Author: Momo Chan

My stepsister Vivian came sobbing to my three older brothers and my fiancé, telling them she could see the Comments. She said the Comments had told her I suffered from persecutory delusional disorder, and that at my eighteenth birthday gala my condition would worsen and I would strangle her to death with my own hands. Even the doctor said Vivian had suffered a shock and was hallucinating. But no one believed I wasn’t sick. They think I should be sent to a mental hospital, as Vivian suggested. Julian, my eldest brother, signed the Involuntary Commitment Form on the spot. Ethan, my second brother, called ahead to a private psychiatric facility. Caleb, my third brother, and my fiancé Sebastian Hayes personally dragged me inside as I cried and begged. “It’s only a year.” “Once Vivian gets through her birthday safely, we’ll bring you home.” But every time the day came to bring me home, Vivian cried and said the Comments were still there. One year became three. Inside the facility, they forced pills down my throat. Every time I denied being sick, they ordered another round of ECT. By the end, all it took was hearing the name Vivian Lockhart, and I would drop to my knees and confess. Three years later, Vivian finally said the Comments were gone. Only then did my three brothers and Sebastian come to collect me. Then did they finally come to take me home. Sebastian held out his hand. “She’s safe now. You’re home. It’s time we got married.” But at the word home, I dropped to my knees and hid my hands behind my back. “I confess.” “I wanted to kill Vivian Lockhart.” “Please don’t shock me anymore.” They froze in stunned silence. Sebastian’s outstretched hand froze in midair, his face drained of color. They all thought Vivian was the one who could see the Comments. But when I lifted my head, a line only I could see was drifting across my vision. 【Life Countdown: 7 Days.】 【When the countdown ends, you may return to your original world.】 *** Vivian couldn’t see the Comments at all. I was the one who could. This world, to me, was nothing more than a livestream someone was watching. I didn’t belong here. Seven more days, and I could go back to my real home. In the car on the way back, Sebastian sat beside me. Several times he reached for my hand. The moment his fingertips brushed mine, I pulled my hands behind my back, lowered my head, and waited for him to fasten the restraint straps. Every treatment at the facility had started exactly that way. No struggling. No arguing. Never look the doctor in the eye, or they’d turn the current up. Sebastian looked at the layered scars on my wrists, and his eyes went red. “Never again.” “No one is ever going to lock you up or hurt you again.” Three years ago, he had said the same thing. And then he had personally forced me into the transport van. The car pulled up in front of the Lockhart house. Julian told me they had renovated the entire ground floor to welcome me home. But when the door opened, what I saw wasn’t a bedroom. It was a Seclusion Room. Transparent isolation door. Twenty-four-hour surveillance. A lock that could only be opened from the outside. A narrow meal slot cut into the wall. Not a single mirror, pane of glass, or sharp object inside. Identical to the room where I had lived for three years. Julian followed my gaze and explained under his breath. “Vivian only just confirmed the Comments are gone.” “We can’t take away all the safety measures at once.” My old bedroom had become Vivian’s walk-in closet. The racks were full of her dresses. The piano my mother had left me was buried under her unopened gifts. Caleb said quietly. “Vivian has had nightmares for three years.” “She can only sleep in your room, where she can be sure you aren’t there.” “She’s used to it now. Just let her have it.” That evening’s welcome dinner, Sebastian had wanted me at the table with everyone else. I sat down, but I didn’t touch the silverware. At the facility, you only ate after the bell rang. Reaching early counted as trying to steal food. Ethan placed a piece of fish on my plate. “This used to be your favorite.” “You’re home now. You don’t have to wait. Eat whenever you want.” I was staring at the fish, had just picked up my fork, when footsteps came down the staircase. Vivian was coming down. The moment she saw me, the color drained from her face. “The Comments…” She clutched her chest, her voice trembling. “The Comments say Elise is going to poison the soup.” The dining room went silent. Every dish had been prepared by the household staff. I hadn’t gone near the kitchen since I came home. Julian knew perfectly well it was impossible. He still set down his silverware. “If Vivian is afraid, then we check.” Ethan took my plate away and carefully searched my pockets. “It’s a routine check.” “Just cooperate.” Caleb crouched beside me, his eyes rimmed red. “Vivian only just started getting better.” “Be good one more time. For me?” In the end, it was Sebastian who guided me into the Seclusion Room. When we were children, some classmates had once locked me in a supply closet. He was the one who broke down the door and carried me out, exhausted from crying. Back then, he had said. “As long as I’m here, I’ll never let anyone lock you away again.” Now, he closed the transparent isolation door himself. He even bent down to check the lock twice. “Just a few days.” “When Vivian isn’t afraid anymore, I’ll let you out.” Through the transparent glass, I watched them go back to the dinner table. Vivian sat in what used to be my seat. My three brothers gathered around her, coaxing her not to be afraid. Sebastian gently rubbed her back. Vivian, eyes wet, had the staff pass my food through the meal slot. “Even through the door, Elise is having this family dinner with us.” Everyone praised how kind she was. When the lights in the Seclusion Room went out, everything went black. I hugged my knees and curled up quietly in the corner. The Comments drifted into view again. 【Life Countdown: 6 Days.】 For the first time, I wasn’t afraid of being locked in. It was fine. Six more days, and I would go home. I would leave this world for good.

Two days later, Caleb said he wanted to make up for the debutante ball I had missed by three years. He had a gown sent over, and told me sorrowfully. “Every birthday you missed in these three years, I’ll make it up to you.” But when I arrived at the venue, I saw what was written on the invitations. 【A Celebration for Vivian Lockhart.】 Julian’s tone was calm. “Vivian was tormented by the Comments for three years.” “Now that the Comments are gone, our friends and family want to celebrate her coming of age.” “Your debutante ball fits in perfectly. It’s festive, and it clears up any misunderstandings people have about the Lockhart family.” Vivian sat at the center of the head table with Sebastian beside her. My three brothers took turns serving her food and deflecting toasts. My seat was in the corner nearest the exit. No porcelain in front of me. No knife. Just the plastic bowl and spoon the facility used to prevent patients from hurting anyone. Julian noticed and offered a mild explanation. “Our friends don’t know yet that you’ve recovered.” “Better safe than sorry, so everyone can relax.” Once the reception began, a relative asked me where I’d been for the past three years. Vivian’s face went pale. She grabbed Sebastian’s sleeve. “The Comments are back.” “They say the death prophecy won’t disappear until Elise publicly admits she was ill, and admits she wanted to kill me.” Julian had someone open the livestream on the Lockhart family’s official account. Ethan set a sedative on the table. “Don’t get worked up.” “Lose control now, and everyone will think you aren’t really better.” Caleb handed me a confession Vivian had prepared in advance and coached me through it line by line. Sebastian personally placed the microphone in front of me. “Cooperate, get through it, and the past is wiped clean.” “Once you’re fully recovered, I’ll still marry you.” I lifted my head and looked at Julian. In high school, someone had spread a rumor that I had cheated on an exam. He had reviewed every second of school surveillance overnight. And in front of the entire school he had said. “No one bears a false name against the Lockhart family.” Now, to clear Vivian’s name, he was asking me to destroy my own with my own mouth. The camera zoomed in on my face. Viewers in the comment section were already pressing for answers. I held the scripted confession, my fingers trembling badly. Caleb settled a hand on my shoulder. His touch was gentle, but his fingertips slowly tightened. “Just like they taught you at the hospital.” “Read it well.” The blinding lights, the cold restraint straps, the sound of electric current, all rushed back into my mind. I didn’t dare hesitate. I opened my mouth to the camera and spoke mechanically. “I suffer from persecutory delusional disorder.” “I once tried to harm Vivian Lockhart.” “My three brothers committed me to save my life.” “Every treatment over these three years was voluntary.” “Vivian has never lied.” The moment I finished, the comment section flooded with abuse. Some called me a psychopath who had tried to commit murder. Some praised Vivian’s kindness, saying it was incredible she could forgive the sister who had tried to kill her. Others said the Lockhart family had already gone above and beyond by taking me back. Vivian sobbed and threw herself into Sebastian’s arms. “I don’t have to be afraid anymore.” My three brothers were surrounded by guests. Everyone praised them for standing by me for three years, for being so devoted to their ill sister. Once the livestream ended, Julian had the confession video pinned permanently to the top of the account. Vivian watched the view count climb, and a faint smile flickered in her eyes. The next moment, she was clutching Sebastian’s sleeve again. “The Comments say…” “Elise’s confession just now was also an act.” Four faces changed at once. And the real Comments only I could see slowly drifted into view. 【Life Countdown: 4 Days.】

Vivian said as long as I still remembered the grudge from three years ago, I would come back and kill her. The only solution the Comments offered was to make me forget her completely. That same night, Julian took me back to the facility. The director read through my treatment history from the past three years and, for the first time, refused. “She has already received prolonged, excessive treatment.” “Any more high-intensity ECT or pharmacological intervention could cause permanent memory loss and language deterioration.” “In severe cases, she may not even recognize her own family.” Julian was silent for a long time. In the end, he picked up the pen and signed his name on the High-Risk Treatment Consent Form. “Memory can come back over time.” “Vivian only has one life.” Ethan, a doctor, knew perfectly well there was no medical indication for treatment, and still signed off in the signed off on the medical recommendation. Caleb held me, begging through his tears. “Be good one last time.” “When the treatment is done, I swear I’ll take you home.” Only Sebastian didn’t agree right away. He blocked the door to the treatment room, and for the first time his voice carried real anger. “We’ve already destroyed three years of her life.” “This can’t go on.” I thought that maybe this time, at last, he was going to choose me. Then Vivian’s call came through. She sobbed into the phone. “If Elise forgets Sebastian, won’t she hate me even more?” Then she swallowed the sleeping pills she had hidden in advance. Not a lethal dose. But enough to strip all four of them of any remaining reason. Sebastian was silent for a long time, then walked over to me. He slid the ring off my finger. “Just forget the hatred.” “Even if you forget me, I’ll make you fall in love with me all over again.” Then he lifted me himself onto the treatment bed, and the cold restraint straps closed around my wrists and ankles. Before the treatment began, I handed Ethan the photograph my mother had left me. “Keep it safe for me.” “Don’t lose it.” When the current hit, my body arched violently. The pain tore through my skull. I wanted to scream stop, but only broken sobs came out of my throat. Through the glass, I could see my three brothers and Sebastian standing outside. Caleb was crying with a hand over his mouth. Ethan turned his face away. Julian’s fists were clenched white. Sebastian raised his hand several times, as if to shove the treatment room door open. But messages kept coming from Vivian. 【The Comments are fading.】 【Just hold on a little longer.】 【Elise won’t hate me for much longer.】 Not one of them hit the stop button. When it was over, I woke up in the hospital bed. Ethan held the photograph in front of me. “Elise, do you know who this is?” I stared at the woman in the picture for a long time. Her smile was very gentle. I couldn’t remember who she was. In the end, all I could do was shake my head, lost. Caleb broke down sobbing on the spot. Sebastian took my hand again. “What about me?” “Do you remember me?” I flinched, pulled my hand back, and hid both behind me. “Doctor.” “I’ll cooperate with the treatment.” His face went white in an instant. They had wanted me to forget the hatred for Vivian. What they erased instead was every trace of the fact that I had ever loved them. Even so, Vivian said the Comments hadn’t disappeared entirely. Julian decided to keep me in for further observation. When the lights went out in the ward, I lay on the cold bed. The last day of the countdown appeared before my eyes. 【Life Countdown: 1 Day.】

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I was finishing a handmade anniversary gift for my husband, Dominic, when my second-in-command brought me our son Marco’s drawing titled My Family. In the center, Dominic and a brown-haired woman kissed Marco’s cheeks. At the edge stood a blond woman like me, labeled Fake Mommy. The gift slipped from my hands. I ran to Marco’s room and heard him bragging to a classmate. “You only have one mom, but I have two. The fake mom at home takes care of me and Daddy—she’s like an unpaid babysitter.” “My real mom is far away doing important things. She’s the one my dad and I really love.” I clutched the drawing, my fingers shaking. Dominic appeared behind me. The moment he saw the drawing, he tried to rip it from my hands. “Marco’s just messing around. Maybe he drew one of his teachers.” I didn’t let go. Dominic’s reaction told me Marco might actually be telling the truth. I was the fake mommy—then who was the real one, and where was the child I’d actually given birth to? … “Serena? What are you spacing out about?” Dominic waved a hand in front of my face. “It’s our tenth anniversary. What did you get me?” I looked at him in silence, then reached into my bag and pulled out the velvet box I’d been carrying all day. He couldn’t wait to lift the lid. Inside lay the Beretta I’d prepared for him myself—mother-of-pearl grip, engraved with his initials. In our world, a weapon meant trust. It meant entrusting your very life to another person. “God, Serena. It’s beautiful.” He pulled me into his arms and kissed my cheek. “Lock it in the safe for me, would you?” I took the gun back. The cold metal sat heavy in my palm. I had never forgotten a single anniversary or birthday. I always chose something for him. He had never once done the same for me. I had always told myself that was just the kind of man he was: someone who expressed love through presence rather than ceremony. But then I remembered what Marco had said. “Dad loves giving Real Mommy presents. He says picking out a gift for the person you love is more important than the gift itself.” A child’s innocent chatter. But each word dragged across my chest like a dull blade. So it wasn’t that he didn’t know how to show love. It was that his love had never been meant for me. “Dominic.” My voice came out strained. I held his gaze, giving him one final chance to tell me the truth. “I’m going to ask you once. Is there anything you’re keeping from me?” His body stiffened for just a fraction of a second. Then he turned, his expression shifting to impatience. “Serena, are you really questioning my loyalty over a child’s drawing?” “The kid scribbled something on a piece of paper, and you’re turning it into an accusation?” I opened my mouth to say more, but he had already walked away, disappearing into the bedroom and shutting the door behind him. I watched his retreating back and felt, for the first time in ten years, just how vast the distance between us truly was. Years of protecting his pride had made Dominic forget who I was. I was Don Enzo Valentini’s only daughter, the woman he had publicly named as his successor. Dominic had married into our power. He had never owned it. That night, Dominic fell asleep quickly. I slipped out of bed and padded barefoot toward his study. In ten years, I had never once set foot inside that room uninvited—only because he had once said he wanted a space where he could handle his own affairs alone. But tonight, I pushed the door open. The study was spare enough to take in at a glance. I walked straight toward the safe—then stopped short at the sight of a framed photograph on the desk. It was a portrait of the three of us. Our family. A study I had never set foot in—and yet a family photo sat on the desk. Was I imagining things after all? Marco was just a child. It was nothing but a few careless words. I picked up the frame, my fingertips brushing lightly over the man’s face in the photograph. And then, the backing of the frame suddenly came loose. My heart plummeted. Before I could react, my hands had already pried the frame open. A photograph slid out from inside. It showed the same man—but the woman was different. She had long brown hair, the same color as the hair in Marco’s drawing. With trembling hands, I turned the photograph over. It was Dominic’s handwriting—unmistakably his: Natalia—no matter whose ring sits on my finger, my heart will always belong to you. The date was the day before our wedding.

