvet pouches. Still nothing. An uncomfortable, suffocating silence fell over the room. Right then, Vanessa pushed the door open. Her makeup was flawless, her veil cascading down her shoulders, her eyes perfectly red and watery. “What’s going on?” Nobody answered. Eleanor slammed the inventory list onto the vanity. “The heirloom necklace is gone.” Vanessa looked shocked, her fingers clutching her silk robe. “How… how is that possible?” She looked up at me. With just one look, I knew she was starting her performance. “Clara, you were the one who found the box?” I nodded. “Yes.” “Then did you…” She hesitated, looking as if she couldn’t bear to finish the sentence. “Did you open it to take a look?” In my past life, she did the exact same thing. She didn’t use the word “steal.” She didn’t say “take.” She just asked, “Did you look inside?” And she let everyone else’s malice fill in the blanks. I turned my phone screen toward the crowd. “The video started before I even crossed the threshold. You can see for yourselves. I’ve been standing by the door the entire time.” Vanessa bit her lip, tears streaming down her face. “I’m not doubting you, Clara. It’s just… the suite was empty, and you were the first to find it…” Eleanor snapped her gaze to me. “Clara, open your bag.” I let out a cold laugh. “Absolutely not.” Her face turned pale with anger. “The item went missing right in front of you, and you refuse to cooperate?” I saved the recording and uploaded it to my cloud drive. Then, I dialed 911. “Let the police handle it then.” Vanessa’s face went pale for a fraction of a second. She immediately lunged forward and grabbed my hand. “Don’t call the police!” Everyone stared at her. She cried even harder. “Today is my wedding! I don’t want to make a scene. Clara, if you just had a temporary lapse of judgment, just give it back. I promise we can pretend this never happened.” Classic Vanessa. She blocked every exit, then pretended to offer me a way out out of the goodness of her heart. Liam pinched the bridge of his nose. “Clara, today is a special day. Just cooperate. Don’t make this a bigger deal than it already is.” Ethan Carter arrived at that moment. He was my boyfriend, and he was supposed to be a guest today. He looked at the crowded room. His first instinct wasn’t to ask if I was okay. Instead, he lowered his voice and whispered, “Clara, don’t be stubborn.” My heart felt like it had been doused in ice water. He was exactly like this in my past life. He didn’t trust me. He was just terrified of trouble. I took a step back. “I’ll say it one last time: I didn’t touch that box.” “If anyone wants to search me, bring a warrant.” “If anyone wants to accuse me, bring proof.” A crowd of guests had already gathered at the door. Some were holding up their phones. Someone whispered, “Isn’t she a jewelry appraiser?” “Only someone in the industry would know how to pull this off.” “The bride treated her like a sister, and she does this? Unbelievable.” Vanessa leaned against Liam’s shoulder, her body trembling with tears. I looked at her. Suddenly, I wanted to laugh. In my past life, I cried until my voice went hoarse, and nobody cared. In this life, I wouldn’t shed a single tear. I would just wait for her to finish her little show. 2. Within ten minutes, half the venue knew the heirloom necklace was missing. Vanessa’s cousin, Beatrice, took a video and posted it to the wedding guest Snapchat group. The angle was perfectly framed. In the video, Vanessa was weeping in her wedding gown, looking fragile. Eleanor stood beside her with a cold, stern face. I stood there holding my phone, looking entirely calm and defiant. The caption was toxic: “Bride’s best friend suspected of stealing the groom’s family heirloom. Refuses to be searched and is threatening everyone by calling the cops.” It was quickly screenshotted and shared. Within seconds, the group chat exploded with comments. “On her wedding day? How trashy.” “Of all things to steal, a family heirloom?” “She works in the jewelry business, right? No wonder she knew what was valuable.” “The bride is still defending her. What a nightmare friend.” I stood in the hallway outside the bridal suite, scrolling through the comments. In my past life, these words were like knives. The more I explained, the more they mocked me. When I posted a statement, they screenshotted it to ridicule me further. Later, someone leaked to my prospective employer that they were hiring a thief. That high-paying position vanished overnight. In this life, the timeline was moving even faster. At 11:20 AM, I received a text from Mrs. Katherine Harper. She was the hiring director for the luxury jewelry company. Just yesterday, she had assured me that my background check was clear and my official offer would be sent on Monday. Now, her text was strictly professional and cold. “Clara, we have been made aware of the allegations regarding property theft circulating online. Since this role involves high-end appraisal and handling client assets, we must put your hiring process on hold until this matter is fully cleared up.” I stared at the screen, my fingers turning cold. Vanessa didn’t just want the money from the necklace. She wanted me blacklisted from the entire industry. Late last year, the company opened up a position for a Senior Appraisal Consultant. Both Vanessa and I submitted our resumes. She was rejected early on, while I made it to the final round. She had hugged me back then and said, “Clara, once you’re in, don’t forget to pull me up.” And I actually believed her. She didn’t want me to pull her up. She wanted to drag me down and use my corpse as her stepping stone. The main hall was starting to call for the ceremony to begin. The MC’s cheerful voice drifted through the doors. “The ceremony is about to begin. Will all guests please make their way to the main chapel.” But this corner of the bridal suite felt like an isolated execution ground. Eleanor wouldn’t let me leave. Two bridesmaids blocked the doorway. Ethan stood by my side, his expression growing more irritated by the second. “Clara, stop fighting them.” I looked up at him. “You think I took it?” He avoided my eyes. “That’s not what I mean.” “Then what do you mean?” “I just think right now isn’t the time to argue about who’s right or wrong. Vanessa only gets married once. Calling the police to her wedding is just humiliating her.” I smiled. “I didn’t take it. Why should I sacrifice my integrity to save her face?” Ethan frowned. “But acting like this only makes you look more guilty.” Of course. Refusing a search meant I was guilty. Calling the police meant I was threatening them. Refusing to apologize meant I was stubborn. In my past life, I was backed into a corner by these exact arguments. In my past life, I had dumped the contents of my bag onto the table, letting them rifle through my life. Lipstick, tissues, compact powder, car keys. No necklace. Then they said I must have hidden it on my body. I was shaking with rage, refusing to strip. They said my refusal was proof of guilt. When Eleanor’s slap finally landed on my face, Vanessa held me and cried. “Clara, why did you do this?” Back then, I actually wondered if she had genuinely misplaced it. Only after my death did I realize she was the one who handed them the knife, and she was the one who pretended to wipe away my blood. At noon, Chloe returned with security. She whispered to Liam that the hotel had already secured the security footage for the hallway outside the bridal suite, the elevators, and the parking garage. Liam nodded, looking relieved. When Vanessa heard this, her eyelashes fluttered. It was a tiny, almost imperceptible twitch. But I saw it. She clutched Liam’s sleeve. “Liam, can we please wait until after the ceremony to look into this? I don’t want to make our guests watch a drama.” Eleanor’s face was grim. “The heirloom necklace is gone. How can we proceed with the ceremony?” Vanessa’s tears fell again. “We can use another necklace for now. Eleanor, please. I don’t want my wedding ruined over this.” Over this. A fifty-thousand-dollar heirloom. The most expensive item on the registry. And the crime she was trying to frame me for. I spoke up. “Since the ceremony is going forward, I’m coming to the main hall too.” Eleanor shot me a icy look. “You still want to go in there?” “Of course.” I slid my phone into my bag and zipped it up. “You all accused me of theft, right?” “Then let everyone who saw that video see how this ends.” 3. I was taken to a holding room next to the main hall. They said it was to “wait for the police,” but it was essentially house arrest. Two of Liam’s cousins stood guard at the door like prison guards. I sat on the sofa and texted Chloe. “Chloe, can you verify something for me? Did the heirloom necklace go into the hotel safe last night? Is there a signed receipt and a photo of the sealed box?” She replied almost instantly. “Yes. The groom’s family deposited it at 7:45 PM yesterday. It was photographed and sealed according to the inventory. This morning, the bride signed it out herself.” Looking at the words “the bride signed it out,” the weight in my chest finally lifted a little. In this life, the thread was unraveling. I texted back: “Can you make a backup copy of that log? I might need it in a minute.” Chloe was silent for a few minutes. “Clara, the hotel cannot release security footage or guest records to individuals. But if the police request it, or if both parties agree, we can show it.” I replied: “The police have been dispatched. Please have it ready when they arrive.” Next, I dialed another number. Audrey Stone. My college roommate, who was now a defense attorney. In my past life, everyone abandoned me after the incident. Only Audrey had tried to reach out. The call connected, and her voice was sharp and clear. “Clara?” “I’m at the Grand Plaza Hotel for Vanessa’s wedding. Her groom’s family heirloom is missing, and they are framing me for it.” Audrey didn’t hesitate for a second. “Don’t sign anything, don’t agree to a private settlement, and do not let them search your body. Save every text, video, and recording. Before the police arrive, state only facts, not opinions.” My eyes stung. Not everyone was going to force me to bow my head. I screenshotted the Snapchat video, the group chat texts, and the HR notification, and sent them all to her. Audrey looked them over and sent back five words: “We can sue them all.” The door to the holding room opened. Vanessa walked in. She had changed into her reception shawl, her makeup touched up, her eyes still artfully red. Ethan followed closely behind her. I put my phone away. Vanessa walked over and knelt in front of me. “Clara, we’ve been friends for eight years. I really don’t want to make this ugly for you.” I said nothing. She reached out to grab my hand, but I flinched away. Her expression hardened for a split second before returning to her usual victim act. “Eleanor is furious. She said if you write a statement admitting you ‘misplaced’ it and agree to pay for it after the wedding, she won’t press charges.” Ethan chimed in. “Clara, this is the best way out.” I looked at him. “You want me to admit to stealing a fifty-thousand-dollar necklace?” He frowned. “It’s not stealing. It’s just ‘misplacing’ it.” I laughed out loud. “A heavy, custom diamond necklace? I misplaced it? Where? Did it just evaporate into thin air?” Ethan looked uncomfortable. “Can you stop being so defensive? Everyone is trying to help you.” “Help me?” I stood up, staring him down. “Ethan, have you asked me even once if I actually did it?” He went quiet. At that moment, the pain completely vanished. In my past life, I could never understand why three years of love couldn’t withstand a few rumors. Now I understood. Some people’s love only exists when you are clean, convenient, and easy. The moment you get dragged into the mud, their first instinct isn’t to pull you out. It’s to make sure none of it splatters on them. Vanessa said softly, “Clara, don’t blame Ethan. He’s just worried about you. If this drags on, what about your job? I know how much you wanted that position.” Finally, she let a piece of her true motive slip. I looked at her. “You knew my job offer would be affected?” Vanessa’s eyes flickered. “The guest group chat is talking about it. I just guessed.” “What a perfect guess.” Her face paled slightly, and she immediately burst into tears. “Are you doubting me now? I’m the one getting married, and my heirloom is gone! I’m the victim here!” A knock came at the door. Eleanor’s voice was icy. “Vanessa, it’s time.” Vanessa wiped her tears and stood up. Before she left, she leaned close to my ear and whispered in a voice only I could hear: “Clara, don’t destroy your own future.” I looked up at her. “I’d say the same to you.” She stared at me, the warmth completely draining from her eyes. There was resentment there. And panic. I knew she was starting to lose her grip. Because in this life, I hadn’t followed a single line of her script. 4. The ceremony was delayed by twenty minutes. The guests in the main hall were already growing restless. The MC was trying to keep things light, announcing that the couple was doing some last-minute touch-ups, but every table was whispering. “Did her bridesmaid friend really steal the diamonds?” “I heard she refused to be searched.” “The police are on their way. The bride is so sweet, she’s actually trying to protect her.” When I walked into the main hall, the whispers briefly quieted. Every eye turned to me. They looked at me like a criminal about to be sentenced. The chandeliers in the hall were blindingly bright. At the front of the room sat Eleanor, with a row of Bennett family members lined up beside her. Vanessa stood near the stage, tears on her face, still looking like a picture-perfect bride. Liam stood beside her, his brow furrowed. Ethan followed me, trying to grab my wrist. I shoved his hand off. “Clara, stop making a scene,” he muttered. I didn’t look back. Eleanor took the microphone, her voice steady and echoing through the speakers. “Family and friends, we’ve had a small incident today. The Bennett family is not unreasonable, and we do not wish to ruin a young person’s life over a temporary lapse in judgment.” She looked at me. “Clara, if you stand here, explain what happened, admit you ‘misplaced’ the necklace, and sign an agreement to pay for the damages, we can put this behind us.” Immediately, some guests nodded in agreement. “Yeah, just apologize and get it over with.” “The bride isn’t even pressing charges. Why is she being so difficult?” “She’s ruining the wedding.” Vanessa took the microphone, her voice trembling. “Clara, I really don’t blame you. We’ve been friends for so long. I know you’ve been under a lot of stress looking for a job lately, and things haven’t been easy for you.” She paused, a tear slipping down her cheek at the perfect moment. “Just give the necklace back, or promise to replace it later. I’ll beg Eleanor not to take this further.” She finished her speech and reached her hand out to me. The entire room watched. It was a flawless trap. The forgiving bride. The magnanimous groom’s family. The stubborn, ungrateful thief. If I bowed my head now, my past life would repeat itself. If I didn’t, they would say I was unrepentant. I took the spare microphone from the MC. I walked up to the giant projector screen. “Since everyone has already watched the leaked video and discussed my supposed theft in the group chat, I’d like to take three minutes of your time to clarify.” The room fell quiet. Eleanor frowned. “Clara, do not push your luck.” I ignored her. “First, I was never in charge of Vanessa’s jewelry box.” “Second, I never touched it after I found it.” “Third, the diamond necklace was already gone before I ever set foot in the bridal suite.” Vanessa’s head snapped up. “Clara, how can you say that? What proof do you have?” I looked toward the side door. Chloe stood there, her face tense. I knew she was under immense pressure. Hotels dreaded wedding disasters. But she also knew that if the security footage could prove the truth, she couldn’t hide it. I spoke clearly into the microphone. “Chloe, the police are on their way. I request that we play the video from my phone, followed by the hotel’s hallway security footage.” Liam glanced at Chloe. “Play it.” Vanessa immediately grabbed his sleeve. “Liam, please don’t…” Liam said quietly, “If she’s innocent, we need to clear her name.” That was probably the only decent thing he had said all day. The projector screen lit up. First was my phone recording. The footage started from the moment I opened the door to the bridal suite. I stood at the entrance, nowhere near the vanity. In the shot, the jewelry box sat alone. My voice recorded: “The jewelry box was left unattended in the suite. I haven’t touched it. I’m calling the coordinator to verify.” Then it showed me calling Chloe. Then Chloe, Liam, and Eleanor entering the room. Throughout the entire video, I was at least three feet away from that vanity. The whispers in the crowd began to shift. But that wasn’t enough. It only proved I hadn’t touched it after I found it. It didn’t prove who took it. I clicked the remote for the next file. The hallway security footage appeared. Timestamp: 8:16 AM. Vanessa, wearing her silk bridal robe, walked out of the bridal suite holding the jewelry box. She walked to the end of the hallway, paused for a few seconds, then turned back and placed the box back on the vanity. At 9:03 AM, I entered the room. Between those two timestamps, absolutely no one else entered that suite. The entire chapel felt as if it had been choked of air. The color drained from Vanessa’s face. I turned to face her. “Now, can you explain? Why is it that the last person to touch that box before I found it was you?”

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When I went to return the engagement ring, the designer asked me why. Right in front of her, I tried to slide the ring onto my ring finger. But the band got stuck at my second knuckle, refusing to go any further. “See? It’s not my size.” The designer’s face turned pale. She immediately offered to resize it. I shook my head, my voice incredibly calm. “You can resize the ring, but you can’t change the shoe size. And you definitely can’t change the wedding dress.” My wedding with Ethan Carter was just around the corner. But except for the bride’s name on the invitations, nothing about it belonged to me. Every time I asked Ethan to go try on wedding dresses, he would stare at his laptop screen without even looking up. “I’m busy. I know your measurements anyway. I already sent them over to the designer. Just relax and get ready to be a beautiful bride.” But three days before the wedding, what I received was a ring that wouldn’t fit and a wedding dress I couldn’t even squeeze into. The wedding shoes, the gloves, and even the bridal lingerie… they were all my best friend Chloe’s size. The long-held anticipation in my heart completely vanished, leaving a hollow ache in my chest. Ethan frowned, still trying to negotiate with me. “It’s just a ceremony. You and Chloe are so close. Honestly, would it be so bad if Chloe stood in your place?” I didn’t argue, nor did I refuse. I just thought to myself: If she can stand in for me, then it should be perfectly fine if I change the groom, too.

When I got home, Ethan was on the phone with someone. “She’s back. Make sure you stay warm. That cashmere throw blanket I bought you should arrive today.” “Drape it over your legs when you sleep. Don’t catch a cold…” Listening to those tender, pampering whispers, my eyes burned. I had told him so many times that the AC vent at my office desk blew directly at me. It made my body ache all over. Sometimes, he would look at his computer and casually reply, “Bring a jacket then. Drink some hot water.” Other times, he would just stare at his phone and give a lazy, “Oh, okay.” Not once had he ever spoken to me in such a soft, gentle voice, telling me he bought me a blanket to stay warm. Hanging up the phone, he finally noticed me. He casually said, “Go make dinner. Chloe is coming over to eat in a bit.” Then, he began counting on his fingers. “She likes home-cooked meals. Grill some chicken breast, sear some salmon, make some pasta… oh, and add a salad. She’s always talking about losing weight, so a salad is perfect.” For a long time after he finished speaking, I didn’t move. I didn’t say a word. I just stood there, staring at him. Ethan slowly realized something was off, and a forced smile appeared on his face. “What’s wrong? Why are you so quiet?” I averted my eyes and looked at the framed wedding photo hanging on the wall. “Aren’t you going to ask me how the ring and dress alterations went?” He gave an “Oh,” and asked half-heartedly, “Right. How did they go?” A wave of overwhelming exhaustion washed over me. My lips parted, but as my gaze fell on the photo of the two of them just below the wedding portrait, I suddenly didn’t know what to say. Before I could speak, he lowered his head to his phone again. Something on the screen made his lips curl into a smile. Even from a few feet away, I could see it clearly. The person texting him was Chloe Miller. In his Snapchat chat history, her name was pinned at the very top. Mine was somewhere below. Her chat was pinned with a golden star. Mine had nothing. At this moment, my best friend looked far more like his girlfriend than I did. Ethan looked up at me, a hint of annoyance in his eyes. “What are you still standing there for? She’s about to arrive.” I had been home for thirty minutes. He hadn’t asked a single real question about the wedding or the ring. Even when I tried to remind him, he only gave me a lazy, superficial response. Yet, he was incredibly attentive to everything concerning Chloe. I tried asking one more question. “Does she have any food allergies?” Ethan looked up immediately, his answer slipping out of his mouth without a second thought. “She doesn’t eat onions. You know that, right?” I fell silent. After a few seconds, I replied. “I know her tastes.” “But I didn’t know you remembered them so well.” Leaving those words behind, I ignored his changing expression and turned toward the kitchen. This would probably be our last dinner together.

Half an hour later, Chloe arrived with some coffee. Ethan practically sprinted to the entryway. He kicked my slippers aside as if they were in his way, then took out a fresh pair of slippers from the top shelf of the shoe cabinet and handed them to her. A smile played on his lips. “Bought these for you.” They were a pair of pink, cozy slippers with cute bunny ears. This exact pair had been sitting in my Amazon cart for six months. Every time I wanted to buy them, Ethan would stop me. “How old are you? Still wearing childish things like that? Aren’t you afraid people will laugh at you?” But when it came to Chloe, there was no talk of being “childish,” and no fear of being laughed at. He had simply used my credit card to buy them for her. Noticing my gaze, Chloe turned to me with a sweet smile and waved. “Summer, I brought you coffee.” Unsurprisingly, there were two iced Americanos and one hot oat milk latte. As she handed me the latte, a memory flashed in my mind. When Ethan and I first started dating, his favorite drink was a hot latte. He had a sweet tooth. He used to say that the taste of a hot latte was just like me, warm and sweet, and once you had a sip, you could never forget it. Back then, my face would turn red, and I would playfully punch his chest. He would laugh out loud, running away while teasingly begging for mercy. After that summer, my usual iced Americano order changed to a latte. But somewhere along the way, the latte in his hand had quietly reverted back to an iced Americano. “Thanks,” I muttered, taking the coffee and heading toward the kitchen. Chloe sat down right next to Ethan, leaning her shoulder against his. She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, come on, we’re best friends. No need to thank me…” She thought I was thanking her for the coffee. In reality, I was thanking her for showing me what a piece of trash my fiancé was. The sizzling of the oil in the pan couldn’t drown out the loud laughter and flirting coming from the living room. Ethan was asking her one question after another. “Is the design for the SE project finalized? You have to put your heart into it. The executives really care about this one.” “What do you want to eat tomorrow? Sandwiches or a salad?” “Have you bought the accessories for your bridesmaid dress yet? Do you want me to get them for you?” I listened quietly, and in my distraction, the knife slipped. “Ouch,” I hissed. From the living room, Chloe called out, “Summer, what happened?” I sucked on my bleeding finger and answered vaguely, “Nothing, just cut my finger.” “Oh,” Chloe replied. “Be careful then.” Ethan poked his head through the kitchen door. After confirming that I wasn’t dying, he shook his head with a mocking chuckle. “Your cooking skills are really going downhill. How do you manage to cut yourself just chopping veggies?” He didn’t offer to get a Band-Aid, nor did he offer to take over. He just leaned against the doorframe, making snide remarks. Back in college, when I bumped my knee on his bicycle, he had panicked. He practically carried me on his back all the way to the campus clinic, making the doctor reassure him a dozen times that I was fine before he finally let me go. Back then, resting my chin on his shoulder, I thought, This is the man I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. But I never could have guessed that years later, when I was bleeding right in front of him, he would look at me with complete indifference. He turned back to the living room to keep chatting with Chloe. My finger kept bleeding, staining the cutting board red. Realizing he couldn’t play blind anymore, Ethan sighed and stepped into the kitchen. “Go patch that up. I’ll finish this.” I looked up at him. “I thought you hated cooking.” He had sensitive sinuses and couldn’t stand the smell of grease. Ever since we moved in together, the cooking and dishwashing had always been my job. Just last week, we had a huge argument over whose turn it was to do the dishes. But now, he was putting on the apron and rolling up his sleeves with ease. “What choice do I have? Someone said she’s hungry…” A playful protest instantly came from the living room. “Ethan!” The man let out a low chuckle and gently pushed me out of the kitchen. I stood frozen in the hallway, finding his laughter incredibly grating. Chloe put down her phone, pulled me down onto the sofa, and grabbed the first-aid kit, crouching in front of me just like she used to. An alcohol swab wiped across my cut. Then, she began wrapping the gauze around my finger. Looking down at my college best friend, my feelings were incredibly complicated. When I had acute appendicitis back in school, writhing in pain on my bed, she was the one who stayed by my side in the ER all night. When we ran out of money at the end of the month, she was the one who bought cheap frozen pizzas so we could survive together. When Ethan and I first made our relationship official, she had hugged me, crying and saying, “Even if you have a man now, you can’t abandon me.” So, when she moved to New York to find a job, I submitted a special request to bring her into my design department. When she eagerly volunteered to help organize my wedding, I handed all the wedding chores to her so I could focus entirely on the SE project. I had anticipated a beautiful beginning, but I never saw this ending coming. After tying the knot on the bandage, Chloe looked up at me. “Summer, can you let me have Ethan?”