The next morning, I dropped Marco off at St. Xavier’s, watched him disappear behind the oak doors, and then called Valentina from the car. Val had been with me since I was sixteen—not just my assistant, but the second-in-command my father, Don Enzo, had personally chosen to stand beside me when I inherited the family. “Val. Pull Dominic’s communication records. Last six months. Every call, every text.” By evening, a sealed envelope sat on my desk at the Red Hook office. I opened it. Hundreds of entries. And I saw it at once—a New Jersey number, recurring like a pulse. Always between midnight and three a.m. Calls ranging from fifteen minutes to over an hour. I noted the number and locked the records in the drawer. Dominic came home late that night, reeking of whiskey. “Business with Caruso’s people.” He kissed my forehead and disappeared into the bathroom. His phone was left on the nightstand. I tried our wedding anniversary. Wrong. His birthday, Marco’s birthday—wrong. Then, with a bitterness rising in my throat like bile, I entered the date written on the back of the photograph. The screen unlocked. The carrier records showed dozens of calls to the New Jersey number. His phone showed none. He had deleted every trace. I entered the number into a messaging app. A profile page opened. The avatar was a photo of a sunset—perfectly ordinary. But the banner image showed the silhouettes of three people against a golden dusk—two adults, a small child between them, walking hand in hand along a shoreline. The man’s face was hidden, but the Valentini signet ring on his right hand caught the light. It was Dominic. I set the phone back exactly as I’d found it, locked myself in the other bathroom, and gripped the edge of the sink until my arms stopped shaking. Then I walked into Marco’s room. He was asleep, curled up, clutching his stuffed bear. Dominic always said Marco had my eyes, my smile. But when I really looked now—there wasn’t a trace of me in that face. Carefully, I plucked a few strands of hair from his scalp, roots and all, and sent them, along with a sample of my own, to a private forensic lab. Three to five business days for results. Those days stretched on like years. That week, Dominic began coming home later and later. Tony wanted to renegotiate. Sal’s crew had a problem. The meeting with Caruso ran long. Every excuse delivered with easy composure. But one thing changed: every night before he left, he stood in front of the mirror, smoothing his hair, switching cologne, changing shirts twice. He had never done that for me. One evening, the moment he pulled out of the driveway, I quietly followed. Dominic drove south, deep into New Jersey, then turned into the Pine Barrens—down a dirt road, all the way to a small cabin nestled in the woods. I knew this land. It belonged to the Valentini family. My father used to hold meetings at that cabin—meetings that could never take place anywhere that might be bugged. Dominic parked. A woman stepped out of the cabin. Even from that distance, I recognized her at once. The white sundress had been replaced by a beige coat, but the face was exactly the same. The woman from the photograph. He took the handbag from her shoulder with practiced familiarity, his other hand settling at her waist. He bent his head and murmured something in her ear. Even in the dim light, I could see the color rise in her cheeks. Together, they walked into the cabin. My phone buzzed. An email from the lab. My hand was shaking so badly I could barely open the attachment. I skipped past the methodology, the graphs, straight to the last page. Serena Valentini is excluded as the biological mother of Sample B (Marco Valentini). One sentence. The child I had raised for six years. The child I had held through fevers, the child I had soothed to sleep. Not mine. I shoved the car door open and threw up on the gravel. When the retching stopped, I sat back and stared at the cabin. My father’s cabin. My family’s land. He was fucking her on Valentini ground. Suddenly, I remembered the day I gave birth. Just as my contractions began, the private clinic I had arranged with in advance was attacked by a rival family. My contractions were only minutes apart, and my guards had rushed me to the nearest maternity hospital—a chaotic, understaffed place full of strangers. So on the day Marco was born, I had my family’s own doctor personally collect DNA samples from both of us, and I sent them, under his direct supervision, to a private lab. I even had one of my men stationed outside the nursery, twenty-four hours a day. The maternity test confirmed that the baby was mine. Then how could the boy I had raised for six years carry another woman’s blood? Unless—the report had been forged from the very beginning. Unless Dominic had already bought off the doctor, the nurse, and the lab technician before I ever held that baby in my arms. Unless every precaution I had taken had already been factored into their plan. Dominic had switched my child. I had to find him. And every traitor was going to pay.

I took out my phone and called Val. My voice was terrifyingly calm. “Two things. First—dig up everything on a woman named Natalia Ferro, and every connection between her and Marco. Second—find my son. At any cost. Whatever it takes.” “Understood.” The call ended. For the next several days, I wore a mask that would have made even my father proud. I smiled at Dominic across the breakfast table, asked him how his day had gone, and didn’t flinch when he kissed me goodbye. But at night, I moved into the guest room at the end of the hall—my excuse a persistent migraine and a draining project. He watched me with those blue eyes of his but said nothing. Good. Let him keep believing everything was fine. A week later, Val laid a sealed envelope on my desk. “We recovered DNA from a coffee cup Natalia discarded at a café in Hoboken. The lab compared it with Marco’s retained sample. She’s his biological mother.” I had been expecting it, but the moment the final confirmation was in my hand, the pain still cut like a knife. Six years. Every goodnight kiss, every scraped knee, every birthday cake—every ounce of love I had poured out had gone to a child carrying another woman’s blood. And then the more terrible truth hit me. Marco hadn’t just been raised as my son—he had been formally presented to the entire family as the grandson of Don Enzo Valentini. Everyone believed he would inherit the family after me. “One more thing.” Val’s jaw tightened. “Natalia Ferro was admitted to the same maternity ward that night—the same night you gave birth. She delivered a boy a few hours after you did. The emergency contact listed on her admission form was Dominic Valentini.” “And her child? What happened to him?” “Official records show he died on the third day. Heart failure.” The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place—one dark truth strung after another, like beads on a string. Val’s voice went on. “There was a nurse working in the ward that night. Her name was Agnes Russo. She left the hospital soon afterward and later entered a convent on Staten Island. ” “Take me to her.” … Two days later, I sat across from Sister Agnes in the Sacred Heart Convent. She was very old, her eyes cloudy, but the guilt of years shone through them. “Tell me what happened that night.” She drew a trembling breath. “Two women went into labor that night, almost at the same time. You delivered a healthy baby boy first. The other one—Miss Ferro—had a harder labor, but her child was born alive too. I held him myself. He was small, but he was breathing.” Her voice dropped. “Then your husband arrived. He sent the guards away, spoke to the doctor alone, and I saw an envelope change hands. And then, with my own eyes, I watched that woman lift your baby out of the bassinet with her own hands, and put her child in his place.” The room fell into a dead silence. “My son. What did they do to him?” “They said he had died. But I saw that woman walk out of the hospital that night carrying a living child.” Her voice broke. “Dominic paid me to keep quiet. I took the money. May God forgive me.” Val and I sat in the car in silence for a long time. “Find him. Alive or dead, bring me the truth.” … Three days later, Val called at two in the morning. “Found him. A Catholic orphanage in rural Pennsylvania—St. Michael’s Home for Boys. Six years ago, an infant boy was left there. No name, no listed parents. The timing matches down to the day.” I left that night. Four hours of dark highway, the needle pinned at a hundred. By six in the morning, I was being led into a small walled courtyard. Children were playing in the pale morning light. My eyes moved across face after face. And then I saw him. In the farthest corner, a small figure curled against the wall. Knees drawn to his chest, drowned in a sweater three sizes too big, the cuffs falling past his hands—hands blue with cold. The nun followed my gaze and let out a soft sigh. “When he was brought to us six years ago, he was wrapped in a blanket marked Holy Cross Hospital. He was only a few days old, badly dehydrated, and covered in bruises.” Even across that courtyard, I knew him at once—the shape of that face, the set of those eyes, the line of that jaw. He was mine. My son. He had spent six years in that cold, forgotten corner—while I had poured all my love into another woman’s child. I bit down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. Dominic. Natalia. You stole my life. And for six years, my child has carried the weight of your sins. I will make you pay for every single day.

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The moment I got the ultrasound report, my boyfriend Jason—the Don—suddenly said: “Alice, there’s something important I need to tell you.” My heart skipped a beat. My hand drifted instinctively to my belly. After eight years of waiting, I thought he’d finally convinced the family. That he was going to marry me. Give me the title of Donna. “I’ve already married the Black family’s daughter.” I froze. The ultrasound slipped from my fingers and fluttered down to the marble floor. “What did you just say?” Jason rushed forward and pulled me into a tight embrace. “It’s just a family alliance. A marriage in name only.” “I can give you everything else—half the underground operations in New York. You’ll still be my Donna.” “You and the baby—you’re my real family.” I pushed him away. My cold gaze swept across the faint red marks barely visible above his shirt collar. “Jason, we’re done.” “And the baby—I’m getting rid of it.” …… “Have you lost your mind?!” Jason’s roar exploded through the hallway of the medical center. He seized my wrist, his grip so crushing I could feel the bones grinding together. His eyes bored into mine, wild with disbelief. “That’s my child! Capone blood! Who the hell gave you the right to decide that?!” I tried to shake his hand off. I couldn’t. “Your child? Jason, you married into the Black family! You want an heir—have your Donna give you one!” “Alice, stop this!” “I’m not doing anything.” He stared at me, eyes rimmed red. “Private jets, villas, vineyards, a laundered trust fund your grandchildren couldn’t burn through—I can give you everything except that marriage certificate!” “What more do you want from me?!” I looked at him. Eight years ago, behind the back gate at Yale, Jason was just another street kid in a wrinkled shirt, clutching a crumpled bouquet of red roses. Nervously telling me he’d had a crush on me for three years. That he knew he wasn’t good enough for a doctoral candidate like Miss Renaud, but he’d work hard to close the gap between us. Eight years later, he had more wealth and power than he could ever spend—and he was telling his pregnant girlfriend he was marrying another woman. “Jason Capone.” I heard my own voice, hoarse and raw. “I have never been anyone’s mistress, and I’m not about to start with you.” His face darkened instantly. “Mistress?!” “I told you—you are the one I recognize as my Donna!” “But as long as I keep this baby, that’s exactly what I’ll be. A mistress hidden in the shadows.” My expression didn’t waver. I held his gaze. “A mistress in the eyes of the Capone family. A mistress in the eyes of your wife. And someday, when this child grows up and asks me, ‘Mom, why isn’t my name on the family register?’” “What am I supposed to say? That he’s the Don’s bastard?!” Jason stood there as if the words had struck him physically. A vein throbbed at his temple. He said nothing for a long time. Long enough that the armed guard stationed at the end of the hall and the nurses all poked their heads out nervously, faces full of dread. Finally, he slowly raised his head. The tenderness and sorrow were gone from his eyes, replaced by the cold, alien gaze of the Don. “Alice, if you get rid of that baby, we’re finished.” “We were finished a long time ago.” “The day you married Sofia Black for control of the docks—that was the end.” He stepped closer. His tall shadow swallowed me whole. I didn’t flinch. I looked straight into those hawk-sharp eyes. Jason’s lips curled into a cruel, cold smile. “Alice, why do you think your father’s shipping company has been operating safely at the port—without any protection?” My heart plummeted. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He didn’t answer directly, but the contempt in his eyes said everything. He was using my parents’ lives—our family’s entire logistics business—as bargaining chips in this game. I didn’t say another word. I turned and walked toward the exam room. Behind me, he shouted, losing control: “Alice!” I didn’t stop. “Stop right there! That’s an order from the Don!” I pushed open the steel door of the exam room. Inside sat a woman in a white coat. She looked up at me, startled. “Can I help you?” “I need an abortion. Can you schedule it today?” The doctor looked past my shoulder at Jason standing in the doorway. Her hand trembled so violently that her pen dragged a jagged line of ink across the chart. “Do you… do you have an appointment?” “No. I’m making one now.” She flipped through the appointment book with shaking hands, her voice barely holding together: “Today’s… today’s fully booked. The earliest would be three days from now.” I turned and cast a cold glance at Jason, standing in the shadows. “Three days, then.”

For those three days, I didn’t leave the apartment. I pulled the blackout curtains shut and lost track of day and night. I sat by the window, gently touching my still-flat stomach, where a Capone bloodline was quietly growing. My phone buzzed relentlessly on the table— Missed calls: 47. iMessages: 93. All from Jason Capone. The earliest ones were voice messages. I didn’t play them. The later ones were texts: *Alice, listen to me. I’ll handle things with Sofia. Just give me some time.* *She and I really are just a political marriage. Once the docks are fully under our control, I’ll take care of everything. I promise.* *The baby is innocent. Please don’t do anything rash.* As the days wore on, the tone of the Mafia heir’s messages shifted: *Do you really have to push me like this?* *I already said I’d handle it. What more do you want from me?* The last message came this afternoon. A single cold line: *Surgery’s tomorrow, right? Don’t say I didn’t warn you.* I stared at those words for a long time. After he’d risen from Made Man to Underboss, women threw themselves at him constantly—pressing up against him during business meetings, slipping potent aphrodisiacs into his drinks. Every time, he’d have them tossed into the freezing harbor to sober up. Then he’d find me, kiss me with a desperate hunger, take me completely. Promise me he’d never change. Now, as Don, he was resorting to threats against me because of Sofia. I didn’t reply. On the day of the surgery, I sat on the long bench in the hallway, the appointment slip damp with sweat in my clenched fist. With ten minutes to go, hurried footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor. I looked up and saw my mother. Her hair was a mess. Two of Jason’s men trailed behind her. “Alice!” She rushed over. “Mom? What are you doing here?” She was panting. “Jason called me.” “He said you two had a fight. That you’re going to terminate the pregnancy.” “Alice—” She grabbed my hands. “Couples fight, that’s normal. But you don’t want to cross the Capone family in New York—that’s no joke. And it’s a life we’re talking about. Don’t take it out on the baby…” “Mom, let go of me first.” She wouldn’t. That was when I got a good look at her face. Her eyes were swollen, ringed with dark, bruise-like circles. “Mom, what happened? What’s going on?” Her gaze flickered. “Nothing. I was just worried about you, couldn’t sleep…” “That’s not it.” I stared at her. “Tell me the truth.” She opened her mouth, then her eyes turned red, her voice dropping to almost nothing: “Your father… your father’s company is in trouble. Several shipments got seized by Customs and the Federal Task Force. Suspected smuggling and money laundering… The penalties are more than we can pay. We might have to sell the house to cover the debts.” “I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want you to worry…” The blood drained from my body in an instant. “Mom, sit here and wait for me. I need to use the restroom.” I walked to the stairwell at the end of the hallway. I dialed Jason’s number. “Made up your mind?” His voice came through perfectly steady, as if he’d been sitting by the phone waiting. “What happened to my father’s company—that was you.” A soft laugh from the other end. “Your father ran into some compliance issues at the docks. Normally, one word from me would’ve fixed it. But you insisted on cutting ties with me.” “So under the circumstances, I really don’t see why I should help. Do you?” His voice was gentle, conversational—like he was chatting about the weather. But it sent ice crawling down my spine. “Jason, you’re threatening me with my parents’ lives.” His voice finally dropped, the pretense gone: “I can make your father’s problems go away. But if you insist on breaking up with me and aborting the baby—why would I lift a finger for a stranger?” “Alice, I’m not that broke kid at the bottom of the food chain anymore. Tens of thousands of men depend on me for their livelihood. If I go soft for you, who’s going to go soft for me?” “I’ve already swallowed my pride to come to you. Doesn’t that prove how much I love you?” “And what about Sofia?” A beat of silence on the other end. “I’ll handle it. Give me time.” I closed my eyes. The stairwell was dark. Only the light above the operating room door glowed in the distance. “Fine. I’ll keep the baby.” On the other end, he let out a long, slow breath. Then he said: “Alice, thank you. I’ll send the lawyers over right away. Your father’s company will be stabilized by tonight.” I said nothing. He added: “I know you hate me right now.” “But someday you’ll understand—in this jungle where the weak are nothing but meat, everything I’m doing is for our future.” I hung up. I stood in the stairwell, gripping my phone, perfectly still. *For our future.* I looked down at my belly. Still flat, but something was taking root inside—a life he’d forced me to keep through power and threats. I laughed. And as I laughed, the tears fell. He said he’d handle Sofia. He said to wait. But not once—not a single time—did he say: *I’ll divorce Sofia for you.*

Jason was a man of his word. Three days later, my father’s company was out of danger. The seized shipments cleared customs. The federal investigation was dropped. That afternoon, my phone buzzed. Jason’s iMessage: *Coming to see you tonight. What do you feel like eating?* I didn’t reply. For the past two weeks, he’d texted every day. I answered maybe one in ten. When he came to the apartment, I let him in but wouldn’t let him stay the night. He never got angry. Before leaving, it was always the same line: “Get some rest. Call the guards if you need anything.” Like a caring boyfriend. Like the perfect lover. As if the man who’d leveraged my family against me had never existed. Then one day, my phone exploded. Texts first—hundreds of messages flooding in, all vicious: “Homewrecker, go die!” “Ivy League degree and you’re still a dirty side piece? You sure you didn’t sleep your way into Yale?” “Wrecking the Capone-Black marriage—enjoy getting dumped in the ocean to feed the fish! A slut like you deserves to die a thousand times over!” Then someone tagged me on Twitter. I tapped through to a gossip account’s exposé post. My photo was the header image. The headline read: **EXPOSED: Ivy League PhD Clings to Mafia Don, Gets Pregnant to Force Donna Out** The article claimed I’d known about Jason and Sofia’s engagement all along but refused to let go, using my pregnancy to pressure him into divorce. It said Sofia had been so distraught she’d been hospitalized. It said the apartment I lived in was bought by Jason. Every single comment was people cursing me out. My hands started shaking. I scrolled further—my father’s shipping company address had been doxxed. Someone was calling for people to “go throw blood on their docks and smash their cargo ships.” My stomach lurched violently. I barely made it to the toilet before I was retching until the world went black. I knew. This was Sofia Black’s doing. When the vomiting stopped, I sat on the floor. The marble tiles were cold, but my mind had never been clearer. I went back to the living room and opened the cloud-synced photo album on my laptop. April 2018, outside the Yale library—Jason with his arm around me, smiling warm and bright. The day he finally won me over. December 2019, my birthday—he’d bought me a cake by the sea. 2020—our first apartment together. Him in the kitchen making curry beef pasta. 2021—he came home with me to meet my parents. 2023—he’d taken a bullet for the previous Don, earned his way to Underboss. Shirtless, bandages wrapped around his wounds, pulling me close and flashing a peace sign at the camera. 2024—he’d won a hundred-million-dollar pink diamond necklace at a black-market auction and clasped it around my neck. I’d snuck a photo of his profile. Every single photo had an unalterable timestamp. Every single one proved that we’d been in love for six years before 2024. Jason and Black’s marriage certificate was dated this March. I picked nine timestamped photos and posted them in a grid, with one line of text: *Who’s really the one who came between someone else’s relationship? See for yourselves.* I tossed my phone on the couch. When I picked it up again, that post had been shared over ten thousand times. Public opinion had flipped completely: “Wait—according to this timeline, they were together for six years. Sofia’s the one who used her family’s power to force her way in!” “Desperate to be the other woman, then has the nerve to smear the real girlfriend? This is what Black family class looks like?” The comments section erupted. Sofia Black’s reputation cratered overnight. She was being mocked as a clown who’d bullied her way into a marriage through family connections. Within half an hour, #SofiaIsTheHomewrecker was trending number one on Twitter. My phone rang. Mom. “Alice! I saw everything! Are you okay?” Her voice was urgent, aching with concern. “I’m fine, Mom.” “Who does that Sofia woman think she is? How dare she bully my daughter?!” I blinked—my mother never swore. “Mom, are you really okay?” “Why wouldn’t I be?” Her voice was full of fire. “Just now a bunch of dockworkers who owe your father favors showed up at the office with flowers—said something about ‘standing with Alice against cyberbullying’!” I held the phone, tears rolling down one by one. “Alice, I almost misjudged you. I thought you’d really gone and become someone’s mistress…” She didn’t finish. “It’s okay, Mom.”

That evening, Jason came. Impeccable suit, but the dark circles under his eyes were brutal—like he hadn’t slept in days. “Alice.” I said nothing. He looked at me, his expression tangled with something complicated: “Black family stocks have tanked hard. Offshore shadow banks are pulling out. The Blacks and the Council of Elders are both putting pressure on me.” “And?” He took a deep breath, pulled his phone from his pocket, swiped a few times, and handed it to me. On the screen was a pre-drafted statement. I took it and read line by line: *This is Alice. I want to set the record straight about recent events.* *Jason Capone and I were together once, but that was a long time ago.* *We broke up before his marriage to Sofia Black this year. I’m the one who couldn’t let go—I kept pursuing him.* *I reached out to him, trying to win him back. I drugged Jason to get pregnant, hoping to use the baby to force a divorce.* *When Donna Sofia found out, she was understandably furious. Her post was meant to make me back off. This is entirely my fault. Sofia has nothing to do with it.* I looked up at Jason. “You want me to post this?” “The Black family needs an explanation.” Jason gripped my shoulders, his voice urgent. “If you say this, Sofia becomes the victim—the deceived wife. The Capone-Black alliance holds. The stock recovers. You know how many wolves are circling, waiting for me to slip up so they can tear the Blacks apart and feast.” “And if I don’t?” “Right now, you’re the only one who can defuse this. Post it, and the Blacks calm down. Your father’s business stays under my protection. Don’t post it, and neither side can walk away clean.” “Alice, don’t make me use family methods.” Jason gave me three days to think it over. Three days later, he texted: *Alice, have you decided?* I didn’t reply. He called. I declined. He texted again: *Alice, don’t push me.* Still no response. I was gambling—betting on eight years of love, betting on his last shred of conscience. But the Don of a Mafia family has no conscience. I lost. On the seventh day, my father’s shipping company was forcibly liquidated and shut down. The Federal Task Force raided overnight, citing severe accounting irregularities and money-laundering channels. The fabricated evidence had materialized out of thin air. Dad called. His voice was destroyed. “Alice, the company’s gone.” I stood at the window, gripping my phone. “Dad…” “A team from the Task Force just came through. Took all the books. They’re talking about major money laundering—could be thirty years…” He couldn’t go on. “Dad, don’t panic. Let me think of something…” “Alice.” He cut me off. His voice went suddenly, deathly calm. “Tell me the truth.” My heart sank. “What?” “Is this because of that man from the Capone family?” I said nothing. “The day the company first got hit—that was the day you broke up with him. Then suddenly everything was fine again—that was the day you got back together. And now it’s happening again…” His voice was shaking. “Alice, is he using me to threaten you?” I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. “Dad…” “Don’t lie to me.” I closed my eyes. Tears poured out. “…Yes.” Dead silence on the other end. After what felt like forever, he said: “Alice, I understand now.” “Dad, listen to me, I still have options—” The line went dead. That night, I couldn’t sleep. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling until three in the morning. My phone erupted—Dad’s number. I picked up, but it wasn’t his voice on the other end. It was the wail of sirens and the chaos of a crowd. A stranger’s voice: “Hello? Is this Alice Renaud?” “Yes. Who is this? Where’s my father?” Several minutes of silence before he spoke. “Your father, Mr. Renaud, jumped from the Brooklyn Bridge. The body has been recovered. I’m sorry for your loss…”

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I was the sole heir to the Moretti crime family, yet Lorenzo Vitale kept me waiting for three miserable years before he finally agreed to marry me. Before our fourth engagement party, he promised me over the phone: “Tonight, I’ll put the ring on your finger myself.” By Moretti tradition, an heir sealed an alliance by placing the family ring on their chosen partner’s hand. Two hours later, I stood in the ballroom before the Dons, consiglieres, and capos of both families and held out the Moretti family ring to him. But he threw it straight out the window, then turned and took Viola’s hand. “Viola is going to South America to track down a missing shipment of weapons. It’s dangerous there. I promised I’d go with her.” I looked at him. “If you leave with her tonight, we’re finished for good.” Lorenzo scoffed. “Whatever. You could pick up a homeless man and marry him, and I still wouldn’t come back.” With that, he escorted Viola out without another glance at me. Under everyone’s gaze, I removed the matching ring from my own finger. My father’s North Harbor docks, covert warehouses, and underground freight routes had all been meant to join the Vitale family’s operations through this marriage. Not anymore. I left the hotel and found the ring in the back alley below. The man who had picked it up was a stranger in tattered clothes, his body covered in injuries. “My name is Serafina Moretti. Will you marry me?” Lorenzo, you were the one who told me to marry a homeless man. Once you find out who he really is, I hope you can still stand when you speak to me. … Three years later, I saw Lorenzo again outside the Moretti family’s private hospital. I was carrying the medication my doctor had prescribed to protect my pregnancy, and my cashmere coat concealed the slight curve of my stomach. Several black SUVs suddenly pulled up in front of me. Lorenzo stepped out, the Vitale family’s silver-wolf pin fastened to his suit lapel. The rear window lowered, revealing half of Viola’s face and her gentle smile. “Well, if it isn’t Serafina.” She paused deliberately. “The poor girl who was abandoned at her own engagement party three years ago.” She stressed the word poor girl, waiting for me to be humiliated. I only found it amusing. I had certainly been humiliated that night three years ago, but now I was grateful he had abandoned me. If he hadn’t, I would never have the life I had today. Lorenzo looked me over from head to toe, then glanced behind me. When he saw no man there, a knowing smile tugged at his lips. “Three years apart, and you’ve finally learned to behave.” My stomach turned. “Mr. Vitale, we’re not close enough for you to speak to me that way.” His smile stiffened. “Why are you pretending we’re strangers?” I stepped around him, but he blocked my path with his cane. Viola got out of the car and sighed softly. “Serafina, don’t blame Lorenzo. If you truly can’t let him go, I’m willing to compromise and let him keep taking care of you.” Taking his cue from her, Lorenzo said: “Forget about a wedding.” He paused, his tone softening. “I promised Viola I would marry her. As for you, if you still want to stay with me, you can be my mistress.” He said it as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world, as though I should be grateful to accept this humiliation simply because he was willing to take me back. When had the boy I once loved become so ugly inside? I laughed. “Three years ago, you said you wouldn’t come back even if I married a homeless man.” His expression darkened. “I said it in anger. You didn’t actually take me seriously, did you?” My lips curved without humor. “Of course I did.” He gave a cold laugh. “If you were really married, would you be standing here alone today?” Viola lowered her eyes. “Serafina, stop using marriage to spite him. Lorenzo is still willing to take care of you. You should accept.” I looked at her. “You stole my fiancé, and now you’re advising me to become his mistress. Viola, do you think I’m as shameless as you are?” Viola went pale. Lorenzo immediately stepped in front of her. “You’re still as vicious as ever, Serafina.” I couldn’t be bothered to explain. I turned to leave. Behind me, Lorenzo lowered his voice. “Check her marriage records. I want to know if she’s really married.” Viola asked softly, “What if she is?” Lorenzo scoffed. “Everyone in North Harbor knows she loved me for more than a decade. Other than some lunatic off the street, who would dare marry a shameless woman like her?”

Lorenzo’s man had already driven off, but Lorenzo had no intention of letting me leave. Two armed bodyguards blocked my path. “This is a public street,” I said, looking at him. “Tell your men to move.” Instead, Lorenzo came closer. “You deliberately hid from me for three years because you wanted me to come looking for you, didn’t you?” Just then, a dull ache tugged low in my abdomen. I pulled the bag of medication protectively against me. “You think too highly of yourself. Who would still want you?” Lorenzo clearly didn’t believe me. “You hid for three years because you were waiting for me to come back.” He took another step, utterly certain of himself. “You loved me for more than a decade, Serafina. I know you can’t let go.” I looked at him and found him ridiculous. “Three years later, and you’re still just as full of yourself.” Viola lightly caught Lorenzo’s arm, though her gaze kept moving between my coat and the pharmacy bag. “Don’t be angry. Maybe her life hasn’t been going well. That’s why she’s saying such cruel things.” I looked coldly at her. “How I live is none of your business.” Viola put on her usual innocent expression. “Serafina, I’m only worried about you.” I nearly laughed. “Your way of worrying about me is telling me to become Lorenzo’s mistress?” She stepped back, her eyes immediately filling with tears. Lorenzo’s face hardened. “Viola has done nothing but consider your feelings. Don’t be ungrateful.” I watched him stand protectively in front of her. One was skilled at pretending to be innocent, and the other was always eager to believe her. They truly deserved each other. Half an hour later, Lorenzo’s man hurried back with a printed marriage record. “Mr. Vitale, we found it. Miss Serafina did legally marry three years ago.” The smile vanished from Lorenzo’s face. He snapped his gaze toward me. “You’re really married?” I met his eyes calmly. “Why are you surprised? Weren’t you the one who told me to marry a homeless man?” The veins stood out on the back of his hand, and his voice carried the anger of a man who had somehow been betrayed. “You actually married some random man just to get revenge on me?” “I don’t need your permission to marry anyone.” His face darkened completely. “Who is he? Where is he now?” Lorenzo’s man glanced at me before answering in a low voice. “The mute homeless man from the alley behind the hotel that night.” Lorenzo froze for a second, then burst out laughing. There was no guilt in it, only condescension. “I knew it. You were still trying to spite me.” “Don’t flatter yourself. Who I married has nothing to do with you. We ended the moment you threw away that ring three years ago.” I turned to leave. Lorenzo stepped in front of me and seized my wrist. “A mute vagrant thinks he deserves to be your husband? One word from the Vitale family, and he’ll disappear.”