Even though I had already made up my mind, hearing her ask so bluntly still sent a sharp sting through my heart. Under the living room lights, Chloe’s eyes were glistening with tears. “You’re already the design lead. You’re talented, successful, and you have a wealthy family to back you up. But I have nothing.” So, that was her excuse for stealing my man. “What if I say no?” The pitiful look on Chloe’s face vanished instantly. She squeezed my injured finger tightly, leaning in close, whispering every word. “He gave those sizes to the designer himself.” “Don’t you want to think about why he knows my measurements so well? Don’t you want to know how far we’ve actually gone?” Without a word, I raised my hand and splashed the cold coffee right in her face. Chloe screamed. “Summer! I’m sorry… it’s my fault! I shouldn’t have messed up your ring and dress sizes…” The next second, Ethan rushed out of the kitchen. Without giving me a single glance, he grabbed a towel, wrapped it around Chloe’s head, and gently wiped her face. Then, he spun around and glared at me. “Are you insane?! The wrong sizes weren’t her fault! If you’re mad, take it out on me!” He shielded her behind his back, his eyes red with anger. It was as if I weren’t his fiancée, but his worst enemy. I bit my lip, my voice trembling. “Aren’t you going to ask what she just said to me?” Ethan looked back at Chloe, his eyes filled with pity. “She’s simple-minded and naive. I don’t need to ask to know it was your fault.” “Chloe is your best friend. Why do you have to make things so difficult for her?” He didn’t even care to ask for the truth. He just assumed everything was my fault. The room fell into a dead silence, broken only by Chloe’s quiet, dramatic sobbing. After a long pause, Ethan let out a breath, his tone softening slightly. “I’m sorry, I raised my voice. But you really went too far this time.” “Honestly, I felt a bit guilty about my next request, but seeing how you treated her, you owe Chloe an apology.” “Give her the credit and signing rights for the SE project.” I stood up, staring at him in utter disbelief. Last month, to secure the design for the SE project, I had worked eight nights straight until I passed out and was hospitalized. At the time, he had hugged me and said, “Don’t push yourself so hard. You have me.” He knew better than anyone that this project was my ticket to becoming the Design Director. And now, he wanted me to just hand it over. Chloe didn’t say she didn’t want it. She didn’t try to play peacemaker either. She just clutched Ethan’s sleeve, taking a small step closer to him. I stared at their hands, tightly gripping each other through the fabric. “And if I refuse?” I asked in a low voice. Ethan frowned. “Chloe worked tirelessly to help plan our wedding. You should give her this project as a thank-you.” “If you don’t agree, our wedding will be postponed indefinitely.” I clenched my fists. “Are you sure about that?” He didn’t answer. He just took Chloe’s hand and walked toward the door. Before closing it, he looked back at me and sighed. “We’re going out to eat. Think about it. If you come to your senses, the wedding in three days will go on as scheduled.” He didn’t say what would happen if I didn’t “come to my senses.” But his hand, tightly holding hers, said everything. “But I’ve already decided to change the groom…” I whispered to the empty room. The only response was the click of the door locking shut.

That night, Ethan didn’t come home. No texts, no calls. The next morning, I called my parents. “I’m changing the groom.” They didn’t ask a single question. Instead, my mom laughed. “Good. We knew there was something sketchy going on between Ethan and that Chloe girl. You should have dumped him sooner.” “If you hadn’t been so head-over-heels for him, we would have never accepted that fake nice-guy anyway.” She was right. My parents saw through him instantly, while it took me years to finally see the truth. No wonder Chloe had sent me a photo of their heads resting next to each other in bed this morning, adding a mocking text: Guess what we did last night? I took a deep breath and locked my phone. The moment I stepped out of the elevator at the office, a notification popped up on my phone. The HR Director had tagged me in the WhatsApp work group: “Summer Montgomery from the design department is suspected of plagiarizing the SE project and taking credit for someone else’s work. Following a board meeting, the company has decided to terminate Summer Montgomery immediately. She will be blacklisted from the industry.” The message was short, but I stared at it for a long time. Muffled laughter and whispers immediately erupted around me. “She called herself the design lead, but she’s just a thief. Her own best friend reported her, so it must be true.” “To think Ethan wanted to marry her. Who would marry a thief? Gross!” Hearing the insults and jeers, my feet felt like they were glued to the floor. Chloe suddenly appeared, pressing a cup of warm water into my hands, her eyes red. “Summer, it’s okay. I don’t blame you for the plagiarism. We can still be friends, just like before.” Her words sounded comforting, but the smirk on her face was almost splitting her cheeks. I looked straight into her eyes. “Why?” She leaned in close to my ear, whispering, “I warned you to get out of New York. Handing over your man, your project, and your wedding is exactly what a loser like you deserves.” “What makes you so sure you’ve won?” She chuckled. “Oh, just wait and see.” Right then, a colleague shouted, “Summer stole Chloe’s design by abusing her trust! Getting fired isn’t enough, she needs to apologize personally!” “Exactly! A thief like her should be banned from the industry! Let’s see who will hire her after this!” Before I could speak, Ethan walked out of the engineering department and stood in front of me, looking like he was trying to protect me. For a split second, my heart softened, and I wanted to tell him I didn’t do it. But he quickly turned around, grabbed my wrist, and whispered, “Summer, just apologize. If you admit to it and show some remorse, Chloe won’t take legal action.” “And our wedding can still happen.” The fleeting warmth in my chest vanished instantly. The morning sun hit his handsome face, making him look so familiar yet so incredibly foreign. When I first joined this company, a senior designer tried to steal my credit. Ethan had snatched his badge and marched straight into CEO Mr. Evans’ office, risking his own job to get me justice. Back then, he was just a junior programmer with no power or status. Now, he was an executive, yet he was forcing me to apologize for a crime I didn’t commit. I shook his hand off and took a step back. “I didn’t do it,” I said, my voice trembling. He paused, then leaned in closer, dropping his voice even lower. “I know. But since you refused to give her the credit, this was the only way.” It felt as if a bomb had gone off in my head. My throat felt tight, and I couldn’t breathe. Seeing me shake with anger, a flash of pity crossed Ethan’s eyes. He took a step forward, staring at me intently. “Even if you lose your job, you still have your parents and me. We can support you.” “But Chloe has nothing. If you admit to the plagiarism, she will get the Design Director position.” Those lips had kissed me countless times and whispered sweet promises, but now, every word they uttered was like a dagger to my heart. I pried his fingers off my wrist one by one. My voice was hoarse. “I will never admit to it.” “You have to!” Ethan’s patience finally wore thin. He pointed at Chloe. “Remember when you had acute appendicitis in college? If she hadn’t saved you, you would have died. You owe her this.” His words were cold and sharp. Chloe pretended to look hurt, but her eyes were dancing with joy. All around me, colleagues were shouting, demanding an apology. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Fine. I apologize. I plagiarized. I am a thief.” I gave a deep bow to the triumphant Chloe. Consider this my payment for her saving my life all those years ago. As I walked out of the building carrying my box of personal belongings, a sleek black Maybach was already waiting by the curb. I looked up at the 35th floor one last time, then slid into the backseat. Almost immediately, Ethan’s text popped up on my phone. “The day after tomorrow, I’ll be waiting for you at the wedding venue.” I typed a quick reply: “No need. My groom isn’t you.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “465603”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I married the richest man in Los Angeles. He pursued me for four years and spoiled me for five. I was the woman every woman in Los Angeles envied. But the “good man” they talked about turned around and rolled around with his female assistant in my car, then even forged photos of me cheating so he could throw me out. Only later did I learn that I was the Foster family’s long-lost heiress. Using my identity as the Foster heiress, I personally acquired Ashford Group. On the day we signed the acquisition agreement, he begged me with red eyes to come home. I only said two words: too late. Me living well was the best revenge against him. Evelyn Clark POV “Hello. I want a divorce.” I pushed a stack of documents and materials toward the lawyer. The lawyer across from me froze for a full half minute, looking at my ID, then at the letter of authorization, repeatedly confirming the client’s identity. The door to the reception room hadn’t been shut properly, and the staff’s whispers drifted in through the crack. “Oh my God, is that Mrs. Ashford?” “Did I hear that right? She wants a divorce?” “Did she have a fight with Mr. Ashford? No way. Everyone in Los Angeles knows how much Mr. Ashford dotes on his wife. What could possibly be serious enough for a divorce?” “Exactly. Their wedding of the century five years ago—champagne roses practically covered half of Los Angeles. No one in elite circles has topped that scale even now. That was a real-life fairy-tale romance. I was moved for the longest time. If those two get divorced, I’ll never believe in love again.” “If Mr. Ashford finds out Mrs. Ashford came here, he’ll tear this whole building down.” I lowered my eyes, bitterness spreading through my chest. Everything they said was true. Adrian Ashford and I were college classmates. One of us was a scholarship student from a poor background who grew up in an orphanage, relying entirely on scholarships to get through college. Other than good grades, I had nothing. The other was the sole heir of Ashford Group, the student council president, a campus celebrity everyone looked up to. At the University of California, there wasn’t a soul who didn’t know him. But Adrian Ashford just had to fall for me at first sight, launching a grand, public pursuit. Flowers piled up across the lawn beneath my dorm. The Ferris wheel kept its lights on for me all night. He set off fireworks for me, and every burst spelled out the same sentence: Evelyn Clark, be my girlfriend. Back then, it wasn’t that I wasn’t moved. I just knew all too well how worlds apart we were. Adrian Ashford was good in every way. So good he didn’t seem like someone who could ever belong to me. When I refused, he didn’t get angry. For four whole years, every night at ten, he stood outside the library waiting for me. On rainy days, he held an umbrella. On snowy days, he wrapped himself in an overcoat. More than a thousand nights, through wind and rain, he never missed a single one. How many four-year stretches does a person get in their youth? I didn’t want to keep failing his feelings, and I didn’t want to keep failing my own heart. In the final semester before graduation, I finally stood in front of him and said yes. After we got together, Grandpa Ashford, Malcolm Ashford, reacted exactly as expected. He turned against it. I came from an orphanage. I had no family, no background. I wasn’t worthy of marrying into a wealthy family like the Ashfords. So Adrian Ashford protested by going on a hunger strike. He didn’t eat for five days. He was the only child of three generations of the Ashford family. Malcolm Ashford couldn’t do anything to him, and in the end, he relented. Five years ago, Adrian Ashford married me in grand fashion, giving me a wedding of the century that shocked the entire United States and turning me into the Mrs. Ashford everyone envied. After we married, Adrian Ashford spoiled me even more, practically lifting me to the heavens. He had never once even raised his voice at me. If I casually mentioned liking an original painting by a famous artist, the next day, that painting would be hanging in my walk-in closet. Malcolm Ashford looked down on me, so Adrian Ashford protected me every second, never letting me be alone with Grandpa for even a moment. Adrian Ashford said that as long as he was alive, he would protect me to the very end. And he truly did. On that rainy night three years ago, Adrian Ashford drank too much at a business dinner. I was worried, so despite being four months pregnant, I drove myself to pick him up. On the way back, we were hit by a truck that ran a red light. Although Adrian Ashford instinctively shielded me, both of us were still rushed into the emergency room. I survived, but our child was gone. And I would never be able to have another one. Adrian Ashford stayed by my hospital bed for seven days and seven nights. He said to me, “It’s okay. I don’t need a child. I don’t need an heir. I only need you to be okay.” Malcolm Ashford was so furious he ended up hospitalized, but Adrian still didn’t back down. At that time, I thought this man was worth entrusting my entire life to. But this Adrian Ashford, who loved me so much, had an affair with his young assistant two months ago. Lily Sullivan posted every detail of the two of them on WeChat Moments, setting it to visible only to me. In the car, in the office, in the conference room, in hotel suites—everywhere had become a place for them to have sex. Those positions Adrian Ashford had never let me try, those sex toys he had never let me use, all appeared in Lily Sullivan’s WeChat Moments. At first, I only found it absurd. I thought they were maliciously photoshopped images. Until I saw the mole on the man in the photo. That mole was in a special place. Only I had ever seen it. It couldn’t be faked. The evidence was irrefutable. I had no choice but to believe it. On yet another night when Adrian Ashford and Lily Sullivan were making love, I stayed awake until dawn. After my tears had all dried up, I finally made my decision. Since he was the first to betray our relationship, then I didn’t want him anymore either. I had never cared about the position of Mrs. Ashford. The lawyer’s voice pulled me back to reality. “Ms. Clark, all the materials are complete. One month after the agreement is signed, you can obtain the final divorce decree, if the other party agrees.” I took the drafted divorce agreement, stood up, and thanked him. After leaving the law firm, I drove to Ashford Group. When I arrived at the CEO’s office, I didn’t knock. I pushed the door open and walked straight in. Adrian Ashford was sitting behind his desk, a thin layer of sweat on his cold, handsome face. Hearing the door open, anger flashed across his face. “Coming in without knocking—” When he saw it was Evelyn Clark, the anger turned into panic. “Evelyn, why are you here?” The man leaned forward slightly, but he didn’t stand. His posture was awkward in a way I couldn’t quite describe. I looked around the office and didn’t see Lily Sullivan anywhere. “It’s your company. Am I not allowed to come?” I asked back, my gaze fixed directly on his face. “Of course you are. It’s my company, and Evelyn can come whenever she wants.” Adrian Ashford quickly pulled both hands back under the desk, and his voice returned to its usual gentleness. “It’s just, why didn’t you let Uncle Jack drive you? Did you drive yourself? Didn’t we agree you wouldn’t drive on your own? I worry.” Ever since the car accident three years ago, Adrian Ashford had never let me touch a steering wheel again. Whenever I went out, a driver picked me up and dropped me off. I looked at the concern written all over the man’s face right now, and my heart ached even more. He clearly had me in his heart. He clearly remembered every detail of the hardships we had gone through together. Yet he could still have sex with another woman and sink so deeply into it. So his heart was this big after all. I alone could never fill it. “I came to have you sign something.” I didn’t linger on that topic and placed the divorce agreement in front of him. “I’ve got my eye on a villa in the mountains. I need your signature.” Adrian Ashford habitually started flipping through the documents. Sweat seeped into my palms. Suddenly, a suppressed groan rolled from Adrian Ashford’s throat. The man’s tall body went abruptly tense, as if he was enduring something incredibly difficult. I understood instantly. Lily Sullivan was under the desk. A strong wave of nausea surged in my stomach. I came today to get the agreement signed. Catching them in the act on the spot would feel satisfying, but it would also create complications. It took every ounce of strength I had to force the sourness rushing up my throat back down. “Just sign it. It’s only a house.” I pushed the documents a little closer to him. Adrian Ashford clearly had no attention to spare for reading anything carefully right now. The intense pleasure and the thrill of being almost discovered by me left him unable to handle it. He picked up the pen and hastily signed his name. I reached out and took the agreement back. The messy handwriting showed exactly how hard he was restraining himself right now. “You’re busy. I’ll go.” I didn’t want to spend one more second in this room. “Evelyn, wait.” Adrian Ashford called out to me. “Sit in the reception room for a bit. I’ll clean up and then drive you home.” Since the agreement had already been signed, at this moment, I deliberately made things difficult for him. “Then I’ll wait for you in your lounge.” In the past, whenever I came to the company to see Adrian Ashford, I would always wait in the lounge inside his office. “Don’t—” Adrian Ashford blurted out. “I mean, the lounge just had a deep clean. The disinfectant smell is too strong. It’s not good for your health. Wait in the reception room, okay? Be good.” I understood. Deep clean? More like the traces of the two of them having sex in the lounge hadn’t been cleaned up yet. Besides, if I stayed in the lounge, Lily Sullivan under the desk wouldn’t even have a chance to come out and get dressed. The situation would be impossible to resolve. I pulled up the corners of my mouth, revealing a smile with no warmth at all. “Okay.” I walked into the reception room next door. From just beyond the wall came the man’s panting and the woman’s sweet, coquettish pleas for mercy. I squeezed my eyes shut hard. I took out my phone, photographed the signed agreement, and sent it to the lawyer. “What’s the fastest this can be finalized?” The lawyer replied quickly. “If we expedite it, one week.” I didn’t hesitate. “Then expedite it.”

Evelyn Clark POV The door to the reception room was pushed open. Lily Sullivan walked in carrying two cups of coffee. She placed one in front of me and held the other herself. Her makeup was flawless, her collar slightly open, and the corners of her lips carried just the right amount of concern. “Ms. Clark, would you like something to eat? Mr. Ashford is still busy, so I’ll take care of you.” I lifted my eyes and studied her. Early twenties, delicate makeup, a tight suit skirt. Curves where she should have curves, perky where she should be perky. She was indeed a stunner. No wonder Adrian Ashford had fallen for her. “Shouldn’t Ms. Sullivan call me Mrs. Ashford?” Lily Sullivan covered her mouth and laughed softly. “Please forgive me, Ms. Clark. After all, I’m only twenty-three. I can’t possibly compare to the emotional intelligence of someone who’s nearly thirty.” I let out a cold laugh and was just about to speak. Footsteps sounded in the hallway, growing closer. Lily Sullivan clearly heard them too, because the contempt on her face vanished instantly. Without hesitation, she raised her hand and splashed the scalding coffee in her hand onto her own arm. Hot coffee ran down her forearm, and her skin quickly reddened. Lily Sullivan sucked in a sharp breath, and her eyes immediately filled with aggrieved tears. “Mrs. Ashford! Even if the coffee I made wasn’t to your taste, I could have made you another cup. Why did you have to throw it on me…” Her volume was just loud enough for the person outside the door to hear. I looked at Lily Sullivan’s reddened arm. Good move. Adrian Ashford strode in. His gaze first swept over Lily Sullivan’s arm, and his brows furrowed. “What happened?” Lily Sullivan bit her lip, tears swirling in her eyes, and was just about to speak. I spoke first. “Your assistant said I splashed her.” I stood up, picked up the cup of coffee on the table, and in front of Adrian Ashford, threw it straight at Lily Sullivan. The coffee splashed across Lily Sullivan’s shirt, the dark brown liquid spreading in a large stain. Lily Sullivan screamed and stumbled back two steps in a sorry state. “But I didn’t splash her just now.” I set down the empty cup and dusted off my hands. “Now I have. Are you going to demand justice for her?” I looked straight into Adrian Ashford’s eyes, refusing to back down in the slightest. Adrian Ashford’s expression was terrible. His gaze moved between the two women. Then he turned to Lily Sullivan. His brows twisted into a hard line, and his face sank to freezing point. “Low-class thing. Get out!” Lily Sullivan’s tears finally fell. This time, they were real. Clutching her arm, she stumbled out of the reception room. I watched the direction Lily Sullivan disappeared in, the corners of my lips moving slightly. So it ended with one scolding. If anyone else had dared slander Mrs. Ashford to her face, Adrian Ashford would have made that person disappear from Ashford Group that very day. But Lily Sullivan only got one sentence. How was that a reprimand? It was clearly him giving her an out. Adrian Ashford had already walked up to me. He reached out to wrap an arm around my shoulders and lowered his head to look at my expression. “She’s been under a lot of pressure lately. Her emotions are a little unstable. Don’t stoop to her level.” He gently patted my back to comfort me, his tone soft. “It’s not worth ruining your health over anger.” I only felt that the smell of women’s perfume on Adrian Ashford was unbearably sharp. I shifted slightly to the side and pushed his hand off my shoulder. “If you’re done, let’s go.” Adrian Ashford froze for a moment after being pushed away by me, but he didn’t think too much of it. “Okay. Let’s go home.” The two of us walked into the parking lot one after the other. Adrian Ashford opened the passenger door for me. The moment I sat down, I felt that the seat’s position was wrong. Someone had moved the passenger seat. I remembered back when we were dating, Adrian Ashford wouldn’t let anyone besides me sit in his passenger seat. Once, Adrian Ashford’s childhood friend sat there, and Adrian Ashford dragged him right out. I laughed at him for being childish. He said with perfect confidence that the passenger seat was my wife’s seat. If you’re not my wife, what right do you have to sit there? So in his heart, even the wife’s seat could hold two people. I reached out to adjust the seat. Before I could finish adjusting it, there was a knock on the car window. Lily Sullivan stood outside the car, staring straight at Adrian Ashford. She had deliberately left the burn on her arm exposed. It was so red it made people ache for her. Adrian Ashford lowered the window. “Mr. Ashford, my arm is burned. I really can’t hold a steering wheel, and I can’t get a rideshare… Could you drop me off at the hospital if it’s on your way?” I sat in the passenger seat without even lifting my eyelids. Since when did an assistant who couldn’t get a car have to ride in the boss’s car? Adrian Ashford frowned and was just about to speak. Lily Sullivan’s eyes reddened again, and her lips trembled lightly, like she was desperately holding back tears. Adrian Ashford’s refusal got stuck in his throat. “Get in.” He turned his head to look at me and lowered his voice to explain. “Don’t overthink it. After all, she got hurt at the company. I’ll drop her off at the hospital since it’s on the way, so people at the company won’t gossip about you.” I only found it ironic. Back then, when Adrian Ashford had just taken over the company, I stayed up with him and endured it all together. A poor student from an orphanage marrying him—I heard plenty of gossip behind my back. They said I was trying to marry up, that I wasn’t worthy of Mr. Ashford. Adrian Ashford’s way of handling it had been simple: whoever gossiped was gone. He wouldn’t let me suffer even the slightest grievance. But now, wonderful. He was using “so people at the company won’t gossip” to shut my mouth, openly and righteously letting Lily Sullivan into our car. For a moment, I was too angry to speak. Adrian Ashford immediately took my silence as agreement. “What are you waiting for? Get in.” But Lily Sullivan stood there without moving, twisting her fingers together. “I… I get a little carsick. If I sit in the back, I might throw up. Could I sit in the passenger seat?” I sat in the passenger seat without even changing my posture. When Lily Sullivan didn’t get a response, she continued on her own. “I’m being unreasonable. I shouldn’t bother Mr. Ashford and Mrs. Ashford, and I definitely shouldn’t make Mrs. Ashford sit in the back. I’m sorry. I’ll call a car myself.” After saying that, she let out a soft hiss, as if the injury on her arm hurt again. Her mouth said she was leaving, but her feet stayed nailed to the spot. She didn’t move a single step. Adrian Ashford glanced at the burn on her arm, his Adam’s apple shifting slightly. He was about to speak when my voice sounded first. “If you know you shouldn’t bother us, then what are you still standing here for?” Lily Sullivan went stiff. Adrian Ashford knew my next sentence would be to tell Lily Sullivan to leave, so he quickly spoke up. “Get in the car already.” Lily Sullivan didn’t dare say anything else and got into the back seat with an aggrieved look. The car had just pulled out of the parking lot when Lily Sullivan spoke again. “Mrs. Ashford, could you get my lip balm for me? I accidentally left it in Mr. Ashford’s car last time. It’s in the side storage compartment to your right.” Adrian Ashford’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Last time, we went to a business dinner. She drank a few glasses for me and got drunk, so I dropped her off at home since it was on the way. It was just that one time. Don’t overthink it.” I didn’t look at him. I opened the side storage compartment on the passenger side. Lip balm, women’s perfume, a comb, lipstick, hair ties, earrings. The storage compartment was stuffed full. It was practically Lily Sullivan’s personal makeup bag. Just that one time? I casually rummaged through the things in the compartment, then closed it. “I didn’t see any lip balm.” I turned to look at Adrian Ashford. “How long has it been since you cleaned out this compartment? There’s too much trash. Pull over. I’ll throw it away.” Adrian Ashford didn’t understand what I meant, but he still pulled the car over to the side of the road. I pushed open the car door, bent down, and threw everything in the storage compartment into the roadside trash can. In the back seat, Lily Sullivan’s face went pale, then red, then pale again. She seemed to want to say something. Her lips moved a few times, but in the end, she didn’t dare speak. I dusted off my hands, sat back in the passenger seat, and closed the door. “Let’s go. Isn’t Ms. Sullivan in a hurry to get to the hospital? The intersection up ahead is it.” Adrian Ashford glanced at Lily Sullivan’s expression in the rearview mirror, then at my perfectly calm profile. He seemed to realize something. But since I didn’t make a scene, he was more than happy to let it slide. The car drove in silence to the hospital entrance. Adrian Ashford stepped on the brake, stared straight ahead, and said coldly, “Get out.”

Evelyn Clark POV Lily Sullivan got out of the car, clearly unwilling. Adrian couldn’t bear it, but he couldn’t say anything. Without a word, he pressed the gas and drove away. I leaned back in the passenger seat, watching the streetlights flash past outside the window. I didn’t speak either. The car was as quiet as stagnant water. By the time we got back to the villa, the car had barely stopped before I pushed the door open and walked off. “Still mad?” Adrian caught up in a few quick strides and reached out to grab my wrist. I tried to shake him off, but I couldn’t. Adrian took the opportunity to hold my hand even tighter, his voice softening. “Come on. She’s just an assistant. She’s young and doesn’t know any better. She offended you today. I’ll punish her.” He gently squeezed my hand and lowered his head to look at my face. “Don’t ruin your health over something so small, okay?” Punish her? I sneered inwardly. How? Punish her in bed? Or punish her in exactly the way Lily Sullivan wanted most? When Adrian saw that I wasn’t speaking, he simply pulled me straight into his arms. “Evelyn looks so beautiful when she’s jealous.” His tone was light, tinged with amusement, as if he thought this whole thing was just a childish little tantrum. I stood in his arms. I didn’t hug him back, but I didn’t push him away either. “Adrian Ashford.” I called him by his full name. “If you ever betray me, I’ll make sure you never see me again.” Adrian’s arms tightened around me. “Of course I won’t. How could I ever betray Evelyn?” He lowered his head, resting his chin against the top of my head, his tone certain. “In this lifetime, I only love you.” “But a lifetime is so long.” I lowered my eyes and said, “People’s hearts change.” Adrian was silent for a moment, then the tip of his nose brushed over my hair. “People’s hearts change, but mine won’t.” He lifted my chin, forcing me to look straight into his eyes. There was no hesitation in them at all. “If I ever betray you, let me go bankrupt. Let me end up on the streets and die a miserable death.” I stared into his eyes. There was real conviction in them. Flawless confidence. My chest felt as if it had been struck by something blunt, aching and numb all at once. “You dare swear something that vicious? Aren’t you afraid it’ll actually come true?” Adrian let out a low laugh, bent down, and kissed my forehead. “I’m not afraid. No one knows better than I do how much I love you.” “I can’t live without you in this lifetime. How could I ever betray you?” He looked at me seriously, his gaze gentle. “Evelyn, without you, I wouldn’t be able to live at all.” I didn’t say anything else. I let him hold my hand. Then let’s wait until a week from now and see whether you really can’t live at all, just like you said. After we entered the house, Adrian went straight to the kitchen. He tied on an apron, opened the fridge, and moved through the motions smoothly. Ever since we got together, he had learned to cook and refused to let me do it. Even now. No one would imagine that the CEO of Ashford Group, worth over a hundred billion, would tie on an apron every night and cook dinner for his wife. I had once found it unbelievable too. I asked him, it wasn’t as if we couldn’t afford help at home, so why learn to cook? He said, I want you to eat the food I make for the rest of your life, until you can never leave me. After we got married, whenever we were home, Adrian was the one who cooked. That habit had never once been broken. When the dishes were brought out, they were all the flavors she liked. Scrambled eggs with tomatoes sweetened with caramelized onions, BBQ-style roasted chicken legs without scallions, and creamy beech mushroom soup on the side. I sat at the dining table and mechanically put food into my mouth, unable to taste anything at all. Adrian’s phone was sitting by the table, message notifications going off nonstop. He glanced at the screen, didn’t reply right away, and turned the phone face down on the table again. Two minutes later, the phone rang again. His brows furrowed. He picked up his fork, then set it back down. Then he flipped the phone over and placed it face down on the table. I saw everything, but said nothing. After a while, the messages were still coming. Adrian finally couldn’t sit still. He pushed back his chair and stood up. “There’s an urgent issue at the company. The people under me can’t handle it. I’ll be right back.” He moved quickly, picking up his coat and car keys as he walked toward the door. “Evelyn, take your time eating. Don’t wait for me.” The door closed. I set down my utensils and looked at the empty chair across from me. I was silent for a moment, then, as if torturing myself, got up and followed him out. Outside the villa. Adrian had stopped by a tree not far away. I hid behind a porch column and made no sound. A car stopped by the road outside the villa. Lily Sullivan got out and ran toward Adrian, throwing herself into his arms. “Adrian, it hurts so much.” Adrian didn’t push her away. He patted her back, his tone darkening slightly. “You deserve it.” “How many times have I warned you? You can make all the trouble you want in private, but when you’re in front of her, keep yourself under control.” “She is my wife. What the hell are you? What was that stunt today supposed to mean?” His words sounded harsh, but there wasn’t much real anger in his tone. Lily tilted her head up, her eyes red, her lower lip caught lightly between her teeth. “I’m sorry, Adrian. I just love you too much. I couldn’t help it.” She lifted her injured arm and brought it in front of Adrian. “And it really hurts. I went to the hospital alone, got the injection alone. I was so pitiful.” Her voice was soft and sweet, half coquettish, half pleading. “Blow on it for me.” As she spoke, she kept pressing and rubbing her chest against Adrian. Adrian lowered his eyes and looked at her injured arm, his gaze darkening. “If it hurts, then behave.” He scolded her, but still bent down, his thin lips gently covering the red mark. Standing in the darkness, I slowly clenched my fingers. The corners of Lily’s mouth lifted. Her hands began to wander restlessly, sliding down along his waist. “Don’t come to the office for the next few days. Stay home and recover.” Adrian lifted his head, held her arm in his palm, and carefully checked whether her wound had been treated properly. “It’s just a small injury.” His reprimand was gentle. “It won’t kill you.” Lily tilted her head, her lashes fluttering lightly, amusement flowing through her eyes. “But if I can’t see you, I’ll miss you. What should I do?” “Where will you miss me?” Lily took his hand and slowly guided it toward her body, her voice dropping lower. “Find it yourself. Everywhere misses you.” Adrian didn’t pull his hand away. His hand followed the direction she guided it. Lily let out a soft, coquettish moan. Her whole body melted into his arms, pressing against Adrian as she looked up at him with watery eyes. My nails dug into my palm. Only when damp heat seeped into my palm and pain spread all the way up from my hand did I forcibly suppress the urge to break down sobbing. I had known for a long time. But knowing was one thing. Seeing it with my own eyes was another. That man who was calm and self-possessed in front of outsiders, considerate and gentle in front of me. Facing Lily Sullivan now, he was wearing a completely unfamiliar face. That hungry, desperate look in his eyes—I had last seen it during the year we were newly married. Lily hooked one arm around his neck and whispered something by his ear. Adrian let out a muffled groan and cursed under his breath. “You little vixen.” He scooped Lily up in his arms and strode toward the car.

Evelyn Clark POV The car door slammed shut in urgent impatience. Soon, the car began to shake rhythmically. I stood in the darkness for a long time. I didn’t know how I walked back inside. It wasn’t until I stood in front of the dining table that I finally came back to myself. The entire table of food had gone cold. It looked greasy and disgusting. I sat down in the chair and stared blankly at that table of food. Tears fell without warning, more and more of them. But as I cried, I started laughing. The way Adrian looked now was honestly even more excited than when he first won me over. Then what was there left for me to miss? I picked up the dishes on the table and dumped them all into the trash without the slightest hesitation. The dining table was wiped clean. I took a deep breath, picked up my phone, and opened the car’s companion app. The dashcam’s live feed appeared on the screen. The car was still parked in the same place. In the footage, two figures tangled in the back seat, clothes in disarray. Lily Sullivan’s seductive voice came through. “Adrian, slower. It’s so deep…” The man didn’t slow down. Instead, he thrust harder. “What did you call me?” “Daddy… Daddy!” “Say it filthier.” His voice was low. “You’re so filthy.” Lily played along, crying out, her panting coming clearly through my phone. A moment later, Lily’s voice drifted over, coy and teasing. “You’ve been gone so long. Aren’t you afraid your wife will find out?” “Shut up!” The man’s voice suddenly sank, obviously impatient. “Just take it. Don’t mention her!” I stared at the screen as a violent wave of nausea surged up from my stomach. I rushed into the bathroom, bent over, and threw up. My stomach churned until there was nothing left, tears and snot smearing all over my face. I turned on the faucet and buried my face in the cold water. After a long while, I straightened, stared at my pale, wretched face in the mirror, and took a deep breath. I picked up my phone again and saved that video. Then I walked into the walk-in closet, dragged a suitcase down from the rack, and started packing. A few pieces of everyday clothing, toiletries, important documents. The suitcase was packed quickly. As for the remaining clothes, designer bags, and jewelry, I found several large cardboard boxes and packed them away one by one. Tomorrow, I would donate all of it. Anything Adrian had given me—I didn’t want to keep a single piece. As I was packing, the sound of the front door opening came from downstairs. I glanced at my phone. Four hours had passed. Adrian was finally back. He came upstairs and entered the bedroom. When he saw the packed boxes on the floor, his steps paused. “Why are you packing?” There was panic in his voice that he couldn’t hide. “The season’s changing.” I didn’t look up and kept folding clothes. “I’m putting away the things I don’t wear often.” Adrian stood there, his gaze lingering on my face, scrutinizing me carefully. He didn’t see anything unusual. He walked over, hugged me from behind, took the clothes from my hands, and put them back on the hanger. “Stop packing. Throw it all out. We’ll buy new ones.” I didn’t follow his strength. I gently pushed him. “Go take a shower.” I turned my head, avoiding his approaching face. “You smell like sweat.” Adrian’s body stiffened. He had indeed sweated all over in the car. Now it clung to his shirt, giving off a sour, fishy smell. He let go and walked toward the bathroom without saying another word. I sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the sound of running water from the bathroom. Adrian’s phone lit up. I glanced at the screen. It was a photo from Lily Sullivan. Along with a line of text: [Good night, baby. Make sure I’m in your dreams.] I withdrew my gaze and picked up my own phone. Sure enough, Lily Sullivan had updated her WeChat Moments. Still visible only to me. The latest post was a close-up photo of an astronomically expensive necklace. Limited edition, Tiffany’s main piece for the latest season, entirely rose gold, with a pear-shaped pink diamond as the main stone. That necklace—I had seen it in a magazine half a year ago, before it had officially launched. I’d said I liked it. Adrian had said at the time, once it’s released, I’ll be the first to buy it for you. The caption on the photo was: [Even though the old witch poured coffee on me, I got compensation from someone, so I’ll forgive him!] I took a screenshot of the post and saved it. Lily Sullivan probably thought making those WeChat Moments visible only to me was a form of torture, a silent display of bragging and provocation. She didn’t know that those posts had long since become solid evidence in my hands. When a mistress doesn’t know how to keep a low profile, it’s the stupidest thing in the world. The sound of the shower stopped. I put down my phone and lay back on the bed. Adrian came out of the bathroom and lay down beside me, his arm naturally reaching around my waist. Every hair on my body stood on end. Without showing it, I shifted slightly toward the edge of the bed, avoiding his hand. Adrian didn’t move closer. He had already eaten his fill earlier. This intimacy now was only out of habit. There was no other intention behind it. But that tiny movement of mine still made him sense that something was off. “Evelyn, what’s wrong?” “Nothing.” I closed my eyes, my tone calm. “Tomorrow is the day we go to your grandfather’s estate. Did you forget?” Adrian answered with a soft sound, and his panic faded a little. So I was unhappy because we had to go back to the estate. Then he could relax. His parents had passed away early, and only Malcolm Ashford was left at the estate. Malcolm Ashford was arrogant and looked down on me. Openly and secretly, he had given me who knew how many cold faces. Adrian had slammed the table in front of Malcolm Ashford several times before he finally restrained himself somewhat. But that restraint was only on the surface. His contempt for me had never truly disappeared. In order not to put Adrian in a difficult position between us, every time we went back to the estate, I forced myself to keep my spirits up. Afterward, I would come home depressed for days. Adrian leaned closer, his lips near my ear. “Don’t be scared. Tomorrow, I’ll stay by your side the whole time. I won’t let Grandpa make things hard for you.” I didn’t answer. I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. Adrian also closed his eyes in relief. Early the next morning, Adrian went to the company. I had a moving company haul away all the boxes of packed clothes. Not a single piece was left behind. Everything was donated to charity. After that, I called a secondhand luxury reseller to come over. The packed boxes in the walk-in closet were carried downstairs one after another. Those bags, that jewelry, the things I had once liked or the things Adrian had forced on me, were all turned into a long string of numbers on my phone screen. Before the reseller left, they sighed with emotion that Mrs. Ashford was truly generous. I looked at the number on my phone screen, a number I couldn’t spend in this lifetime, and the tightness in my chest loosened slightly. Then I booked a flight to Italy three days later. The booking platform’s callback came quickly. “Hello, please confirm the passenger information.” “Confirmed. I booked the ticket myself.” “What ticket?” At some point, Adrian had come back. He asked anxiously. “Where are you going?”

Evelyn Clark POV “Concert tickets.” I put my phone into my pocket as if nothing had happened. “They’re for next month. I booked two. Why are you panicking?” Adrian froze, then immediately let out a breath of relief and strode forward, pulling me into his arms. “You scared me to death.” His chin rested on the top of my head, and his arms tightened. “I thought you were leaving me.” “Why would I leave you?” I raised my head and looked at him calmly. “Did you do something to betray me?” Adrian’s arms tightened slightly. “Of course not.” He lowered his head and pressed his forehead against mine, his smile natural. “I’m just too nervous about you. I love you too much. I can’t help it.” After saying that, he had already let go of me and picked up his coat. “Let’s go. Grandpa is waiting at the estate.” In the estate dining room, Malcolm Ashford was sitting at the head of the table. The moment he saw me enter, his face darkened. During the meal. Malcolm Ashford stayed quiet for only a short while before he couldn’t help speaking. “Adrian, you’re not young anymore. With an estate as large as the Ashford family’s, there can’t be no heir.” Adrian didn’t even put down his fork. He didn’t lift his head. “I don’t need an heir. I only need Evelyn.” Malcolm Ashford let out a cold snort and said nothing else, lifting his water glass again. If it were before, I would have already stood up to pour water and ease the atmosphere. But this time, I sat firmly in my seat without saying a word. Malcolm Ashford had always looked down on me, thinking I was a poor girl clinging to the Ashford family. After the car accident three years ago, the doctor said I would very likely never be able to get pregnant again, and Malcolm Ashford’s attitude toward me dropped straight to freezing. In his eyes, I was now a sinner who had occupied a place that was never mine and cut off the Ashford family’s descendants. Adrian poured me a glass of red wine. I glanced at it, eating without tasting anything. From the corner of my eye, I saw the screen of Adrian’s phone, which was sitting by the table, light up. Lily Sullivan had sent a photo, with a line of text beneath it: [Are you coming or not? Offer expires soon.] I withdrew my gaze, looked back at my own plate, and silently started counting down in my heart. Half a minute later. Adrian stood up. “There’s a sudden urgent issue at the company. I’ll go handle it first. You and Grandpa keep eating.” He said to me, “It won’t take long. Wait for me.” Before I could answer, he was already gone. The dining room door closed. Malcolm Ashford slowly took a sip of soup, set the bowl back on the table, and let his gaze fall on my face. “Adrian is just too softhearted.” I didn’t respond. “Back then, he wouldn’t listen no matter what I said. He insisted on marrying you. Fine. I accepted it.” “But in all these years since you entered this family, what has the Ashford family gained? You couldn’t even keep a child. Do you know why that child died? Because your fate is too hard. You cursed it.” My fingers tightened. “The Ashford family has had only one heir for three generations. Adrian is our only grandson.” Every word from Malcolm Ashford was like a nail. “If your womb can’t produce anything, fine. But you even took that child’s life with you! Tell me yourself—should I swallow that anger?” “All these years, for Adrian’s sake, I’ve turned a blind eye. But you should have some self-awareness too.” “Look at yourself in the mirror. With your background, with what little ability you have, are you worthy of sitting in that chair? Leave while you still can. At least you’ll preserve a little dignity for yourself and give Adrian a way out.” In the past, I had always gritted my teeth and endured words like these. I didn’t want to make things hard for Adrian Ashford. I didn’t want him caught between Malcolm Ashford and me, torn and miserable. But today, I didn’t endure it anymore. “Grandpa, that child died because Adrian Ashford got drunk that night, and I went to pick him up and take him home. That was why the car accident happened.” I lifted my head and looked calmly at Malcolm Ashford. “That child wasn’t cursed to death by me. It was killed by the driver who hit us. I don’t owe the Ashford family anything. Not a single thing.” “If I leave, it’ll be because I choose to leave, not because you drove me out. When I, Evelyn Clark, leave and how I leave is not for you to decide.” Malcolm Ashford’s face turned livid. He slammed his palm down on the table. “How dare you!” “Disrespecting your elders! You’re out of control!” He pointed at me, then turned and shouted toward the door. “Someone, drag her to the basement. Make her kneel there and reflect on herself!” Two bodyguards walked in and, without another word, seized my arms and dragged me into the basement. The basement floor tiles had not seen sunlight all year round. They were damp and bitterly cold. I was forced to kneel. The chill seeped straight from my knees into my bones. After half an hour, the cold had climbed to my waist. After one hour, it had reached my chest. I stared at the thin strip of light seeping through the crack under the door and counted the time. He still hadn’t come back. Where was he now? On top of Lily Sullivan, or on his way back? Two hours passed. My legs had already gone numb, and my heart was ice cold. Three hours later, the door was kicked open. Adrian Ashford strode into the basement, his face dark as death. The moment he saw me kneeling on the floor, his eyes turned vicious. He raised his foot and kicked over the bodyguard guarding the door. “Get out!” After saying that coldly to the bodyguard, he bent down and lifted me into his arms. My legs had lost all feeling, and a sharp, tingling ache shot through my knees. “I’m sorry, Evelyn. This is my fault.” Adrian Ashford carried me out in long strides, genuine guilt in his voice. When we got back to the car, Adrian Ashford settled me into the passenger seat and immediately turned the heat to the highest setting. He took out a thermos, poured hot water, and handed it to me. “Drink something warm first.” I took it and wrapped both hands around it, but I didn’t drink. Adrian Ashford was already crouching by my feet. His large palms cupped my knees, rubbing them back and forth, helping me drive away that bone-deep chill. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have left you there alone. The company matter was too urgent, and in my panic, I forgot. It’s my fault, Evelyn. I’m sorry.” As he spoke, he pressed the seat-heating button to the highest level. “They’re still cold.” “Do your knees hurt? Should we go to the hospital and have them checked?” He frowned, lowered his head, and breathed warm air over my knees. “It’s my fault. All of it is my fault. Yell at me. I’ll take it.” I leaned back against the seat and watched him lower his head, seriously warming my knees. This man was good in every way. So good that I once thought as long as he was by my side, I would be afraid of nothing. Because the heat was turned up too high, a layer of fog slowly covered the car window. I unconsciously turned my head, and my gaze landed on the glass. The fog blurred the window, but instead made the marks on it clearer. Behind the mist, two overlapping handprints were clearly stamped on the glass. One large and one small, fingers interlocked, printed right in the center of the car window. So during those three hours I had been kneeling on the icy floor tiles in the Ashford estate’s basement, he had been right here. He had been in the car outside the estate, having sex with Lily Sullivan. I looked at those two sets of handprints, and a miserable laugh slipped out of me as tears fell.