Lorenzo’s grip tightened until my wrist began to ache. I wrenched myself free. “Is manhandling another man’s wife in public how the Vitale family operates?” Lorenzo gave a cold laugh and raised one hand. Several bodyguards immediately surrounded me. “You expect me to respect a homeless man?” I instinctively stepped back as my abdomen suddenly tightened. People on the street had begun to stop and watch. I deliberately raised my voice. “You all heard him. Lorenzo Vitale is abducting a married woman in broad daylight.” Several people pulled out their phones. Lorenzo’s guards opened their jackets to reveal the guns at their waists. The crowd immediately backed away. Viola moved to his side and looked at me with feigned concern. “Lorenzo is helping you. Marrying a homeless man no one knows will only turn the Moretti family into a joke.” Her false concern made me sick. “No matter whom I married, it’s cleaner than being his mistress.” Lorenzo grabbed my arm. “Enough.” The pharmacy bag fell from my grasp. Medicine boxes, test results, and an ultrasound photo scattered across the pavement. Viola saw the image and abruptly raised her voice. “Serafina, you’re pregnant?” Lorenzo’s hand tightened sharply. He looked down at the ultrasound, then at the hand I held over my stomach. “You’re carrying that homeless man’s child?” I didn’t answer. He stared at my stomach, and for the first time, I saw murderous intent in his eyes. “You would rather bear a homeless man’s child than wait for me?” Suppressing my disgust, I asked coldly, “Why would I wait for a man who abandoned and humiliated me?” Lorenzo’s breathing grew heavier. “You’ve lost your mind.” He turned to his guards. “Take her.” I immediately shielded my stomach. “Don’t you dare, Lorenzo!” He leaned close to my ear and lowered his voice. “This child cannot stay.” A chill shot up my spine. “Get rid of it, Serafina, and I’ll overlook the fact that you were married.” I finally understood. He had never truly loved me. He just couldn’t accept that the woman who once revolved around him had actually married someone else—and was even carrying another man’s child. I slapped him hard across the face. The sharp crack silenced the street. Lorenzo ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, then ordered his men, “Put her in the car.” Two guards seized my arms. Afraid for the baby, I didn’t dare struggle too violently. “If you hurt my child, the Vitale family will pay the price.” Lorenzo laughed contemptuously. “What price could a homeless man’s bastard possibly make me pay?” Standing beside him, Viola feigned sympathy as she urged me, “Stop fighting. Once the baby is gone, you can finally start over.” I looked at her and committed every word to memory. The guards shoved me into the armored car. The moment my back struck the seat, pain cramped through my abdomen again. Fear finally crawled up my spine. I could turn against Lorenzo. I could risk the Moretti family’s territory in North Harbor. But I could not gamble with my child’s life. This was the baby Adrian pressed his cheek to my stomach and spoke softly to every night before bed. He wanted this child so badly. Clenching my teeth, I slipped a hand into the hidden pocket of my coat and gripped the obsidian ring. An emergency tracker was embedded inside it. Outside the car, Lorenzo ordered coldly, “Take her to the west-side safe house. Call the family doctor. Get rid of the baby today.”

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The night we were supposed to pick out my wedding dress, Ethan never showed. When I arrived at his office, it was packed with people. “Ethan, congratulations! Won the case and won the girl back.” “Olivia, your childhood sweetheart—she found her way back to you after all.” “So does this mean your wedding with Emma is postponed indefinitely?” In the center of the crowd, Ethan’s voice was cold. Not a trace of warmth. “Don’t compare Emma to Olivia. I can’t survive without Olivia. Emma’s different.” I stood outside the door and tossed the wine I’d brewed for him by hand into the trash. Ethan, I never wanted the kind of love that threatens to kill you. As I walked out of the firm, my phone rang. Ethan. His voice was low, tinged with apology. “Emma, there’s a celebration at the firm tonight. Can we push back the dress fitting?” I watched Olivia walk through the front doors and smiled softly. “Sure. No need to go at all.” On the other end, I could hear his relief. He even laughed. “My Emma, always so thoughtful. Pick whatever style you like. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.” I’d heard that line a thousand times. I used to think it was trust—his way of making me feel safe. Now I understood. It was because he simply didn’t care. I raised an eyebrow. “Alright. I’ll take care of it.” After I hung up, I canceled the dress appointment. I didn’t feel an ounce of reluctance. I’d never once doubted my feelings for Ethan. And I’d always believed we loved each other. Ethan and I met in a brewing room. That day, he stood beside an oak barrel, his profile impossibly handsome. From then on, every wine I made carried a new flavor—something called love. I started chasing after him, bottle after bottle of my latest creations. “Ethan, I just brewed this. Try it.” “Ethan, smell this—isn’t it amazing?” “Ethan, do you like this one?” Every day I flitted around him like an excited little bird, chattering nonstop. Slowly, we started talking more, drinking together. He tasted my experiments without complaint. And I was more than happy to be his companion in loneliness. Until one drunken night, I said those words. “Ethan, I like you.” That single sentence ended thirty days of ambiguity. My love had been the driving force from the very start. And Ethan was like a puppet without a soul. He mechanically agreed to everything I asked. Even “I love you” seemed like something he only said because I’d said it first. But I was too happy then. I thought that was what unconditional devotion looked like. It wasn’t until I saw Olivia that I finally understood. For the entire three years we were together, Ethan had been searching for another woman’s shadow in me. I was nothing more than a placeholder for his loneliness. I was about to drive away when my phone started buzzing with messages from an unknown number. “Hey Emma, Ethan’s really busy right now. Could you bring a couple bottles of wine over?” “He specifically asked for the Heart’s Memory blend.” “He’s always told me your wine reminds him of me. Thank you for keeping his memory of me alive these three years.” Heart’s Memory was a wine Ethan and I had created together. I handled the technique. He handled the tasting. I went through twenty attempts before I earned his first genuine smile. Later, Ethan named it Heart’s Memory. He said it was the feeling of holding someone in your heart so completely that you could never forget them. I’d thought he was describing our love, so I kept every bottle stored away like treasure. I never imagined that the person he couldn’t forget was never me. I held my phone, hands shaking so badly I couldn’t type a single word. This one-sided love affair should have ended long ago.

Back in the cellar, I pulled out the last four bottles of Heart’s Memory. This wine had always been produced in tiny quantities. Not because I didn’t want to scale up—because Ethan wouldn’t allow it. He said it belonged only to us. He didn’t want to share it with anyone. So Heart’s Memory was only ever opened on our anniversaries. We’d raised our glasses under the moonlight, laughing. We’d toasted to our love. We’d promised to stay together forever. Back then, his tears fell onto my shoulder again and again. I thought it meant he loved me to the bone. Only today did I realize he was using me to miss someone else. Inside the private room, Ethan was shielding Olivia from drinks. He hadn’t noticed me standing in the doorway at all. His cheeks were flushed, and the smile never once left his face. In three years, I had never seen him like this. This version of Ethan was happy. Fulfilled. He was no longer the guarded, distant man he’d always been with me. Sitting beside Olivia, he looked like a painting that had finally been made whole. The people around them kept egging them on, and neither of them bothered to keep their distance. “Come on, let’s all congratulate Ethan!” “About time. He used to mope around like a husband who’d been abandoned at home.” “Olivia, you have no idea—when you got married, Ethan disappeared for an entire month. We nearly lost our minds.” “Thank God he met Emma back then. Otherwise, who knows what would have happened.” My name pierced through the noise like a needle. The room went silent for a few seconds. I watched everyone fall quiet, and somewhere deep inside, I was still pathetically hoping Ethan would say something to acknowledge me. I stared at him without blinking. As if by looking long enough, he would admit that our three years together weren’t a lie. But waiting it out never gives you the answer you want. After a long pause, Ethan tightened his grip on Olivia’s hand. His voice was slow and certain. “Olivia is the one who healed me.” The room erupted in cheers. Olivia had seen me standing at the door all along. The look she gave me was proud and dismissive—a victor surveying reclaimed territory. I knew I wasn’t welcome in that celebration. Not one bit. I simply signaled the server to bring the wine inside. “Mr. Ethan, here’s the wine you ordered.” The smile on his face froze the moment he saw me. Something flickered in his eyes—panic. He started to stand, to come toward me, but Olivia kissed him without a second’s hesitation. Meeting his gaze, I turned and walked away. In that moment, I fled the battlefield. I didn’t have the courage to fight for what I once thought was mine in front of all those people. In the cab, Olivia’s messages came one after another. In the video, Ethan was confessing to Olivia in front of everyone while they cheered him on. He was holding Heart’s Memory, down on one knee before her. “Olivia, this is the wine I made for you. Do you like it?” “Olivia, this wine is like my life. And you are my life too.” He said it with absolute sincerity, and Olivia blushed. At the end of the video was a text from Olivia. “Emma, thank you for brewing that wine on my behalf. Ethan was never yours. I hope you have the self-awareness to accept that.” None of it ever belonged to me. Back home, the memories rushed in like poison. Matching slippers sat neatly by the door—except Ethan’s pair looked brand new. Matching mugs sat on the counter in their bright colors—except his was coated in dust. Matching pajamas hung on the balcony swaying in the breeze—except his set had never been worn. My life with Ethan was as hollow as two lines that briefly intersect and immediately run parallel. Close in appearance. Worlds apart in reality. He’d never liked any of the things I prepared for him. He only tolerated my existence because Olivia wasn’t there. Ethan had never betrayed Olivia. I was the accident. A phone call dragged me back to reality. The wedding photographer, polite as ever: “Miss Emma, I heard you canceled the dress reservation. Should we still go ahead with tomorrow’s shoot?” I watched the video loop on my phone, and there wasn’t a shred of longing in my voice. “Cancel that too.”

I was about to throw out every matching thing we owned when I heard Ethan’s key in the door. Seeing me still home, the tension visibly drained from his shoulders. He walked over, took my hand, and smiled gently. “Thank you, my Emma, for being so understanding.” “I loved the wine tonight. Olivia loved it too.” When I didn’t respond, he patiently explained. “Olivia—you know how it is. We grew up together. Just friends. You’re not jealous, are you?” “My Emma is so good. I know you wouldn’t be jealous.” With that, he leaned in and kissed my forehead. Ethan was always different when he was drunk. In that state, he became like an obedient puppy. “Ethan, tell me you love me.” “Emma, I love you.” “Ethan, tell me you miss me.” “Emma, I miss you.” “Ethan, call me your wife.” “Emma, my wife.” All the things he’d never say sober came pouring out without hesitation when he was drunk. I used to be secretly thrilled by it. His tenderness, his warmth, his devotion—they only fully belonged to me under the influence of alcohol. Every time, I tested my place in his heart with the same repeated questions. And every time, I got the answer I wanted. I filled the insecurity inside me with that counterfeit love. But now, I was tired of hearing it. It was time to wake up. I clenched my fists and looked up at him. “Ethan, do you love Olivia?” Ethan didn’t hesitate for a single second. “Yes. Olivia, I love you.” I stumbled backward, step by step. This was the secret he’d hidden for three years. I heard myself continue. “Ethan, do you want to marry Olivia?” The man’s eyes reddened. His lips trembled with something that looked like grievance. He stepped forward and pulled me into a tight embrace, burying his face in my shoulder like a prayer. “Yes… I dream about it.” “Olivia, will you marry me?” Through the haze of alcohol, Ethan had mistaken me for Olivia. The lawyer who always stood above everyone else was now as small and desperate as a child terrified of being left behind. His lack of love for me was a blade, stabbing into my heart over and over. The pain made me tremble. The disappointment froze me to the core. Of course. From start to finish, he had never loved me. I was just a shadow. Now his light had returned, and the shadow was meant to disappear. I didn’t humiliate myself further. I didn’t answer. In that vast room, the only sound was the clock ticking. I stood there, letting him lean heavily against me, letting his body heat slowly seep into mine. I used to crave his warmth so badly. On freezing winter nights, I’d instinctively press closer to him. In the biting wind, I’d hold his hand and refuse to let go. But now, even though the breeze outside was mild, I was suddenly, impossibly cold. I didn’t move, not until my legs went numb, not until he had no strength left. Finally, I shoved Ethan away. He fell onto the sofa and sank into a deep sleep. That night, for the first time, we slept apart. His breathing filled the living room. My tears fell without a sound. The next morning, I was woken by Ethan’s phone. His assistant’s excited voice came through the speaker. “Ethan, you and Olivia move fast! The wedding planner’s been waiting forever. Olivia’s already here. Get over here!” “Oh, and what about your wedding with Emma? Want me to notify them to cancel?” The wedding planning company—Ethan had contacted them himself. He’d told me I was working too hard preparing the wedding alone. He wanted to take some of the burden off my shoulders. I’d smiled so happily at the time. I had no idea all those arrangements were for Olivia. Ethan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Keep it down. Don’t let Emma hear.” He shot up from the sofa and rushed into the bedroom. Our eyes met.