Evelyn Clark’s POV When Adrian Ashford saw me crying, he panicked at once. “Evelyn, this is all my fault. I shouldn’t have left you alone at the old residence!” “I promise you, from now on, no matter what happens, I will never leave you halfway again.” His promise? He had made that same promise countless times before, and again last night. But today, the moment he saw Lily Sullivan’s message, his soul was gone. I raised my hand and wiped away my tears. “Drive.” Not long after the car left the old residence, Adrian Ashford’s phone lit up again. Lily Sullivan again. Adrian Ashford frowned and hung up at once. I leaned back in the passenger seat, closed my eyes, and said nothing. A few minutes later, the phone lit up again. This time, Adrian Ashford didn’t hang up or answer. He let it ring for a long time until it ended on its own. When it rang for the third time, he was already unable to sit still again. I tugged the corner of my mouth. “Answer it. Maybe there’s another emergency at the company.” “I just promised you. No matter how urgent something is, nothing is more important than you.” Adrian Ashford’s tone was firm. His eyes stayed on the road ahead, and he didn’t touch the phone. I sneered inwardly and said nothing. But I knew he would leave in the end. When the phone rang for the fourth time, Adrian Ashford finally answered. Lily Sullivan’s hoarse, crying voice came from the other end. Adrian Ashford’s expression changed abruptly. “Don’t be scared. I’m coming right now!” He hung up and turned toward me, his face full of conflict. “I’m sorry, Evelyn. Something really did happen at the company. I—” “Pull over.” I didn’t want to hear him finish, so I cut him off. “Evelyn…” Adrian Ashford sighed and pulled the car over to the side of the road. “I have no choice when it comes to the company. Once I get all the shares from Grandpa, nothing will ever be able to make me leave you again.” I had already unbuckled my seat belt. “I’ll have the driver come pick you up. Wait here—” Before he could finish, I pushed open the door and got out. The night wind was strong. There was nothing blocking it by the roadside, and the cold air poured straight into my collar. My knees ached sharply. I didn’t wait for any driver. I opened my phone and started calling a ride. This road was some distance from the city, and there usually weren’t many cars passing by. I waited for a long time, but no driver accepted the order. The driver Adrian Ashford said would come never appeared either. I pulled my coat tighter around myself and held my phone in my palm for warmth. Lily Sullivan updated her WeChat Moments again. It was a night view photo taken from the passenger seat. The caption read: [No matter when or where, you always show up by my side in time and make me feel safe.] I looked at the post and simply wrapped my coat tighter. But the cold wind still slipped in mercilessly, chilling me to the bone. An hour later, I finally got a car. I got into the taxi, gave the driver my destination, leaned back against the seat, and closed my eyes in exhaustion. I didn’t know how long it had been when the car suddenly jolted violently. A massive force threw my entire body forward. A sharp pain pierced my forehead, and warm liquid flowed down from my head. My consciousness began to scatter. In the chaos, by instinct, I opened my contacts and dialed the most familiar number. The call connected. But the voice on the other end was not Adrian Ashford’s. “Hello, Ms. Clark?” It was Lily Sullivan’s voice, arrogant, smug, and careless. “Mr. Ashford is taking a shower. If you need anything, I can pass along the message.” My consciousness plunged completely into darkness, and the phone slipped from my hand. When I opened my eyes again, I was in a hospital room. Outside the window, the sky was already bright. I glanced at my phone. Ten o’clock the next morning. The phone was perfectly quiet. Not a single unread message, not one missed call. Adrian Ashford hadn’t come home all night, nor had he called me once. The door to the hospital room was pushed open, and the doctor on duty walked in. “You’re awake? Where’s your family? Still not here?” When I was brought in last night, they had been unable to reach any family. “I don’t have any family.” I calmly shook my head. The doctor fell silent, then nodded. “You sustained a blow to the head and have a mild concussion. You’ll need to stay for observation for two to three days. Don’t do any strenuous activity these next two days. If you feel dizzy or nauseous, press the call button by the bed immediately.” I nodded in response. That morning, a nurse came to tell me to go for an examination. I walked alone down the hallway toward the examination room. When I reached the corner, I stopped. At the other end of the hallway, Adrian Ashford was carefully supporting Lily Sullivan. Lily Sullivan had one hand on her stomach, and her other hand gently hooked around Adrian Ashford’s arm. Her face was full of shy happiness. Adrian Ashford kept his head lowered, looking at her the entire time. Occasionally, he bent down to say something to her, his expression focused and gentle. I had seen that expression before. Three years ago, he had used that same expression when he accompanied me to my prenatal checkups, supporting me through every hospital hallway. I stood where I was and watched the scene, my heart oddly calm. Because I had known one thing for a long time. In that car accident three years ago, Adrian Ashford was injured even more severely than I was because he protected me. The doctor secretly told me that Adrian Ashford’s injuries had affected his fertility. He could no longer have children. I never told Adrian Ashford. I was afraid he would be devastated. I was afraid he would feel incomplete. So I kept it buried alone, covered it up for him, and told the outside world only that I was the one who couldn’t have children. But now, Lily Sullivan was pregnant. Then whose child was in Lily Sullivan’s belly? Things were getting interesting. I quietly watched the two people in the hallway. Adrian Ashford lifted his head, and his gaze happened to sweep over me. He visibly panicked. He immediately started running toward me, saying, “Evelyn, don’t misunderstand.” Lily Sullivan grabbed his sleeve at just the right moment, her hand covering her lower belly. “Adrian, my stomach hurts a little…” Adrian Ashford immediately stopped in his tracks. He turned back to support her and asked anxiously, “Where does it hurt? Is it serious? I’ll call the doctor over right now. Don’t be scared.” By the time Adrian Ashford looked back again, I was no longer there. I returned to the hospital room and lay back down on the bed. My phone started vibrating. It was Adrian Ashford calling. I didn’t answer. Messages popped up one after another. “Evelyn, where are you?” “Don’t misunderstand what happened just now. It’s not what you think!” “Why are you at the hospital? Are you sick?” I placed my phone on the bedside table and closed my eyes. Before long, the door to the hospital room was shoved open. Adrian Ashford rushed in. The moment he saw the gauze on my forehead, his expression changed drastically. He strode over and grabbed my arm. “What happened? You’re hurt? How did you get hurt?” “There was a car accident last night.” My tone was calm. Adrian Ashford froze. His hand loosened, then curled into a fist. Last night, when he heard the news that Lily Sullivan was pregnant, he was so excited that he forgot to send the driver to pick me up. “It’s all my fault. Last night, I told the driver to pick you up. He must have been delayed!” His voice was a little hoarse. “I’m the reason you got hurt. I’m sorry, Evelyn. Hit me. Yell at me. I’ll take it.” “It’s fine.” I pulled my arm back. “Your company is important. I understand.” Adrian Ashford lifted his head. There was no emotion on my face at all, and that made him even more uneasy. “Don’t misunderstand what happened earlier.” He sat down beside the bed, leaned down, and looked into my eyes, lowering his voice. “Lily Sullivan broke up with her ex-boyfriend, and that man has been harassing her. Last night, she was pushed down and got a little hurt.” “As her boss, I couldn’t just ignore it, so I came with her to get checked. It was on the way.” I looked at him. He said it so seriously, so matter-of-factly. There wasn’t the slightest flicker in his eyes. Had he told so many lies that even he believed them now? Had he forgotten that the department he was in was obstetrics and gynecology? Ex-boyfriend? Since he was so willing to be the father of someone else’s child, I wasn’t in a hurry to tell him. I would let him look forward to it more and more. When the day came that he learned the truth, the greater the hope, the greater the disappointment. “Mm. I understand.”

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Four years with Justin, and I honestly thought I was the most important person in his life. Until one night, after he fell asleep, his phone lit up. I saw a hidden folder labeled “Do Not Delete.” Over two hundred photos, spanning from high school to just last month. Every single photo featured the same girl. And it wasn’t me. I knew her. Vivian. The girl Justin always brushed off as “just an old high school classmate I don’t talk to anymore.” I didn’t throw a tantrum. I didn’t smash his phone. The next afternoon, I went to the mall, bought a gorgeous new dress, put on the makeup he loved most, and asked him out for dinner. Over a candlelit dinner, he smiled and asked why I looked so beautiful all of a sudden. I raised my wine glass and asked him, in a soft, casual voice: “Justin, if Vivian came back to you, who would you choose?” He froze for three seconds, then laughed. “What are you talking about? You must be drunk.” He never said, “I’d choose you.” I put my glass down, pulled a printed one-way flight ticket from my bag, and slid it across the table. “Fine. I booked you a ticket to her city. It departs tomorrow morning.” “Goodbye.” The wind was freezing when I walked out of the restaurant that night. I blocked and deleted him on Snapchat and every other app. For the first time, the streetlights seemed incredibly bright.

“Are you sure he actually got on that plane?” Maya poked her head out of the kitchen, holding a mug, her hair looking like a bird’s nest. The notification from my flight tracker app was still glowing on my screen—7:05 AM, passenger Justin Harris had checked in. Destination: Denver. The city Vivian had been living in for the past three years. “I booked the ticket. It was tied to his ID.” Maya walked over, glanced at the screen, and then at me. “Chloe, you threw a ticket in his face, said goodbye—and he just left? Without even trying to call you?” “I blocked him everywhere.” “But he could have used a burner number! He could have shown up at your door! He could have—” “He wouldn’t.” I flipped my phone face down on the coffee table. “The flight was at 7:05 AM. We left the restaurant at 11:00 PM last night. In those eight hours, he only had enough time to go home and pack a bag.” Maya blinked, stunned. “So… he didn’t even hesitate?” “Hesitation takes time. He didn’t want to waste any.” She slammed her mug down on the table. “Where is he rushing to? His own funeral?” I didn’t laugh. “I need to go back to the apartment and get my things. While he’s gone.” “I’m coming with you.” “No need. I’ll be in and out in twenty minutes.” I turned the key in the lock. I had done this motion for four years. This was the last time, and it felt no different. The door opened. The place was empty. His grey running shoes were missing from the entryway. He had indeed come back to pack before rushing to the airport. On the fridge, there was a handwritten sticky note: *The yogurt is about to expire. Remember to throw it out.* Four years. All the yogurt in the fridge was always his because I’m lactose intolerant. He ate the breakfast I made him for four years, yet he could never remember that one simple detail. But he remembered to tell me to throw out his trash. I searched the bottom of the closet and my fingers brushed against something hard. A deep blue velvet box, about the size of my palm. I opened it. Inside was a delicate silver chain with a tiny sapphire pendant. Tucked under the cushion was a card: *Happy Graduation, Viv. – J* The date was from three years ago. Squatting by the closet, I called Maya. “What’s wrong?” she answered. “I found a box at the bottom of the closet. A sapphire necklace with a card that says ‘Happy Graduation, Viv.’ From three years ago.” “…Why is that still in your apartment?” “I don’t know. Maybe he bought it and never sent it, or maybe she sent it back. But that’s not the point.” “What is?” “Three years ago, around that exact date, he told me he was tight on cash and borrowed eight thousand dollars from me. He said it was for rent.” The other end of the line went dead silent for a few seconds. “Did he ever pay you back?” “No. He said ‘I’ll get you back later.’ It’s been three years of ‘later’.” I hung up and was about to zip my suitcase when my phone buzzed. Caller ID: Eleanor. Justin’s mom. I hesitated for two seconds, then picked up. “Chloe, sweetie! Justin told me he’s out of town on a business trip. Are you home alone? Why don’t you come over for dinner?” A business trip. So that’s what he told his mother. “Eleanor, Justin and I broke up.” There was a pause, and then she laughed—the kind of dismissive laugh used for toddlers throwing a tantrum. “Oh, sweetie, young couples fight all the time. Justin can be so emotionally clueless sometimes, don’t take it to heart.” “Eleanor, we didn’t fight. We broke up.” “Chloe, listen to me. He called me last night. He said you’ve been under a lot of stress lately and your mood hasn’t been great. See? He worries about you.” “Did he tell you he went to see Vivian? Do you know about that, Eleanor?” Silence. But this silence was different. It wasn’t surprise. It was calculation. “Well… Vivian is a sweet girl. She and Justin grew up together. It’s hard for her living out there all by herself. It’s only normal for him to check on her.” “He has over two hundred photos of her on his phone, from high school until now. Did you know about that, Eleanor?” I heard her sigh. “Chloe, a girl shouldn’t go snooping through a man’s phone. The more you look, the more miserable you’ll make yourself.” “Let me ask you this, sweetie—has Justin been good to you? He has, hasn’t he? He let you manage the household budget, he came home on time every day, and he didn’t mess around with other girls. What more could you want?” Three rhetorical questions. I couldn’t even bother to argue. Except for the last one—whether he “messed around” or not apparently depended on how one defined two hundred photos and a necklace bought with my money. “Eleanor, if Vivian comes back to Seattle permanently, who will Justin choose?” Another pause. “Well, isn’t Vivian doing so well over there in Denver…” “If she comes back?” Eleanor didn’t answer. “Chloe, come over this weekend. I’ll make you some comfort food.” I hung up. I zipped my suitcase and walked out the door. In the elevator, I texted Maya: *Eleanor didn’t say he’d choose me either.* She called back instantly. “What does that mean?” “Exactly what you think it means.” “Chloe, are you ever going back to that apartment?” I watched the elevator floor numbers tick down. “That place was never my home anyway.”

*Hi, Chloe.* This Snapchat friend request appeared on the third day. The profile picture was a backlit silhouette, but I recognized the sapphire necklace. It gleamed mockingly in the sunlight. The add request had no other message. Maya told me to ignore it. I tapped accept. *Hey girl, I’m Vivian,* a smiling emoji followed. *Justin gave me your Snapchat. He said you guys had a little misunderstanding and wanted me to clear things up.* A little misunderstanding. Our breakup was reduced to a “little misunderstanding” in his mouth. “No need to explain. We broke up. It has nothing to do with you.” *I know,* she replied instantly. *Justin has been staying at my place the last few days. He’s really devastated.* “Staying at my place.” She typed those words so casually, as if he had just dropped by to pick up a package. *He’s just not very good at expressing himself. I’m sure you know him better than I do.* I didn’t reply. A minute later, another paragraph came through: *Please don’t get the wrong idea, Chloe. Justin and I are really just old friends. He saved those photos on his own, I had absolutely no idea.* *I guess he’s just a bit sentimental? Guys are like that, you know.* Two hundred photos of another woman is “sentimental.” *Chloe, can I ask you something?* “What?” *What does Justin usually like to eat? I’ve been cooking for him the past two days, but he barely touched his food. I’m worried he’ll starve.* Maya walked over, saw my expression, and leaned in to look at the screen. Five seconds of silence. “Is this bitch insane?!” “She’s asking me what he likes to eat.” “I see what she’s asking! I’m saying she’s psycho! Who asks the ex-girlfriend what her ex-man likes to eat?!” “She doesn’t think of me as his ex-girlfriend.” I took my phone back. “Justin told her we were just roommates who split the rent. He told her we were never officially dating.” Maya opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “Four years. And he claims you weren’t officially dating?” “Yeah. He never posted me on Instagram, never introduced me to his friends.” “What about anniversaries? Your birthdays?” “We celebrated them privately. He said our relationship was nobody else’s business.” Maya sat down beside me, speechless for a long time. My phone lit up again. Vivian sent a photo. It was Justin’s back, standing in the kitchen, chopping vegetables. He was wearing a light blue apron I had never seen before. Warm sunlight streamed through the window, making the scene look like a cozy magazine spread. The caption read: *Look, Chloe! Justin is learning how to cook! He’s so clumsy at chopping potatoes, haha.* I stared at the photo. For four years, he never stepped foot in the kitchen. I cooked every single meal. He would sit down, eat, and the most he’d say was, “It’s fine.” I always thought he just didn’t know how to cook, or hated it. Turns out, he wasn’t incapable. He just didn’t want to do it for me. “How are you going to reply?” Maya stared at me. I thought about it and typed: *He hates cilantro. He has a weak stomach, so don’t make things too spicy.* Maya snatched the phone out of my hand. “Are you out of your mind, Chloe? She’s rubbing it in your face, and you’re giving her a manual on how to pamper your ex?!” “Well, I don’t need the manual anymore.” I took the phone back and exited the chat. Vivian sent one last voice message. It was eighteen seconds long. I didn’t play it. Maya grabbed the phone and played it anyway. After listening, her face darkened. “What did she say?” “She said, ‘You’re so sweet, Chloe. No wonder Justin said you’re the kindest person he’s ever met.’” Maya paused. “And?” “And then she said—’But he also told me that kind girls are usually not the ones men actually fall in love with.’” That night, after turning off the lights, I stared at the ceiling. I realized the word “kind” could sound so incredibly ugly. My phone vibrated. An unknown number with a Denver area code. *You blocked me? How childish.* I ignored it. The next morning, three more texts appeared. *Chloe, have you thrown your tantrum yet?* *I’ll be back in a couple of days once things are sorted here.* *Did you throw out the expired yogurt in the fridge yet?* That last text was sent at 4:00 AM. Maya brought in breakfast, saw me staring at my phone, and asked if it was him. “Yeah. He’s still worried about his expired yogurt.” “Is something wrong with his brain?” “He doesn’t care about the yogurt. He just wants to make sure the girl who cleans up after him is still waiting.” Maya set the coffee on the nightstand. With the most serious face I had ever seen her make, she asked: “Are you still waiting?” “No.”

“You must be Chloe.” Vivian stood in the entryway. She was wearing my plush slippers—the pink ones with the slightly worn-out left sole. She held a mug of water. It was also mine. A white mug with a blue rim that I bought in a set of four from Ikea. “Justin went out to get groceries. He said you were coming to pick up some files today? Come on in.” She smiled warmly. Her hair was in a messy bun, and she wore an oversized t-shirt. She didn’t look like a guest. She looked like she lived here. “When did you get here?” I asked. “Two days ago. Justin said there was a spare bedroom, so he let me stay here while I look for a job.” A spare bedroom. That was my home office. I didn’t step into the living room. I walked straight toward the bedroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the changes. There was a vase of dried flowers on the coffee table. A small frame sat on the TV stand—their high school graduation photo, Justin and Vivian standing side-by-side in the crowd. A light grey throw blanket was draped over the sofa. Not mine. The fridge magnets were gone. All twelve of them, which I had collected from every city I visited, had been cleared out. In their place were a few cute cartoon magnets. “Chloe? Are you okay?” “Yeah. I’m just grabbing my things and leaving.” “Won’t you wait for Justin to come back? He bought your favorite—” “No.” She leaned against the doorframe, sipping water and chatting with me while I packed, her tone as casual as a neighbor gossiping over the fence. “Chloe, don’t blame Justin.” “He’s just too indecisive. He’s so afraid of hurting anyone that he ends up hurting everyone.” “To be honest, during the years you two were together… I was really miserable over in Denver, too.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Sometimes when he forgot to reply to my texts, I’d wonder if he was with you. I’m sure you know exactly how that feels.” I stopped packing and looked at her. She was standing in my apartment, wearing my slippers, drinking from my mug, and telling me that *she* was the victim. “I don’t blame him, and I don’t blame you. I’m just done.” “But he said he couldn’t reach you. He was so worried he drank himself to sleep last night…” Her eyes welled with tears. “He kept calling out your name when he was drunk.” The front door unlocked. Justin walked in, holding two bags of groceries. When he saw me, he froze. “You’re here. Why didn’t you tell me beforehand—” “Tell you beforehand? So you could hide her first?” “Chloe, can you talk like a normal person for once?” “I am talking normally. You let her wear my slippers, drink from my mug, sleep in my home office, and you threw away all my fridge magnets. I came to get my things. Is that unreasonable?” Vivian sniffled softly. “I’m sorry, Chloe. I found the slippers in the closet. I didn’t know they were yours…” “It’s not your fault. It’s the fault of the guy who gave you the keys.” Justin’s jaw clenched. “She just moved to the city and had nowhere to stay! I’m letting her crash here temporarily. Why do you have to blow everything out of proportion?” “You have thirty hotel apps on your phone, Justin.” “Chloe.” He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “When you said you wanted a breakup, I didn’t stop you. When you said goodbye, I respected it. Now you’re back here throwing a fit. What exactly do you want?” I grabbed my bag and walked right past him. At the door, Vivian called out behind me. “Chloe, you forgot something.” She was holding out the white mug with the blue rim. “This is yours, right? I washed it.” A set of four. When we moved in, I brought two: one for me, one for him. “Keep it. I don’t want it.” I got into Maya’s car. Before I could even buckle my seatbelt, she started asking questions. “How did it go?” “She’s wearing my slippers, using my mug, and sleeping in my room. The fridge magnets are gone.” “And him?” “He said I’m blowing things out of proportion.” I started the engine and drove out of the lot. At a red light, I said, “She told me he drank himself to sleep calling my name.” “You believe that?” “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter whose name he calls anymore.” The light turned green. I kept driving. After a long silence, Maya finally spoke. “Chloe. You paid the down payment on that apartment, didn’t you?” “Yeah. Thirty-eight thousand.” “And the mortgage?” “Paid from our joint account. But I put in seventy percent of the funds.” “Whose name is on the deed?” The cool wind rushed in through the window. I didn’t answer. Because we both knew the answer. “Chloe, you need to get back what is yours.”

“Chloe! You’re here, come on in!” Eleanor poked her head out of the kitchen, her apron covered in flour, her smile warm and welcoming. I had scheduled with Justin to come by at 2:00 PM to pick up the rest of my legal documents. He assured me no one would be home. Yet, sitting on the living room sofa was his aunt, Clara. On the coffee table were plates of fruit and pastries. And Vivian was curled up in an armchair, holding a mug of hot cocoa. Clara saw me and let out a dry laugh. “Oh, is this…” “Justin’s old roommate,” Eleanor cut in smoothly, guiding me inside. “They shared an apartment for a while. Chloe, dear, have a mandarin orange.” Roommate. Shared an apartment for a while. Four years of my life were reduced to those two sentences. Vivian smiled softly at me. “Hi, Chloe.” She was wearing a pastel yellow sweater today. And on her wrist, there was something new. I looked closely. It was a vintage emerald bracelet. Highly polished and clearly an antique. I recognized that bracelet. Three years ago, during Thanksgiving dinner at Eleanor’s, she had pulled it out of her jewelry box to show me. *This was Justin’s grandmother’s. It’s meant for his future wife.* Three years ago, she only let me “look at it.” Now, it was sitting on Vivian’s wrist. “Vivian has such delicate wrists, it fits her perfectly,” Clara piped up with a smile. “You have great taste, Eleanor.” Eleanor smirked. “Oh, they aren’t even officially engaged yet. Don’t start calling her your niece-in-law.” Vivian looked down at her wrist, her ears flushing red, but she didn’t say a word. And she didn’t take it off. “Eleanor, I’m just here to grab some documents. I won’t stay to bother you.” “What’s the rush? Stay a while. We’re making homemade lasagna today. We have plenty of food.” She tried to shove a plate of sliced fruit into my hands. “Chloe, don’t be a stranger. Even though you aren’t living with Justin anymore, you’ll always be like family to me.” “Not living with Justin anymore.” Not “broken up.” Just “not living together.” Just like our four years weren’t a relationship, but a “roommate arrangement.” I set the fruit plate down and walked into the study. When I pushed the door open, I thought I was in the wrong room. All my books on the shelves were gone. The desk was covered in a lavender tablecloth, and a row of succulents lined the windowsill. My yoga mat in the corner was gone, replaced by a full-length mirror. Two of Vivian’s coats hung behind the door. I knelt down to search the desk drawers. My passport and bank statements had been shoved to the very bottom, buried under a stack of papers. As I pulled them out, my fingers brushed against another document. An official form. The bold heading read: *Real Property Transfer Deed Application* Grantor: Justin Harris. Grantee: Vivian Wen. My fingers froze on those two names. The down payment on this apartment was $38,000. My hard-earned savings. The monthly mortgage was $2,200, paid from a joint account for three years, with over seventy percent of the deposits coming from my paycheck. He was preparing to transfer the deed of the apartment—bought with my money—to Vivian. From the living room, Eleanor’s laughter drifted in. “Vivian, sweetie, tell me what you want to eat tomorrow and I’ll make it.” Vivian replied sweetly, “I love anything you cook, Eleanor.” Clara joined in, “Look at her, Eleanor, she’s so sweet. No wonder Justin has been crazy about her for all these years.” I pulled out my phone. I took photos of every single page of the transfer deed. Front and back. I didn’t miss a single line. Then, I placed it back exactly as I found it. I grabbed my passport and bank statements and walked out of the study. As I put on my shoes at the door, Eleanor called out from behind me, “Chloe, you really won’t stay for dinner?” “No, Eleanor. I have things to take care of.” “Alright then. Come visit whenever you’re free. Don’t be a stranger now.” Vivian leaned forward slightly from the sofa. “Goodbye, Chloe.” The emerald bracelet caught the light as she waved. I walked out of the building, got into my car, and immediately dialed Maya’s number. “Maya, find me a lawyer. Right now.” “What happened?” “He’s transferring the deed of the apartment to Vivian.” There was a dead silence on the line. “The down payment was your money, right?” “Thirty-eight thousand dollars. And I paid the majority of the mortgage. I have every single bank transfer record.” “Chloe, do you have proof of the transfer deed?” I looked at the photos stored in my phone gallery. “I do now.”