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I’ve carried ten babies for mob boss Silas, and every single one vanished the second they turned one. I’ve cried myself sick over each missing child, stuck in endless cycles of crippling grief and clinical anxiety. Silas always wraps me in his arms, fake pity swimming in his eyes. Silas: We’ll make another baby, Elara. I’ll never stop loving you. I ate up every lie, desperate to hold onto his false kindness, and got pregnant with my tenth child. On the baby’s first birthday, I round the corner of his private lounge and freeze solid. I watch him hand my infant daughter over to his teenage mistress Chloe, while his crew hoot and joke around him. Crew Guy 1: Lucky bastard, got a fertile wife pumping out kids for your side pieces. Crew Guy 2: Dude gets a new girlfriend, a brand-new baby delivered free of labor pain. Who wouldn’t love that setup? Silas flicks a lighter against his cigarette, voice bored and careless. Silas: Nah, let Elara handle it. She’s popped out ten already, what’s one more? No point ruining a young girl’s body when my wife’s used to it. The room erupts in crude laughter. I stand there six months pregnant, ice flooding every vein in my body. Chloe holds my baby tight, her face twisting with clear disappointment. Chloe: Why’s it just a girl? I wanted a son to secure my spot with you, Silas. She digs her fingernails hard into the baby’s arm to make her scream, then claps a palm over the tiny mouth to muffle the cries. Chloe: Shut up, don’t make noise. My palms split open from how hard I dig my nails into my skin, my whole body shaking violently. Silas tucks Chloe against his chest, voice dripping sick soft fondness. Silas: Don’t stress over newborn hassle. Let Elara raise her for a year first, so you don’t get worn out. Every wrinkle on you breaks my heart. One of his underlings shifts awkwardly, speaking up. Underling: Boss, isn’t it messed up she loses baby after baby nonstop? What if she breaks completely? Silas shrugs like it’s nothing. Silas: She’s built to carry kids. If she falls apart for a little while, I’ll knock her up again later as compensation. The men keep throwing out gross demands, asking Silas to lend me out to give them children for their wives. He grins and agrees to every sleazy request. My vision blurs, legs going weak. I cup my swollen belly and bolt out of the mansion before I collapse on the spot. I lock myself in our master bedroom the second I get home, clamping a hand over my mouth to muffle broken sobs. All those years of unbearable mourning weren’t accidents. My own husband stole every baby I birthed and handed them off to his rotating lovers. Chloe’s the latest girl he’s obsessed with, and my tenth daughter’s just her new toy. I slam my fists hard against my stomach, desperate to end this pregnancy before I bring another child into Silas’s cruel game. Every memory I share with him curdles into disgust. Silas stumbles home late that night, red-rimmed eyes feigning sorrow instantly. He drops to his knees in front of me. Silas: Elara, I’m so sorry. The nanny took our baby out this morning and she’s gone missing. I don’t scream or break down like he expects. I just stare blankly ahead. Silas: I’ve ordered every patrol unit in the city to search. Trust me, we’ll find her. This is the tenth identical lie he’s fed me. A phone rings on his pocket before he can push closer to touch me. Chloe’s high whine bleeds through the speaker loud enough for me to hear every word. Chloe: Silas, girls are such a hassle. I want the baby Elara’s carrying right now… Silas hurries out to take the call somewhere private. I grab my phone immediately, book an official identity erasure appointment five days out. Then I dial the number belonging to Julian—Silas’s childless godfather, the most feared don in the country. He’s made no secret of wanting an heir to carry on his name, and he’s been waiting for a chance to take what’s his from Silas. Elara (firm, steady): I’ll agree to marry you, on one condition. Any baby I bear has to be your sole legal heir. Julian agrees without hesitation. Silas walks back into the room minutes later, pulling me into a suffocating hug. Silas: Good girl, no tantrums tonight. That’s my perfect wife. I don’t react at all, hollow cold behind my eyes. I’ll play docile until I vanish, then remarry the man Silas fears more than anyone.

Silas drags me out of bed at dawn the next day, his tone sickly gentle. Silas: Let’s head to the hospital for your prenatal scan, baby. You’ve lost so much weight carrying this kid. Once, those words would’ve made my heart flutter. Now they make my stomach churn with revulsion. I let him lead me to his luxury SUV. The passenger window rolls down before I climb in, Chloe’s simpering voice cutting through the air. Chloe: Silas, I’m feeling under the weather too. Can I tag along with you two? She glances straight at me, fake saccharine pity oozing from every word. Silas leans in to murmur in my ear, hand light on my waist. Silas: Let her ride with us, don’t get upset. I’ll make it up to you later. I see right through their scheme. They’re parading Chloe around to scope the baby growing inside me. Elara: Sure, I don’t mind. Silas sighs in relief and lifts me into the backseat. Chloe flounces into the front passenger spot, throwing obvious flirty glances over her shoulder at him the whole drive. We reach the private clinic Silas owns. I sit on the exam table as the ultrasound wand slides over my stomach. Doctor: How many pregnancies have you had? Elara: This will be my eleventh live birth. The other waiting mothers start whispering loud enough for everyone to hear. Random Woman 1: That guy’s clearly cheating on her with the blonde up front. Random Woman 2: Ten kids and she’s still stuck as his side piece, what a shame. Silas ignores all the gossip without a single reaction. Chloe’s eyes lock onto the ultrasound screen instantly, greedy excitement lighting up her face. Chloe: Doc, is it a boy or girl? This clinic’s under Silas’s full control—he can twist any medical result to fit his wants. He pulls the doctor and Chloe into a private consultation room, leaving me alone in the exam hall. They re-emerge minutes later, Silas’s face heavy with manufactured guilt. Silas: Elara, I’m so sorry. The fetus has severe developmental defects. We need to schedule an abortion immediately. The doctor nods to back up his lie. I stare at both of them, sharp mocking amusement bubbling in my chest. Silas forgot I pre-med before I got pregnant with our first child. The scan showed a completely healthy baby girl—they just don’t want another daughter for Chloe to throw away. Elara: What if I refuse to terminate this pregnancy? Silas’s warm act drops, cold irritation hardening his features. Silas: Don’t be unreasonable, Elara. I turn to storm out, but Chloe lunges forward to grab my arm, her nails digging deep into my skin. Chloe: I didn’t mean to upset you, let me apologize— She fakes a clumsy stumble backward, yanking my arm hard to drag me along with her. I lose balance and tumble down the full flight of clinic stairs, hard concrete slamming into my spine and stomach. Silas’s only panicked shout isn’t for me. Silas: Chloe!

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At my daughter’s eighth birthday party, my Alpha husband publicly accused her of not being his own child. Before I could even get a word out in defense, my adoptive parents slapped me across the face. Meanwhile Liane—the girl my adoptive parents had just claimed as their long-lost biological daughter—was curled up in my husband’s arms, her eyes as innocent as if she’d been the one wronged beyond measure. “I’m so sorry, Willa. I only mentioned in passing that Mia doesn’t look much like Elias. I never imagined he’d actually go to the werewolf clinic for a bloodline verification…” “And I never imagined Mia really was the pup you’d conceived with some other wolf.” Once the news spread, the entire pack was calling me a whore. Even my daughter, Mia, was branded a mongrel. Only later did I discover that the bloodline test had been forged. All of it was a play Elias had staged in collusion with my adoptive parents—simply because they believed I, the adopted lone wolf, had stolen the affection meant for Liane, and deserved to pay for it. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I calmly dissolved the mate bond with Elias. But what they didn’t know was that the moment I turned my back on him, I signed a mate bond with the Lycan King. … Now I stood outside the door, listening to the conversation between Elias and his closest friend inside. “You forged the bloodline report through a doctor just to vent Liane’s grievances? Publicly branded your mate a cheater, denounced your own pup as a mongrel… Aren’t you afraid mother and daughter will leave you for good?” Elias didn’t sound the least bit remorseful. “What’s there to be afraid of? Willa’s adoptive parents knew all about the forgery from the start. They even helped me set it up.” “That outsider adopted stray took up twenty-plus years of pack resources and affection that should’ve been Liane’s. Once Liane’s resentment settles, I’ll just re-sign the mate bond with Willa. Problem solved.” “Willa is soft and docile by nature. She’s used to leaning on my Alpha aura. Even with the bond severed, she’ll just sit obediently and wait for me to come back.” I clenched my fists until my whole body trembled with rage. Then I heard Elias give a quiet laugh. “Fine. I’ll just play dumb.” “If anyone finds out the bloodline report was faked, I’ll say the doctor made a mistake. Willa won’t make a scene—guaranteed.” I braced myself against the wall as a spasm of pain twisted through my chest. A few hours earlier, Mia had come sobbing home from the pup academy. The uniform she normally treasured was smeared with mud, and one of her knees was scraped raw, weeping blood. I’d called her teacher at once, but the woman’s voice was cold and cutting. She flatly ordered us to file transfer papers. “Ma’am, do I really need to spell it out? The rumors about your affair with an outsider have spread through the entire werewolf community. Even the pups at school are calling Mia a mongrel. It’s affecting the atmosphere of the academy!” “The other pups’ parents have jointly petitioned the elders. We simply cannot keep her here any longer.” When I hung up, I held my trembling daughter close, my chest aching so violently I could barely bear it. Mia lifted her tear-streaked little face and asked me: “Mommy… if I really was Daddy’s, would he… love me again? Would everyone accept me?” It was that quiet, humble hope of hers that had made me swallow every last shred of pride and come to Elias, begging him to go with me to the clinic for a retest. I had never dreamed I’d hear this vicious, self-serving scheme through the door. To him, forging a public bloodline report and destroying my reputation—and my child’s—was nothing more than a trivial affair. Every insult and humiliation Mia and I had endured was just part of a performance he’d staged to please another she-wolf. Even the adoptive parents who had raised me for twenty years had willingly become accomplices in that performance. I closed my eyes in anguish. The sound of the two men chatting and laughing inside was unbearable. Elias’s friend still couldn’t bring himself to let it go. He murmured his concerns: “But Mia… I saw a bunch of pups crowding around her and calling her a mongrel with my own eyes. She ran out of the school gate crying the whole way. Can you really stand to let her suffer like this?” “What if she finds out the truth when she grows up and refuses to acknowledge you as her father?” Elias’s voice was thick with certainty and arrogance. “Pups have short memories. A little grievance is nothing.” “Besides, she’s my flesh and blood. Werewolf bloodline bonds can’t be severed. She won’t disown me entirely.” I dug my nails into my palm until they broke skin, but I felt no pain. The old me would have thrown open the door and confronted him. But this time, I simply turned around, calm. This mate bond—I would end it. No matter what.

I packed a few changes of clothes and took Mia back to my adoptive parents’ home. Once, every time I returned, my parents would come smiling to the door before I’d even stepped inside. But today, my adoptive mother opened the door with undisguised loathing in her eyes. “What are you doing back here?” “Mom… I don’t have anywhere to stay right now. I was hoping Mia and I could spend the night.” She let out a cold laugh. “This isn’t a den for taking in outsider mongrels. Get out.” My chest seized. Mia shrank timidly behind me. “Grandpa! Grandma!” Her voice was soft, sweet—the way it had always been when she expected them to scoop her up. But their faces were like stone. “Don’t call us that. We don’t have relatives who drag the Blood Moon Pack’s name through the mud.” I stood frozen. In the space of a few short days, my daughter and I had been stripped of even the right to be considered family. In my memory, my father used to shift into wolf form and let me ride on his back, telling everyone Willa was his precious treasure. My mother put me first in everything, forever bragging to other wolves about how clever and capable I was. But the moment their long-lost biological daughter, Liane, was found, all their love for me evaporated overnight. The pack trade resources I had painstakingly built up over the years were quietly funneled into Liane’s name. At first I comforted myself. Liane had wandered alone for so many years and suffered so much—it was only right to make it up to her. Only now did I finally understand. They had always resented me. Resented me for occupying twenty years of the love and resources meant for Liane. Elias’s cold, selfish words still echoed in my ears. Just to vent Liane’s spite, they’d sanctioned that farce of a public denouncement without a moment’s hesitation, grinding Mia and me into the dirt. Testing the waters, I tried: “What if… that bloodline report was wrong? What if it was forged?” My adoptive mother’s expression froze. Her face hardened. “You still want to argue in the face of hard evidence?” My adoptive father chimed in. “Isn’t the clinic’s bloodline verification proof enough? Do we have to catch you red-handed with an outsider before you’ll admit it?” A bone-deep chill ran through me. They knew. They knew all of it was a lie. And yet here they were, cursing me with the venom of true belief, nailing me to the pillory as the pack’s whore. My adoptive father frowned, his voice dripping with condescension. “Fine. If you insist on staying here, then tomorrow you’ll make a public apology to the entire pack.” “You’ll admit to your affair with an outsider. You’ll admit Mia is not Elias’s biological pup.” “At the same time, you’ll step down from the core management of the family enterprise, and every trade share in your name will be transferred unconditionally to Liane.” I could hardly believe what I was hearing. “What do you want me to admit?” “Mia is not a mongrel!” My adoptive mother ignored me completely. Just then, footsteps came down from upstairs. Liane appeared, eyes rimmed red, looking as though she’d been through some terrible fright. “Dad, Mom, please don’t be so hard on my sister…” She turned to me, her tone deliberately gentle. “Willa, I know how much this hurts you, but our parents aren’t young anymore, and our family has to preserve its reputation.” “You can’t drag us down just because you had an affair.” Then she looked down at Mia, forcing a hint of pity into her eyes. “As for whether the pup is really of Elias’s blood… Elias is an Alpha. He won’t hold it too much against you.” I opened my mouth to say something more, but my parents had already lost their patience. They ordered the housekeeper to throw my things out the door. “We raised you for twenty years. We were even willing to leave you a shred of dignity.” “Since you refuse to admit your mistake, then don’t ever come back to this house again.”

It was deep into the night when I left my adoptive parents’ estate. Mia was curled against my chest, her eyes swollen and red, not making a sound. I lifted my hand and gently stroked her hair, assuming she’d just cried herself into exhaustion, and hurried to find a hotel for the night. By then, I was already in a wretched state. “Hello, I’d like to book a suite, please.” I handed over the supplementary card Elias had given me. The clerk swiped it, then looked up, expressionless. “I’m sorry, ma’am. This card has been frozen. It can’t be used.” My heart plunged. I fished out my own bank card. Only to discover that the savings on my personal account had also been transferred out. My fingertips went cold. A wave of nausea rose in me. Elias didn’t just want me to bow my head—he wanted to cut off every retreat. The clerk’s tone was flat. “Ma’am, will you still be checking in?” My throat tightened. I quickly called my closest friend. “Can you lend me a little money? Or book a room for me? I just need somewhere to spend the night with Mia.” She was silent for a couple of seconds, then dropped her voice. “Willa, it’s not that I don’t want to help you.” “It’s just that my firm is in the middle of a partnership with Elias’s company right now. Your name is being dragged through every corner of the territory. If I step in, every deal we have on the table will be terminated by the Alpha unilaterally.” Before she’d even finished, I understood. I hung up in silence. Watching my own bedraggled reflection ripple across the polished marble floor, I couldn’t help finding it darkly funny. Twenty-some years of living, and in the end I had nothing at all. The only one who would still stand by me without a moment’s hesitation was Mia, right there in my arms. Then, the next second, Mia’s small body swayed against mine. I pressed a hand to her forehead—and my heart dropped straight into ice water. She was burning up. I scrolled through every contact I had, and finally called a wolf I had never wanted to trouble. After some difficulty, I managed to borrow enough money, and I carried Mia back to the front desk to check in. The clerk suddenly rolled her eyes at me. “No wonder all your cards got frozen. So you’re the Luna who’s been sleeping around with an outsider.” “Oh no, wait—you’re not the Luna anymore, are you? The Alpha’s already decided to dissolve the mate bond with you.” She looked me up and down, her tone growing more vicious. “Not enough to have a messy personal life—you had to bring some mongrel of unknown parentage along to embarrass yourself in public.” “Get out of here. Our hotel does not accommodate whores like you!” Moments later, security shoved us out the door. Guests all around turned to stare. Mia was burning with fever, half-conscious, her face pressed into the hollow of my shoulder, murmuring: “Daddy… don’t leave me…” That single sentence tore my whole heart apart. I bit down hard, then finally pulled out my phone and dialed Elias’s number. Ten calls in a row. No one picked up. My fingers trembling, I finally typed out a message and sent it. *Mia has a fever. Can you please come?* A long stretch of silence, and then a reply. *The kid isn’t even mine. I don’t have time to act out some sob story with you.* I stared at that cold, cold line. At that moment, I couldn’t even cry out. In the end, I took Mia to the werewolf clinic alone—and there I saw a familiar figure. Elias was carefully supporting Liane, walking her into the maternity consultation room. The werewolf doctor handed a bloodline examination report to Elias, his voice tinged with reproach as he issued his instructions. “There’s bleeding in the first trimester. There’s a threat of miscarriage.” “The first few months are critical. As the father, you need to be careful. No mating for now.” Elias instinctively drew Liane closer. “Does it still hurt?” Liane gave a small shake of her head. Elias’s brow furrowed. He lowered his voice. “Don’t go home tonight. Come stay with me. I’ll take care of you.” Liane bit her lower lip, gave a quiet murmur of assent, and leaned into his chest. I stood there, feeling the blood in my veins slowly turn to ice. Years ago, when I was pregnant with Mia, he’d held me just the same way. The morning sickness had been so bad I couldn’t even keep water down. He’d handed all pack affairs off to another wolf and stayed with me, focused entirely on the pregnancy. He had held me, that thick Alpha scent wrapping around me, and made me a solemn promise: *”Willa, you and our pup are the most important things in this life.”* Now, the one trampling Mia and me into the dirt was that same man. I suddenly found it almost funny. So this was it. However true a person’s love ran when they loved you— that was how cruel they could be when they didn’t. Mia was still burning against my chest. My phone buzzed. *Willa, I don’t want to drag this out any longer. Meet me at the Moon Goddess Temple in three days. Let’s dissolve the mate bond for good.*

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The party was for our three-year anniversary. Wesley—godfather of the Costa family—had brought his first love, Jessica. Halfway through the evening, someone suggested a round of “Never Have I Ever.” Jessica’s cheeks were flushed pink from drinking. She looked right at me, a challenge in her eyes. “I’ve been pregnant with Wesley’s child.” The friends around us went suddenly quiet. My hand froze on my glass. She added, slow and deliberate: “More than once. And he was the one who took me to every procedure.” I looked at Wesley. His face went white. His lips moved, but he didn’t say a single word to deny it. I stared at the text box on my phone—the proposal I’d been about to send. My finger hovered over the screen for a long time. In the end, I calmly deleted it. I excused myself to the restroom and booked the next flight to Paris. Wesley didn’t notice a thing. He even texted me: “Jessica’s drunk. Come help her up. Stop being difficult.” I didn’t reply. At dawn, the plane took off. This time, I only bought a one-way ticket. … When the plane landed, it had just rained in Paris. I turned my phone back on, and Wesley’s messages popped up one after another. “Fannie, where are you?” “Jessica’s not feeling well. How could you just leave her alone in the restroom?” “It’s just an anniversary. You can always celebrate again. Don’t make a scene over this.” The last message was from three in the morning. “Where the hell did you go?” I stood in the airport terminal, dragging my suitcase, staring at those words for a few seconds. Then I typed back one line. “None of your business.” The moment the message sent, my phone rang. I didn’t answer. He called again. On the third try, I picked up. Wesley’s voice was heavy, ragged from a sleepless night. “Fannie, where are you?” “Paris.” Two seconds of silence on his end. “Jessica says a few drunk things and you fly to Paris overnight?” I tucked my passport into my bag. My voice was flat. “She wasn’t drunk when she said it, was she.” His breath hitched. I heard a lighter click, then quickly snap shut. “That was all in the past.” “Does being in the past make it nothing?” He seemed to lose patience, his tone turning cold. “Fannie, I’m under no obligation to account for every single thing that happened before I met you.” I let out a quiet hm. “Then I’m under no obligation to stay.” Wesley was silent for a moment, as though he’d finally wrestled his temper under control. “Stop saying things you don’t mean. Send me your address. I’ll have a driver take you to a hotel. Get some rest. I’ll fly out tomorrow.” “No need.” “Fannie.” He bit down on my name, like a warning not to push him. “Three years. You should know my limits by now. I don’t tolerate people using disappearance as a threat.” I looked through the airport glass at the wet sky outside and suddenly remembered the scene in the party hall last night. When Jessica said those words, everyone was watching me. And Wesley hadn’t denied it. He’d only been silent. Sometimes silence is harder to accept than an admission. I tightened my grip on the suitcase handle. “Wesley, I’m not threatening you.” Jessica’s voice drifted through from his end, hazy and soft. “Wesley, my head hurts.” Wesley immediately murmured back to her. “Drink some water.” When he spoke to me again, there was impatience in his tone. “You heard her. She drank too much last night and she’s still feeling sick. Can you please not cause problems right now?” I laughed a little. “So me leaving counts as causing problems.” “Fannie, you know that’s not what I meant.” “Then what did you mean?” He faltered. I didn’t wait for his answer. “Take care of her. I need to check in.” “Fannie, don’t you dare hang up on me.” I hung up. My phone buzzed a few more times. I put it on silent. My professor’s assistant was standing at the exit holding a sign. When she spotted me, she called my name. I walked over, and she smiled as she took my luggage. “Ms. Fannie, welcome back. The gallery is all set up. Professor says if you’re willing to stay this time, the lead designer position at the studio has always been yours.” I gripped the ring box in my bag. Before last night, I’d been planning to propose to Wesley on our anniversary. That ring—I’d designed it myself. On the inside of the band, in very small letters, it read: Only you. Now it sat at the bottom of my bag, pressing hard against my palm. I looked up at the grey-blue sky. “I’ll stay.” The assistant smiled. “That’s wonderful.” My phone screen lit up again. Wesley. “When you’re done throwing your tantrum, come back. Jessica has a follow-up appointment tomorrow. I don’t have time to comfort you.” I stared at those words for a long time, until the screen dimmed and lit up again on its own. The sentence was like a needle, precise, slipping into the corner of me I’d thought was solid, spreading a fine, sharp pain. So there were things he couldn’t even be bothered to explain to me. Parts of his past he’d never intended to let me see. This time, I wasn’t going back.

I was halfway through the on boarding paperwork when Wesley’s video call came in. My professor glanced at my phone. “Need to take it?” I shook my head. “No.” The screen lit and dimmed, dimmed and lit. The assistant slid the contract in front of me. “Ms. Fannie, this brand collaboration requires your real name as the signatory. All partner organizations will also publish it publicly. Is that all right?” My fingertip paused. The partner was a jewelry brand under the Costa family’s umbrella. Three months ago, I’d been the one to broker this project for Wesley. Back then he’d said: “Once this collab is a success, we’ll get married.” I’d thought it was a promise. Looking back now, it was just a piece of candy he’d tossed me. I signed my name. “Fine.” The moment I set down the pen, a message from Wesley popped up. “Answer the phone.” I didn’t respond. A second later, a friend request from Jessica appeared. The note was a single line: “Hey sis, Wesley’s going crazy looking for you. Don’t make him worry.” I stared at the word “worry” and tapped Accept. She responded quickly with a photo. In it, Wesley sat in a hospital corridor, holding a payment receipt. Jessica’s hand rested on his sleeve, her nails painted a pale pink. “Don’t get the wrong idea, sis. It’s just a follow-up appointment.” “My body took a hit back then, you know. Wesley’s always felt pretty guilty about it.” I didn’t reply. She sent another message. “I drank too much last night and said things I shouldn’t have. If it bothers you, I can apologize.” Then she recalled a message. But I still saw it. “Though he really was so worried about me back then. He signed the surgery consent forms himself.” I set my phone face-down on the desk. My professor asked. “Feeling okay?” I said. “I’m fine.” He studied me for a few seconds, then handed me a design brief. “This is the theme the domestic team proposed. It’s called Old Love Reunited. See if it’s something you can work with.” The moment I flipped the page open, I saw the note in the bottom right corner. Primary visual reference: Jessica. I stared at those three syllables and suddenly felt like laughing. Wesley really knew how to arrange things. I do the design work. He makes Jessica the muse. That evening, back at the apartment, I’d barely unzipped my suitcase when the doorbell rang. A courier handed me an international express package. Sender: Wesley. Inside was a white cashmere scarf. And a note. “It’s cold in Paris. Don’t catch a cold. Come back when you’ve cooled off.” The scarf was new. Tags still on. But the scent was familiar. It was the perfume Jessica had been wearing last night. I opened social media. Jessica had posted a photo half an hour ago. “Someone bought two scarves—said one’s for me, one’s to make peace.” People were teasing her in the comments. “Classic Wesley.” Jessica replied: “Oh stop. He said I’m fragile, so he let me pick first.” I put the scarf back in the box. Wesley’s call came again. This time I answered. His voice had softened a bit. “Get the package?” “I did.” “Like it?” I looked at the trash can. “Jessica’s reject?” A beat of silence on the other end. “Fannie, do you have to talk like that?” “How else should I talk?” He was working hard not to sound angry. “I sent you something because I’m trying to make it up to you. Not so you can pick it apart.” “Wesley, you know I’m allergic to wool.” He seemed to choke on that. A few seconds passed before he said: “I forgot.” Forgot. Such a light word. Three years hadn’t been enough for him to remember. I set the delivery box by the door. “Next time, just don’t bother sending anything.” “Fannie.” His voice went cold. “The collab meeting is online next week. I suggest you sort out your emotions. Business is business—don’t bring personal issues into it.” I looked down at the signature on the contract. “Don’t worry.” I hung up and took the ring box out of my bag. Under the lamp, the ring sat there quietly, as though mocking me for being a joke. I locked it in the drawer. As the key turned, my phone buzzed. The jewelry brand’s official account had posted a new update. “The Old Love Reunited collection is launching soon. Special inspiration guest: Jessica.”

The online meeting was set to begin. Wesley was ten minutes late. When the screen lit up, the family boardroom was visible behind him. Jessica sat beside him, draped in that white cashmere scarf. She smiled into the camera. “Fannie, it’s been so long! You look like you’ve lost so much weight in Paris.” I opened my files. “Let’s begin.” Wesley frowned. “Nothing else to say?” I looked at him. “What would you like to hear?” The conference room went quiet for a moment. Wesley’s expression darkened half a shade. Jessica immediately smoothed things over. “Wesley, don’t be like that. Fannie’s still mad at me.” She pulled the scarf a little higher, her voice pitched just right—soft, disarming. “Fannie, what happened that night was really my fault. But the past can’t be changed. Don’t blame Wesley—he was in a difficult position back then too.” I capped my pen. “Ms. Jessica, today we’re discussing design. Not gynecological history.” Someone on the other end ducked their head and coughed. Wesley’s gaze turned icy. “Fannie, watch your language.” I looked up. “She can announce it publicly at my anniversary dinner, but I can’t ask her to be quiet in a meeting?” Jessica’s eyes immediately went red. “That’s not what I meant. I just thought since the theme is old love reunited, maybe my experiences could help with the design.” Wesley pushed a cup of warm water toward her hand. “Don’t cry.” Then he looked at me. “Jessica is the inspiration guest for this project. You’ll take her input.” I pulled up the design file. “Fine.” I shared my draft on screen. “I’d like to propose changing the theme to Broken Ring. Old love isn’t about reunion—it’s about misalignment. The band splits in the center, bridged by cold white gold. Visually, the gap remains.” The brand’s marketing director perked up. “That’s a sophisticated concept.” But Jessica let out a soft laugh. “Wouldn’t a gap be a bit unlucky, though? Didn’t Wesley say he wanted this collection to feel bittersweet but complete?” Wesley looked at the screen, his tone flat. “Make it a full circle.” I said. “A full circle has no distinction.” “The client wants sales, not your feelings.” He tapped the table. “Fannie, you haven’t been stable lately. Don’t be stubborn.” I looked at his hand. That hand used to hold mine while we sketched ring designs together. He’d said: “Your work has thorns and light. That’s what I love most about it.” Now he was telling me to pull out the thorns. To accommodate Jessica’s idea of wholeness. My professor spoke up. “Mr. Wesley, Fannie’s concept aligns more closely with international aesthetics.” Wesley’s expression didn’t change. “Marketing is my responsibility. I say change it.” Jessica said softly. “Maybe just drop it. She doesn’t like me. She won’t accept anything I suggest.” Wesley turned to me. “Apologize to Jessica.” I thought I’d misheard. “What?” “She was only offering a suggestion. You embarrassed her in front of everyone.” I laughed. “Wesley, you’re asking me to apologize to her in a business meeting?” “This is a professional setting.” “And?” He fixed his eyes on me, every word deliberate. “So don’t make me question whether you have any professional conduct at all.” No one in the room spoke. Jessica kept her eyes lowered, but the corner of her mouth curved just slightly upward. I closed the screen-share. “Ms. Jessica, I’m sorry.” Wesley’s gaze relaxed a fraction. I continued. “I’m sorry I underestimated your ability to package your personal life as professional input.” Jessica went pale. Wesley shot to his feet. “Fannie!” I pulled out my earpiece. “Meeting’s adjourned. I’ll submit my revision notes in writing.” Before I disconnected, I heard Wesley’s voice, tight with fury. “You’d better think about the consequences.” The screen went black. My professor was quiet for a moment, then said: “Has he always spoken to you like that?” I looked at my hands. My fingertips were ice cold. “No.” He used to introduce me to everyone. He’d say: “This is Fannie. The most important person in my life—and the best designer I know.” At some point, the most important person had become a contractor who could be reprimanded in public. My phone screen lit up. A message from Wesley. “Give Jessica a formal apology by tonight. Otherwise the lead designer position gets reassigned.” I stared at it for a long time. Then replied. “Do what you want.” Five minutes later, an email was CC’d to my inbox. Lead designer: Jessica. Special consultant: Fannie.

The launch event was set for one week later. Wesley required me to attend. My professor placed the invitation on the desk. “You can decline.” I looked at the words Special Consultant on the card. “I’ll go.” He frowned. “Fannie, you don’t have to tolerate this kind of humiliation.” I took the ring box from the drawer and slipped it into my bag. “Some things need to be returned in person.” The day I flew back, Wesley was at the airport to pick me up. He wore a black overcoat, standing tall among the crowd, his features sharp and cold. When he saw me, he stepped forward to take my luggage. I moved away. His hand hung in the air. His expression darkened. “Still not done?” I pulled my suitcase toward the exit. He followed. “The lead designer change—you brought it on yourself. If you’d just apologized to Jessica properly, I could have put your name back.” “No need.” “Fannie.” He caught my wrist—not hard, but firm enough that I couldn’t pull free. “You didn’t used to be like this.” I looked at him. “You didn’t used to put another woman in my seat.” Something shifted in his eyes. Quickly, he smoothed it away. “Jessica’s only filling in temporarily. She’s not well, and her career is just starting. I’m helping her out.” I nodded. “You’ve always been very good at helping her.” His brow creased. “How long are you going to keep dredging up the past?” “Until it stops hurting, I suppose.” He released my wrist, as if my words had stung him. In the car, Jessica turned around from the passenger seat. “What a coincidence! I just happened to come along to pick you up too.” She was wearing Wesley’s jacket. The sleeves were too long, covering her hands. Wesley leaned over and fastened her seatbelt. “She gets carsick. She needs the front.” I sat in the back without a word. Halfway through the drive, Jessica suddenly pressed a hand to her lower abdomen. “Wesley, it hurts.” Wesley immediately pulled over. “Where’s your medication?” “In my bag.” He rummaged through her purse with the ease of someone who’d done it a hundred times before. Jessica watched me in the rearview mirror, her voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t mind me. The surgeries left some issues. Wesley’s just used to looking after me.” I turned to the window. Wesley’s hand paused on the medication bottle. “Jessica.” She went quiet immediately, eyes reddening. “Sorry. I said the wrong thing again.” Wesley didn’t scold her. He just murmured: “Drink some water.” Backstage at the launch, everything was chaos. I’d just finished changing when a staff member brought me a badge. “Ms. Fannie, here’s your seat.” I looked down. Special Consultant. Second row, end seat. Jessica walked over. Her badge read: Lead Designer. She touched the nameplate on her chest. “Honestly, sis, I didn’t expect Wesley to trust me this much either.” She leaned in slightly. “But don’t worry. I won’t take what’s yours.” I looked at her. “Haven’t you taken enough?” Her smile faded slightly. “He gave those things willingly.”