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Chloe was kneeling at my door for the fourth time. Her face was black and blue, and her voice was completely hoarse. “Harper, please. I’m done with Wyatt for real this time. I just need you to help me one last time.” The first time, I lent her $7,000 to help her rent an apartment and move out. The second time, it was $11,000. She said she needed to move out of state to start over. The third time, $20,000. She claimed Wyatt was threatening her and she needed to hire a lawyer. Each time, within less than a month, they got back together. And she never repaid a single dime. Now, she wanted $30,000. “I swear, once I pay him off, I’m leaving and never looking back.” I didn’t reply. Instead, I opened her main Instagram account and looked at the post she had uploaded last week—a beautiful two-bedroom condo. The deed showed two names: Hers and Wyatt’s. The down payment was a cool $70,000. I turned my phone screen to face her. “Chloe, the promissory notes all have your signature on them.” “I’m heading to the notary office. Want to come with me?” 0

“Harper, have you lost your mind?” Chloe’s voice was trembling, but her eyes weren’t. I had known her for twelve years. I knew exactly when her tears were real and when they were fake. Right now, her eyes were welling up and her lips were bitten white, but the look in her eyes was freezing cold. She violently pushed my phone away. “You stalked me?” “You actually investigated me?” “I treated you like my own sister, and you went behind my back to spy on me?” She switched to the victim card so fast. Three seconds ago, she was kneeling on the floor begging for money. Now, she was standing, pointing right at my face. “Wyatt’s mom gave us the money for that down payment! What does that have to do with you?” I kept quiet. “I was telling the truth about breaking up with him!” She grabbed my wrist. Her grip was surprisingly tight. “Harper, I didn’t put a single penny into that house. His mom forced my name onto the deed to tie me down…” “A $70,000 down payment.” I swiped to the next screenshot on my phone. It was a post from her real estate agent’s page, congratulating Chloe on her new home. The picture showed Chloe and Wyatt holding the keys together. She was smiling radiantly. There wasn’t a single bruise on her face. The post was uploaded three days ago. And she was kneeling at my door—today. Chloe’s face went pale for a second. It wasn’t the paleness of guilt. It was the feral look of a beast backed into a corner. “Harper, what the hell do you want?” “My money back. Thirty-eight thousand dollars. Every single cent.” She laughed. She laughed so hard tears actually ran down her face. “Do you have any idea how disgusting you’re being right now? Wyatt beat me so badly my face is swollen, and I come to you for help, and you’re trying to do math with me?” “Your face was swollen last time you begged me, too.” I crouched down and pulled a legal folder from beneath the shoe rack. Four promissory notes. $7,000, $11,000, $20,000, and a blank one—which I had prepared before she arrived. “The first time, $7,000. You said you needed to rent a place. You checked out after three days, got your deposit back, but where did the money go?” “The second time, $11,000. You said you were moving out of state. You didn’t even buy a plane ticket.” “The third time, $20,000. You said you were hiring a lawyer to sue Wyatt. The law firm’s receptionist had never even heard of your name.” Chloe’s face cracked, piece by piece. “I checked every single one.” Out of that $20,000, my parents had pulled $5,000 out of their high-yield savings. My mom had said, “Chloe is a good girl, Harper. She’s in an emergency. We should help.” My dad had said, “Money comes and goes, but your friend is like our own daughter.” That CD had been maturing for six years. They lost all the accrued interest just to pull it out early. Chloe stared at me for ten long seconds. Then, she did something I never could have anticipated. She snatched the folder, pulled out the four promissory notes, and with lightning speed—before I could even react—crumpled two of them and stuffed them straight into her mouth. I froze. I was completely dumbfounded. She chewed like a maniac, swallowing hard, her eyes locked onto me like a cornered wildcat. I lunged forward to grab them back. I only managed to save two. The $7,000 one and the $20,000 one. The $11,000 note and the blank one were already down her throat. She wiped the paper crumbs from her mouth and suddenly smiled. “Harper, without the notes, how are you going to sue me?” The door was still open. The hallway light flickered, broken for a long time without anyone fixing it. Chloe stood up and brushed the dust off her skirt. It was as if the girl who had just been crying on her knees never existed. “If you know what’s good for you, we’ll let this go.” She walked to the door, looked back at me, and tapped her phone screen. “If you don’t—I have way more friends than you do.” The door slammed shut. I sat on the floor, clutching the two crumpled pieces of paper. My phone rang. It was Mom. “Harper, honey, is everything sorted out with Chloe? That poor girl has such a hard life…” I opened my mouth. But in the end, all I could say was: “Mom, I’ll pay you guys back that $5,000.” 0

“What’s it like to have your best friend turn into a loan shark and threaten you?” Chloe’s long-form post went up on Snapchat and Instagram at exactly 8:00 AM the next morning. The title was a knife to my throat. I saw it while sitting at my desk at work. My coworker, Lily, shoved her phone in front of my face. “Harper, tell me this isn’t about you.” It was over a thousand words. It was written with such raw emotion and dramatic pacing; it was ten times better than her college graduation thesis. The gist of it was— Every time she got beaten by her ex and knocked on my door covered in bruises, I would force her to sign a promissory note before even letting her in. Later, she found out I was charging her high-interest rates. $7,000 became $9,000. $11,000 became $15,000. Yesterday, I allegedly cornered her at her house, demanding she pay back a total of $60,000 immediately. “Sixty thousand. I only borrowed twenty-some thousand, and she used loan-shark interest to inflate it to sixty.” “While I was being abused by a man, my best friend was holding papers to my throat.” “That’s my best friend.” She attached nine photos. Three of them were cropped screenshots of me asking her to pay me back. All the context was gone—all her messages begging for money, her voice notes, her crying about how she couldn’t survive—not a single one of those was left. Only my messages remained: “Chloe, we need to talk about the money.” “If you can, send me a partial payment by the end of the month.” “I have the notes safe with me, don’t worry.” Out of context, every single message made me look like a ruthless debt collector. The comments section exploded with over two hundred replies in half an hour. “Oh my god, Chloe, you poor thing!” “Cut this toxic trash out of your life!” “Harper? I know her. She seemed so normal. I can’t believe she’s this sick…” Lily gasped beside me. “Harper, did you really charge her interest?” I didn’t answer. I opened Snapchat. I had over thirty unread messages. Sienna: “Harper, you’ve gone too far.” Phoebe: “Chloe is going through hell and you’re pushing her to the edge?” Our college group chat was blowing up, tagging me: “Harper, care to explain?” Then came a text from my mom. “Harper, is what Chloe saying true? Are you lending money like a criminal? You can’t do things like that, sweetie!” My mother’s message made my fingers freeze. Chloe didn’t even spare my mother. My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. I went to Chloe’s chat. She had sent a voice note. I tapped it. It was only three words, quiet but dripping with smugness. “Ready to behave?” I slammed my phone face down on the desk and closed my eyes. My mind was filled with thoughts of that $5,000. Last November, Chloe said Wyatt was threatening her and she needed $20,000 right away. I only had $15,000 in my account. I sat on my bed for half an hour, doing the math over and over. Finally, I called my mom. “Mom, can I borrow five thousand dollars?” “Oh? What about your own savings?” “A friend needs it for an emergency.” The other end went quiet for a long time. Finally, my mom said, “Your dad put some money into a six-year CD. We were saving it for his medical bills later on.” “But Chloe is a sweet girl, and she’s in trouble. Take it. I’ll talk to your dad.” The bank teller had asked my dad, “Are you sure? If you withdraw this early, the interest rate drops to a standard checking rate. You’ll lose about three hundred dollars in interest.” My dad said he was sure. His hand shook when he signed the paperwork. His reading glasses slid down his nose, and he had to push them back up three times. The night that $5,000 hit my account, I rounded up the $20,000 and transferred it all to Chloe. She had told me: “Harper, you are the only person in this world who truly cares about me.” And now, she was calling me a loan shark on social media. Lily silently set a mug of hot tea next to my hand. “Harper, why aren’t you saying anything? Just clear the air. Post the promissory notes.” I shook my head. She ate two of them. I only had two left. If I posted them, she would just say: “See? She only has notes for a fraction of the amount, the rest is made up.” It would only make me look more guilty. My phone buzzed again. Chloe had posted another update. “Thank you all for the love. I’m so scared right now. She’s threatening to take me to court… I’m just an abuse survivor. What am I supposed to do…” Someone commented: “Don’t worry, Chloe! We’ll help you find a lawyer!” I closed the app. The phone rang again. It was Mom. “Harper, Chloe called me crying hysterically. She said you’re trying to put her in jail with those notes… How could you do that? The poor girl gets beaten by her boyfriend, she’s already suffered so much…” I gripped the phone, my throat tight. “Mom. Out of the thirty-eight thousand dollars I lent her, five thousand was Dad’s medical money. She hasn’t paid back a single cent.” The line went completely silent. So quiet that I thought the call had dropped. Then, a very soft sigh came through the speaker. “…Harper, why didn’t you tell me sooner?” 0

“Saturday at 3:00 PM. Our usual spot. Everyone show up, we need to talk.” Sienna sent the message to our group chat, tagging me. I knew exactly what this was about. Our usual spot was a local café near our old university campus. The five of us had been meeting there regularly ever since graduation. Me, Chloe, Sienna, Phoebe, and Maya. When I arrived, the other four were already seated. Chloe sat in the corner. The bruise on her left eye was mostly gone, covered with heavy concealer, but you could still see the faint yellowing if you looked closely. The moment she saw me, her eyes welled up with tears. Sienna spoke first. “Harper, we’ve heard bits and pieces about what’s going on between you and Chloe. Let’s lay it all out today. Let’s not make a scene on social media. It looks bad for everyone.” “How much does Chloe actually owe you?” “Thirty-eight thousand dollars.” Chloe snapped her head up. “No, I don’t! I paid you back for the first two times!” I looked at her. “Which ones? When? Where are the bank transfer receipts?” Her lips trembled. “I gave you cash! Did you forget? You’re doing this on purpose!” Phoebe chimed in. “Harper, is it possible she did pay you back and you just forgot? You know how hard things were for Chloe back then; she was borrowing survival money. Even if she hasn’t paid it all back, you don’t need to threaten her with a lawsuit. It’s so cold.” Maya didn’t say anything, just quietly stirred her coffee. Sienna cleared her throat. “Harper, we think—since you and Chloe have been friends for so long, you should work this out. How about this? Chloe pays you back $150 a month, slowly. And you drop the legal stuff.” One hundred and fifty dollars. A month. To pay back thirty-eight thousand dollars, it would take her twenty-one years. Chloe nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes! I’ll pay monthly, I swear.” She grabbed my hand. Her fingernails dug into my skin. “Harper, please. Just don’t go to court. If this goes on my record, I won’t even be able to get a car loan…” I pulled my hand back, leaving a row of white marks on my knuckles. “Chloe. You and Wyatt just bought a two-bedroom condo with a $70,000 down payment. And you want to pay me back $150 a month?” The café went dead silent for three seconds. Phoebe broke the silence. “What condo? Chloe, aren’t you breaking up with Wyatt?” Chloe’s face went white, but she recovered instantly. “Wyatt forced me! He used the house to trap me. He beats me if I don’t agree—” “You signed the deed yourself. You both pooled the down payment. You looked pretty happy holding those keys in the agent’s post. No bruises at all.” I laid the printed screenshots on the table, one by one. Chloe’s eyes darted between the screenshots and the faces of the other three girls. Then, she started crying. This time, it was real. Not from sadness, but from being cornered. “Harper! Are you trying to destroy my life?!” She slammed her hands on the table. Her coffee cup tipped over, spilling all over the wood. “Fine! I borrowed your money and didn’t pay it back! But do you have any idea what my life has been like?! Abused by Wyatt, insulted by his mother—who cared about me? Only you!” “I thought you actually cared, but all you care about is your stupid money!” She pointed a shaking, tear-stained finger at me, her voice cracking. “How are you any different from a loan shark?!” Other customers in the café turned to stare at us. Sienna quickly pulled her back down into her seat. Phoebe wiped the table with napkins, muttering, “Harper, you’re too much. We came here to talk, and you pull a stunt like this. Chloe is wrong, but your attitude is horrible. Friends are supposed to help each other out. Remember when we graduated and you couldn’t afford rent? Chloe lent you $500. Did you forget that?” Five hundred dollars. She was comparing five hundred dollars to thirty-eight thousand. Maya finally looked up. “I have a question.” She looked at Chloe. “Chloe, you borrowed $5,000 from me last month. You said it was for a retainer fee for a divorce lawyer. You never hired one, did you?” Silence fell over the table again. Chloe’s crying cut off instantly, like a paused video. Sienna gasped. “Chloe borrowed money from you too, Maya?” Maya nodded. “And another $3,000 last year. She said she had an emergency medical bill.” She looked at me. “Harper, did she tell you the same ‘breakup and moving’ story?” Chloe’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Then, she did the most shocking thing of the afternoon. She turned to Maya and smiled. “Maya, what is that supposed to mean? Are you teaming up with Harper to attack me?” Maya hesitated. “I’m just stating the facts.” “Facts? Let me state a fact then.” Chloe wiped her tears, reached into her bag, and pulled out her phone. She brought up a chat log. It was a very flirtatious conversation with a man. I recognized the profile picture. It was Maya’s husband’s coworker. “Maya, I really didn’t want to bring this up.” Chloe’s voice was suddenly sweet and gentle. “We all have secrets, don’t we?” Maya’s face drained of color instantly. The air in the café froze. Chloe put her phone back in her bag, picked up her half-empty cup, and took a slow sip. “You see, Harper? Everyone has a skeleton in their closet. Don’t push me too hard.” 0

“Harper, the police are here. They say someone filed a harassment and intimidation report against you. What’s going on?” Lily ran into my office, looking panicked, while I was organizing project reports. Two officers were standing at the entrance of the conference room, looking strictly professional. The stares from my coworkers made my back stiffen. I followed them inside. “Ms. Harper, we received a report that you have been engaging in persistent harassment and threatening behavior over a personal debt, disrupting the victim’s life.” “Was the report filed by Chloe?” The two officers exchanged a look. “How did you know?” “Because she owes me thirty-eight thousand dollars. I asked her to pay me back, and she called the cops.” The younger officer opened his notepad. “The complainant provided some evidence—including records of you showing up at her apartment, public threats on social media, and screenshots where you threatened to put her in jail.” I was stunned. “When did I ever threaten her on social media?” He handed me his phone. The screenshot showed an Instagram story. My profile picture, my handle. The text read: *Some people think they can just get away with not paying back their debts. Don’t blame me for being ruthless. Pay me back today, or I’ll see you in court tomorrow.* It was paired with a GIF of a hammer smashing a piggy bank. I had never posted that. Never. “This isn’t mine.” “Ms. Harper, the screenshot clearly shows your account.” “I can log into my account right now to show you—there is no such post in my archive or story highlights.” The older officer spoke up. “You could have posted it and deleted it immediately. We suggest you cooperate with our investigation, and we will verify the metadata later.” When I walked out of the conference room, the glares from my colleagues felt like needles. Lily whispered from behind, “Harper… everyone is gossiping. They’re saying you hounded someone so badly they had to call the police.” I didn’t say anything. I opened my phone and checked my account three times. Nothing. Post, screenshot, delete. Three simple steps, taking less than ten seconds. Chloe knew me too well. She knew I rarely posted on social media. She also knew that once she had a screenshot, she could delete the evidence and leave me with no way to prove my innocence. I stood in the office hallway, staring out the window. Then, I dialed a number. *Stone & Associates Law Firm. Ethan Stone.* “Ms. Harper, I understand your situation. How many promissory notes do you have left?” “Two. One for $7,000 and one for $20,000. She literally ate the other two right in front of me.” He adjusted his glasses. “The missing $11,000 note is tricky. But do you have the bank transfer records?” “Yes, all done via online bank transfers and Venmo.” “What about the chat logs? Her exact words when asking for the money?” I pulled up my phone. Every single time Chloe asked for money, her opening line was almost identical. “Harper, save me.” “I’m breaking up with Wyatt. Please help.” “This is the last time, I promise.” Ethan scrolled through them one by one. A small, confident smile appeared on his face. “Ms. Harper, you have a very good habit.” “What’s that?” “You never delete your chat history.” He handed my phone back. “Before 3:00 PM today, take all chat history, transfer screenshots, and the original promissory notes to a notary public for official evidence preservation. Also, screenshot her social media posts claiming you are a loan shark. That is defamation and also serves as evidence.” “Furthermore, regarding the police report—get a copy of your statement. If she acknowledged the debt in her statement to the police, she basically handed us the final nail in her coffin.” “And you mentioned she bought a house with this Wyatt guy?” “Yes, a $70,000 down payment. Both names are on the deed.” “Perfect. I’ll run a title search on that property. I’ll look into the mortgage details and the source of the down payment.” He looked up at me as he wrote. “Ms. Harper, brace yourself. If your money was used for that down payment, this case will be much more complicated than you think.” “But it will also be much more in your favor.” The sun was setting by the time I left the law firm. I went straight to the notary public. The process was smoother than I expected. Three years of chat logs were downloaded, printed, and cataloged page by page. Eleven bank transfers. Two promissory notes. Six screenshots of Chloe’s smear posts. Thirty-four screenshots of mutual friends’ comments. The fake screenshot she used for the police. The copy of the police report. Everything was officially notarized. A thick, blue-covered notary binder, 236 pages in total. As I walked out, my phone buzzed. A text from Chloe. “Harper, I’m so sorry. I was just too emotional the other day. Can you give me some time? I’ll pay you back slowly. Please, don’t go to the notary.” It was followed by a hugging emoji. I put the notary binder into my bag. And texted back a single word. “Go to hell.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “465600”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

Today is Wednesday. It’s time for me to “accidentally” bump into my fiancé again. Half a year ago, Asher was hit on the head by a collapsing beam during a fire rescue mission. When he woke up, his memory could only last for seven days. Every Wednesday, his brain automatically formats. He goes back to the very first day we met. So, every Wednesday morning, I go to his favorite local diner to “accidentally” meet him. I chat with him about his ginger cat, Mochi. By the fourth day, he will actively look for me. By the sixth day, he will look into my eyes and say, “I’m in this for life. It’s you, Chloe. It’s always been you.” And in the early hours of the seventh day, I will watch him fall asleep, waiting for him to completely forget me when the sun rises. I have seventy-three voice recordings saved on my Snapchat, all of him saying those exact words: “It’s always been you.” His tone is identical in every single one. Because every time he says it, his love is real. It’s just that every single week, it has to start all over again. The week my grandmother passed away, I had to fly back to Oregon for her funeral. My roommate, Serena, patted my shoulder and said, “Chloe, babe, don’t worry. I’ll take care of him while you’re gone. Just focus on your family.” So, I trusted her. I gave her the address of the diner, his exact coffee order, and told her all of Mochi’s quirks. Nine days later, I finally came back. I unlocked the apartment door. Mochi was curled up on Serena’s lap. Asher walked out of the kitchen holding two bowls of pasta. When he saw me, he gave me a polite, friendly smile. “Hi there. Can I help you? Who are you looking for?” Serena wrapped her arm around his. “Babe, she’s my coworker.” ***0

“Do you want to come in and sit down? I actually made a bit too much pasta,” Asher said, placing the bowls on the dining table. He naturally pulled out a chair. He pulled it out for me. He did it with the polite hospitality you’d show to any random guest. It was courteous, but completely distant. I stood frozen in the entryway. The plush slippers on my feet were the ones I had spent hours searching for on Amazon. In the shoe rack by the door, his sneakers were lined up next to a pair of white canvas shoes. Women’s size 8. I wear a size 7. Serena’s hand was still wrapped tightly around his arm. Her nails were painted a soft, dusty pink. She used to only wear bright red, claiming nude shades were too boring. “No, thank you. I just came to grab something.” “What do you need?” Serena tilted her head, her voice incredibly natural. “The second shelf on the right side of the bedroom closet. There’s a grey knitted scarf.” She didn’t move. Suddenly, Mochi jumped down from the sofa. He scurried over to my feet, frantically rubbing his head against my ankles. “Mochi, come back here,” Serena called out, patting her thigh. The cat completely ignored her. Asher chuckled. “What’s up with him today? He’s usually not like this with strangers.” Usually. Usually, Mochi only clung to me. He hated being held by Asher and would always squirm. I had to support the cat’s hind legs from behind for him to calm down. But Asher didn’t remember any of that. Every Wednesday, everything was wiped clean. “Your cat is really cute,” I whispered, squatting down to gently scratch Mochi behind the ears. “You like cats too?” Asher’s eyes lit up. “His name is Mochi. He’s three and a half. See his left ear? There’s a little notch. He got into a fight with a stray when he was a kitten—” “—and it left a scar,” I finished his sentence. Asher blinked, startled. “How did you know that?” Serena quickly took the pasta bowl from his hand and set it down, her soft voice cutting in seamlessly. “I probably mentioned it at the office. I talk about Mochi all the time. Everyone at work knows about him.” She pivoted the conversation so fast, like a seasoned actress following a script. No pause, no hesitation. She shut down his suspicion before he could even process it. I was the one who taught her that trick. Back when we pitched scripts together, I told her: *If a producer asks a difficult question, redirect the conversation before they can overthink it.* “Yeah. Serena mentioned him.” Asher let out an “oh” and didn’t press further. “I’ll get that scarf for you,” Serena said, scooping Mochi up from the floor. The cat let out a sharp, uncomfortable mewl. She wasn’t supporting his hind legs. As Mochi struggled to break free, she just squeezed her arm tighter around him. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get it next time.” “Alright then,” she smiled. “Get home safe, Chloe. I won’t see you out. The pasta is getting cold.” Asher sat down at the table and waved at me. “Drive safe.” The very first time he said those words to me, he had chased me down half a block from the diner. He was panting, clutching the grey scarf I had accidentally left on the chair. That exact grey scarf. “Yeah.” I turned around. Serena followed me to the door, closing it until only a small crack remained. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Chloe, don’t come back next week. Every time you show up, his vitals fluctuate. The doctor said he can’t handle emotional stress.” “This is my apartment.” “The lease is under Asher’s name. You didn’t put your name on it back then, remember?” My hands clenched into fists inside my pockets. She was right. I thought we were getting married anyway, so it didn’t matter whose name was on the lease. “What are you trying to do, Serena?” “I’m taking care of him.” “You called him ‘babe.’ You’re acting like his wife.” “He was the one who called me that first,” she said, looking down, her eyelashes fluttering. “He said it to me on the sixth day after you left. What was I supposed to do? Push him away?” The door clicked shut in my face. The lock turned. Standing in the dimly lit hallway, I could hear the faint, muffled voices from the living room. “Is she gone?” “Yeah.” “Your coworker? She looks kind of familiar.” “She’s new. We aren’t really close.” Then came the clinking of forks. Light, casual. Like any ordinary couple having an ordinary dinner. I leaned my back against the cold hallway wall. A few minutes later, the living room fell quiet. And then, a melody drifted through the cracks of the door. It was shaky, off-key. The pitch went up on the third note, dipped on the seventh, and ended with a long, soft exhale. There were no lyrics, just a soft, humming tune. My grandma’s lullaby. My grandma was tone-deaf, so she always sang it terribly. I learned it from her, so I sang it terribly too. But Asher loved it. He said it was the only sound that made him feel safe. For seventy-three weeks, I hummed that exact song to him until he drifted off to sleep. Last month in our shared apartment, I had hummed it casually while sitting on my bed. Serena had tossed and turned on her bunk bed. “Chloe, what is that song? It’s kind of catchy.” “Just something my grandma used to hum. I don’t even know the name.” “It’s beautiful.” She only asked once. But now, behind that closed door, she was humming the second verse. Even that long, drawn-out exhale at the end was identical to mine. My phone buzzed. A Snapchat message from Serena. *“Chloe, get some rest. He’s asleep. Don’t worry.”* ***0