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On the day of our engagement, I was driving my brand-new car, taking my fiancée and both of our parents upstate for a celebratory weekend. Love songs drifted softly from the Bluetooth speakers. Everything felt steady, peaceful, and solid. Then we pulled into a highway rest stop. She got out to grab some water, leaving her phone connected to the car’s system. And a man’s voice exploded through the speakers. That was the exact moment I realized—sometimes, cutting your losses happens in a heartbeat, when you least expect it. 1 October 18th, 2024. The weather was ridiculously beautiful. The autumn air was crisp, the sky a vast, unbroken blue. A perfect day to get engaged. Or, as it turned out, a perfect day for my entire life to derail. My name is Lewis. I’m twenty-eight, a lead software engineer at a tech firm. Average looks, decent income. My personality? In my mother’s words, I’m “a vault—solid, quiet, and impossible to rattle, even in a thunderstorm.” Today was the day Cathy and I officially got engaged. We’d finished our engagement brunch that morning. Afterward, I suggested we drive upstate to a lake resort for the night to celebrate with our parents. The car was a brand-new $38,000 Mazda SUV I’d spent two years saving for. It wasn’t a luxury ride, but for me, it represented every late night and skipped vacation. Cathy sat in the passenger seat, wearing a white sundress, her hair falling loose over her shoulders. The autumn sun streamed through the windshield, catching the edges of her hair. She looked stunning. I’ll give her that. In the back, our parents were squeezed together—my mom and dad on the left, her parents, Richard and Ella, on the right. Six people packed into one SUV made for a lively atmosphere. Cathy paired her phone to the Bluetooth, putting on Taylor Swift’s “Lover.” My mom was beaming in the rearview mirror. “Oh, Cathy, I love this song. So romantic.” Ella chimed in, matching her tone. “Our Cathy has always been a romantic. You’re a lucky man, Lewis.” My dad and Richard were deep in conversation about fly-fishing. Everything was flowing seamlessly. It felt so incredibly right that I almost believed this was what the rest of my life would look like. The highway was mostly clear. I set the cruise control to seventy miles per hour. Sunshine, love songs, comfortable chatter. It was idyllic. I glanced over at Cathy. She was looking down at her phone, a soft, secret smile playing on her lips. For a long time afterward, I’d wonder what exactly she was smiling at in that moment. “Rest area, two miles ahead,” the GPS chimed. “Hey Lewis, mind pulling over? I want to grab a bottle of water,” Cathy said, looking up with a sweet smile. I flicked the turn signal and guided the car into the rest stop. Once parked, Cathy unbuckled, grabbed her purse, and stepped out. The breeze caught the hem of her dress, and she smoothed it down before heading toward the convenience store. I watched her walk away until she disappeared through the glass doors. I adjusted the rearview mirror and looked back. “Do you guys want to get out and stretch your legs?” My mom waved her hand. “No, we’re fine. Just a quick break.” Ella smiled. “Driving must be tiring. Once we get to the resort, I’ll have Richard buy you a drink.” The car fell quiet. The song ended, leaving a brief, heavy silence in the cabin. Then— A man’s voice blasted through the car’s speakers without warning. It wasn’t music. It was an incoming call, auto-answered because her phone was still linked to the Bluetooth from the store’s entrance. The voice was smug, dripping with a lazy, teasing drawl. Amplified by the car’s premium audio system, it filled the tight space, leaving nowhere to hide. “Hey baby. Are you really going through with marrying that chump?” My hands stayed gripped on the steering wheel. I didn’t move. The back seat went dead silent. “I’m serious,” the man’s voice drawled on, chuckling now, a cruel undercurrent in his tone. “You’re carrying my kid. I’m not down with my son calling some other guy Daddy. It makes my skin crawl.” My kid. Calling some other guy Daddy. Every ounce of air was sucked out of the SUV. In the rearview mirror, I saw my mom grip my dad’s hand so hard her knuckles turned white. Ella’s face… I watched the color drain from her skin in real-time. Her mouth hung open, frozen in a silent gasp. Richard’s reaction was even more telling. His eyes darted nervously—first to my mom, then to his wife, and finally, his gaze settled on the back of my neck. What was in that look? Guilt. Pure, unadulterated guilt. The speakers kept blaring. “Look, I know you’re at a rest stop and probably can’t talk. When we get to the hotel tonight, make up some excuse to slip out. I booked a room nearby. We need to talk about the baby.” The man laughed. “Your husband—oh, my bad, your “fiancé”—probably doesn’t even know you’re pregnant, right? Ha. Let him play house for a few months. Then, down the road…” I reached out and clicked the power button on the dash. The audio cut out. The only sound left was the quiet hum of the air conditioning. Silence. So thick you could hear someone in the back seat swallow. I didn’t turn around. My hands remained steady at ten and two. My mom’s voice came from behind me, trembling violently. “Lewis… honey…” I didn’t let her finish. “Mom, it’s fine.” Three words. My voice was as flat and lifeless as a glass of stale water. I shifted the car into drive and slowly pulled out of the parking spot. But I didn’t head toward the highway on-ramp. Instead, I drove to a deserted patch of asphalt near the far edge of the rest stop and put it in park. I pulled out my phone, opened Google Maps, and typed in a new destination. In the back, Richard leaned forward to peek at the screen. I heard him suck in a sharp breath. The screen read: “State Police Barracks – 24 miles, 35 minutes away.” Not the resort. The police station. 2 I pulled back onto the highway, heading in the opposite direction. Back toward town. The air in the back seat remained frozen for about thirty seconds. Then Ella finally broke, her voice shaky. “Lewis… look, this has to be a misunderstanding!” I didn’t reply. “I know my daughter. Cathy isn’t like that! It has to be some prank, or a wrong number!” Ella’s voice grew frantic, taking on a familiar pitch—the desperate self-hypnosis of someone trying to sell a lie. I kept quiet. I changed lanes, overtook a semi, and pushed the speed to eighty. “Lewis! Pull over! Just pull over!” Richard’s voice boomed. “Let’s wait for Cathy to explain when she gets back! Turn the car around!” I caught his eye in the rearview mirror. Just for a second. Richard’s voice instantly withered. “I… I just mean, shouldn’t she at least get a chance to explain?” My dad spoke up then. His voice was low, but it carried weight. “Richard, your daughter’s phone was connected to my son’s car. We all heard what that man said.” “That wasn’t a prank.” My mom bit her lip, refusing to make a sound, but I knew she was crying because she sniffled. My mom always sniffled when she cried. She’d done it my whole life. My fingers tightened on the leather steering wheel. Just once. Then I let go. Then my phone rang. Caller ID: Cathy. Every eye in the car locked onto the screen. I hit accept and put it on speaker. “Lewis! Where are you?! Where’s the car?!” Cathy’s voice rushed through the speaker, breathless with panic. “I came out of the store and you’re gone! Where are you going?!” She sounded frantic. But it wasn’t the “‘Oh my god, did something happen to you?’” kind of panic. It was the “‘I’m busted’” kind of panic. I’d shut off the system before she bought her water, so she didn’t know how much we’d heard. But she clearly realized something was wrong—either she’d checked her call log, or the guy had texted her. “Wait there. I’ll arrange a ride to pick you up.” My tone was completely level. “A ride? What does that mean? Lewis, what are you talking about?! Bring the car back! Are you…” She stopped short. A two-second silence stretched over the line. “Lewis… did you… did you hear something?” I didn’t answer. The back seat was as silent as a tomb. “Lewis! Let me explain! That guy is just an ex-colleague, he’s crazy! He has mental issues! He’s stalking me! I swear, Lewis, it’s the truth!” She started sobbing. It was loud, desperate, and incredibly convincing. A week ago, I probably would have believed her. Not today. “You can order an Uber from the rest stop. Find your own way back.” I hung up and flipped the ringer switch to silent. The screen lit up, faded, and lit up again. Cathy was calling back, over and over. I counted—eleven missed calls in the span of two minutes. The twelfth call went to Ella’s phone. I hadn’t even noticed her pulling it out. “Cathy! Tell me the truth right now! What is going on?!” Ella put it on speaker. Her daughter’s weeping echoed through the cabin. On the other end, Cathy was hyperventilating through her tears. “Mom! No! He’s stalking me! I swear I didn’t do anything…” “Then why did he say you’re pregnant?!” Ella’s voice spiked. “I’m not pregnant! He’s lying! Mom, you have to believe me!” “Tell Lewis to turn the car around! I’ll explain it to him!” Ella hung up. I didn’t need to look back to feel the burning intensity of her glare boring into the back of my skull. “Lewis,” Ella took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice with a thin veneer of reason. “Cathy says this man is just harassing her. I think—” “Ella,” my mom interrupted. Her voice had stopped shaking. It was incredibly quiet, but I knew the storm brewing beneath that quiet. “My son bought this car with two years of savings. The fifty thousand dollars he wired to Cathy’s account this morning for their house down payment came from his father’s and my retirement funds.” “We were so happy at the brunch today we couldn’t sleep a wink last night. How do you expect us to believe her now?” Ella opened her mouth, but nothing came out. The cabin lapsed into silence once more. I stared at the road ahead, a faint, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of my mouth. It wasn’t a smile. It was… relief. The GPS voiced: “In half a mile, take exit 14 on the right.” We were almost there. 3 I pulled into the precinct parking lot and shut off the engine. Nobody in the back seat moved. I unbuckled and pushed the door open. The late afternoon autumn air swept in, carrying a sharp chill. “Lewis… are you… are you really going in?” my dad asked, his voice rough. I looked back at him. “Dad, getting this on the record is the only way to protect ourselves.” My mom was already dabbing her eyes, but she gave a firm nod. “Go. I’m coming with you.” Richard sat frozen in the back. His face was a mask of sheer humiliation—not anger, but the raw shame of a man caught red-handed in public. Ella couldn’t handle it anymore. She grabbed my arm. “Lewis! What are you doing? Making a scene at a police station… think of our families’ reputations!” I looked down at her hand clutching my forearm. Her nails were manicured, painted a dark plum. I didn’t shake her off. I just looked her in the eye and spoke quietly. “Mrs. Mercer, reputation is the least of my worries right now.” “I need to know if she’s pregnant. And if she is, whether the child is mine.” “A hospital lab will decide that, not her tears.” Her grip fell away as if she’d touched hot iron. I turned and walked through the heavy double doors of the precinct. The desk officer, a young woman, looked up with a polite, professional smile. “How can I help you today, sir?” “I’d like to file a report.” “What kind?” I paused, choosing my words carefully. “Grand larceny and fraud. Attempted.” The officer’s expression shifted. She glanced past me—my parents had followed me in, while Cathy’s parents stood outside, hesitating by the glass doors. “Have a seat over there, sir. Let me get you some water while I find an officer to assist you.” I sat down. The plastic chair was rigid and cold, but it felt a hundred times more comfortable than the leather seats in my car. While waiting, I glanced at my phone. In silent mode, my notifications had piled up. Thirty-seven missed calls. Cathy accounted for twenty-nine. The remaining eight were from an unknown local number. I stared at the unknown digits for a moment. Local area code. Ending in 8866. I took a screenshot and saved it. Three minutes later, a detective in his late thirties walked over. He had a kind, tired face. “Hi there, I’m Detective Cooper. You’re here to report a fraud?” “Yes,” I said. “Explain what happened.” I handed him my phone and pulled up the audio file. My Mazda’s infotainment system had an automatic call-recording feature—a setting I used to think was a useless gimmick when I bought the car. Turns out, it was worth every penny. Detective Cooper listened to the recording. His professional mask slipped. His brow furrowed, settling into a look of deep sympathy that basically said, “Man, you’re having a hell of a day.” “So…” He set the phone down and looked at me. “What’s your current legal relationship with this woman?” “We got engaged this morning. I wired fifty thousand dollars to her personal account for a house down payment as part of our engagement agreement.” “Are you legally married?” “No. We just had the brunch. No license has been signed yet.” Cooper nodded, looking slightly relieved. “Good. That makes it cleaner. An engagement isn’t a binding marriage. If there’s no marriage certificate, recovering funds transferred under false pretenses is highly viable.” “I know,” I said. “So, what are you hoping to achieve today?” “First, I want confirmation of her pregnancy. Second, if she is pregnant, I want a prenatal DNA test. Third, I want my fifty thousand dollars back.” Cooper stared at me. He had probably never dealt with someone so utterly composed under these circumstances. “Alright, let’s get your statement down on paper. Do you have contact info for her?” “Yes. And I have the number of the guy who called her. It’s this unknown number that called me eight times.” Cooper took the number down. He was about to speak when a commotion broke out by the entrance. Cathy had arrived. I don’t know if she took an Uber or hitchhiked, but she had managed to get here from the rest stop in under forty minutes. Her white dress was wrinkled, her makeup was smeared, and her hair was a tangled mess. She stood in the doorway of the precinct, panting, her eyes swollen and bloodshot. When she saw me sitting there, her knees buckled slightly. “Lewis!” her voice cracked, echoing loudly in the sterile waiting room. A few officers at their desks looked up. “Lewis! Please, listen to me! That was Chase! He’s just an ex-coworker! He’s been stalking me for months! Nothing happened between us, I swear!” She lunged toward me, reaching for my hands. I pulled them back, a smooth, instinctual movement, like dodging a stray mosquito. Her hands hovered in the empty air, frozen. “Lewis…” her lip trembled, tears spilling over her mascara-streaked cheeks. “You don’t believe me?” I looked at her. Really looked at her for three long seconds. Then I said, “Go take a pregnancy test.” “What?” “St. Jude’s Hospital is right next door,” I said, pointing toward the window. “A five-minute walk. Go get a blood test and bring me the lab report. If you’re not pregnant, we can talk. If you are—” I paused. “We’re doing a prenatal DNA test. I’ll pay for it.” Cathy’s face went entirely bloodless. It wasn’t the pale shock of being falsely accused. It was the stark, hollow white of being utterly exposed. I’ve seen people go pale from nerves, anger, or fear. But this was different. The color drained from her pupils outward, leaving her eyes vacant, her lips grey, her entire face ironed flat of any human expression. She didn’t speak. She stood there, her lips twitching as if searching for a lie, but her voice failed her. Cooper looked between us, then quietly picked up his pen. He didn’t need any more explanation. That was when Ella burst through the door. “Cathy! Tell me right now! Are you pregnant or not?!” Cathy looked at her mother, then at me. Then, her knees gave out. She collapsed onto the cold tile floor, curling into a ball, and began to sob hysterically. It was loud, agonizing, and raw. But to me, it was just white noise. Like static from a broken radio, grating and hollow. I stood up, brushing imaginary dust off my jeans, and looked at the detective. “Detective, do you need any more statements from me?” Cooper stayed quiet for a moment, then shook his head. No. That collapse on the floor said more than any confession ever could.