“What can I get for you?” “A cinnamon roll and a hot latte, please.” I sat at the second booth by the window. This was my spot. The one I had occupied every Wednesday morning for seventy-three weeks. The vinyl seat had a tiny tear on the side, and the table wobbled if you leaned on it too hard. Wednesday, 8:15 AM. Usually, at this exact time, Asher would walk through the door, sit at the empty table across from me, and order a coffee and a bagel. I waited for two hours. He never showed up. My latte went cold. A thin skin formed over the milk. I pulled out my phone and dialed his number. Serena picked up. “Chloe?” “Where is he?” “We’re eating at home. I made him breakfast.” “He always comes to this diner on Wednesdays.” “He used to. But I wanted to change things up. Eating the same thing every week isn’t healthy. Oh, and by the way, Chloe, he reset today. You know how it is. He doesn’t remember a thing. Calling him right now won’t do you any good.” He doesn’t remember a thing. Not the fake memories Serena spent seven days building in his head. Not that she was his “wife,” not her face, and not that lullaby. She had to start all over again today. “Where are you taking him today?” “There’s a new cafe on the South Side. I think he’ll like it.” “I’ve been there. He hates that place. The tables are too close together. He gets anxious. He needs a window seat.” The line went dead silent for a few seconds. “Thanks for the tip, Chloe. I’ll make sure we get a window seat.” I hung up. I paid for my untouched food and walked down to the South Side. Standing across the street, I looked through the glass window of the new cafe. Asher was sitting by the window. Serena was sitting opposite him. She had listened to me. A window seat. She was laughing, tracing something on the table with her finger. Asher tilted his head, listening intently, nodding occasionally. That was his signature look when he was intrigued. The textbook reaction for Day One. I knew this routine inside out. Because I was the one who spent six months figuring it out through trial and error. Day 1: Bumping into him. Talking about the cat. Keep it casual, don’t be too eager. Day 2: Do not contact him. Give him space to process. Day 3: If he shows up, let him speak first. Day 4: He will initiate contact. Day 5: Take a step closer. Day 6: He will say those words. Day 7: Watch him fall asleep. Wait. Serena sat there, executing my playbook, step by step. I turned and walked away. At 8:00 PM, I went back to his apartment building. I didn’t go upstairs. I just stood on the sidewalk below. The lights on the third floor were on. The curtains were half-drawn. I could see Serena’s shadow moving in the living room, holding Mochi. Mochi was meowing again. High-pitched, anxious cries. The cat was uncomfortable. She was still holding him wrong. Her silhouette sat on the couch. Next to her, another shadow sat down. Asher. He was probably staring at his phone, or just spacing out. On the first day of his reset, he always stared blankly into space. His brain was desperately trying to fill the void of his missing memories. And then, that familiar melody drifted down from the third-floor window. It was shaky. Up on the third note, down on the seventh. Through the night air, Serena’s voice sounded so much like mine that I could barely tell the difference. I stood under the streetlamp, listening for three minutes. Then, I walked back to my lonely room. Day Two. Day Three. Day Four. On Saturday, a coworker forwarded me a screenshot of Serena’s private Instagram story. In the photo, Asher was sitting on the balcony chair. Mochi was curled up on his lap. Asher was smiling. The caption read: *“He reached out to me first today. ☀️”* I stared at that photo for a long time. I was the one who planted the ivy on that balcony. I was the one who bought that vintage chair off Craigslist. I was the one who named the cat sleeping on his knees. Everything in that photo belonged to me. Except for the smile on his face. That belonged to her now. My coworker texted me: *“Is your roommate dating your fiancé now? What’s going on?”* I didn’t know how to answer. After a long pause, I typed out: *“We broke up.”* I closed the chat and opened Asher’s contact card. I knew his number better than my own social security number. Our last call was from ten days ago, the night before I left for Oregon. That night, he had whispered, “Hurry back. I’ll be waiting for you.” He didn’t remember. But my phone did. I took a screenshot of that call log and saved it into a folder. The folder was named: *“Things He Said.”* There were already seventy-three recordings in there. Now, there was a screenshot. On Friday afternoon, my coworker sent me another screenshot of Serena’s Instagram. It was a photo of Asher in the kitchen, wearing an apron, holding a plate of food. The caption read: *“First time someone’s cooked dinner for me. ❤️”* It was his signature lasagna. He used to make it for me every single week. Seventy-three times, he had asked me, “Is it good?” And when I said yes, his eyes would crinkle up with pure joy. In the comments, Serena replied to another coworker: *“He told me I’m the only one for him.”* I flipped my phone over, screen down on the desk. “Is it good?” His voice suddenly echoed in my mind. It was so loud, so clear, that for a split second, I thought he was standing right next to me. But the room was empty. My phone vibrated again. A text from Serena. *“Chloe, he made lasagna tonight. You told me he likes extra brown sugar in the sauce, right? I added it. He said it was perfect.”* ***0

“Your project is being reassigned.” Frank, the showrunner, slid a folder across the desk. The cover had the title of my script—the original pilot I had spent three months perfecting. “Reassigned to whom?” “Serena. She said you’ve been dealing with some family tragedy and aren’t in the right headspace. She offered to take over the client meetings so we don’t fall behind schedule.” “When did she say this?” Frank flipped through his planner. “Last Thursday. She brought your outline to my office and said you authorized her to take the lead.” Last Thursday. That was the day of my Grandma’s memorial service. I was kneeling in front of her grave, unable to even look at my phone. Serena had sent me a text that morning: *“Chloe, honey, take all the time you need. I’ve got things covered here.”* I thought she meant she was watching Asher. “Frank, I never authorized that. That outline is my intellectual property.” Frank sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You two need to work this out between yourselves. The network executives have already met with Serena, and they loved her pitch. It’s too late to swap writers now.” “It’s my show! The pitch deck, the character bibles, the episodic breakdowns—I wrote every single word!” “I know, Chloe. But the executives only know Serena’s face. She ran the last two creative sessions and they bought into her vision. If we pull her now, it looks bad on the studio. I can’t do that.” He said “I can’t do that” so casually. Like he was commenting on the weather. I stormed out of his office and immediately called Serena. “Chloe! Hey, are you back? About the studio—” “You stole my project.” “I didn’t steal it, babe. You were gone, and the network was breathing down our necks. I was just keeping the seat warm for you.” “You told Frank I authorized it.” “Chloe, I was panicking. I couldn’t reach you, and we couldn’t just let the deadline pass. I fully intended to hand it back to you once you got back.” “Then hand it back. Now.” The line went quiet. Then, she let out a soft laugh. “Chloe, honey, I’ve already done two rounds of revisions based on the network’s feedback. If you take over now, you won’t know what they liked or hated. If you change it back to your original vision, the executives are going to lose their minds.” “The revisions are still based on my outline. I can handle it.” “But what if you can’t? Why don’t you take a few more days off, let me finish this phase of development—” “Serena.” “Yeah?” “Do you think because I’m grieving, I’m an easy target?” There was a three-second silence. “You’re overthinking, Chloe. I was genuinely trying to help you.” Her tone was warm, gentle, and utterly sympathetic. The perfect facade. Like I said, I was the one who taught her how to play the game. I hung up and opened her Instagram. Her latest post was from this morning. A photo of her laptop screen showing my script document, next to a Starbucks cup. The caption: *“Crushing those revisions! So excited to be head-writing my very first show! 👩‍💻✨”* Head-writing. In the comments, our coworkers were leaving emojis of fire and congratulations. Not a single person pointed out that it wasn’t her show. Because they didn’t know. Or rather, Serena had already convinced everyone that it belonged to her. I scrolled down her feed. For the past ten days, her profile had been an alternating showcase of two narratives: First, Asher. Photos, videos, cute snippets. *“Making him dinner,”* *“He said the sweetest thing to me today,”* *“Can’t believe we found each other.”* Second, her career. Pitch meetings, late-night writing sessions, network feedback. Not once did she mention my name. Ten days. In just ten days, she had constructed a perfect narrative online. The hardworking rising star, the devoted girlfriend, the angel of support. And in her story, I was nothing but “a colleague going through a rough patch.” That afternoon, I ran into Zach in the breakroom. He hesitated when he saw me, then walked over with his coffee mug. “Hey, Chloe. Welcome back. You holding up okay?” “I’m fine, Zach.” “Serena’s been really looking out for you. At the pitch meeting, she told the network executives that you guys co-created the show, but you had to step away for a family emergency, so she’s carrying the torch.” Co-created. My pitch deck. My character bibles. My outline. She hadn’t even read the first draft before I left. “Is that what she said? Her exact words?” Zach tried to recall. “Yeah… she said, ‘Chloe and I built this project together. She’s dealing with a personal loss right now, so I’m stepping up to keep us on track until she’s ready to jump back in.’” *Built it together. Stepping up. Keeping us on track.* Every word was calculated. It wasn’t a theft; it was a rescue. It wasn’t greed; it was teamwork. Anyone who heard it would think she was a saint of a friend, and that I was incredibly lucky to have her. Seeing my expression, Zach whispered, “Is everything okay? You guys are a team, right?” “Yeah,” I said, throwing my paper cup into the trash. “A team.” As I walked out of the breakroom, my phone buzzed. A text from Serena. It was a photo of Asher sleeping on the couch, with Mochi curled up on his chest. She attached a two-word message. *“Good night.”* Every time Asher fell asleep, I used to text myself the date followed by “Good night.” She had even copied that. ***0

“What do you actually want, Serena?” Serena stood in the doorway of the apartment, blocking my way. Behind her, the door was half-open. The TV in the living room was playing a reality show, and Mochi’s anxious meows echoed from the balcony. Asher wasn’t home; she said he was at the clinic for his routine check-up. “I’m just here to pack up the rest of my things.” “You should have texted me first. If you show up out of nowhere when he’s here, it might trigger an episode—” “He’s not here. You just said so.” She bit her lip, then reluctantly stepped aside. I walked in. Everything was so familiar, yet completely alien. My slippers were gone from the rack. There was a new vase on the coffee table filled with baby’s breath. The framed photo of Asher and me on the fridge had been taken down, replaced by a selfie of him and Serena. I walked into the bedroom and opened the closet. The second drawer on the right was empty. “Where is my scarf?” Serena leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. “What scarf?” “The grey, hand-knitted one. I left it in this drawer.” “Oh, that,” she tilted her head. “Mochi got his claws into it last week and covered it in cat hair. I washed it and put it in the storage locker downstairs.” “Where is it?” “I’ll have to look for it.” She turned to go to the storage closet. I stood in the bedroom, my eyes sweeping over the nightstand. There was an open notebook lying there. I took a step forward. It was Serena’s handwriting. Round, neat cursive with little loops. The first line read: **Wednesday Protocol** Underneath, she had listed: * *8:15 AM: Cafe on the South Side, Table 2 (by the window). Order a bowl of oatmeal and black coffee. Sit quietly, don’t make eye contact first.* * *Talk about Mochi. Mention the nick on his left ear from a kitten fight. Keep it brief.* * *Thursday: Do not text or call. Let him wonder.* * *Saturday: He will say the words.* At the very bottom, a line was heavily underlined: * *Lullaby: Pitch up on the 3rd note, dip on the 7th. Long exhale at the end. Sing every night until he falls asleep.* My hands began to tremble. It wasn’t just anger. It was a cold, sharp pain piercing my chest. I wanted to scream, but my throat felt tight. She had turned my three years of love with Asher into a step-by-step user manual. Serena walked back in with the grey scarf. Seeing me standing by the nightstand, she froze for a fraction of a second. But she didn’t panic. “Chloe, those are just my notes. I was afraid I’d mess up the details you told me, so I wrote them down.” “Do you have any idea what those details mean to me?” “I do,” she said softly, handing me the scarf. “But to him, it doesn’t matter who is doing those things. He doesn’t remember last week. He only knows who is standing in front of him right now.” “You are erasing me.” “I am loving him.” “With my routine. My cafe. My cat. My grandma’s song. You copy-pasted my entire soul to insert yourself into his seven-day loop.” She remained silent. I clutched the scarf tightly. “You planned this from the start, didn’t you, Serena? You didn’t want to help me. You wanted him.” She raised her head, looking at me. There was no guilt in her eyes. Not even a sense of triumph. There was only a chilling, practical calm. “Chloe, let me ask you a question.” “Go ahead.” “Do you really plan on doing this for the rest of your life? Bumping into him every Wednesday, hearing him say the same words every Saturday, and watching him forget you every Sunday?” I couldn’t answer. “Don’t you see that you’re just torturing yourself?” She reached out to touch my arm—her nervous habit whenever she was about to spin a lie. “I can give him a stable life. He doesn’t need to remember the past; he just needs his present to be perfect. But you? You show up every Wednesday with tears in your eyes, looking at him like he broke your heart, and then you disappear. Don’t you think that terrifies him?” I stared at her hand on my arm. “That song you hum.” “What about it?” “How many times did you practice it?” Her fingers twitched, pulling back slightly. “It’s not just a song,” I said, brushing her hand away. “My grandma sang that to me. She passed away last week, Serena. And you are using her memory to seduce a man who can’t even remember my name.” Her lips parted, but no words came out. I took my scarf and walked out. That night, I didn’t go back to our shared apartment. I booked a cheap Airbnb near my office. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I opened my phone. Seventy-three voice recordings were lined up in a folder. Every single one was Asher’s voice. *“I’m in this for life. It’s you, Chloe.”* The first recording was from six months ago, on a rainy night. He had traced circles on the back of my hand as he said it. In the forty-seventh recording, you could hear me humming my grandma’s lullaby in the background, and his voice was thick with sleep. The seventy-third recording was from the night I got the call about my grandma. I was sobbing on the balcony, and he wrapped his arms around me from behind. *“Don’t cry, Chloe. I’m in this for life. It’s always been you.”* That was the last one. I transferred all seventy-three files onto a tiny black flash drive, no bigger than a fingernail. A week later, I found a small studio apartment across town. I packed my clothes and a few boxes. I locked the flash drive inside a small digital safe in the corner of the room. The passcode was Asher’s birthday. A six-digit number. Only I knew it. Before I logged off, I drafted a resignation email and cc’d Frank and Serena. It was brief: *“Resigning effective immediately due to personal reasons. Serena will take full responsibility for the project.”* I sent it and shut off my phone. The window of my new studio faced north. I couldn’t see his apartment building from here. The landlady, a kind older woman named Mrs. Gable, helped me change a lightbulb and asked, “Living alone, sweetie?” “Yes.” “Let me know if you need anything. I’m right next door.” “Thank you, Mrs. Gable.” As she walked out, she paused at the door and looked back at me. “K”Keep your chin up, honey. Whatever it is, it’ll pass.” It was only then that I realized tears were streaming down my face.

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Richard had been paralyzed for three years. I was the one who did everything for him—feeding him, bathing him, and cleaning up his waste. After the manufacturing plant shut down, I had to swallow my pride. At fifty years old, I took a low-paying temp job at an office, working alongside twenty-somethings. Every day, I worked from dawn to dusk. I’d rush home to flip him over, wipe his body down, and feed him. I left my debit card at home so he could have access to funds if needed. Every day at noon, I used DoorDash to have warm soup delivered right to his bedside. But last month, twenty thousand dollars went missing from the account. Thinking I was a victim of identity theft, I went to the bank to print out the transaction history. The recipient’s name was Chloe Vance. Richard’s ex-girlfriend. Every single transfer was made right after I left for work in the morning. The memo line on every transaction read: “Voluntary Gift.” I folded the bank statement neatly and shoved it into my pocket. When I got home, I warmed up some oatmeal and fed him, one spoonful at a time. He acted just like he always did—opening his mouth, eyes closed, completely motionless. I set the bowl down and wiped my hands. “Richard, you’re paralyzed and only have a basic flip-phone. How exactly did you transfer that money?” 01 “What did you say?” Richard opened his eyes. “Twenty thousand dollars is missing from the account. The recipient is Chloe Vance, your ex.” “Never heard of her.” “You dated her for three years before we got married. And now you don’t know her?” “That was decades ago. What does that have to do with me?” “Every single transfer was made right after I left the house. Only you and I know the passcode to that card, and you’re the only one home during those hours.” “What are you trying to say?” “I’m not trying to say anything. I’m asking you what this means.” He closed his eyes again. “Helen, have you been working too hard lately?” He called me Helen. For three years, he only called me in two ways: either a grunt to get my attention, or simply opening his mouth to be fed. The only time he ever used my actual name was when he wanted me to shut up. “Look at yourself. You’re fifty. Half your hair is gray, and you have more wrinkles than my mother. Are you sure you’re not just going through menopause?” “I am asking you about the bank transfers.” “And I’m trying to help you find the real reason. Women your age go through hormonal changes. You get paranoid. You start seeing conspiracies everywhere. Remember Sarah, the accountant from my old office? At forty-eight, she kept accusing her husband of cheating. Turns out she just had severe anxiety.” “I don’t have anxiety. I have the bank statements.” “Banks make mistakes all the time. Didn’t you see the news last week? Some old guy had eight thousand dollars randomly deposited into his account by mistake.” “He got extra money. I lost mine.” “Either way, it’s the bank’s fault. Why are you standing over my bed interrogating me? I’m a paralyzed man. I have a cheap flip-phone and two useless legs. How could I possibly transfer money?” As soon as he finished speaking, he started coughing. His whole body shook, his face turning bright red. I went to fetch a glass of warm water. It had to be exactly body temperature—he hated it when it was too hot. He took slow sips, then turned his head away. “Don’t bring this up again.” “Why?” “You’re waving a piece of paper in the face of your paralyzed husband who hasn’t been able to move for three years. You look like a psycho.” His voice was barely a whisper. “If you’re tired of taking care of me, just say so. I won’t stop you. Just let me rot in this bed. Nobody cares if a useless cripple lives or dies anyway.” This guilt trip worked every single time. Over the past three years, whenever I showed even a hint of exhaustion, he would throw this line at me. It was his shield, blocking any questions I had. I washed the bowl, mopped the floor, and soaked his dirty bed sheets. Before turning off the lights, I leaned down to grab some tissues from under his pillow—he liked keeping a pack there for his nighttime coughing fits. My fingers brushed against something hard. Flat, rectangular, with sharp metallic corners. A smartphone. It wasn’t the giant-button flip-phone I had bought him, the one that sat on his nightstand solely for emergency calls. This was a high-end smartphone. I didn’t pull it out, but I could feel that the screen was slightly warm to the touch. “Is the light off yet?” his voice drifted from the pillow. “Turning it off now.” I slid the phone back exactly where it was and stood up. “What time are you leaving tomorrow?” He had never asked me about my schedule before. “Seven.” “Tell your boss that the medical bills went up again this month.” “Okay.” “Helen.” “Yeah?” “Don’t talk about that bank statement anymore. If neighbors hear about it, they’ll think we’re going broke.” 02 “Ma’am, here is the transaction history for the past three months.” The bank teller slid the stack of papers across the counter. I hadn’t waited until seven to leave the house. At five-forty, after leaving his oatmeal warming in the pot, I slipped out. At six AM, the bank was practically empty. The statement was seven pages long. I flipped from the back, circling every transfer to Chloe Vance in red ink. It wasn’t just twenty thousand. In three months, there were eleven transfers. The smallest was one thousand, the largest was five thousand. Totaling twenty-eight thousand dollars. The timestamps were always between 7:15 AM and 8:00 AM—right after I left, but before I clocked in at work. There was even one transfer at 12:30 PM. I remembered that day. Our office was on break, and I had taken a twenty-minute nap in the lounge. “Do you need anything else, ma’am?” “Can you tell me which branch this recipient account was opened at?” “Well… by policy, we can’t disclose the personal details of other account holders—” “I’m the one who sent the money. My money was taken and sent to someone else. I can’t even know where they opened the account?” The teller hesitated for a few seconds, then tapped on her keyboard. “It was opened at the Pine Street branch on the East Side.” Pine Street. My commute to work was toward the West Side. Pine Street was in the exact opposite direction—a forty-minute bus ride. During my lunch break, I skipped the cafeteria and took a bus to Pine Street. I wasn’t familiar with this area. It was filled with brand-new apartment complexes. I didn’t have Chloe’s address, but I remembered a detail from Richard’s old internet service bill from three years ago, right before his accident. I had helped him set up a plan, and the billing address wasn’t our home. At the time, he claimed it was for a friend. I hadn’t questioned it. That address was 118 Pine Street, Pine Crest Apartments, Building 3, Apartment 140

The security gate at Pine Crest was broken, so I slipped inside easily. It was a modern building with a blue-gray exterior. I took the elevator to the 14th floor. The door to 1401 was shut tight. I didn’t knock. On the mailbox next to the door, there was a small label: “Chloe Vance.” The handwriting wasn’t hers. It was Richard’s. I had lived with his handwriting for over twenty years. The way he dragged the last stroke of his “R” was unmistakable. A man who had allegedly been paralyzed in bed for three years had his handwriting on his ex-girlfriend’s mailbox. I stood in the hallway and quietly snapped a photo. Then I took photos of the apartment door, the hallway, and the building’s exterior. By the time I got back to the office, I was fifteen minutes late. My supervisor, Sarah, gave me a look but didn’t say anything. At three in the afternoon, my phone rang. It wasn’t Richard. It was his mother, Eleanor. “Helen, did you forget to change Richard’s adult diapers today?” “I changed them twice this morning.” “He said you only changed him once. And his lunch was late. The food was cold when it arrived. Are you just giving up on him now?” “Mom, I had things to take care of during lunch—” “What could possibly be more important than your husband? He has been paralyzed in that bed for three years. You are his wife, Helen, not a stranger. You took vows. For better or for worse, in sickness and in health—” “Mom.” “If you’re tired of him, go ahead and leave. But think about what you’ll do. You’re fifty, you have no degree, no savings, and your old factory is gone. Where would you go without Richard? Who would even look at you?” She had said this so many times. The phrasing was always the same. Like a pre-recorded tape on loop. “I got it. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen tomorrow.” “And another thing, Richard said you’ve been asking him weird questions lately. It’s stressing him out. As his wife, you need to be more supportive. He’s going through enough without you nagging him.” I hung up. When I got home that night, Richard was waiting for his food with his eyes closed. I fed him, wiped his face, and turned his sheets. When I tucked him in, my fingers brushed the edge of his pillow. The phone was gone. “Richard, you’re out of tissues under your pillow. Let me get you a new pack.” “No need. I can reach them myself.” He could reach them himself. A man who supposedly couldn’t move his arms, a man who needed me just to roll over, could reach under his own pillow. “Okay. Get some rest then.” “Helen.” “Yeah?” “Tomorrow, make an extra batch of oatmeal before you leave. Keep it in the slow cooker on warm. Don’t order DoorDash anymore. It’s not healthy.” “But who’s going to serve it to you at noon?” “I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about it.” 03 “Which year of Richard Collins’ medical records do you need?” The hospital archives window was small, forcing me to lean in to speak. “October 2021. The car accident.” “Are you immediate family?” “I’m his wife.” The clerk checked my ID, searched the database for ten minutes, and handed over a thick manila folder. I didn’t open it at the window. I walked over to a bench in the hallway. Discharge summary, surgery logs, MRI reports—twelve pages in total. On page three—the spinal scan report. I am not a doctor, but after taking him to countless follow-ups over the past three years, I had learned to recognize the medical terms. “L3-L4 herniated disc. Mild compression on the dural sac. No significant spinal cord signal abnormalities detected.” A herniated disc. Not a severed spinal cord. I pulled out my phone and found the medical certificate from his check-up last year. It clearly stated: “Spinal cord injury resulting in incomplete paraplegia.” Two reports. One saying “no spinal cord abnormalities,” the other saying “spinal cord injury.” Same patient, same hospital. I looked at the signatures on both. The original MRI was signed by: Dr. David Miller. The follow-up certificate was also signed by: Dr. David Miller. The same doctor had signed two completely contradictory documents. I took photos of every page, put the documents back into the folder, and returned it to the window. At lunch, a young coworker named Lily sat next to me. She was sweet but incredibly chatty. “Helen, what are you looking at so intensely?” “Nothing, just checking my bank app.” She leaned in to take a peek. “Chloe Vance? That name sounds so familiar.” My fork froze in the air. “You know her?” “Not personally, but I’ve seen her on TikTok. There’s an influencer called @ChloeCares. Her real name is Chloe Vance. She makes caregiving videos, teaching people how to care for bedridden patients. She’s pretty popular—has like fifty thousand followers.” “What kind of videos?” “You know, stuff like how to roll a patient over, how to prevent bedsores, techniques for feeding. Very professional. Apparently, she’s caring for someone herself, and she posts updates constantly.” I immediately opened TikTok and searched “@ChloeCares.” Her profile picture was a white gardenia. Her bio read: “To love is to serve. Three years, day by day. I do it gladly.” Three years. I scrolled through her videos. She never showed her face, only close-ups of her hands. They were clean, well-manicured hands with pale pink nails, rolling a faceless patient over, wiping his back, and feeding him oatmeal. The oatmeal was served in a light blue ceramic bowl. Ours were plain white. But her feeding technique—scraping the excess off the spoon against the rim of the bowl before bringing it to the mouth, waiting patiently for the lips to open—was identical to mine. Richard was a slow eater. If you fed him too fast, he would choke. It took me six months of trial and error to master that exact rhythm. The comment section was filled with praise. “You are such an angel.” “This is true love.” “God bless your beautiful soul.” When I got home that night, Richard was waiting for his food, eyes shut. I brought the spoon to his lips. He opened his mouth slowly, swallowing one bite at a time. It took twenty-three minutes to feed him. “Richard, you seem to have a good appetite today.” “Yeah.” “There’s this TikTok creator called @ChloeCares. She posts a lot of videos about caring for bedridden patients. Have you seen her?” He didn’t answer. But his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Do you know her?” “Are you starting this again?” His voice suddenly became sharp. “I told you, I don’t know her. You have nothing better to do than creep on social media all day? Do you know how you sound right now?” “How?” “Like one of those paranoid, menopausal women who spy on their husband’s phones all day. Keep this up and I’m going to commit you to a psych ward.” “Fine, I’ll drop it.” “Good. Just do your job and take care of what you’re supposed to. Stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.” I cleared the bowl. While washing the dishes, I went back to Chloe’s TikTok profile. The latest video was posted last Wednesday. It showed the silhouette of a man standing by a window, wearing a gray cotton robe. He was standing. 04 “Helen, are you okay? You look pale.” Lily walked over with a cup of coffee. I was sitting at my desk, staring at my phone screen. I had watched that video seven times. “I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep well.” “Want some coffee?” “No, thank you.” I played the video again. The foreground was a sheer white curtain with warm sunlight filtering through. The background music was a soft piano melody. The man stood by the window, hands in his pockets, his head slightly tilted as if admiring the view outside. He was wearing a gray cotton robe. I had bought that robe. Last winter, there was a sale on Amazon—two for forty dollars. I got a blue one for myself and a gray one for Richard. He had claimed he didn’t need it. He said a paralyzed man had no use for a robe and that hospital gowns were fine. But the man in the video was wearing it. The collar was buttoned to the second button, and the left pocket bulged slightly—exactly where he liked to keep his lighter. The video was only eight seconds long, and it didn’t show his face. But I didn’t need to see his face. That posture—leaning his weight on his right leg, his left foot slightly flared outward—was a posture I had looked at for over twenty years. The timestamp on the video was last Wednesday at 6:00 PM. Last Wednesday— My supervisor, Sarah, had given me a mountain of spreadsheets to finish. I didn’t leave the office until 11:00 PM. I had ordered him lunch, left dinner in the slow cooker, and texted him before I got busy: “Food is in the cooker.” He had texted back: “Okay.” I had assumed he meant he would figure out a way to have the delivery guy help him, or just wait. But he had gotten up and walked over to get it himself. I flipped my phone face down on the desk. The screen went black, but the image remained burned into my mind. I scrolled further back into Chloe’s Instagram posts. The earliest post was from April 17th, three years ago—exactly three weeks after Richard was discharged from the hospital. It was a photo of a bouquet of flowers with the caption: “Finally, I can take care of you properly.” Three years ago. I thought I was the only one caring for him. Waking up at five every morning to roll him over, wash him, feed him, clean his bedpan, check his blood pressure, and do physical therapy. I had spent hours massaging his useless legs until my own hands shook with exhaustion. Three years. One thousand and ninety-five days. He had laid there like a corpse, and I had served him like one. Meanwhile, his ex-girlfriend was posting videos online boasting about her “devotion.” Before clocking out, I found an even older post on Chloe’s profile. It was from two years ago—a photo of a dining table with two cups of coffee, two steaks, a salad, and two sets of silverware. The caption was just a single heart emoji. In the top right corner of the photo, outside the window, you could see a distinct blue-gray building. Pine Crest Apartments. Two years ago, while Richard was enjoying steak and red wine with Chloe, I was grinding at my job just to pay for his medical supplies. On the subway ride home, I held onto the handrail, my other hand gripping my phone so tightly my knuckles turned white. I got home at nine. When I opened the bedroom door, the lights were off. Richard was lying in bed in the exact same position I had left him in that morning. He was on his back, hands flat on the blanket, eyes shut. “Did you eat the soup?” “Yeah. It was cold.” “I left it in the slow cooker on warm. How could it be cold?” “Maybe the cooker was unplugged.” His eyes remained shut as he spoke. I walked over to the kitchen. The slow cooker’s indicator light was glowing. It was plugged in. “Richard.” “Yeah?” “What did you do today?” “What do you think? I’m a cripple. What can I do besides lie here?” “All day?” “All day. I can’t even get a sip of water when you’re not here, and you’re asking me what I did? Do you have a conscience?” His voice pitched up. “Fine. I won’t ask.” “You better not,” he muttered, his tone dropping back down. “Go heat up some water. My feet are cold.” I went to boil the water. As the kettle heated up, my heart turned to ice. I hesitated for a long time, then dialed the police department to report my husband for hiding and transferring marital assets. The officer on the line listened patiently before telling me this was a domestic/civil matter. They couldn’t intervene. I needed a lawyer.

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My college psychology professor gave us an assignment: text your parents “I love you” and record their reaction. Since both of my parents died years ago, I took the chance to send it to Julian, my adoptive uncle and guardian. The chat window showed “typing…” on and off, but nothing came through for the longest time. Two hours later, he finally replied: [Don’t start having thoughts you shouldn’t have.] After that, he stripped away every bit of affection he had ever shown me. He blocked my number on Snapchat. He even told his assistant, Marcus, that he never wanted to hear another update about my life. The security guard at Vance Group blocked me from entering the building to see him. “Mr. Vance’s orders, Hazel. You’re blacklisted. He said he’d rather let a stray dog in than you.” Whenever I happened to cross his path, he would immediately turn around and walk away. This went on for six months, until I was diagnosed with late-stage lung cancer. In my final days, just to stop him from treating me like a stranger, I agreed to go on a blind date with Tristan, a guy Julian had set me up with. For the first time in months, Julian spoke to me with a hint of gentleness. “How are things going with Tristan? Are you two planning the wedding yet?” “It’s going well.” The tears in my eyes were threatening to spill over. I couldn’t bear to ruin this rare, peaceful conversation, so I described the wedding of my dreams. “We’re planning it… The venue will be themed with lavender, my favorite. The ring will be a purple diamond, shaped like a lavender blossom…” The more he listened, the tighter his brows furrowed. Finally, as if he couldn’t stand listening to me anymore, he cut me off. “As long as it’s being planned. Just remember, Hazel, I will always be your uncle. We will always be family, and this place will always be your home.” He looked around my room, which was already half-empty, and added, “Have you moved your things to Tristan’s place? That’s fine. Whatever you left behind, I’ll have someone buy you new ones…” A sharp, needle-like pain pierced my heart. I forced a smile and shook my head. “No need, Julian. I… probably won’t be coming back here to live anyway.” Honestly, it wasn’t that I wouldn’t come back often. I was never coming back. And my bags weren’t at Tristan’s. They had already been shipped overseas. Dr. Miller had scheduled me with a lung cancer specialist in Switzerland. In three days, on the day of Julian’s wedding to his fiancée, Victoria, I would leave this place for good. Whether the surgery succeeded or failed, I would stay in Switzerland forever. Julian’s face darkened slightly. He looked like he wanted to say something else. I spoke quickly before he could. “Julian, do you know what kind of flowers Victoria likes?” “Cherry blossoms,” he replied instantly. Then, a look of suspicion crept into his eyes. “Why are you asking?” That look was like an icicle, freezing me to the core. He was probably worried that I would be childish again and do something to ruin things for his fiancée. I looked away, staring out the window at the lavender field in the yard—the one Julian had planted with his own hands years ago. My voice was so soft it almost drifted away in the wind. “I just wanted to get a wedding gift for you and Victoria.” He waved his hand coldly. “Don’t bother. She doesn’t need anything.” I lowered my head, a bitter smile forming on my lips. Right. I had forgotten again. Dr. Miller said the cancer had metastasized to my brain, and I would start forgetting things. I forgot that when I was a kid, Julian would do anything to make me happy, no matter how ridiculous my requests were. When I once said I wanted to see a real castle, he bought a plot of land in the suburbs and built a European-style estate just for me. I also forgot that I had seen what he looked like when he truly loved someone. With him around, Victoria obviously didn’t need anything from me. I just… wanted to show a little gratitude for all the years he had raised me. We stood there in silence. The awkwardness stretched between us. The night wind blew in with a chill, making me shiver. Ever since I got sick, my body had become extremely sensitive to the cold. “Julian, I’m a bit tired. I’m going to head to bed.” I turned around. I could feel his gaze heavy on my back until the bedroom door shut him out. When I woke up the next morning, my mind was a complete blank. I couldn’t even remember what had happened yesterday. It wasn’t until I checked my phone and saw the reminders—”Two days until departure” and “To-Do List for Today”—that I realized what I had to do. I finally hired workers to dig up that lavender field and replaced it with cherry blossom trees that were just about to bloom. In the afternoon, I took some heavy-duty cough suppressants before meeting Tristan. Since I had decided to leave, I shouldn’t lead anyone on. I told him honestly about my diagnosis and my plan to go to Switzerland for treatment. Surprise flashed across Tristan’s eyes, quickly followed by genuine pity. “Does Julian… know about this?” I tried hard to recall, then shook my head. “Probably not. And… please don’t tell him.” Tristan promised to keep my secret. I pulled out a document and slid it across the table, asking him to take a look. When he opened it, shock was written all over his face.

“You’re transferring all the shares your parents left you to Julian? Hazel, this is your inheritance!” I smiled faintly. “My parents left me a trust fund. It’s more than enough to cover my medical bills.” “I’m not coming back to this country.” “Think of this as my way of thanking Julian for taking care of me all these years.” “After all, I used to be so immature and caused him so much trouble.” Human emotions are strange. Out of nowhere, a memory flashed in my mind. Six months ago, I was still heartbroken by Julian’s coldness. To get me to stop bothering him, he had said to me: “Hazel, can you have some self-respect? Stop clinging to me like a piece of cheap gum.” Those words had cut like a knife back then. But remembering them now, I felt absolutely nothing. Maybe this sickness was taking away not just my memories, but also those intense feelings, the deep-seated pain… And my inappropriate, deep attachment to him. I looked at Tristan. “Julian’s wedding is the day after tomorrow. He probably doesn’t want to see me there. Could you do me a favor and give this to him after the ceremony?” This share transfer agreement was my second wedding gift to him. Tristan took the document and nodded solemnly. After thanking him, I went back to the Vance estate. The housekeeper, Martha, told me I had an international package. I opened it. It was a Swiss SIM card sent by Dr. Miller’s contact. Suddenly, I felt a sense of relief I had never experienced before. For the next two days, I stayed in the villa, wanting to see Julian one last time before I left, just to say a proper goodbye. Maybe he was too busy with the wedding preparations. He didn’t return until the night before the wedding—my very last night in this house. He looked exhausted. I was in my room, coughing so hard it felt like my lungs were about to tear apart. The loud noise naturally caught his attention. Panic seized me. I quickly threw a handful of cough suppressants into my mouth. But the moment Julian pushed my door open, I hacked up a mouthful of dark red blood. The white pills, mixed with blood, scattered all over the floor.

My heart hammered against my ribs, and my face went pale. When I was first diagnosed with cancer, I had imagined a thousand times how Julian would react if he found out. But ever since I decided to go to Switzerland, I didn’t want him to know. He couldn’t cure me anyway. Knowing would just be another burden for him. I was frantically trying to think of an explanation. But he just curled his lips into a mocking sneer. “I thought you’d finally grown up, Hazel. But you’re still using the same cheap tricks. Faking an illness?” I froze for a second, then forced a smile through the tears in my eyes. “You caught me, Julian. It’s just vitamins mixed with ketchup.” His face grew even darker. He glanced at my thin frame, swallowed up by my oversized sweater, and frowned. “Is this house starving you? Do you really need to put on this act?” His eyes swept across the room. Because I had packed up most of my personal belongings, the room looked incredibly bare. “And why is this place so empty? It looks like no one lives here.” My chest tightened. Avoiding his sharp gaze, my voice—hoarse from coughing up blood night and day—sounded dry. “You’re getting married. Getting rid of old things makes room for new blessings.” “I hope you and Victoria have a wonderful life together. A happy marriage and a big family.” He let out a sarcastic laugh. “A wonderful life? A happy marriage?” “Are those really the only words you have for me right now?” Maybe because I used to care so much about his mood, I instantly picked up on his irritation. But I truly didn’t understand what I had said wrong this time. Or maybe, just my sheer existence was enough to annoy him. If that was the case, he would be much happier after tomorrow. Because this would be the last time I ever stood in front of him. Tomorrow morning, when Julian left as a groom to pick up his bride, I would head to the airport and fly to Switzerland. I took a deep breath, looked up, and gave him my most sincere wish. “Julian, I hope you have a beautiful wedding.” His brows drew together tightly, his eyes searching my face as if trying to catch some hidden motive. But my words were perfectly polite, and my expression was completely neutral. I didn’t even wait for him to respond. I turned around and walked upstairs. The next morning, I woke up early and packed my last suitcase. Fortunately, my mind was incredibly clear today. I knew exactly what day it was—the day of my departure. Outside the villa, luxury cars were lined up. Billionaires and public figures who usually only appeared in Forbes were gathering. Reporters with cameras were crowding the gates, eager to cover the wedding of the century. I took my cough suppressants before stepping out of my room. The moment I walked out, I ran into Julian, who was wearing a custom-tailored tuxedo. He glanced at me, his face immediately clouding over. “Is that what you’re wearing to my wedding?” A sharp pain hit my chest. I opened my mouth, but I didn’t know how to explain that I wasn’t going. Luckily, a voice from downstairs saved me. “Julian! The cars are ready. We need to leave now!” He pressed his lips into a thin line, gave me one last deep look, and said, “Go change into something decent.” I gave a vague nod and watched him walk downstairs, surrounded by the crowd. I could faintly hear an elder laughing downstairs. “Why is the groom looking so serious? Aren’t you happy to marry the girl of your dreams?” I couldn’t hear the rest. But in my heart, I knew this was our final goodbye. I went back to my room, looked at the framed photo of my parents on the desk, and whispered, “Mom, Dad. Julian is getting married today. I saw his bride for you. She’s beautiful, and they look great together…” I touched the frame, my voice cracking. “From now on, the three of us will be together forever.” It was time. I stood by the window and watched Julian get into the lead wedding car. The convoy drove away amidst the loud cheers. The moment the villa fell completely silent, it felt like a piece of my heart had been carved out. But only for a second. I pulled myself together. Under the bewildered stares of the maids, I walked out carrying my parents’ photo and my suitcase, and got into the private car I had called to take me to the airport. All along the highway, the giant LED screens on skyscrapers and billboards were broadcasting Julian and Victoria’s wedding. I watched silently, my eyes dry and aching from the wind. When I arrived at the airport, I received a text from Tristan. It was a photo of the wedding venue. The entire place was decorated with purple lavenders, flower petals falling from above, purple diamonds… My heart stopped. It was almost identical to the dream wedding I had described to Julian a few days ago. Was it on purpose, or just a coincidence? But I quickly pushed the thought away. It didn’t matter anymore. I was leaving. None of this had anything to do with me. The second photo was of the ceremony. Julian looked dashing in his black suit, and Victoria was stunning in her white gown. Tristan texted: [I’ll deliver your gift after the reception. Hazel, I hope your surgery goes well. Safe travels.] Even though the photo made a dull ache spread through my chest, I let out a long sigh of relief. At least the last family member I had in this world had found his happiness. I smiled and replied: [Thank you, Tristan. I hope you find your happiness soon, too.] I hit send and turned off my phone. A flight attendant walked by and handed me a small bag of wedding candies with a sweet smile. “Miss, today is the wedding of Mr. Vance of the Vance Group. These are being handed out to all passengers to share the joy.” I stared at it. So, the entire city was celebrating his wedding… I thanked her softly, unwrapped a candy, and put it in my mouth. It was sweet. Exactly like the candies Julian used to drive across the city to buy for me when I was little. Except… this was probably the last one I’d ever have. As the plane started to taxi on the runway, I took out my phone and quickly typed out one last text to his Snapchat: [Julian, I was young and foolish, and I caused you a lot of trouble in the past.] [I’m gone now. Please forget about me completely. I wish you eternal happiness.] After sending it, I popped out my domestic SIM card, snapped it in half, and dropped it into the trash bag. Then, I slid the Swiss SIM card into the slot. “Ladies and gentlemen, our flight to Zurich is about to take off…” As the engines roared and the plane lifted into the air, I pulled down my eye mask. It blocked out the world outside, and hid the tears silently slipping down my cheeks. Thousands of miles would separate us now. We would probably never see each other again. This would be the last time I cried for the stubborn, foolish girl who loved him with everything she had. From now on, in sickness or in health, in joy or in sorrow, I would learn to love myself. I would never look back. Goodbye, Julian. Goodbye forever.

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I agreed to drop out of the Alpha King’s summer boot camp for my bullied childhood friend. But the day before signing the confirmation papers, I changed my mind. At the rest area, his friends were laughing and teasing him. “Man, you really played the long game just to get rid of Grace, huh?” “You guys grew up together. Are you really okay with letting her drop out alone?” Ethan’s voice was completely indifferent. “It’s just a year of training. It’s no big deal.” “Besides, she follows me around all day. It’s annoying as hell. This is actually perfect.” I stood outside the door for a long time before I finally turned around and walked away. But on my dropout application form, I didn’t sign to leave. Instead, I transferred myself from the Alpha King’s Basic Boot Camp to the Heir’s Advanced Elite Training. Ethan seemed to have forgotten one thing. He and I were never on the same level. He was the dirt, and I was the sky. The moment I heard those words, it felt like a hard punch straight to my face. For the past month, Ethan had been targeted and jumped by wolves from other packs in the camp. The first time was in the cafeteria. Someone dumped a tray of food right over his head in front of everyone. The second time was on the training field. They broke his bones on purpose, and it took him two whole days to heal. Every single time, I was the one who rushed in to shield him. The worst time, I ended up with three broken ribs and couldn’t even get out of bed for twenty-four hours. Unable to watch him suffer anymore, I suggested we drop out together. At that time, Ethan had just walked out of the infirmary, his face still covered in bruises. He grabbed my hand, his voice trembling. “Grace, I really can’t take this anymore.” Ethan and I grew up together in neighboring packs. Because our families were close, we had been running and playing together since we were pups. For over a decade, we were inseparable. And deep down, I was secretly in love with him. So, in a fit of impulse, I promised him, “Don’t be afraid. Wherever you go, I’ll go with you.” But now, I finally realized it was all a show. He had orchestrated the attacks just to get me to leave. I couldn’t help but wonder—did Ethan really hate me that much? Inside the rest area, the conversation continued. “But man, Grace is seriously loyal to you.” “If you make her drop out for you, aren’t you worried she’ll fall for someone else?” “Her?” Ethan let out a mocking laugh. “She literally took hits from other packs for me. She was covered in blood and still didn’t back down. You really think she’d change her mind about me?” Someone chimed in, “What if? Grace is not someone to be messed with.” Ethan’s voice was lazy and arrogant. “There is no ‘what if.’ There are so many Alpha heirs in this camp, and she hasn’t looked at a single one of them.” His tone was filled with pure contempt. “She’s like a lost puppy following me around. It’s suffocating.” Laughter erupted in the room. It felt like a physical slap across my face. *I want to tear him apart,* my inner wolf snarled. I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying hard to calm the beast inside. Another guy laughed. “Honestly, it’s my first time seeing someone push away a girl who’s so obsessed with him. Boss move.” “But if you don’t like her clinging to you, why didn’t you just say so? Grace doesn’t seem like the type to beg.” Ethan let out an annoyed sigh. “Grace is too proud. If I told her the truth, do you think she’d just let go?” He paused, his voice softening slightly. “Besides, Lily feels uncomfortable whenever Grace is around. She only feels safe when it’s just the two of us.” “For Lily’s sake, I have to make Grace make some sacrifices.” The moment he said that, everything clicked. Looking back at the timeline, Ethan decided to “get attacked” exactly one week after Lily joined the camp. One of his friends laughed and nudged him. “You slick bastard. She just got here and you already marked your territory?” “But yeah, Lily is definitely the cute, fragile type. Any guy would want to protect her.” “Unlike Grace, who walks around with a resting bitch face all day, like everyone owes her money. Who cares if she’s pretty?” The degrading comments about me kept coming, like a rising tide. And Ethan, the boy I had loved for years, did nothing to stop them. He didn’t argue. In fact, he agreed with them. Standing outside the door, my heart sank to the freezing depths of the ocean. *I’m going to rip his throat out right now,* my wolf growled. For a split second, I wanted to kick the door open and storm in. I wanted to scream at him: *When you watched me take those beatings for you, did you feel even a shred of guilt?* I wanted to ask: *All these years we spent together, what did they mean to you?* But then, I remembered my mom’s words: *Never waste your energy on trash.* She was right. I didn’t kick the door. But I didn’t walk away quietly either. I took a deep breath and spoke in a voice loud enough for everyone inside to hear: “Ethan, I heard everything.” The room went dead silent instantly. Without waiting for his reaction, I turned on my heel and walked away.