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I was the only daughter of an incredibly wealthy man—naive, soft-spoken, and painfully agreeable. But I was also someone who listened to advice. When my father died of a sudden heart attack, my world fractured. As I knelt weeping outside the ER doors, my stepmother, my half-brother, and my fiancé immediately shed their disguises. They wanted me gone. They wanted the company keys. They wanted me stripped of everything. I was on the verge of giving in, too weak to fight back, when I saw the words. Luminous, floating text scrolled across my vision like a live-stream feed. [Don’t cry! Your dad is faking it. He took a beta-blocker cocktail to test them. Don’t blow his cover!] … Meredith stood over me, looking down like I was something she’d stepped in. “Your father is gone,” she said, her voice flat and dry. “Go pay the ER bill, and while you’re at it, hand over the corporate seal.” She didn’t have a single tear in her eyes. I sat paralyzed on the freezing hospital floor, my mind a complete blank. Just half an hour ago, my dad had been sitting across from me at the breakfast table, complaining about his coffee. Then he’d gasped, clutching his chest, and collapsed. By the time the ambulance pulled up to the hospital, he had stopped breathing. I was crying so hard I could barely draw breath, my fingers clutching the hem of Meredith’s trousers. “Meredith, please. The doctors said they could try one more time. Tell them to use whatever it takes. I’ll pay anything.” “Don’t be naive, Isabel. Death is final.” Meredith brushed me off with a sharp jerk of her leg. She usually wore casual athleisure, putting her arm around my shoulders and telling everyone we were more like best friends than stepmother and daughter. Now, her face held nothing but naked, cold calculation. “Isabel, sweetie, I’ve always looked out for you like my own. Now that your father’s gone, let me carry this burden. What do you know about running an empire? Hand over the vault keys and the signing authority.” I stared at her, utterly shattered. My father’s body wasn’t even cold, and she couldn’t even bother to pretend anymore. “I won’t,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “We haven’t even planned the funeral. How can you do this?” Before she could answer, a heavy set of footsteps stomped down the hallway. It was Brody, my half-brother, his bleached blond hair disheveled and a vicious sneer on his face. “The old man is finally dead!” Brody yelled, pointing a finger directly at my face. “You useless leech, hand over those keys!” “The Mercer estate belongs to me. You’re just a daughter who’s going to marry out anyway. What right do you have to anything?” He lunged forward, grabbing a handful of my hair, and shoved me hard against the wall. A sharp pain shot through my scalp. I gasped, instinctively looking toward my fiancé, Simon Graham, who was standing a few feet away. “Simon, help me!” Simon walked over slowly. He reached down and pried Brody’s fingers off me. For a second, I thought he was going to defend me. But then he pulled a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and began wiping his hands with slow, deliberate disgust. “Isabel, Brody is right. You have nothing now. Stop being difficult,” Simon said. His eyes, once so warm, were now as cold as winter frost. “If you hand over the corporate seal quietly, I will still honor our engagement and marry you. Think of it as my final act of charity. Don’t push your luck.” I felt suffocated. The three people I trusted most in the world had turned into monsters in less than an hour. My hand trembled as I reached into my purse for the keys. I was ready to give up. I was ready to let them take it all just to make the nightmare stop. But then, the glowing words appeared in the air. [Don’t give it to them! You don’t know the first thing about running the company. If you surrender the seal, they’ll bleed you dry.] [They’ve been plotting this for months. Simon is already sleeping with Meredith’s niece.] My fingers froze inside my bag. Then, a bold red line of text floated past: [Don’t cry! Your dad is faking it. He took a temporary-coma drug to test their loyalty. Don’t blow his cover!] [I gasped, my breath catching in my throat. I didn’t know where these floating words were coming from, but I had always been highly suggestible—especially when I was completely overwhelmed. I looked at the closed double doors of the ER. [Dad is alive? He’s in there, listening to everything?] I pulled my hand out of my purse and took a deep, steadying breath. “I don’t have the keys on me.” “Bullshit!” Brody kicked a metal trash can, sending it clattering across the linoleum. “I saw you slip them into your designer bag before we left the house!” He lunged to grab my bag. I hugged it tightly to my chest, refusing to let go. Simon sighed, a look of profound annoyance crossing his face. “Isabel, do you really want to make this ugly? You don’t have a single penny in your personal account. Without the Mercers, without me, you won’t even be able to buy groceries. Just listen to me, okay?” I hesitated. Part of me, the old, weak part, desperately wanted to believe him. Then the text flashed again: [Girl, are you seriously this gullible? You believe a single word out of his mouth?] [Listen to us: Play along, act weak, and record everything they do.] [Your dad is practically vibrating with rage in there. Let him see their true colors.] [I clenched my jaw, keeping my head down so they wouldn’t see the shift in my eyes. I held onto the bag with everything I had. Brody raised his hand to strike me, but a passing nurse yelled at him to behave. Meredith, realizing they were drawing a crowd, smoothed down her shirt and forced a tight, fake smile. “Fine. Keep your useless keys for now. Stay here with the corpse.” She sneered, leaning in close. “Brody, Simon, let’s head to the estate. There’s plenty of valuable art and antiques to secure anyway.” Watching them walk away, I felt a wave of cold fury replace my fear. The text floated again: [Don’t worry. Let them rob the place. Anything over ten thousand dollars is a felony.] [Go buy a spy camera. There’s going to be a grand performance at the mansion.] [I wiped my face, pushed myself up from the cold floor, and looked through the glass window of the ER at the sheet-covered figure on the bed. “Meredith, wait! I’m coming with you,” I called out, making my voice sound as weak and broken as possible. I didn’t take an Uber. I took the city bus, stopping at a local tech shop to buy a tiny spy pen, just as the comments suggested. When I opened the front doors of our suburban mansion, my jaw dropped. The grand living room was completely trashed. The Italian leather sofas had been slashed open, and the crystal glasses lay shattered across the hardwood floor. Brody was standing by the fireplace, hammering away at the wall safe with a heavy mallet. “What’s the damn passcode? Even dead, the old bastard is a pain in the ass!” Meredith was standing nearby, directing two movers to pack up my dad’s favorite paintings. “Careful with that landscape. It’s a genuine piece. It’ll fetch at least half a million.” I trembled, balling my fists. Text scrolled wildly in my vision: [Record it! This is textbook grand larceny and destruction of property!] [The meathead’s got muscle. Let him smash. The more he breaks, the longer his prison sentence.] [I swallowed my anger, pasting a terrified expression on my face, and crept into the room. “Meredith, what are you doing?” Meredith didn’t even look guilty. “Oh, Isabel. I’m just organizing your father’s estate. These paintings are just gathering dust. We need to liquidate them to cover the company’s cash flow crisis.” “But those were Dad’s favorites…” “Shut up!” Brody snarled, pointing the mallet at me. “One more word and I’ll crack your skull next!” I shrank back, letting tears well up in my eyes. Simon came downstairs, holding a small velvet jewelry box. It was my mother’s heirloom—a priceless emerald necklace. “Simon, that’s my mother’s!” I lunged for it, my heart dropping. He dodged easily and handed the box to Meredith. “Isabel, don’t be selfish. Meredith has been working herself to the bone for this family. Think of this as a token of appreciation.” “Simon, that is my inheritance! How dare you give it away?” “Because I am your fiancé!” Simon snapped, his patience wearing thin. “Isabel, get a grip. Your father is dead. You are an orphan with zero leverage. If I wasn’t protecting you, Brody would have thrown you out on the street hours ago.” He stepped closer, looking down at me. “Sign the proxy voting rights of your shares over to me, and I’ll make sure you have an allowance for the rest of your life.” The text flashed: [The audacity of this mediocre man. Using your money to play savior.] [Agree to it! Ask for the transfer papers. Keep them placated.] [Your dad’s legal team is already on their way. These agreements are legally void, but they’re gold-standard evidence of fraud.] I took a shaky breath, letting my shoulders slump. “Okay, I’ll sign. But please, give me back my mother’s necklace.” Simon sneered, pulling out pre-drafted documents from his briefcase. “We’ll talk about the necklace later. Sign first.” “I… I don’t understand these terms.” “You don’t need to. Just sign,” Meredith urged, tapping her foot. I picked up the pen, my hand shaking so hard I could barely write. Brody snatched the pen and shoved me. “Hurry up!” I tumbled to the floor, scraping my palm against the rough rug. “Brody, play nice with your sister,” Meredith said insincerely, a smirk plastered on her face. I lay on the floor, looking at their ugly faces. The comments were right. I had to play the long game. I got up and signed my name. Simon blew on the ink, satisfied. “See? Was that so hard?” He turned to Meredith. “Meredith, since Isabel is being so cooperative, she can handle the receiving line at the wake tomorrow. Kneeling, preferably.” Meredith laughed, putting the emerald necklace around her neck. “Of course. She is the daughter, after all.” “Oh, and Isabel,” she added, tossing another document on the floor. “Your dad left a thirty-million-dollar debt under the company’s name. As the eldest daughter, you’ll be taking sole responsibility for this liability.” “Thirty million? But the company’s financial report last month showed we had a massive cash surplus!” “What do you know?” Meredith barked. “That was creative accounting. Your dad blew it all on bad investments.” “If you don’t sign, creditors will seize this house tomorrow, and you’ll be sleeping on the streets.” The text flashed like strobe lights: [Sign! Sign it now! That thirty-million-dollar debt is a fake contract set up by Meredith’s brother, Todd.] [The moment you sign, they’ve committed major wire and contract fraud. Ten years minimum!] [Every ounce of your patience right now is another nail in their coffin.] I bit my lip, crying out, “I’ll sign… just please don’t kick me out.” I signed. Meredith snatched the paper and exchanged a triumphant look with Simon. “Now get out of my sight. Go to your room,” Brody ordered. I walked upstairs. As I reached the landing, I heard him yell, “Mom, her room is the biggest. I’m moving my stuff in!” “Go ahead, sweetie. It’s got the best light. Perfect for you and your future wife,” Meredith replied. I froze, turning around. Brody was already coming up with the movers. He kicked my door open. “Throw all this garbage out!” My clothes, books, and childhood stuffed animals were tossed into the hallway. “Stop! This is my room!” I tried to block them. Brody shoved me hard. “Your room? The old man is dead. This whole house is mine!” He grabbed a photo album off my desk—the only picture I had with my late mother. “Why keep dead people’s junk? It’s bad luck.” He ripped the photos to pieces and threw them out the window. “No!” I screamed, lunging toward the window. The shredded pieces drifted down like snow. My chest ached as if my heart had been torn apart too. “Brody, you monster!” I glared at him, my eyes burning. “Oh, she’s got teeth,” he mocked, raising his hand to strike me. “Stop!” Simon called out, grabbing Brody’s wrist. For a fraction of a second, I thought he was defending me. “Don’t bruise her face,” Simon said coldly. “She has to look presentable for the wake tomorrow. If she’s black and blue, people will talk.” He looked down at me. “Isabel, behave yourself. No one is coming to save you.” I stared at the man I had loved for seven years, feeling a deep, physical revulsion. The text floated quietly: [Don’t cry. Tears won’t solve this.] [The higher they climb, the harder they fall tomorrow.] [Go pick up your photos. Then slip down to the basement and grab your dad’s backup laptop.] I took a deep breath, ignored them, and ran downstairs. I gathered the shredded photos from the lawn, tears dripping onto the wet grass. “Good girl. When you’re begging on the streets next week, maybe I’ll toss you a quarter,” Brody laughed from the balcony. The next day, at the funeral home, I sat kneeling in the chapel, wearing a faded black T-shirt. Meredith had thrown away all my clothes. “The funeral is tomorrow and you don’t even have a decent black dress. Unbelievable,” she had sneered. The chapel was decorated lavishly, but my father’s urn was the cheapest wood option available. Meredith claimed we needed to save money for Brody’s new sports car. I kept my head down, greeting guests mechanically. The spy pen in my pocket remained active. Midway through, Meredith walked up to the microphone. “Dear friends and family, thank you for joining us to send Thomas on his final journey.” She dabbed her dry eyes with a tissue. “But today, besides mourning him, I have a painful announcement to make.” The room went quiet. Meredith pointed a finger at me. “Isabel is not Thomas’s biological daughter!” The room erupted into whispers. I looked up in feigned shock. Meredith pulled out a document. “This is the DNA test I received yesterday. Isabel shares no genetic markers with my late husband. Her mother was unfaithful, pregnant with another man’s child when she tricked Thomas into marriage twenty years ago!” Flashes went off. Reporters, tipped off beforehand, swarmed the chapel. “That’s a lie!” I stood up, trembling. “The proof is right here!” Meredith sneered. “Thomas knew before he died, which is why he left his entire estate to Brody. We’ve raised this imposter for twenty years out of charity, but today, I am cleaning house!” Simon walked up next, looking pristine in a sharp suit. “Since Isabel is not of Mercer blood, the family engagement is officially off. I cannot marry a fraud.” He reached out and took the hand of a girl standing near Meredith—her niece, Amber. “Amber is the rightful lady of the household. Our engagement will be next month.” Amber gave me a smug, triumphant look. I stood there, feeling stripped bare under the glares, whispers, and flashing cameras of the high-society crowd. “What a parasite…” “Poor Simon, dragged along by a fraud for years.” Brody lunged forward, grabbing my collar. “You heard her! Get the hell out of here!” He shoved me, and I fell hard, my knees scraping against the marble floor. Two hired security guards pinned me down, my face pressed against the cold stone. Suddenly, the text on my screen flared up in brilliant, rapid succession: [Time’s up! The beta-blockers are wearing off!] [The casket lid is lifting. Let the show begin!] [Isabel, stand up! Tear them apart!]

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