The pain didn’t hit me right away. It came in slow, sharp waves. I wouldn’t have been this hurt if it was just a regular betrayal by a pack member. But Ethan was the one who had crossed the line first. On the night we decided to drop out together, he had dragged me to the clearing behind the training camp to drink. The moonlight was beautiful, and the way he looked at me was so gentle. I had loved him for so long that my brain completely short-circuited. So, when he leaned in to kiss me, I didn’t pull away. My heart was beating out of my chest. I couldn’t help but ask, “Ethan, what are we now?” Ethan leaned down, kissed me again, and smiled. “Whatever you want us to be.” At that moment, my heart had soared. I never expected that just two days later, I would hear him shatter my feelings so easily. I let out a bitter laugh as a tear slipped down my cheek. So, that kiss was just another lie to get me to leave, wasn’t it? The wind chimes in my room jingled softly, slowly drying my tears. My broken heart began to piece itself back together. Ethan had made a huge mistake. The Alpha King organized this summer boot camp to pull the young heirs out of their comfortable school environments and put them in real-world scenarios. It was designed to test their leadership, alliances, and true nature. But that only applied to the weak pups who hadn’t even awakened their wolves yet. I had awakened my inner wolf when I was sixteen. I was supposed to be in the Heir’s Advanced Elite Training from the start. I was supposed to be learning pack diplomacy and territory management. The dropout form in my hand was smudged by my tears, the ink bleeding into an ugly mess. But that was fine. I could just get a clean one. The Miller Pack never ran out of backup plans. I reprinted the form. Before filling out the program section, I called my mom. “Mom, which heir training program did you want me to join?” “Yes, I’m going alone.” The wind chimes in my room rang clearly, as if celebrating my decision. I closed my eyes. This time, Ethan’s face didn’t pop up in my mind. Instead, I saw a man who looked slightly like Ethan, but was far more handsome and commanding. He had smiled at me two years ago and said with absolute certainty: “Grace, sooner or later, you’ll leave Ethan and choose me.” Back then, I thought he was joking. But now, I whispered in my mind: *Ethan, I’m officially done with you.* After signing the new form, I let out a long sigh of relief. My heart was finally at peace. Suddenly, there was a knock on my door. I froze. I lived alone in this house, and the only person who knew the passcode was… I opened the door, and sure enough, Ethan was standing there. He spoke in his usual gentle tone. “Grace, you didn’t come to say goodbye to the guys. I was worried about you.” I kept my voice as flat as possible. “I’m not feeling well, so I stayed in.” I was about to shut the door when I caught sight of a figure hiding behind him. Lily was standing half a step behind Ethan. She looked sweet and innocent, but her eyes were quickly scanning my face. The moment our eyes met, she flinched dramatically and shrank behind Ethan. Ethan immediately stepped in front of her to shield her. “Grace, you’re scaring Lily.” There she went again. Lily always acted like I was some big, bad bully out to get her, even though I hadn’t done a single thing. My face went cold. “I told you before, I don’t like strangers in my house.” Ethan frowned, looking annoyed. “Lily isn’t a stranger.” “Besides, she only came because she was worried about you.” Before I could fire back, Lily’s eyes welled up with tears. “Grace, I’m so sorry. I know you look down on me, but I wash myself every day.” She sobbed. “I won’t get your house dirty…” Hearing this, Ethan’s frown deepened. He glared at me. “Grace, Lily might come from a normal family, but she’s not dirt. You don’t have to treat her like trash.” “I’m seriously disappointed in you.” Lily gently tugged at Ethan’s sleeve, acting like the bigger person. “Ethan, it’s fine. Please don’t fight with Grace because of me…” She sniffled, giving him a weak but brave smile. “After all, Grace said you guys grew up together. I can never compete with that kind of bond…” “What are you talking about? You are one of a kind, Lily,” Ethan said, his heart aching as he cupped her face, whispering sweet details to calm her down. Then, he turned to me, his face as cold as ice. “Lily is upset. I’m taking her home.” “You need to think about your behavior. And don’t forget to sign the dropout form tomorrow.” I definitely thought about my behavior—specifically, my terrible taste in men. Then, I walked over to the keypad and changed my house passcode. The heavy weight in my chest finally lifted a little.

The next morning, I took my new form to the administration office. The administrator looked at the paper and raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious? You’re ranked third in the camp. People would kill for this spot.” I nodded. “I’m sure.” The moment the stamp hit the paper, I felt a slight pang of emptiness. As I walked out, someone blocked my path. Ethan stood there, frowning. “Grace, did you change your house passcode?” “I went back to see you last night after dropping Lily off, but the code didn’t work…” I cut him off. “Yeah, I changed it.” He looked slightly miffed, but quickly brushed it off, trying to act close again. “What’s the new code? It’ll be easier for me to come over and take care of you.” I said calmly, “No need. I won’t be living here after I leave the camp.” Ethan looked at the folded paper in my hand, as if suddenly remembering. “Oh, right. I almost forgot about that.” “Don’t worry, Grace. I’ll go sign my dropout form tomorrow.” Since Lily’s arrival, Ethan and I hadn’t walked together like this in a long time. Suppressing the lingering bitterness, I tested him. “Do we really need to go through all this trouble for each other?” Ethan went quiet for a moment. “Grace, actually, I…” “Ethan!” Lily suddenly appeared from behind, carrying a stack of training notebooks. She ran up and pouted at him. “You promised to help me with my combat skills. Why did you disappear?” She handed him the notebooks. “I saw that your tutoring schedule for me goes on for the next two months, so I brought the materials.” She winked playfully. “You won’t get mad at me for looking through your stuff, right?” “Of course not…” Ethan’s smile was strained. He shot me a guilty look. Seeing that I had absolutely no reaction, a flash of disappointment crossed his face. Ah. So while you were pushing me away, you were already planning a future with someone else. But that future never included me. I forced myself to stay calm, though a wave of bitterness washed over me. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay clear-headed. “You two have fun. I’m leaving.” Lily acted as if she had just noticed me, gasping in exaggeration. “Grace, Grace…” “Are you mad because Ethan is training with me?” “But I’m just a normal wolf. I don’t have natural talent like you…” As she spoke, she started sobbing again. I had no patience for her drama. “Move.” The tiny bit of guilt in Ethan’s eyes vanished. He grabbed my wrist, his voice rising in anger. “Grace, what is wrong with your attitude?” He yanked me toward Lily and yelled, “Apologize to Lily right now!” The last piece of my heart shattered into dust. Without any hesitation, I raised my hand and slapped Ethan hard across the face. “Ethan, the only person who needs to apologize here is you.” “And not to Lily. To me.”

I went home and threw out every single thing Ethan had ever given me. The necklace he gave me for my coming-of-age ceremony—I had only worn it once before I saw it on Lily’s neck. She had smiled and said, “Ethan said good things should be shared.” The limited-edition teddy bear—he said he liked my perfume on it and took it. The next day, it was sitting on Lily’s desk. And the heels, the scented candles… I used to think I was special to him. Now I realized I was just his free supplier. I thought about how protective he was of Lily, always putting her first. I let out a dry laugh. None of this trash mattered anymore. I finalized my route to the advanced training camp for the next morning. Before leaving, I went to the camp’s bulletin board, ripped down my name card from the third-place spot, and tossed it into the trash can. Then, I went back to my place to spend my last quiet night. At 2:00 AM, my phone rang. I answered it half-asleep. The other end was silent for a few seconds. Just as I was about to hang up, Ethan’s voice came through. “Grace, I’m sorry.” I woke up instantly. I thought he was finally going to tell me the truth. But then he said, “Lily got hurt. I can’t leave her alone. I’ll sign the dropout papers once she’s better…” My heart leaped into my throat, then crashed violently to the ground. I wanted to scream: *What about me? What about the bruises and beatings I took for you this past month? Did they mean nothing?* Ethan’s voice kept going. “Just apologize to her.” I thought I misheard him. “What did you say?” Ethan’s voice was firm. “Grace, you really need to apologize to Lily.” “Are you going to tell me her getting hurt had nothing to do with you?” I was completely speechless. I finally realized that as long as Lily was around, every breath I took was a crime in his eyes. Ethan spoke again, his voice as cold as ice. “Grace, you’re really disappointing me.” “If you apologize, I can pretend none of this happened.” “Are you really going to let your pride ruin our years of friendship?” I heard the threat in his voice. But instead of pain or anger, I felt nothing but disgust. I hung up, blocked his number, and deleted his contact. I didn’t want to think about him anymore. The scenery at the advanced training camp was fresh and beautiful. Someone immediately took my bags. I looked up and locked eyes with the heir of the Taylor Pack. “Grace, long time no see.” I smiled and reached out. “Long time no see, Daniels.” My phone buzzed, interrupting our greeting. I looked down and saw it was a call from one of Ethan’s friends. Confused, I answered. Ethan’s frantic voice came through the speaker. “Grace, where the hell are you?” “Why is everyone in the basic camp saying they haven’t seen you?”

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When I found the text messages between my boyfriend, Alpha Daniel, and a strange girl, I didn’t hesitate. I walked straight up to him and shoved the phone in his face, demanding an explanation. After a long, heavy silence, he finally confessed. “She’s an Omega I met when I visited the Southfall Pack… I admit, I was momentarily distracted by her.” “But Emily, you are the only one I want as my Luna. I swear, I’ll keep my distance from her from now on.” Looking into Daniel’s pleading eyes, I swallowed my heartbreak. I chose to forgive him, letting our mate ceremony proceed as planned. But on that day, in front of the entire pack, Gamma Zachary suddenly burst into the hall. “Alpha Daniel! Sophia found out about the ceremony. She just slit her wrists with a silver dagger!” The ring dropped onto the floor with a sharp clatter. Daniel bolted for the door without a second thought. With tears welling up in my eyes, I screamed at his retreating back, “Daniel! If you walk out that door today, we are over!” His footsteps paused for a fraction of a second, but he still left the ceremony hall without looking back. In the end, he broke his promise. ***

The ceremony hall fell into chaos. The guests’ whispers felt like sharp needles stabbing into my ears. Our parents rushed over, completely lost as to what was happening. Zachary stood to the side, looking helpless, his face flushed red. “Emily… Sophia, she’s Alpha Daniel’s fated mate. He saved her life last time when she tried to slit her wrists. She’s completely dependent on him. Only Daniel can calm her down… You know how the fated mate bond works. He had no choice. Please, don’t blame him…” Zachary had been with the pack for three years. He had always been respectful, greeting me with a warm smile. But now, he didn’t even have the courage to look me in the eye. I didn’t know how many things he had helped Daniel hide from me, or what kind of mess Daniel had gotten into with that girl, Sophia. A sharp, stabbing pain spread through my chest. I felt the bitter sting of Daniel’s betrayal. My parents held my hands, frantic. “What on earth is going on? Isn’t he supposed to be completing the ceremony? What kind of emergency could possibly drag him away right now?” The Elder Alpha, guilt-ridden, tried to mind-link Daniel, only to realize he had blocked the link. So, he pulled out his phone and dialed Daniel’s number, repeating anxiously, “Don’t worry, Emily. I’ll call that brat back right now. If he dares ignore me, I’ll teach him a lesson he won’t forget!” The ring lay on the red carpet, kicked aside by the bustling crowd. It looked just like my shattered heart. I stood there frozen, my heavy gown dragging on the floor like a wilted flower after a storm. I had dreamed of this ceremony a thousand times. I never thought it would end in such humiliation. An Alpha abandoning his Luna in the middle of a crowded hall for another girl. For five long hours, we called him a hundred and eight times. Daniel didn’t answer once. I watched my phone screen light up and fade, over and over, until it finally went black. The sunlight streamed through the windows, casting cold, mocking shadows on my empty ring finger. The guests gradually dispersed, leaving behind scattered confetti and half-eaten food. Inside me, my wolf was howling, wanting to tear him apart. Then she mocked me, blaming me for wasting so much time on him instead of finding my own fated mate. Suddenly, the world began to spin. The last thing I heard before blacking out was my mother’s panicked scream. When I opened my eyes again, the scent of herbal medicine filled the air. The healer saw me waking up and said softly, “You’re eating for two now. You can’t let your emotions get the best of you. Take care of yourself.” I stared at the ceiling, tears flowing silently. Daniel and I grew up together. From the age of seventeen, when I accepted his token at a pack gathering, to the busy days after he became Alpha when we barely saw each other, to the day of his coronation when he held me with red eyes and whispered, “I will protect the pack, and I will always protect you.” Seven years of memories flashed through my mind like a fast-forwarded movie. I looked at my parents and Daniel’s parents, who couldn’t hide their excitement about the baby. I smiled bitterly, tears stinging my eyes. How was I going to explain to them that this seven-year relationship had reached its end? ***

At seven in the evening, Daniel finally showed up after being missing for six hours. His face was pale, and his eyes were filled with guilt. “Emily, I’m sorry,” his voice was hoarse. “Sophia… she’s my fated mate. I couldn’t just watch her die. It’s my responsibility.” Swallowing the bitterness in my throat, I couldn’t help but ask, “Fated mate? If you found your fated mate, why did you still want to go through with our ceremony?” “And she chose today of all days to slit her wrists? Demanding you go to her? What is she trying to pull?” “Daniel, I am not an idiot.” After a long silence, he took my cold hand, his voice cracking. “Emily, in these seven years, I’ve never begged you for anything. Just this once, I beg you, don’t let this get out. Don’t let it ruin Sophia’s reputation, okay? She’s my fated mate, and she’s just a fragile Omega. I don’t think she can handle the pack’s judgment.” Looking at the desperation in his eyes, my heart felt squeezed so tight I could barely breathe. He shouldn’t be begging for her. He should be apologizing to me. A person’s first instinct never lies. He hadn’t thought about how humiliated I was at the ceremony hall. He hadn’t worried about why I ended up in the clinic. The moment he opened his mouth, it was all about Sophia. My tears fell like broken strings, soaking into the white bedsheets. It took everything I had to squeeze out one word. “Okay.” He visibly relaxed and added, “Sophia is mentally unstable because of the ceremony. Let’s postpone our ceremony for now.” “I’ll spend some time helping her through her therapy. Once she’s doing better… maybe in three months, we’ll have our ceremony. What do you think?” Daniel’s voice was cautious, testing the waters. I had waited seven years. Another three months shouldn’t have mattered. But as I looked at his concern for another woman, I realized I couldn’t wait even another three seconds. The little life in my womb seemed to feel my grief, shifting slightly. I gently touched my abdomen. A six-week-old life was growing inside me. It was ours, yet it felt like he had nothing to do with it anymore. I slowly pulled my hand away, my voice as dead as still water. “Daniel.” “I don’t have the best memory, but I still remember when you were seventeen. You gave me your token at the pack bonfire, and you were so nervous you couldn’t even walk straight.” “I remember the first time you held my hand. Your palm was so sweaty, but you didn’t let go for blocks.” “I remember the day you became Alpha. You held me and promised to protect me forever, saying you’d make me the happiest mate in the world.” “Through all these years, you remembered that I hate onions, and you knew every little habit of mine… I genuinely believed you cherished me above all else.” I looked up at him, my tears spilling over. “But today, I can’t feel your love anymore…” As seven years of memories rushed through us, Daniel’s eyes reddened. His throat bobbed, and a single tear escaped. “But Emily, Sophia is my fated mate. She needs me right now.” That single phrase, *fated mate*, completely crushed my last shred of hope. I looked at him and suddenly smiled through my tears. “Then go to her.” He froze, clearly not expecting me to let go so easily. But in the end, he said nothing. He turned and left the room. ***

The next morning, as I packed my things to leave the clinic, I bumped into Daniel at the corner of the hallway. His eyes weren’t on me. All his attention was focused on the girl beside him. She was wearing a patient gown, looking pale and fragile, clinging to him like a frightened little deer. So, this was the girl who made him abandon me at our own ceremony. Perhaps my gaze was too heavy, because Sophia noticed me first. She instinctively shrank behind Daniel, her fingers gripping his coat. Only then did Daniel look up. His brows furrowed immediately, his tone laced with impatience. “Emily, Sophia is very fragile right now. Let’s talk at home. Don’t make a scene here and scare her.” Sophia peeked out from behind him, her voice barely a whisper. “Emily, there’s nothing going on between Daniel and me… Please don’t misunderstand.” I gripped my medical report, my knuckles turning white, but I forced a smile. “You’re overthinking. I’m just here to get my prescription from the healer.” With that, I ignored them and walked past. Daniel’s expression flickered with confusion. He hadn’t expected me to be this calm, and a sudden emptiness seemed to wash over him. He reached out to grab me. I instinctively turned, and my eyes fell on the dirt smudge on his jacket. His eyes followed mine. Seeing me shrink back, he took off his jacket and tried to drape it over my shoulders, but I dodged him. He froze, then tried to take my bag. “Let me carry that. Since you love this jacket so much, I’ll take it back and have it dry-cleaned for you.” I shook my head and threw the jacket straight into a nearby trash can, my voice flat. “Just throw it away. I don’t like things that are stained. You know I’m a perfectionist.” Seeing my cold face, Daniel’s smile stiffened. He knew I wasn’t just talking about the jacket. I was talking about us. Before he could say another word, I turned and walked away. Not long after I left the clinic, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Daniel: *Don’t be mad at me. I ordered those chocolate tarts you love from that bakery downtown. Make sure to eat them.* When the delivery arrived, I stared at the familiar pink box and smiled bitterly. In the past, whenever he made me angry, he would always buy these tarts to coax me. I took a bite mechanically. It used to taste so sweet. Now, it just tasted like ash. Daniel didn’t come home that night. Ending a seven-year relationship was far more painful than I had imagined. I couldn’t sleep. By midnight, I got out of bed and started packing my things. The matching hoodies in the closet, the photo frames lined up on the bookshelf, the sticky notes on the fridge… Every single item felt like a thorn covered in memories. I remembered the year Daniel had just become Alpha. He was drowning in work. Yet, he would still run to see me during his few hours off, his eyes shining like stars. “Emily, once I get the pack settled, we’ll have our mate ceremony.” Three years later, he stood before me with a diamond ring, his voice trembling. “I did it. I built us a home. I kept my promise.” The sun was so bright that day. I held him and cried for a long time, believing I was the luckiest girl alive. We decorated our house together, planting sunflowers on the balcony because I loved them. He said he wanted our home to always be filled with sunshine. But now, this house had no room left for me. By the time I taped up the last moving box, the sky was turning gray. When the moving truck arrived, both of our families showed up. I hadn’t told my parents about Daniel yet, so they still didn’t understand why a couple who was supposed to be mated two days ago was suddenly splitting up. My parents sighed but didn’t push. They only said, “If you want to come home, just come home.” But Linda held my hand, refusing to let go. “Emily, please give Daniel another chance, okay? What happened at the ceremony… he was just confused…” I remained silent, letting the movers carry the boxes. Just as Linda was about to beg further, the front door opened. Daniel walked in. And he brought Sophia with him. ***

She was wearing Daniel’s jacket, clinging to his arm like a lost puppy. The living room fell into a suffocating silence. All eyes locked onto them. Linda’s voice trembled. “Daniel… did you… did you betray Emily?” Robert was shaking with anger. “Who is this girl?!” Daniel didn’t answer. He swept his eyes over the empty living room before locking onto me. “You’re moving out?” “Yes,” I replied calmly. “Back to my parents’ house.” He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “Okay. I’ll come pick you up before our next ceremony.” He took a deep breath and gently pulled Sophia to his side, his arm instinctively protective around her waist. “This is Sophia, my fated mate. Her mental state is very fragile right now. I can’t just leave her alone.” He didn’t look at me when he said this. His tone carried a sense of entitlement, as if this explanation should make everything okay. Sophia stood timidly beside him, her fingers clutching his sleeve, her head bowed in silence. Linda looked at me with a conflicted expression. “Emily, maybe… we should all sit down and talk this through?” Just as I was about to refuse, Sophia suddenly spoke up, a flash of provocation in her eyes. “Why don’t you stay, Emily? The more, the merrier, right?” *Slap!* The sharp sound of a slap echoed through the room. My eyes widened in shock as I watched my mother strike Sophia across the face. “Sarah!” Robert gasped. My mother glared at them, her eyes red and her voice shaking violently. “I carried Emily for nine months. Do you think I don’t know my own daughter?” “She has been with you since she was seventeen, Daniel! She is twenty-four now! Seven years! For you, she turned down the Beta position at the Silver Creek Pack just to stay here and manage your pack affairs. She learned how to cook your favorite meals, and she knows where every single pair of your socks is… If her heart weren’t completely broken, would she be leaving?” “I never demanded she marry into extreme wealth, but you abandoned her at your own mate ceremony for some Omega, and today you have the nerve to bring her into our home? As her mother, I will not stand for this!” “If Emily won’t stand up for herself, I will do it for her!” My mother’s words hit me like thunder, making my eyes burn. Sophia held her cheek, tears welling in her eyes, but she didn’t dare make a sound. Daniel immediately blocked her, his face dark and menacing. “Emily! How old are you? Still running to your parents to fight your battles…” Before he could finish, I stepped forward and slapped him hard across the face. “Daniel, you are the one who deserves this the most!” After the slap, I grabbed a piece of paper from the coffee table drawer and threw it at him. It was my medical report. “Do you want to know what my biggest regret is?” Daniel picked up the paper. The moment he read the words, his pupils shrunk. “Emily… you’re pregnant?” Looking at the sudden joy lighting up Daniel’s eyes as he rushed toward me, shouting, “I’m going to be a father!” I felt a wave of disgust. He forgot Sophia standing right there. He forgot his abandonment at the ceremony. He forgot his cold shoulder over the past few days. He behaved as if a baby could magically erase all his sins. But how could those nights of tears, those moments of being abandoned, and my shattered heart be forgotten? I shoved him away with all my strength, screaming with tears in my eyes: “You’re celebrating too early!” “Yesterday, when you were begging me to help you protect Sophia, I booked an appointment to terminate the pregnancy.”

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